#ABOUT WEIGHT AND DISCUSSIONS OF WEIGHT AND IMAGES OF DRASTIC WEIGHT GAIN????

[quads4days]

The Curse of the Werewolf: Blue Moon Rises

Happy Halloween, Everyone! May your candy be plentiful and your gut full as you enjoy this Halloween Tale! 🎃

Chapter 1: Echoes from the Past

The cold February wind seeped through the gaps in the window, making the heavy curtains sway gently. Chase stared at his reflection in the old, ornate mirror that dominated his bedroom wall. Just four months ago, the image staring back at him was that of a lean, chiseled marathon runner. Now, the man in the mirror bore little resemblance to that memory.

His once-taut skin was now stretched, filled with an extra 60kg that seemed impossible to believe. The sharp jawline, a point of pride for Chase, was now softened, making way for a double chin that settled comfortably atop his significantly wider neck. His chest, once firm and defined, now hung heavier, the pectorals replaced with soft mounds that jiggled at the slightest movement.

But it was his midsection that showed the most drastic change. Chase's washboard abs, painstakingly earned through countless hours of training, were buried beneath layers of adipose. His stomach, once flat and rigid, now protruded in a grand, soft arc, cascading over the waistband of his sweatpants. The once negligible love handles had transformed into rolls that spilled over his sides. Every step, every breath caused ripples to run across the vast expanse of his belly.

Feeling a heaviness not just in body but in spirit, Chase sank into his reading chair, an old tome in hand. He had been scouring ancient texts and obscure internet forums for any hint of the curse Bennett had passed onto him. And there, in a weathered folklore book, he found it. A legend dating back centuries, discussing a curse far more insidious than he had feared. The "Werewolf's Curse," it said, wasn't just about uncontrollable weight gain during the full moon. The original curse allowed the cursed individual to pass it on through a bite, causing the afflicted to be overcome with the hunger of the wolf during the full moon of Halloween, an event that if Chase’s calculations were correct would occur again next Halloween. Administering the curse during such a full moon would rid Chase of his fat body and stop his monthly growth and cause him to turn into an alpha wolf, the image in front of him depicting the most muscular man Chase had laid eyes on in front of an illustration of a full mood. The curse, once transferred, would be his victims problem, leaving the victim heavier and the curser once again free to live their life.

Chase's heart raced, his new, hefty form quivering with anxiety. This was more than just gaining weight; it was a sinister game of passing the burden, forever altering lives. In his frustration, he stood up, the chair groaning under the sudden movement. He grasped his ample stomach with both hands, shaking it as if he could simply cast off the added weight, the thick layer of fat rippling like a disturbed pond. His face was etched with a mixture of despair and anger. He had 8 months until Halloween and at his current pace, could be very well too large to survive until that time came.

Just then, a soft knock echoed through the stillness of the room. A shadow passed by the frosted window pane next to the entrance. Someone was at his door.

Chapter 2: Unforeseen Bonds

The door creaked open slowly, revealing the familiar faces of Luke, Sean, and Ethan. But as recognition dawned on Chase, so too did a mixture of horror and surprise. For while he was taken aback to see his brothers on his doorstep, the changes in their physiques were even more startling.

Luke, the youngest, once had the lean build of a swimmer – elongated and streamlined. But now, the once pronounced muscles of his torso were noticeably softened. A pouch had formed around his belly, pushing against the fabric of his tight shirt, hinting at the beginnings of a more rounded physique. The V-line, which once directed one's gaze towards his slender hips, had faded, overshadowed by the soft bulge that started just below his navel.

Sean, always the lithe gymnast, now exhibited a roundness that betrayed his athletic history. His formerly flat stomach, which used to ripple with defined muscles during his routines, now bowed out gently, creating a silhouette that was undeniably softer. His love handles, previously non-existent, were making a noticeable appearance, cushioning his sides.

However, it was Ethan's transformation that was the most dramatic. The eldest after Chase, Ethan had the build of a sprinter – muscular, yet agile. Now, he looked as if he had taken a hiatus from all physical activities. His shirt, stretched taut across his form, revealed a pronounced belly, the result of months under the curse's effect. The belly was rounded, prominent, and jiggled slightly with each step he took. The waistband of his jeans dug into his sides, creating a muffin-top effect, emphasising his increased girth.

“Look at what you have done to us, Chase!” Ethan's voice boomed, anger evident in his eyes. Sean and Luke, equally upset but more contained, nodded in agreement.

Chase looked in horror. “How?” He prompted.

Ethan, his once chiseled jawline now softened, cleared his throat, gathering the attention of the room. "After we, well, taunted you on Christmas Eve, I noticed you seemed feverish, distant. As we all gorged on the desserts, I recall trying to grab a particularly decadent piece of cake from your hand." He rubbed the back of his now-chubbier hand absentmindedly. "In your frenzied state, you bit me. It wasn't a huge bite, more like a deep scratch, but I felt an immediate jolt of hunger like nothing I've ever experienced."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing, "Then, during a family get-together, I had a similar moment of insatiable hunger. I was sharing a pizza with Luke. As I reached for another slice, I accidentally bit him." Luke grimaced at the memory, rubbing the spot on his hand where the mark still faintly showed. "It was bizarre. It wasn't painful, but the sensation was... overpowering. Before I knew it, I was engulfed in this same hunger, and one unfortunate evening, Sean got in the way of my meal."

Sean sighed, looking down at his newly rounded belly. "I never stood a chance. The bite, the hunger, it's like a wildfire, spreading uncontrollably from one to another." The room was silent for a moment, the brothers absorbing the gravity of their intertwined fates.

Chase, overwhelmed with guilt and shock, tried to find the right words. "I didn't... I didn’t know. I swear!" he stammered.

Luke's voice wavered, a mix of frustration and sadness. "Look at us, Chase. How could you not know?"

Trying to calm the rising tension, Chase gestured to the living room. "Let's sit. Talk."

As they settled, the room was filled with the sound of fabric stretching and the occasional grunt as each tried to find a comfortable position with their newfound weight. Chase, in a bid to lighten the mood and also address the gnawing hunger the curse brought, brought out plates of sandwiches, pastries, and a large pitcher of iced tea.

Eating together, despite the grim circumstances, brought back a semblance of normality. The room resonated with soft chews, sips, and the clinking of cutlery. Chase felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering countless meals shared in their childhood. Despite the anger and the many questions that lingered, there was a comfort in this shared moment - a reminder that the bonds of family often ran deeper than any curse or adversity.

Chapter 3: The Gluttonous Moonlight Duel

The brothers, determined to confront the root of their cursed hunger, scoured the city for Bennett. They would force him to take back the cure, they just needed to find him. They looked in the old bars, visited obscure places Bennett might have mentioned, and even hired a private investigator. Their desperation grew with each passing day, knowing another full moon was on the horizon. The truth was, none of them had the willpower to handle the insatiable hunger another full moon would bring.

The brothers, determined to confront the root of their cursed hunger, scoured the city for Bennett. They looked in the old bars, visited obscure places Bennett might have mentioned, and even hired a private investigator. Their desperation grew with each passing day, knowing another full moon was on the horizon. The truth was, none of them had the willpower to handle the insatiable hunger another full moon would bring.

The day of the full moon arrived faster than they had hoped. Although the sun still dominated the sky, a gnawing hunger began to grip them. By nightfall, their restraint faltered. 

The brothers' unity in their quest to find Bennett frayed when the next full moon approached. A latent competitiveness, fostered since childhood in sports and academics, reared its head in the most unseemly manner. Each brother secretly harboured the hope that if they ate the most during the full moon, they might somehow outpace the curse's effects. It was a twisted logic, born of desperation and sibling rivalry.

In the heart of the city stood a 24-hour buffet that the brothers once frequented after marathon training. It now became their arena of competition. As the first pangs of hunger struck, Chase, a remnant of his former athletic self, loaded his plate high, the pile almost obscuring his newly bloated face. His shirt, already snug over a belly that had been washboard-flat merely months ago, looked ready to give way as he heaved mouthfuls of food.

Ethan, who was already bursting out of his clothes from previous feasts, seemed hell-bent on leading the pack. Every bite he took stretched his shirt a bit more, threatening to expose the soft, doughy expanse beneath. With each plate, a new roll seemed to emerge, his belly extending ever outward.

Luke, normally calm and collected, had a wild glint in his eye as he attacked dish after dish. His trousers, once loose, now bit into his flesh, creating noticeable muffin tops. His belly, firm and flat just months prior, bounced with each step, revealing his rapid transformation.

Sean, the youngest and least affected until now, was not to be outdone. He gorged with a determination that was both admirable and horrifying. As the night progressed, the waistband of his jeans dug deeper and deeper into his increasingly softening midsection.

The buffet transformed into a battlefield, with plates as weapons and food as ammo. The staff watched in horror and fascination, having never seen such voracious appetites. By the night's end, the brothers, each trying to out-eat the other, were sprawled amid a scene of utter devastation.

Dawn's light found them in Chase's living room. Chase, his belly stretched and bloated, spilled generously onto the floor, his shirt buttons ripped open unable to contain his newfound girth. Ethan, beside him, looked as if he'd swallowed a beach ball. His shirt, already tight at the start of the evening, had split open, revealing a quivering mass of fat.

Luke, curled on a chair, had clearly undergone the most dramatic transformation. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a once-taut stomach now soft and pudgy, quivering with the slightest movement. Sean, sprawled on the couch, was barely recognisable. His face, once angular, was now cherubic, and his stomach, round and distended, was a testament to the night's excesses.

Their food-fuelled competition had left them all losers in the cruel game of the werewolf's curse. The pressing need to find Bennett and break the curse became more palpable than ever.

Chapter 4: The Bitter Reveal

The stifling August heat was only made more unbearable for Chase by the weight he carried. Nearly 260kg now, he moved with difficulty, each step a reminder of the curse Bennett had placed on him. An investigator they had hired had finally tracked Bennett down to a park in the heart of the city, and Chase had managed to make his way there, accompanied by his brothers.

Bennett was a revelation, a stark contrast to the man Chase had known. Gone was the mountain of flesh, replaced instead by a physique that would not be out of place on a magazine cover. Broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and abs that seemed carved out of stone. Bennett stood shirtless, performing calisthenics, drawing admiring glances from all around.

Chase, lumbering forward, could hardly believe his eyes. "Bennett?" he gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Bennett turned, his ice-blue eyes regarding Chase coolly. "Well, well," he drawled, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "If it isn't the marathon man himself."

Chase felt a hot flush of embarrassment as Bennett sauntered over, taking in Chase's massive form with obvious amusement. Without a word, Bennett reached out, his strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of Chase's belly, making it jiggle. Chase tried to pull away, but Bennett's grip was firm.

Around them, onlookers whispered and pointed, some even laughing. Chase felt like a sideshow attraction, humiliated and exposed. Bennett seemed to revel in the attention, clearly enjoying the power he held over Chase.

"You see, Chase," Bennett began, his voice dripping with condescension, "I had grown tired of my own immense size. The curse, as , is both a blessing . By transferring  my weight to you, I was able to revert to this." He gestured at his impeccable form. "I chose you that Halloween night because you were the perfect specimen. A fit, trim man, ripe for transformation."

Chase struggled to find words, his shame almost too much to bear. Bennett continued, "And the more you gain, the stronger the beast inside me becomes, did you know that? Each month you have been getting fatter, I’ve been getting stronger.” Bennett flexed his massive biceps. “Last month must have been a big one chase, I could hardly fit through my apartment door I gre so broad, all because you can’t keep yourself from eating like the pig you are.”

As if to emphasise his dominance, Bennett reached into his pocket and produced a large chocolate bar. Without warning, he pushed it against Chase's lips, forcing him to take a bite. "Eat up, fatty," he whispered maliciously.

Chase, tears of humiliation forming, felt anger rising inside his substantial stomach. He began to run after Bennett as he fled, the four father brothers trying to catch the last chance they had at a normal life.

Chapter 5: Labyrinth of Shadows

Under the mottled shade of the summer trees, Bennett's toned and muscular form glistened with a sheen of sweat, each sinew and contour exaggerated by the sun's dappled light. His shirtless torso was a testament to physical perfection, a sculpture come alive, every muscle rippling and flexing as he darted effortlessly ahead. The sunlight played tricks, casting an almost golden halo around him, making him look even more godlike. Behind him, the brothers labored in pursuit.

Chase, the heaviest amongst them, moved with surprising speed for a man of his size. Each step caused his swollen belly to bounce and jiggle, and his clothes strained to contain his expansive girth. Despite his massive size, there was a determination in his eyes, a fire fueled by the burning humiliation Bennett had subjected him to.

Ethan, despite being the next heaviest, tried to keep pace with Chase. His once trim waist now spilled over his jeans, and his shirt, too tight to button, flapped open, revealing a soft belly that danced with each heavy step. His face was flushed red, both from exertion and anger.

Luke and Sean, both now considerably plumper than they used to be, panted heavily as they followed. Their once fit physiques, though not as transformed as Chase's, were now cushioned in layers of soft fat. Their fuller cheeks and double chins bounced rhythmically, and their bellies, though smaller than their elder siblings', bobbed with every step, the shirts they wore riding up, exposing the lower curves of their new-found paunches.

The chase was a spectacle. On one hand, Bennett, the epitome of fitness, darted forward like a gazelle, while on the other, the brothers, weighed down by their new bulk, lumbered behind, a strange mix of determination and despair in their strides.

As Bennett led them on, the town's old carnival lot loomed in the distance, its rusting rides and dilapidated tents casting eerie silhouettes against the setting sun. Without pausing, Bennett made straight for the haunted house attraction, its entrance a gaping maw beckoning them in.

Not thinking twice, the brothers followed, their heavy breathing echoing in the dimly lit corridors of the haunted house. Strange shadows danced on the walls, and the sound of distant laughter filled the air, giving the place an atmosphere of chilling anticipation.

As they delved deeper into the labyrinthine twists and turns of the attraction, it became clear that this was no ordinary haunted house. Rooms expanded and contracted, hallways led to dead ends, and ghostly apparitions appeared and disappeared at will.

Suddenly, the brothers found themselves in a vast chamber, the ceiling lost in shadows. In the center stood Bennett, an eerie light illuminating his flawless physique from below, casting elongated shadows that seemed to dance and intertwine with the darkness.

