I've always associated Ryan with hunger in the sense that he's always craving something. Attention, entertainment, success, for others to care about him etc. but it also just manifests in physical hunger and the lack of anything to consume most times. The implications of him having a large family where it's already established that he doesn't feel cared for. The fact that we only ever see him comfortable in Min's house where his mother offers him food.
This isn't a novel thought by any means however it's always been evident to me that Ryan and his family aren't as in touch with their Asian heritage like Min's family, and that could possibly extend to their behavior towards food. Many Asian cultures treat food with respect and dignity, almost in a reverent sense. The way most food in Book 4 are presented through Min (his mother's oranges, the plate of food she brings him when asking about uni applications, his job at a diner, the several plates of food he brings Ryan at Morgan's) also highlights Ryan on the opposite end, who is moreso seen abstaining. He lives the western dream of a starving artist on the road. He tries to refuse the oranges Mrs. Park gives him, he starves himself at Morgan's when he's at the peak of his frustration and self-hatred. He is hungry, yet ashamed to allow himself food especially when he feels undeserving of it. His hunger is both something that drives him and a form of self-harm at its worst. I wouldn't be surprised if he felt it to be a part of him at this point.
I often imagine that Ryan distracts himself from his physical hunger by trying to satiate his metaphorical hunger. Filling himself up on fun and people and experience to forget that he doesn't have enough of anything to nourish himself properly. Not enough attention, not enough care from the people he cares about, not enough gigs for money, not enough money for food. Hungry in nearly all aspects. He's in a constant loop of consuming what he can and still not being satisfied. All the while he punishes his physical self for being "garbage".
Hello,can you do a tfp optimus prime x fem(adult) reader that knows how optimus is starving himself due to the shortage on the energon supply in order for the rest of the team to refuel properly and whenever he is in holoform she always stuffs him with food (mostly home cooked meals and desserts ).She is studying physics and works a lot like optimus so in order to spend more time together she invites him over her house to do work together(she studies while sitting on her bed and in the winter she turns on her electric blanket to make her work space warm and cozy).Just the two of them sitting under a warm blanket and doing work together,but once they are over discussing a bit or sitting at her balcony.The reader provides a safe space for optimus to express his worries and gives comforting hugs,treats and a massage if a mission was too rough on him.
A quiet ‘klink’ sound breaks Optimus’ thoughts. He opens his optics- no, eyes, to look. Bright blue irises scan the plate in front of him, admiring the treat you’d set on the table.
“Oh, no Y/n, I can’t-”
“I won’t eat it, and I’m not puttin’ it in the fridge.” You gently smile, pushing a fork towards Optimus. He’s afraid if he eats at all, it won’t stay in him for long. The prime takes the fork from the table with a shaky hand, silently hoping that the tremors would magically stop.
“Tell me if you want anything else, love.” You get up to clean the workspace you had used, wiping away whatever mess you had made along with your treat.
With you not watching him anymore, Optimus finds that it’s easier to lift a bite up to his face.
It’s very sweet, nothing like they would have at the base. The taste reminds him of something from home, Cybertron, but he can’t quite remember what.
He comes back to reality, you’re prattling enthusiastically about the recipe and the steps to make the food. Before you can turn around and ask him how it is, Optimus hesitantly asks for another slice. You smile while taking his now empty plate.
Optimus would have to leave Ratchet in charge more often, especially if every visit to you is this relaxing.
my roommate has sent me to bite a misogynistic skyrim fan for saying insane shit like "only fat girls eat more one egg and 5 raspberries for breakfast" unironically and he is right. i do have a moral obligation to kill misogynistic skyrim fans. i will be an attack dog today even though i made a sacred oath to not go out of my way to get into arguments online as much anymore
Steve is a sweetheart and comforts Reader who has a bad relationship with food.
Warning: this deals with eating disorders, please don't read it if it might upset or trigger you.
It had been a long night and you were exhausted.
You and Steve had spent some time with the kids - they had insisted on having the two of you over to watch a movie - and there had only been junk food in the house. Popcorn probably had been healthy for a minute, until Dustin and Lucas had slathered it in salt and butter.
Needless to say, you felt guilty as hell for eating chips and ice cream and as soon as Steve had taken you home you had wished, for the first time in your relationship, that he'd leave straight away.
But he had asked if he could stay a while. It wasn't late and your parents knew him, so it wouldn't come as a shock if he hang out a bit.
There was something you needed to do, though.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'm just going... to the bathroom for a sec," you told him, handing him the remote control and practically running upstairs.
When you came back, he eyed you in an odd way. "Are you alright, Y/N?"
"I am. What are you watching?" you sat beside him on the sofa, feeling a bit better and ready to enjoy the rest of the night.
