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Abigail by red-stained-december
Abigail
Abby my homegirl! Absolute badass sweetheart darling! I wish I could have incorporated her tatoos but they are just so many and would be so small! Dx
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Karla by red-stained-december
Karla
My coworker and the head waitress at my workplace. I love my coworkers soooooooo much. But we deal with so much shit and it is like some anime or K-Drama. It is insane! I'm thinking about doing a comic about half the stuff we go through!
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Warning: Graphic Depictions of Bulimia

"Elizabeta!" Eva called from across the studio, waving to the brunette happily, The blonde was no more than 13 years old, but she already glued herself to the group of older girls in the studio. She had a lot of promise, especially in ballet; they'd have been fools to ignore her abilities and leave the sweet little girl to fend for herself among the more vicious and competitive wolves prowling the class.

"Hey dear," Eliza smiled tiredly, dropping her heavy dance bag before plopping in the chair beside it, "I am exhausted! The restaurant got slammed thirty minutes into my shift and just went downhill from there."

"Oh no," Eva gawked, looking up from her stretch on the floor, legs splayed out in a wide second as she reached forward. Seriously, the kid was like rubber. "Are you gonna be okay for the auditions?"

"What, you dropping out?" Danica asked, walking up to the two girls. Danica, the smaller brunette with her hair in a braided bun who looked more severe than she should have for her child-like size. She was also the only real competition Elizabeta had to look out for, both excelling in the contemporary style.

The green-eyed teen smirked haughtily, "And give up on the solo? You're tripping kid." Danica muttered something about being the same age, which Eliza waved off with a laugh. "Anyway, I gotta get changed, I'll be in the bathroom."

"Alright, don't take too long, you may still be warm from running around at work, but you still need to stretch!" Eva called after, contorted on her back as she worked on stretching both her quads and her hamstrings. Seriously, had the girl escaped from a travelling circus?

The bathroom was a single serve, which was ideal. When she was on the school's dance team, it had been nerve wracking to do this in one of the stalls, but she had never been comfortable outside her own home, even now she felt her skin crawl thinking about all the people who may or may not have used this toilet before her. Well now the gross out factor was up at nine thousand.

She dumped her dance bag on the floor, a change of clothes out of the black polo and jeans she wore for work, tights, high-waisted shorts, a flowing midriff to allow more air and keep her from overheating. Littered on top were tens of dozens of wrappers. Three or four from a burger joint, several more from the convenience store as a ready-made meal, on top of it all were chocolate wrappers. They were what she ate first, unfortunately, so this was going to be unpleasant. Turning on the water and pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, the brunette looked at herself in the mirror. God she had a major food baby. If she looked like that normally, she'd have never dare to look at herself in the mirror. Running her fingers under the tap a second, just to get them initially wet and make this slightly faster she doubled over the mouth of the porcelain throne.

When she had first done this, it had terrified her, and she couldn't seem to do it right. She felt so stupid. How can you have a gag reflex and not make yourself puke?! Everyone made it sound like it was so easy, and it really fucking wasn't. There was a secret to forcing the purge, and it came in the form of crescent marks just above her belly button as her left elbow braced against her slightly bent knee, pushing a pointed fist deeper into the engorged flesh. She felt hot, her temperature always spiked when she binged. Slipping the first two fingers of her right hand into her mouth, they hit the back of her throat easily, but that wouldn't bring anything up. She shallowly thrust her fingers against the sensitive nerves at the back of her throat, feeling her stomach repulse with an reflexive dry heave. Two more quiet gags and she pulled her hand back to keep from getting the majority of the half-digested food on her hand. As it was, her fingers would smell, she didn't need her entire arm smelling like this.

Bread came up relatively easy, at least for her. She knew others had trouble with it from perusing the internet, but to be fair she had a bitch of a time with ice cream. So to each their own. Meat too, protein had a tendency of coming up in nearly one piece. And in all respects, they tasted nearly the same coming up as they had going down, not that she could honestly claim to have tasted anything halfway through the binge. After some point everything tasted like nothing, it was like eating dense air, made chewing more tedious. No, what was the worst part was the chocolate. It melted so quickly, so it was basically chocolaty bile, giving the candy a bitter after taste that made her reach for one of the half dozen water bottles she still had on her.

Water was another trade secret she had picked up. It helped push everything back out, and it never hurt to resupply on the stuff during a purge. It was absolutely fucking necessary afterwards, For after, she had low-calorie electrolyte mix powders to add. That would give her that boost she needed to keep the high. The light feeling she got after every purge, as though all the weight was gone. The food, the world, her problems, the stress. All the weight of everything flushing down the toilet. She chugged the water bottle empty and started on a second before leaning back over, smelling the meat and the vomit, making it even easier the second time around.

