#unexpected thinspo

[returntosickness]

So disheartening when you lose a bit of weight and guys who ignored you before are suddenly interested. It’s definitely not a coincidence bc it has been SO MANY of my guy ‘friends’ it’s so fucking transparent. Makes me not want to date when I’m thinner bc I know they wouldn’t give me a second look if I gain weight, even though I am still petite at my heaviest. It’s like they suddenly see me as an option when I’m sick and it’s so so so hurtful :((

I mean, it just confirms what I already think is true but OUCH

[venus-haze]

Bad Ritual (Vincent Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: Some pageant queens sit on parade floats. Being crowned Miss Ambrose requires you to get your hands a little dirty.  [This is an AU]

Note: Woman reader, but no other descriptors are used. Heavily inspired by The Wicker Man and Midnight Mass, as well as my own spin on St. Ambrose, who, among other things, is the patron saint of wax melters. Since this is a cult AU, please check the warnings before reading. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Emotional and spiritual manipulation, morally gray reader, religious sex negativity/sex shaming, elements of Catholicism, human sacrifice. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

The stage lights threatened to melt your carefully applied makeup off. You held a wide smile for so long your cheeks ached. Your eyes nervously flitted about the crowd of Ambrose’s residents, just barely able to fill three-quarters of the movie theater for the event. When your gaze fell on Vincent in the front row, he gave you a small nod of encouragement that manifested butterflies in your already twisted stomach. Could you help being hopelessly in love with your best friend?

“After much deliberation by myself and the other judges,” Trudy began in her soft drawl, harsh on the edges from her decades-long smoking habit, “we agree without a doubt, the winner of the third Miss Ambrose contest is—“

The microphone screeched when Trudy spoke your name, and the dam broke, bringing about uncontrollable tears of joy and relief. The sound of cheers and applause filled the theater, almost dictating the rhythm of your heartbeat. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done if you lost. In the weeks prior to the competition, you craved victory so badly that it filled the marrow of your bones.

With tears blurring your vision, you made your way over to Trudy. She smiled, placing the ornate wax tiara on your head and satin sash reading ‘Miss Ambrose’ in glittering crimson lettering over your shoulder. She wrapped her arms around you in an unexpected hug.

“Congratulations,” she whispered. “You deserve it.”

Hardly able to utter your thanks, you attempted to compose yourself while she addressed the crowd again.

“I believe we can all agree that this young woman here exemplifies the qualities this community holds dear,” she said, her gaze shifting to you with pride evident in her features, leaving you overwhelmed at the praise of your community’s leader. “If you’d like to share a few words, honey, now’s your chance.”

You nodded, trembling as you stood in front of the microphone. “First, I wanna thank the judges, Ms. Trudy, Father Julian, and Ms. Louann for giving me such a great honor. I also wanna thank my parents for believing in me as much as they believe in this town. Most of all, I wanna say that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than Ambrose, and I just—“ the tears began to flow again, and you managed to get a hold of yourself long enough to add, “I’m so grateful to St. Ambrose for everything he’s done for us. I don’t feel worthy to represent him on his feast day, but I’ll do my best. Thank you.”

Taking a step back from the microphone, you smiled as Louann handed you a bouquet of flowers. Louann was the previous Miss Ambrose and as such had the privilege of serving on the judge’s panel to decide who her successor would be. You were sure she would’ve preferred her own daughter, but she wasn’t interested in competing, an oddly reclusive girl around your age you’d long since given up befriending. Since there were so few people in Ambrose, the pool of young women eligible for the coveted crown was small, and therefore the competition could only be held once every seven or so years. Besides the feast day of your town’s namesake patron saint, the Miss Ambrose competition was one of the most highly anticipated events around.

Being Miss Ambrose was a commitment, but one you’d taken on with pride. Besides helping lead the usual procession through town, you’d serve as an ambassador to the hundreds of tourists who flooded your small town to view the spectacle. Most importantly, you’d finally be allowed to attend the celebratory mass held the night of the Feast of St. Ambrose. You weren’t sure what exactly the criteria for attendance was, but being Miss Ambrose surely meant you were worthy enough to finally go.

You were too young to remember Ambrose being on the verge of ruin when the sugar mill shut down, but your parents never failed to remind you how Trudy convinced them and the other families that comprised your close-knit community to stay. Her unorthodox ideas of shifting the town’s economy to reflect that of its patron saint was risky, but it worked, and Ambrose had carved out a niche for itself in beekeeping, wax-melting, and the artistry associated with it. As such, she was the person everyone deferred to for just about everything. Her word uncontested law. And why not? You all had it pretty good in Ambrose compared to the horrors you’d heard of going on outside the town’s limits.

The festival’s celebrations brought in abundant tourists who would patronize your small town’s shops and businesses en masse. While you understood the importance of the tourism during the festival, you found the raucous way they acted almost disrespectful to St. Ambrose and the reverence he deserved for providing so much for you.

