#tagging disordered eating just in case it triggers someone to think about

[ediblegoldstars]

Just curious. If you are too, reblog for a bigger sample size.

[firespirited]

Here are my lines in the sand at least for now.

My biggest concern is accidentally causing pain which is why I wanted to mull stuff over and why I'd rather dip my toe in very slowly. You might have read that as judgement but it really is about me not wanting to use the wrong name or pronouns, say something distressing or upset people who have strong stances while also getting over old fears of walking on eggshells and shame spiralling.

Here goes:

1/ Companions and voices in your head exist, and who am I to question how you make sense of being weird as a fellow weirdo? Endogenic systems are not role-play but if you have any control I'd much prefer to only interact with the primary. Why? Because we don't know each other that well.

2/ Traumagenic systems from childhood when you don't control your personality shifts are legit. In this case I would totally be willing to put in the work to accommodate alters. In the same way that meeting new people involves learning what to warn for and what pronouns to use: DM me, let's get to know each other. - DID in CPTSD and BPD is real but if at all possible I'd like to interact with the primary or be given a heads-up (the way my other friends do about grumpy days, pain days, etc) so I don't put my foot in it.

Like all friendships, we start out with good faith and you see how much you can trust me with and if it works out you can trust me with more. In the same way, I don't owe disclosure about my life events and painful feelings to people I've just met. We're cool, we'll build on that, then build some more.

3/ I'm not willing to take any stances on what is and isn't harmful, healthy, valid or be part of the syscourse or writing, art and sex work discourse. There are too many grey areas and special cases to make blanket statements. People are complicated: books-full of nuance are required.

If you ask me about whether writing about X is bad or claiming to be Y is bad: I'm going to write a whole thesis about the medical/social models of disability, the carceral mindset and rehabilitative justice because we can't do one without considering the others.

4/ This blog isn't safe for children and won't be split into sideblogs: I work on toys while i'm processing political events and watching grown up media and these things all go together. I'm an adult collector who will point out sexual references and political failings in manufacture. I can tag for triggers of course, but the toy industry is dirty and there are plenty of child safe options for doll opinions and creation.

5/ I can't stop people from taking my work or tagging it with things they project onto it but I do have the right to block or message you if it's out there in the open and disturbing: No it's not flattering that you've chosen someone's work as your sexy role-play avatar, your eating disorder inspiration or that someone's collection makes you feel like you're five.

In the case of age regression: we have a conflict of needs. Tumblr is full of people who are judged for embracing small joys like colourful clothes, fandom, crafts and toys. Choices that are acts of adult rebellion in a painful world.

Someone who says "you're so childish I don't think you can make adult decisions" and someone labelling your grown up, tax paying, hard-earned collection as [insert child based aesthetic] feels very similar and it's also going against the message: the point is that you can be a grown up and enjoy things, in fact that's what's being a grown up is for: you get to choose to do nice things for yourself, surround yourself with nice stuff in whatever space and time you can carve out from surviving. Please don't, not because agere is wrong but because it's projecting something about the OP that's counter to what they're trying to put out to the world. 

6/ I’m open to conversation and learning. However, it’s ok to have boundaries and set boundaries for things your friends are sensitive to: it’s a delicate balance. Please assume good faith. Not taking a hard stance is not outright rejection/embrace of stuff: it’s saying I don’t know enough to have an educated opinion or I think there’s too much nuance to fit into a single sentence.

[abuzd]

I think I know the post the anon is referring to, but they exaggerated what you said, plus you had trigger warnings and used the dogwarning tag. There was a post from a couple months ago that says tw dsorderd eat*ng and then in the tags you talked about ordering pants smaller than your usual size that needed to be shipped by sea. I agree it's your blog and you don't need to censor yourself for random people plus it's not like you are glamorising or promoting EDs. I get that disordered eating is a serious struggle and you have every right to vent about it. And again, you always tag everything. If someone knows that a post about disordered eating is going to trigger them, I don't know why they looked at the tags. A random person deciding to trigger themself and then blame you for it isn't fair to you. You're not a bad person for struggling. You are human. And again, you aren't responsible for someone ignoring your trigger warnings. They just want something to be upset at.

ohhh yeah my temu pants lmao they shipped overseas bc that was $7 cheaper 😂 i have disordered eating habits absolutely, stems from c-ptsd and i’ve been this way my entire life so it’s not an Eating Disorder it’s just that my eating reflects disorders sometimes so i tag it accordingly just in case it’s triggering!! but i’m sorry, i can see how it’d kinda look like i’m hiding an ED or something but i’m not lmaolgjfhfjdhd like being a trans adult with life-long severe physical/sexual abuse issues and D.I.D. my eating is all over the place 😂 but idk like it doesn’t distress my life anymore than my other symptoms do so just is what it is to me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

but anywayfjdhdhdgdg thank you for helping me with wtf that anon was talking about hdgdhhdh 😅 i try and tag everything i can that could be triggering but at the end of the day i’d just rather people unfollow me because i can’t keep up with 13 people posting/reblogging to this blog and they don’t always tag jfhdgsgd better to be safe 👀

[ang3lblogging]

coming from someone with an ED,

no.

“tell me why if not to confront the girls with EDs” i feel like you could probably figure it out on your own, but since you asked:

1) people use tags for exposure. if i post something that at all fits the theme of my blog, i’ll use a bunch of tags even if they aren’t explicitly accurate. a cute cake recipe? #coquette. a latte? #dark academia. that’s literally all there is to it

2) do you really think people are sitting around their phones posting recipes to #coquette thinking “hehe time to trigger all the disordered girls! >:)” because i can promise you that’s not the case. it’s the internet. if someone wants to attack you for your eating disorder, they will just leave mean comments or insult you in your direct messages, not this weird, round-about way of posting recipes to a hashtag you’re suggesting

3) “coquette” has nothing to do with eating disorders. “coquette” doesn’t mean skinny/proana/thinspo etc. would you be mad if someone posted a recipe to #dark academia, #cottagecore, or any other aesthetic tag? if the answer is yes, skip to part 4. if the answer is no, then that goes to show that you associate the coquette aesthetic with unhealthy eating and skinny women. which is not what it is, and it’s not up to others to cater to your perception of it

4) if you’re at a point in your life where even seeing a recipe will trigger you, you should probably take a break from the internet and try to recover, even if only a little. this is the internet. you’re interacting with a very large amount of people even in a somewhat niche community and there’s no way you can expect all of them to cater to your triggers. i’m sorry, but that’s just the way it is.

i really do wish you the best and hope you can find recovery and happiness

You guys I don't think its fair to post food on the coquette tags either, its okay on the surface level like a cute croissant but fucking recipes? You can post it on YOUR blog that's themed coquette! But on the damn tag??? Just tell me why if not to confront the girls with EDs? How's that better then posting TW content 🙄

[duchessonfire]

On problematic content in fandoms

Look, I get that a lot of people see fandoms/fanart/fanfics as a form of escapism to get a few minutes break from the shitstorm that is reality. And for plenty of people, escapism means looking at cute fanart, wholesome fanfics and generally entering a pastel-colored world full of beloved tropes where everyone is woke af and nothing problematic ever happens. I get it.

But remember that escapism comes in as many different shade as there are different people. Escapism for one person can mean delving into a super dark/violent/twisted work that will act as a catharsis for the viewer and creator. Maybe it's looking at seriously f-up p*rn of their favorite characters as a way to remember that different (and sometimes scary!) forms of physical intimacy can be enjoyed safely and vicariously in a fantasy world of their choosing. Maybe it's about seeing a really racist/homophobic/toxic/hateful character getting the living shit beat out of them. But none of these forms of escapism can exist if we try to bleach fandoms of everything that looks remotely problematic or even (gasp) R-rated. That's why tags and trigger warnings exist.

"But OP, sometimes fanworks are improperly tagged and people see stuff that can trigger/shock them. Why shouldn't we just make all fanart PG-13 by default?"

Glad you asked, because there is already a solution to your problem, without having to hide everything R-rated under the rug like it's something shameful when it's not. The comment button. Just use the comment button and gently tell the author/content creator that they should add the proper tags for their work. I don't know why, some people seem convinced that content creators are malicious in their tagging. In most cases they're not, they simply aren't aware of how extensive the tagging system is! When I arrived on AO3, I had no idea you should put tag or tw for things such as "eating disorder" or "gaslighting" or "toxic characters". I don't live in America, in my country, trigger warnings are barely a thing. How am I supposed to know these things if no one takes the time to tell me about them, and tell me about them politely? No one wants their works to traumatize their audience, most of the time people create content they think will appeal to a specific audience that shares similar interests. We're all learning, so don't come guns blazing at someone who is probably already anxious about having put something precious they work hard on out into the world.

And guess what? Sometimes, no matter how well-tagged a work is, someone will find it that is obviously not the intended audience. What do you do in that case? Just scroll past. Screen. Use the block button. Curate your experience. But don't go harrassing people because they had the audacity to co-exist in the same space as you. When you see someone on the street dressed in an attire that makes you want to scratch your eyes out, do you harass that person by saying they should change before going out into society? Or do you just turn your head the other way and ignore them? (I hope for you it's the second one, otherwise, spoiler alert, you're an a**hole). Same thing for fanworks. The internet/AO3/Twitter/Tumblr is made for everyone, not just under 18s and people who want nothing to do with s*x/problematic/disturbing content. Stop bullying people into the shadows and think of yourself as some sort of righteous angel preserving the delicate eyes of like-minded innocents.

Don't erase other people's forms of escapism just because they're different from yours.

[arc-angel-o]

Ingredients meta/theory - Win angst

Once I start writing meta about a series, you know I'm in too deep. So here we are!

Trigger warning; talk of eating disorders, not just mentioned, the main subject, I'm explaining why I think Win has one. Let me know if there's more warnings I should tag ❤️

Because my idea of Win recovering from an eating disorder has officially graduated from headcanon to theory.

I got this idea instantly when I first saw episode 5. As a refresher, this is when Win goes on a diet and is working out to gain muscle after seeing the new neighbor and Tops makes him the avocado and egg dish that I want to try so bad.

What this episode felt like is that recovering anorexic thing where you don't relapse, but you suddenly feel very conscious of how you look and what you're eating. Sort of like a burst of energy but instead of energy it's body image issues.

That whole episode, combined with the episode with his mother (ARFID to ED pipeline), combined with Win not eating vegetables in the past, combined with him not knowing how to cook, combined with Tops reminding him to eat, combined with all the other ways I relate to Win, by the finale, I got attached to this headcanon. Now I'm beginning to wonder, is this just a headcanon, or was it all intentional on the part of a writer(s) or Jeff Satur or somebody else?

Unless someone has explicitly said "yeah Win is supposed to have an ED going on in the background" and I just haven't seen it yet, this isn't something I can really prove, but, I can say this:

As a writer who's also been inspired by this show, I can easily see a writer wanting to expand on these characters, and their respective relationships with food, and put themselves in Win, but being limited to only incorporating the aftermath of Win's ED in a way that only people who've been there would pick up on.

Ingredients is a creative project, but it's also a commercial one. And eating disorders are a heavier subject, with a lot of stigma around them, that i don't think a brand would probably want to or be good at portray(ing) them.

Even if this wasn't the case, Ingredients is lighthearted and brief. Not that it isn't emotional, ie the finale, or that eating disorders can't be portrayed in a less serious manner (my favorite ED representation comes from the tv show Starved, which is a comedy), but I do understand tone concerns.

I tried to find interviews or behind the scenes material as I was writing this that might point to whether the vibes were intentional, but i didn't find much. I did see an interview where Jeff Satur said that the hardest part about this role was how much he related to Win. So if the vibes are coming from him rather than - or alongside - the writing team, perhaps that's connected, but if Jeff hasn't said that's he struggled with these things, I don't want to speculate whether or not he has.

If you'd like more on this headcanon, I'm currently writing a oneshot about it, about Win not eating as well now that's he's not living with Tops.

I also might make a part two to this post, elaborating more on that "combined with" list. Probably only if someone expresses interest or if i think it's necessary for writing the oneshot. It hurts a little, to talk about my favorite characters going through it.

[necros-writing-stuff]

What are ED blogs? Just curious, never heard term before

Eating Disorder blogs. I'll put more explanation below the cut just in case someone who finds it triggering hasn't blocked the tag I use yet.

These blogs often have stuff in their bios such as "gw" (goal weight) and "cw" (current weight), as well as other incremental goals they plan on reaching. I naturally end up seeing these when I check for ages.

Other names the community goes by includes pro-ana and thinspo.

Now, I usually do not share personal details here - especially not in detail, but I'm feeling like sharing today. But I have an ED. I have a mix between ARFID and anorexia, however both are managed and I have no issue with them. Yet, their content can still be triggering.

I was lucky never to be in any ED communities that actively promote not eating or purging, both of which are extremely harmful. But to those that are in them, they act like cults. They make any who criticise them out of concern villains and preach that they're doing nothing wrong. Or, they know what they're doing is wrong (please note that a lot of them are minors, too), and continue to ignore rightfully or attack concerned people and stick with not seeking help for a mental illness known to be extremely fatal when left untreated.

Some of the shit you see from these blogs is abhorrent. I've seen so much bullying. They'll attack others of the community for being above certain weights - even when photos of said person show them to be extremely thin as-is. God help you if your BMI is in the green, and may all God's ever help you if your BMI is on the higher side. They're vicious. They can't let people be happy as they are. When they aren't bullying, they're love bombing the shit out of their star little pupils. Again, cult-like.

I really do implore that anyone who comes across these blogs block them. Maybe even report depending on what you see - if you are mentally well enough to even look.

If you're in this community I know you likely stay because you think it's the only place that accepts you as you are. But they are harming you. Please, reach out to any professionals you can, if you can, or any authority figure you trust. Like I said, I have EDs. I know how hard it is to recover and to keep on that path. But it's so so worth it man. Don't risk major health complications over your looks of all things. Any person worth their salt doesn't give a shit about how much you weigh so long as you're not killing yourself. It's those that do that are the issue.

I would like to remind any reading this: don't come to me for help. I don't know how to help you. I'm just a smut writer, and you will trigger me. Don't fucking vent in my ask box about your EDs. Don't be an asshole. I know you want support, but I'm a stranger on my own road to recovery. I'm not the person you're looking for and I will block you. There are communities that are open to help. Please, go find them.

[gender-trash]

actually i wanna jump off this post and talk abt filtering for a hot second because tag and post text filtering is THE killer feature tumblr has over All Other Social Media for me and i want it to be maximally good. (like, on twitter the post filtering literally doesn't work on the chronological feed, and if people want to include CWs they have to be in the POST BODY so 1) you can't add additional warnings to stuff you retweet (unless you QRT, but i feel like it would be considered weird/argumentative to qrt a post just to add warnings) and 2) it counts AGAINST THE CHARACTER LIMIT. and also due to the structure of twitter as a website, the Issue Du Jour is MUCH more inescapable in fandom spaces. also, a pettier concern, but it's impossible to blacklist fandoms you don't care about or want to see; i will probably never watch new trigun at this point because after danmei twitter's relentless obsession with it i've quite simply seen Too Much. not to even MENTION my beloathed gensh*n *mpact.)

ANYWAY, the bird hellsite aside...

i think "semi-standardized" tumblr content warning tags tend to emerge spontaneously sometimes, out of the primordial froth -- like, if you warn for Presence Of Food your tag is probably "food cw" or "tw: food" or the like, and if i have an eating disorder triggered by images of food, i can just stick "food" in the tumblr tag blacklist and i'll be fine. or, actually, if anyone ELSE reblogging the post before you has tagged it "food cw" the filter will also catch it and i'll be fine.

however, the set of Emergent Standardish Tumblr Tags is kind of idiosyncratic; it includes "scopophobia" and "flashing lights" and the very vaguely defined "unreality" but not "ai generated images" or "fake post" or "reblog coercion" (you know, the "reblog or something bad will happen" ones). the latter three are all things i personally tag for (for the record i probably have about 95% reliability with CW tags; i will try to hit 99% if someone who follows me specifically requests a tag but i also can't guarantee tags will be fully propagated into my archives).

in this particular case, if people tag posts about The Submarine with *any* content warning they usually tag them "death" or "violence" from what i've seen (or "current events", which is good actually and i wish more people did that). and enough people tag instances of *fictional* death or violence with those content warnings that those tags are functionally useless for me to blacklist (i'm, uh, in the naruto fandom). the problem is that there's *no* canonical tag for Real Life Mass Death, which means that i have about ten terms related to mass shootings blacklisted and despite my best efforts i STILL find out about every mass shooting from poasts on tumblr dot com, and the mood whiplash from posts about cat pictures or isopods to "FIFTY PEOPLE ARE DEAD" fucks me up really bad.

the other problem is untagged goddamn screenshots from goddamn twitter.

