#st bullies

[aemiron-main]

watch where you’re going, frogface

“watch where you’re going, frogface”

“he was probably killed by some other queer”

I just think it’s interesting that in a scene about homophobic bullying, not only is Mike the one physically targeted the most & has insults about will directed at him, but he’s also the only party member there who gets called an insulting name that starts with “f,” (dustin and lucas’ nicknames are ’toothless,’ and ‘midnight’).

But what about Will? What was his insulting nickname?

We know ‘zombie boy’ wouldn’t have started until s2/after will got back from the ud. so what were they calling will before that? I think they were either a.) outright calling him a fag or b.) calling him a freak c.) calling him a fairy or d.) all of the above. 

Mike and Will likely being the only two in the party whose’ insulting names started with ‘f’. fairy/freak/outright using ‘fag’ for will, and ‘frogface’ for Mike. because they’re the two gay members. because as absurd as it sounds, relative to what the other nicknames are ‘frogface’ isn’t that far off from ‘faggot’. like cmon. “freak” is often used as a stand-in for fag, especially with the hellfire stuff & hellfire acting as an allegory for queerness, and so for there to already be a precedent of other words starting with ‘F,’ (freak) being used as a standing for ‘fag,’ I don’t think it’s farfetched for ‘frogface,’ to operate in a similar way and to be a subtle nod to Mike’s gayness.

[inkskinned]

actually sometimes being neurodivergent is great bc you have a particular kind of Silly Mode that just . manifests glory. harmless fun is my precious side quest & i have a high score in whimsy. like okay if i gotta be the first dork in the dance pit it's gonna be me and this random toddler and we're gonna avril-style rock ouuuuttt

[biillys]

billy hargrove: in every scene — 2.04 chapter four: will the wise

[angrywarrior69]

Everyone reblog this with your favorite Janeway quotes, please. 🖖

"I don't like bullies, and I don't like threats - and I don't like you, Culluh."

[qprstobin]

I'm gonna be frank, Eddie just does not give me the impression that he was bullied all that much in high school to me. Especially as he got older, like he was the school drug dealer, he was not getting beat up by the same jocks who were going to be buying from him later that week. It just doesn't make sense to me!

I'm not saying he was never bullied at all (personally I think he was probably bullied by the people in his grade in like middle school, but leant more into the satanic image by the time he got to high school (which is when the satanic panic wouldve been starting) and people became more afraid to mess with him or it stopped when BS started dealing) or that people can't headcanon and project onto pm. It's fandom, do what you want lol. I've just gotten to the point where fics lose me whenever they claim Tommy/Steve/Jason was going around beating the shit out of him or shoving him in the halls every week or the like. Eddie just does not give the impression that he is scared of the jocks normally. He looks down on them and thinks he's better than them! He taunts them openly in front of everyone and pontificates on table tops.

I think if you take it in that context too, it makes the town turning on him more sinister? Like obviously, satanic panic was only growing at that point, and it was within the last year or two they started pointing at metal and D&D as recruiting centers for satanic cults. (Eddie also like an asshole is walking around with a satanic symbol on his jacket - peak edgy teen in the middle of a moral outcry.) But while people might've been afraid of him, and most definitely talked about him behind his back, that's worlds away from mob violence. The change was startling, even if Eddie might be able to see it on the horizon.

Idk to me that's more of what the hunt the freak line was about. The knowledge that they could turn on you and would if you gave them a reason (or if you want to go with the Eddie is closeted interpretation - if he got outed). I think he probably has been called the freak for a while but honestly I think he's proud of it at this point.