"I've been watching you for months fat boy,” Bennett sneered, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Did you really think you could escape your fate, Chase?"

The singular door that allowed them entry suddenly slammed shut with a thunderous clang. Instantly, a thick, opaque gas hissed from unseen vents, rapidly filling the room. Despite their best efforts to hold their breath, the gas's overpowering nature made the brothers' heads spin. One by one, their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed to the ground, succumbing to unconsciousness.

When they awoke, the scene was more terrifying than any nightmare. The brothers found themselves bound on individual metal tables, cold and unyielding. Chains wrapped tightly around their wrists and ankles, rendering any movement impossible. Overhead, dim bulbs cast an eerie, flickering light, causing their now plumper shadows to dance grotesquely on the walls.

Bennett, now dressed in a dark tailored suit that accentuated his Adonis-like physique, leaned over Chase, his blue eyes piercing into Chase's soul. "You see, Chase," he began with a malevolent grin, "there's a little detail about this curse I hadn't shared. If you pass it on this Halloween, my growing power will be halted. But if I keep you here," Bennett's hand glided across Chase's expansive stomach, the coldness of his touch sending shivers down Chase's spine, "and ensure you keep eating and expanding, my strength will grow exponentially, unending. Imagine the possibilities."

The weight of Bennett's revelation hung heavily in the air, as the brothers exchanged terrified glances, realising the direness of their predicament.

Chapter 6: The Inescapable Feast

In the chamber's gloom, the four MacIntyre brothers lay captured, a grotesque banquet of burgeoning flesh. Each one was placed strategically so they faced one another, a cruel design by Bennett to ensure they bore witness to each other's continuous expansion. All of them were bereft of clothing, highlighting the stark transformation they had undergone in their captivity. Their fat forms were immobilised, not just by the sheer weight they had put on, but also by the chains that bound them to the cold, metallic tables.

Attached to each of their faces were tubes, which seemed to pulsate with a life of their own. From these tubes flowed a golden concoction that was the brainchild of Bennett's malevolent imagination. This liquid, he had explained with a smirk, was a specially concocted blend. A fusion of mass gainer to swell their size, an appetite stimulant to keep them constantly hungry, a muscle relaxant to ensure their bodies absorbed every calorie, and a thick sugary cream to accelerate their weight gain. The brothers had no choice but to swallow the relentless flow of the potion.

Chase, the eldest and once the paragon of health, lay with his midsection expanded grotesquely outward, a vast dome that rose and fell with his labored breaths. His once sturdy limbs were now submerged under soft, wobbly layers of fat.

Ethan, the next in line, had always been a tad larger, and this predicament had simply exaggerated his natural tendencies. His midsection was a maze of soft rolls and creases, with the skin stretched taut from the rapid gain. It was clear that his body had struggled to accommodate the sudden influx of weight. His cheeks were chubbier, giving him a boyish appearance that contrasted with the large double chin resting on his neck. He now had a belly that sagged significantly, folding over itself. The skin stretched and shiny, bearing testament to the rapid accumulation of pounds.

Luke was distinguishable by the peculiar distribution of his new weight. His backside had grown immensely, creating an elevated mound on the table. It wobbled independently of the rest of him, it had blossomed into a large, rounded mass that lifted him slightly off the table, and when he occasionally shifted, it would jiggle for several seconds, betraying its softness.

The youngest, Sean, was a spectacle of even distribution. The added weight had rounded him out uniformly. His once angular face now exhibited plump cheeks and a fullness that erased the vestiges of youth, giving him an almost cherubic appearance. s belly, while not as pronounced as Chase's, was still a significant mound, with a deep crease where it met his pelvis.

Bennett's potion was a masterstroke of wickedness. As much as they were horrified by their situation, the brothers couldn’t help but feel a perverse yearning for the golden nectar, their bodies betraying them with each insatiable gulp.

Chapter 7: The Power of the Full Moon

The atmosphere in the chamber became electric as Bennett purposefully moved to a lever on the wall. With a swift pull, the roof slowly split apart, revealing the ominous night sky. The brilliance of the September full moon flooded the room, illuminating every crevice and corner, bathing all in its ethereal light.

Striding with purpose, Bennett shed his clothes, standing in his full muscular glory, every sinew and contour outlined by the luminescent moonlight. The very aura of strength and dominance emanated from him as he soaked in the full force of the lunar energies.

Chase, Ethan, Luke, and Sean, already incapacitated, could do little more than become vessels for the overpowering transformational energy of the full moon. The effects of their curse, magnified by the celestial event, took hold with unprecedented vigour. Their feeding tubes, already delivering the potent potion into them, seemed to pulsate faster, urging them to consume more. Greedily, they swallowed, their bellies making soft, sloshing noises.

Chase, already the largest among the brothers, began a grotesque metamorphosis under the moon's influence. The once athletic form, now imprisoned by layers of lard, seemed to come alive with a voracious appetite for expansion. His flesh, as if possessed, started to ripple and quiver, each wave pushing the boundaries of his skin further. The room echoed with the sound of skin stretching taut and the soft sloshing of the liquid coursing through his feeding tube, catalysing his transformation.

Above his head, a scale displayed the alarming rate of his growth. The numbers, which had been steadily climbing over the weeks, now leaped forward at a frantic pace: 320kg, 325kg, 330kg. The pace was unrelenting. Every second seemed to add more weight, each digit flashing faster than the last. 335kg, 340kg, 345kg. It was as though some invisible force was pumping him full, each pulse adding kilograms. The soft, pliable fat from earlier was now consolidating into heavy, pendulous masses. His belly, once able to sway slightly, became more solid and pronounced, stretching down and threatening to touch the floor. As 350kg approached, his legs, buried beneath the burgeoning bulk of his abdomen, were slowly being swallowed up, becoming mere appendages to the leviathan mass that was his stomach.

His sides filled outwards, like dough rising unchecked, consuming the space around him. What was once a distinguishable waistline vanished into rolls that cascaded down, merging with the equally expansive swell of his hips. As the scale hurtled past 360kg, his chest, no longer discernible from his midsection, was now a plateau of flesh, rising and falling with his increasingly laboured breaths.

The transformation was a haunting symphony of expansion. Chase's body, under the potent combination of the moon and Bennett’s concoction, seemed hell-bent on becoming an unending expanse of fat. The room itself seemed to grow smaller as his enormity filled every available inch, turning his form into a dark monument of excess and overindulgence.

Ethan, previously a robust figure, was now a distorted version of his former self. Once tipping the scales at a fit 100kg, he had always carried his weight with a sense of pride, a touch of bulk to his frame that gave him presence. But now, his body betrayed an entirely different story. The scale above him blinked rapidly: 150kg, 155kg, 160kg...

As the weight packed on, his once broad shoulders were now rounded, padded with thick layers of soft adipose. His midsection, previously taut with muscle, was now a vast expanse, billowing outwards, pushing his once toned pecs into soft, pendulous breasts. Each ripple and shudder of his body made it expand sideways, making him wider and broader, as if trying to occupy as much space as possible.

His abdomen was a canvas of rolls upon rolls, cascading downwards and outwards, each layer softer and more pronounced than the one above. The once firm belly now sagged heavily, folding over in thick layers, every fold deepening with each kilogram he added. His navel, once a simple indent, was now lost within the deep canyon of his belly. The sheen on his stretched skin, reflecting the dim light of the room, bore silent witness to the extreme pace of his gain.

His face, though still recognisably Ethan's, was puffier. The chiselled jawline was now obscured, buried beneath chubby cheeks that gave him an almost innocent, boyish appearance. But this semblance of youth was betrayed by a heavy, large double chin that rested heavily on his neck, quivering with every breath. The scale above hesitated momentarily at 190kg, before inching agonisingly forward. It settled, blinking, just a hair shy of 200kg, marking Ethan's shocking transformation.

Luke, with his gymnast background, had always flaunted a lower body that drew attention, a chiselled monument to his countless hours on the pommel horse and parallel bars. As the curse’s effect took hold, the very athleticism that defined him became his undoing.

His buttocks, previously firm and rounded from years of discipline, continued to expand at an alarming rate. They swelled in size, morphing from solid muscle to soft, yielding flesh that jiggled with every heartbeat. Each cheek ballooned outwards and downwards, reminiscent of overfilled sacks of rich cream. The tables creaked ominously beneath the mounting weight, protesting the rapid deposition of fat. It was as if gravity itself had decided to claim Luke's posterior, pulling and stretching it down, rendering it a dominant feature of his burgeoning silhouette.

In tandem with his expanding rear, Luke’s thighs thickened dramatically. Once lean and muscular, they now resembled overstuffed sausages, straining with the rapid addition of fatty tissue. The inner thighs rubbed together with an audible chafing, each step a testament to his newfound girth.

His love handles and hips didn’t escape the cruel twist of fate either. Fat accumulated around his midsection at an alarming pace, causing his once narrow waist to broaden and blur into his ballooning hips. His once taut sides now bore the burden of heavy flaps of fat that jutted out, creating a pronounced pear-shaped silhouette. The defined V-line he once boasted had disappeared, replaced by a soft, flabby curve that merged his abdomen with his inflating love handles.

Luke's scale, affixed above, mirrored his drastic transformation. Numbers soared the former lean 90kg man, skipped past the 130kg mark, and settled with a mocking finality at 153kg, marking the rapid and shocking expansion of the once agile gymnast.

Sean, with his youthful sprightliness and lean form, seemed almost ill-suited for the curse's perverse machinations. Yet as the full moon's power coursed through him, the transformation it wrought was nothing short of astonishing.

Initially, the youngest of the brothers began to expand uniformly. It started with a slow puffing out of his chest, followed by a widening of his waist. Every part of him began to inflate simultaneously, as if an invisible force was pumping him full of air. His pecs, once flat and athletic, became rounded mounds that protruded from his expanding torso. His arms, though still visibly muscled underneath, were blanketed with a layer of fat, turning them from chiselled limbs to thick, padded appendages.

But it was his midsection's transformation that truly defied belief. As he gained, his belly didn't droop or sag like his brothers'. Instead, it swelled outwards in all directions, giving him the appearance of a perfectly spherical ball. This even distribution of weight rendered his navel almost a central point on this vast expanse of white, taut flesh. His back, too, curved outwards, ensuring that from any angle, Sean looked like a near-perfect circle.

His legs, once slender, became tree trunks of fat, each thigh nearly touching the other all the way down to his knees, their muscular definition hidden beneath the soft layers. His calves, too, puffed out, making it seem as if his feet might disappear beneath the inflating mass at any moment.

His face, always cherubic, became rounder, the sharpness of his jawline now obscured by a layer of plumpness. His cheeks resembled juicy apples, full and rosy, while his neck seemed to have been absorbed into his swollen chest and chin, creating a seamless transition.

The scale positioned above him blinked and whirred, reflecting his burgeoning mass. The digits climbed: 100kg, 110kg, 120kg, before finally settling with a small beep at 130kg. The sight of the number only accentuated the uncanny, balloon-like transformation of Sean, the boyish brother who had morphed into a fleshy orb under the moon's malevolent glow.

Amidst this transformational chaos, Bennett's body too underwent a change, but in stark contrast to the brothers. Every muscle in his physique bulged, growing larger and more defined. Veins snaked their way across his body, pulsating with the power he was drawing from the full moon and the brothers' plight. His shoulders broadened, and his chest expanded as if an unseen force was inflating him from the inside. The sheer force of his muscular expansion seemed to be in perfect tandem with the brothers' fattening.

A powerful energy permeated the chamber as each man reached a climactic point in their transformations. Bennett, at the height of his muscular growth, appeared as the ultimate alpha wolf, while the brothers, though immobilised, could not deny the overpowering dominance he exuded.

Suddenly, the overwhelming force of the combined transformations reached a crescendo, and the room was filled with a blinding light, enveloping each of them. Moments later, the room plunged into darkness, the weight of the night's events causing every occupant to fall into a deep unconsciousness.

Chapter 8: The Heavy Reality

The room's chilling atmosphere was stifling, but even that couldn't hide the warm, pulsating hum of four obese bodies, each grotesquely distorted by an unthinkable curse. Chase tried to shift, to get a better view of his brothers, but the sheer weight of his own body inhibited him. His vision was dominated by his massive, fleshy breasts which, like twin mountains, jutted out and were only surpassed in scale by the undulating mound of his stomach below.

It wasn't just their size but their feel; the very texture of his flesh had changed. Where it had once been taut and firm, it was now soft and doughy, yielding to even the slightest touch. He could feel every roll, every crease, every stretch mark that adorned his new body, mapping out a topography of his torment.

A strange sensation tickled the underside of his gargantuan gut, and it took him a moment to comprehend what it was. His belly, distended and pendulous, had grown to such a magnitude that it now grazed the cold, stone floor, pulling his skin in different directions.

Sean, Luke, and Ethan, while not as massively transformed as Chase, were unrecognisable. The brothers who once laughed, competed, and shared a lifetime of memories together, now lay incapacitated by their own bodies, their features obscured by layers of fat.

The faint echo of footsteps grew louder, and the door creaked open, revealing the towering, muscular form of Bennett. His physique was a stark contrast to the brothers: where they were round and soft, he was chiseled and hard. The malevolent gleam in his eyes made it clear that he took perverse pleasure in their plight.

"Good morning, boys," Bennett's voice oozed with malice, filling the room with an even more pronounced sense of dread. "Enjoying your new figures, I see?"

Chase tried to respond, to muster some sort of defiance, but all that came out was a heavy, laboured breath. Bennett approached him, his eyes raking over Chase's form with a mix of pride and mockery. The muscular man leaned over, his hands caressing the vast sea of flesh before him. Each touch sent a shiver through Chase, as Bennett seemed to savour the sensation of so much softness beneath his fingers.

"You've always been the standout, haven't you, Chase?" Bennett whispered, his breath hot on Chase's ear. He pressed himself into Chase's side, hugging the mass of flesh. "420 kilograms. A magnificent size. And just think," he continued, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "in a month's time, this will be but a memory as you grow even larger."

With a final, lingering touch, Bennett straightened up and moved towards the door. "Enjoy your stay," he smirked, the door slamming shut behind him, sealing the brothers once more in their fleshy prison.

