#disordered eating -

[thatadhdmood]

@nutmegan17 on tiktoks eating tray hack

By keeping a tray full of no prepare necessary food, in the fridge it can be used to aid neurodivergent or fatigued people.

By putting food like, cheese and crackers, or whatever is a safe food for you personally on the tray, it can be taken easily to the couch or bed to be eaten from whenever you are hungry.

This prevents executive dysfunction or fatigue and any reason preventing you from eating. You need to care of yourself because everyone needs food to stay alive including you.

You deserve to eat even when on a bad brain day and are unable to prepare a meal for yourself.

If not having a full meal doesn't satisfy you, a snack may even give you the energy to make a full meal afterwards!

[teaboot]

Kind of a random hill to die on rn but "You'd eat this thing you hate if you got hungry enough" does not set a reasonable expectation of what "hungry enough" means for people with food problems.

Like, are we talking "stomach grumbling" hungry enough, or "can't stand up" hungry enough? Cause personally, I can make myself eat a bit of a pork chop if I'm barfy and shaking and can't see straight anymore, but if it's down to "black out for three days and wake up angry and confused" or "willingly swallow prosciutto", I'm having sleep for dinner. And I know this from experience.

People without food problems don't seem to understand this and it drives me insane. "Hungry enough" is for shit like chewing drywall because the alternative is death or cannibalism.

If I say I can't eat something, It means I can't eat it. It Is Not Edible To Me. It's not even appetizing. It literally does not register as food. You might as well hand me a rubber duck.

And it's frustrating!! Trust me, I wish I wasn't like this, too!! This isn't a choice!! I know it can be rude!! It's embarassing!! It's complicated and annoying and irrational!! That doesn't fix the problem!!

I just wish people didn't treat this sort of thing as "being picky" or lacking willpower or basic manners or something. I can't make myself eat certain foods the way you probably couldn't cut your own fingers off. Does that make sense? It's not just food. Fuck

[tangledinink]

hey, it's that rat and his daughter again!

✩ the gemini ✩ [ start ] [ prev ] [ next ]

[justedthingsss]

[goldyke]

LAP Bands should be illegal

This post is going to deal with medical fatphobia, weight loss surgery, coercion, emetophobia, food issues, disordered eating, and just all around bad shit. But it’s important.

Shortly after I reached adulthood, I was coerced into weight loss surgery. I weighed about 250 pounds and was considered morbidly obese.

The Lap Band is a disgrace to the medical profession and is just another example of how the medical profession does not care about the lives of fat people.

To preface this: the surgery works. I lost 70 pounds and people treated me differently and I hated them all for it.

The Lap Band made my life miserable. When it was filled, I could not eat until noon without getting stuck. Even then, getting stuck was always a risk. There was a strict diet to follow and you were supposed to be safe from that if you followed it. On top of that, there were rules for how you ate. One standard I saw was not to eat in bites larger than your fingernail. Can you see yourself doing that for a week, let alone years and years?

Getting stuck is a horror you can't imagine. The food lodges in the top of your stomach, blocking off your system. You continue to produce saliva and swallow it down. Slowly, the mucous in your saliva builds up. It feels like you're drowning. Eventually, you have to essentially throw it all up. A disgusting experience (and a mortifying one if you're in public.) The saliva is thick and ropy. This experience is often called "sliming" on the forums.

I became frightened of eating in public. In a way, I became frightened of food altogether. I knew something had to give the day I reacted to someone biting a hamburger in a tv show the way a regular person would react to a killer jumping out in a horror movie. I developed the disgusting and unhealthy habit of chewing and spitting out food. I completely lost my enjoyment of many foods I had previously enjoyed because of how problematic they were (I can no longer enjoy a chicken thigh for example.) I stopped eating meals and began grazing. I developed eating habits worse than the ones that "made me fat"

After 3 years, I had the band emptied of fluid, which significantly decreased, but did not stop, these problems. I regained the weight, and found it didn't bother me. (Along the way I discovered that my discomfort with my body had never been weight related)

I had my band removed after 6.5 years earlier this year. I am in a support group on facebook for victims of this malpractice. There are 5.6 thousand members, each with their own horror stories. Some of them cannot get the band removed because insurance will not cover the procedure, though they happily covered the band's placement. Some have tried to go through with removal but have had surgeons try to coerce them into getting a different weight-loss surgery instead of just removing it. Many have long-term damage from the band eroding the walls of their stomach or esophagus, or from the band adhering to multiple organs. Many of them had the band for 12-14 years, before removal because none of our doctors told us it needs to be removed within 10.