Obviously all of this is up to interpretation, I guess I've just gotten to the point where a lot of the popular fanon interpretation doesn't feel like Eddie to me anymore

[love-toxin]

Bully!stepbro!eddie who flips your skirt, and barges into your room, and moans so annoyingly loudly through the wall

/wrings my hands >:)

(cws: bully!stepbrother!eddie, dc/nc, masturbation, peeping, eddie's a nasty, filthy degenerate <3)

stepbro!Eddie is such a bully he spends his own free time making your life hell. you hate it when he pervs on you, so he does exactly that--spends an hour or two going around your room, and cumming on your things while you're out. he jerks off on your diary so it's sticky when you go to open it, in your panties and your socks so you shriek when you put them on, on your pillow so you'll lay your head down and feel his slimy spunk on your cheek. he jimmies the lock open on the bathroom door to come in while you're showering, whether it's to brush his teeth or take a piss or just so he can sneak in and yank the curtain aside to make you scream in terror and then yell at him to get out. when you're bent over something, he evolves from pretending to air-hump you to actually humping you, his cock disgustingly hard against your backside as you kick at him and whine out that he's gross. he only agrees to drive you to work if you let him put your hand on his crotch the whole way, teasing you by insinuating that he knows you're wet and you wanna give your stepbrother road head, you slut. sometimes, when you've got your headphones on and you're listening to music as you work at your desk--because Eddie would not shut up while he's jerking off next door and distracting you--he sneaks in and rubs his cock raw while he stands right behind you. he intentionally tries to be quiet then, so you don't notice when he cums all over your hair or on your back--and when you do, he'll be smugly grinning to himself in his room as he listens to you shriek, knowing you're gonna be barging in to let him have it for being a gross, filthy pervert of a stepbrother.

[andy4yippee]

when someone draws will without his bowl cut

[josephtrohman]

(source)

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[aemiron-main]

“flying around in fairyland with all the other fairies.”

I just think the fact that the shot of Mike happens IMMEDIATELY after the shot of the fairy wings & they’re both on the same side of the screen (dustin pulls them even more towards screen right even) is Interesting LMAO

[deusluxuria]

polnareff: you look so sexy when you do that

abdul:

abdul:

abdul:

abdul: i'm literally cleaning chicken shit off the ground

polnareff: i said what i said

[awkwardtrekphotos]

[doctor-octiddius]

GUYS YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT I GOT TODAY. GIRLFRIEND ARRIVAL ON VALENTINE'S DAY. I CAN FINALLY BULLY HIM.

he's giggling and kicking his feet

TWINK DOWN. FINALLY. HE'S DEAD.

[love-toxin]

If you have any more thoughts on this bully!Eddie and bully!Steve dynamic you'd like to share...Cause this had me fucking feral. Older or younger, their partnership has to be deadly.

Constantly in silent competition with each other to see who makes reader cry the hardest, the manipulation tactics, bro. I just want them both to be really mean and possessive over me, you know?

heh. heheheheheh.....HEH!!! i made this a little sweeter cuz im weak

let them eat cake

(cws: older!bully!steddie, f!waitress!angelface, age gap (20s-late 30s/40s), innocence/corruption kink, a singular knife, they're possessive in their own way, crying, sexual harrassment (not them), shitty diner etiquette, steve has sugar daddy tendencies, a little angst with a fluffy ending.)

The possessiveness is what really gets them. Steve and Eddie love seeing you cry, love making you wet while you work, love talking down to you when you can't talk back and you wouldn't anyways cause you're just so pretty and dumb and sweet, too shy and too nice to have an attitude and they can tell after a while that it's cause you like the attention. Or maybe you have a thing for degradation and you aren't even aware of it, who knows?

But there are times when your teary-eyed face isn't satisfying, when your trembling shoulders as you approach their table don't make Steve's leg bounce and Eddie's grin twitch up. When you hurriedly try to wipe your face dry before you come up to them, your voice crackly and soft as you whimper out a "wh-what can I get for you today?" with your pen poised over your notepad that won't stop shaking. Those are the times that they aren't the culprits for your misery, and they wanna know who the fuck has been pushing around their dumb little princess.