Steve, though, didn't look happy. "Did you..." He seemed unsure and you bit your lip nervously, hoping he wouldn't ask.
But he did.
"Did you make yourself throw up?"
His eyes, so warm and loving, looked sad, worried. And you knew you couldn't lie to him. It was so hard to admit it out loud, though, and you only nodded.
"I... I'm sorry, Steve. I know I told you I was better... I was doing much better, it wasn't a lie, but tonight was just..." you trailed off, lowering your gaze, feeling ashamed. You felt horrible. You felt like a failure.
"Hey, Y/N, look at me. Look at me, it's ok, I'm not judging you or blaming you, alright?"
Steve gently placed his warm, comforting hands on your cheeks, stroking your face softly, and you felt even worse. You tried with all your might to keep it together, because you were so ready to start crying.
"Come here, Y/N..." He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight. "It's ok. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, baby..."
"What are you sorry for?" you mumbled, head buried in his shoulder. "I'm the one who should say sorry-"
"No, you don't have to. I'm sorry that healing is so hard, I wish I could do more to help you, I really do." he whispered, stroking your hair and placing gentle kisses on top of your head.
"Steve..." you felt so loved, and yet, you knew he couldn't heal you. He could help, but he couldn't magically make things better. "You're already doing so much..."
"I wish I could fix everything. I wish you didn't have to feel this way. You are wonderful, you are perfect and I love you, you know that?"
You couldn't believe someone like Steve could seriously have those feelings for you. It was hard to believe him, but you trusted him, and you knew he wouldn't lie. "I love you more," you whispered, parting from him slightly so you could look up into his eyes. There was pure adoration there, and you knew that Steve was there for you no matter what, and always would be.
The two of you spent the rest of the evening watching TV absent-mindedly and cuddling, until Steve mentioned it was getting late and he should go home.
You didn't want him to leave. Your parents were upstairs, anyway, and it wasn't a school night so you wouldn't get in trouble for staying up longer than usual.
"Can you stay a bit longer?" You asked softly, raising your head from his shoulder to look into his eyes. They were so gentle, you could get lost in them forever.
Steve moved to face you and placed a soft kiss on your lips. "I guess a bit longer won't hurt. Too bad your parents are home, though..." he winked suggestively.
You laughed and pretended to push him away, then resumed your position from before, snuggling up against him.
You didn't notice you were starting to drift off.
Steve didn't dare to move.
He really had to leave, it was almost two in the morning and he was pretty sure your parents wouldn't appreciate him staying that late (his parents, on the other hand, probably hadn't even realized he wasn't home).
You looked so peaceful, though, so angelic, asleep against him. He hoped you were having a nice dream, getting some respite from reality. You didn't deserve to have such a disordered relationship with food and he hated it. Not that anybody deserves it, he thought, but especially you. He would do anything to help you and he usually was very careful when you two planned out dates - he asked you where you wanted to eat, if you wanted to eat out; he would offer to eat at his place so you could have something not too greasy, not too heavy, and not feel forced to eat junk food at diners in front of everyone else.
But that night he hadn't thought too much about the food surrounding the movie, figuring it wouldn't be a big deal because you were doing better - you had told him the week before.
And he was annoyed with himself. But he swore he would be more attentive.
I'd give it all just to make you mine
And if you need a minute
Honey, I'll give you all my time, all the time
"I will always be here for you, Y/N," he whispered, placing a kiss on your hair. You shifted slightly in your sleep and he thought he could detect a hint of a smile.
I'll put your dreams to sleep
With rattling bones
So, don't go to sleep, don't rest your head
I'll be the pillow, and I'll be the bed
Holding your dreams as you lie to rest
He felt his eyelids get heavy and knew he couldn't stay awake much longer. Consequences be damned, he thought, and fell asleep holding you, warm and cozy in your embrace.
Lyrics are from song Evangeline by Stephen Sanchez. I recommend you give it a listen, it's really beautiful and he's SO talented.
i probably should admit even just to myself and everyone on the internet that I am having a bulimia relapse and dissociating by focusing on other people is so easy right now that I can do it for days and not think about my bodily signals and it is naut healthy .
this one is entirely self indulgent not gonna lie. i watched this video as my first introduction to what korn were like as a band and a certain part has stayed on loop in my brain since then | ship: jd/munky | words: 768 | warnings & tags: implied disordered eating, implied sexual content, angst with bittersweet ending that's mostly just bitter, these men REFUSE to talk about their problems | summary: jonathan notices something about munky that he doesn't like, and he thinks he's trying his best when it comes to addressing it.
for 18+ audiences only, minors dni.
munky wears a sweater when it's one hundred degrees out.