She kept going until she couldn't get anything more, subduing a cough as she dry heaved. Looking back at the mirror, the sink still going, she first appraised her stomach. Flat as a board, like nothing had happened at all. No, the evidence was all on her face. Tears smeared down her cheeks, mixing with saliva and snot, her lips slightly swollen, along with her cheeks. Chipmunk cheeks, but they weren't that noticeable. Besides, most people were too ignorant to actually know what to look for with bulimia. Not that she only kept her first two nails on her right hand short while the others were a decent length. Not the way she would disappear an hour after eating, or the insane amount of water bottles she carried everywhere. No, no one really noticed this kind of crap, not unless you looked like a bag of skin and bones.

A knock on the door cut into her thoughts. "Hey, are you done in there?" another girl called impatiently. Elizabeta washed her face, picking out pieces of backsplash from her bangs. That was probably the worst part: backsplash. But three years of this shit and it didn't seem so bad anymore.

"Yeah gimme a minute!" the brunette called, quickly changing. No, that didn't take much time. Taking a wad of toilet paper, she wiped down the seat, the back, the sides, the rim. She even traced the inside of the lip, fingers dangerously close to the slop that had once been her stomach contents.

'And I used to think this was the most disgusting thing,' she thought with some amusement. Three years did that.

You flush twice to make sure it is gone. You wash your hands and then cover the smell with perfume and gum and hand sanitizer. Lucille frowned as she exited the restroom, the younger teen giving her that disapproving glare of knowing. So what if she knew? Who cared? Not Elizabeta. No, she didn't care, because no one would believe the pipsqueak. And besides, she couldn't afford to feel the weight right now.


He could feel the eyes on him as he slouched in the stiff office chair, trying to make himself even smaller in the cold waiting room. Across the waiting room, his mother spoke pleasantly with the receptionist, the two acting like good friends. Probably they were. Sounds about right, his mother friends with the secretary, bet she had access to his private files. Probably called his mom when he was at school to tell her about how fucked up her kid was and that they needed to upgrade from one session a week to two.

Which was exactly why he found himself here, in this freezing little waiting room with a woman reading an outdated and overused fashion and gossip magazine. She had short blonde hair tucked behind her ear, and some huge breasts. Like those were real. Then there was his mother and that bitch of a receptionist chatting it up at the front. Glaring, he looked back down at his basketball shoes.

Shoes were good. Shoes were safe. Familiar. He really liked these shoes. The laces were starting to fray and one of the leather loops on the left one had totally broken, making them tie unevenly. He'd need new ones soon, but he hated going out. He hated shopping, it took forever and cost too much energy. After school was out of the question, and he needed his weekends to recuperate. Maybe he could talk his father into buying them off the internet, that saved everyone the trouble.

The door clicked open leading further into the little suite, Gilbert fighting the instinctive urge to look, he could feel the eyes again, every time someone came or went, they always looked at him. They always looked.

His skin was crawling all over again.

"I'm so happy you came today Natalya," the therapist practically cooed. Perhaps he was trying to be enthusiastic, but really it came off as condescending. "Same time next week. You will show up, yes?"

Boobs smiled, standing and grabbing a small bag. She looked younger now that he could see her face better from the corner of his eye. "Yes we will."

"Payment was already settled, so I'll see you both in a week. Take care."

He watched them leave without moving. Moving drew attention to him, attention meant looks, looks were judgments. He was so fucking sick of people judging him. The girl, Natalya, walked several paces behind Tits McGhee, scowling at nothing in particular. Oh, well at least he wasn't the only one coming here under duress.

"Gilbert."

He glowered, refusing to budge. He had just been here Monday! He refused to make this easy. He liked schedules and any change made without his explicit okay was absolutely unacceptable. His entire schedule was fucked now! He would be late for dinner and that meant the Hunger would come and gnaw at him.

"Gilbert," his mother scolded loudly, making his face flare in a blush self-consciously. Was the public humiliation really necessary!? It didn't matter that there was literally no one else in the room, it was the ethics of it all. Giving the blonde woman his filthiest glare, he stood stiffly, his vision going black a moment as he realized how bad of an idea that had been just a little too late. He refused to show weakness, however, walking blindly and doing his best not to sway too bad.

"Right this way, Gilbert," Francis Bonnefoy smiled, standing aside to let him into the dimly lit little room with the couch and coffee table.

It wasn't like those red couches in the movies and all the jokes about therapists. No, it was a regular couch in some boring beige colour that fell in a little too much from all the asses that had sat on it. He scowled at the cup of water Francis set in front of him, of course the bastard would have noticed.

"I'm sure this isn't the real solution, but it should help you make it through," Francis spoke plainly, settling in a plush blue arm chair on the other side of the table. "How have you been Gilbert."

"Dandy, until someone decided they should spend two days a week wasting my time."

Francis smiled sadly, shoulders dropping slightly in some silent sigh, "So more of the same, is it? Remember when we could talk? Why don't we go back to that?"