At the very least, photography wasn’t allowed in the church. It was there that the town’s offering to St. Ambrose was displayed, a wax figure, always carefully detailed to look almost indistinguishable from a real person. Tourists could marvel at the statue, but not document it. You didn’t care for them and how they seemed to regard you all as sideshow freaks for being so insular. It especially bothered you that Vincent had to wear his mask whenever they were around. You’d hear them whisper about it, speculating why he wore it. They had no idea it was because of them.

Otherwise, he presented his bare face to your community who regarded it with normalcy. When your family would join the Sinclairs in the pew at mass, you’d occasionally end up sitting next to Vincent. You’d feel his hands, strong and soft from his work, holding the one next to you a little tighter than you normally would during the Our Father. For the sign of peace, in which you’d exchange blessings between clasped hands and chaste kisses on the cheek, he presented the unscarred half of his face to you. Still, you silently wondered what the other half would feel like against your lips.

It felt like you blinked, and you were surrounded by the people you’d grown up with, all looking at you with an unfamiliar yet welcome respect. You basked in the attention like a sunbathing snake, each compliment and affirmation filling your chest with a warm pride.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” your mother said, giving you a hug with tears in her eyes.

Your father agreed, giving you a pat on the back. “You earned it! We’re so proud of you.”

“Y’all did a great job with this one,” Trudy said.

Your family was one of the dozen or so original families that stayed in Ambrose at Trudy’s urging. She never forgot your family’s loyalty and trust in her, and it wasn’t uncommon for you to sit with them at mass or be invited to their house for a meal or a holiday. You reveled in any extra time you got to spend with Vincent, although being in the presence of your town’s savior always left you in awe.

“C’mon, a lot of that’s thanks to you, Trudy, mentoring the kids and teaching catechism on top of everything else you do,” your mother said.

While Father Julian was the parish’s pastor, most spiritual matters went to Trudy, and her decision was final. She taught catechism and set the standards for receiving sacraments. It caused friction with the larger diocese, and not long after you made your first communion, St. Ambrose’s parish split from the Vatican. Trudy had explained they lost their way, and that Ambrose was the only place practicing real Catholicism. That was why new families moved in, looking for the truth. You felt lucky to live in such a place.

“I’ve got big plans for you, girl,” Trudy said. “‘Specially with the festival coming up.”

You nodded. “Of course, Ms. Trudy. Whatever you need.”

She walked away, and you noticed Vincent subtly motioning toward the service exit behind the stage. 

“Ready to head home?” your mother asked.

“I’ll catch up. There are a few people I want to talk to first,” you said.

Your father nodded. “Alright, well, don’t stay out too late.”

Once they had left, you didn’t see Vincent in the theater anymore, and managed to slip outside undetected a few minutes later, fending off your horde of admirers. There was only one person whose attention you really wanted, anyway.

He stood outside, waiting for you in the shadows of the building. Your heels clicked against the asphalt as you walked over to him.

“Congrats, Miss Ambrose,” Vincent signed. He smiled, reaching up to adjust the tiara atop your head.

“I don’t look ridiculous, do I?”

He shook his head. Your face heated up when his hands made gentle contact with your skin. He traced your gestures with the pads of his thumbs, brushing your forehead, down to your cheeks, and finally to your lips. Vincent cradled your face in his hands for a moment longer before kissing you.

Without hesitation, you kissed him back, taking in the texture of his lips, the warmth of his body. His hands fell to your hips, pulling you closer. Steadying yourself on his bicep, you silently marveled at his strength, gasping into the kiss and allowing his tongue access to your mouth. 

Despite having heard homilies at mass and ramblings from Trudy about the sin of fornication outside of marriage, you didn’t know what exactly they were talking about until the summer after you started high school. Bo had taken pleasure in explaining the dirty details, offering to give you a demonstration. You rejected him in disgust at how lewd he made the act sound, and until then, in Vincent’s arms, you didn’t understand how anyone could fall into that trap. 

You whined softly when he pulled away from the kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he signed.

“Why did you wait?”

He nodded toward the door. His mother. For how similar he and Trudy were, they always seemed to butt heads. Still, he was the son she spoke most highly of. Vincent, the focused, dutiful son who’d inherited his mother’s artistic ability and connection to the spiritual core of the town. Her feelings on Bo changed with the weather, though it seemed he was poised to become the public face of Ambrose. A good fit, he could talk his way in or out of almost anything. Lester kept a lower profile, but he was always around to help whenever someone needed a hand. If you were being honest with yourself, you thought he was the best fit to take over Trudy’s leadership duties in Ambrose, but she always had a clear preference for the twins. 

With Vincent being Trudy’s favorite, she’d be incredibly selective about who his potential partner would be. All relationships in town had to be cleared by her. She’d shut people’s requests down for petty reasons. Now that you were Miss Ambrose, there was no reasonable way she could object to you being with Vincent.