Chapter 9: Encroaching Desperation

In the cold, dimly lit chamber, the incessant drone of slurping and gulping seemed to magnify, echoing off the stone walls in a macabre symphony of gluttony. As days melded into nights, and nights into days, Chase's perception of time warped. The room, which once seemed vast, now felt increasingly confined, not due to any change in its dimensions, but rather the ceaseless expansion of the occupants within.

The sweet, viscous nectar that flowed into Chase's mouth through the feeding tube was intoxicating. Every gulp was a mix of bliss and torment; the pleasure of the taste juxtaposed with the horror of his uncontrollable growth. Even as his thoughts grew muddled, one unyielding desire remained at the forefront of his mind: to consume.

Chase's body was a testament to excess. His mammoth breasts, heavy and pendulous, completely obscured his vision, pushing up towards his face in their quest for space. The sheer enormity of his belly was incomprehensible; it sprawled out in every direction, the skin stretched thin, glistening with sweat and speckled with reddened stretch marks.

But then came a new sensation—a pressure at the front of his distended gut. At first, he assumed it was just another roll of his own fat folding over itself. But as the minutes passed and the feeling persisted, the unsettling truth dawned upon him. The pressure was external. It was Ethan's body meeting his, their growth pushing them inexorably together.

The brothers' bodies, once distinct entities, now melded and merged, their boundaries blurring in this grotesque tapestry of flesh. The very air in the room seemed to grow thinner as their combined bulk consumed the available space. Chase's moans of pleasure and discomfort intertwined with those of his brothers, creating a haunting chorus that spoke of both ecstasy and despair.

As the feeding continued, Chase's thoughts spiralled into chaos. He was trapped in a cycle of arousal and horror, torn between the pleasure of the relentless feeding and the impending doom that lurked ever closer. The forthcoming Halloween full moon was a ticking time bomb, promising either salvation or an even grimmer fate.

With each passing moment, one thought grew more and more pronounced in Chase's fevered mind: Would the moon's transformative power be their saviour? Or would they simply continue to grow, their bodies pushing and pressing against each other until they were nothing but a mass of flesh, smothering one another in their insatiable hunger?

Chapter 10: Shadows of the Full Moon

The hollow echo of night birds and the rustling of trees filled the cavernous chamber as the roof creaked open, revealing the inky sky. Stars twinkled like scattered diamonds, but what caught Chase's strained eyes was the pale, foreboding glow of the Halloween moon. Its silver light bathed the room, casting ghostly shadows and illuminating the vast, undulating expanse of flesh that the brothers had become. The brothers, their restraints now released, attempted to communicate with each other. Their once-strong voices were now muted, distorted by the sheer mass of their swollen, fat-encased throats and the torment of weeks in bondage. Sean's voice emerged, more a distorted moan than a clear utterance. "Chase... God, you've... transformed... must be pushing past 650kg."

From deep within his own cavern of flesh, Luke struggled to project his voice, each word a battle against his engorged jowls and cheeks. "Sean... my God, you're unrecognisable... you've ballooned beyond 300kg!" Amidst the layers of fat that blanketed him, Ethan managed a choked whisper, the strain evident in his words, "Luke... you're not... not trailing far... easily 250kg."

Chase's world was a suffocating cocoon of his own body. Everywhere he turned, mountains of his own flesh blocked his view. Desperately, he tried to shift, the mass of his form resisting at every attempt. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his heart raced, and his breathing came in ragged gasps as he endeavoured to catch a glimpse of Ethan’s scale. After a nightmarish struggle, he saw the numbers, and the reality bore down on him with a weight even greater than his flesh: an unthinkable 450kg.

A sudden rush of cold air heralded the entrance of a new figure. Bennett, now an 8-foot titan of muscle, loomed over the brothers. Every rippling sinew of his body seemed to be chiseled from stone, a stark contrast to the soft, expansive forms beneath him. Naked and unashamed, he manoeuvred his way through the mounds of flesh, his sneering face a mask of dark triumph.

He clambered atop the vast terrain of the brothers' combined bellies, his powerful form casting a long, threatening shadow. As he settled, the sheer weight of his muscular frame pressed down on them, eliciting groans of discomfort. Bennett's fingers, strong and unyielding, dug into the soft fat, manipulating it, toying with the brothers as if they were nothing more than playthings.

Lying atop the vast sea of the brothers' stomachs, Bennett looked up at the rising moon, his face illuminated in its haunting glow. "I hope you're enjoying your new forms," he whispered malevolently. "Because this is only the beginning. You'll be my everlasting machines, your bodies expanding endlessly, fuelling my growth."

Chase's heart raced. The moon was at its zenith, and the curse's power was at its peak. This was their one chance, the one moment when the curse could potentially be reversed. But the realisation was a double-edged sword. As he tried to summon the will to act, the enormity of his form betrayed him. He was immobile, trapped by his own body.

The room felt colder, the weight of Bennett's body and the impending doom pressing down on them, magnified by the power of the Halloween moon. The lines between hope and despair, between salvation and eternal entrapment, seemed to blur.

Chapter 11: The Curse Reversed

The atmosphere was electric as Bennett rose to his feet, every sinew in his bulging muscles tightening in anticipation. He lifted his arms, reaching out to the heavens as the glow of the massive blue moon washed over him. It was as if the universe had painted the sky especially for this moment – the moonlight, pure and unfiltered, cast a silvery-blue sheen over everything, painting the grotesque scene in stark relief.

“Grant me your power!” Bennett roared, his voice echoing with raw desire, every fibre of his being resonating with the pull of the moon. He stood tall, his chiseled form in stark contrast to the vast landscape of flesh beneath him. The brothers, for all their grotesque size, seemed almost dwarfed by his towering, muscular presence.

But as Bennett revelled in his moment of ascension, an unforeseen twist awaited him. Slowly, he felt a peculiar sensation. Glancing downwards, he realised with growing horror that his foot was sinking into the soft flesh beneath him. As if it was quicksand, the mounds of fatty tissue began to envelop his leg.

"No!” he cried, panic evident in his voice. Trying to retract his foot, he only found himself sinking further. The very mass he had cultivated in the brothers was now becoming his prison.

The brothers, sensing his vulnerability, began to stir, their moans of despair transforming into growls of determination.

“Hold him!” Sean gasped, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. And with an effort that seemed impossible for his overstretched body, he rolled forward, his mouth finding purchase on Bennett’s straining bicep. Bennett screamed, a sound of pure agony, as Luke, with newfound strength, lunged forward and clamped his jaws onto Bennett’s outstretched hand.

Ethan, his face a mask of determination, managed to hoist his swollen form enough to take a bite out of Bennett’s shoulder. The pain was clearly excruciating as Bennett's cries reached a fevered pitch.

But the crescendo was yet to come. Chase, the largest and most transformed of them all, summoned every ounce of his might, rolling his colossal mass forward. As he moved, waves of fat rippled outward, pushing Bennett further into their collective mass. As the moon reached the zenith of its power, Chase, with a look of grim determination, leaned over and bit down hard into Bennett’s thigh.

The muscular titan's screams of pain and fear resonated in the room as he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the sea of flesh below him. As his head began to submerge, the combined weight of the brothers bore down on him, muffling his cries.

And then, as the final seconds of the full moon's peak ticked away, the room was filled with the chilling, combined howl of the brothers. The sound echoed, merging with the night, until everything faded into blackness.

Epilogue: Happy Halloween

Chase grunted slightly as he struggled with the rebellious button, but ultimately gave up. The silver strands of his shirt clung to the striations of his impressively muscular chest, highlighting the sinewy contours of his physique. The Halloween night air was cool against his skin, but he felt a warmth radiating from within, the pride of his transformed body. Every ripple, every bulge, was a testament to their hard-fought victory against a dark curse.

Flashing back to that horrifying Halloween night, Chase shuddered, even with his now almost invincible physique. The nightmares of their ordeal persisted, but amidst that darkness emerged a new beginning for him and his brothers. Their shared trauma had cemented their bond even further. The brothers had not only defeated the curse, but in its wake, they had morphed into muscular gods, their bodies sculpted as if by the finest artists.

Ethan, always the tallest, now had shoulders so broad they seemed to span doorways. His washboard abs prominently displayed under the tight fabric of his werewolf costume. Luke, previously lean, now boasted legs so muscular they looked like they could lift a car. His toned arms flexed effortlessly, causing more than a few onlookers to gasp in admiration.

Sean, the youngest, had retained some of his boyish charm, but it was now paired with the physique of a seasoned bodybuilder. The definition in his back muscles alone drew attention from afar. He had traded his youthful naivety for an athletic confidence.

The carnival lights painted a surreal glow on the night, as the brothers converged at the entrance of the haunted house. Their laughter was hearty, filled with camaraderie and jests about their synchronised werewolf attire. They appeared more like models from a fitness magazine than men who had once been trapped in a nightmare.

Entering the haunted house, they navigated the dimly lit corridors, the scent of musty old wood and artificially aged props assaulting their senses. And then, they came upon an attraction titled 'Human Blob'. The grotesque figure of an immobile man, seemingly weighing a tonne, lay before them. Its face was obscured by the layers of fat, making it seem eerily lifelike.

The brothers exchanged knowing glances, the atmosphere thickening with tension. Luke hesitated a moment, then reached out, giving what appeared to be an animatronic figure a tentative poke. To their horror, the flesh yielded slightly under his touch, warm and pulsating. However, the brother’s knew that this wasn’t some carnival contraption, but a living, breathing entity. And not just any entity – the grotesquely swollen form before them was unmistakably Bennett. The mighty and malevolent figure from their past had been transformed, cursed by the very power he sought to harness. The blue moon had taken its revenge, transferring the combined weight of the brothers onto Bennett and then some.

His once muscular physique was buried beneath layers and layers of accumulated fat. His limbs were buried beneath his bulk, and his facial features were almost indistinguishable, smothered by the rolls that cascaded down. A stifled, gurgling sound emanated from deep within the folds, a chilling testament to the life still trapped inside this mountain of flesh. This was Bennett's cruel fate: with every full moon, he would continue to expand, forever trapped in his ever-growing prison of flesh. His eyes, the only recognisable feature, pleaded silently from their sunken sockets. They told a tale of endless hunger and an insatiable appetite that the brothers could once relate to. Ethan whispered to his brothers, “He's still growing...”

Chase, eyes cold, approached the engorged form of Bennett, leaning close to where he assumed the man's ear would be. “Happy Halloween, Bennett,” he murmured, his voice dripping with a mixture of pity and vengeance. The blob shuddered and a loud moan filled the air. The brothers left the haunted house, but the haunting image of Bennett's grotesque transformation would remain with them. Every full moon, they would return, feeding Bennett in a twisted act of mercy and ensuring his curse continued. It was their way of remembering the nightmare they had escaped and the price of meddling with powers beyond comprehension.

Under the pale illumination of the full moon, the brothers paused. Its intense light bathed their chiseled forms, casting elongated shadows on the ground. A sudden surge of power pulsed through them, making their skin tingle. They exchanged anxious glances, bracing for what was to come.

Chase's eyes widened as he felt a peculiar sensation, like molten steel flowing through his veins. With a mixture of awe and apprehension, he watched as his thighs began to swell, the sinewy muscles expanding and bulging. The fabric of his pants groaned under the strain, the seams straining and beginning to pop.

Ethan, smirking, slapped Chase's now even more muscular posterior. "Always told you those calves needed catching up," he teased, a twinkle in his eye. Chase huffed a laugh, flexing his burgeoning calves for emphasis. "Just making sure you guys don't forget who the biggest brother is," he quipped back.

For a moment, the atmosphere lightened, the brothers basking in their newfound strength and unity. Their laughter echoed through the quiet night, a stark contrast to the eerie memories of the past. With their broad shoulders touching and their heads held high, the brothers continued their journey, leaving footprints embedded deeply in the ground, symbols of their growing power. As they walked, their forms grew ever more imposing, silhouettes of raw strength against the moonlit night. A howl rang into the night from the haunted house, the curse of the werewolf audible to all dormant for now until once again, the bite of fate is shared with another.

[futchmemes]

WARNING discussion of body image and weight gain and unhealthy thoughts thereof ahead

i’ve always been really skinny my whole life and it’s so fucked up what that does to you wrt how people talk about your body. i had adults complimenting me on being skinny since i was literally 6 years old. can you imagine walking up to an elementary school kid and going “i wish i was as skinny as you are” when you’re 30+ years old cause i can’t. but anyway that and my eye color was basically the only thing people ever complimented me on when i was young and now that i’m an adult gaining weight because that’s a normal thing that happens in your 20s my brain is in a very bizarre state about it. some part of my brain is having a fucking identity crisis over it because if i’m not the Small Skinny One then who am i? if i lose one of the two things anyone ever compliments me about then i have nothing and i’m not attractive anymore which means im worthless, obviously. but i’ve also always been insecure about being flat chested and now i have bigger boobs. and during my depressive episode a few years ago i was losing weight and it scared me so i know this is healthier, since i’ve always been right on the edge of being underweight. so like. i genuinely don’t know what i feel about this. i feel more like An Adult Woman than i ever have and i actually really like the physical feeling of having more body fat but i also feel my body go cold when i see 130 on the scale instead of 115 and i keep getting extremely self conscious about my stomach. i outgrew a bunch of my clothes and every time i find a new thing that doesn’t fit i want to cry. but then i realize a shirt looks better with my boobs now. i’m mostly pleased but feel a beast in my subconscious waiting for me to gain enough that i’ll freak out and develop an ed. what do i even call that

edit because i feel like i wasn’t specific: i acknowledge that i’m still skinny by all accounts, my bmi is smack in the middle of the “healthy weight” zone (ik it’s bullshit but still) and i’m not by any means fat. but when you go from being one of the skinniest people in any given room who’s buying nothing but size XS-S or size 0-2 clothes to being like, a normal weight in the middle of the straight-size range it feels drastic. especially when you grow up in a misogynist society obsessed with girls’ appearances and you forcibly integrate any compliment you get with your self image. anyway it fucking sucks that we make girls (everyone to some degree but particularly girls) feel so incredibly invested maintaining the weight of a literal child that when they inevitably start gaining weight as an adult they freak the fuck out

