#tw implied disordered eating

[fastcardotmp3]

thinking about various versions of Chrissy Comes Back Wrong again and Chrissy, whose mutilated body was buried 6 feet under, who was given a funeral in the local church, a whole mountain of flowers in her memory.

Chrissy, whose body is dead but whose mind is just trapped in Vecna's grasp, trapped where he has control of it, trapped in whatever memory or nightmare he wants to keep her in until she becomes useful.

Until there's reason to release her mind, send it crawling back to a body reanimated with the snapping of bones back into place, breath coming back in choking heaves and embalming fluid still cold in her veins.

And then she's alive again. Alive and 6 feet underground with her name on a placard awaiting a stone yet to be carved.

Alive but different.

Her chest is tight with heaving, sobbing, panicked breaths, but it's like she instinctually knows that it doesn't matter, that she won't run out of air in this pitch-dark box because she doesn't need it.

Chrissy doesn't need air anymore, doesn't need blood in her veins, doesn't need the beat of a heart in her chest despite the way she can still feel the motionless weight of it there.

Chrissy doesn't need any of it, as she scrabbles hands across the lid of her first and final resting place looking for a latch, but she needs something.

She needs to do something.

She needs.

Chrissy has been hungry before, is the thing. Chrissy has trained herself to ignore hunger, as much as a person can do such a thing, but this is unlike any of that.

It's not telling her friends she ate before she left and watching them sip on milkshakes at the diner with a lightness in her head; it's not eating only the meal portioned out for her by her mother and laying in bed with a growling stomach later that night.

It's uncontrollable, this hunger. It's vast and thick and all-consuming to the point where she hardly even realizes when she pushes hard enough against the lid to hear a crack!

She's hardly cognizant of her own frantic movements, doesn't have the wherewithal to acknowledge that she's stronger now, that something about the hunger makes her feel like once she's fed it she'll surpass even this desperation-fueled power.

Soil and insects rain down upon her as she pushes up and up and up; it gets under her nails as she claws towards the surface, in her mouth and up her nose and all over the pretty dress her mother had chosen for her to be buried in.

It was one which made her look particularly petite. It's been torn at the sleeves and the hem is hanging in rags by the time she realizes that in the impulse decision to dig she had locked herself into a singular fate.

Eventually she's going to resurface.

Eventually she's going to have to face the hunger.

---

Nancy Wheeler shouldn't be here.

They have so much work to do, so much to grapple with in the wake of their undeniable loss.

So many lives gone and so much destruction overtaking this town she has called home her entire life and Nancy should really be doing anything but being here.

The sun is setting and the others are having dinner at the Henderson house, one of the few with zero damage caused by the rifts opening in the earth, but Nancy just needs a moment.

She just needs a breath.

She just needs.

"We just keep failing you," she says to a girl's name carved in stone, forever sixteen and forever undeserving of the fate that had befallen her.

Nancy doesn't sit down, just stands on Barb's plot with her shoes sinking into deadened earth, greyed-out grass, and chokes on the feelings she can't have in front of the others.

Not when they're still in this fight, not when there's so much work left to do. She should be doing it. She shouldn't be here.

Fuck, Max still isn't awake and Eddie is on his way to very well losing one of his legs if they can't get his infection under control and Erica is the quietest she's ever been and the Byers boys are attached at the hip like they're scared to let each other out of their sight and Steve is carrying that damn bat around like it's the solution to all their problems and Mike is so much older than he was when he left for California and what is Nancy doing?

"I'm sorry. I'm so..."

She's crying at a dead girl like she's the one who's got it rough. Like she hadn't failed Barb and keeps failing all of them. Like she's not the one who said they should go to the Upside Down in the first place and now Max won't wake up and Eddie might lose a leg and--

The cemetery is empty, this time of day, because the people still sticking it out in Hawkins know that if the sun is setting you should get somewhere safe.

Nancy's stupider, more reckless than they are on paper, just by being here, but really she's just smart enough to know that there's no such thing as safe.

So when she hears a sound like-- like a person choking. Vomiting. Sobbing.