“Maybe after the festival, we can ask her,” you whispered hopefully.

He nodded, though he practically jumped away from you when the door outside swung open, clanging against the brick wall behind it. 

Bo stood in the doorway, a knowing grin on his face, partially obscured by the shadows. “Lookit you. Bagged Miss Ambrose herself. Never thought you had it in ya, Vinny.”

“What?” Vincent signed.

“Mama’s lookin’ for y’all. I can tell her you’re busy.”

Vincent rolled his eye at Bo, “We’ll be right there.”

When the door slammed shut, Vincent kissed you again, more quickly this time, and the two of you set off to find Trudy. 

Still backstage, socializing of course, her time was a precious resource nearly everyone in town was vying for. The Miss Ambrose contest was as good of a time as any for people to catch a few minutes with her, bring up concerns or ask for advice while she was available. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Vincent together. 

“Just the people I wanted to see,” she said, as if she hadn’t sent Bo searching for you. “Vincent’s gonna be making the offering for the festival this year, some other things too to help his old mama out. Can’t do as much as I used to. You’ll help around too, won’t you?”

“I’d love to. Anything you need, just tell me.” 

“You got a good head on your shoulders. Wouldn’t’ve dreamed of crownin’ those other two. Daphne had some nerve even competing after that stupid stunt she pulled last year,” Trudy spat.

The previous year, Daphne had publicly challenged Trudy on a new directive regarding new families that moved into town and their church attendance. It was an innocent enough remark, but the principle of the thing got to Trudy. She was spiteful and vindictive, one to hold a mean grudge, but you supposed those traits were necessary to be a leader like she was. 

“Then that Christine’s a hussy. Tried to make my Bo stumble.”

You had a sinking feeling it was the other way around, and Bo had sold his mama some backwards story after his advances were spurned. You once heard someone say he could flirt the panties off of a nun. Not entirely untrue, but he was too impatient and entitled to accept anything other than complete compliance with his sexual desires. 

“I’m sure you’re not surprised Louann’s daughter didn’t bother. Might’ve given you a run for your money,” she said, looking almost unimpressed by you for a split second.

“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” you said. “I can’t tell you enough how much this means to me.”

“You deserved it, honey. Gonna be a lot of work for you the next few weeks, but I think you can handle it.”

She shooed you away, telling you to go home before it got too dark. You almost laughed. In your small community, everyone knew each other. You were just as safe walking around at 2pm as 2am. Nothing bad ever happened in Ambrose. At least, not like the horrors of the outside world you’d gleaned from the few times you bothered to watch the nightly news. All it did was confirm how lucky you were to live in a place like Ambrose, where you wanted for nothing and had few worries, didn’t have to fear what could be lurking in the dark.

“I’ll walk her home,” Vincent volunteered.

Trudy nodded. “Good. You give my parents my best, now.”

“Of course, have a good night,” you said.

When you were a safe distance from the movie theater, far from wandering eyes, Vincent took your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the top of it. The walk to your house would be short, but you wished for miles more to spend walking alongside him. Alone. He stole half a dozen more kisses from you while the two of you dragged out the walk to your front porch. If not a kiss, then his hands would be on you–the small of your back to guide you along or intertwined with yours as his thumb brushed soft circles on the top of your hand.

“I’m not going to see much of you for a while, am I?” you asked softly as your house finally came into view.

He shook his head. From what you understood, the offering was the most important part of the Feast of St. Ambrose. He’d already gotten lost in his work, whether additions to the wax museum or personal projects, but something so crucial would be sure to consume him until the day arrived.

A sad smile spread across your lips, though you understood. 

The next few days, you didn’t see much of Trudy or Vincent, instead helping around town with the various preparations for the Feast of St. Ambrose. You decorated the statue in the middle of town, an elaborate wax effigy of the patron saint, created by Trudy herself. As you covered it with carefully crafted floral wreaths and vines, people already began leaving small offerings at the base of the statue.

Just before the festival, you found time to visit Vincent, basking in the warmth of his studio, practically a furnace. Opera music grew louder as you approached. You’d spent time with him down there before, able to find your way from any of the subterranean entrances throughout town. 

Either the music was too loud, or he was too entranced in his work to notice you enter. His broad back was turned to you as he leaned over a work table in deep focus. A woman. Nude, bound to the table yet seemingly unable to move otherwise. Still you heard them through her gag. Her moans. Vincent’s hands were all over her body, caressing her curves with care, fingers tracing her features. A blinding envy flashed through you. 

“Vincent,” you snapped.

He turned around, shock that quickly twisted to rage. “What are you doing here?” he signed. “Get out!”

“No! Who is she?”

