people aren't wrong in saying you should have sympathy for girls with eating disorders but whenever someone uses online eating disorder communities (like ed twitter) as an example I cannot follow...like those girls are getting hate for being just straight up awful to other people who have nothing to do with them. taking someone else's photo and saying you're using it as inspiration to starve yourself is worthy of criticism
The complete lack of sympathy and outright hate for people in pro#n# communities is part of the reason why so many people fall into those communities and stay in them. Yes the things they do are weird, and maybe morally wrong, they are mentally ill, and screaming at them about how morally disgusting they are won’t help them, it will make them delve even deeper into the echo chamber of mentally ill anorexics they are in. I’m not saying that they should be uncriticisable, they are fully worthy of criticism, and should be criticised for their, objectively, very strange and immoral actions. But targeting hate towards them or not having any sympathy for them just makes the situation worse, and doesn’t encourage them to get better. You can’t be only sympathetic towards and tolerant of mental illness until mentally ill people actually do something that god forbid, is mentally ill.
Where’s the hate for them on their pages? Most people in the reblogs here are pointing out very true things such as the bigotry, unchecked misogyny, and the projection of inferiority onto others. They’re literally surrounded by yes men and other women and girls who adore having anorexia. That’s part of the nature of the mental illness yes, but they want to feel validated in their thoughts and efforts in this “challenging” choice or need for control. Many things can be true at once it’s not one or the other. They are bullies with an eating disorder, the former always seeming to come before the latter. They’re so desperate for attention and this need to one up everyone, they take innocent random girls and women’s photos to use as “fatspo” calling anyone they deem larger than them or uglier than them vile things. They know what they are doing and they don’t give a fuck, they don’t have to have mental illness to do that. Where is the support for the women and girls bullied and used as their shit motivation to starve themselves and neglect their health? Where is the support for binge eating disorders where it can make the person fat? Because that’s not desirable- overeating doesn’t make the desirable aesthetic body to photograph and post online. Fatphobia is engrained into everything, seen as less desirable, thought of less and also used as a physical and metaphorical punching bag. It’s the root of both extreme sicknesses and to try to wave away their consistent and encouraging actions of vitriol against the victims of these women is dismissive. Theres plenty of mentally ill people around with an eating disorder that don’t post their cruelty online and make it everyone’s problem. We all live in a world that hates any amount of fat on people. That doesn’t make anyone special or immune to accountability towards their actions towards others. Toleration has limits and to let sick people take unchecked harmful actions against themselves and others is not as progressive as you think.
As someone who struggles with body image it’s hard to feel sympathy for those who take bodies who look like mine and use it to fuel their sickness and be praised in their success because they are thin while fatness is seen as undesirable and a moral failing above all else. To suggest thin women struggling with ana are more victims than the fat women they love to post and use and are obsessed with would be disingenuous. To end on a semi positive note, I hope that the girls and women struggling with ana recover, there is so much life to live and to live it always in your head thinking about your body is a cage. It’s all about perspective and mentally ill or not we can pivot our mindsets with professional help and support with time and patience- this is the true challenge.
The other people you mentioned don’t have THE ONLY mental disorder with an actual confirmable fatality rate. Yes, anorexic teenage girls are more victims than some non disordered adult.
“The other people you mention”… what other people? Can you speak clearly and concisely because your argument is - teenage girls with anorexia are more of a victim than anyone else- ohhh ohh and because anorexia can be fatal that makes them a higher priority over ANYONE else struggling. What a bad faith take. No shit it has a high mortality rate, they’re not getting any nutrients!!! They’re starving to death we all know this it’s not rocket science lmfao.
You’re disregarding like everything else I wrote and sweeping the actual argument of not only the original post to this thread but my statement of their actions and choices ripping down other teenage girls and women.
Also many adults struggle with restriction and falling into that severity of thinking, it doesn’t go away just because they become an adult. There are women in their 30s, 40s, 50s+ who fall back into it when the media starts pushing extremism with thinness as in recent years again.