@23rdhunter's tags:

#y'all reblogging untagged screenshots. please.

i know i have no real room to judge here because i screenshot things instead of copy/pasting them all the time (tumblr tags are not selectable in the ios mobile app which is where i mainly post from), but these are terrible for several reasons: first, the words-in-post-body filter won't catch them; second, screen reader users can't read them; third, they take WAY longer to load for people on slow internet. but also, everyone seems to use twitter dark mode and light-text-on-dark-background is eye-straining for me (and makes my eyesight actively worse if i read light-on-dark text for too long, for some fucking reason; i have theories, but this post isn't about my bizarre eye issues). OCR is pretty good now! i don't understand why we don't have a tumblr feature -- or, hell, some third-party tool -- where you can paste in a screenshot and get a copyable text version. or, like, a tumblr feature that OCRs screenshots and automatically adds alt text if none was provided.

(wait, i'm a programmer. i could BUILD the third-party tool. remind me to come back to that one)

but ALSO also i think we need a norm of being a little more careful or thorough with content tags on screenshots. even if people don't content warn their tumblr text posts at *all* i can usually knock out 95% of content i'd like blacklisted with text filters, but the untagged goddamn twitter screenshots make it through every time. and the twitter screenshots are always the WORST takes, because twitter is a cesspit. maybe we should start content warning for twitter.

anyway my final thought -- god DAMN it i think i saw someone post about this last night, maybe @kodicraft?, and now i can't find the post -- is that it is unreasonably difficult to blacklist names of Famous People You Are Tired Of Hearing About. the example in the post i saw was "elon" because elon is also in "melon" and "elongate" and a lot of other common english words; i've been having a similar struggle with "trump" since about 2017. and then there's the thing where everyone gives them a billion nicknames like "elongated muskrat" or "orange man". i don't know what the solution to this is. i hesitate to request everyone tag their elonpoasting "elon musk". thoughts??

(if you reblog this post with comment and i don't seem to ack your reply, DM me or send me an ask? by necessity it includes about fifteen different things i have blacklisted so i will probably miss a lot of reblogs)

can you fuckers please consistently content warn for maritime disasters or something? i've resigned myself to never again seeing a post about any submarine good or bad but my filters are only catching like a third of the posts and it's giving me really incredibly bad brainworms . thanks

[ravenadottir]

How do you think the S2 LIs would react to MC having an eating disorder?

(((i'll put the trigger warnings in the tags, but just in case, will also answer it under the cut)))

i'll talk about the others in a second, but let's focus a bit on gary.

let's forget the fact that most gym bro's are gym bro's BECAUSE of eating disorders, and exclude the fact that most of them have a bad relationship with food and exercising because of past demands coming from parents, school, standards, or all of the above. same with girls, except the measures are to be bigger and more muscular. (male gaze and its expectations, lack of incentive to self-love because of how the boy can be perceived, ideal male body through the muscular lense, all that bullshit).

BUT

gary has been through a major body transformation while being really young, and that time of his life still has a lot of weight (pardon my pun, it wasn't intentional) in his life to this day.

he still sees a therapist and is doing much better, according to him, but let's not forget how he got injured because of it. his nan gave him a hard time, but after that he realizes how much he figuratively and literally had hurt himself.

sometimes it takes a person to hit the bottom to seek help.

if mc has eating disorders, it wouldn't take him long to recognize the signs. hell, he might even notice them while in the villa. it's a reality show with cameras everywhere, therefore more difficult for her to exercise whatever she does to cope with her fears, especially if the involve certain practices in the bathroom. but still, whoever went through it, although different in nature and intensity, knows damn well when something's going on.

he would probably open up to her about his own issues and how they managed to ruin a good thing for him. sharing his experience would be extremely obvious to her, and if she got defensive, this is where gary gives her some space.

but i do think he would do more than that. not that he would police her every move, but reminding her that help is a good exit to a healthier way of seeing things.

whatever she's going through, whether she thinks she's too big, or too small, or there's trauma wrapped around her eating habits because of people from the past, that's something he cannot help with.

"but i can listen. you can vent. above everything else we're mates, and i worry about you. so if you need to shout, cry, or even punch something, i'll be glad to... hold the punching bag for you. but only if you want to. just know i'm here. when i was going through it, i remember not being able to look nan in the eye. i was suffering but couldn't get the words out. so i understand. and if you need someone to talk to, i'm here for you. i'm always here for you. and if you want space, well... i'll reluctantly give in, even though i like being around you."

i don't think he would use words as "hot", "fit" or "beautiful" to make her feel better. he knows the important thing is to show he's there for her regardless, because he knows those things might not be part of the problem, and can be triggering. offering words of support in neutral terms is what he would do.

some of the boys might not understand it as well, like henrik or bobby. they have naturally toned bodies and don't seem to worry much about food habits.

i like my headcanon about bobby being scrawny or skinny in school, but gaining some shape later. unfortunately that was never confirmed, so i'll stick with "supportive but clueless about the subject".

same goes with kassam and lucas. while one just doesn't give much thought for exercising or food, the other might do his gym routine for the purpose of the discipline and self care. nothing out of the ordinary with either of them.

as for carl, he might have a habit or two that resembles something like a disorder, but not nearly as damaging, in his head. his reaction would probably be initial stages of panic, because he wants to be there for her but he doesn't know how, and ends up overthinking everything.

noah might've read on the subject, and could potentially know what to do and understand the possible roots of the problem, but wouldn't risk saying anything. he barely opens his mouth as it is, and i think in this case he would have enough sensitivity to listen, and listen only.

they would be supportive, but none of them would truly understand what is like to walk in her shoes. gary would be the best person to talk to about this, if she ever felt the need.

plus, he would definitely out his own issues to give the islanders some sort of guidance. what not to say or do, when to approach her, when to not.

all of them would be shocked though. i can see that happening, mainly because of how some platforms (ALL OF THEM, let's be real) want to make you believe every single person with eating disorders looks a certain way, and not being versed on the matter might cause the "wait what?" kind of reaction.

anyway, that got long! hope this is what you're looking for anon!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

can we adress how toxic some of these self/harm and suicide fics are?? as someone who has struggled with these issues, treating them as just a way for the two characters to get together, or one character to be the savior who cures someone of their problems? I'm so frickin over it. continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention is a symptom of something major. This is not something i like seeing romanticized. at all.

[CONTENT WARNING FOR ENTIRE POST: heavy discussions of trauma, suicide, self harm, depression, political issue mentions, and eating disorders. Please proceed with care. I am not cutting the post because I think the message is important, so scroll past until my icon disappears <3 Stay safe, My Lovelies.]

Hey Nonny

Okay, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here because you mention you DO have struggles with these issues, so I’m going to state right up front here and say I AM NOT DISREGARDING YOUR PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AT ALL. Your view of this topic is valid, and it’s not something I am ever going to say is wrong for you. 

I would like to offer an olive branch, here, Nonny, and give you an alternative take on this, because I’m concerned that perhaps you are still coping with your own struggles and in return, you unwittingly and unintentionally are coming off as unsympathetic to other people’s coping mechanisms.

I KNOW how hard it is to see another view when yours is the only one that seems right, especially after a tragedy or after dealing with heavy things. But all I am asking is for you to temporarily extend some empathy as I discuss my thoughts in this post, and I apologize in advance if I come off as dickish, because, again, it’s hard to see past your own feelings, and I tend to give a “firm but understanding” approach to asks like this. It’s NOT meant to call you our personally. Just asking for an open mind.

I will tackle this ask in a similar fashion to this post here, which talks about shipping vs fetishization so CW for that, as well as like this post here, where we discuss pet peeves. My assumption here is that Nonny is unsure about what “romanticizing” actually entails, and how much this ask is basically Gatekeeping Fiction 101, a thing that’s been going on since the beginning of storytelling. The ask is perceived by me to be emotionally unaware of how unsympathetic it actually sounds, and in turn can unintentionally upset people who engage in these stories.

First thing’s first, Nonny, and I said it before, I GET IT. I understand what you’re going for here, why you feel it’s toxic, and why you think it shouldn’t exist. Here’s the thing, though: what you’re ACTUALLY calling for here is censorship and gatekeeping because YOU PERSONALLY take issue with something, want the fandom specially curated just for you, because it PERSONALLY OFFENDS YOU. And that, it itself, is what’s really toxic, here. Just because YOU are offended, does not mean that it’s not helpful to SOMEONE ELSE, and it’s selfish to make such a demand of people.

Let me explain.

As I mention in the link above re: shipping, many people read and write fics to cope with the reality of their own experiences. Nonny, your experience is NOT the same as someone else’s. Your pain is NOT universal, and you DON’T KNOW what that author has been through; for all you know, they spent 6 months in-hospital after attempting suicide, and they are now simply processing their trauma through storytelling. 

Or, “continuing to put your partner in limbo by threatening this behavior when they don't give you enough attention” ? It’s a VERY REAL THING that ACTUALLY happens in real life, and perhaps it happened to that author, or they want to write an alternate ending to their pain.

Or, “one character to be the saviour who cures someone of their problems?” is something a suicide survivor WISHES someone did for them. Because they feel alone in the world and don’t want to be alone anymore.

These stories are simply escapism for people, either to learn about or share what these mental illnesses do to people, or are the “fantasies” of survivors, of their ideal outcome to their own tragedies. Coping with guilt over the loss of someone they feel they could have saved. The brutal truth about realty.

And sometimes, it is because some people need a good cry and a feel-good happy ending, because real life? Well, it rarely has those happy endings and so few opportunities to let us cry, and sometimes life is just easier when we view it through the eyes of fictional characters. Do you not want someone to save you sometimes Nonny? And I mean metaphorically here, too. Someone to just take all of your hellish burdens off those shoulders for one day. Someone who will come in to save you from yourself. I know I do.

And, well, sometimes, Nonny, it makes people feel less alone in this socially distanced world.

They’re not glorifying that issue Nonny. They’re telling their story.

Here are some thoughts:

Romanticization: Some trendy teen outlet selling a shirt with “mentally diseased” written across it.

NOT Romanticization: A character in a story coming to terms with a diagnosis of mental illness and learning ways to adapt. Their partner is involved 100% and they learn together.

Romanticization: Sherlock merchandise being sold with “I’m a high functioning sociopath” (not mention ableist as all heck)

NOT Romanticization: A character self-harms because of depression, and character B helps the character through their pain and together they get proper therapy and treatment.

Romanticization: Calling yourself “OMG I’m so bipolar!” because it’s trendy.

NOT Romanticization: A clinically depressed author, who survived a suicide attempt, wanting to tell their story through characters the world is already familiar with, and one that a touchy subject can be expressed and understood by other people, because they’re not ready to write the “real” book. Fandom is a safety net for them.

See what I mean Nonny? We don’t KNOW what kind of pain these authors have PERSONALLY been through, and to censor them from having their voices heard and their stories told is just not on for me.

And let me be clear: YES OF COURSE romanticization happens EVERYWHERE. I am not denying that. But your ask is coming off like EVERY STORY EVER WRITTEN is glorification of something. By your logic:

Disabled people shouldn’t write about their disabilities because they’re romanticising themselves.

The authors with medical degrees shouldn’t write realistic med-fics because some where in the world, ONE person MAY HAVE had a similar experience as Character A and B.

Someone broke their foot in ballet so they shouldn’t write a story about a ballet dancer who broke their hip because it may offend ONE ballerina SOMEWHERE in space and time who got sideline at the prime of their career? 

Stories about LGBT+ people shouldn’t be written because homophobes think it’s icky.

We shouldn’t write about wizards because it offends high school catholic pastors (an actual thing that happened)? 

How about cancer stories because kids die of cancer all the time? 

Non-fiction autobiographies about holocaust survivors is not okay.

Science books offend flat earthers, so we shouldn’t write those.

Books about the Big Bang and a 4.5 billion-year-old earth offends creationists, so burn those.

A now-adult child rape victim writing their survival stories to help get their often-in-power abusers behind bars are taboo.

True crime stories from detectives on those cases shouldn’t be told because they weren’t the victim.

Non-fiction in general because someone somewhere may have had that one singular thing happen to them.

How about coping with grief over a parent’s sudden death because I personally might find offense in that since that was a horridly traumatic experience in my life?

Do you see how progressively out of touch this argument is? (the answer to all of these: authors should be allowed to write them, because stories make us human). Your argument leads down the very dangerous path to censorship of books, the internet, and history... to have people only read and learn what someone else dictates, leading to... well.

I’m not trying to be a dick here, Nonny, I’m really not. But I think you’re really missing the entire point of fiction and story telling. I feel you’re failing in the empathy game here, and failing to understand what romanticizing really actually is. 

Whenever I get asks like this, I always feel like the Nonnies don’t really know much about pre-Ao3. I come from “early internet” fandom age, and I’m talking before tags existed. Back when I had to go buy a book at Coles and guess what was in it based on a cover description. No “amazon reviews”. No “harmful content warning” stickers. You just picked up that book, and sometimes you get a sweet story about a friends exploring an alien landscape, and other times WHOOOPS ACCIDENTAL ALIEN SEX I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR. And sometimes, it ended with a dark story about death, and the reality of coping with it.

Twenty years ago, books on the shelves at bookstores and libraries were the only place you could do your reading and they certainly do NOT have tags on them... Modern tagging of stories are a REALLY recent thing introduced probably no less than 15 years ago and was perfected by Ao3 (which was started in 2009). 

These days, there is no excuse if you only consume fanfiction on Ao3. Fics are tagged with proper possible-trigger tags 90% of the time. They have a VERY METICULOUS filtering system. You aren’t being forced to read the fics, you don’t have to read the fics, so use those tag filters, they exist for a reason.

So, with that in mind, I genuinely DON’T GET this attitude about people wanting everything sugar coated and saccharine by default. Especially when you can LITERALLY CURATE YOUR OWN CONTENT. Life isn’t sugar coated. And fiction shouldn’t have to be either. People tag fics with triggers for a reason.

As they used to say back in my early internet days: Don’t like it? Don’t read it. Don’t comment, skip, next story.

And to put this ALL into perspective, so that you don’t think I’m talking out of my ass, I’m going to reveal something here: Do you know what fics I can’t read, Nonny, because they trigger me? Eating disorders. That’s self harm, Nonny, in a very different way. But you know what? I know that those fics DO help other ED people so I’m not going to sit her and tell people NOT to rec or write them. And some of those authors who write those stories are processing their own ED through those stories, healing in their own way. And you know what I do when I see one of those fics? I don’t read them, move on, next story.

I’m sorry if you perceive this as me being harsh with you here, Nonny, and you DON’T have to agree with me and you can block me and never talk to me again, and I’ll understand. As I stated at the beginning, I’m offering an alternative perspective, and helping you to see that some people take comfort in these types of stories.

I think what this all boils down to Nonny, after all of this, and rereading your question a final time to see if I missed covering anything, is that (and feel free to shit on me if I am wrong here) I’m getting the impression – as an unprofessional outsider looking in – that you’re still struggling with your inner demons, whether you realize it or not. The tone and brashness of your ask has me believing this... It feels like it was written after a trigger-moment and you needed to vent AT someone because you are alone, and that hurts my heart so much. I truly hope you find peace in your mind, soon, and I hope you have someone to talk to professionally, or at least a friend. (tw under link, suicidal ideation discussion and links to phone numbers that can help you). I only wish the best for you, my Nonny.

Anyway. I welcome other people to chime in here, respectfully, and let me know if I have the wrong take here. Because I genuinely don’t think I do, but I am not a professional, so my entire thing that took me 3 hours to write here is probably moot. I’m especially interested (on anon in my asks if you’re not comfy with revealing yourselves) on thoughts from other people who have survived the original topics here, as well as any therapists and authors as well.

Take care of yourself Nonny. And please curate your own content for your mental health. Ao3 has an “exclusionary tag system” as well, please use it. *hugs*

[sailor-freak]

About K-Pop Idol Diets

I’ve disclosed in the tags this may trigger those sensitive to the topic of weight and dieting, but if that didn’t work then just letting you know now that’s what I’ll be discussing. I might barely scratch the topic of eating disorders in regards to certain idols, but it’s mostly about how K-Pop idols diet and what the standard of weight is in regards to idols, as well as things that are said about idols’ figure. This is a long post which I will not be putting under keep reading as if you are not sensitive to this topic it might be important for you to read.

So this is something I’ve been building up in my mind to talk about for a WHILE, and I’ve mentioned things about it to my K-Pop friends, however I just watched this video about Hani’s diet and experience in EXID with weight and now I feel like I can talk about it.

I just want to clarify my stance now before I get into it, that I personally feel that for ANY person, whether an idol or a celebrity or someone wandering around living a normal life, that as long as you are eating healthy and are living a lifestyle of wellbeing, whatever that is to you, your weight does not matter. If you’re healthiest when you’re quite thin, or you’re healthiest at a thicker weight, it does not matter what you look like as long as you’re healthy. I do think it is unhealthy to be overweight, and I do think it is unhealthy to be underweight, that’s not me hating any body type in terms of appearance, that is my concern for peoples’ lifestyles and how healthy they are. I am quite unhealthy at the moment, since the start of this year I’ve been working on eating better and exercising more, and I have quite a large stomach which I personally would like to flatten in the way that would be most beneficial to my health. I think that if there is a body you would like to achieve, do it in a way that benefits your health rather than a way that can lead to eating disorders or other illnesses. Your health is the most important thing, always.