“It’s not what you think—“

“I’m Miss Ambrose!” you shouted. “Me! What does she have that I—“

“She’s the offering,” he signed.

You froze, your gaze shifting to the bound woman once more. “That’s not–you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re going to kill her?”

He nodded. Her muffled screams grew louder. “The offering is killed and then encased in wax for St. Ambrose.”

No wonder photos weren’t allowed in the church during the festival. He eyed you cautiously, expecting you to run away screaming.

“Can I watch you do it?”

He hesitated. 

“Please, Vincent?” you asked softly. 

“I just don’t want you to think of me any differently.”

“For doing what’s right? For making sure we’re provided for? We’re not messed up. The rest of the world is.”

With a newfound confidence, he grabbed the knife on the tray next to the bound woman, and you watched in awe as he lifted his arm above her chest and swiftly plunged it perfectly through her heart. Before he could pull the knife from her still warm flesh, you placed your hand over his and dug the blade in a little deeper. 

[readingcoco]

TW: eating disorders, recovery

Hello, I don't normally make posts like this but I feel ✨compelled✨

I am a 31 year old lady and I rejoined this website last year to scream into the void about Arthur Morgan (which I have very much done) but I have also made amazing friends and started writing, a hobby I had never considered before, in part because of how inspired I was by the people around me. All of which was unexpected.

The last time I was on this website was over a decade ago, when I was 17 and things were very very different. I was here primarily to find community with other people who were in the depths of their eating disorders, just like I was. It made me feel less alone but it also made me sicker in many ways that I still struggle with today. The only way I was able to find recovery was from removing myself from those spaces and thus leaving this website and others like it for the next 14 years.

I bring this up because I have just come across someone with an ED focused blog interacting with some of my posts. I'm not trying to shame anyone, certainly not the person, because if they are anything like me back then I can only empathize with the level of pain and self hatred they are experiencing. But I can't deny it made me feel weird. And it constantly shocks me that even 14 years into my recovery journey I can still feel unbelievably triggered by discussions of goal weights, calorie counting and thinspo pics 😬

I'm not sure what the point of this post is really, maybe just to articulate the complicated mix of feelings I had towards it. But it did make me think that the biggest thing that I was looking for back then was community, I felt so lonely and thought a space built on the shared experience of being depressed and starving would help ease that loneliness in some way. It in fact had the opposite impact. We were just making each other sicker and I lost more than one friend during that period.

I wish I had found fandom back then instead, which is all about joy and creation, even though many of the people participating are experiencing many of the same issues. It forces you to connect around shared excitement rather than struggle and feeds the soul rather than starves it.

[f0restofsecrets]

*Unexpected call from the skinny friend and her being happy she lost 4 pounds*

Thinspo

[smallest0ne]

uhh unexpected turn?? i was feeling kinda hungry so i decided to do my makeup in my bathroom. i heard buzzing from my living room and checked and theres A BEE which im afraid of and hate. closed the door immediately and now i cant get any food until my bf comes to deal with the bee, which is in like 2 hours! yay!

[abfor]

I can only suppose that the reason I am still losing weight in spite of the lbs of chocolate I have consumed these past 12 days is down to sheer blood loss and extreme stress??

[farmersgf]

Food Log...

Today we had an unexpected family Sunday dinner. Which means snacks everywhere and tons of different dishes that my mother insists on eating. At least it didn't start a 1500+ calorie binge - I'm so proud of myself.

[27/06/21]              [1300 cals max]

Breakfast : 250

Lunch : 350

Dinner : 550

Snack : 300+

Total : 1450+

& a sprinkle of thinspo...

[expcookie]

30 Day Thinspo Challenge?

* Your stats.

A: I don’t really weigh myself, but I might start to?

* How tall are you, do you like your height?

A: 5′9... Erm, I kind of like my height I guess? Everyone in my family is tall so it wasn’t unexpected.

* A picture of your thinspo. What features do you like about this person?

A: I can’t add photos to the post but I’ll post a picture later 🙂

* Your greatest fears about weight loss.

A: I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about weight loss with ED’s, but I think the worst is about how it effects your heart and your life span really.

* Why do you want to lose weight? Are you doing it for you?

A: I am doing it for me. I mean, being called fat for over 15 years has a bad effect on your mental health I guess especially your body image so...

* Do you binge? If so, explain why you think you do.

A: YES! It’s my biggest problem. I think the hunger gets too much for me sometimes and I end up eating everything in sight... I also think that’s why I’ve put on weight recently, because I’ve had a good few weeks of binging.

* Do your parents know you’re trying to lose weight? Do they care?

A: No. They don’t. I think they would care if I said I was trying to though? Last time I said I had an ED my Mum completely dismissed me so...

* Your workout routine.

A: I don’t really have one? I just go with whatever on the daily.

* Did people ever make comments about your weight in a negative way?

A: Yes. I answered this in a previous question, but I was called fat for over 15 years which ended up in me nearly having an attempt over it.