[thebendsbyradiohead]

pls share some of your responses with such comments I never know what to say and and up suffering in silence

okay so, first of all i hope you're taking care of yourself as much as you can. i hope you know that other people's comments don't define you, even if they come from people that have supposedly "known us our whole lives" and think they have the right to assign values to us as people <3

usually, i try to approach it in a civil manner because more often than not our parents have been traumatized themselves and are not aware of what they are doing. i'm not saying this to justify their actions but to bring them into perspective. my own mother was horribly criticized on every aspect of her life by her mother, so i try to give her some slack when she makes off-hand comments that she doesn't realize how they land.

in this particular instance i asked her why she needed to even mention my weight gain at all, she replied that it's because she's worried about my health, i answered that she knows i take care of my health while alone abroad (to such an obsessive degree, i'm worried i might have ocd), she acknowledged that but proceeded to tell me that "for a 26 year old woman i am too sensitive regarding my body image and should be able to fend off comments like these at my big age".

now, i'm realizing that we are not entering the conversation on the same level. i point out that i've been receiving these comments since i was 11, a very vulnerable age, from people who were supposed to be building me up instead of tearing me down. again, she tells me to disregard that since my grandparents were "old and senile", i refused to do that and told her that regardless of their mental state, my mental state at that age was influenced by their comments. she tells me that everyone said the same thing to my cousin and she's fine.

at this point, i realize that she's going to keep finding ways out of acknowledging her (or her parents') responsibility in this, so i hit where it hurts: i tell her that's why my cousin is on antidepressants. is it nice? no, but i want her to realize the gravity of the situation and after multiple attempts to make her empathize with me i have to resort to drastic measures and i know that will make her second guess herself and think deeply on the topic.

by all means, this did not immediately solve the issue of weight loss commenting or my mother's insistence of romanticizing her parents and their negative impacts on our lives, but like everything else it's a step by step process. all i (and you) can do, is point out to our parents how they hurt us, explain the effects of their actions, and ask them to stop. if they don't, harsher boundaries will have to be drawn and regardless how they feel about them, at least we will not be suffering in silence but instead, we will be making the conscious decisions to protect ourselves and stay away from things and people that hurt us.

sorry for the super long and unnecessarily detailed answer but i hope it helped! if you want to discuss this further, my inbox and DMs are open <3

[scoopflash]

Selena Gomez Breast Implants: Unraveling the Truth and Impact

Selena Gomez, a global pop sensation and influential public figure, has captivated millions with her talent, charm, and authenticity. However, with fame comes scrutiny, and one particular rumor that has made the rounds is whether or not selena gomez breast implants. Speculations about celebrities undergoing cosmetic procedures are nothing new, but when it comes to someone as beloved as Selena, these whispers can quickly snowball into a widespread debate. But how did these rumors start, and what do they say about society's obsession with the physical appearances of celebrities? 

The Surge of Speculations

The rumors about Selena Gomez potentially getting breast implants didn’t spring out of nowhere. They began gaining traction after fans and media outlets noticed changes in her appearance in recent photos. Social media platforms, notorious for their role in fueling celebrity gossip, were ablaze with discussions and comparisons of her before-and-after images. The conversation wasn’t just confined to the average fan; even media outlets picked up the story, analyzing her pictures with surgical precision.

But why does the public care so much? In the world of celebrities, every small change is magnified, dissected, and discussed. Selena’s case is no different. Whether it's a new hairstyle, a slight weight change, or the possibility of cosmetic surgery, fans and critics alike are always on the lookout for something to talk about.

Selena's Silence: A Strategic Move?

In the face of all these speculations, Selena Gomez has remained notably silent. Some see this as a strategic move—by not addressing the rumors directly, she avoids adding fuel to the fire. It’s a common tactic among celebrities to ignore baseless claims in the hope that they’ll eventually die down. But is this silence indicative of something more?

Celebrities often have to walk a fine line between maintaining their privacy and managing their public image. Addressing rumors can sometimes do more harm than good, as it might validate them in the eyes of the public. For Selena, whose life has been under a microscope since her Disney days, staying silent could be her way of keeping control over her narrative.

The Impact on Body Image Conversations

Selena Gomez has long been an advocate for body positivity, openly discussing her struggles with lupus, mental health, and the resulting impact on her body. Given her influence, the speculation about her possibly getting breast implants has sparked broader conversations about body image and the pressures faced by women—especially those in the limelight.

Celebrities like Selena play a significant role in shaping beauty standards. When someone of her stature is believed to have altered their body surgically, it can send mixed messages to her young, impressionable fan base. On one hand, it can be seen as a personal choice—after all, everyone has the right to do what makes them feel confident. On the other, it could perpetuate the notion that natural beauty isn’t enough, feeding into the unrealistic standards often glorified by the media.

Analyzing the Evidence

So, what evidence do we have regarding Selena Gomez’s alleged breast implants? Most of the speculation is based on visual comparisons—side-by-side photos from different periods of her life. Some claim that the difference in her appearance is clear, pointing to specific outfits or angles that seemingly reveal a change in her bust size.

However, experts in the field of plastic surgery often caution against making assumptions based solely on photographs. Lighting, clothing, and even posture can drastically alter how someone looks in photos. Without a direct statement from Selena or her medical team, any claims about her undergoing surgery remain just that—speculation.

Public Perception and Fan Reactions

Public reactions to the rumors have been mixed. While some fans passionately defend Selena, arguing that she has always been beautiful and that the changes are natural, others are convinced that she has had work done. Social media platforms are often the battleground for these debates, with hashtags and trending topics bringing more attention to the issue.

But why do fans feel the need to weigh in on such personal matters? Part of it comes from the deep connection they feel with celebrities. For many, stars like Selena are more than just entertainers—they’re role models, and any perceived change in their appearance can feel like a betrayal or, conversely, a step closer to perfection.

The Broader Conversation on Cosmetic Surgery

Cosmetic enhancements have become increasingly normalized in Hollywood, with many celebrities openly discussing their procedures. However, breast implants and other forms of plastic surgery still carry a stigma, especially for female celebrities who often face harsher judgment than their male counterparts.

In Selena’s case, the rumors have reignited discussions about the pressures that women, particularly in the entertainment industry, face to maintain a certain image. The choice to undergo surgery is deeply personal, yet when a celebrity makes that decision, it’s often scrutinized and debated as if it were a public issue.

Selena Gomez’s Advocacy for Self-Love

Despite the ongoing speculation, Selena Gomez has consistently advocated for self-love and body positivity. In interviews and social media posts, she has emphasized the importance of embracing one’s natural beauty and not succumbing to societal pressures. Whether or not the rumors are true, Selena’s message remains clear: confidence comes from within, not from conforming to external standards.

Her openness about her health struggles and the resulting impact on her body has resonated with many, offering a refreshing perspective in an industry often criticized for promoting unrealistic ideals. By focusing on self-acceptance, Selena continues to inspire her fans to love themselves just as they are.

Conclusion

The rumors surrounding Selena Gomez’s alleged breast implants are a reflection of society’s ongoing fascination with celebrity culture and physical appearance. While it’s natural for fans to be curious, it’s essential to remember that celebrities are people too, with their own insecurities and personal choices. Whether or not Selena has had surgery is ultimately her business, and what truly matters is the message she continues to spread—one of self-love and acceptance.

[gettingthebestofyou]

So, who am I and what am I doing?

I’m a 40 year old woman living in the northeast US. I’m documenting my journey on a GLP-1 Medication. Feel free to come along for the ride or to ignore entirely. There will be frank discussions on weight loss, body image, and injectables.

I’m keeping this as anonymous as I can make it. I want it to be a diary of sorts.

Here’s my story…

I was always overweight as a kid, but I learned to have a very dysfunctional relationship with food because my mother hated her weight. I can’t remember a time where I wasn’t on a diet or I wasn’t thinking about what foods were good, what was bad, or how much I could have without looking bad in public.

I managed to keep my weight under check as a child, but I was always “chubby.”

In college I went up to 180 lbs. Even with being very active, I had no control over how I was eating and didn’t ACTUALLY understand nutrition.

After college I had a fairly active job, and I tried to keep active with gyms. I went on multiple diets many times. My weight fluctuated a lot.

Part of my job requires me to be in specific kinds of clothes, and to be in front of mirrors often. I see myself all the time. I do not like what I look like.

I did not like dieting and exercise, but I managed to stay just a little overweight for the majority of this time.

I was able to keep my body in check until 2014.

In 2014 I contracted Lyme Disease, but because I did not see a target rash and my test kept coming back negative (falsely) they wouldn’t medicate me. Over the course of 4 months I went to 5 different doctors, including one who wanted to diagnose me with Fibromyalgia and treat me with a course of muscle relaxants to sleep and caffeine to keep awake. The last Doctor finally treated the Lyme, and within 24 hours of being on medication I saw a 50% reduction in symptoms. I gained about 30 lbs in those four months.

In 2014 I also went back to school and my lifestyle changed drastically. From 2014-2019 it was a struggle to have energy, to move, even to sleep sometimes. It was all symptoms I had with the Lyme, but on and off, sometimes better, sometimes worse. Dieting became a struggle for me and the things I had done to lose weight before weren’t working.

During this time, I tried many drastic things to lose weight, which only worked for a time. I started to accept that I wouldn’t never be thin.

No matter what I did, in the end, my weight always went up.

When Covid hit, like so many others, everything stopped. I was unable to move, and keeping my weight in check was a dream at this point.

In 2022 I decided I’d lived with my head in the sand long enough. While I had been well other than my weight for years, I hadn’t seen a primary care doctor since 2015, and mine had retired during the pandemic. I went to a new primary, who found a myriad of issues.

Of note: high cholesterol, high lever enzymes, high A1C and high TSH.

I ended up changing primaries because I didn’t like how she seemed so unconcerned with my high results as I have a myriad of health issues in my family history.

My new PCP is amazing. With his guidance and the help of a nutritionist and a personal trainer, I’ve decreased my overall cholesterol to normal levels, my LDL is only slightly out of range, my liver enzymes (which indicated non-alcoholic fatty liver) are also now normal, and after referring me to an endocrinologist, I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis which is now being treated.

Over the last year and a half, I have not been able to get my A1C down, though, no matter what changes I make.

After my last round of blood tests, and with my PCP’s agreement and cooperation, my endocrinologist has put me on Zepbound.

I am engaging on a GLP-1 Journey, like it or not. Some days I like it, some days I don’t.

Here, I’m going to recount it all.

Today is February 3, 2024.

Today I start finding the best parts of me.

[fitnessthought]

Sean Rigby Weight Loss: The Story Behind His Dramatic Body Image and Health

Sean Rigby, an English actor best known for his role as Detective Sergeant Jim Strange in “Endeavour,” recently made headlines not for his acting prowess but for his dramatic weight loss. Rigby’s transformation, particularly evident in “Endeavour” Season 8, where he appeared nearly 87 pounds lighter, sparked widespread discussion and speculation.

Body Image in the Spotlight

Rigby’s weight loss brings into focus the intense scrutiny of body image in the entertainment industry. Initially, Rigby, who was a bit overweight, defied the conventional actor body standards, comfortably embracing his physique. His talent shone through, unaffected by his body image. A New York Times reviewer praised Rigby for bringing “a vulpine grace” to his role, indicating that his acting was always at the forefront.

Cutting-Edge Science, Maximum Results

Sean Rigby’s Weight Loss Transformation

The eighth season of “Endeavour,” aired in September 2021, presented a significantly slimmer Rigby. Fans were initially baffled, some even suspecting a new actor had replaced him. This drastic change led to a flurry of questions and theories about his health and the methods behind his weight loss.

Despite the public curiosity, Rigby has remained silent about his weight loss journey. This lack of comment has only fueled further speculation. Fans and media alike have guessed at various methods, from strict dieting and exercise routines to concerns about illnesses. However, without confirmation from Rigby, these remain mere speculations.

Health Status: 

As of our latest updates, Rigby’s current health status is not detailed in public records. However, he appears to be in good health, continuing his role in “Endeavour” without interruption. His transformation, while a topic of curiosity, has also served as an inspiration to many looking to adopt a healthier lifestyle.

Interesting Facts about Sean Rigby’s Weight Loss and Health

Active in Health and Wellness Coaching: After his significant weight loss, Sean Rigby reportedly became actively involved in health and wellness coaching services. This suggests a deeper commitment to not only maintaining his own health but also helping others on their wellness journeys.

Inspiration Beyond Acting: Rigby’s weight loss has made him a figure of inspiration outside his acting career. His transformation has motivated people struggling with weight issues, demonstrating the positive impact of lifestyle changes.

Liver Purification Complex

Silent Advocate for Health: By not publicly discussing his weight loss methods, Rigby inadvertently promotes a message that health and fitness journeys are personal and varied. His approach highlights the importance of finding a health path that works individually, rather than following celebrity trends.

Shift in Public Perception: Prior to his weight loss, Rigby’s public image was primarily defined by his acting roles. Post-transformation, he has also become recognized for his commitment to personal health, showing a different side of his personality to the public.

Role Model for Body Positivity: Despite the industry’s focus on physical appearance, Rigby’s initial comfort with his body image and his subsequent transformation into a healthier lifestyle serve as a powerful example of body positivity. He demonstrates that one can embrace body changes at any stage and for personal reasons, rather than industry pressure.

FAQs about Sean Rigby

Who is Sean Rigby?

Sean Rigby is an English actor, best known for his role as Detective Sergeant Jim Strange in the British TV series “Endeavour.”

What is Sean Rigby known for?

Aside from his role in “Endeavour,” Rigby is recognized for his portrayal in the prequel series to “Inspector Morse.” He has also gained attention for his significant weight loss.

Feel Like Everything You Eat Goes Straight To Your Belly

How much weight did Sean Rigby lose?

Sean Rigby reportedly lost around 87 pounds, a transformation that became evident in the eighth season of “Endeavour.”

Did Sean Rigby discuss his weight loss publicly?

No, Sean Rigby has not publicly discussed the specifics of his weight loss, including the methods or reasons behind it.

What are the speculations about Sean Rigby’s weight loss?

Fans and media have speculated various reasons, including strict dieting, exercise routines, or health issues. However, without confirmation from Rigby, these remain unverified.

Sean Rigby’s weight loss story transcends the physical transformation. It highlights the intense focus on body image in the entertainment industry and the curiosity it sparks among the public. While Rigby’s silence on the matter leaves room for speculation, it also underscores a personal journey that goes beyond public scrutiny. His story is a reminder of the importance of health and well-being, both in and out of the spotlight.

Your TEA, your Metabolism, MADE BETTER

[aphroditestummyrolls]

!!!! 