it's tour, and when tour happens you tend to stink, and that's normal. tour for korn is bus, booking, show, and party. somewhere in the midst of that you're supposed to figure out when you sleep and shower, because you got tour by being adult with music job, and that means you can figure it out yourself. at least, that's what you can assume. that's the idea, that's what's agreed upon. even when you're so used to electrifying yourself awake every night just by closing your eyes, or expecting there to be a dead baby's head floating in your toilet when it's time to visit the bathroom.
adult with music job must worry about tour, though. tour means money, means fans, means sex, means more music and more rehearsals and more setlists and flights, sometimes, instead of bus. because yeah, when you're korn, you have it like that. you got that life, or so you say. so there's things you expect to be done for you, to be taken care of, that go unspoken or unfixed or unmoved, because hey, everyone's an adult with music job here. do your fucking job. wake the fuck up. take your own fucking shower. whatever else you have to do.
and it's not that munky doesn't shower; jonathan's seen him do it enough times, been with him just as many, because sometimes they have a hotel and sometimes they have a parking lot with a hose, and sometimes they just want the privacy of exploring each other's water-slick bodies without a pool or beach being the excuse for it. jonathan's seen him take care of himself, is the thing. jonathan knows munky like the back of hand- shit, he knows him like every part of his fucking body, because munky knows it too. he knows something's out of place, knows that something's where it shouldn't be and munky shouldn't fucking reek the way he does.
he'd tell him if he knew for sure but he actually already kind of knows, because it's familiar, and he's lived it and he doesn't want munky to live the same life he did. the thing is, the real thing, the thing that jonathan thought he wouldn't have to touch yet, especially not with the way they are, is that he can't just… say it. he knows what munky's going through and he knows what it's like, what he might be thinking, what he might be doing to cover it up. like tour. or the sweater. it's just not like them, it's not like any of them. it's not like jonathan, especially, to know what to say to people when they're clearly not fucking eating or showering or changing their clothes, but it's also not like jonathan to not care. to not notice. not empathize. sympathize, he can do; he's fucking sorry for everything he's put his band- his boys, the people he'd follow until the earth's firey end- through, but he's mostly sorry that he just doesn't know what to do. at all.
he can't laugh at how easily his fingertips wrap around munky's wrist, or how easy it is for him to bruise. he can't call munky 'delgado' anymore, even though that's a name meant just for them to know about and the fact that it's out of everyone else's reach is not only, really fucking hot, but makes jonathan feel special in a way he thinks only munky can make him feel. even if it's kinda fucked up, now that he knows what he knows. he can't sit with the fact that he might not be the world's greatest friend- fuckbuddy, bandmate, blood, whatever they decide to call themselves for the day- and it kills him inside. it tears him to pieces. it wrecks him when munky won't let him push his sweater more than an inch above his waistband while he's blowing him, which sounds… selfish, to put it lightly, but fuck. shit. maybe jonathan might be selfish.
maybe he might be a horrible fuck and a worse friend and a worse partner. honorary blood or business or a secret third thing that neither of them would ever admit to being.
maybe it's the fact that they won't give themselves a break. maybe it's the boiling hot festival air making jonathan's senses kick into overdrive, as they tend to do. maybe it's just tour. maybe it's not so bad. maybe it's not that bad. munky wouldn't let himself get that bad. maybe it's only been one missed shower.
TW: ED talk. This post is from me, Jax, not about anyone else in my system.
There’s also pictures of two of my jumping spiders.
I’m at a really weird point in my eating disorder recovery where I can and will eat most of my fear foods with a relatively straight face.
Right now I’m eating soup. Soups always been an okay food, but I’ve also got two slices of bread. Strike one. With butter. Strike two. And I’m the soup itself I’ve added smoked cheddar cheese. Strike three. 100% me in the past would have an absolute meltdown over this. But I’m alright. I’m anxious and I’m feeling disgusted, but I’m pushing past it because it tastes good and I need food, especially cause I’m going to be continuing cleaning in a bit after I let things settle.
I’ve had a lot of things come up recently that’s fucked with my mental health and pushed me towards a relapse. And yeah I’ve definitely come close, and I’ve restricted a bit but nothing massive, so I guess I’ve technically relapsed, but I’m still doing alright.
I found my old ED blogs last night. Blogs plural. I think one was supposed to just be a general space for me, but I was so wrapped up in my ED shit that it leaked (burst) through anyway. I went through them a tiny bit, not even going off the first page, and yikes.
Struggled for a couple of minutes, then deleted them both. Part of me wanted to keep them, partly cause one of them had other things on that weren’t related, but I think I did the right thing? Idk.
Had another big trigger today. One of my biggest tbh. The reason I split. Wanted to throw things and s/h and vomit. But I didn’t. I cried a bit and started cleaning and sorting out the tarantulas and spiders.
And then I made myself food.
Spyro and Spring say hello to everyone that’s bothered to read the ramble.