* What was the hardest thing you gave up during this weight loss?

A: Last time? probably eating sweets and stuff like that. Sounds like a generic answer, but y’know... It’s true.

* Your favourite thinspo blog and why.

A: I don’t have one? So the general ED section on here.

* What do you normally eat?

A: Not much, I’ve not really eaten properly in years.

* Are you losing weight in a healthy way or an unhealthy way?

A: It started out healthy I guess? Now my diet is a train wreck 😌

* What’s your UGW? When do you expect to reach it?

A: I don’t really know. I don’t know my weight now. And I’ll probably never reach it tbh.

* Are you vegan or vegetarian? If so, has this helped you to lose weight? If no, do you ever consider turning vegan or vegetarian?

A: I’m not, but I think I’d probably consider it 🙃

* When did you first decide to lose weight?

A: It really does sound bad, but 11. I was 11 years old.

* Do you have an ED?

A: Yes, Bulimia... It’s actual living hell sometimes.

* What food is your weakness?

A: If we’re talking a fear food, probably ice cream or anything really fatty? Otherwise, no idea.

* When was the last time you ate fast food?

A: Yesterday. I really need to eat less than I do 😒

* Favourite diet?

A: Again, I’m not sure?

* What are your clothing sizes?

A: Ah, A size 10 in jeans and a 12 in like tops and stuff 😐

* What was your lowest weight? How and why did you gain?

A: I think it was probably the picture I posted yesterday. I gained because my school were watching me like hawks...

* Did the media play a role in your wanting to lose weight?

A: Not really, bullying did though...

* How do you feel about the terms pro-ana/pro-mia?

A: My teenage years in a nutshell 👌🏻

* Have you ever purged? If you have, describe your first experience.

A: Have you ever had a glass of whiskey? That burning sensation in your throat? That was my experience with it 🔥

* What excites you most about reaching your UGW?

A: I don’t have one, but probably that I can be like normal girls and not get bullied about my weight.

* How do you deal with being around food?

A: I’m not yet at that point where it scares me, so it’s pretty easy at the moment .

* Do you want a thigh gap? Why?

A: I do, but I don’t think I have the bone structure for it so... 🍖

[thinwishes-tinydreams]

138.8 (-1.2)

ran 6 miles, had quite a bit of food. capezzoli di venere, fruit salad, small burger patty, orzo salad, more kefir... the amount of food i eat in the evening and late night is truly concerning. i can deny myself food all day, but as soon as the sun sets... i need another few days of staying hungry and exercising. legs are SO sore from the unexpected exercise, but they needed it. i think i’ll take a rest and do a home workout today. stretch my legs and focus on my abs and arms. i want to look like francesca!! she’s my new thinspo!! thinspo later.

[pursuit-of-tiny]

Currently regretting taking the diet pill today.. the laxative effect was unexpected and inconvienent to say the least ... on the plus- plenty time to look at thinspo 😂

[flavorlesscalories]

joker movie = unexpected thinspo

[returntosickness]

Why is everyone at this school like 90 lbs what am I missing is there a course I missed in first year?

[venus-haze]

Mr. February (Driller Killer x Reader)

Summary: You get an unexpected visitor while looking through the February issue of Playgirl, whose centerfold of the month is doing absolutely nothing for you. Lucky for you, he’s willing to give you the real thing. At least, you think it’s the real thing.

Note: This is a ridiculous, raunchy, and extremely self-indulgent fic that I wrote mostly in three hours so take that as you will. The reader is a cis woman but no other descriptors are used. This was so fun to write because the Driller Killer in SPM2 is nothing if not outrageous. Shorter than what I usually write, but there’s very little plot to this. Do not interact if you are under 18 or if you post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), hair pulling (m. receiving), finger sucking (m. receiving), light choking (m. receiving) brief daddy kink. Dubcon to be safe since through most of the fic it's intentionally unclear whether it’s a dream or not. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Mr. February was not doing it for you. Blond hair, muscular build, and a boy-next-door smile as he leaned against the door frame of an auspicious suburban house with nothing but a toolbelt on—no matter how many different ways you tried to imagine the scenario, you couldn’t get into it. When your good friend Brenda had a girls’ night at her place, you lamented your sexual woes over glasses of wine. To your comfort, the other women present also weren’t particularly impressed with Playgirl’s recent offerings.

A little after one in the morning, you called it a night, heading upstairs to the guest bedroom Brenda was letting you crash in. Your other friends lived close enough to walk home if they wanted to and decided to stick around longer. Carefully shutting the door behind you, you looked at the centerfold that the group of you had bemoaned. How could it be possible that a man could be simultaneously so hot and so sexless?

You hoped the half bottle of wine you’d consumed would help get your imagination going, not that you hadn’t gone that route before. Undressing down to your bra and panties, you laid down on the guest bed. You grabbed the magazine yet again, as if staring at the nearly nude handyman would somehow make you suddenly attracted to him. 