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
Leon Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, forniphilia/human furniture(reader serves as a table), ddlg, fauxcest, smut, female reader, age gap!!!!, dumbification, fingering, doggy position, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, implied leon's infertility, implied alcoholism, creampie, hyperspermia, mommy and daddy issues (leon, reader has only daddy issues lol), teasing, petnames, established relationship, aftercare?kindof? not proofread
summary: Your daddy is a flawed misery-clad man. Now lacking innocence he had back in Police Academy, the overfilled to the brim glass of whiskey makes up for it with the vulgar handwritten gospel preached in a pin-pointed list on the fridge and a dear you follow it, oh, so thoroughly.
notes: hiiii i think this is not typical ddlg dynamic, i mean at least i havent read that here but i hope it is still fun to read!!!!! and leon is kind of sleazy here lol again sorryyy :3 asks, reblogs and any kind of interaction is appreciated!!!!!
tags: @nekkiphobic @fawnela @melanchol1cs
Your daddy is a flawed misery-clad man, as much as a man can be as every one of them born with a sin. Now lacking innocence he had back in Police Academy, the overfilled to the brim glass of whiskey makes up for it with the vulgar handwritten gospel preached in a pin-pointed list on the fridge and a dear you follow it, oh, so thoroughly.
Something like thou should have no other gods (daddies) than me, honour thou father and mothe—
Well, without mother part, as a matter of fact the family issues hit really close to bone.
His mama? A fucking booboo brought into his late forties because she never said those soft 'i love you's. Perhaps not being a man enough to blame in the lack of mother's affection metamorphosing into a never ending neuropathic itch.
And to confess his dad was deadbeat as in being dead before his voice broke into a squeaky timbre no different than nails on the board. And before his underwear was painfully wet every morning. And beat as in beating him, a slap or two makes one a man which is debatable in his alcoholized mind, a timbre of low voice didn't make him feel like a man, hitting you under alcoholic haze neither, but hard dick? Of course it does.
But there is an issue. A weird one, embarrassingly stupidly weird one like faceplanting in front of the hottest woman in the red. Leon drinks too much and alcoholism takes a toll on his poor-poor little…no, average (but thick!) dick.
Actually terrifying.
So naturally 'mother' is crossed out violently by a pen indenting chaotic kitten scratches on the mahogany wood of the table. Simply Freudian. Your mama would not be happy with a man like him, your mama wouldn't like the gaudy display consisting of her beloved, perfect straight A grades angel on all fours, your mama and grandma didn't fight for the equality just for your pretty heart-shaped ass be used as a table by a trauma-clad alcoholized simian.
He can be your dad, but he isn't. Fortunately. Leon hopes so.
For the peace of his own mind any past intercourse was wrapped in that tight fucking rubber he can still feel it around his dick to these days. That's for the best, not falling down the hill to fuck his nonexistent daughter. That would be immoral, while roleplaying as your daddy-the-dearest is more virtuous with your full blown daddy issues. On the contrary, they only facilitate that.
So, retracing to your predicament; you are his embodiment of the shiniest star (if it was a dog kind of) brighter than Pleiades on the freezing winter night, twinkle little star muzzled by shabby heart shaped pacifier with 'I love my daddy' faded away as a result of the ongoing popping in and out of your welcoming mouth.
Then there is a top with the thinnest straps miraculously containing your plush breasts, with a miniskirt that peeks at your fat pussy cupped by shiny satin tights outlining your legs thanks to the lights of TV, like sea droplets glimmering under the sun. The luminous blue hue bounces off your skin — another Tarantinosque B-action movie rolls on in which Leon is not interested anymore and the rugged carpet digs into your knees and palms, like thousands, no, billions dry peas.
You just wanted to have a full blown family with him.
That was actually a foremost mistake from both sides. First, because Leon didn't write that down under the daddy-will-get-angry section and second, that's not something one should bring up to an already struggling man, comparable to pointing at male's migrating hairline (or calling a girl fat).