[babydaddyleorio]

Can I get a Angst oneshot of cherry number 5 and Gender Neutral reader please if you want or can.

(I hope I did this request thing right)

Have a good day or night stay safe and happy pride month!

Happy pride!

Cherry had done everything in his power to cover his tracks so that nothing could ever be traced back to him.

He had made sure to shield his body in an all black cloak with a mask across his face as he snuck off the palace's grounds, he had given himself an alias whenever he chose to skate since It was forbidden for royals to do so, and he even met with his lover in the most discreet places that no one should have been able to find. He had done everything imaginable to ensure that nothing could ever tarnish his name, and yet somehow, all of his efforts were now seemingly futile.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Cherry scowled deeply as his eyes fell on the bothersome man in front of him, trying his best to maintain his composure and awareness. The man in question was no other than his right hand and he had so rudely barged into his office, demanding Cherry’s attention to discuss an important matter that just couldn’t seem to wait. Ainosuke Shindo, Adam for short, stood beside the chair opposite of Cherry with a grin that can only be defined as devious adorning his lips.

“There have been rumors circulating amongst the servants, rumors of the Lord escaping the palace late in the night.” Adam tauntingly paced around the office with his hands clasped behind his back and Cherry’s eyes vehemently trailed him as his accusing words began to register. “They say you’ve been sneaking off to duel commoners in skating tournaments, knowing full well that the practice is strictly forbidden.”

Adam paused his movements and sharply turned himself to face Cherry. He slowly lowered his body down to grip the edge of the desk dividing him and Cherry, a grimace now present on his face.

“Does any of this ring a bell to you, your Highness?” Adam asked forcefully and Cherry simply reached over to grab his fine china, calmly taking a sip of his Chamomile tea before answering the arrogant man towering him.

“No, I am afraid that does not ring a bell.” Cherry answered while blankly staring and Adam laughed dryly under his breath at his obvious lie.

“Is that so?” Adam retorted before taking out a manila folder and dumping the contents of it all across the desk’s surface. Cherry remained unscathed as the laminated documents fell before him and he slowly glanced over them, squinting his eyes once he realized they were all pictures.

Pictures of him to be exact.

“These photos here tell a different story, Lord Cherry.”

“What is it that you exactly wish to gain by doing this?” Cherry asked, his voice becoming slightly annoyed as he pushed the pictures of him participating in the local tournaments away from his view.

“End your acquaintance with Y/n.” Adam declared while leaning closer to his Lord, but Cherry only narrowed his eyes in response.

‘Ah, so that’s what this is all about.’ Cherry thought to himself as he took note of Adam’s request.

Adam had never liked that you and Cherry were having romantic relations with each other and he so desperately wished to end the entanglement as soon as the secret relationship sprouted. Adam viewed you as mere filth and didn’t believe you had a worthy enough status to ever be seen with the likes of Cherry. Adam gritted his teeth just thinking about you being together, partially because he knew Cherry could have better and partially because that spot you had in Cherry’s heart should have been his.

“You must have lost your head, Adam.” Cherry glowered menacingly and leaned himself closer as well, so close that there were just mere inches between the two. “Mind your place.”

“End it, Cherry.” Adam demanded coldly, losing all the formalness he had prior to this moment.

“And if I don't?” Cherry challenged with a raised eyebrow, frowning deeply as he continued to stare down Adam.

“Then I will have no other choice than to leak these photos and ruin your entire career.” Adam spat with his fingers gripping the wood so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Cherry closed his eyes at the unfavorable situation he had found himself in. He could have continued to protest against the incriminating evidence, but Adam did unfortunately have the upper hand right now. Cherry sighed loudly before slowly glancing back up to the fickle man awaiting his response.

“Very well.”

“Really?” Adam blurted incredulously, shocked that Cherry actually agreed to his terms.

“Yes, I will end my relations with them.” Cherry affirmed, although the weight of those words left a bitter taste lingering along his tongue.

“Excellent.” Adam exclaimed before turning on his heel to leave triumphantly but not before gathering the photos up and taking them with him.

Once Adam was completely gone, Cherry loudly banged his fist against the table, causing the warm tea to spill across his desk. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration as he considered the stakes at hand and wanted nothing more to strangle Adam for even pulling a stunt like this. Cherry was torn between protecting his current position of power or choosing the love of his life and it seemed like the former was gradually becoming his only option.

“Carla, send me a carriage.” Cherry hastily commanded into the air before pushing out of his seat and storming out the door.

X

“Y/n, open up. It’s me.”

Cherry waited a few seconds before hearing your feet shuffle against the floor and multiple locks turn in unison.

When you finally opened the door he saw that you were all dressed and there was a suitcase standing behind you. Cherry raised an eyebrow in question and wondered where you could be going at such a late hour.

“Going somewhere?” He asked curiously while taking note of how stiff you looked standing in the door frame.

“Yes.” You responded curtly, voice more distant than usual.

“Where to?” Cherry tried to pry further, now even more confused that his suspicions were correct.

“Away.”

Cherry’s lips frowned at how dismissive you were being and he tried to step closer into your home, but you blocked him before he could get the chance.

“Cherry, I think It is time we end this.” You blurted out loud and Cherry froze in his spot once he heard those words leave your mouth.

Wasn’t that his line? He thought to himself as he saw the indifferent expression blanketing your face. Cherry wasn’t going to go through with Adam’s demands and he had actually come here to make It clear that you would always come first, although now that you’ve said you wanted to depart, he wasn’t sure If his plan still was in motion.

“For what reason?” Cherry asked insultingly and you avoided eye contact with him before continuing.

“It is for the best.” You whispered and Cherry got in your face, latching his fingers onto your chin so you could look into his furious eyes.

“Like hell It is.” He swore, glowering down at you. “What has caused this sudden change?”

“Dammit, Cherry! We just aren’t meant to be together!” You shouted and to Cherry’s ears It sounded as If you were trying to convince yourself of that statement as well. Once you realized your emotions were beginning to get the best of you, you took a deep breath and tried to ignore the tight feeling growing inside of your throat.

“I got sent a letter.”

“A letter?” Cherry questioned in confusion, wondering why that mattered now.

“Yes, and It stated that I have 24 hours to evacuate the premises before drastic measures would be put in place.” You confessed and Cherry raised his eyebrows in surprise before anger gradually consumed his being.

“On what grounds? Where is it, let me see!” Cherry demanded and tried to move past you but you blocked him from entering again.

“They had pictures in there as well.” You hissed while furrowing your eyebrows deeply. “Pictures of us together.”

Cherry felt himself begin to see red, seething at what was happening to you and him.

“So what? That’s just it now?” He voiced bitterly and you started to laugh at his questions, not realizing that tears had begun sliding down your cheeks.

“Yes, this is the last straw! I am sick of going through this, Cherry.” You exclaimed with a frown before turning your head so your eyes were no longer on him. “It’s best that you leave now.”

“I refuse to leave until we sort all of this out.” Cherry protested, moving his hands to try to wipe your cheeks but you swatted them away just before he could touch you. Cherry angrily clenched his fists and flared his nostrils before moving himself into your face.

“Didn’t we get in this relationship knowing that they wouldn’t approve of us? So why now, why are you so scared now?” Cherry was fuming as he shouted those words at you and you flinched once you heard how strangled his voice was becoming.

“It is different now, since when did you not care about your career as being our Lord? If word got out we were meeting, It would stain your image and legacy as well as have you seen as a dishonor. Are you really willing to risk throwing it all away for a mere relationship?” You challenged although the tears that were still falling steadily from your eyes betrayed how you were trying to come across.

You swallowed thickly before moving your eyes to Cherry’s face, staring at him solemnly through your blurry vision.

“Is our love really worth that much to you because it doesn't mean shit to me anymore.” You yelled and Cherry abruptly moved back at your outburst, too speechless to say anything in return.

You shut your eyes and squeezed them tightly before stepping back into your home.

“Goodbye.” You mumbled and slammed the door in Cherry’s face. Cherry stood on your porch with a far away look grazing his face and stayed motionless in his spot with his gaze never leaving your door. Cherry didn’t remember how long he stood there in the cold night, but he did remember the sudden feeling of his lips quivering as he felt his heart being broken into a million pieces.

When Cherry finally stormed back into the castle, he furiously and desperately looked for Adam. And when he finally saw him, he rushed to the man and roughly grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer so that they were face to face.

“What did you do, dammit!” Cherry yelled with tears building up in his eyes, his hands shaking drastically since your distraught face stayed ingrained in his mind. Cherry was a mess without you, he already missed your comforting voice and the beautiful smile that you wore whenever he held you close to him. Cherry’s cheeks suddenly rose as his mouth slowly parted and tears poured from his eyes at the thought of never getting the chance to have that again.

Adam looked down at Cherry since he still had him in grasp, and he couldn’t help the smirk that fell on his face as he realized that he had won. Adam listened closely as the grandfather clock on the wall rang loudly to signal a new day, a day where you were no longer in the picture.

“I just made sure you stayed true to your word, my Lord.”

[astermacguffin]

I've promised a post about dual violations here before (in line with my evil deancas scholarship), so here's the official post about it.

(NOTE: I'm intentionally using the vague and general term "violation" here as a euphemism for physical, psychological, emotional, and sexual violence. At no point am I ever gonna explicitly describe such violence, but I am going to constantly allude, mention, and refer to such acts. Please feel free to scroll away if necessary.)

Thesis on Dual Violations. Fiction provides a great avenue for us to explore dynamics in special cases where both receiver and perpetrator of the violation are victims. This is not to say that they are similarly or equally victimized, only that they are both victims.

There are typically three ways for this to happen:

coercion, where the main driving agent of the violation is an external force, forcing itself onto at least one of the parties (e.g. posession, blackmail, etc.);

compulsion, where the main driving agent of the violation is internal, even if what started the causal chain was initially external (e.g. rage spells, sex pollen, etc.) and;

imitation, where one party is mimicked and the violation is done through that image. This is a very specific kind of violation—the main thing that comes to mind are fics where a shapeshifter imitates the victim’s loved one and performs the violation in that body.

The violations done to the primary victims are, of course, very obvious. But what I think we rarely engage with is the violation and trauma of the unwilling perpetrator. When the possession is over or when the spell finally lifts, what happens then? How do you deal with the consequences of having committed such an awful violation (or in the special case of imitation, having your image permanently tarnished in the eyes of the victim)?

Therefore, explorations on dual violations function as thought experiments on guilt. Note how in our categorization, all the names are in the point of view of the perpetrator-victim: you are either coerced to commit the crime, compelled into doing it, or imitated as doing it.

Below the cut, we're going to explore specific tropes in fics and how they fall into these categories.

COERCION

Coercion, where the main driving agent of the violation is an external force, forcing itself onto at least one of the parties.

We can generally categorize fics of this kind into two types:

Takeover. The Self/ego/personhood of the active party is taken over (e.g. one is possessed/mind-controlled and is forced to violate the other), and;

Gunpoint. The selfhood of the active party is intact (e.g. the active party is blackmailed/held-at-gunpoint to either (a) do the violation or (b) let themselves be violated).

Out of all the categories we will discuss here, perpetrators of violence under takeover coercion are typically those we deem blameless; there is usually nothing they could have done to stop the violation from happening.

In gunpoint coercion, on the other hand, although they are forced into restricting circumstances, the active party is doing it "with their own hands" and is not being actively controlled into doing so. They have at least a sliver of agency and control of the situation, unlike in cases of possession/mind-control. This means that we typically assign them with at least some degree of moral responsibility over the violation.

Note how we further subdivided gunpoint coercion. In fact, both coercion and compulsion violations can be divided into this binary: (a) being forced to do the violation, or (b) being forced to have the violation done to you.

To make sense of this, we're going to look at an example of Type B Gunpoint Violation. First things first, it's important to consider that the recepient of the violation can in fact also be the active party behind the violation. Let's see how this works through this example:

Person X is blackmailing Person Y into having sex with Person Z and making them believe it's consensual.

The thesis on dual violations argues that both Y and Z are victims here, with Y being forced to endure rape and Z being tricked into raping someone.

COMPULSION

Compulsion, where the main driving agent of the violation is internal (even if what started the causal chain was initially external).

We can generally split this type into two:

Corruption of the Mind. This is where something drastically alters the self/persona/mentality of a party (e.g. a personality-altering spell, a memory corruption spell, etc.);

Corruption of the Heart. This is where either foreign wants/desires are forced into a party or preexisting desires are warped and exploited (e.g. love potions, certain sex pollen or heat/rut fics, etc.)

Compulsion violations can often be more revolting than coercion violations, especially since we can often blame a third party for the latter. A lot of the time, perpetrators under compulsion are still themself, only warped.

In Supernatural fics, the violations done by Demon!Dean and MarkOfCain!Dean would typically fall under compulsion, because (1) no one is possessing him or forcing him to do these things, and (2) Dean is basically still Dean under these conditions, except his values and priorities are distorted.

Like earlier, compulsion violations can happen in two ways: being compelled to do the violation, or (b) being compelled to have the violation done to you.

IMITATION

Imitation, where one party is mimicked and the violation is done through that image.

This is a very specific kind of violation—the main thing that comes to mind are fics where a shapeshifter imitates the victim’s loved one and performs the violation in that body. Or perhaps by possessing a corpse; the mechanics doesn’t really matter. The point is that both parties here are violated and their relationship is horribly damaged due to this violation.

Imitation is a special case; some of you might wonder as to why it needs to have its separate category. This is because it doesn't neatly fit into any of our earlier categories. The main thing that sets it different from the rest is the fact that the "perpetrator" here doesn't actually perform the violation themself but is only mimicked by the one who actually does the violation.

We have been using the term perpetrator-victim to describe the perpetrators in dual violations; in the case of imitation, the -victim half of the term gains more weight—their image has been violated and their relationship with the primary victim has been terribly damaged.

Concluding remarks

The essay provides us with a powerful categorization system that can help us analyze fiction about special cases of dual violations. I do not claim it to be comprehensive; in fact, I might have missed other examples of dual violations that don't fit this current system. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to share!

(If anyone is interested in the list of destiel darkfics that prompted this analysis, DM me so I can warn you about stuff before reading.)

[worldwidebt7]

I... have no idea why I decided to write this— especially on this blog because... I don’t really consider this a personal blog...