Huffing in frustration, you glared at the magazine by your side. Brenda had given you the advice to cancel your subscription and try to find something raunchier, more tailored to your tastes than the generic guys in the safest porno mag you could possibly buy. The more you stared at Mr. February, the more annoyed you felt, his perfect smile mocking you as you slid your hand between your legs, trying to find some way to picture the guy in a scenario that would actually get you off.

Minutes went by, and nothing. He was too clean, too sterile, too perfect. You couldn’t picture him being able to do anything besides a pleasureless and mechanic missionary position that plagued the pill-popping housewives of old. Jesus. You’d have better luck with a fully clothed missionary at your front door than the schmuck on the glossy pages of the magazine. 

You threw your arm over your eyes, thinking instead about how much you’d like to kick Mr. February in the toolbelt. Sleep caught up with you more quickly than you expected, because your frustrated, horny brain seemed to conjure up a man that was far more to your taste. Your limbs felt odd as you sat up from the bed upon hearing a low whistle come from his lips as he stood on the other side of the room.

“This all for me?” he asked.

Black haired and leather-clad with a smile that made you squeeze your thighs together, he stalked closer to you, his tongue darting out from between his sharp teeth. His wild eyes took you in with an intensity that was nothing short of famished. He wanted to eat you alive. Finally.

Leaning back in the bed on your elbows, you gave him a confident smile as you pushed out your chest, welcoming the attention. It was your dream, after all.

His hand ghosted your arm as he picked up the magazine at your side, looking it over for a moment. Shaking his head at the centerfold, he hit it with the back of his hand as if in solidarity with your disdain. This guy, am I right? He closed it, his attention on the cover.

“Playgirl,” he read aloud, before bringing his gaze to you, an amused grin spreading across his dangerous face. “Is that what you wanna do? Play, girl?”

Girl rolled off his upturned lips in coils that wrapped around your throat, rendering you incapable of answering. Girl was demeaning, mocking, as if you didn’t have a full time job that paid for your own apartment. Girl went straight to your pussy as you nodded in response to his question.

He licked his lips, tossing Mr. February aside as he caged you onto the bed with his body. You tilted your head up to kiss him, not bothering with any pretense of testing the waters. It was your dream, and he’d kiss you back how you wanted him to, pent up and passionate with the sweetest hint of desperation. Without hesitation, he parted his lips for you, allowing you to slip your tongue in his mouth, the warmth and taste almost making your head spin at how real he felt. 

Still supporting yourself on your elbows, you threw a leg over his hips, pressing his body closer against yours, only exacerbating the flush of heat that’d spread across your skin. His touch made you feel like you were burning, kissed by invisible flames that left you needy for more. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away, dazed and breathless, though his lips followed yours, starving for another taste of your strawberry glossed lips. His were soft, though yours wouldn’t stay that way for long as he nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth, clearly reveling in the whimpers you barely managed to let out. You were almost disappointed when he showed you mercy and gave you a gentle kiss before drawing back.

“Goddamn, you’re something else,” he murmured.

“What about you? Who are you?” you asked, searching his face for an answer. You must have known him from somewhere, unsure if your subconscious could conjure up someone like him on its own.

“I’m the man of your dreams, baby,” he crooned. “I got the tools to give you everything you need.”

He took your hand, placing it over his crotch, his hard cock straining against his tight leather pants. Your breath caught in your throat, he certainly wasn’t exaggerating. Squeezing his erection, a jolt of electricity rushed through you at his groan, deep and unapologetically loud as he jerked his hips against your hand.

“Not so fast, baby,” he said, his smile almost mischievous, like he was letting you in on a secret. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

He hissed through his teeth when you pulled your hand away from his pants, pride bubbling in you for eliciting such a reaction from him, and over his clothes no less. Still, he wanted to take the lead, and after so much frustration on your end trying to make Mr. February fulfill something other than a wonderbread fantasy, you were more than happy to lie back and let your dream lover do the work. He shed his jacket, kicking it to the edge of the bed.

Rough hands glided across your skin, a shiver racing down your spine until he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulled them down until he threw the garment on the other side of the room. He pushed your thighs apart, and you released a shaky breath in futile preparation for how his tongue would feel on your pussy.

He sure as hell didn’t beat around the proverbial bush, his tongue teasing your clit as he slid his index and middle fingers inside you, as if it’d at all be comparable to what you’d felt in his pants earlier. That wasn’t the point of it, though, not when he relentlessly lapped at your pussy, the sound of your own arousal on his tongue almost embarrassing you.

No one could hear it, not in a dream, so you indulged yourself, grabbing a handful of his greased hair and pulling him closer. He groaned against your sensitive cunt when you tugged on his hair, the sensation making your pussy clench.