Watching the video this channel made on Hani (the whole channel is quite good at looking at idols’ weight in a way that isn’t invasive or degrading), there was a lot of issues I had with her experience with wanting to have a thinner body. First of all, fans saying that they are entitled to her having a curvier body so they can all get off to her dancing in Up & Down is beyond wrong, nobody is entitled to anyone’s body looking a certain way, and by the looks of it these comments affected her and the way she viewed dieting. Weight shouldn’t even be a thing fans of idols should bring up, unless it was seriously concerning to the idol’s health it’s honestly no one’s business. What matters is their musical talents, how well they sing, how well they do the choreo, how much of their personality they show on variety. I think it comes from people seeing female idols as objects that sing and dance for them, idols are people and as long as they are eating healthy and exercising well what they look like is not for anyone to demand. The video also showed a lot of Hani’s eating habits over the years, this I don’t like to see as you often see so many idols with so little food on their plate, and what they have is barely nutritious. Sadly a lot of idols feel pressured to lose weight fast, or to maintain a slim figure they had achieved through starvation, so it’s a common thing to see. It’s not my place to tell Hani or any other idol what they should eat and how much, but I would like idols to know that the pressure of fans and company workers on them to look a certain way should not be more important then their wellbeing.

Another thing I saw a while ago was this post about ZN and Haein’s no carb diet for a year. I’ll include the comparison photo of ZN below as it’s definitely a noticeable difference.

In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with her in the left photo. She looks like a normal, healthy idol. She’s obviously not the thinnest, but she doesn’t look particularly thick at all. Essentially, I don’t see anything that needs to be changed about her body. The photo on the right, however, is honestly concerning to me. She looks so small, and you can see in any of LABOUM’s more revealing stage outfits from about 2017 onwards (especially in Only U and Between Us) (actually looking at the Only U fancam ZN is the only one who has to wear a white undershirt to prevent anything being revealed because the top just does not fit her) that she almost doesn’t fit into things, when clearly before she could. I don’t know her full diet now, but from this post her and Haein clearly cut out eating carbs purely for a slimmer body, which does concern me about their health. If they had no nutritional need to stop eating carbs, I see no reason why they should have done. The worst part is, they were PRAISED for doing it. Idols are always praised for eating less and looking thinner (or, in Hani’s case, praised when they conform to what people feel they are entitled from her). The only praise idols should get regarding their eating habits is when they are eating healthy, the praise should go to their health and not how they look as a result.

Finally I want to talk about Sojung, as obviously she has explicitly talked about her struggle with anorexia. The same channel that made the video on Hani made one for Sojung but it doesn’t appear to be there now, anyway I encourage you to look for yourself at Sojung’s interviews regarding her diet as she does talk about how difficult it is having an eating disorder, and while not to the most extreme extent as some other people who have anorexia it’s a very informative insight into the experience. Obviously, eating disorders are a horrific thing for anyone to go through, and I absolutely do not encourage that behaviour and anyone who is stuck with those behaviours I want to get help and recover, and unfortunately it seems a lot of idols can slip into those habits or fully develop one, and Sojung talked about how the diet they were forced to go on before debut affected her habits and she just kept going. She was so obviously underweight in their MVs and live stages, yet as she wasn’t a “visual��� member like Hani her weight didn’t really get backlash. They did try to hide how thin she was in comparison to her members but it was obvious. Then, a few years later when she became healthier and fortunately managed to overcome her disorder, she got hate for being too big. As I said earlier, as long as someone is healthy what they look like should not matter. Sojung was healthy, yet purely because of her weight people complained she’d “put too much on” (an example of her weight at the time here). It appears that idols get hated on for being too big, yet when they become thinner, seriously affected their health a lot of the time, they get hated for being too thin. There’s a very small margin where an idol can be considered “a good weight” appearance wise, and if they are too under or too over they get dragged. It’s actually sickening, sometimes. I keep saying this but I think it is so important, their HEALTH is the most important thing, you are not entitled to them looking a certain way and your main concern should always be if they are eating well and exercising well.

I think that’s it, there was more idols I’m not as familiar with that I wanted to mention (Park Bom, Momo, Moonbyul etc, idols that I’m aware of particular weights or diets), but I decided to stick to idols I know more about so I hopefully did not spread any misinformation about them. I could always do a follow up post regarding them but this was mainly what I wanted to say.

TL;DR - Idols’ health is most important and neither idols, companies or fans should put appearance over wellbeing. As long as someone is eating well and exercising regularly their weight and appearance means diddly squat.

[baloobird]

Because I Said So

by @baloobird for @searching4sanity716 I hope you like this!!! 💜💜💜

This is my submission to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!!!

Ao3 Link (but it’s not revealed yet)

Words: 10.1k (hehe whoops)

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, May Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker

**Slight Trigger Warning: mention of an eating disorder accusation but there’s no actual eating disorder. Attempted kidnapping while on patrol but it’s stopped before it goes anywhere**

Summary: He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May.

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else.

-

Peter doesn't tell May that he has to eat more than the average person because he knows how tight money is for them. He knows his aunt can't afford it so why say anything? And besides, he's fine.

Honestly.

No way is this going to come back and bite him in ass…absolutely not.

Adding my taglist here but the fic will be under the cut. I hope you enjoy!!!

Taglist: @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @dexteritymisdirectionsuggestion @peuty @starkaroos2034 @marvel-us-world @podcastsandcoffee @bestofirondadfics @mmmmmmmmmchicken @riseuplikeglitterandgold @desirexwolf @theoceanphoenixhasrisen @ultravioletstark @just-the-daydreamer @my-leg-is-not-a-chew-toy @diminajackson @theofficialdeannawinchester @whatwasmyprevioususername @spidey-mood @autisticbabynurse @ironmanismydad @tinyandsteven @dreamingformuses @smokesteamair @intuitive-mathgeek @softrdj @legendarypenofeating @petermyspiderson @zselenophile @shymothstudios @and-so-my-adventures-begin @sarcasticmusic @fandomsofrandom @cluusheen @mjc-dream @emygirl @pxterbpxrker @pawprinterfanfic @innocent-until-proven-geeky @blackwatchandromeda @jaelyn-karrett @iron-damn @unnoted-invisible @pixeltrix-13 @anyonewantathroatsweet @m0ther-of-dragons @chaos-with-a-pen @spideynamu @bthtallmadge2 @verdonafrost @the-reverse-mermaid @icymapletree @kitkatwinchester @irondad-is-cannon-bitch @brushes-of-sage @ghostinthebau @canonismybitch @tmifangirl24 @loverofstuffsworld @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe @i-write-disney-not-tragedies @drowned-in-books @peanutdoodles @hauntedbybleachella @aelinasardothien @tonystark-built-this-in-a-cave @tonystarkweneedyou @spideygirl2003 @7peternotparker7 @justme--emily @dongjiayun @dykeragee @jmercer1997 @swagfictionreadingnerd @dredfulhapiness @fallenstar07

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!!!

Peter has been staring at that damn clock for about thirty minutes now.

But only one minute has actually passed.

Why do the last ten minutes of class always feel like another fucking hour?

Despite time moving as slow as molasses, the teenager keeps staring at the clock, seeing his life tick away closer and closer to death. 

Hey, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than learning about the Industrial Revolution.

Whoever decided to make AP History the last class of the day deserves to be shot like Abraham Lincoln.

Ten more minutes until Mr. Stark. Ten more minutes until I can finally freaking eat.

As if reading his mind, the boy’s stomach releases yet another growl, so loud that a few of the surrounding students give him weird looks, making him flush in embarrassment.

The hero smiles sheepishly as he wraps his arms around his torso, hoping to suppress any more incoming rumbles.

God, he is so fucking hungry, as he has been for the last couple of hours.

He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May. 

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else. With the powers of his super strength, stickiness, and “spidey sense”, it’s no wonder he developed an increase in his appetite as well. 

Of course he wants to tell May, he desperately wants to tell her to buy more food, to make enough dinner to feed four instead of two.

But he’d be an idiot not to notice how tight money is for them. Peter doesn’t miss the bills with the dreaded red stamp that states “past due”, or the student loan payments that she is at least a couple of months behind on.

“You, food, and shelter are always my first priorities, you know that,” May has said on more than a few occasions.

While yes, she always has enough for rent, food, and their phones, the kid would be lying if he said that their water and power have never been shut off. And he can’t count how many months they’ve had to go without wi-fi. 

Thank God libraries exist or he’d never get any homework done.

So the teen does what he can to keep from going completely insane from lack of food consumption: since he’s a part of that free lunch program, he thankfully always has a lunch - even though it’s not enough to leave him satisfied - and Ned, the wonderful, amazing best friend that is Ned always packs an extra apple or another sandwich to give him so he won’t feel like he’s completely passing out by the time history class rolls around.

But even then he can hardly stand it.

Peter keeps his arms wrapped around him, watching the clock at the front of the classroom like a hawk. 

Watching the last seven minutes tick by at the slowest possible speed.

The genius feels his head start to droop with fatigue and jerks it upright, keeping it from slamming completely onto his desk. He winces as he feels his stomach release another round of grumbling and squeezes it to keep it quiet, even though it won’t do him any good.

He ignores the more questioning looks from his peers but he doesn’t miss the sympathetic one his best friend is giving him from the next desk over. 

Peter looks away almost immediately. He already feels embarrassed enough for his obnoxious stomach, he can’t stand someone looking as if he’s a charity case.

Which is exactly why he hasn’t told Tony about this either.

He jerks his head up yet again after feeling it droop for a second time and stares at the clock once more.

Five minutes, just five more minutes, Spider-Man.

The teenager misses his masked alter ego. He hasn’t been able to don the red and blue as much lately for a number of reasons such as homework and decathlon.

The most annoying one being that he can’t patrol but for so long without Karen taking notice of his decreasing glucose levels which she would then send to Tony and the last thing he wants is for his billionaire hero to find out about his money troubles.

Peter takes a deep breath, constantly reminding himself to keep his eyes open, damn it, he refuses to fall asleep four minutes before the last bell.

He’ll sleep after he eats all of his hero’s food.

Because when he stays with Tony, he pigs out, eating enough food to feed a “whole army” his mentor has jokingly said.

And since Peter is planning to stay the night, he relishes in going back home that Saturday with a more than satisfied stomach.

Well, for a few hours anyway, until he gets to what his current situation is now.

The boy looks back at the clock.

Two minutes left, hell fucking yes.

God, he needs carbs if he has any hope of staying awake on his way to the tower.

He just needs food in general.

Any food…allllll the food.

The bell rings at long last, leaving Peter wishing he could race out the doors but he’s too sluggish to exert that much energy. Again, he ignores his friend’s pitying looks as he gets his things before walking as fast as he can to his father figure’s car.

The second he gets in and gives his mentor a tired smile, the volcano that is his stomach erupts in yet another growl, announcing the hunger it so desperately craves.

Tony giggles as he makes his way to exit the parking lot, “Somebody’s hungry, huh?”

You have no idea.

His protege sheepishly giggles himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach once again, “Uh yeah, sorry.”

“Only you would say sorry about being hungry,” the mechanic says with a snort, “McDonald’s drive-thru sound good to you?”

“Please, I can taste the Big Mac already.”

“How many do you want?”

“Uh,” Peter holds back as slight anxiety sets in, “Two?”

As they stop at a red light, his mentor gives him a deadpan look, obviously not believing him, and repeats, “Pete, how many do you want?”

“Four?” Said kid answers in a questioning tone, covering himself in case Tony thinks the number is too high. He then adds on, “All with fries? Please?”

Tony smiles down at his kid, ruffling his hair while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, “How many times have I told you that you don’t need to be shy around me when it comes to eating?”

“I know,” his interns says, slumping his shoulders but taking full advantage of this “curls massage” to keep his mind off his hunger, “I just feel bad -”

“Don’t,” the older man says, firm but keeping a gentle undertone, “If you’re hungry, you’re getting food, that’s the rule when you’re around me. It doesn’t matter if you want to eat the entire damn cow, you’re getting it.”

Peter feels a warmth filter through him at that, leaning closer to his father figure and smiling serenely at the hair ruffling, squeezing his stomach as it continues to gurgle periodically.

Tony lets go when the light turns green, his attention back on the road, “Didya even eat today, good Lord, kid.”

Barely.

“Yes,” the tyke responds, drawing out the syllable, “If I didn’t, you’d have to carry me to the tower.”

“That’s a terrifying image.”

“Relax, Mr. Stark, I’m more careful than that,” Peter responds with a cheeky smile. 

It’s true, he thinks. Despite the constant hunger, he’s always been careful, never letting it get to the point of him not functioning as a human being should.

Yes, he’s hungry all the time, but not that hungry.

It’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiine.

“You lost me at ‘careful’, does the word ‘Vulture’ mean anything to you?”

“Hey, I stopped him, didn’t I?”

Tony rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh, “Yeah, touché.”

Peter snickers in brief victory as they pull up to the drive-thru ordering station, “Hey, I may be clumsy but I’m still careful.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” his mentor responds with his own snicker before lowering his window, turning towards the microphone. After the usual polite greetings, he says his order, making sure to order for himself as well, “Five Big Macs, five large fries, a Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, and a side salad.”

“Ranch dressing okay?” The fast-food employee asks as Peter gives his father figure a look of pure confusion.

“Yeah, sure.”

“We’ll have your total for you at the first window.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, driving around the curve to the upcoming window.

Peter asks, “You got a salad? At McDonald’s?”

“No, I got it for you, you really think I’m gonna let you eat four Big Macs and no greens?”

“There’s lettuce on the burgers -”

“Nice try.”

“Jeez, ‘Helicopter Mom’, much?”

“You’ll thank me later when your stomach doesn’t hate you.” 

For once.

Peter rolls his eyes as his stomach continues acting like a bear, looking on as his hero gives the cashier his credit card.

Eh, it’s more food, I’ll take it.

The second the boy takes his first bite of that heavenly, artery-filling burger, it takes all of his strength not to guzzle it down in five bites or less. He’s unfortunately learned from experience that not eating much for a week and then consuming enough food in one sitting to feed his entire apartment building equates to seeing all of that food again in a not so appetizing manner.

So by the time they get to the tower, only one burger is consumed and about half of an order of fries, yet the spiderling’s stomach is still growling. They settle in at the kitchen counter, with Tony digging into his own burger and fries, making light chatter with Peter unashamedly talking with his mouth full.

That Friday night and Saturday morning are spent in bliss, in more ways than one. The two heroes did their usual thing in the lab, Tony helped his kid with some of his homework, kicked back on the couch, and the tyke’s stomach was never not satisfied.

If only he could feel this way all the time.

The older man actually made dinner that night and told Peter he can take home the leftovers for him and May.

The teen’s heart did what felt like an actual backflip. He gratefully accepted the leftovers with absolute no intentions on sharing it with his aunt, instead his mind going into “math-mode” on how he can ration this throughout the week.

And when Happy drops him off that Saturday afternoon, he’s filled with the most energy he’s had since the previous time with his mentor, damn near skipping to his room in excitement to put on his suit and soar through the skies.

Until he sees May in the kitchen sporting a look of grim disappointment, and his whole demeanor falls immediately.

What happened? I haven’t done anything lately…at least I don’t think I have.

Hold up, did somebody die?

“Um,” Peter starts, gripping the straps on his backpack and praying his aunt can’t smell the leftover pot roast, “May, is everything okay?”

The nurse sighs despairingly, doing nothing to help her nephew’s case, “No,” she taps the barstool next to her, swinging it out, “We need to talk.”

The teenager’s anxiety spikes instantly.

Must she say the most horrible phrase in the English language?

Peter carefully sets his backpack on the couch before walking over and sitting on the designated stool, “Uh…what is it?”

“This,” his aunt slides a piece of paper over to him, “Progress reports were released yesterday and I didn’t check the portal until this morning. Explain this to me.”

Wait, progress reports? School isn’t even an issue, what the hell?

He looks down at the report and studies his grades, most of which are “A’s”, other than a “B-plus” that ruins the streak.

Fuck English and those fucking essays.

And there, at the bottom of the report, is his grade in AP History.

A “D.”

A big, fat, ugly “D.”

“What the hell?” Peter whispers in shock. This isn’t possible, he thinks, he’s never gotten anything below a “B” in, well, anything. School has always been his strong suit.

While yes, there were a couple of history quizzes he did less than stellar on, but shit happens, it certainly wouldn’t cause his grade to jump to a fucking “D.”

“There has to be a mistake,” he exclaims, still staring at the report with wide eyes, “There’s no way -”

“Really? No way?” May counters, voice a mixture of both anger and disappointment. 

Making Peter want to crawl under a rock and die.

His aunt goes on, “Read the teacher’s comment.”

I don’t wanna.

The boy swallows a lump in his throat, reluctantly flipping over the page. He skims down until he sees the one for history and reads the comment.