Many practices no longer perform Lap Band surgery and now believe it is unethical. The surgeon who removed my band still performs this surgery regularly.

A study performed in 2011 with 151 lap band patients, found that 22% of patients experienced minor complications and 39% experienced major complications. The person who coerced me into surgery actually experienced major complications and needed an emergency removal.

I experienced no serious complications. Everything I described above is considered normal. And It still drastically lowered my quality of life.

I don't know why I'm sharing this or who I'm sharing it for, but here I am. If you know anyone considering the lap band surgery, don't let them go through with it without knowing the truth. And please be kinder to your body than the medical profession wants you to be.

[libraford]

I dunno, I'm thinking darkly about how some things are socially acceptable self harm. Like punishing yourself by skipping meals (diets), burnout cycle (the grind), overexercise (gains) and that injuries and pain from these kinds of activities are somewhat celebrated in a society that seems to demonize rest. These kinds of things can become addictive, and it can be hard to stop. It just feels like they're similar, but I don't hear about that being talked about often.

[xenosaurus]

i hate the diet industry as a whole, but there’s something so DEEPLY insidious about how “cleanses” and the marketing thereof is pathologizing... digestion.  like, basic concept of it -- the process of eating food, extracting nutrients over time, and removing anything indigestible by pooping at the end.

your digestive system should not ever be “clean”.  it is full of bacteria.  it contains bile and shit and mucus.  this is normal and healthy.  you do not have “pounds of toxic sludge” in your body, that is partially digested food and unless you are constipated, it is supposed to be there.  your organs are still extracting nutrients from it.  

your intestines are not meant to be 100% empty.  you should have food moving through your system-- you deserve to eat, and you deserve to digest that food as best you can (digestive problems gang, how’s it going?).

you are not losing fat tissue when you take laxative teas, you are losing water, nutrients, electrolytes, healthy bacteria.  and even if you were?  fuck that.  fat people shouldn’t be bullied into taking laxatives.  constant diarrhea is not pleasant or healthy or better than being fat.  let us fucking eat and digest our fucking food.

[probablybadrpgideas]

Unique Apocalypses For Your Post-Apocalyptic Campaign

Contagious Clownery

Everyone just forgot humans need to eat. Oops.

The Ghost of the Opportunity Rover slams Mars into the earth as an act of revenge.

All LARPs become real at once.

We lost the ocean. Shit. Has anyone seen it? Maybe down a sofa somewhere?

Aliens shoot everyone whose name has a prime number of letters, because they have an ideological commitment to being assholes

Squirrels figure out how to use guns.

International agency pissed off a witch and now everyone is a toad except for the 51 extant princesses in the world

There are big spiders in all the power plants so we have to revert to the dark age, sorry guys.

"NUKED EVERY MAJOR CITY PRANK (gone wrong!) (not clickbait!)

No-one's quite sure, actually. We all just started raiding each other wearing fetish gear a few years ago. God, I hope there was an apocalypse or we'll look really silly.

[ohdeerfully]

hi!! i absolutely love your writing, you write alastor so so well and i absolutely devoured everything you have posted... would you by any chance be open to writing alastor with a f!reader who has an eating disorder/anorexia? <3 it's a triggering topic so i totally understand if you'd rather not! 💖 i've just recently been stressed about feeling like i need to lose weight again despite already having lost quite a lot and it just feels. never enough, so i would much appreciate some comfort! thank you for sharing your writing with us! 💖

hi my love!! i know you requested this some time ago, and i hope youve been feeling better (,: i also struggle with this type of thing so i 100% dont mind writing about it, but just know that you are super beautiful and worth every sweet treat and meal you get!!! mwah mwah mwah i hope you like the story ^.^

Ma Moitié

Alastor x Reader (fluff/comfort)

TW: eating disorder!!! alastor is def OOC hes being a sweetie pie join my discord!