“You like that?” you asked, your voice light as you tried not to moan out your question.

He lifted his head for a moment, a fucked out expression on his face as if you’d been giving him head and not the other way around. Your wetness glistened on his lips and chin, as he looked up at you. “Fuck yes, do it again.”

You tugged on his hair again, your fingernails scraping his scalp. He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Damn, he looked almost…pretty.

His voice was close to a growl when he praised, “Just like that, baby.”

His face disappeared between your legs again, and you choked out a gasp as he licked up your juices before bringing his attention back to your clit with a desperate pull at his disheveled locks. He held your legs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as if to steady himself as he brought you closer to orgasm.

You could’ve sworn you heard a loud bang followed by muffled screaming. It almost sounded too real to be a dream, and for the first time since this mystery man arrived in your bed, the twist in your gut wasn’t from pleasure.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice soft as it trailed off into a moan.

“Nothin’ but a good time, baby,” he answered slyly. “You just focus on me.”

With a curl of his fingers inside your wet pussy, you couldn’t do anything but whimper in response, pulling at his hair again. You struggled to keep your eyes open, and with no protest from him, allowed them to shut as pleasure crept up on you. 

Your hips bucked as he flicked his tongue on your sensitive clit, and with that you were gone. Your moan sounded almost pained to your own ears, but you’d never felt an orgasm so intense before, one that made your toes curl and your pussy ache as it clenched around his fingers. 

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, he was still eating you out, as if to see whether or not he could make you cum again on his tongue. You whimpered, sensitive and breathless as he didn’t let up. 

His name. Fuck, you didn’t even know his name, and your brain was too fuzzy to come up with anything besides an almost pathetic sounding, “Daddy.”

“Say it again, baby,” he groaned.

“Fuck daddy, more,” you pleaded.

Gripping the sheets for some kind of leverage, you came, harder this time as you let out a moan that seemed to echo throughout the room. In the back of your mind, you were wondering if you were moaning so loudly in real life. Would they wake you up? Would they even mention it?

Licking up your pussy again for good measure, he lifted his head, looking to you for your direction. Weakly, you shook your head. He smirked a bit, crawling back up to you and pressing his fingers that had been inside you against your lips which you mindlessly opened your mouth and began sucking.

His eyes were wild again as you sucked your cum from his fingers, dragging your tongue along each one as you looked at him through hooded eyelids. He pushed his fingers further back in your mouth, his knuckles brushing against your lips. 

“You think you can take more, girl?” 

Your whine was muffled from his fingers in your mouth.

“Don’t tell me I wore you out already,” he teased.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from your mouth before sticking them in his own, to your shock. It didn’t last long, though, because his lips were soon on yours again. You kissed him more passively this time, considering why you felt so exhausted, as if it were real. In a dream, you’d be able to last longer despite your pent up frustration thanks to Mr. fucking February, couldn’t you?

You felt too good to question it, and brought your hand to the side of his neck, caressing the skin with your fingertips before moving them ever so slightly to squeeze gently. He moaned into your mouth, and you smiled a bit, squeezing again. Placing his hand over yours, he guided you to put more pressure, and with the way his hips jerked when you did so, you were sure he was going to cum in his tight leather pants. It was a wonder he could even move in them, even if he were just a figment of your horny subconscious.

“Aren’t you hot with all of that on?” you asked as you moved your head back slightly, noticing the sheen of sweat on your own bare skin.

He grinned. “I’m hot with it off too.”

You laughed, until you heard the screaming again, but didn’t pay it any mind. Weird things happened in dreams all the time, and you wanted this one to last as long as it could. If not, you hoped you dreamed about him again, that it wouldn’t be something you’d have a fleeting memory of when you woke up, only to forget it the moment you got out of bed.

Unfortunately, he had other plans, as it seemed like you blinked and he was standing next to the bed, fully dressed again, his hair looking like you’d never even touched it. Licking your lips, you took in his appearance. The next time you dreamed about him, maybe you’d have him do something more interesting with the leather. He cracked a grin, as if he knew what you had been thinking.

He picked up the discarded magazine, looking at it once again in amusement before throwing it into the garbage pail by the nightstand. “You’re not gonna need that anymore. Not that Mr. February was doing you any good anyway.”

“Nope,” you agreed. “It’s all you.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby.”

You tilted your head, unsure of what to expect next. If you were lucid dreaming, couldn’t you wake yourself up? Though, you weren’t sure exactly how to do that. The clock in the room read a normal time, you knew enough that in dreams they’d be distorted. Sighing, you supposed you’d just wake up on your own naturally.

Your dream man leaned down, regarding you with a tenderness that seemed odd on him. He caressed your cheek, the cool leather of his glove giving a slight reprieve to your warm skin.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetness,” he said, giving you one last kiss before you blacked out.