Well, anyway. You with a bottle and glass on your back enthralls him easier than a bimbo on the screen would ever do. Pretty women are candies for an eye, but that's just putative product on display which rather kills his boner than serves as AED. Leon's affection towards alcoholism doesn't overshadow his own adoration towards you despite his blood is more confidant with alcohol than with his dick. Addictive likewise his long term habit.
And the bottle is heavy, cold and a perfect distraction from numbing tiredness in your poor-poor limbs. The neck of the bottle clinks at the lightest contact upon the rim of crystalline glass, emitting a hypnotizingly soothing liquid rush. And when the weight heavens on your back, the intensifying woody smell of whiskey that fills your senses informs of another emptied shot, burning its way through his throat.
Almost on your tongue too. It's warm and rich, like after work kisses during which you scrunch pretentiously your nose. A glass after glass and another light bell-like sound from the bottle while amber-coloured liquid pours. And it makes you feel useful, of huge importance and wet enough for your tights to mold to your pussy.
Probably visible. Probably a patch that spreads rapidly. You swear to god you can feel it on your thighs. No, probably sweat. Yes.
What does he think of?
You. You'd win the hypothetical competition: on the top of the list in ads filled websites he'd click on the first link title like The 5 most addictive substances on earth! His personal rating cares less about objectivity as after you there is alcohol. Old habits die hard.
And your range of provided pleasure is huge, starting from your mouth around his dick to your pussy squeezing him like a Venus trap. So fucking worse. A thousand times worse than heroin, easy to hook on and impossible to hop off. Leon would be a prime heroin addict then. Not really. Caressing the side of his neck, like an itch straight out of 2004. Alcoholism is perfect for him actually.
Last breathy 'haa' reaches your ears before the looming threat of breaking your coeval fades away. Or this whiskey is older than you. Probably his age. Are there forty and something old whiskey? In any case that would make it humiliating you don't want to ponder on that. Doesn't matter as much, it is all in the past (one minute ago, supposedly) and now his hand replaces the past weight on your back, the smooth neck of the bottle is now your skin stroked like an expensive porcelain.
"So good, right there," Leon soothes you, rolling down your satin with underwear. Embarrassingly wet. If not visible, then probably clings to the gusset. Oh god, that's enough to emphasize your desperation. You are, fortunately not in the fashion of a delusional virgin college girl destined to rejection, but in a fuck-me-please-i-need-you. Not really lady-like.
"You are so cute." His hand cradles your face briefly for his thumb to caress your cheek.
"Tenk yew." Mouth is busy but you are a good behaved lady despite your bio-daddy lacking in his presence.
Like a cat that just got scratched on the back, your hips sways the moment his hand creeps lower to spread your lips with two fingers, the room's air much chiller than your exposed folds and Leon shushes your whimper with his gliding touch on your pussy.
Really wet, dripping to the point it is slippery even for a slow glide. A flick on your clit which grows consistently into continuous circle wise motion, enjoying those tiny wet clicks which makes your thighs quiver from the pleasure. And from a light embarrassment, which gets kicked out as soon as one digit dips into your hole. You'd whine and complain about wanting more but Leon's patience wishes for improvement as another joins.
Thick, not thicker than his dick. Still nicely stretches your hole which sucks him wetter and hotter than your mouth would ever do. Letting you adjust with the slow pace and kisses on the middle of your back following a sensitive line and with every loud smooch intensifying a throbbing pleasure not even noticing how his pace grew into a dripping mess along his fingers.
A sickeningly vulgar picture is painted on your features by his two digits plummeting in and out of your hole, while with no shame you gush around them painting your trembling thighs in a glimmering viscous fluid evoking the wettest and sloppiest sounds. A self indulgent personal porn tape that rolls whenever his digits press onto your spongy sweet spot, like a button, almost crumbling on the spot — the sight he is besotted with since.