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You always had a poor relationship with your body and food, in life and in death. You went through periods of weight loss, gain, loss again—some seemingly never ending cycle that no amount of therapy has managed to halt.

Your mind was currently weighing the pros and cons of eating the slice of cake offered to you by Charlie. She was celebrating the arrival of a few new residents, the first to arrive since the last extermination. The news really helped the hotel garner some attention, that plus the fancy new renovation Lucifer himself helped with… needless to say, Charlie was thrilled. So, she threw a little party. You had been standing awkwardly near the doorway, trying to find an opportunity to slip away from the small party. But you doubted you could escape without your absence being noticed; there really weren't that many people here to begin with.

You had accepted the cake out of sheer politeness, but you now just held the plate loosely in your hands, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you thought. You’ve been feeling particularly… susceptible to the calories in food lately. You considered the fact that you hadn’t eaten much today—or, honestly, the whole week for that matter. It shouldn’t hurt to just have one slice of cake. Just this once.

But… still… 

You frowned down at the cake. Picking up the plastic fork, you took a tiny chunk from it and lifted it to your lips. Your lips quivered as the food touched your tongue, and you felt sick as you chewed. You managed to swallow after an unnecessarily long few seconds of chewing, and you continued to just stare down at your plate. You didn’t think you’d be able to handle another bite.

Niffty had seen the sickly expression on your face, and loudly started throwing questions at you. Were you sick? Did you hate the party? Why didn’t you like the cake she made? Her loud voice was growing in volume, and catching the attention of a few other demons in the room. You tried various ways to shush her, attempting to answer her questions politely, but you felt your heart rate pick up at the obviously growing number of eyes.

“I’m not incredibly fond of sweets myself,” You heard that radio-afflicted voice pipe up from behind. You couldn’t help but jump at the unexpected presence, but you turned your head with a light smile. Alastor was looking curiously down at Niffty and you. 

“Ah, yeah, the cake’s great, I just… don’t like dessert that much…” You lied. You actually really liked cake, but it had been a long time since you were actually able to enjoy it without feeling intensely guilty about it. The tiny demon made a fussy comment about how nobody appreciated her and all of her hard work, stomping away. Her mood didn’t last, though, immediately getting caught up in cleaning something you couldn’t even see. 

You turned your head to thank Alastor, but you saw his smile drop slightly as he looked at you. The demon bent at the waist to lean down, his mouth near your ear and his usually boisterous voice quieted to a whisper. “Is everything alright, mon coeur?”

You felt your face heat up, both at the words he spoke and the proximity. You and Alastor had been quietly ‘official’ for quite a while now, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever get used to the small gestures of affection from the Radio Demon. It felt weird if you thought about it too long.

“I’m okay, just…” You weren’t sure how open you wanted to be about how you were feeling. Alastor knew about your poor body image and eating habits, but he truthfully never really knew how to go about comforting you. Plus, you felt as if your personal struggles were trivial to a literal Overlord of Hell. You didn’t want to bother him with your own shit.

“I’m fine,” You finally decided. You could tell Alastor knew you were lying, with that furrow of his eyebrows, but he stood up straight and didn’t push. You sighed and gently placed the plate of cake down on a small entryway table by the door you had been lurking near.

“I’ll get us out of here,” He declared with a wide smile, and he strode forward to where Charlie stood talking to the group of new guests. She knew Alastor was approaching due to the look of horror that slowly crossed the new demon’s faces. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it looked like she briefly scolded Alastor for being so damn intimidating for no reason.

They chatted for a moment, and you could hear the Radio Demon’s obnoxious laughter from across the room. He gestured to himself, then to you, to which Charlie looked in your direction. You shot her a small smile. She smiled back, nodded, and turned away to continue talking to the new residents—who all had been slowly inching away from Alastor. They looked incredibly relieved when he left the group.

He gave you a grin and wordlessly threaded his arm around yours, linking you at the elbow. You lifted your hand to give his upper arm an appreciative squeeze as you left the room. Your eyes lingered on the abandoned slice of cake as you walked away, feeling guilty in more ways than one.