You woke up, a cloud of grogginess still in your mind, a whisper of soreness in your limbs. You looked down at the wet spot on your sheets, brushing it with your fingertips and bringing them close to your nose. It smelled of you and something vaguely familiar, though as much as you wracked your brain, you couldn’t identify it. What a weird dream. At least, you thought so, until you noticed your panties on the floor, right where he’d thrown them.

[angedesneiges]

Story time

Today, I was at my dance class when one of the girls in my group said “Oh I’ve gained like 6 pounds in a week because I’ve been eating too much!” (she’s literally the thinnest in my group) and another girl told her “If you mean you’ve gotten fat I swear I’ll kill you!” Someone elle said, “If you’re fat, then what are we? Enormous?” Then, we moved on because another girl asked a question about the choreography.

Suddenly, my teacher stopped her in the middle of her sentence and said in a really serious tone, “Girls. Seriously. If any of you is anorexic or bulimic I’ll never talk to you again. Like... I mean, I know it’s a mental illness but don’t start thinking like that, it’s just stupid. None of you is fat and you’ll only know if you are when you grow up. If you want to stay slim like I am (she’s real life thinspo I swear), I’ll give you a trick: eat all the time. Eat smaller portions of healthy food but more often and you’ll never gain weight. I know it’s apparently a ‘common thing’ in the dancing industry, but please, never start thinking or doing things like someone who has an eating disorder, it’s just stupid.”

Then we started talking about it and the same girl who said she had gained 6 pounds asked what was bulimia and I was the one to answer her and I replied almost instantly. I was so scared my teacher was going to find out. I knew the message wasn’t directed towards anyone but I felt so targeted by this specific subject since we started talking about it in a really unexpected and serious way. My heart was beating so fast and I was so nervous that someone was somehow going to find out. People said things such as “Oh making yourself sick is so disgusting! I hate being sick to begin with, so I couldn’t imagine doing this to myself!” After, everyone was just talking about how they ‘could never be anorexic because they love food too much’ and I just had to pretend I agreed with them and that I just loved food SO MUCH, while in reality it stresses me out.

Not only did my teacher’s message trigger me a little, but it was so far from eating disorder’s reality. You can’t just decide to ‘not think that way’ or to ‘not have disordered eating behaviours because you want to’. It’s a mental illness, she even said it. You can’t decide to never have it or to stop having it. It’s a painful illness to live with and you know what you’re doing is stupid, or even insane, but you just can’t stop. You feel stuck in this and it’s almost terrifying at times. To say she would never talk to us again if we ever thought that way was kind of sad, because you don’t choose to think that way and to see yourself the way you do. Also, it showed me how uneducated people are about it. Most people in my group couldn’t explain what anorexia or bulimia is or tell the difference between both, let alone explaining what the other eating disorders are. They too thought you choose to act that way and thought they could never be anorexic because they love food so much or could never be bulimic because they could never make themselves sick. They clearly don’t understand how the disorder works and why people starve or purge. It’s not necessarily their fault, but it’s kind of disapointing that people talk so little about eating disorders, while it’s such a common issue in our society. I’m pretty sure educating people about this subject could prevent hurtful comments, such as the ones I’ve heard, to be said and people dealing with these issues could feel more understood and supported, and would maybe even be more tempted to reach out for help.

Anyway, that was just a little story I felt I had to share...

[emilleflowerbaby-blog]

Unexpected thinspo

I saw a video called 'when you lose weight' and apparently it was the first episode of kiss him not me. Like OMG hella thinspo. I always considered anime thinspo already this brought it to a whole new level.

[academichotmess-blog]

Roland Barthes and Thinspo

In his book, Barthes discusses two key concepts that I found very interesting when thinking about images within the pro-eating disorder community. Barthes discusses stadium and the punctum, with the first being the element that generates interest in a photograph and the second being the unexpected detail that stands out and has a personal effect on the viewer. Many photos that are dubbed “thinspiration” present an interesting case for investigating the stadium and the punctum, as I will demonstrate below. 

The image above is from a Victoria Secrets fashion show. To find this image, I simply searched for Victoria Secrets fashion show and picked an image at random. This image demonstrates both stadium and punctum effectively especially when considering within the context of pro-anorexia. For the person outside of the community, the picture of the Victoria’s Secret model brings forward thoughts of the beauty industry or of the objectification of women. Or possibly, a person just thinks about the fact it is a half-naked women from the leading lingerie company. However, for the pro-ana community, this becomes a different image. The stadium for the pro-ana community is the visual nature of the body as well as the thinness of the body. However, the punctum is the bones. The visual bones of the models act as the detail that stands out for the pro-ana community and the personal affect is that it inspires them to restrict and exercise (their thinspiration). This might be a punctum for other people, but it is a primary focus for this community. The punctum for people outside of this community might be the lingerie itself or the make-up/beauty of the model itself.