Mr. Parker is no doubt a gifted student but he has difficulty with paying attention in class. While he does well on the homework, he lacks applying what he’s learned towards the tests and quizzes, both of which carry heavier percentages than the homework itself. I suggest taking more time to study, pay more attention in class, and, if possible, seek a tutor.

Peter scans over that comment who knows how many times.

Okay…maybe he’s done less than stellar on more than just a couple of quizzes.

How did he not see this, how in the fuck did he not know how bad his grade dropped?

The boy feels his stomach gurgle as it digests the last of his lunch that he had before he left to come back home.

Then it clicks.

Shit.

By the last class of the day, the food he’d eat at lunch has long since digested and his body is already begging for more.

So much so that he loses focus on the class and instead does what he can to keep himself sane until he can eat more food.

And the only reason why he’s able to do well on the homework is exactly that, he does it at home, where he’s hungry, but it’s bearable enough to where he can still concentrate.

At school, where he feels like his stomach might actually fall out of his body, leaves little room for concentration.

Peter looks back at his guardian with wide eyes, “I can explain.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I’m dying to hear it.” May lets out a light, humorless laugh, “I just, I just can’t believe we’re having a conversation about this. School was something I never had to worry about with you, what gives? Are you and Ned passing notes? Is there a girl you like that’s distracting you -”

“May, oh my God, I’m not ten,” her nephew says, annoyance in his tone, “And there’s no girl, for the record.”

“Then what is it, Peter?” May counters, getting annoyed herself, “Do you not understand the material, do you need a tutor -”

“No, no I don’t need a tutor. Look, I’m sorry, I’ll bring it up by the time report cards come -”

“You really think it’s that much of an easy fix?”

“Yes, look, May, it’s just a progress report, it doesn’t mean anything -”

“Oh, really now?” She asks, raising her voice slightly, “If they don’t mean anything, then why do they exist, huh? How would you feel if this was your report card? You’d lose your scholarship, Peter.”

Fuck, the fucking scholarship. 

The teenager puts his head in his hands, his heart feeling heavy at the thought of being forced to leave Midtown, “Pretty shitty, yeah. May, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it got this bad, I promise I’ll bring it up. There’s a test next week, I’ll make sure to study for it.”

“Oh, you certainly will, no question, because until I see this ‘D’ disappear,” May hesitates before she says, “No more Spider-Man.”

“No!” The fifteen-year-old exclaims, head snapping right to his guardian, “May, please, please don’t take Spider-Man away from me. He’s what keeps me sane, c’mon, please.”

“He’s why your grade dropped, isn’t it?” The nurse asks, her only redeeming factor is that she doesn’t seem to like punishing him any more than he does, “That’s it, you’re too excited to be Spider-Man that you can’t concentrate on the class -”

“No, that’s not it! -”

“Then what is? Peter, help me understand ‘cuz I don’t know what the hell this is.”

The words are on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t get enough to eat.

He could say it, right here right now, he could say it. He would get to eat, and he could still be Spider-Man.

But May would feel awful.

And he can’t stand to see her more upset than she already is.

“You’re right,” Peter forces out, mentally kicking himself, “Yeah, it’s Spider-Man,” he concludes brokenly.

“That settles it then,” May confirms, voice small and filled with remorse, “No Spider-Man until you get your report card. And in three weeks, if I see anything less than a ‘C-plus’, it’s gonna be a long while before you see that suit again, you understand?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, the boy slowly nods his head, “This is so not fair -”

“It’s not up for discussion. Dinner’ll be in a few hours,” his guardian says, getting out of her chair to start chopping vegetables.

Peter quickly gets out of his own chair and gets his things before dragging himself to his room, the last thing he wants to do is look at his aunt let alone talk to her.

He gets to his room and slams the door, dropping his things and plopping onto his bed face down. He smushes his face on his pillow and screams into it as loud as he can without alerting May before slumping in defeat. 

Words can’t express how mad he is at his guardian but it’s nowhere near how mad the kid is at himself. 

How stupid was he? How did he not notice how bad he’s doing in the class? How could he have let it get this far?

And now there’s no more Spider-Man to at least soften the blow.

As much as he knows he needs to study, he doesn’t, he’d rather just lay in his bed and wallow in self-pity for the next week or so.

That’s just what he does until May calls out that dinner is ready. Peter wants to rebel by skipping dinner but realistically, he’d pass out if he doesn’t eat, and he wants to save those leftovers for as long as he can.

Dinner is the epitome of awkward.  

Not much small talk is made as the kid eats his food as fast as humanly possible, afterward spending the rest of the night drowning out his thoughts through YouTube videos before succumbing himself to torture and digging out his history book.

No way is he letting the late 1800’s ruin his double life and his future.

-

The following week, he gets to work.

Unfortunately, his teacher doesn’t offer extra credit but he did say that if Peter continues doing well on the homework, studies hard for the upcoming quizzes and test, along with the paper due at the end of the month, the teen could have the potential to bring his grade up to a “B-minus”, maybe even a “B” if he aces them.

As long as his report card is above a “C-plus”, he doesn’t give a shit what it is.

The hero decides not to eat the extra food Ned gives him right at lunch and instead scarfs it down right before history. It doesn’t fill him up by any means but his stomach won’t sound like a thunderstorm either. Then when he gets home, he eats some of Tony’s leftovers, leaving his hunger manageable enough to make it to dinner.

It works for that week, to the teen’s pleasant surprise. Who knew that eating can make a person more focused and actually pay attention?

With this new routine, not only does the boy continue doing well on the homework but he damn near aces both of his next quizzes with a “B-plus” and “A-minus” respectively. The higher his grades get, the more confident he feels, he can almost taste the sweet freedom of swinging through the air and becoming one with the wonders of Queens.

Hell yes, Peter thinks, he’ll be back to donning the red and blue in no time.

-

However, that second week proves to be tougher than the first.

For one, Peter finished the leftovers; he didn’t want to, but he knew the food would eventually go bad if he kept it for much longer so he bit the bullet. Pair that with his dinner that night, it made him the most satisfied he'd felt since that waiter at the Thai restaurant gave May an extra plate of food for free.

God, why can’t that happen again?

He sticks to the same routine at school but when he gets home, he limits himself to a small snack to keep him satisfied until dinner.

But that has yet to work.

The teenager is having a hard time concentrating on his homework. The calculus that he normally breezes through is taking him twice as long to complete, same with physics, and he’s forced to put off history until after dinner, where his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s falling out and giving him enough energy to finish it with a passing grade.

Which is where Peter is finding himself now the night before that dreaded history test.

He huffs in frustration as he stares down at his dense brick of a history textbook, words blurring together as he reads over the same page for the fourth fucking time - and maybe the information might actually stay in his brain for once - and starving despite fixing himself a sandwich earlier.

Maybe his dinner should’ve had more sustenance than that but what the hell, he doesn’t know how to cook and May’s going to be at work until like midnight, he had to fix something.

Even though it’s only eight o’clock, the kid’s eyes are drooping with fatigue, resisting the urge to fall asleep on his book and thus making his chance of passing his test get slimmer and slimmer. 

That lousy sandwich didn’t do shit.

Peter lightly slaps his cheek to wake himself up and he continues reading through that same page…again.

Why can’t I learn history dates as good as math formulas, this shit’s exhausting.

He studies as much as he can, going from the textbook to his chicken-scratch notes and now graded past homework and quizzes. Yet the more he tries to memorize political figures, the more he focuses on the food that’s in each and every one of the kitchen cabinets.

As if reading his mind once again, his stomach gurgles with hunger.

Okay, I think I saw another apple in the fridge. I mean, it can’t hurt.

Oh my God, and there’s a bag of chips we haven’t opened yet, maybe May won’t notice if I eat a few…or the whole fucking bag.

Maybe she’ll forget she bought them, no harm, no foul.

The hero’s mouth starts salivating at that. He can’t keep torturing himself like this, he has to get something to eat. Just as he’s about to do so, he hears a scream from outside his window.

“No!”

Peter’s head jerks to the window behind him, eyebrows narrowing in curiosity. 

He’s normally pretty good at tuning out the murmurs that flood the mean streets of Queens…but that sounded close.

Too close.

Like right-outside-his-apartment-building close.

His worry grows when he hears another scream that sounds like it’s coming from the same person.

“Let go of me!”

Not just a person.

A kid.

Peter is out of his chair in less than a second. He opens his window and peeks out from the corner so he can’t be seen. After a few seconds of searching, his eyes land on a scuffle across the street between a middle-aged man with a black hoodie covered face and a little boy who can’t be older than eight or ten years old.

“You’re not my dad!” The boy cries, trying to get out of the man’s grasp.

“Shit,” Peter whispers, “Shit, shit, shit.”

The physiological need now forgotten, the hero races to his closet while he’s hurriedly taking off his clothes, putting on his suit in record time, and keeping a close ear on the scary situation at hand.

Okay, save the kid, come back, save the kid, come back…

He knows he’s breaking his aunt’s trust - which is saying something considering he kept this identity from her for almost a year - but he can’t just sit here and study shit that’s already happened while a child is being kidnapped.

The boy hears the usual greetings from Karen after putting on the mask, looking out the window once more before sneaking out of it, climbing the last few stories so he can scope the situation from the rooftop. He hears the little boy yell out again, “Let go of me!” but the kidnapper keeps dragging him along, mumbling some shit that Peter doesn’t find relevant to comprehend.

The teen swings to the next building, following the kidnapper and the poor little kid. He tells his AI, “Karen, activate web grenades.”

“Web grenades activated,” she responds, her usual robotic manner sounding out of place given the circumstances.

The spiderling swings to a building ahead of the criminal and waits patiently from the rooftop, web shooter aimed at the guy.

Keep walking, keep walking…aaaaand YEET.

He presses the button and a whole net of web fluid goes flying, trapping the kidnapper and hitting him against the wall of a closed bank. Unfortunately, the kid’s left hand got caught up in it and stuck around the web as well.

And he starts wailing.

Peter webs his way over in seconds, ignoring any bullshit the criminal is shouting, and lands in front of the boy.

He starts speaking words of reassurances, keeping his voice as soft and non-threatening as possible, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I gotcha, you’re okay.” The teen whispers to his AI, “Karen, call the police.”

“Already in pursuit, Peter.”

“Thanks.” Peter uses his super strength to tear the boy’s hand free, applying a small amount of web fluid to keep the net intact. He kneels in front of the kid and asks, keeping his voice light, “Hey, I’m Spider-Man. Are you okay, did he hurt you?”

The boy sniffles, wiping away a few tears with his sleeve. He holds out his left hand as he says shakily, “Just m-my-my, my hand…he was, he was holding it too tight.”

The teenager sighs in relief, thanking God that nothing worse happened. He ignores his stomach’s occasional growls as he asks, “I’m sorry he hurt your hand, buddy. Do you know where your parents are?”

The boy hastily shakes his head, eyes widening in fear, “My-My mom, we were walking and-and there were all these people and, and I-I let go of Mommy’s hand but I didn’t mean to!” His panic increases the more he talks, “Someone, someone uh, someone bumped into me, it was an accident -”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault, these things happen sometimes. So you got separated from your mom and that’s how you got lost?”

The little boy nods his head, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes, “And, and then, and then he,” he points to his attempted kidnapper, “Grabbed my hand and wanted to take me away.”

“He’s lying,” the offender says from the other side of the web net. Without even looking at the guy, Peter shoots a web at his face, successfully shutting him up.

The hero hears sirens in the distance and smiles from behind the mask, “The police are coming soon and they’re gonna help you find your mom, okay? Can you tell me your name?”

“J-Josh.” 

“Well, Josh,” the teen holds out his fist as a police car turns the corner, “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, Spider-Man,” Josh smiles as he gives his hero a soft fist bump, biting his lip as he asks, “Can you stay until I find my mom?”

Another stomach growl escapes the spiderling but again, he pushes it down, “Of course, buddy.” 

Law enforcement finally arrives and a female officer approaches the boy, taking his hand as the young genius stands up. His anxiety starts to rise as he starts to feel unexpectedly dizzy and he’s forced to put a hand on the wall to steady him.

Karen says into his ear, “Glucose levels decreasing rapidly, I suggest you seek appropriate nutrition or I can contact Mr. Stark -”

“No,” Peter commands, “Look, I’ll eat something after we find his mom, okay, just don’t tell Mr. Stark -”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Josh asks, turning around to look at the hero in confusion.

“Uh, just, um,” the other boy stutters, spinning around and again, having to use the wall to steady him, “Uh, Bluetooth.”

The little kid raises an eyebrow but simply shrugs and continues walking away, still holding the officer’s hand.

Peter uses his super strength to free the criminal and his mouth only for the guy to be arrested by two other officers. As they’re walking to a second police cruiser, the kid finds himself having to take short breaths and are his eyes deceiving him or is everything going suddenly blurry?

I thought my powers fixed my eyesight.

Karen again whispers in her owner’s ear, “Glucose levels are drastically low. Willing to contact Mr. Stark -”

“Please, Karen, no,” the spider-boy sharply whispers back, “I literally live here, I’ll eat something when I get back.”

“My concern isn’t when you’ll eat, but for if you can make it back at all. I have no choice -”

“Yes you do, don’t call him.” 

Peter walks over to Josh, seeing his kidnapper being handcuffed and put in a car from the corner of his eye, albeit a blurry one, and says, “How you doing, little buddy?”

“Great! They found my mom, she called the police after I got lost and they’re bringing her here.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s great,” the hero says with as much energy as he can pull together, “I have to go now so you be safe, okay?”

“I’m never letting go of Mommy’s hand ever again.”

God, they’re so innocent.

“That’s good, good lesson,” Peter takes a couple more deep breaths as he stands up, ignoring the lightheadedness swirling in his brain, and with a friendly, “Have a good night”, he swings as fast as he can to his apartment.

Food, food, food, food, food…

The teenager sluggishly climbs back through his window and takes off his mask, swaying on his feet as his fingers start to shake. He starts to head over to the kitchen but grips onto the ladder of his bunk bed to let his vision catch up to him.

But then he looks at his bed.

His wonderful, heavenly, comfortable bed.

God, he’s so tired.

No, I gotta eat something.

However, he inches closer and closer to his bed, his world literally swirling around him in such a way that he’s amazed he can still stand up.

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.

He’ll just eat something when he wakes up.

No harm, no foul.

Peter then gets into position and starts to belly flop onto his bed.

I’ll just take a nap riiiiiiiight here -

He is out cold before his head even hits the pillow.

-

“Boss, Mr. Parker is in distress.”

Tony’s head snaps up from the TV, gaze going to the ceiling, “What happened? He’s not supposed to be Spider-Manning.”

“Sending Karen’s information to your phone now.”

The man’s phone vibrates on the end table barely a second later. He hurriedly grabs it, reading what’s on the screen.

“Peter Parker’s glucose levels are devastatingly low. His vitals indicate that he is suffering from malnutrition and needs to seek medical attention immediately -”

“FRIDAY, call a suit,” Tony exclaims as he’s getting off of the couch, waiting to hear the rest while on his way to his kid.

“Yes, boss.”

“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Tony mumbles as he’s racing to the lab. In no time but it feels like too much time, he punches in his code and walks into the room, instantly getting into his suit, “FRIDAY, read me the rest of what Karen sent, put Peter’s vitals up on the screen.”

“Yes, boss, tracking his location now.”

The hero is out and flying to the location on the GPS only to see that the destination is at…the Parkers’ apartment.

The kid isn’t out.

And Tony has no idea if that’s a good thing or not.

Now knowing where he’s going, he turns off the GPS, trying not to let any panic set in at the boy’s ever slowly decreasing levels.

Or at the open window leading into the kid’s bedroom.

The billionaire stops right outside the window, carefully slipping inside and lifting up his faceplate.

He sees the tyke out cold on the bottom bunk of his bed, his left hand gripping his mask and a small puddle of drool next to his mouth. Tony would’ve thought this was adorable if he wasn’t so worried.

The older man kneels next to his kid and gives him a slight nudge, “C’mon, Pete, it’s time to wake up.” He nudges him a little more.

And a little more.

Tony gets more desperate as his anxiety skyrockets, “Peter, this isn’t funny, c’mon, wake up, we gotta get your idiotic ass fed yesterday.”

But Peter makes no notion of any plans to get up. The only way his mentor knows he’s still alive is by his vitals FRIDAY is whispering to him and the boy’s back rising and falling to the tune of his breathing.

“Kid, you’re really about to make me fucking do this,” Tony says with a sigh, grabbing the teen’s mask and putting if over his head to hide his identity, “FRIDAY, alert medbay, tell ‘em we’re on our way.”

“Roger that, boss.”

The mechanic slips his nameplate back over his face as he picks up his kid, positioning him like a toddler and sitting him on his arm, cupping the boy’s head to keep it close to his neck, “Might need two beds if I get a fucking panic attack over this,” he mumbles.

“Roger that, boss,” FRIDAY responds, not noticing the sarcasm.