I suppose I just needed to vent? Get my thoughts out and hope that someone listens? I love my husband but... it’s like talking to a wall when it comes to this topic 😅

So... what I’m talking about is poor body image and everything that comes with it.

And I guess this is the part where I place a trigger warning for— jeez— just, everything? Talking about eating disorders, self-deprivation, low self worth, self body shaming, negative thoughts... so, if you’re triggered by these topics or anything similar, please read no further.

So, I guess I should preface this with a disclaimer: I love who I am. I love my mind, and the way I think and analyze. I love the way I love the things I’m passionate about.

But I hate that I can’t love the way I look.

I want to. I want to be happy and confident in how I look, but every time I see myself in a reflection I veer away as fast as possible. I can give you every reason in the book, but I couldn’t tell you where my poor body image comes from.

As far back as I can remember I have been hiding in clothes two sizes too big for me. Anything that will shield my imperfections from the world. Hell, I’ve even been living for these mandatory masks because that gives me the ability to hide my face. The less that can been seen of me, the better. I suppose that’s because I assume the rest of the world will judge me as harshly as I judge myself.

I have this saying: “Go ahead and say what you want because it can’t be worse than what I already tell myself.”

Which is true. In fact, I actively avoid mirrors when I can. I don’t even own a full body mirror. I have two vanity mirrors that show my face from the neck up and there are more than enough issues just there to keep me occupied for an hour.

Owning a full length mirror would be... well, let’s just say the last time I looked at myself at length in one I cried and nearly broke my hand.

I am... overweight for my height and body type. And for myself. About 35lbs (15.88kg) to be precise. I’m 5’1” (155cm) and of a petite build. I should weigh in the 112lb (50.80)-121lb (54.88kg). I understand that each body has its own version of healthy, but I can physically feel the effects that the extra weight is having on my body.

I should add that I wasn’t always this heavy. In middle school and high school I was about average weight even if it was a little over the “ideal” and later I was in the spectrum of healthy weight for my size twice.

And neither time did I get there healthily.

The first time was out of my hands— I had been quite ill with Lyme disease for the first two years of my college life and I was spending 75% of my time asleep or too weak to move. Surprisingly, I actually GAINED weight at this time and was at the unruly weight I’m currently at today.

However, that changed drastically when doctors finally discovered the cause of my ailments and put me on aggressive medication for it. I had Lyme for two years— there was already irreparable damage to by body from it. I though the treatment would be the end.

Wrong.

The pills prescribed to me were meant to eliminate the disease as swiftly as possible and consequently made me more ill. I was throwing up two to three times a day and with that came a sensitive stomach and a nonexistent appetite. I loved off of bread and chocolate milk for a month because that’s all my stomach could keep down.

I lost 35lbs (15.88kg) in four weeks. My body was eating itself. I was weak. Every bone in my body hurt. My eyes were sunken in. I couldn’t eat because the bacteria in my stomach were so damaged.

But I was finally— FINALLY— skinny. My body had essentially transformed over night in my suffering and I felt like at least one good thing had come out of me being sick.

I began working out regularly trying to gain some of my muscle back and I toned up, I had definition and some of my energy back. And I continued to try and nurse myself back to health for the next year by slowly introducing more food into my meals. I was trying to do the right thing for my body, but I also wanted to keep the weight off.

This was the first... and the last time I was ever happy with my body.

It lasted little more than a year.

Once I was able to eat full meals again after quite some time, I gained all the weight back— and then some. I was the heaviest I had ever been and I was MISERABLE. I had gotten a taste of my version of “the perfect body” and I ate it away.

This is where the self-hatred really set in.

After I graduated college and broke up with my boyfriend, I decided to lose the weight again. The beginning was hard— not due to lack of motivation or knowledge (my mother had been a personal trainer) but because my metabolism had be irreparably damaged from the earlier events. And when I stopped seeing results, I cut back on calories.

And cut back again.

And again.

And again.

Until— finally— I had lost most of the weight again. And I was eating 300 calories or less a day. Preferably less. The less I ate, the more I complimented myself for restricting and having restraint.

“You did good today!”

“With this, you’ll definitely lose weight!”

“Look at how flat your stomach is!”

Of course my stomach was flat. I hadn’t eaten anything!

And all the kind, sweet words to myself were doing was reinforcing horrible, life-threatening habits that I still struggle with today.

This also went on for a year, and, while I wasn’t completely satisfied with how my body looked, it was the last time I can pinpoint where I was happy. And because I link that period of time to happiness, I now connect the eating disorder I had to contributing to it.

Flash forward to now— four and a half years later. I am back to my miserable weight. I feel like my body isn’t mine, and that it’s betrayed me. And I hate it.

I am still in constant pain from the joint damage caused my the Lyme disease. My stomach is still sensitive and I often feel ill after eating (whether this is a physical response or a psychological one at this point I cannot tell). And my metabolism has never recovered from what was now 9 years ago.

And I have tried to lose the weight again. I went to a personal trainer and that worked for a bit— I dropped 11lbs (4.99kg) in about four months and I was eating healthy. But then I plateaued. I was told I needed to eat more since I was doing weight lifting. So I ate more and the weight started coming back.

I tried intermittent fasting, and that worked for a time. But then I did a body scan that measures fat vs muscle vs skeletal mass and it showed that the weight I was losing was actually muscle. I was told again to eat more, so I did.

I gained all 11lbs back.

Then I fell back on what I knew worked for me. Calorie deficit.

I started cutting back until I began to see weight drop, but immediately stopped when I realized that I would have to eat less than 700 calories a day for any sort of result.

So here I am, in my traitorous body with no light at the end of the tunnel. I have more issues than losing weight can resolve at this point. I should see a therapist, but I can’t afford one. I should consult a nutritionist, but, again, can’t afford that. The only reason I could afford a trainer because she was a friend of mine and gave me an amazing deal. However, after I had to drop $2k to fix the watermain to my house I was unable to afford that even.

I’m not the confident woman my husband married three years ago, and because of my insecurities and poor body image marital problems run rampant in our relationship.

I know there are many factors to how I view myself— I have unrealistic standards that I feel I must live up to. I have a deep-seeded fear of being ugly because at some point in my life I decided that only good things happen for beautiful people.

I was listening to a podcast today and they were discussing how hot people don’t need to develop certain personality traits or social skills because they’re beautiful and everyone loves beautiful people.

I guess I’ve always wanted to be one of these beautiful people.

It’s vain, and plastic, and superficial, and my common sense finds it absolutely ridiculous. But when I look in a mirror I can’t find anything that I actually like. It’s like I’m screaming from inside a body that I don’t belong in, because the way I feel about myself isn’t reflected in how I outwardly look.

Again, I love my mind. I love my art and the stories I want to tell with it. I love my soul. I just hate the cage it’s trapped in.

I don’t know why I decided to write this... I guess... I really just wanted someone to listen... and I wanted others who feel the same or have been through similar circumstances, that they’re not alone.

And I suppose not being alone and being heard can be exactly what’s needed sometimes.

I’ll delete this later.

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 41

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Chapter 37 / Chapter 38 / Chapter 39 / Chapter 40

Read on Ao3

And now for the aftermath...

“It tried to kill you John!” Ridley snapped, her arm flinging out towards the projection of the AI that was still inhabiting Thunderbird Five. 

Lucy could only lean back in the office chair and sigh. The conversation hadn’t gone the way she had planned, though in reflection she knew she should have expected as much. John might have been the quietest of her sons, but it didn’t make him any less stubborn. 

He had his decision made about the intelligence- Eos he insisted -and none of them were going to change it. 

“She,” John rolled his eyes, “Didn’t understand. Now that she does--”

“I can help protect John from any future threats to Thunderbird Five. I have already found multiple ways to provide better facilities for emergency oxygen and pressurisation that are flawed in your current system.” 

Lucy didn’t like to think just how much access she had to things up there. 

It was literally his life in her hands. 

 “Yeah,” Scott muttered, “And next time he upsets you, you can just turn off the oxygen.”

 “I wish no harm to your brother.”

 It was a drastic change from what she had been saying a day earlier.

 “And what about the rest of us?” Ridley growled. 

 “Rids,” John frowned, “She doesn’t. She’s a child and she’s learning at an incredible rate.”

 Lucy remembered her own thought from the previous day, the image in her head of a young child with hands pressed over her ears, shouting out in protest. The apologies that had followed once John had arrived home on the island had only backed up the image, a young girl pleading for forgiveness. 

 “What I did to John was born of emotions that I previously did not understand.” Eos added, “Fear should not be acted upon in the way that I did, and for that I am truly sorry.”

 John shook his head, turning to face her, knowing it was his mother that held the final decision, “Give her a chance to gain our trust Mom. She is on our side.”

 “We have enough on right now.” Scott glared at his younger brother, arms folded where he was leaning against the wall between Lucy’s desk and John, “Gaat’s come out of hiding, we’re still trying to unscramble--” His eyes caught hers as he cut off, shaking his head with a sigh, “There’s too much going on John.”

 If Lucy hadn’t already been worried enough about Gaat being back in the picture as well as petrified at the thought of one of her boys being at the mercy of a rogue AI, Scott’s comment only served to add to her concern. 

 As far as she had known there wasn’t anything in need of unscrambling. 

 “What?” She prompted Scott, “What needs unscrambling?”

 He was too quick to shake his head again, eyes staying locked on John, avoiding her, “Nothing, don’t worry about it Mom.”

 Using her desk as a support, she pushed herself up, wincing as her weight shifted into her bad leg, “Scott.”

 He was reluctant, tried to focus on anything else other than her. His eyes jumped from John, to the hologram of Eos, to Ridley, and then to the floor. 

 “Cat’s out of the bag,” John murmured with a shrug, “You’ve gotta tell her now Scott.”

 “There are no cats in the office.” Eos responded, her lights flashing orange, “I do not understand.”

 Ridley snorted, shaking her head as she turned to the door, “I’m not listening to this.”

 The glance John spared her was one Lucy knew well, one she had worn enough times when teaching young boys about life.

 “Eos, research idioms.”

 Across the room, Scott sighed heavily, “Brains received a deteriorated message a few weeks ago. We have no idea of the source, and no idea how to improve the quality.”

 Except, she knew what he wasn’t saying, she knew why they wouldn’t have told her, she knew exactly what it could have meant. 

 “John?” Eos chirped again, “Why do humans use these sorts of sayings?”

 “Because sometimes it’s easier than saying what we actually mean.” Lucy found herself answering, only catching herself as she refocused on the room.

 “You should acknowledge someone when they have given you an answer, Eos.” John prompted after a moment's pause.

 “Oh, in that case, thank you… John I am unsure how to address your mother?”

 John grimaced as he raised his eyebrows at her, silently asking what she would prefer. 

 “Mrs Tracy will be fine thank you Eos.”

 Her focus was back on Scott, her hand waving off the AI in dismissal, “And you kept this from me?”

 Scott shrugged, breaking his eyes from her as he looked to John for back up, “You’d just woken up, we didn’t want you to-”

 “I could decode the message.” Eos interrupted.

 “Eos,” John sighed, “It’s rude to interrupt when someone is talking.”

 “Oh, I apologise Scott.”

 Lucy’s attention was captured. Eos wanted to help them. She thought she could make a breakthrough where the smartest person she knew had failed. 

 “Do you think you could Eos?” She questioned, “Descramble the message, I mean?”

 Lights flashed green, “I would certainly like to attempt so. May I ask if it relates to the programme I have discovered on Thunderbird Five searching for messages in deep space? As I have already rewritten this software to improve its functionality and improve the speed in which messages are received.”

 Lucy blinked, only one question coming to mind, she didn’t know anyone that had been able to improve on the code John had produced, “How?”

 John overrode her with a frown, “Eos, what did I tell you about all changes being run past me first?”

 “Exactly that.” Eos replied, her lights green.

 “Rhetorical question, Eos.” Lucy offered, trying to hide her smirk.

 “Oh, thank you Mrs Tracy.”

 “Why did you not check this with me first?” John clarified.

 Lights flashed blue, her tone the same sort of apologetic as it had been before, “This was before we had that conversation.”

 The AI had obviously made quick work of going through the satellite’s software, reminding Lucy of just how dangerous she could be.

 “Scott?” John prompted, “Will you send it to her?”

 “Yes,” Lucy answered for the eldest, knowing that they had to seize the chance, “He will.”

 She could see the tension in Scott’s shoulders as he pulled his phone from his pocket, his mouth set in a firm line. There would perhaps be an argument later about it all, further discussions about the place of the AI in the family. 

 If she was willing to help them, she could hardly see a reason to reject her. 

 “This message is incredibly degraded,” Eos told them, “It may be past repair.”

 John straightened, “Just try your best Eos.”

 Scott looked to his mother, arms splayed wide, “So we’re just going to trust her now?”

 “Trust has to be built and earned,” She shook her head, eyes darting to the hologram, “I’m willing to give her a chance though.”

 She could see he wasn’t impressed, eyes dark and stormy as he glared up to the projection. In time she didn’t doubt he would come around, if Eos could prove herself, show that she could learn and wasn’t the same AI she had been the previous day, then there was no reason to destroy her. 

 “Thank you,” John murmured, eyes wide as he watched her, “I promise Mom, she’s good really, she just needs to learn.”

 Scott huffed, shaking her head in response. 

 “Eos, what do you say?” The younger brother prompted. 

 “I am willing to learn.” The AI responded, “I have already learned much in the last twenty four hours, more than any simple human possibly could.”

 Lucy couldn’t deny that she could tell the intelligence was born of John’s code. Too many of her words sounded too much like a young boy that had once gotten himself sent home from school for saying something unintentionally offensive. 

 “Eos, say thank you.” John rolled his eyes, “When people say they’re going to give you a chance, you thank them.”

 “Thank you, Mrs Tracy.” She responded, lights flashing a bright green, “One day I will better understand your human customs.”

 “I will warn you,” Lucy started, “Any wrong move and you’re out Eos. Don’t make me regret giving you this chance.”

 “I will not, Mrs Tracy. However, the message Scott received is too degraded for even me to repair. John? May I use Thunderbird Five to continue to scan for any further messages being sent to us?”

 Us, Lucy scoffed in her head, catching the look in Scott’s eye at the word. 

 “Yes, Eos.” John nodded, “If you need anything though will you please wait. I need to talk to Ridley without being disturbed.”