Teeth gnaw onto gummy nipple of your pacifier as the ardent pleasure, takes roots from your clit to every nook and cranny. You swear his fingers stuffed you with cotton it spins your head and magnifies growing weakness in your shaky limbs as wet noises out of your pussy intensifies with harsh pumping. Plush lips form a tiny O for a loud moan to slip and this close for your pacifier to fall out.
That won't do.
"Keep it in your mouth or I'll stop," Leon grunts and you flinch from an echoing stinging slap. A muffled whimper as in yes, dad, of course, I'll try my best, dad! That… doesn't quite suffice as another slap deepens burn and your eyes dim with tears. "Furniture doesn't make noises."
Arguable, but those are redundant details.
What matters now is his dick ignoring liters of alcohol in his blood by avid throbbing against your thigh whenever he drives every nerve of your body to burn from the euphoria. It is contagious. And Leon is a man of terrible vices. Addictive to get the most out of your cloying reaction by quickening the pace, pumping deeper and faster, feeling your walls squeeze around moving intrusion as clearly you try your best to not fail him. Unfortunately your body betrays you, presenting your hole like a bitch in a heat your hips remain in air with tits pressed flat.
That was quick, flashes in his mind. The painfully throbbing in his hard dick combined with your crumbling is a divine intervention, an ancestral temptation in the shape of a twenty and something years old girl and any kind of it is not foreign for Leon. He fell for pretty eyes premising a tight pussy in the restroom's piss-stained stall, now his beloved Matilda underneath cushion is just a glimpse of past vice by his sick head.
And your pussy is ready. Like one thousand percent ready. Glistening in front of him, clenching around nothing, fucking lulling him to fuck you. He knows it, he felt that and he needs to feel it better.
"Nuh-uh." Leon yanks your retreating hips to stay still.
"Sorry, dad," you mouth. The pacifier lies next to your head with saliva coated nipple realizing it slipped off. Despite his earlier threat, Leon doesn't seem to be upset; on the contrary he is enthralled by your convenient doggy position.
"I thought furniture doesn't make noises, but you can't even keep yourself straight." You know he doesn't mean that, void of what a little disappointment or i expected better in his gaze which frankly is a quite popular two-in-one combo for paternal figure after shampoo.
The dull slap of leather strap pavloved you long before this little arrangement. Or after. Nor you nor Leon are good with dates. Instinctively you arch deeper shoving your face to the floor, sweet enough to present your holes to him.
"But dad loves you despite that, I just need to teach you better…Mmm," he hums. A zip and his hard dick springs free, heavily bobbing in the air. "Better manners…"
Shlick-shlick!
A really picturesque noise. A fist curled around his girth, three or two pumps along his curved dick, guiding himself to your pussy. Another wet pump, impatiently leaking pre-cum on his red thick head which is nestled in your hole — you want to lick off and slither across your lips like a new lip gloss. Nothing goes to waste here.
"There is nothing to look at," Leon says, pushing your head back in place. "Stay still and on the best behavior." Well, tonight you won't see your pussy swallow him or his expressions, only feel it.
A nudge which reminds you of a trivial fact what he lacks in size is compensated by his thickness. And oh lord your eyes roll back at the head-spinning stretch that fills your cunt with every further driven inch, your breath hitches in your throat until his tip knocks against your cervix and balls rest flat against your clit. And silver-peppered pubes grazes your round ass.
Can't go deeper, unfortunately anatomically impossible.
"Fuck, that's it." Your walls pulses around him and toes curl at a bruising grind. "stay like that," Leon grunts, squeezing the fat of your hips together until it spills through gaps of his fingers. You hope it leaves a bruise. "Still and nice, take your lesson thoroughly from dad."
A torturous drag until the tip nestles into your hole and fullness is replaced by a throbbing emptiness that dizzies your head with temptations to shove his dick back inside in a quick lurch backward. Your desires are probably interlinked and you hope so, really. Red thread, fate and all that cheesy shit you watched on TV. So the red line will always bring him to your hole.