“I didn’t mean - whatever,” Tony turns on his repulsors so he’s now hovering over the floor and with one leg at a time, he oh so gently flies out the window, not even bothering to close it as his suit takes off at full speed, determined to get this kid some help before…

He refuses to think about the rest of that sentence.

The entire flight back to the tower, Tony keeps a tight grip on his kid, damn near smushing Peter’s head against his neck. The man says occasional words of reassurance even though he knows no one is listening, “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo, you understand me? You have to be okay so I can whoop your ass later.”

Honestly, he’s not sure if he's saying this more to the kid or to himself.

He has superpowers, of course everything’s gonna be okay.

Because I said so, damn it.

-

Peter comes to, finding himself in a hospital gown on an equally uncomfortable bed, a bunch of wires attached to his left hand and a remote on the table to his right, assuming to adjust the bed and TV.

“What?” He mutters, taking in his surroundings. The room is a standard size with a marker board stating the healthcare professionals’ names, a portable cart containing whatever necessities the patient and doctor might need, along with an attached bathroom and window with a view of New York City.

What the fuck am I doing here?

He shifts on his bed in an effort to sit up but he accidentally hits something with his right leg.

The spider-boy tilts his head in confusion only to gasp at the sight of his father figure sitting in a chair next to him, fast asleep with his head on his kid’s bed, resting it on his crossed arms.

Peter can’t help but smile at the sight of Iron Man snoring but that doesn’t answer his question. He looks back down at the wires on his hand and follows them up to an IV bag with the label “glucose.”

Wait, glucose?

Everything hits the hero like a sack of potatoes as his mind takes him back to the last thing he remembers: the hunger, the little boy, Karen constantly telling him about his levels…

Deciding to take a nap.

And he wakes up here.

“Shit…shit, shit, shit, shit.”

The teenager jumps as he hears random beeps on some machine to his right. He feels his heart racing with panic and his legs start restlessly jerking from underneath his thin blankets, thus accidentally waking up his mentor.

Tony’s head snaps up when he feels his arms being nudged for about the fifth damn time. After blinking out of his stupor, he puts his focus on his frightened kid, “Peter, hey, hey,” he grabs hold of the tyke’s right hand and gives it a heartfelt squeeze, “Kid, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now -” he cuts himself off at noticing his words aren’t doing shit and his other hand goes the young genius’s shoulder, “Peter.”

The child stops abruptly, looking right at his hero. Said man gives him a reassuring smile and comfortingly rubs his shoulder to calm him, “You’re okay, buddy, take a breather.”

“Wha-what happened?” Peter asks between deep breaths, doing as his father figure says and trying to settle down, “Is May okay -”

“She’s fine,” Tony confirms, releasing his protege’s shoulder. He can feel the kid’s iron-grip in his hand and makes no move to let go, “She was here earlier but I made her go home for a bit and rest up. I’d rather there’d be one adult with a sore back than two.”

“Wait, how long was I out?”

“Well, considering it’s now,” the billionaire takes a brief look at his watch, “One PM, about fifteen hours, give or take. You had one hell of a nap, if I do say so myself.”

“That sounds like an amazing nap, I wish I savored it,” the teen replies, “But what happened?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Tony responds, face looking upset, “Why don’t you tell me why your levels were so low that I had to come get you in my damn suit and bring you back here?”

Peter sighs in frustration, “Glucose levels -”

“That’s right. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Um,” the spiderling starts, trying to be as vague as possible, “Dinner.”

Tony raises a confused eyebrow, “How much did you eat at dinner?”

“The normal amount,” Peter answers with a shrug.

Please don’t see through my bullshit.

“And you didn’t eat anything later on? You always have to eat something before bed.” 

“I, uh,” the boy lets go of their grip, feeling his hand start to tremble uncontrollably. He brings it to his lap and puts it with his other hand under the covers, “Forgot.”

“You forgot to eat,” Tony says, face the epitome of unamused, “How do you forget to eat, your stomach practically screams at ya.”

“I just-I just did, okay, I’m sorry -”

“Oh really, you’re sorry? This ‘forgetfulness’ put you in the damn hospital, ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it. I want you to tell me right now what the hell happened. Why did you let it get this bad?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Peter retorts, getting pissed at the man’s tone, “I didn’t want to end up like this, I thought I had it handled -”

“What handled, Peter?” At hearing no answer, the billionaire continues, “I already know about you Spider-Manning when you’re not supposed to -”

“It was one time! I couldn’t just let a kid get kidnapped cuz Spider-Man got grounded.”

Tony’s eyes soften at that, “Was that what happened last night?”

“Yeah, I heard it right outside the apartment building.” The teen’s voice lowers, “I was studying and I was about to get something to eat when I heard the kid scream, I-I couldn’t just let that happen. I was just gonna save the kid and come right back, I didn’t know it got that bad.”

“How hungry were you?”

“What?”

“How hungry were you?” The mechanic asks, repeating the question, “‘Cuz if you were just hungry, your levels wouldn’t’ve gotten that low. Kid, you were way past starving.”

The kid looks down in shame, feeling his cheeks heat up and he can only imagine how red they must look.

Tony then asks, trying to keep his tone as gentle as he can, “What is it that you’re so afraid to tell me, Peter?”

Peter looks up at him with sad eyes, biting his lip. 

Fuck, he’s seeing through my bullshit.

Seeing no chance at a loophole, he knows he has to bite the bullet…but how does he go about telling billionaire Tony Stark that he’s not eating because his aunt can’t afford more food?

Said man asks, keeping his same tone, “Why are you not eating?”

“I am eating -”

“But clearly not enough, why? When you’re with me, you eat ‘til the cows come home - oh shit,” Tony cuts himself off, covering his mouth as his eyes widen in fear.

Peter’s eyes narrow in utmost confusion, “What, what is it?”

“You’re not eating as much as you should,” the older genius mumbles, trying to piece all this together, “And you pig out when you’re here.” He turns to his kid, sporting a scared expression, “Do you throw it all up later?”

That makes the other’s skin prickle into goosebumps, his own eyes bugging out, “What?!”

“It all makes sense now,” Tony states, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms in concentration, “You eat like a horse when you’re with me, but I just brought you here because you’re not eating enough at your place. You already threw it up when you saved that kid, didn’t you -”

“Oh my God!” Peter shouts, the insinuation sinking in, “You think I have an eating disorder?”

“What the hell else is it, Peter? No wonder you were scared to tell me -”

“No, Mr. Stark, it’s not that, I promise it’s not that.” The kid swallows a lump in his throat as he briefly purses his lips, finally giving in, “You don’t understand.”

“Try me -”

“I’m serious, you won’t.” Peter props his elbows on his knees above the covers, putting his head in his hands, “And I don’t expect you to understand.”

Tony leans forward, crossing his arms next to Peter’s outer thigh, his face unreadable, “Then make me understand,” he says slowly.

After a long deep sigh, the boy finally spits it out, head still in his hands, “I don’t get enough to eat.”

“What?”

Peter lifts his head up, resting his hands in his lap, “I don’t get enough to eat. At home, I mean.”

“May doesn’t feed you enough -”

“No, she does, it’s not May’s fault. She feeds me enough food…for if I didn’t have powers.”

It takes a few seconds but the hypothetical lightbulb goes off over the man’s head, “May doesn’t know you have to eat more.”

The spider-boy silently nods his head. 

Tony asks, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

The tyke’s shoulders slump with dread. The guy who can buy fucking Google is about to hear his stupid working-class money troubles.

He then says, eyes looking everywhere but at his mentor, “‘Cuz she can’t afford it.”

“Wait, what?”

“She can’t afford it. I don’t know how she manages to buy enough for if I was just a normal human being, with all the bills and her loans and everything. She can’t buy more food for me, Mr. Stark. I’d love to get a job and help her out but I’m only fifteen -”

“Stop, stop right there,” Tony cuts him off, looking even more confused than he was earlier, “That’s what this is about? You don’t want her to buy more food?”

Peter looks up at the older man, looking offended, “It’s not that, I’d love for her to buy more food but she can’t. I’ve seen the bills when she thinks I’m not looking, or her student loans she’s behind on. God, if it wasn’t for my scholarship I wouldn’t even be going to Midtown ‘cuz we can’t afford it.” His voice lowers as humiliation sets in, “Which is why I have to get my history grade up.” His eyes grow to the size of his head, “Oh my God, my test is today -”

“Don’t worry about it, I called the school this morning, you can make it up next week.”

“Next week? But it’s Thursday -”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need more than one day to recuperate after all of this,” Tony says, slightly annoyed, “Why didn’t you tell me you guys are having money issues, I can help you out -”

Peter cuts him off with a humorless laugh, “You really think that’s gonna solve everything?”

“If it means to get you to eat more, it absolutely will,” the billionaire responds, raising his voice in offense.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it -”

“Then make me get it, for God’s sakes, you need money and I can give it to you -”

“We’re not a charity case, don’t you understand?” The child exclaims, “We’re doing fine, we don’t need help -”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing -”

“But we are!” Peter sighs deeply in frustration, “You’re not the first person to offer us money, okay? You don’t know how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

“For someone to try and help you out by giving you money. It sounds great on paper but you’ve never had someone give you this-this ‘look’ of pity that makes you feel this big,” Peter shapes his thumb and index finger into the shape of a “C”, with both fingertips almost touching, “All because you’re not making that much money. I just, I don’t wanna put Aunt May through that again. She’s proud of what she does, she loves what she does, she loves helping people. I don’t want anyone belittling her again.”

That makes Tony pause.

While yes, no shit he knows the vast majority of people don’t have his kind of money but most of the people in his life over the years only hung out with him because of his money. He’s never thought about the opposite end of that coin, how someone is proud of making a living, especially being in a profession that they love.

And that as long as they can provide for them and their family, they don’t need to be a billionaire to be happy.

“You really love May, don’t you?” Tony finally asks, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“More than anything,” his protege says with a nod of his head, “So please don’t tell her -”

“You know I can’t do that -”

“Please -”

“No, Pete, while your intentions are good, I can’t let you keep starving yourself like this. Who knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t in your suit, if I didn’t get that notification from Karen.” The older hero grabs hold of his mentee’s hand again, “Hey look at me.”

Peter reluctantly looks up at his father figure, his shame slowly but surely ebbing away.

Tony gently his thumb over the tyke’s knuckles, giving him a reassuring smile, “You deserve to eat. We’re gonna tell May and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

An unexpected third voice erupts from the doorway, “Tell May what?”

Both heroes’ heads snap to the front to see the woman herself walk in, closing the door behind her. She immediately rushes to the other side of her kid, giving him a hug, “How you doing, sweetie, you gave us quite a scare there.”

Peter hugs her back letting go of Tony’s hand, “I’m better now, thanks to Mr. Stark.”

“It’s nothing, bud,” the mechanic says, comfortingly rubbing the tyke’s knee, “I’m just glad I can help.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Tony,” May says when they separate, sitting down in her own chair opposite the older man, “I know I said that like a million times, but really, I owe you one -”

“You don’t owe me a thing, not where the kid is concerned.” Tony turns to his intern, “But you actually came at the perfect time ‘cuz Pete here has something he’s gotta tell you.”

“Oh?” May turns to her nephew, grabbing hold of his left hand, being mindful of the wires connected to him, “Is it about what happened, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, defeatedly, “I’m sorry I went out as Spider-Man but I had a good reason.”

“We’ll talk about that later, I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened, sweetie, you’ve been eating just like you always have, what was the problem?”

“That’s the thing, May,” the boy starts, scratching the back of his neck, “There’s something I didn’t tell you about me after I got my powers.” He doesn’t wait for her response, “I have to eat more than I used to to keep up with them. I have I guess what you call an ‘enhanced metabolism’, meaning I have to eat more than everyone else.”

The nurse’s eyes squint in confusion before her eyebrows raise as everything sets in, “Oh my God,” she says, leaning back in her chair and hand covering her face, not unlike what Tony did earlier, “So all this time you were starving yourself?”

“Well -”

“Why, Peter?! Why the hell would you do that?”

“‘Cuz I know you wouldn’t be able to afford it, okay?” Peter cries, “I didn’t want you to struggle any more than you already do -”

“Stop,” May cuts him off with another hug, her eyes glistening with unshed tears behind her glasses, “Stop, baby, stop.” She lets go and looks right in his eyes, “Don’t ever pull that shit with me again, you understand?” 

Peter nods his head, letting a small grin escape him at hearing a muffled snicker from Tony, “I promise. Um,” he takes a deep breath as his aunt settles back into her chair, “It’s also why my history grade is as bad as it is.”

“What?” Both adults ask at the same time.

“Uh,” the teen starts, fidgeting with his top blanket, “So the free lunch I get at school doesn’t fill me up obviously and Ned sometimes brings extra food and that helps…for a while.”

“I know where this is going,” he hears Tony mumble.

“Yeah, and history is my last class of the day so by the time that comes around, I’m really, really hungry so I have a hard time concentrating. In my defense though, it’s boring as shit.”

Both adults can’t help but giggle, “Yeah, history wasn’t my strong suit either,” Tony says, coming to his kid’s defense.

“Peter, this is why you need to tell me things,” May says, “You still understand why I punished you, though -”

“Yeah, even though I hated it. Is Spider-Man ungrounded now?”

“You get rested up and eat for once and we’ll talk.”

“Deal,” the kid confirms with a grunt.

As if on cue, his stomach releases an ever so slight gurgle. As much as the IV bag has helped, he needs actual food sustenance.

Tony says, pressing the button to call a nurse, “And on that note, let’s get you patched up and we’ll order in, how ‘bout that?”

May cuts in, “And you can have allll the orange chicken your tummy desires.”

Peter gives them both a timid smile, wincing as another growl rolls in his abdomen, “That sounds amazing.”

-

“Mr. Stark, I’m a failure.”

“Kid, you know you’re not, it’s just a few dates and inventions.”

“You make the Industrial Revolution sound like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

It is now the following week, the day before Peter’s makeup history test, and the father-son duo are in the lab after school. Instead of actually working on anything, Tony is helping his kid study.

If only he can get Peter to put the material in that hard head of his.

“You get into that mindset, and it will be the easiest thing in the world, bud.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter whines, “Your scholarship’s not riding on this.”

Aw, how cute that he thinks I won’t help him out.

“Forget about the scholarship, you’re already stressed as it is. Focus on the triple cheeseburger you’re gonna get after this thing is finally over.”

“The two triple cheeseburgers,” the kid shyly elaborates.

Ever since the tyke dropped that bombshell about him freaking starving himself, things have changed. For one, May - refusing Tony’s help - is buying more groceries and always makes sure her kid gets a lunch in addition to the free one that’s available. Whenever Peter stays with his father figure, things stay the same except now when Tony makes dinner, he purposely makes more for leftovers.

And now, the man is about to present his kid with another way to help him out.

“Pete, I think your brain might actually explode, let’s take a break for a sec, huh?”

After releasing a long, dramatic sigh, Peter drops his pencil, “Y’know what? Fuck history.” 

Tony can’t help but bust out laughing, “Kid, you know why you have to learn it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it’s not like I’m gonna be a historian or anything.” The teen gets up and walks over to where his father figure is standing, “Whatcha wanna work on?”

“Actually, I want you to do this for me first.” The billionaire takes a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and unravels it, holding it out to his protege, “I want you to sign right here, and initial here.” He points to the designated areas where a signature is required as the teen takes the document, reading what it says in confusion before his eyes widen in shock.

“You’re…you wanna make my internship a paid internship?” Peter asks, not believing what he’s seeing, “And May already signed it?”

“Yup, you’re not eighteen so I needed May’s approval. So,” Tony casually leans against the table, holding out a pen for the kid, “What d’ya say?”

“I-I,” the teen stutters, his gaze not leaving the sheet of paper, “But like it’s not actually an internship, that’s just a front -”

“Really? You think all the stuff you do around here is just a front?” The older genius asks with a cheeky smile, “Making up web fluid and all the repairs you help me do, I should’ve done this a long time ago if I’m being honest.”

Peter looks long and hard at the writing in front of him, occasionally glancing back and forth at both that and the man who put it together.

He’s not stupid, the kid knows why his mentor is bringing this to his attention.

And he’s grateful.

Tony could’ve tried offering money again, making him feel like a loser even though he didn’t mean it in that way.

But no, Iron Man is offering him a job, a job where he can continue doing what he loves while he helps out his aunt in the process.

He can feel accomplished…proud even.

A smile breaks out across the teen’s face as he takes everything in, thinking about what he can do with the money he’s going to make in addition to helping May: saving up for college, a car, and ooh that Nintendo Switch he’s been dying to have -”

His thoughts are interrupted by Tony clearing his throat, snapping him back to reality, “My arm’s getting tired here, kiddo, you in or not?” The man asks.

Peter takes the pen and lays the sheet on the table, signing on the dotted lines before giving it back to him, “Um, th-thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark, you’re amazing.” He concludes with giving him a hug, wrapping his arms around his hero’s torso thus making the older man gasp in surprise.