 Blue lights flashed, “Ridley does not trust me.”

 The sorrow in her voice was too familiar to Lucy, too close to a young red head that had come home from school not understanding why none of his peers liked him. It was hardly a surprise that the same boy turned man, had such a soft spot for the code baby he had seemingly created. 

 “She’ll come around,” John assured, the same way Lucy knew she had once, “Perhaps just steer clear of her for a while.”

 Maternal instincts coming back to the fore, Lucy looked to the hologram, “If you need anything whilst John is busy, you may come to me Eos.”

 A bright yellow lit up the hologram, “Oh! Thank you Mrs Tracy.”

 A knock on the door and Hugh stepped in, nodding his head to Lucy with a tight smile, “Sally’s starting to worry that you need a break Luce.”

 She had to roll her eyes at him as John took the opportunity to slip out of the door. It had only been a couple of hours since she had gotten up, maybe her leg was starting to ache a little but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t deal with. 

 Glancing across to Scott, she leant back in the chair, “Will you look into going over to the mainland kid? I really should get started on some physio, shouldn’t I?”

 It was enough to distract him from the worry that had no doubt been niggling in regard to John and Eos. She could see it on his face, the way his eyebrows raised slightly from the frown he had been sporting. His eyes brightened and his shoulders straightened.

 “Yeah, I suppose if nothing comes up we could go next week? Gives us a chance to keep an eye on…” He trailed off as his eyes drifted back to Eos’ hologram, he may have disliked the AI but Lucy had brought him up to be polite at least. 

 “I’ll watch it for you.” Hugh cut in, “And if we get stuck, I believe we have a new budding astronaut, do we not?”

 It was Lucy’s turn to glare, Alan was her other big issue of the day, the youngest having been given a taste of what he wanted and unsurprisingly more eager than ever to be involved with the rescues. 

 She kept telling herself that it had been the only option in the moment. 

 Part of her felt like an idiot. 

 The door clicked closed and Eos disappeared as Hugh perched on the corner of her desk, his arms folded as he raised an eyebrow at her, “You okay?”

 She wasn’t sure. 

 So much was happening at once. 

 John. Eos. Scott. Jeff. Alan. 

 Lee. 

 Where the heck was Lee?

 Except none of it was meant to be her problem, everyone else was insisting on taking it all out of her hands. 

 She didn’t want it all to be out of her hands. She trusted her family, but where was her role in it? Since she had woken up there had been one thing after another that should have been hers to deal with.

 Yet when she had, she felt like she had screwed up royally. 

 Why the hell had she let Alan on Thunderbird Three?

 Looking back to Hugh, she shrugged, her mouth working, trying to find words. No sound came though, no words to be heard in the shade of the office as she swallowed against the new and sudden lump in her throat. 

 “Oh Luce,” Hugh sighed as his arms wrapped around her, “It’s okay. I promise, it’s all gonna be okay.”

[magickhajiit]

Veles Taxi- Chapter 2

Finally Finished! 😁 I’ve tagged the people who liked the first chapter, hope that’s alright.  🧡

First chapter here

4 hours prior  

The clock’s hand continues ticking. Each movement signalling that the time until midnight is getting shorter. Nicolai’s sat in the weapons room, near enough to the door to listen to the Italians converse in a nearby room but further enough away to avoid the notice and resulting repercussion of anyone spotting him.  

A few sentences are legible from what little Italian he's managed to pick up over the last year. Something about Russian fools and a base deep in the Kitchen reaches his ears before a hand rests on his shoulder, its sharp fingers embedding what’s sure to be darkened prints by morning. With his eager concentration dispersed and a rope of anxiety coiling around his lungs, Nicolai glances up already knowing who he's about to face. He's met with Vittorio, one of the hired thugs in the mafia, who holds a malignant smile akin to a cat coming across a frightened mouse.

“Boss wants you", the words are jeering and his feral grin seems to stretch wider, still failing to reach his eyes. 

Nicolai nods numbly whilst getting up, tightening his hands into fists to suppress the mild tremors running through them. ‘The Boss’, Mateo Ferrero, leader of the New York branch of the Italian mafia, alternated between his nefarious businesses and frequenting high society parties each weekend, a man who was also a known murderer. He’d never served time or even been questioned, after all, who’s insane enough to go after a man who commands half the city? No one still breathing. People like Nicolai weren’t taken to ‘The Boss’ without good reason and he isn’t able to fool himself into believing anything positive was going to come out of this visit. Or even if he is going to come out alive. 

Thoughts whirl around his head as he’s led through a myriad of rooms and it feels like mere seconds pass before Vittorio half shoves him into the office. Nicolai has rarely seen Mateo close up, the first time was right after his mother had passed away and the Italian mafia had only just taken him. A year later Nick still remembers the overwhelming fear that had pulsed through him that day, like a stone of anxiety had crashed down leaving him struggling for breath. At first glance, Mateo had hardly seemed intimidating, with an infectious smile and a booming laugh Nicolai almost saw him as a friend in the unfamiliar circumstances. But that was before he saw the full force of his anger. Before he heard how his laugh turned as sharp as a knife or noticed the flecks of crusted blood ingrained in his rings, juxtaposing against the shiny silver. 

The same man sits there now. A few of his lackeys surround the desk, so deep in discussion, they give Nicolai the lack of attention reserved for a particularly inconsequential fly on the wall. Half wondering if he'd manage to sneak out without anyone's awareness, he shifts further forward hoping at least one of the men will acknowledge his existence.  

One did. The leader of the mafia in fact. The easy smile Nicolai receives imitates genuine welcoming except there’s a wicked edge to it, giving it the sharpness of a thin blade. His heartbeat begins to echo throughout his skull, as it thumps against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, a desperate bird fighting to be rid of its cage. 

"You're going with Amato’s group today," states Mateo  

His voice brings attention towards him, a yearn to protest the assignment is overshadowed by the sudden dryness of his tongue at the unwanted notice. With the heavyweight on his chest only broadening, Nick can only manage a timid nod in acknowledgment, fighting the urge to swallow down a breath that his restricting lungs will refuse to take. 

Mateo continues, “Amato will expect you in ten. You're leaving in half-hour, give or take.” The action of shuffling a variety of files and assignment reports left on his desk usually works well as a nonverbal dismissal, making sure his subordinates know how little value they have to him. Yet Nick stands in a mixture of bravery and stupidity.  

"Where am I going?"  

Mateo glances up, the slight clench of his jaw emphasizing clear irritation etched upon his face "Amato will fill in the details.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Guns, rifles, ammo, bullets proof vests, all things Nick’s seen in the mafia. Even helped load boxes of them into unmarked, windowless vans on the odd occasion. But it’s different to be this close to them. To feel the steady weight of guns as he passes them out or the cold touch of bullets in his palm, or feel Amato jostle him slightly as he helps him put on a vest. His hands brushing away Nicolai’s shaking fingers and fastening each strap himself, trapping Nicolai in an envelope of thick material, each piece perfectly designed for a man at war. 

War. That’s exactly where they’re taking him. Like a lamb to slaughter, weak and defenceless. Each time he attempts to asks, to find out something that might hint to his fate, the response is similar either ignoring him or speaking in rapid Italian over his head, the words too fast to be distinguishable to his ears. So, he stops asking and carries on with the chore he’s been given. 

Mateo was true to his word. Half an hour after Nick arrives, the men get into the vans. Nick’s led by Amato towards the leading vehicle, opening up the passenger door for him, the firm grasp on his bicep is the only thing keeping his body up. His actions aren’t out of the kindness of his heart. Nothing is ever unplanned or unexpected with the Italian mob, Mateo plans out every second of every working day for his men. So, if Nick is being taken on an assignment it’s because they need him. As the vans pull away from the warehouses and the hum of the engine is the only sound Nick has for the company, he can’t help wonder his purpose here; where the anxious, orphaned Russian boy could possibly be useful to the grand plan of a mob leader.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drive for half an hour, with Amato occasionally muttering a few Italian words into the van’s wireless or moving the wheel to avoid one of the numerous potholes littering the roads, before they near the end of the Italian’s domain. Nicolai recognizes where they’re heading, the streets he was told to avoid even before the Mafia. Amato disregards the apprehensive glance thrown his way, instead hitting his indicator light before swiftly turning left, straight into the Russians' territory.   

The apartments and shops of the Italians’ region had still possessed a warm sense of comfort, a fading memory of safety. So, there’s a sense of abnormality that comes with seeing the new area. Nothing drastically changes in design, it’s the same pattern of flashing shop lights, graffitied walls, and stacked apartments that give off the feeling of him seeing a mirror image of his home. 

‘’Where are we going?” The quiet question that slips through Nicolai's lips has been repeated multiply times in the last hour, never receiving a solid answer. This final attempt at gaining information could be blamed on the growing suspicion he has about their destination, as the group continues deeper into Russian territory. 

“There’s a Russian base in the Kitchen” the words seem deafening as they break the stretching silence of the journey. “It’s got the equipment, information on their latest transactions, and enough men that breaking in and... dealing with them will send a clear enough message to Ranskahovs.” Nicolai almost misses his previous ignorance as the plan’s revealed. “You’ll be sent in first, take them by surprise", the rest of the sentence goes unheard as that settles in.  

‘You’ll be sent in first’ the words rattle around his skull. But he’s not really there to take them by surprise. No, he’s there to distract them, to be used as shark bait, to gather the predators before the others attack and shark bait rarely has a happy ending.

They pull into a nearby warehouse soon after Nicolai has that realization. Amato is one of the first men to get out, before moving to the passenger side. Nicolai allows himself to be pulled out of the van, the shock of the surely fatal nature of his assignment has made him docile to Amato’s orders. They run over the plan again, all of the men careful not to explicitly state, at least in English, that it's most likely a death sentence for Nicolai. 

The plan starts off well. Amato leads him outside the warehouse, both of them momentarily lit up by the flickering glow of the fire exit, before the metal door slams, leaving them in the dark alleyway, enclosed between the overlooking buildings. There’s a fire escape nearby, attached to the grime ridden wall, reaching the top of the parallel building. A slight jab from behind is all the encouragement Nicolai needs to begin the climb, his mind torn between anxiety about his final destination and the mobster ascending right behind him.

Shaking hands reach out, gripping the rungs above him, each rising movement bringing him closer to the roof. There seemed to be something different about the world from the moment his feet step off the ladders and meet the floor like there’s a detailed perspective to everything around him. An intensity to the world, the biting coolness he feels as he reaches the top, the walls no longer containing the fierce wind that wraps itself around him like a tightened cloak.

The perspective doesn't last long though, it’s broken by the creak of the roof’s door. Amato holds it wide open whilst sparing a moment to shoot Nicolai an expectant look. This is the moment they part ways. Amato will head back down to the neighbouring warehouse to prepare his men, whilst Nicolai will creep unobtrusively towards the side door several floors below. Hanging in the air is the unspoken understanding between them that this isn't the real plan. 

Nicolai forced himself to take a step forward and another and once again. He passes the door’s threshold and his stride falters for a moment; an uneasy glance earns a closed door, a quiet click of the lock confirms he’s been sealed in, with the only option of continuing his journey downwards.

He manages to descend a few floors without being seen, some of the Italians would have called it beginner's luck; just enough of it to lull him into a false sense of security, to give him the optimistic view he’d make it without being spotted. The thin layer of optimism is shattered in only a moment, it splinters into pieces like glass when the pressure increases an ounce too much. An inked hand grips Nicolai’s shoulder with enough force to spin him around to face his captor. In a different situation, Nicolai would think the man little different from himself, few years between them mixed with the meagre number of scars and tattoos, marks that criminals wear like badges of honour, hints at the man also being new to the life of corruption and lawlessness.

But circumstances don't allow that thought, they grant him little rational thoughts in those moments, an animalistic urge to survive is the only thing fuelling his actions as he swiftly slides his shoulder downwards and breaks the secure hold the man has. There's something instinctual about Nicolai’s next actions, in the way his body manages to spin around and propel forward, his feet stumbling for a few steps before instinct kicks in and they fall into a quick rhythm: left, right, left, right. Shouting from the man behind him causes another spike of fear and adrenaline to course through his body, encouraging him to sprint faster. Moving around the sharp corner, with the Russian mobster trailing by only a few meters, a sliver of panic interjects its way into the numb haze of his mind. His chances of survival ever decreasing, still Nicolai carries on managing to gain more distance between himself and his pursuer, whilst trying and failing to control his growing concern that the man’s voice has drawn the attention of the rest of the building’s occupants.

Nicolai has just spun left onto the third corridor when he sees it, a door half ajar leading into a small storage cupboard. There isn’t a second’s hesitation before he slides into the room, careful to push the door to a close. Its mere seconds after the door meets the frame that the man turns around the corner, he takes a few steps forward before he pauses, arm bracing against the wall as he regains his breath, almost appearing to be waiting. The reason behind the delay is revealed as Nicolai hears two more men walking towards them, their words inaudible. Their whispered conversation becomes clearer as they round the corner. Even with such a small chance of survival he can’t help feel a spark of comfort on hearing their words in his native tongue, a language he’s rarely heard spoken since his mother’s passing. His contentment is brief, it’s drowned out by a flood of panic as he tunes into the conversation. Unsurprisingly they remark on his absence but it’s their mention of a fight that sends dread crashing down upon him, a fight? A multitude of scenarios begin running through his head. Have the Italians survived, if not then he’s alone in a rival mafia’s base, otherwise he’ll continue working for Mateo until they decide once again that he has more use as cannon fodder.  

Whilst Nicolai was contemplating his fate the men have moved further along the corridor their words no longer managing to reach his ears. Their footsteps have faded away by the time Nicolai works up the nerve to move again. His journey through the corridors couldn't be more different now, his pace painfully slow like he's walking on ice testing each step before he dares to moves. This is partnered with the action of tilting his head in fierce concentration whilst pausing to listen to footsteps. This paranoia is repeated on each subsequent floor, his journey only once being interrupted as he’s forced to hide when a Russian mobster walks past, their pace brisk in comparison. This continues until he reaches the door, making peace with the fact the plan hasn't worked. He walks towards it, planning on returning to base despite the knowledge there'll be repercussions. Not that this is deserved but Mateo finding humour in the fact the diversion has failed seems unlikely.  