She has her hand on her revolver in the same whirl of motion as she looks behind her.

Nothing.

To the north, nothing.

To the west, nothing.

No one is out this time of day, as the short and hazy sunlight they do get fades into an even hazier orange and then black. But someone is here.

Nancy creeps towards the sound, because if a person is hurt then there's likely a creature nearby too-- a demo-something or other ready to rear back and wield its teeth and claws.

It takes a moment longer than she would like it to for her brain to catch up to her eyes when she sees what she sees. All the input is there, all the information needed to draw a conclusion, but even in Nancy's vast experience of the unexpected, she doesn't know how she could have expected this.

Pink dress gone muddy brown, shredded in places and slashed in others.

Bare feet and blonde hair changed almost entirely in color by the damp of the soil.

Heaving. Choking. Sobbing.

She hasn't been dead long enough for her to have a proper headstone, but the ground torn up all around the plot offers Nancy the final piece to a puzzle she hadn't known she was trying to solve.

Her jaw hinges open and she lowers her gun to clutch it one handed down by her side instead and she breathes--

"Chrissy."

Not a question, because there are a lot of questions here but that's not one of them.

Well.

It wouldn't be, except Nancy's quiet exclamation makes her presence known.

Except, even though Chrissy's chest is still heaving, she stills right there, collapsed on her knees.

Except, when she looks up. When she looks up, it's--

"Shit," Nancy whips her gun back up and trains it on the gleaming red eyes in front of her because maybe it's still a bit of a question.

She really shouldn't have come here.

[amiaaa-official]

I forgot what happens when you like. Don't eat for a while

I am. So lightheaded.

[storytellersumayyah]

and grief said goodbye

tw: implied disordered eating, implied/referenced past suicide attempt, negative self image

Tristan could count on his hands the number of real conversations he’d had with his parents since the fire. Most of them had taken place after he walked away from Camilla- and even just thinking of her name made his heart hurt- because they had wanted to know everything. They had accused him of being involved, and that had stung more than anything else. Once they went back to the manor, the conversations centred on his new school.

And after he started, they stopped. Almost completely.

He left before his parents showed their faces. When he returned, he went straight to his room to do his work, and he never saw them in the living room working together. They would eat dinner together, but words were never exchanged. And their seats had changed. Victoria sat at the head. James on her right. Tristan two seats away. He knew why they still sat together. No matter how much his parents hated him for what he served as a reminder of, they would not let him get physically worse.

It made him angrier than if they had just left.

When they did speak, it was short sentences. Brief questions. One word answers. Victoria never called him by his name. James never called him Laurie. He never reminded them of what they were supposed to be for him. His father, who had once been grateful that Tristan was there, if only so his wife remembered they were married, seemed like he couldn’t wait for Tristan to leave. His mother didn’t even acknowledge his presence enough to despise it.

He didn’t ask them for anything. When he got an email saying his bank statement was ready to view, he took a deep breath and opened it. The balance had increased. The money was from James. Not Victoria.

He didn’t ask for anything because he would not be given it, and everything he needed, he worked out himself.

But there was something he couldn’t do alone. No matter how many hours he spent trawling the internet, no matter how much research he did, he couldn’t find the information. Anywhere. It was like the details had been wiped. For all he knew, they probably had.

He needed to ask.

So he waited. Until his mother switched on him again. Until his father called him Laurie. Until they asked what the letter had said. Until they told him they had filled in the documents for his college loans. Until they did something. But they didn’t.

He had stared death in the eye once and he had lived.

Maybe he could do it again.

“I need to talk to Mr Carter,” he announced at dinner.

Both his parents stopped eating.

“No,” James said, completely flat.

“It’s important.”

“I don’t care how important it is, we are not communicating with that man ever again,” Victoria snapped. She hadn’t recovered. She blamed Mr Carter for what happened more than she blamed Camilla. In her eyes, Camilla was just a girl. Mr Carter had encouraged and aided her project and nothing would undo that. Not even the testimony he had delivered in front of everyone who mattered, vouching for them.