Alastor had led you to your room, releasing your arm and leaning his body weight on his cane as he looked down at you. You glanced up at him, then back down, pursing your lips as you stared at anything else in the room.

“I hate when demons lie to me,” He said, eyes narrowed. Of course, you knew he wasn’t truly mad at you. Maybe frustrated. “What’s wrong.” It was more like a statement than a question. A demand.

You sat heavily down on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your fingers. 

“I don’t know, Al,” You muttered. You hated this. “I just… You know how I get sometimes.” It somehow felt so silly, telling him about this. 

Alastor had sat down next to you, his arm wrapped over your shoulder and a clawed hand rubbing up and down your forearm. You could tell his touch was light, awkward, unsure—but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. While Alastor typically had no problem overstepping boundaries and shoving demons around purely to aggravate them, he obviously had no real idea how to be intimate and kind. But he tried for you.

He took his other hand and slipped it under your legs, swiftly lifting you and pulling you further up the bed. He leaned his body against the headboard, and dragged you over to lay your torso against his own.

“I don’t understand why you worry about all this, dear,” He mused, his fingers threading through your hair. His other hand graced past your stomach, which caused you to subconsciously flinch away. You felt his hand pause, but he didn’t mention it.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” You responded slowly, your cheek squished against his chest. “But I’ve dealt with this since I was alive. I feel like it’ll never get better.”

“Dearest, you have a whole eternity here,” He mused in response. He placed a finger under your chin and craned your head to meet his gaze. “You need to be strong to survive down here; to stay sane. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind.”

Of course Alastor was always thinking about strength and survival. He was an Overlord, after all. You didn’t respond to him, but you kept looking at him as he spoke. There was an odd look in his eyes as he talked.

“Plus,” He continues. His words were slow, and his mouth moved as if the words tasted unnatural on his tongue. This uncertainty that touched the Radio Demon’s voice was… rare, to say the least. “I want to see ma moitié happy. I am… incredibly devoted to you.”

Your ear pricked when you noticed the radio frequency in his voice completely dropped when he spoke the words. That look in his eyes—you finally recognized it as some odd sense of passion and endearment. An emotion that you could tell confused him, with the strain in his brow as he examined you. He meant the words he said, no matter how unnatural they felt leaving his mouth.

You rested your head back down on his chest. You knew this conversation wouldn’t “cure” you or anything, but you hoped that maybe you could think back on his words everytime your hands shook as you held a fork to your mouth. Of all demons in Hell, Alastor’s opinion was probably the most important to you, and you knew his devotion wouldn’t halt because of a few pounds; Alastor had to be deeply, deeply passionate about you to even let you lay on top of him like this.

You only hummed in response, and simply rested your head back against his chest. You hugged your arm tightly against him to try to convey that you appreciated his words, but you didn’t really know what to say.

“Would you join me for breakfast tomorrow?” Alastor asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “I know this wonderful place that I frequent for coffee…” 

You thought for a moment, again weighing the pros and cons; a habit that you struggled to drop when it came to meals. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts of what kind of food might be there, and if you should ration out the meals for the rest of the day. But, you felt the thoughts melt away when Alastor’s hand rubbed a comforting circle against your cheek, and then trailing down towards your shoulder in a light squeeze.

“Okay,” you finally said. It wouldn’t hurt to have a decent meal for once. You pulled yourself up onto your elbows again to look at Alastor. “Sounds awesome.”

His smile twisted up, his teeth peeking through a small gap in his lips. His head inched forward, but then paused, and you could tell his mind was racing with various thoughts. You waited for him to decide and, after a few moments, he closed the gap and lightly pressed his lips against yours. It was brief, as most intimate contact with him was, but you enjoyed it while it lasted.

“You will always be my only weakness,” Alastor admitted tenderly. “The most captivating demon in all of Hell.”

You couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face at his words. You sputtered out some awkward response, to which he simply hummed and smiled at. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the headboard, his fingers still playing with your hair gently.

You followed suit, resting your head against his chest and closing your own eyes. You didn’t even realize how tired you were, too caught up in the rare intimacy with Alastor. You let your worries of breakfast fade away, choosing to just enjoy the warmth of his body so close to yours.