"Sounds fucking beautiful," the albino barked a ragged laugh that actually hurt his throat, forcing him to actually accept the plastic cup of water. Francis waited patiently until he was done, not done drinking mind you. No, even something as simple as that was a ritual. Sip, swallow, feeling the coldness travel through his body before pooling in his stomach. His real stomach, behind his left ribs. It spread from there to his arms, his legs, his heart. God why did it have to be so cold.

But it did the trick, his fiery temper cooling as he shivered under the baggy sweatshirt. Francis took the subdued look in the teenager's kaleidoscope eyes to finally shift his legs into a more comfortable position, drawing the boy from where ever he had wandered off to inside himself. "You used to be more open Gilbert, I don't understand what happened."

"Of course you wouldn't," he muttered bitterly, he had given up. The look was not attractive, rather it bordered on heartbreaking. "You wouldn't understand what it's like to have the whole goddamn world know you are pathetic. To go to school and have your teachers watching you during lunch, have them judging your food. Having the other kids whisper about what is going on. Rumors about you everywhere. To go home and have your family, your friends' families, your mom's friends' families, even her fucking coworkers! Literally the entire fucking planet knows there is something wrong with me."

"What do they say?"

"What are they gonna say!?" the boy snapped. His hood fell off his head, he looked thinner again. His cheekbones and jaw more defined, sharper, but not naturally. A little food would round out the edges, give him those boyish features he used to possess when he first started coming here. Now he just looked tired, like he could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. "How are you? Are you eating? Your mom told me everything."

'Ah,' Francis thought, rubbing his temple with a knuckle as the truth came out. Three weeks and all Gilbert had to do was tell him. Perhaps he should have figured that out himself, however. Helmine was that sort of parent; she hovered, tried too hard. She did only have the best intentions for her oldest son, but that was how the road to Hell was said to be paved.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Gilbert move, drawing in his knees to his chest, hiding his face. "Even Ludwig. I don't know what is more fucked up, the fact that my mother cages me with her spies or that my own little brother treats me like an infant. I don't need to be taken care of. I don't want to be."

"He doesn't understand."

Red-violet eyes, now more red than violet as he blinked back tears, stared balefully from across the room. "Do you? Does anyone? No one but me understands."

"You're right-," Francis started, but was cut off.

"You have hundreds of patients I bet. Girls. All of them are girls, Because it's so stupid. It's weak . Boys don't get eating disorders!"

Francis let those last words echo in the little room, the waiting room couldn't hear anything, so it was trapped here, between them. But it wasn't welcomed here either. "Gilbert, that's obviously not true." He could see it, the little light in the boy's irises. The little bit of validation.

If only validation was the magic cure.

My Cage has a Name: Judgement
Judgement
red-stained-december.deviantar…


I want to make this clear. This entire story is more of a slice of life series following several characters. While these characters will overlap in their stories, they are not linked by any substantial story line. Everything in this fic is based on real life experiences I have personally lived or those of my dearest, closest friends. So this story is and will be extremely triggering. I want to give you all, the readers who do not live in these cages, a real, true, honest, raw, emotionally-driven idea of what it feels like. And for those who know this reality all too well, you aren't alone.
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red-stained-december
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A college student with no life.

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:icondanny-the-hedghog:
Danny-the-Hedghog Featured By Owner Aug 10, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
HORRY SHEETU YOU LOVE HETALIA TOO?  YAY America (The Hero) [V2] APH America: Sparkle Glasses YOUNorth Italy Talking Icon  HAVE MY FRIENDSHIP FOREVERItaly (Free Hug) [V2]  ^^Emoji32 Emoji02 Emoji06 Emoji08
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:iconmomothemuffincow:
MomoTheMuffinCow Featured By Owner Nov 19, 2015   Traditional Artist
*caresses this place*
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:iconpoprox5:
poprox5 Featured By Owner Oct 22, 2014
WHOOPSIE. I thought I watched you before, but apparently I didn't. :sweatdrop: Overhaul I watched you now, tho.
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:iconpoprox5:
poprox5 Featured By Owner Oct 21, 2014
I like your profile pic! Is that actually you?
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:iconakumaryoshi:
AkumaRyoshi Featured By Owner Sep 12, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Cool artwork :D
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:iconsteelheartdragon:
steelheartdragon Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Hello! I don't know if you already know this but I am the one who has been partnered with you for the hetalia traditional contest :3


(Sorry if this comes off as awkward, I'm tottaly not used to this, lol)

I believe they told me your a writer and I'm the drawer for our 'team' ?

Anyway, I was just wondering if you had any ideas for the submission so we could discuss and stuff :)
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:icon33starrynight33:
33starrynight33 Featured By Owner May 29, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
:iconsayhiplz: Hello! I was wondering if you needed a partner still for :iconhetaliatraditional: contest? I was pairing people together. If you have a partner then I'm sorry to bother you!
:icononibowplz: Thanks for reading this!
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:iconsaeedamahmood:
saeedamahmood Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2013  Hobbyist
hello :iconhiiiplz: check out my new blog i will be thankful to u ^^ :iconsweethugplz:
[link]
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