Yeah, your job at the diner is shitty, and the hag at the front counter likes to bark at you pretty often as the only other waitress--but that's not enough to make you this way. They survey the rest of the diner until their eyes land on another table a ways away, and see the group of happy-go-lucky college boys that are so loud and rowdy that their voices are already giving Steve a headache. And after you bring the older gentlemen their waters and sweet tea (that you make yourself and they always insist on having a taste of even though it's the same recipe every time) they watch you get more and more anxious as you pass those dickheads by, the group of them high off a game win or something because they wolf whistle in your direction every time you get close enough. It's rage-inducing for the two of them, watching those shitty fucking brats make comments and flirt with you and even mock groping you, causing you to flinch away and spill one of their drinks that they laugh about as they insist you clean it up. And the grins on their faces when they lean over to watch you bend down to pick up the cup, hoping to get a glimpse of your ass in the skirt you're wearing today--oh, they both just want to throttle them, but Steve especially so. He may be fucking crusty as he nears his forties, but he's a lot bigger and a lot stronger than those jerks half his age.

The two of them just sit there and marinate in their own fury for awhile, but just when Steve's moving to get up out of his seat because he cannot fucking take another second of this bullshit, and he's mumbling that he's gonna teach those dickheads some goddamn respect--you've got your hand on his arm and you're holding him, clutching at the sleeve of his sweater with panic in your eyes.

"P-Please, Mr. Harrington, don't get in trouble," You whimper, trying not to let the feeling of his thick, firm biceps under your palms distract you. "I can deal with it, I promise. I-I'll make them quiet down, so you don't get a headache."

Oh, you don't even realize. The unexpected sweetness of you remembering such an insignificant detail about him actually makes Steve's heart jump, feels like it's the first time in ages since it's done that. It's baffling to each of them that you're more concerned about them, though--and there's that crack of mercy that forms then, that's slowly gonna get wider and wider as the two of them realize they don't just wanna tease you, they want you.

When you walk away, for once, Steve just stares down at his glass as he sips from it. Wondering how much money you would take from him to quit this shitty job today. Meanwhile, Eddie's worked up a glare to cast at the college kids that they definitely notice this time, their obnoxious laughter turned to head shifting and whispering as they wonder why that freak is staring so hard. The more he does it, the more unnerved they get, so he doesn't look away even when they make eye contact to try and ward him off. It would be a contest, if Eddie didn't produce a little pocket knife from his jacket, and start flipping it around without breaking his stare and without slicing a single cut into his fingers. And that seems to be enough for them to get over themselves and turn away to snap their fingers at you for the check, before filing out of the diner as a group and keeping up that threatened hush over them until they get outside. Then they're boisterous again, laughing and making ill-intentioned jokes about that weirdo perv as they get into their cars, because Eddie knows they're fucking scared of him. They wouldn't be so loudly claiming they weren't if that was really the truth.

Finally, when peace falls over the diner again, they watch you clear the plates and then scurry over to collect the check, and grimace when your shoulders visibly fall, the measly few pennies left over for your tip barely weighing down your hand. Yet you still count them in your palm, picking out a few bits of pocket lint from the pile because it was obviously thrown in half-assedly. Fucking pricks. Only a seriously sadistic group of assholes wouldn't tip their goddamn waitress.

"Honey, come here." You perk up at Steve's voice--how cute--and hurry towards their table, slipping the chump change into your apron pocket on the way. You nearly trip trying to get there in short time, but you stand up straight and smooth out your skirt once you're there, perched nearly on the balls of your feet as you wait for their command. "Closer."

As if on autopilot, your body moves to shuffle towards Steve's side of the booth, and you lean over so your face is closer even though you look more than a little nervous. Worried he's gonna do something bad? Gonna take advantage of you when you're already beat down?

"This is for you." The thick thumbful of cash he had ready gets pushed into your hand--he was gonna stuff it down your top for a laugh, but for some reason it makes its way right into your palm. He closes your hands over it so you won't see how much it is, but you can feel how much paper is unfurling even as it's tucked tightly inside your fist. Your little doe eyes widen, and you shake your head, your first reaction to try and give it back. Whether you don't think you deserve it, or you were raised to be polite and humble, either way it's too fucking sweet for him to resist, and he forces your hand to squeeze it tighter. "Don't get an ego. But, I'm....I'm proud of you."