[cuubism]

I tried to be creative for a hurt/comfort thing but you know what, I'm a very predictable creature of habit who likes what I like lol

A go-to headcanon of mine for canon or human au is that Hob's love language is providing food just as like, a caretaking thing. But of course Dream interprets it as Hob thinking he's ugly for being so skinny. 🥺

🤘five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes this slots in well with math au so it had to be math au ☺️

--

"Dream?"

Dream doesn't realize he's drifted off mentally until Hob calls his name. It's possible he's called it more than once and Dream didn't hear. It must be some special level of dysfunction to be able to get so distracted during sex. All week he has thought about Hob, watched the play of his hands on his keyboard and wished they were on his skin, watched the flex of his arms as he ties his hair back, studied his mouth as he chewed on the end of a pen. Now he is here, and yet he's not. Here.

"Are you alright?" Hob continues when Dream just kind of keeps staring at him. "You're like. Not with me at all. I don't know where you are."

Dream doesn't know where Dream is either. Technically he is lying in bed with Hob kneeling between his thighs, and they haven't even gotten fully undressed yet. Hob's hands are still resting lightly on his hips, thumbs hooked under the waistband of his jeans. Dream is suddenly aware of just how sharp his hipbones are when he lies like that, the jut of bone visible through his skin.

He pushes himself up to sitting, dislodging Hob's hands. "I am fine."

"Sure," Hob says, not wholly convinced. "Long day I guess?"

Dream hums noncommittally.

"Want to watch a movie instead?"

"Yes," Dream says, though still distracted, "very well."

Hob moves away to grab his shirt, and Dream watches the flex of his shoulders, the strength of his back and bend of his neck. And he wants, and for a moment he considers saying, no, come back, I want-- but when Hob turns back to him it dies in his throat.

He puts on his own shirt, and Hob pulls him close, lets him settle between his legs, his back to Hob's chest, as he takes his laptop from the nightstand. "I heard about this one, supposed to be using maths to solve time travel. Figured we could watch and you could tell me all the ways they're wrong and stupid."

Hob knows him too well. "You have no confidence that the maths could be correct?" he says.

"Do you?"

"...No," Dream admits, and Hob laughs.

"It'd be no fun if it was right, anyway. Your commentary makes it way more entertaining."

Dream leans back in his arms as Hob boots up the movie, and then it feels easy again, comfortable again, as they fall back into their familiar pattern.

He doesn't know what was wrong with him before.

--

Dream likes to steal Hob's sweatshirts. He runs cold, but often forgets to bring extra layers with him when he goes places. Or perhaps he is intentionally forgetting to bring his own, so he can steal Hob's. Hob never seems to mind, after all.

And Hob's clothes are not so different in size to his own, they are almost the same height. Hob has broader shoulders than he does, but Dream never feels like he is swimming in Hob's clothes.

Except for now.

He's studying the way the sleeves of Hob's sweatshirt lie on his wrists, comparing it to the way they had looked on Hob's wrists when he had worn the same sweatshirt just this morning, before Dream had stolen it. Have his wrists always been this narrow? The jut of the ulna so sharp where the hem of the sleeve hangs? Has he always looked this bony, when contrasted with soft fabric?

"Hey, love, you hungry? I made you something."

Hob is standing before him, holding a bowl. He places it down on the table before Dream.

"Made me something?" Dream echoes.

"Dinner," Hob says. "You didn't eat anything today."

Did he? Perhaps not. He often doesn't, at least not until Hob reminds him. Which he often does.

"It's green curry," Hob says, pushing the bowl closer to him as if trying to tempt him to take a treat. "One of your favorites?"

Dream does not know if he is really hungry, but Hob is a good cook and besides, it will make him happy if Dream eats it, so he takes it.

Seeming satisfied, Hob gets his own bowl and sits down across from him, tucking in as Dream starts delicately picking at pieces of green bean and pepper, small spoonfuls of rice soaked in curry. It is, in fact, very good. He is just. Out of sorts, perhaps.

But he eats it, slowly, because he knows Hob will be happy. Hob is always happy when he manages to feed him. Perhaps Dream truly doesn't eat enough. Perhaps he is getting too bony.