“Well, I already knew that,” Tony says jokingly, giving the tyke a light ruffle of his hair, “But it sounds so much better when you say it. You’re the amazing one, don’t doubt that.”

“Tell that to my history book.”

“Speaking of,” the mechanic starts with a snicker, “The Second Industrial Revolution -”

Peter cuts him off with a groan, defeatedly resting his head on the other’s chest, “You said I could take a break -”

“Yeah, for a sec.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“But you ‘needa’, c’mon, back to studying.” Tony lifts his mentee’s head and lightly pushes him back to the direction of his textbook, “So, who invented the telephone?”

“Uh, ‘Mr. Telephone’? He probably used his last name when he invented it.”

Tony lets out about the deepest sigh he’s ever expressed, “So this is how my hair goes gray.”

-

The following week, it is an ordinary day at the Parkers’ residence. May is preparing dinner while her nephew - who is still feeling satisfied from his after-school snack - is at the counter working on homework, trying not to stare so much at his history test that his aunt stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.

But damn, he’ll never get tired of seeing that shiny red “B-plus.”

There is a sudden knock at the door, making both Parkers tense up since they’re not expecting anybody.

May opens the door with her kid standing off to the side. On the other side stands a middle-aged man holding a clipboard with about half a dozen bags on the ground around him.

Are Peter’s eyes mistaken or do those bags look like the reusable ones grocery stores sell?

“Ms. Parker?” The man asks, voice neutral but friendly.

“Uh, yes?” May reluctantly responds, looking the epitome of confused.

“I got your groceries here for ya.”

“What, um I didn’t order anything, Peter, did you?” The nurse turns to her kid who responds with a simple shake of his head, his expression matching his aunt’s.

The man’s eyes squint at the small clipboard he’s holding, “Isn’t this your address, ma’am?” He holds the clipboard out to the older Parker and she studies the sheet for a couple of seconds, eyes looking more and more baffled.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s us but-but I don’t understand -”

“No need to explain, I’m just the messenger. If you would just sign right here, saying you received your items -”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not paying for something I didn’t order.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s all taken care of. All I need from you is your signature.”

“Uh,” May stutters, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Okay, sure.” She signs the paper and gives it back to him.

“Do you need assistance with the groceries today?”

“No, we got it from here, uh, thank you, thank you very much.”

“Alright, have a good day,” the delivery man then leaves them be. They pick up the grocery bags and bring them inside, quickly going through them as if it’s Christmas.

They gawk at the food items in front of them: steak, salmon, lobster, there’s even veal and duck amongst a pile of vegetables, some of which they’ve never even seen before.

“Where did all of this come from?” Peter asks, amazed at all that “Santa Claus” has graced them with.

“Wait, there’s a note.” May reaches the bottom of one of the bags and pulls out a mini note card that could mimic one that goes in a flower arrangement. She then reads aloud the brief message.

This is what you get for refusing help. Expect groceries every Monday and Thursday for the next, well, ever. 

Signed, “You Know Who I Am” -

“Mr. Stark,” Peter finishes with a disbelieving grin, “Of course he did this.”

May can’t help but laugh, not believing this herself as she gets out her phone, “I’m giving this man a piece of my mind.”

Her nephew giggles in response, already getting out his own phone and sending his father figure a text.

Thanks for the groceries but you reeeeeally didn’t have to do that

Tony responds not even a minute later.

I know 😉

Now for God’s sakes EAT!!

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {7}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Enjoy this long, emotionally charged chapter. Review trigger warnings above..

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Have you ever had so much to say that your mouth closed up tight struggling to harness the nuclear force coalescing within your words? Have you ever had so many thoughts churning inside you that you didn’t dare let them escape in case they blew you wide open? Have you ever been so angry that you couldn’t look in the mirror for fear of finding the face of evil glaring back at you?” ― Ellen Hopkins, Crank

Mor was at Azriel’s.

Feyre knew, because she had called her in a panic. After waking up to a naked Rhysand on the couch, his arm tossed around her waist, Feyre snuck away and closed herself in the bathroom, where she called Mor.

Hi, I need you, something happened.

Are you okay? I’m at Azriel’s, got in early. Come over.

After throwing on a pair of athletic leggings and a tank top, Feyre slipped on her flip flops and was running to the other side of the apartment complex, where she knocked quietly on Azriel’s door.

Mor opened it up, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand. “Well, hello, beautiful.”

“I fucked Rhys,” she whispered.

The two stared at one another in silence, Mor’s eyes wide, the mug in her hand long forgotten. She looked over her shoulder at the quiet apartment - Azriel and Mila must have still been asleep - and took a step outside, closing the door gently behind her. “You did what?” 

The panic set in again. “I….we had a little bit to drink and then, I don’t know, we were talking about that one time he banged Macy Woodsworth in high school, then I told him I had a sex dream about him, and it all escalated pretty quickly after that.” 

Mor blinked, lips parted. “You...slept with Rhys.”

Feyre’s face fell into her hands. “Fuck me.”

“It sounds like my cousin already did.”

Feyre’s hands fell to her side and she glared at Mor, who was smiling.

“Why are you smiling?” Feyre whined, sitting on the concrete outside of Azriel’s apartment. 

“Well, this is a good thing, right?” Mor asked, sitting next to her, legs crossed. “I mean, Rhysand has been in love with you for years, and you obviously care for him.”

Feyre tensed. “What?”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’ve never noticed. Everyone knows.”

“He’s my best friend-”

“No, no,” Mor said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Don’t give me that shit. Yes, he is your best friend. You two know each other more than anyone else. You have a bond that is unbreakable. To me, that sounds like the foundation of some solid soulmate-shit.” 

Feyre fell silent. Rhysand was in love with her. He had never said anything, never hinted at it. But, Mor was right. There were times when he would look at her, and she knew. 

“The second I woke up this morning, I felt so peaceful,” Feyre began, remembering the early morning light streaming through the living room window, lighting up his tanned skin. “But then I started to freak the fuck out. What if that was a mistake? What if I mess it up? What if we were to try something, and then it went to shit? Or, what if we don’t try something, and then it’s awkward because we had sex? I don’t want to lose him, Mor. He has been my one constant for all these years.” 

“Want to know what I think?” Mor asked.

Feyre nodded.

“You need to go wake his ass up and talk to him about it,” she said, patting Feyre’s knee. 

Feyre sighed. Of course, Mor would say the one thing she didn’t want to do. “I know.”

Mor smiled, and took her friend’s hand. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Feyre winked. “Sorry I woke you up so early to tell you that I banged your cousin.” 

Mor shrugged. “I like being the first to know things.”

Feyre snorted, and repeated, “I missed you.”

Mor grinned. “We’re going out tonight. I expect you and Rhysand to have talked it out and not make it awkward.”

Feyre nudged Mor’s shoulder. “Yeah, thanks, no pressure.” 

“Just saying,” Mor crooned. “If you show up acting weird, I’m getting you drunk and making you sing Madonna on karaoke again.” 

Feyre would never live that down. 

A few minutes later, she was walking back toward her and Rhysand’s apartment. The walk seemed to take forever, the nerves inside of her stomach growing wild and untameable. 

But when she opened their door and let herself inside, Rhysand was gone.

~~~~~

“I’m fucking coming!”

Cassian stumbled out of his bedroom and down the hall, Bryaxis on his heels. He glanced at the clock above the stove as he passed the kitchen. 

It was just after 8.

The knocking started again just as Cassian was throwing open the door, still half asleep. “Rhys?”

Rhys was covered in sweat, his shirt off and tossed over his shoulder. “Hi. Yeah. Good morning.”

He swept past Cassian, into his apartment.

“Did you run here?” Cassian asked, brows raised.

Rhysand nodded.

“Are you-“

“I had sex last night.”

Cassian halted, then nodded. “Nice. Proud of you. Thanks for coming by so early on a fucking Saturday to let me know.” 

Rhysand mumbled something as he opened Cassians fridge.

“Hmm?” Cassian asked,  closing his apartment door and pulling a chair out from the kitchen table. Once he sat, Bryaxis laid by his feet.

Rhysand closed the fridge and leaned against the counter. As he opened the water bottle he had grabbed, he said, “With Feyre.”

Cassian blinked, then a smile spread wide across his face. “Well, it’s about damn time.”

Rhysand rubbed his temples with his index fingers. “No, you don’t - she was gone before I woke up this morning. I tried calling her, but her phone was on the kitchen table. She’s fucking ignoring me. Probably regrets it.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Doubtful. I bet everything I have on the fact that you’re overreacting.” 

“Feyre doesn’t just get up and haul ass in the morning,” Rhysand continued, lost in his thoughts.

With a sigh, Cassian got up and pulled a bottle of whiskey off the counter and a glass out of the cabinet. He poured it a fourth of the way up the side and handed it to Rhysand.

“It’s eight o clock in the morning.”

“Yeah, well,” Cassian said, pushing the glass into Rhysand’s chest. “You need it.”

Taking the glass, Rhysand hopped up onto the counter top and gulped it down. 

“Take it easy,” Cassian muttered. “Did something happen? Was it awkward? Like that one time with Macy Woodsworth?”

Rhysand shot him a glare. Cassian brought up the Macy Woodsworth situation at every opportunity. “No. It was great. Natural.”

“Was she...pleased?”

Rhysand took a deep breath in before punching Cassian in the shoulder.

He just laughed. “Ow. I’m just saying. It’s a valid question. Maybe her expectations were too high….”

“Prick,” Rhysand mumbled. “Trust me, I did my part well.” 

“And did she?”

“I hate you.”

“Just curious.” Cassian grinned. “Look, I’m sure she’ll be waiting at the apartment when you get back. Alright? We’re all going out tonight, though, and if you two make it weird, I swear I’ll kick your ass.” 

“I-”

“Go home, Rhys. Proclaim your love. Have a Shakespeare moment.”

Rhysand lifted a brow. “A Shakespeare moment?”

“Yeah, like Romeo and Juliet,” Cassian said, pulling a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.

“I’m assuming you’ve never actually paid attention to Romeo and Juliet, Cass.”

“True,” he agreed. “Not the point. Go home. Talk to Feyre.”

“But I-”

“Home. Feyre. Fucking go.”

Rhysand’s lips tightened but he nodded. “Fine.”

“Good boy,” Cassian grinned. “And I’ll see you both tonight.”

Rhysand mumbled something incomprehensible before flipping him off, giving Bryaxis a quick tummy rub, and storming out. 

He was always so over-dramatic. 

“Wanna go for a walk, Ax?” 

Cassian had barely gotten the words out before Bryaxis was running toward him. After hooking his leash onto his collar, Cassian slipped on his tennis shoes and fled. 

Cassian preferred walking in the morning. The heat wasn’t out in full force yet. Bryaxis, however, liked walking, always, and getting him out of the house was much easier than getting him back in. 

“Do you ever wear a shirt?”

Cassian tugged on Bryaxis’ leash and turned around. Walking behind him, along the Sidra, was Nesta, one earbud in her ear. She wore a pair of shorts, a black sports bra, and her tennis shoes. 

Cassian looked over his shoulder, then back to Nesta. “Shit, are you talking to me?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, and I already regret it.”

Cassian smirked. “And you’re admiring my body, it seems.”

“Asking you why you’re half nude is not the same as admiring you,” Nesta said, stopping in front of him, hands across her chest. “You shouldn’t think so highly of yourself.”

Cassian shrugged. “Someone has to.”

He swore she almost smiled. 

“Look,” she began, looking away. “I was going to come by later. To tell you thank you. For yesterday.” 

Cassian tried not to look too shocked. “What are neighbors for?”

She nodded, starting to walk past him. “Right. Well, I’ll see you around, then.”

Cassian watched as she picked up her pace before calling out, “Hey! A bunch of us are going out tonight, you should come.” 

Nesta turned around, jogging backwards. “Don’t push it.” She turned her back to him, and then she was gone. 

~~~~~

Azriel cursed. “When was the last time we all went out together? High school?”

“Something like that,” Mor grinned. She looked in the backseat, at Mila. “Are you excited to play with your friend?”

“Yes!” Mila grinned, just as they pulled into the driveway. “We’re here!” 

Azriel laughed as he parked his truck. “Be right back.”

Mor nodded and bid Mila goodbye. 

She hopped out of the truck into Azriel’s arms and, along with her backpack, he carried her to the front door and rang the bell. Elain opened the door a second later, smile bright. “Hi, Mila!”

“Lain!” she giggled. 

Azriel set her down. “Hey, thank you again for agreeing to watch her.”

Azriel had felt uncomfortable asking, but he didn’t trust many people with Mila, and Mila really seemed to get along well with Elain. 

“It’s really no problem,” she smiled, leaning against the doorway. “I figure we’ll play some games, have dinner, and watch a movie.”

“Yay!” Mila laughed, bringing her backpack inside. 

“Sounds great,” Azriel said, attempting his best smile, hoping he didn’t look too unconvincing. “I’ll be back around 10 or so, if that’s not too late.”

“Not at all,” Elain said, eyes soft. “You have my number. Feel free to call.”

“Likewise,” Azriel said. “Alright, Mila. I’m leaving. I love you. Be good, please.”

She rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “I’m always good!”

Azriel snorted. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Go enjoy yourself,” Elain said. She truly had a beautiful smile. “We’ll be fine.”

Azriel nodded. “No, I know. I just...call me if you need anything, yeah?”

Elain nodded. “Of course.”

After one last goodbye to Mila, Azriel was back in the car. The second he closed the door, Mor was staring him down. 

“Yes?” Azriel sighed, pulling out of the driveway.

“You are so into her,” Mor said, shaking her head.

“Wipe that smile off your face,” Azriel said. “No, I’m not.”

“Are too. I was watching every second of that.”

Azriel eyed her. “You couldn’t even see my face.”

“Az, honey, I’ve known you for a long time. I know your body language. I have never seen you as relaxed as you were for those three minutes.” Mor grinned. “You’re fucking smitten.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “I don’t even know her. All I know is that she was the fucking prom queen. Do you know what I did at prom? I was getting baked under the bleachers.” 

“Well, we’re not in high school anymore, are we,” Mor added, clearly amused. “You should ask her out.”

“No.”

“You should know by now that I don’t take no for an answer.”

Azriel just laughed, and shook his head. “You drive me crazy.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” Azriel sighed. “Yes, I do.”

~~~~~

“Just come to the bar, alright? I’ll ask the guys if they know where he’s at.”

“Fine. Be there in ten.”

Mor hung up. Feyre had called her nearly ten times that day, freaking out. Although, if Mor slept with her roommate and that roommate had avoided her all day, Mor probably would freak out, too.

She sat back at their table in the corner alongside Azriel and Cassian.

“Have either of you heard from Rhysand today?”

Azriel shook his head, but Cassian sighed. “Yeah, he showed up at my place way too early this morning. He was panicking.”

Mor raised a brow. “Is he still at your apartment?”

Cassian chuckled. “Fuck no, he left like twenty minutes later.”

“Why was he panicking?” Azriel asked, sipping his rum.

“Because he slept with Feyre,” Mor and Cassian said, simultaneously. 

Azriel slowly set his glass back down on the table. “And I’m the only one that didn’t know?”

Before either could reply, a small woman with short, black hair and a deep, green mini dress slid into the booth next to Cassian.

He grinned, throwing his arm around her. “Ah, Amren. How I’ve missed you.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and Amren just scoffed. “Don’t flatter me. Continue talking about how Rhys fucked Feyre, please.”

Azriel blinked. “Seriously? You knew? You just got here!”

“I’ve seen it coming for some time,” Amren grinned, and Mor loved that grin, because it typically terrified men.

Too bad the two men at the table were used to that grin. 

“Can you see where Rhys is now?” Mor asked. “Because, apparently, he’s missing.”

“And Feyre?” Amren asked.

“On her way,” Mor supplied. “She’s been wound up tight all day. The woman needs a drink.”

“Well, good thing we’re at a bar,” Cassian said, calling the waitress for a pitcher of beer. 

Then, his smile faded as he looked toward the door. “Ah, fuck.”

Mor looked over her shoulder where Rhysand stumbled in. He was still wearing his running clothes, which were wrinkly and surely smelled like shit. He saw his friends and waved, obnoxiously, before heading to the table.

“Mor,” he smiled, eyes glazed and lids heavy. “Amren, fuck, so fucking nice to see you. Welcome home.”

“You okay, bud?” Azriel asked, cautiously.

“Oh, I’m fucking great,” Rhysand beamed. “Yeah, no, I’m so...so fucking great.”

“Have you been back home today?” Mor asked. “Feyre’s been looking for you.”

Rhysand’s hand clutched his chest and he frowned. “Oh, fucking Feyre, I fucking...No, no no no, I’ve been ignoring her. Because she hates me.” He threw his hands in the air.

“How much have you drunk? Have you been drinking all day?” Cassian asked. “Because you're scaring me. You know, a little.”

“Let him make a fool of himself,” Amren muttered. “Entertainment for all.”

“Let’s sober him up before Feyre gets here,” Mor said, reaching for Rhysand’s hand.

But he stumbled back. “Feyre,” he began, “is coming now? Oh, no, no, no...I’m not-not ready.”

But the front door opened, once more, and Feyre came in. She spotted them all, then Rhysand, and froze, before taking a deep breath and walking their direction. 

“Feyre!” he called out to her, holding his arms open. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

Feyre eyed him wearily as she approached, then turned to the others. “He’s already “fuck” drunk?”

Rhysand’s mouth became significantly dirtier as his alcohol consumption increased, it was true. 

“Yeah,” Mor said. “He was drunk when he got here.”

Feyre blinked, then looked to Rhys. “Rhys-”

“D-Dance with me,” he slurred, before grabbing her hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. 

“Poor Feyre,” Azriel muttered.

“Poor Rhys,” Cassian followed. “Because I’m never going to let him live this down. This falls right under Macy Woodsworth.”

Amren snorted. “For someone so handsome, he certainly knows how to embarrass himself.”

Mor watched him dance with Feyre, brow furrowed. Rhysand wasn’t okay. She knew her cousin, he didn’t get this drunk for no reason. He was in love with Feyre, she knew he was, but something wasn’t right. He had waited for years to have a moment like this with her, and now, he was drunk as fuck and acting like an idiot. 

Feyre let him swing her around the dance floor, but she was watching him intently. 

“Should I go save her?” Mor asked. “Come on, Az.”

Azriel hesitated. “What? Why me?”

“Cause you’re sitting next to me and Cassian likes dancing with Amren. She lies and tells him how great he is.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a great dancer.”

Amren grinned, that little, wicked grin. “Yes, you are. Now come.”

Cassian followed Amren out of the booth, sticking his tongue out at Mor as he did so.

Mor just rolled her eyes. “Come on, Az. Please. For me.”

Azriel sighed. “I hate dancing.””

“But you love me,” she smiled, pulling on his hand. Reluctantly, Azriel let her drag him out onto the floor, next to Rhysand and Feyre.

Feyre was watching Rhysand wearily. 

“You okay?” Mor mouthed, as Azriel pulled Mor into his arms. As much as he claimed he hated dancing, he was a lovely dancer. 

Feyre nodded, attempting a smile, but Mor knew better: her eyes were full of worry. 

“Enjoy yourself,” Azriel whispered into her ear. “They can take care of themselves.”

Mor knew he was right, but it was hard watching your closest friend and your cousin in such an odd situation. “Fine,” she called back. “Now, tell me how you’ll ask Elain out.”

Azriel shook his head, but he was smiling, faintly. “You are a pain in my ass, you know that?”

She nodded, and twirled herself around. “Yes, yes I do.”