"Are....are you kidding, Mr. Harrington?"

Oh, for fuck's sakes. Eddie's expression shifts like lightning into shock and concern, seeing you tremble and tear up at those simple words, and hearing your disbelief so strong in your shaky voice that you think it's just a joke.

"Christ, I-"

"One sec!" You suddenly dart away, the cash still clutched in your hand as you skid around the other tables in your way and run into the kitchen, the two of them hearing one of the cooks in the back reprimand you for rushing around, you're gonna slip! Thankfully, they don't hear those telltale crashes of dishware breaking or cutlery clattering to the floor, but the two of them are left wondering and looking at each other until you patter right back out with two plates in hand. They don't even notice what it is because they're too wrapped up in how big your smile is, cheeks still wet cause you didn't have a second to dry them, until you set down both plates in front of each of them and produce two forks.

It's a thick slice of cake for both men, Steve'a a vanilla flavour with lots of fresh strawberries piled on and drizzled around it, while Eddie has a hefty chunk of double-chocolate cake with enough frosting to give him diabetes. Both have a few sprinkles scattered messily around the smudged frosting and whipped cream, and the cake is moist if a little crumbly, but it so screams you that they're left looking back at you in awe.

"Dessert's on the house. I, um...I made it. Both of them. Gladys let me do the new desserts."

You fidget with your fingers anxiously as they each take their first bites, overwhelmed with fruit and sugar and cholesterol. It's so fucking great. Steve at least has some decorum as he swipes up the whipped topping and hums at realizing it's homemade, but you almost seem more eager to hear Eddie's almost piggish grunting as he stuffs his mouth full of cake, his lower lip smeared with chocolate that he's quick to wipe off with his thumb and suck clean. Only once they're eating do you think to rub your face dry, swiftly using the back of your hands to smooth out the streaks before your smile grows brighter.

"...Good?"

"Incredible," Eddie moans, and you try to hide your giggling. Steve wishes you wouldn't, he hasn't realized he's been staring until you turn to look at him, and he shoves another bite past his lips to cover it up. "You need to come cook at my place. Forget Harrington, he's got girls lining up to feed him."

"Shut up." He finally meets your eyes, the scowl nowhere near reaching his eyes as they run over your sweet, smiling face. "He's an idiot. Come use my kitchen anytime you want." It's not really until those sober thoughts hit your ears that Steve really realizes that he said them so bluntly, and in a bid to brush it off, he demands you bring them both a coffee to go with their cake.

"Mhm!" You hum, his stern tone not even making you flinch as you practically skip off to the kitchen to make them their drinks, your skirt flouncing up just enough that they can get a peek underneath if they dip their heads. They're a little too involved in their desserts to catch it, though, and Steve has a faraway look in his eyes as he picks a lone sprinkle off and eats it that has Eddie smirking.

"....Steeeevie-"

"I said shut up."

He mutters back, his voice soft and barely there like the words are just flimsy things to form it. The smile that turns up his lips as he stares at his plate can't be mistaken, though, the tines of his fork dragging little lines in the icing as he thinks about how happy you looked just now.

[laxatives4eva]

I feel like I don’t deserve to even think in my head that I have an ed.

Like no I don’t I literally eat so much compared to other anas and when I purge I don’t always get every last bite out so there’s no way I have an ed.

Like yes I know it’s a mental thing but I can’t help but feel like I am making all of this up in my head as a coping mechanism. It has gotten in the way of so much and taken more than it has given back.

I physically can’t feel full without getting rid of it.

I spit food ppl give me.

I overestimate every calorie thinking about when I will burn it.

But I still tell myself I don’t have a problem. I don’t have dysphoria. My outlook on my weight is not disordered.

When will it be bad enough that I feel like I actually deserve. Deserve peace. Deserve recovery. Deserve to be comfortable with myself.

Hope someone can relate.

[jonathanbyersphd]

Tiny baby Nancy screaming at the population of Hawkins Middle to sign her petition to save the whales. Tiny baby Jonathan being the only person to sign other than Barb.