He tries not to study his wrists as he holds the spoon.

--

Dream is... not having a good day. He doesn't fully know why. He often doesn't. Regardless, he's lying in bed, music blaring in his headphones, staring blankly at the wall, when Hob gets back from class in the evening.

He doesn't realize it's time for Hob to come back until Hob is creaking open the bedroom door, letting a sliver of light into the cocoon Dream's created. He says something, which Dream doesn't hear on account of the music he's blasting at maximum volume.

He takes out his earbuds as Hob repeats it. "Hey, love. You want some tea? A snack?"

Dream lifts his head to find that Hob's set down a cup of tea and a piece of toast with what looks like almond butter and honey on the nightstand.

"It's seven p.m.," Hob continues. Dream hadn't realized it was so late. He doesn't remember exactly when he laid down. "Have you eaten?"

He's sure Hob already knows the answer to that.

Dream sits up and takes the toast, as bidden. And then just. Stares at it.

Hob lays the back of his hand against Dream's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I don't know," Dream says. But he is not sick in the way that Hob means. He sets the toast back down and takes the tea instead, sipping it slowly.

"You don't feel warm." Hob lets his hand fall. "Should eat the toast, if you can. Do you want company, or should I leave you be?"

Dream swallows hard to clear the lump in his throat. Hob is... so tolerant of his oddities. "Company. If you can tolerate my silence."

"I can cope." Hob fetches his things, and soon enough he's sitting beside Dream in bed, laptop open. Dream leans against his shoulder. Hob's body is soft enough to be comfortable to lie against, while Dream's shoulder is... sharp. When Hob lies against him, are all of Dream's bones just jutting into him?

He sits up again, picks up the toast. If he ate enough almond butter toast he might not be so sharp-edged. But eating an amount of toast that hits even a baseline caloric requirement is already hard enough.

He eats it slowly and tries to pretend it doesn't stick on the way down.

--

When they were teenagers, Desire used to make fun of Dream for being too skinny. "It's all in the name of love," they'd sing, "just don't want you to end up alone, that's all." Then they'd poke him in the ribs--"You're so bony"--and start giggling.

It didn't help that Dream had jumped ahead two levels in school, and already felt gangly and awkward in comparison to everyone else in his year, who were invariably older. As years passed, he grew out of those awkward teenage proportions, but never lost his thin, angular frame.

Hob, for his part, still has a bit of youthful ranginess to him, but Dream thinks he will fill out wonderfully as he gets older. He does not know what will happen to himself.

What he does know is that Hob keeps trying to feed him.

He'll make breakfast for him, if he stays over. Even if Hob himself needs to run out the door to class with nothing more than a granola bar, he somehow manages to make sure there is something for Dream. He's always making Dream's favorite foods for dinner, more often than not foods Dream barely remembers ever mentioning. He brings him tea in a thermos when Dream is up late working in his favorite classroom.

Dream does not know what to do with this. He is finding it harder and harder to eat what Hob makes. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

When he gets home from class, he finds that Hob is gone, but he's left an entire container of muffins on Dream's kitchen counter. Zucchini muffins!! the note taped to the lid reads. Very tasty and nutritious too!! ❤️

Dream stares at them for a long time, a lump in his throat. Then he closes the lid, carefully latches it so they won't go stale, and retreats to his bedroom.

--

Dream is straddling Hob's lap and he should be enjoying himself but he cannot. Stop. Thinking.

About how sharp his knees and ankles look. How Hob can definitely feel his ribs where his hands are laid on Dream's waist. About the deep cut of his collarbone, made more evident by the way he's wrapping his arms around Hob's shoulders as they kiss. Does Hob think about it? Does he look at Dream and wish there was softness to touch, instead of these hard edges?

"Dream," Hob says, still close enough that Dream feels his breath as he pulls away from the kiss. "Where are you, love? Because it's not with me."

It all feels so obvious when Dream thinks about it now. He got used to not thinking about his own body but it's impossible to ignore when he's pressed up against Hob, when he's only in his underwear. Hob has seen him, and touched him, and is always trying to feed him, and he would never say anything because he isn't mean but it must bother him, that Dream is so, is so--

"Do you think I am wrong?" he asks.