“I need him.”

“You don’t,” James said. It was sharper. Almost like he knew what Mr Carter had been to his son.

But Tristan did. Mr Carter told him that he’d taken certain information from everyone’s files before they physical ones were destroyed in the fire and the digital ones as a result of the closure. He said if there was ever anything they needed, he would tell them.

He had sent the photographs taken at the dance a few months after Christmas. Tristan had hidden them from his parents. He’d told himself he would destroy them, but someone had captured the moment Camilla lit up as she told him how things had changed. And in that photo, he was smiling.

That was the version of them he wanted to remember. So he kept them all.

“I need him to tell Camilla-“

“You will not mention that girl if you want to stay here,” Victoria cut in.

“Mom. Please. Just this once. I just- I need him to tell her, I need him to try and tell her that I was wrong. That it was never her fault. And I shouldn’t have said it was. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t because she is good and she is loving and I forgive her for what happened because my actions were not her fault and she needs to let go of the fear because it doesn’t deserve and-“ he took a deep breath.

“Tristan?” James kept his voice level.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I need her to know. Please.”

“Tristan,” Victoria said.

“Mom. Please. I will never bring either of them up again. Please.”

She didn’t reply.

“Dad,” he whispered, trying to remind his father of who they used to be.

“Tristan.” Victoria said his name again. Tristan hated it. His name felt like a death sentence. A prophecy he was doomed to fulfil. Sadness. That was his name.

“Please,” he tried, one last time.

“Just this once, I will allow it.”

He couldn’t believe her. “What? Why?”

“Because you need it. Because Camilla does as well. Because that is a heavy thing to carry. Because you have forgiven yourself, and you have forgiven her, and she deserves to know. Because nobody deserves to feel guilty or ashamed when they did the best they could,” Victoria said, and she looked at James as she gave her final reason. James looked down. Tristan knew they were both thinking of the summer, and sentences they couldn’t take back.

“Because you are our son. And this is the only thing you have asked us for since you came back,” James added.

Even though the manor was not home, and even though it wasn’t enough to make up for any of their mistakes, Tristan smiled.

And in that moment, grief wandered out of his room.

Two weeks later, and an ocean away, Camilla unlocked the front door to her first and real home with a deep sigh. Things at school were still tense and she was growing tired of it. She hadn’t been able to warn anyone she was returning, which had led to a mix of reactions, but Ari was trying her best, even as she kept him at arms length.

She’d broken him once. She wouldn’t do it again. Not after Tristan.

But there was no time to think of Tristan. Her A-Levels were just around the corner (well, they were a few months away, but same difference) and she needed Cambridge more than they needed her. Which meant meeting her grade requirements as a bare minimum.

She was going to go straight to her room, but then her mother called her from the living room. She had been so caught up in wondering what had happened to Tristan- she sometimes wished she had his number, but it would’ve killed her if he’d blocked it so perhaps it was for the best- that she hadn’t even noticed the pair of shoes next to hers.

She went into the living room. Her mum was sitting on the sofa, phone in her hands.

“Hey mama.”

“How was school?” She asked, almost nervously.

Camilla shrugged, awkwardly standing in the doorway. Her parents had forgiven her for her role to play in Tristan’s downfall. They had forgiven her for her role to play in the destruction that was caused. She would forever be grateful that they didn’t hate her, and forever scared that she would never be good enough to make them forget.

“I received a message today. From Mr Carter.”

Everything around her froze. Mr Carter had helped her. He had wiped away the tears that spilt on her eighteenth birthday. He had read her personal statement and had faith in her and told Tristan to run and let her slip away. But he had also broken her. She had cried the first time Mr Kennedy told her it was okay she got something so easy wrong because she was convinced he would call her stupid. He had knelt down before her and the image still terrified her.

She never wanted to hear from him again. The photo of her and Tristan, both realising they could be soft and accept who they were, was tucked away in her room, but that was the only thing from him she would keep. All the lessons he taught, all the lies he told, she would forget.

“What did he say?”