His hips slam forwards, burying himself deep inside, like a piece of puzzle he slots into your velvety walls that squeeze every little vein and curve of his dick inside you. It numbs anything not his dick related. And your tits bounce. And his balls slap your clit at deep rough thrust making your body flinch forward burning your gentle flesh against the rugged carpet. Nor you grasping (or trying to) onto it helps you to stay still.
Is there blood? Oh lord, no-no. Sweat! You want to cry, for god's sake!
"Ughhhh—stoop." Your clit throbs for more whenever your hips connect with a loud slap. You swear to god it will bruise. "Daaaaad!"
"No can do."
His hand shoves you against the carpet and he leans lower to kiss your neck. And it would be unwise to stop in the middle of the deed and fucking stupid, considering how your walls clench around his pistoning dick.
A ball of worry in your chest gets kicked with another suffocating knock on your cervix, redirecting your thoughts to something simpler. Simple as his dick hitting your G-spot. Simple as soft smooches on your neck. Or even simpler as in please, er until your knees are bloody — you need your dad to fuck you into a catatonic state.
Probably already, as your head is full of cotton. Feels like that, really, there wouldn't be a different explanation for your back arching to take him deeper. At this point your heart and pussy is one separate system. No lingering emptiness for you to dread over as he stuffs you in short and harsh slams. In and out with sloppiest noises out of your hole, straight out of 80s vintage porno.
Those old retired ladies are unaware of a new-born competition right now on the floor of his sorry apartment. A super star with a series of sweet breathy ah-aah-ah! and something vaguely in high-pitched dad! jolting his dick inside your sloppy cunt and tightening in his heavy balls. Squeezing with one hand your doughy flesh that burns from ongoing skin-slapping.
With another his thumb circles onto your sensitive clit, enough for a new chain of stop, stop, too much dad! echoes against the walls which falls on his deaf ear(something he blames on guns!). Not deaf enough to not hear your simple moaning from Leon's dick ramming rougher into you as his orgasm quickly builds up — cons (or pros, he doesn't really know) of age, the infertility is just a consolation bonus.
Likewise for you. Drooling onto the carpet, mind narrows to the sensation amidst your shaky legs, all to blame his vehement thrusts and to thank his bruising gripping onto your hips preventing you from crumbling like a fine porcelain.
"Oh fuck, you are so good, taking your lesson so well." His chest heaves whenever your walls clamp even more on his dragging cock: she centers him like no woman could ever. Brief friction against cervix as your hole sucks him brings a sweet heaviness onto his head, difficult to keep it still like a foreign object. "Sweetest hole, dad loves you, Oh—!"
Leon is this close to come. Well, you are making him come. His fingers flicks your clit and his tightening balls echoing in slaps against it magnifies the coiling pleasure that makes your pussy flutter and she drips along your thighs, clings to his balls and drops onto floor, he almost slips out of your hole from fast ruts before in one whole snap burying himself to the hilt, spilling the load into you.
Your pussy helps him too, prolonging his throbbing pleasure by spasming (almost sucking him in with plea to not pull out ever) in rhythm with your moans as he fills you to the brim and not something Leon can control. It takes a lot of time, pulling out his incessantly leaking dick with a loud pop. Not a lot he can do as it takes its sweet time to stop spurting his sperm.
And it is everywhere. Trickling and trailing from your swollen stuffed hole, sullying anything that was already or untouched by as it flows. On your ass, like pearly spiderwebs, cling to your skin and your satin tights are not in the best condition; dark patches dim glimmering, seeping into fabric. Warm, thick but not unpleasant as your gaze is drowned by adoration. A droplet rolls down on the floor, precisely on the carpet which god knows what concoction it seeped.
Vomit from his all night drinking probably, perhaps piss too (he is sure he washed it away though). Sweat too, for sure. Blood? Not so sure, probably. And his sperm, a lot of it. Good lord, Leon doesn't want to think. And he is dizzy, nauseous and it is a drudgery to relearn how to breathe in his forties. Congratulations!