Hob just stares at him, thrown. "What?" he asks. "Wrong about what?"

"Wrong," Dream repeats. And suddenly he can't stand to be exposed like he is, and disentangles himself from Hob, reaching for the nearest article of clothing--which ends up being Hob's sweatshirt, the one he likes to steal. And so he ends up just holding it to his chest instead of putting it on, frozen.

Hob reaches for him, then lets his hands fall. "I don't understand."

"You want me to eat more," Dream says.

"I-- yeah? You barely eat one meal a day, of course I want you to eat more?"

Dream nods to himself, clutching Hob's sweatshirt closer. It all makes sense now. He doesn't know why he didn't understand it earlier. Or perhaps he did, subconsciously.

The wave of sadness that catches him under his lungs is more powerful than he anticipated. But at least now he understands.

"I don't know what conclusion you're making, but somehow I don't think it's right," Hob says. He reaches for Dream again, and this time wraps his hand around his wrist, slides down over the bones there until their fingers are tangled together. Their knuckles lock, bone to bone.

"I am hideous to you," he says, braced by Hob's touch enough to voice it.

"What?" Dream expects Hob to move away, but he doesn't, though he does sound... hurt. "How could you think that?"

"You think I should eat more," Dream says. Even as he says it, he feels himself curl inwards again, though it only makes the angles of his limbs more prominent.

"Yeah because you can't survive on one piece of toast every two days? I don't want you to starve yourself?" Hob sounds increasingly desperate as he says it. "Honestly you've been freaking me out, I feel like even when I make stuff you like you want to eat it even less."

"I... like what you make," Dream says quietly. He slowly thinks through what Hob's said. "I thought that... you felt I was too skinny. That you would be more attracted to me if I was not so... bony. And sharp."

He is very sharp-edged all around. And Hob already tolerates the sharp edges of his personality.

"Dream." Now Hob takes both of his hands. "Don't you know I was so attracted to you the moment I saw you? I wanted you so bad. And your attention. Your interest." He plays with Dream's fingers. "Look how beautiful your hands are." He cups Dream's face in his hand. "Your jawline is literally to die for. Modeling agencies would sign you."

Dream makes an expression of distaste at the thought, and Hob laughs.

"I know, you'd hate that." He kisses the tip of Dream's nose. "But the point stands. You're gorgeous." He runs his hand through Dream's hair, making it stick up all over the place. And the way Hob looks at him then makes any objection die in Dream's throat, makes him want to crawl into Hob's lap and press against Hob's body and let Hob do anything to him. "I mean, look at you."

A blush rises to Dream's cheeks. "So. You do not want me to eat so that I will gain weight."

"I want you to eat so you don't fucking die," Hob says, and something about the dramatic phrasing of it makes Dream laugh, and then Hob laughs, too, and pulls him close, pressing Dream's head into his shoulder.

"I am like a recalcitrant pet to you, then," Dream says, and Hob chuckles.

"Too right. You can lead a Dream to avocado toast..."

Perhaps... Dream might be better at being led. Now that he knows why Hob is doing the leading.

“I love you,” Hob says, kissing Dream’s temple. “And your ridiculous cheekbones, you angelic creature. You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

Dream’s blush only deepens, and he hides his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob rubs a hand up and down his bare back, catching on the knobs of his spine. He holds Dream close until Dream’s embarrassment subsides and he feels able to lift his head again.

When their eyes meet again, Hob just smiles. “Can I show you?” He traces his thumb over Dream’s lower lip. “How much I want you?”

Dream nods, tongue dabbing at Hob's thumb. Yes, he wants. He wants Hob. And he wants Hob to want him, desperately he wants it, for Hob to think he is desirable, no matter how embarrassing it may be to feel that want.

Hob kisses him again, pulling him close so Dream is half in his lap, tangled up in him again. Dream chases his mouth. And each touch of Hob's hands over the hard bend of his hips or the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, just as passionate and determined as Dream could have ever hoped for, makes him feel better, until he's not thinking about the shape of himself at all, just the feeling of Hob's touch, and his own pleasure.

And, maybe, the tea Hob might make for him afterward.