“Tristan-“ and that name still hurt but she couldn’t let her mother know how much they had meant to each other so she just kept her face as neutral as she could, which wasn’t very but it had to be enough.

Her mother wasn’t continuing.

“Tristan?”

“I don’t understand what it means. But Mr Carter said that Tristan needs you to know that it wasn’t your fault, and it was never your fault. He said he crossed a line when he told you it was and he’s sorry.”

Camilla did something she hadn’t done in what felt like a lifetime.

She cried in front of her mother.

She couldn’t help it. But she had been carrying the secret since she returned. Her parents hadn’t heard the conversation. Jonathan and Adelaide had assumed he was acting on pure emotion, but Camilla had heard the things he wasn’t saying. She had heard the way it was more than just a way to hurt her. She had heard the belief.

To know it was false, that he hadn’t meant it, that it was never real, convinced her that she could be good again. She could be soft. She could move on.

And so could he.

But then her mother did something that she hadn’t done in a lifetime either.

She stood up, and she walked over to her daughter.

And she hugged her.

And she didn’t let go, even as Camilla’s knees gave out because of the pure relief she was filled with.

“Come on babu. Just let it go. It’s okay.”

She didn’t bother wiping the tears away. Camilla needed them.

When she calmed down enough to talk, she sighed and pulled away slightly. “Can you tell him I said thank you?”

Her mother’s initial review of Mr Carter had been glowing, but when Camilla accidentally let slip that he had called her a stupid girl, she became his biggest hater. So it was a long shot, but she nodded and Camilla smiled.

It was the first real one since they’d come back, and for her mother, it was like watching her baby’s milestone all over again.

“Do you see what this means? Tristan has forgiven himself. He has forgiven you. Your father and I have forgiven you too. All that is left is for you to forgive yourself. You are allowed to do that Camilla. I promise.”

Camilla nodded. “I know I can.”

And for once, she wasn’t lying. She forgave herself, on the floor of her living room. In the original uniform she was meant to wear. With her mother, in her shalwar kameez because she didn’t let anyone take anything from her, hugging her.

And in that moment, grief walked out her front door.

-

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[wanttobeh3r]

I look at myself and all I can see is this weight that’s suffocating me, hiding the person I want to be.

But I can imagine it—how my arms would look so delicate, how my bones would show through like I’m something fragile, something light. I’m not there yet, but I will be.

One day, I’ll be dainty and breakable, and all this extra weight will be gone. That image keeps me going. I just need to keep pushing, and I’ll finally become the fragile, beautiful version of me I’ve always wanted to see.

I can't wait to finally meet that version of me 🫶🏻

[cruellasdisorder]

i swear if my scale doesnt start dropping ill go insane

[wavyypeachyy]

I don’t think suicidal thoughts actually ever go away.

[alice58]

i have no idea what a normal amount of f00d is

[r1poutmygvtz]

«More Duo D!3ts»

these cropped horribly omfg but i spent a good few minutes on it so this is the best y'all are getting

[greenhairedfreakglobal]

hey google, how do I get a thigh gap right now? no glue, no borax

[skinnylight1day]

I hope ana can accept me, i promise ill be good.

[modelincognito]

Icon. I need to watch skins again.

[amiaaa-official]

Can my stomach stop growling plz <3333

[c0ke-0-my-beloved]

chat we might have to move to edtwt or something bc why is literally everyone getting t worded???

[wanttobeh3r]

I’m still stuck in this body that feels so heavy, but I dream of the day when I’ll finally be light—when my thighs won’t touch, and my arms will look like they belong to someone so delicate.

I want to be the kind of person you could blow away with a breeze, someone so dainty and small. Right now, I’m hidden beneath all this, but I can feel her waiting underneath- fragile, graceful, almost invisible. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m fighting for. I just need to keep pushing until I get there

[cruellasdisorder]

im huge so why do i still reach out for food? i dont deserve to eat until im at my gw

[pierrotdoesnteat]

hiii if youre active in october 2024 please reblog/like this! bonus points for other guys, stonerexics, and 18+ <3