is eight years old, she’s got pink cheeks that her grandmother calls chubby. She wants a second cookie but her aunt says “you’ll get huge if you keep eating.” She wants a dress and the woman in the changing room says “she’ll probably need a large in that.” She wants to have dessert and her waiter says “After all that dinner you just had? You must be really hungry!” and her parents laugh.

is eleven and she is picked second-to-last in gym class. She watches a cartoon and sees that everyone who is annoying is drawn with a big wide body, all sweaty and panting. At night she dreams she is swelling like the ocean over seabeds. When she wakes up, she skips school.

is thirteen and her friends are stick-thin ballerinas with valleys between their hipbones. She is instead developing the wide curves of her mother. She says she is thick but her friends argue that she’s “muscular” and for some reason this hurts worse than just admitting that she jiggles when she walks and she’ll never be a dancer. Eating seconds of anything feels like she’s breaking some unspoken rule. The word “indulgent” starts to go along with “food.”

is fourteen and she has stopped drinking soda and juice because they bloat you. She always takes the stairs. She fidgets when she has to sit still. Whenever she goes out for ice cream, she leaves half at the bottom - but someone else always leaves more and she feels like she’s falling. She pretends to like salad more than she does. She feels eyes burrowing through her body while she eats lunch. Kate Moss tells her nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she just feels like she is wilting.

is fifteen the first time her father says “you’re getting gaunt.” She rolls her eyes. She eats one meal a day but thinks she stays the same size. Every time she picks up a brownie she thinks of the people she sees on t.v. and every time she has cake, she thinks of the one million magazine articles on restricting calories. She used to have no idea a flat stomach was supposed to be beautiful until she saw advice on how to achieve it. She cuts back on everything. She controls. They tell her she’s getting too thin but she doesn’t believe it.

is sixteen and tearing herself into shreds in order for a thigh gap big enough to hush the screams in her head. She doesn’t “indulge,” ever. She can’t go out with friends, they expect her to eat. She damns her sweet tooth directly to hell. It’s coffee for breakfast and tea for lunch and if there’s dance that evening, two cups of water and then maybe an apple. She lies all the time until she thinks the words will rot her teeth. She dreams about food when she sleeps. Her aunt begs her to eat anything, even just a small cookie. They say, “One bite won’t make you fat, will it, darling?”

is seventeen and too sick to go to prom because she can’t stand up for very long. She thinks she wouldn’t look good in a dress anyway. Her nails are blue and not because they are painted. Her hair is too thin to do anything with. She’s tired all the time and always distracted. She once absently mentions the caloric value of grapes to the boy she is with and he looks at her like she’s gone insane and in that moment she realizes most people don’t have numbers constantly scrolling in their heads. She swallows hard and tries to figure out where it all went wrong, why more than a granola bar for a meal makes her feel sick, why she tastes disease and courts with death. She misses sleep. She misses being able to dream. She misses being herself instead of just being empty.

is twenty and writes poetry and is a healthy weight and still fights down the voices every single day. She puts food in her mouth and sometimes cries about it but more and more often feels good, feels balanced. Her cheeks are pink and they are chubby and soft and no longer growing slight fur. Her hair is long and it is beautiful. She still picks herself apart in the mirror, but she’s starting to get better about it. She wears the dress she likes even if it only fits her in a large and she doesn’t feel like a failure for it. She is falling in love with the fat on her hips.

She is eating out with friends and not worrying about finding the lowest calorie item on the menu when she hears a mother tell her four year old daughter “You can’t have ice cream, we just had dinner.
You don’t want to end up as a fat little girl.”

Why do we constantly do this to our children? /// r.i.d  (via lilyskinned)

Anonymous asked:

penis headcanon

nefertsukia answered:


Send me a word plus ‘Headcanon’ and I’ll give you a headcanon/drabble based on that word.

Boys have a penis.

Hiccup has one. Snotlout does too. Fishlegs has one as well probably circumcised. Tuffnut is the proud owner of one. And Stoick and Gobber and Silent Sven and Mildew and, well, all  of them — several penises inhabit the island of Berk. That dangly thing between their legs that kinda looks a little silly. It lurks inside breeches, whether they’re clean or not, and it just… is there. Not terribly mysterious, but somewhat fascinating in its own, boring, simple little way.

And a penis is relatively useful, I suppose. For babies. But then sometimes it seems to grant its owners some strange sense of entitlement — which, for that matter, any woman (also known as “not-a-penis-owner”) in Berk is more than prepared to shut down.

Actually, as a toddler, Hiccup often liked to go commando in the safety of his house and was fiercely protective of the little happy thing that went jumping up and down when he ran around the dinner table, chased by his father and Gobber.

Astrid’s first close encounter with a penis was equal parts terrifying and amusing. Her not-quite-second-but-let’s-call-it-so encounter with a penis was even closer. With time, she becomes quite fond of it, and almost as attached to it as its biological owner. In fact, during her honeymoon, she spends quite a lot of time around and on and over that peculiar little rod of joy.

It might look silly, but it sure is a lot of fun!



OMFG this is GOLD.

Ooh also, just wanted to add Gerard Butler and Craig Ferguson’s own headcanons about Gobber’s peen.