[nowhydoyouask]

I TOLD MYSELF I WAS GOING TO BE GOOD TODAY WHY HAVE I EATEN SO MUCH WHY DIDNT I GO TO THE GYM I WANT TO THROW UP I WANT TO THROW UP I WANT TO THROW UP I WANT TO THROW UP I WANT TO THROW UP

[ms-demeanor]

Re the "ask a bodybuilder" thing: I have some friends who lowkey lift, and one of them described a "macro-friendly" dessert recipe they'd seen (with a tone of mockery). My immediate thought was "eating disorder For Him", to which both friends agreed that "yeah, no, ask any professional bodybuilder how they get in shape for shows and they know it's dysfunctional"

Yeah, the behavior that bodybuilders use when on a cut (losing weight and getting lean for a show/season) is absolutely not a healthy or sustainable approach to food; generally they know this and they are aware that there are some times of year when they're going to be functionally starving themselves (and dehydrating themselves - they will absolutely skip water in the days before a show so they have more visible veins and muscle striations) but actually what I was talking about there went in the other direction (bulking rather than cutting). It's really really really really hard to put on weight if your body doesn't want to put on weight. It's really hard to keep that weight on. It's hard to gain muscle and it's easy to lose it. And I know plenty of people who are naturally very thin who have struggled to put on weight.

But we only really present one side of this equation and I think it's worthwhile to talk about both. Not in an "oh skinny people are oppressed too" way, but in an "look actually changing your body composition requires a level of effort that is bugfuck insane to ask of people and if you wouldn't ask a thin person to put on ten pounds of muscle because of the effort that would require, why are you comfortable telling a fat person to lose fifty pounds in spite of the effort that requires?" way.

[tangledinink]

whining. pouting. sulking, even. he better not use my NICE body wash...

✩ the gemini ✩ [ start ] [ prev ] [ next ]

[animefeminist]

Nagata Kabi and the Mundane Pain of Sickness; or, That Time My Body Broke and I Had To Figure Out How to Keep Going

Content Warnings: Discussion of disordered eating and trauma

For many queer, marginalized manga readers, the name Nagata Kabi rings an immediate bell. Whether it’s her first title, My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness, her Solo Exchange Diary duology, her musings on alcoholism and marriage in separate, consecutive entries, or most recently, My Pancreas Broke, but My Life Got Better, Nagata’s autobiographical works capture contemporary life with an unflinching honesty that has resonated across her audience. This is certainly true for myself and that last title. 

My Pancreas Broke, but My Life Got Better is a bit of a time capsule, capturing how it felt to be sick in Japan’s emergent COVID-19 pandemic. It’s a pandemic that I had a unique perspective of as I was living in Fukushima when, in March 2020, the country shut down. I would go on to live within that pandemic until I immigrated back to the United States on August 11, 2020, where I would be faced with the jarring dissonance between Japan’s health care system and America’s tendency towards capitalistic cruelty.

While a distinctly different view on the pandemic, Nagata Kabi’s sixth autobiographical entry resonates with my own story as it captures the confusion and mundane chaos of suddenly living in a society that seems to be falling apart at the seams. Simultaneously, it details what happens when your body breaks while the world is just… kind of falling apart. It’s a story—a true narrative—about what happens when your life falls apart and you can no longer escape 

That last bit is what this article is about: falling apart.

Read it at Anime Feminist!

[pansyboybloom]

I need people to realize that binge eating disorders aren’t just ‘overeating’. this is a disability, this is a mental illness, it is a disorder, not a moral failing and people, esp fat people, with it are not pathetic or weak willed or gluttonous or disgusting. We’re people, and deserve to be treated as such.

Support your friends who binge. Don’t make assumptions. Do research and watch out for fatphobia and diet culture centered rhetoric. Respect us, regardless on how or why or when we do or do not recover. Show us love, because god knows very few people do

[bonesofhumility]

i really need to trigger my ed but not in a reading random stranger's tumblr meanspo on the internet kind of way but in a being bullied again all through my school years kind of way. to have my mom comment on every single thing i eat again. to have my friends finally admit theyve all been talking to me for laughs and would never actually like someone who looks like me. i just want to be triggered so hard i never want to even look at food again without puking.