"Dad?" you shift, poking his side. Finally facing his likewise disheveled look.
"What, sweetheart?"
You nod at your spread legs, not saying anything and waiting for his slow, poor head to realize. For a man, naturally your pussy seizes his attention first again, she oozes his sperm so sweetly in fat droplets, a call for him to bury his face between your legs and with his lapping tongue to clean it all out. Then a kick onto his side interrupts his daydreaming and he finally notices your knees.
Your knees paint a fervent bleeding fresco to his gaze.
"Did I do that?" And you nod.
Leon has to patch you up.
One of responsibilities he agreed on and despite fear of regret over choice bubbling in his chest while in reality it came naturally. Likewise with this little arrangement, never hoping for something big, like a saved stray kitten from the highways your relationship flourished.
Sitting on the edge of your beloved tub, tonight you aren't surrounded by mountains of bubbles, serving as the easiest way to thwart him by splashing him and forcing to get rid of his wet dog smell — cheating on your routine. Instead it comes down to just rock your legs while Leon drags himself to kneel before you.
"Soo." His lips jut out briefly to check if he brought the right ones. Perhaps he needs to get glasses. Everything to avoid your tantrums. "Do you want with Hello Kitty or a puppy?"
You loom over him with a curious widened ditzy gaze, a kind of Paris Hilton, taking the sweetest time, to choose visible by teeth gnawing onto your lips urging him to lean and kiss it away. "These!"
"What? Which ones?"
"Oh my god, are you stupid?
"Just old."
You roll your eyes. "Whatever. These, dad!" Well, it seems you don't want to make it easy. Sure, Leon nods and just follows your gaze onto pink plaster with a Hello Kitty printed on it, sitting with a red cross, actually it is white actually with a red hat — avoiding a migraine called Geneva Convention.
The ruffling and with the utmost care, Leon covers your wound if it can be called one. Wound sounds too severe, while this is a fruit of passion. Caressing your knee something lacks, which is visible on your jutted lip and eyebrows narrows together to form a divot from displeasure.
"Will you kiss it better? Dad?"
Ah, right. A careful grip glides to your ankle and his lips presses onto your plaster, kissing away your terrible booboo and ignoring the judgemental eyes of Hello Kitty on it.
"Better?" he asks and you shake your head. What a spoiled girl. "Well, it will heal before your wedding surely." And you don't seem to appreciate it with a brief raised eyebrow.
"Will we get ice cream?"
"What? Oh, no, it is late." He pats your thigh. "And I brushed your teeth already."
"You can brush them again, please, please, plea—"
A kiss is enough to be a pacifier for your screeching, at least it is for his ears. A sweet smooch that leaves your lips parted for more, eyes glued to his own as to ask for continuation.
"You get something better in the bed, sweetheart." Leon pats your thigh again. This takes your attention, oh sure.
"What?"
"A surprise." Actually it is just cuddling in bed. Leon didn't invent anything special and it will suffice for both of you. "I don't want you to ruin it."
His hand squeezes yours, letting you lead the way to your bedroom. Leon doesn’t like to think what he wants, that never really mattered because in the end they are buried beneath the rumbles of Raccoon city since 1998. It is an axiom to expect for you to marry and die on the same day nonetheless deep down a selfish desire emerges: he wants that to happen. To marry, to die together and to be buried next to each other. And have a dog together.
No, not a dog. A cat. Yes, that's right and much more pleasurable to think of.
and you know what yall can shit on re6 as much as you want but it gave us two very important things: shake. and leon kennedy's slutty waist. that's all that matters
This is actually such a crucial part of healing from neglect and abuse and I have to add to this.
Because indeed, people who like you will not roll their eyes and sigh at the idea of accommodating your needs, they will value your voice and be upset with you about injustice done to you, not at you for "being difficult". They will be happy when you find a way to live a better life, and help you to get there. If you are struggling, someone who loves you wants to see you smile, not tell you to smile because "you have it so good".
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