~~~~~

“I like this movie.”

Elain had dug up The Land Before Time, which her father had kept through the years from her childhood. It was on VHS, but was eventually transferred to a DVD, which was how they were now watching it.

“I like Littlefoot,” Mila continued. “He’s nice.”

“Yes, he is,” Elain chuckled. “Your uncle will be coming to get you soon, but I think we’ll be able to finish the movie before then.”

Mila looked over at Elain, on the opposite end of the couch. “Do you think Uncle Azzie is cute?”

Elain’s brows rose. “Why do you ask that?”

Mila shrugged. “Some girls at the store were telling Uncle Azzie he was cute. Do you think he’s cute?”

“I suppose so,” Elain said, trying not to laugh.

“He thinks you’re cute, too,” she said, looking back toward the t.v.

Elain froze. “Why do you say that?”

“I asked him,” she said, as if it were nothing.

Then again, could she really trust the word of a four year old?

“Well, that’s very kind,” Elain continued, unable to find anything else to say.

“I love Uncle Az,” Mila smiled, stifling a yawn. “But I miss mama.”

Elain watched the little girl for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry to hear that, Mila.”

Mila looked over at Elain. “Uncle Az says she has to go bye-bye. I won’t see her for a long time.”

Elain tried to connect the dots, but came up short. 

“Will you marry Uncle Azzie?” Mila asked, when Elain said nothing.

Elain nearly choked on nothing, the air growing thicker. “I don’t think so, Mila.”

“But I want you to,” she said. “I like you.”

“I like you, too,” Elain said.

Mila didn’t say anything more after that. She watched the movie for about five more minutes before she was sleeping soundly.

It wasn’t much longer until the doorbell rang, and Elain hurried toward the door. Azriel stood on the front porch, hands in his pockets.

“Right on time,” Elain said, stifling a grin. “You could’ve stayed later, you know. She’s been great.”

“I have trouble letting loose,” he said, then shrugged. “So I’m told.”

Elain laughed, and nodded. “I see. Well, she’s asleep on the couch.”

She stepped aside and, after a polite nod, Azriel came in. He saw Mila and chuckled. “She’s an interesting four-year-old, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Elain agreed. “She’s very….observant.”

Azriel’s smile wavered, but he nodded. “Yes, she is.”

Elain grabbed Mila’s unicorn backpack off a chair in the corner and handed it to Azriel. He put it over his shoulder. 

“Thank you, again,” he said, quietly, smiling at Elain. For once, his smile didn’t seem forced. “Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Elain said. “Truly.”

That smile returned, and Elain felt it throughout every inch of her body.

Azriel scooped Mila up off the couch and cradled her in his arms. 

Azriel walked to the door, but then he stopped. “Hey, um, I was….wondering. I know we don’t know each other that well, at all, really, but, I...would you like to go out to dinner? Maybe Friday night?”

Elain froze. He was asking her out? She hesitated, and a nervous laugh shook her body. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Elain nodded, that nervous laugh returning.

Azriel smiled, and cleared his throat. “Alright. Great. I’ll text you?”

Elain bit her lip. “Perfect.”

“Okay,” Azriel said, quietly.

“Okay,” Elain said, too. 

Azriel laughed quietly as he pushed open the door and carried Mila to his truck. “Goodnight, Elain.”

“Goodnight,” she breathed, but the door had already shut. She watched him put Mila into her car seat, then got behind the wheel, himself.

She noticed a woman sitting in the passenger side.

She must be a friend.

Family, maybe.

After they drove away, Elain gingerly shut the door and leaned back against it, the Land Before Time still playing in the background.

He’d asked her out.

Elain was going out on a date.

~~~~~

“Not that I don’t love having you, but why don’t you wanna stay with your parents?”

Amren snorted. “My dad is a dick and my mom kisses his ass. I prefer the company of Bryaxis.”

Cassian laughed, under his breath. “Not my company?”

Amren debated it. She shrugged. “You’re the bonus.”

“I’ll take it,” Cassian grinned, pulling into his parking spot. “Speaking of Bryaxis, he’s probably aching to go out.” 

He got out, and Amren was close behind. She had left her belongings at her parents house earlier that day. She’d stopped to visit them before she took the bus to meet the others at the bar. She promised to get her bag filled with necessities tomorrow; but, until then, she’d sleep in Cassian’s old Velaris High Basketball tee. 

They reached his apartment, and went inside. The moment they entered, Bryaxis was jumping up on Amren.

“I’ll never understand why he likes you more than me,” Cassian muttered.

Amren grinned as she scratched Bryaxis behind his ears. “I love you too, Ax. Yes I do.”

Cassian slipped off his boots and crashed on the couch. “So, tell me what’s been going on lately. What have I missed while you’re away at school?”

Amren sighed. “In a year, I will finally have my degree and be able to open my own law practice. Until then, I will be hiding away in my apartment in Adriata, hoping all the other college assholes leave me alone. I’m so fucking sick of going to school.”

Cassian chuckled. “Well, I’m proud of you. You’re almost done.”

Amren agreed and stretched out on the floor, alongside Bryaxis. “I met a guy.”

Cassian’s gaze snapped to where she laid atop the rug. “Yeah?”

Amren nodded, still focused on petting Bryaxis. “Yeah. Varian. He’s a good guy.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll pretend I’m not offended that you didn’t tell me.”

Shaking her head, Amren snorted. “Mor knows, but that’s all. I didn’t want to tell everyone if it was nothing.”

“And?” Cassian asked, tossing an arm behind his head. “Is it nothing?”

Amren took a moment to answer. She laid on the rug, petting Abraxos, who was in Heaven. “He’s special.”

Cassiain’s smile softened as he said, “Good.”

The two sat in silence for a moment - a comfortable silence. He and Amren had known each other since high school. They had spent many nights, up late talking about everything and nothing. After Cassian’s mother died his senior year, it was Amren who laid awake with him at night, sitting with him in complete silence, keeping him company so he didn’t feel so alone.

“What about you?” Amren asked. “Is there a woman?”

A woman with spiteful, gray-blue eyes popped into his mind, but he quickly shook the thought away. “Happily single.”

“Which means you have a lot of meaningless sex.”

Cassian laughed, voice light. “Sex isn’t such a bad thing.”

Amren was quiet for a moment before she said, “It’s better when you care about the person, though.”

Cassian stayed quiet. She wasn’t wrong, he knew as much. And he agreed with her. But, finding someone you cared about, who cared about you, too, was much easier said than done.

“Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find that soon, then,” he said, quietly.

Amren had closed her eyes, but she still said, “You will, Cassian. I know it.”

“Since when did you become such a romantic?” he laughed.

“Since Varian,” she confessed. “Since I grew older and realized there was more to companionship than pleasure.” 

Cassian sighed. “I’m too busy at work to find anything serious.”

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it,” Amren scoffed. “You spend half your time rebuilding motorcycles. That doesn’t affect your ability to find someone who cares for you, Cass. We’re inching up into our thirties, it’s time to settle down.”

Thirties.

Cassian groaned. He felt like, just yesterday, they were all seventeen without a care in the world. Then, suddenly, they were adults. He was twenty-seven. There was only so much time left. Life went by fast. Some days he felt like an adult, sure, but other days he felt like a kid playing dress up, pretending to have his shit together when he really didn’t. 

“This Varian guy,” Cassian began, “he treats you good, yeah?”

Amren nodded, and she smiled, and for once her smile didn’t make Cassian fear for his life. “Yeah, he does.”

“Good,” Cassian whispered, and the room fell quiet.

He closed his eyes, wondering what his neighbor across the hall was doing. He couldn’t read her, not one bit. Last night, she was biting his head off. And yet, this morning, she had thanked him. 

Maybe he would invite her over for a drink, one more time.

Really. How many times could she say no?

~~~~~

By the time Feyre dragged Rhysand into their apartment, he was finally starting to sober up. Considering he was already drunk as hell when he got to the bar, they all vowed to let him not drink anything else - besides water. It worked, for the most part, although Feyre caught him sneaking a shot out of the corner of her eye at one point.

The car ride was silent, and she only had to pull over once for him to puke on the side of the road.

The moment he walked through the front door, he was stumbling to the couch, eyes half-closed.

Feyre got him some ibuprofen and a lemon-lime Gatorade before plopping down next to him.

“Here,” she said.

He took them, gladly.

Then, he asked, “Are you going to yell at me?”

Feyre shrugged.

Rhysand sighed, closing his eyes. “I wish you would. Yelling is better than silence.”

“Yelling would imply that I’m mad,” Feyre said.

“Aren’t you?” he asked.

Feyre took a minute to consider. No, she wasn’t mad. She was confused. “I’m not mad, Rhys, I just….where the fuck were you all day? After last night…” Feyre’s words trailed off and she tried to convince herself that her eyes were growing blurry because she was tired.

Rhysand must have heard it in her voice because he opened his eyes and looked at her. And she knew the emotion that sparked in those beautiful, violet eyes: guilt. 

He hung his head as he said, “I know, I was an idiot today. But, I woke up and you were gone, and I panicked.” He met her gaze, his brows furrowed. “I thought that, if you were hauling ass so early in the goddamn morning that I did something wrong. So, I went for a run, somehow ended up on the other side of town at Cassian’s, and his go-to for everything is whiskey, so he gave me a shot, and that calmed me down, but then he kicked me out because I was being a fucking idiot, so I left, and I was coming back here….but then I passed a bar where everything on draft was half price, so I went in there….”

Feyre was trying not to laugh now, and Rhysand gave her an apologetic smile.

“Long story short,” he went on, “is that I got intolerably drunk and made a fool of myself.” 

“Mhmm,” Feyre grinned, wiping at her eyes. “Yeah, you did.” 

“Yeah,” Rhysand whispered, and placed his palm gently, lovingly, against her cheek. 

She leaned into his touch. 

“I was at Az’s this morning,” Feyre said. “Seeing Mor. Because I was panicking, too.”

Rhysand tensed.

“Not because I regret it,” Feyre added, quickly. Rhysand’s body relaxed. “We’ve just been friends for so long, Rhys, and you’re the most important person in my life. I thought that you might regret last night, or that we’d start...dating, or whatever, and I would mess it up. Then I got worried because I thought it may be too soon, after Tamlin, you know? I mean, I know our relationship was shit for a long time, but I only moved out a month ago. Then, after he knocked you on your ass last week-”

“I was unprepared,” Rhysand muttered.

Feyre huffed a laugh, fingers grazing over the fading bruise on his cheek. “That’s not the point.”

Rhysand nodded, smiling affectionately. He held Feyre’s hand in his as he said, “I won’t pretend that I know what’s going to happen with us, Feyre, but even if one of us messes this up somewhere along the line - which, it would definitely be me, I think I proved that today - I wanna do it. I wanna do this, us. I don’t regret last night. I could never regret it, Feyre, I’ve wanted to do that for a fucking long time, with you.”

Those tears returned to Feyre’s eyes, and she cursed herself for getting so emotional. But it was Rhysand, her Rhys, and she couldn’t help it. 

“I love you, Feyre,” he breathed. “I have always loved you.”

Feyre laughed, and she didn’t know why she was laughing, why she was crying while she was laughing. Confusion swept over Rhysand, but even he was unable to stop his smile as he watched her. 

“Why the fuck are you laughing?” he said, smiling brightly as he wiped away her tears.

“Because today was ridiculous,” she said, laughter still lacing her tone. “Rhys, I love you, too. You know I do.”

Her voice was quiet, but Rhysand clung to every word. 

“I’m sorry I was gone this morning,” she said, pushing his hair back, off his forehead. 

Rhysand chuckled. “I’m sorry I was getting drunk all day.”

Feyre laughed, and Rhysand leaned into kiss her, but she stopped him, fingers against his mouth. “Take a shower, brush your teeth, and meet me in my bed.”

Rhysand’s eyes lit up, and then he smiled, playfully. “I have a better idea.”

“Oh no,” Feyre said, shaking her head. “That smile - I don’t trust that smile.”

Rhysand stood up from the couch and pulled Feyre toward him, picking her up, tossing her over his shoulder.

Feyre yelped, and laughed. He was still in the clothes he wore running that morning. “You smell so gross!”

Rhysand’s body shook with laughter, and then he bit her ass, through her jeans, which was right by his face - which, Feyre was certain, was why he picked her up in such a position. 

Feyre shrieked and smacked him in the back as he brought her into the bathroom, started the shower, and stripped her down. 

~~~~~

Nesta couldn’t sleep.

Her father’s words replayed in her mind. They were always replaying in her mind. Everyone says you shouldn’t hate your blood, but Nesta loathed that man. 

Your mother…good thing she didn’t wait to see how you turned out.

Maybe he’d been right. Her mother would not be impressed with her. She would surely be ashamed, disappointed, embarrassed.

Maybe it was better that she was dead.

The thought shook through Nesta’s core, and she instantly felt guilty for thinking such a thing. Her mother had been a saint - a kind, beautiful woman. 

Nesta tried to convince herself to cry at her mother’s memory, but nothing came.

Emotionless.

Numb.

She wandered into her bathroom and flicked on the lights, cringing at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her eyes glazed over from exhaustion and the bottle of chardonnay she had downed. She barely filled out the thin, black nightgown she had on. She’d barely eaten that day, barely eaten since the failed dinner the night before. Constant anxiety and crippling depression had that effect. 

She opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of painkillers, prescribed to Tomas after his shoulder surgery the year before. 

She took out two, took out her toothbrush from the glass toothbrush holder, and used the bottom of it to crush them up until they became a fine, clumpless powder. She found a thin comb and used the straight end to gather the remnants into as much of a straight line as she could. . 

She pulled back her hair and took one last look in the mirror.

No.

Her mother would not be proud.

Her father was definitely not proud, even though he was no better than she was.

Elain was worried.

Feyre ignored her.

Tomas, the dick that he was, even thought she wasn’t worth it. 

But none of it bothered her.

“Fuck,” she breathed, anger brewing. She just wanted to fucking feel something, anything, other than fucking anger, all the fucking time. “Fuck!”

She was tired of it.

Tired of the numbness.

Tired of being pissed the fuck off.

She hated it.

Hated what she had become, hated what her life had become. 

Her dad had been right.

He was always right.

Nesta clenched her teeth, closed her lips, closed one nostril with her middle finger, and breathed in the line with the other. 

Maybe now she would get some fucking sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty  @starkovsnesta​   @redisriding​  @photofeesh

@mariamuses​   @tswaney17    @amaranthas-whore​   @awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr​  @rachaels14 @faequeenaelin​  @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn​ 

@hashtolanashoba  @poisonous00​  @chemicha @samotita​

@mynewdreamwasyou​ @humming-asong​  

@candid-confetti @awkward-avocado-s​ 

@my-fan-side @queen-of-glass​

@ifangirlninja  @sleeping-and-books  @burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls

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@midnightrose-reader​  @lord-douglas-the-third​  @thestarguidingyouhome​

@empress-ofbloodshed​

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 42

Previous Chapters in the masterlist

A/N: I usually don’t include important storyline and smut in the same chapters if someone doesn’t enjoy smut, but this time I did. So if you don’t like smut, you can read the first part and when it says “keep reading” don’t read it because it’s smut.

Triggers: first half: talking about body issues, eating disorders, bullying, body change, thoughts about possibly having kids; family issues. Second half: SMUT.

  Tag list: @mary-ann84​  @yespolkadotkitty​ @constip8merm8​ @iloveyouyen​  @wondersofdreaming​ @alyxkbrl​ @solariumss​  @sweetybuzz25​ @thethirstyarchive​ @agniavateira​   @honeyloverogers​ @hell1129-blog​   @lunedelorient​​  @michelle-1185​​  @madbaddic7ed​​     @summersong69​​ @kaatelyyynn​​ @henrythickcavill​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @desperate-and-broken​ @peakygroupie​  @ivvitm1109​  @the-soot-sprite @whyyoudothistomecavill @thevelvetseries​ @thetaoofzoe​

Even if you were alone in your house, you closed the bathroom door just in case Henry happened to walk in. Every day, you would grab a pillow and put in under one of your sleeping shirts -that you stole from your boyfriend. The plan was to see how you would look like if you were pregnant. Giving the fact that you suffered from body issues for a long time, and it wasn't completely a thing of the past, you thought that you should feel comfortable with your body changing if you were to have a baby someday. People would think you were shallow if they knew you care so much about your appearance, but you couldn't help it: usually, people like you, who grew up in a town were all the girls looked like skinny Barbies and did not fell into that stereotype and was bullied because of the way you looked, as well as dealing with eating disorders, having that kind of body change could be extremely traumatic.

No matter what was the reason you gave to justify your decision of not wanting kids, people always would find a way to make you look bad: if you cared about your looks, you were vain; when you said that you didn't feel that maternal desire, they would assure you once you had the baby in your hands everything would change and if you pointed out that there are people who never develop that motherly instinct, they would lose their sh*t. A constant question you've heard was "Who's going to take care of you when you're old if you don't have kids?" "well, isn't it selfish to bring a kid to the world for the purpose of taking care of you?" you would reply, which of course would make people go mad. As a contrast to that people, you didn't judge them for their decision. If they wanted kids to have company and not to feel lonely or because they wanted someone to take care of them when they're older or put their desire of being parents above everything else -like economic stability, to make sure that you'd have the time to take care of it, etc. that was ok, it was none of your business. Oddly enough, the looks weren't what scared you the most about pregnancy. Whenever you thought about carrying a child, you got a claustrophobic sensation; it simply felt weird. The other terrifying thought was labour. Some of your closest friends had traumatic experiences while bringing their kids into the world and you didn't know if you could ever go through something like that.

Despite all those negative points, the thought of having a little kid to play with you and your man was delighting. You adored his nephews and niece and loved to play with them. The ones who lived in London were practically teenagers now so you could play your favourite video games with - like Mortal Kombat and Resident Evil. With the younger ones who you met when you were in Jersey, you would like to play games outside and more artistic activities like drawing. Thomas was probably your favourite because he wanted to learn guitar and you started to teach him - even bought him a black Les Paul Gibson that you were planning to give him as a Christmas present.

After taking a shower, you changed and put on some makeup and when you finished getting ready, you called a cab to take you to Henry's place so you would go to the airport together.

Henry's family invited you to spend Christmas with them in Jersey. At first, you didn't know how to react: on one hand, you were super excited; your family rarely celebrated the holiday -for them it was just another day. For you it was not, you would pretend that it was, but secretly wanted a big family celebration and you were finally getting one. On the other hand, however, you were nervous because his family knew about your break up. It was silly because it wasn't like you fought or anything, but you weren't sure how they would look at you for that. Henry assured you that he had to hear his mom gave him a speech about he was making a huge mistake and she was overjoyed when she found out that you were back together.

Henry was used to flying in business class but flying in first class was one of the few luxuries you liked to give yourself.

As you went to the toilet, your boyfriend awaited for you. He was reading one of the books of The Wheel of Time series, again - he read those books like a thousand times.

A hand covered your mouth as you opened the door to get out, and then you were back inside as Henry looked the bathroom.

- What are you doing? - you spoke softly and he shushed you and smirked devilishly.

He started to kiss you and then you felt his hand inside your pants. He pressed you against the tiny wall and pressed his lips against yours and other parts of your body while his finger rubbed your clit. His free hand grabbed yours as your fingers intertwined. He kissed that hand and then his mouth reached yours once again. You moaned silently against his mouth after reaching climax. You would have loved to pleasure him with your mouth, but he was so big for that little space that it was hard for you to get on your knees.  So you copied him and used your hand to please him. After playing with his manhood for a few minutes, it was hard and ready for action. He picked you up, holding you by your tights and after you put him inside of you, he started to pound you. The adrenaline that gave you the fear of being caught made things even hotter. You knew that if somebody found out what was happening, you would end up in every magazine and website because both of you were famous and people love a good sex celebrity 'scandal'. The tongues danced in each other's mouth ferociously as your hands grabbed his hair between your fingers. It wasn't a big problem for you to remain quiet because you were more into the silent type of lover, you showed your pleasure through gestures rather than noises, your man on the other side, he was always as loud as it gets and he was suffering by not being able to grunt and moan loudly as he does when you two have sex. He wasn't the kind of aggressive lover - he was passionate but tender, but this time, when he finished he bit you quite hard on the shoulder to avoid making noise. Of course, you did not complain about that pain was delicious.  You were extra careful when it came to using protection and always used condoms, but once in a while you would forget about it so, thankfully you had an IUD for extra security -and both got tested to be sure there was nothing to worry about it you were to forget a condom.

He went out first so you could refresh yourself and then you joined him.

Thankfully, first class wasn't packed of people and apparently, no one noticed that you two were gone. You spent the rest of the flight giggling and he kissed your hand as he told you that he loved you, not with words, but with those ocean blue eyes and that smile that brightened even the darkest of days.

[angryschnauzer]

An update for Chez Schnauz. (don’t @ me for any of this please)

As you know i’m always very open about my life, and whats going on, and want to share a update so you can understand why i may miss your tag.

First up; Little Dude (my 5 1/2 year old son). He’s currently fighting a kidney infection, which is incredibly stressful for him and us. He was due to go for ADHD testing this April, but because of covid it was all cancelled. Throughout lockdown in the UK his condition worsened and me and hubby have had to learn very quickly how to work with Little Dude when he has an episode. He despises change and for him food is a big thing, and he only likes certain foods.  A couple of weeks ago LD suddenly started to wet the bed at night, which was very unusual because he had happily been toilet trained for well over 2 years and was pretty much always dry at night. At first we thought it was just down to the heatwave and how we were asking him to drink lots because of the 36C temperatures, but the heatwave broke and it was still happening. So we took him to the doctors and they found Glucose and Protein in his urine. Multiple tests later including a pinprick test for diabetes we thankfully ruled that out, and that there is no blood in the urine (plus no pain), we have been instructed to drastically change his diet... which is so incredibly hard because he has found comfort in his selected foods, and by changing it we have to be careful how we do it because of his ADHD and we don’t want to trigger him. So its meant lots of trips to health food shops to try and find kid friendly alternatives. I also am hyper aware of anything that could trigger a eating disorder as my own ED developed when i was around 6 years old.

Next up me; I’ve mentioned before about my distain for the NHS and how they are completely biased against people who are overweight. I’ve been asking for blood tests to get my hormones checked for EIGHT YEARS. Every time i ask i get refused. I get told that whatever my ailment (overweight, tiredness, nausea...) it’s caused by being overweight and they refuse to give me any tests. No amount of explaining that i have at most 1500 calories a day, that i have dieted my entire life, that i have PCOS, my mum has had her thyroid removed at age 40 (same age i am now), but still every request for testing is refused. I know a lot of people say ‘find another doctor’ but with the NHS that isn’t an option. You can’t skip the process and go straight to an endocrinologist (if thats the right word), you can’t swap GP practices unless you move house, and even then you will get the same answer. Private healthcare is almost non existant, and is VERY expensive (yes on par with USA). My husband has some private healthcare through his work but they are being very slow in confirming if i can persue this avenue with them. So at the moment i am stuck in limbo, suffering from fatigue, back ache due to my weight, and that i am gaining 2lbs/1kg a month without increasing my calorie intake. I still exercise as much as i can, but simply by the fact i am gaining weight without knowing why, exercise is starting to become difficult and is in turn causing issues like back pain. I am in a vicious cycle where the doctors insist the weight is the cause of my issues, and will not test me so they don’t have to accept that its the affect of a more serious condition.

On top of all that i also have Aspergers. I was diagnosed when i was 38, or more to the point i was re-diagnosed at 38, my original diagnosis was when i was 8 years old which my parents ignored as back in the 1980s if you had a child with autism they were stupid... and thus i had to deal with school and life thinking i was stupid and weird, when in fact i should have had support. So anyway, a huge part of my condition is that i get noise sensitive, so on top of all the stresses of this year, add in that my child is dealing with ADHD which means he is loud and talks the entire time he is awake, and i have no escape from it, i find myself wanting to shut myself in a dark silent room just to escape the chaos in my head. I don’t get time to decompress my mind in order to write or work or just think, so my writing is suffering, and that is usually a big escape for me. I can’t concentrate on anything during my son’s waking hours, he needs to be with someone (in the same room as him) whenever he is awake, so its at the point where i can’t even go to the bathroom on my own, if i pick up my phone he’s on me asking 100 questions, to the point i really don’t have the energy to explain who everyone is on tumblr/facebook, what i’m doing, and its to the point i can’t concentrate. Tags get missed, and that’s when tumblr even does give me a notification.

And yes we are very much looking forward to when he goes back to school. Yes i will be sending him, we are in the UK and at present our infection rate/death rate is dropping daily, there have been no cases in our county for a month. When there are cases and towns become hotspots, they go into local lockdown. The school has everything planned out and will be social distancing and there is no mixing between his class and other classes. Each class has its own arrival and pick up time so parents can’t mix between groups.  Little Dude needs the interaction with other children, and the trained support from his teacher, where we can finally get some guidance on his ADHD.

[wesimpforxiao]

My Backstory (IRL)

Before I begin, if you want nothing to do with hearing about abusive relationships, possible eating disorder, anxiety disorders/depression/suicide, sexual assualt, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual harassment, etc, SKIP THIS POST.

So, I would like to start off by saying the NSFW content I *try* to write always falls stale, 1. being because I get embarrassed or ashamed by my writing my own thoughts, and 2. because of the rest of this post.  So the Albedo NSFW may not happen, but I asked just in case (i have some of it written out, but it is very stale).  And also because I may or may not have accidentally triggered a trauma response as I was writing the Albedo post (oops...)

To begin, freshman year of high school, 14 yrs old, (I’m 20 and in college now), I started dating this guy that was in my grade.  I have an anxiety disorder, so when we started going out, I immediately stopped eating because I constantly felt sick to my stomach.  It wasn’t because I thought I was fat or anything, I just felt sick.  Think butterflies in your stomach times 10 and ALL the time.  We dated for a month before he broke up with me.  During that time, he had suddenly brought up the idea of me sending nude or bra/undie pics to him.  Him and his friend (who was in the call with us) tag-teamed and said that it was normal and asked when I would be ready to send pictures.  Both of them asked that.  Red flag number one.  I said 3 months just to please them, not that I was actually going to do it.

Once he broke up with me, I was DEVASTATED. I feel A LOT, and it was my first ‘relationship.’ Exactly a month later, he texted me, saying he wanted to be friends.  I said okay.  He never acknowledged my presence at school, often avoiding my eyes.  Sometime into that he had asked me what I would do if he had asked me out again, and when I said I’d say yes, he immediately texted back and said “i am so sorry, my friend [insert name] was texting you on my phone and I didn’t know until now.”  Red flag number two.

Then, after we had stopped being friends, a month passes.  He texts me again, this time saying “It’s been 3 months.”  Yeah.  Did you read the part where I said I’d consider sending pictures at 3 months? That only applied if we were dating for that long (and I still wouldnt do that), so where is his logic?  Now, I don’t know why I even got back together with him, but I did.  For a week.  And just like the first time, I felt sick to my stomach.  I always look back on this as a warning from God.  And this time, he wasn’t hiding his intentions.  He was CONSTANTLY making sexual jokes, sending inappropriate emoji ‘jokes,’ and asking for nudes.  He did not stop asking even when I told him to, and even when I told him it made my stomachache worsen.  I did not trust him, but I stayed for a full week of hell.  Eventually I slightly caved, showing him on facetime me in my bra and underwear (My thinking: he couldn’t save pictures that way).  He covered his camera.  Did he take screenshots or something? I don’t know.  It was awful.  I kicked him to the curb the next day, still feeling like *I* should be the one apologizing.  He eventually “tried” to apologize thru text, but was too much of a coward to apologize in person when i requested that.  He says he had cancer or something, I honestly don’t care. His actions were inexcusable and it was pathetic that he used it as an excuse.

I hated him so strongly for the next 3-4 years, but the story doesn’t end there.  A new guy, senior, 17 yrs old.  End of my freshman year.  We get together.  He didn’t properly ask me out, just assumed we were dating after we confessed our feelings EVEN THOUGH I told him my dad said to wait 3 months.  Red flag number three.  So, by the bf’s standards, 6 months into the relationship, I stay over at his place for New year’s.  I will admit that we did stuff over the phone prior to then, but I consider to be fine with that timeline.  At some point while we were planning to do stuff (if ya know what I mean but NOT full on hoo-ha stuff okay) for New year’s, he said “Who knows, maybe we’ll get carried away ;)” Red flag number four.  This immediately made me uncomfortable, and I was not fully comfortable when the day came either.

We were making out (consensual, but I feel like i was forcing myself a bit), I let him touch me down *there* (which he sucked at lemme tell ya) (also it was fine when he touched me before this day), and then he asked to touch my chest.  *Previously, he had stated if i wasnt sure, hed touch over my bra first and go slow.  He did not do either, instead immediately slipping his hand under my bra.* That is when something inside me snapped, and I felt number than I already was. Red flag number five.

I didn’t stop him because I wanted to feel something, anything.  I got nothing.  And then came the time when he decided to say “Now its your turn,” grabbed my hand, and put it down his pants, ignoring me, who was saying “I don’t know how to, I’m not sure I want to.”  

I felt nothing for a few days, and then depression set in.  It didn’t feel connected to that incident, and i didn’t connect the dots until later.  It got so bad I had almost decided to kill myself three months later.  My anxiety was through the roof, and every day my trauma manifested itself in the question “Do I actually love him?”  It was a living hell to be inside my head all the time.  He at one point asked me “Are you sure you were okay with what happened on new year’s? You’re acting like you’ve been raped.”  When I said I wasn’t, he said “oh.” and we never talked about it again.

The relationship continued for another year despite my obvious depression and anxiety that revolved around him. He lied to me on several occasions, disregarded my boundaries (i.e. continued to make sexual jokes even though they clearly bugged me after the assault), and refused to get a job so he could smoke weed all day.  My parents urged him to prove himself (he was out of high school by this time), and when I eventually took their side and gently nudged him along, he said “You are in a relationship with me, not your parents.  Its either me or them.”  Red flags six through ten right there.

When I managed to break it off with him, a ‘friend’ apparently took his side.  This is the girlfriend in the “His Reaction to Your Ex(es)” post(s).  This friend was actually an adopted cousin of mine, and we were not on speaking terms at this point because she had taken my first bf’s side, saying that *I* had to forgive him and that I was in the wrong for not wanting to talk to him or accept his half-assed apologies. (She was not at our school during the time me and that guy dated so she literally knew nothing).  I cut her off because of that.  Turns out she had a massive crush on the dude and he was already taken by someone else.  

So, this same chick sides with the second bf, telling people that I’m the one who hurt him and whatnot.  I come to find out that him and her are now dating and honestly, it is hilarious.  Even I think she deserves better.  He has no future, and I came to realize that, knowing that if i stayed with him longer I would have 100% actually killed myself, or died spiritually.

So yeah, that’s my story, hopelessly in love with fictional characters now because I am too traumatized by what they have done.  I cannot be touched sexually without reverting to a depression or an anxious mess.  Even if I did manage to be in a relationship after that, I don’t think I’d ever be able to have sex with someone. And finally I cannot have a healthy relationship, because what is that, really?  I’m just gonna live alone with some goats LOL.