Still a gasp of relief passes his lips when the door closes behind him and he can take a moment to glance around without the threat of death hovering above him. As he looks around the glare from a nearby street light illuminates the adjoining road allowing the outline of a man standing on the edge of the alleyway to be seen, his face scarcely lit up by the glow emitted from his phone. Even in the dark Nicolai can still see the police badge, like a beacon, a ray of light reflecting from it. Nervously Nicolai moves forward hoping to ask for help or a phone call or just some way to escape even if the only people he has left are the people that sent him there in the first place.  

Later on, he’ll blame the mixture of relief and left-over adrenaline for what happens next, the officer’s arm struck out grabbing Nicolai and pinning him to the wall. Only a few more memories register in his mind after that; Russian words out of the officer’s lips, the sound of men running towards them and a sharp burst of pain in the back of his skull before darkness takes over.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I think it’s clear but just in case it’s not Nicolai is meant to be the character from the first chapter. 

Thank you for waiting so long for the next chapter, hopefully the next one will be out sooner. Feel free to mention if you notice any mistakes or if the writing isn’t clear at points. 🧡

@angelaiswriting @uwuttaja @kind-wolf @not-uh-author @starsandsunlight @kellydixon01 @frostedroyaltea @stjimmie @brobachev 

[notasiren21]

The Darkness Comforts Me More (Ch. 2-pt 1.)

(Female Byleth x Felix)

He awoke an hour before sunrise, surprised he slept as long as he did to begin with.

Felix rubbed at his face with his left hand, briefly attempting to yank his right free that felt too heavy for being under a pillow before he felt silk rub against his back. Stilling, he opened his eyes to see that teal hair splayed just underneath the pillow he was on and across the small space on the bed. Even in a sleep induced haze, it didn't take a genius to figure out who was sleeping so soundly next to him that had that colored hair and that small of a frame with faint scars in various places.

He propped himself up slightly with his elbow, briefly remembering the night before that started in fear and ended in the beginnings of the word he refused to acknowledge. Deft and slender fingers gently moved to pull some of her hair back that covered her face, only freezing when she mumbled in her sleep and inched backwards a fraction to subconsciously search for him. He basked in the isolation that filled the room around them as he was the only one awake and let himself watch her in fascination that he always found himself suppressing daily.

He did his share of her efforts and moved closer to her, his left hand carefully grabbing just below her shoulder to guide her to his chest she sought for in slumber.

Something clicked within him faintly. He nearly startled in response to the feel of warmth flooding his entire body and the sense of belonging being found. Mutely -and without much awareness from the newly discovered emotions -he leaned forwards, fingertips skirting up and down her silk, robe cladded arm. His nose nuzzled through her hair and his lips parted as thoughts consumed him.

He was laying in bed with his teacher that was a handful of years older than him (though he never minded since there had been more drastic age gaps among couples across the kingdom and empire and four years seemed to not hold much weight) and breathtakingly gorgeous both on and off the battlefield. It would be a secret he'd take to his grave at the fact that some nights when he had managed to gain a small bit of sleep, he'd bolt up panting at the latest dream of her teal hair swaying in the midst of fire and smoke, matching eyes glimmering with something primal and a hint of survival swimming in them as a predatory look coated her face with a smirk to show it. His mind wasn't one to skimp or half ass details.

All too well did he have memorized her stance with her sword in hand, flames dancing around the blade and her skin. That faint dimple that only appeared on her right cheek was prominent and laid just underneath of some blood and dirt that sporadically covered her exposed skin. Her toned and exposed midriff revealed her panting but the way her body leaned forwards showed the adrenaline kicking in.

He remembered the day the image engraved itself in his mind and haunted his dreams.

~*~

Having been one of her most promising students and soldiers, she placed him and the Boar to cover her front while Sylvain and Ashe were at her back.

Felix had just cut down a bandit headed her way when he looked up -a good 70 yards from anyone headed his way for the time and close to the end of battle-, his breathing was harsh and he wiped the blood from his face when he searched for her to ensure her safety and to watch her fight as he caught his strength and energy once more like he had been taught by her to do for efficiency in fighting.

His breath caught the moment she turned around from a spin move she perfected with grace, seeing the flash of her crest disappear when the man fell, a burned hole in his chest from front to back. He was aware he should be horrified as the smirk slowly tugged on her lip as she stared at the ground. He was smart enough to know it was a battle and death always came with it so he had no reason to be as distracted as he was.

Maybe it was then he realized he was fucked and wouldn't be able to look at her the same way again; not when his heart hammered in his chest and he felt his cheeks grow hot as he raced to commit every detail of her to memory. He startled when she caught his gaze and that damn dimple appeared for the first time ever. He had known she was attractive when she was first introduced to them by Dimitri, and sometimes stared at her longer during lectures and class than intended like the rest of the boys.

But he had finally seen someone worthy of every word meant to describe a woman. One specific word really. A breath escaped his lips as she started walking towards him and time slowed drastically. The way she killed with the strength of a group of men mercenaries but did it with such elegance and grace. The way her stern features put even her father in place when he was being too rough with someone but managed to walk femininely like she didn't just lay around twenty men to rest.

He felt his mouth stutter "beautiful" as smoke shielded his vision of her briefly when she couldn't see him, and then she was there. Her lips parted in a rare toothy smile, pulling more so on the left side as he saw the cutely sharp canine and premolars that followed that just so happened to be more pointed than rounded discreetly.

She came up, examining him from a distance, before grabbing into the pouch of Sylvain's horse he hadn't realized was close behind her with the owner scouting on top. She withdrew a sword and took Felix's to place it back in the pouch to be reforged later on. A new blade was placed in his hands as he stared down dumbly with his mouth open a fraction.

"I'd like to see the glow of your crest bounce off this when you get the chance, stay safe." She flashed her smile again and his eyes quickly searched for the dimple, then the cute and subtly pointed teeth before seeing the glimmer in her eyes that he sucked in a breath for.

Why do I feel elated over someone's smile?

"Sure," he muttered in his usual tone, unable to do anything else. He almost stumbled back when she passed him, patting his chest as she went with a quirk of her lip and flipping her hair from her face.

'Beautiful', crossed his mind a few more times later that day.

~*~

His hand gently cupped her cheek as she laid sleeping besides him, ears burning when she further nuzzled the opposite cheek into his hand that pillowed her head, listening to her briefly hum in contentment as his thumb stroked over her cheekbone to her nose. He felt her two small hands tighten briefly as they held the back of his hand underneath her head, leaving his opened palm free for her to snuggle into like she hadn't just killed demonic beasts not even two weeks ago.

He twirled a lock of her hair in silence as another memory washed over him that further led to his bond with her.

~*~

He had managed to catch her during her morning routine of greeting each faculty member and student, not paying mind to her appearance as he stared in annoyance at the letter in hand discussing his father's desire to see just how abled and worthy Byleth was to be his teacher when Felix already preached enough about her to assure him of her position.

He was stunned when replied with an easy and happy, "Sure."

He finally looked up, confusion replacing the scowl he once had. "Really? Isn't this a hassle for you? You really don't have to take part in my father's requests." He noted her appearance when he finally tore his gaze away from hers. Her neck piece was absent and her armor rested in her hands as her cloak laid lazily above her shoulders. Her hair was in a pony tail and sweat glimmered across his skin.

He thought she might hear the sound of his jaw clenching tightly.

She gave an amused look in response, "Bandits and those who violently oppose the church are a hassle. You and your father? Not a chance." She was now wrapping white tape around her hands, "If he wishes to know just how capable I am, I'm more than happy to satisfy his curiosity and assure him you're in great hands. What's so bad about that?"

He blinked.

"Ok, I'll send word then. We leave as the time he requested?"

"Sure thing, just inform the knights in my battalion before the evening and I'll tell the students tomorrow."

"Alright," he scanned her up and down once more to figure what she just came from. "Were you just practicing?"

"I was as a matter of fact, why?"

He shrugged, leaning back against the wall as he watched her wipe her chest piece down. "Nothing, I just noticed that you typically train later."

She glanced back at him, "Observant as always, Fraldarius." She sat on the edge of the table of the knight's hall, her feet dangling as Felix let loose a twitch of his lip at the sight of her petite frame indulging itself for childish acts. "I do practice later, but I started to train twice a day when I don't have to do a lecture. My break time usually consists of greeting you guys now but the rest I've been avoiding after that food fight in the dining hall last night," she waved off.

He nodded, seemingly pissed as well for the inconvenience and leaving after he helped her, Dimitri, Mercedes, and Ashe restrain the few students who started it. He was fortunate enough that his class was busy cramming for their qualification exams to change their class and positions on the field, meaning the Blue Lions weren't the cause or in trouble as much as the Golden Deer were. If anything, her cutting corners on her schedule was just punishment for the students who worshipped the ground she walked on.

Surprisingly, Claude had been sick in bed then and had nothing to do with it.

"Sorry, didn't mean to be taking you free time." He cut back in his usual tone.

She looked up, "Oh, no you're a blessing in disguise, Felix. I'd rather you keep me busy than me hustling around to say hello to people. It's exhausting, being a professor."

His skin burned at the compliment she unknowingly dropped on him.

"You know, I was planning to practice brawling some more but since you're here, would you like to spar with me later? I have some battlefield techniques I'd like to try out with you."

And he felt his heart start to beat wildly again.

"Sure, I've got the time."

~*~

Swords clang together, sand drifted in the air around them, and their chests laid close to being in physical proximity behind their blades. They both breathed heavily and short, faces and skin flushed with sweat creating a visible sheen.

Felix was beyond the point of exhaustion, left in his pants and white button up, somewhere was the school jacket discarded among the wooden makeshift bleachers where students watched the physical lessons. He was exhausted and tired, but the adrenaline rushed through him as he quickly stepped back and swirled around to her back, teeth baring when she caught on to his maneuvers better than any opponent had and made a lunge for him after ducking his blow.

He felt exhilarated, pleased and elated with how the professor countered his moves. A smile tried making way onto his moody features, the threatening teeth expression he once had now twitching at the corners as he forced it down. He pressed forth, intent to disarm her when he heard her let a girlish, quick huff of laugh out he never thought could come from her.

It sounds so light and carefree.

His gaze left their swords and met her expression; hungry for success and unrelenting. Her crooked and bare smirk showed her teeth he found far more cuter than he should. He faltered when she puffed her cheeks, his own turning a deep shade of red as she pressed her light weight further into his leaning form. Her head titled back as another laugh -was that a damn giggle? Fuck. - escaped her, his teeth unclenched as his mouth opened in surprise and blinked, faltering and sending them both backwards into the sand.

Her laugh rang clear in the air as he ditched the sword, grabbing her waist in a fast reflex to save her from their fall when his body gave way. Their fall took them several feet back from her force.

He coughed several times as the sand cloud cleared around them, hiding his shock in another cough when he realized she was above him with her hands bracketing on either side of his head and her hair creating a curtain around their faces that were inches from one another.

She was still laughing in her secret feminine way only he seemed to know of, mint green tea filling his nose in their shared air as she pushed off the ground. A hand laid over her chest as she continued her giggle fit, the other unknowingly resting on his chest to stabilize herself. He felt his heart leap into his throat, realizing his hand fully rested on her thigh which straddled him.

He quickly yanked his palm back before he caved in and traced the laced tights she wore. His chest was rising rapidly in panic, skin burning in emotions he couldn't name.

Does he push her off? Does he hold her? Take advantage of the distraction and make a grab for the nearest sword? He couldn't believe he was overthinking this. He sparred with people all the time and whenever something similar happened, he'd quickly turn and notch a win.

Fuck, they had even sparred several times together so why was this time different?

His hand went to search blindly for the sword as he stared up at her, a giggling mess on top of him. He touched the cool metal blade when her fingertips drew into her hand, scratching his chest when her nails made contact and sending a shiver through him. Fuck, ignore it. He needed to win this.

Or, he could just watch her?

It's her win regardless, getting her now would just be cheating. Unethical. Unfair.

His arms rested by her legs that caged his hips, eyes watching her intently to sedate the gnawing curiosity that had been getting to him lately.

Fuck, fucking beautiful.

He wanted to touch her, sit up and bring her closer, press her hand further to his chest and taste the remnants of tea on her lips.

Her really pink, soft looking lips.

He blinked out of his awed daze when her hand covered her mouth and shielded those teeth -adorable and slightly pointed cute teeth- from his view. He gave himself a few extra seconds to reel back his personality and gain strength to talk.

"Seems you've won again," he started, sitting up with his hands supporting him from behind. He ignored how the close proximity was trying to chip away his stoic manners. Her eyes opened, tears of amusement making the dark color shine brilliantly he felt his next words catch in his throat.

"Seems so," she cleared her throat, feigning her usual blank expression that he was most certainly aware of now was a mask to ignore people. "Sorry, let me help you up."

He felt confused when disappointment hit him when she detached herself. Shoving it down and grabbing the outstretched hand above him.

Shit, when did he accept simple and helpful gestures such as that?

He should knocked her hand away or held his own up in response and got to his feet without effort.

He gritted his teeth out of frustration, the overwhelming feelings and thoughts getting to him before he could make sense of it.

All I need is my sword. I don't have time for such mundane things.

He dusted himself off, looking back down at her. "You were laughing." He stated dryly.

"Yes, I apologize."

"At me?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what?"

Her eyes flashed with something devious and that damn smirk pulled at her lips before her features returned to their place. "I'll tell you someday."

She patted his chest and showed a smile before walking out and leaving him staring after her with a mixture of feelings.

Well fuck.

~*~

He watched in fascination as the strands of her hair shimmered in the sunlight that leaked through the windows, still twirling it around his finger and feeling the softness of it.

It felt, it felt amazing to let his walls down and explore the confusion he kept getting so angry at. He knew he should leave since everyone would wake up in about two hours but he didn't want to leave her yet. Not when she was sleeping and so close to him.

She stirred in his arms, the motion causing a bittersweet sensation in him as he watched her. Her small frame twisted around to her back, tilting carefully to her left as she blinked blearily up at him, pink lips parted and a breath lost as blue-green eyes peered at him in confusion beneath full, black lashes. Somewhere was his ability to move, breathe, speak. The light hit her eyes and reflected back at him brighter than the sun hitting a clean blade. Felix was mutely aware how close his face had been before she woke, now it pounded in his throat and images of her flashed through his head that made his chest tighten painfully. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, face engulfed in heat, hand flexing on her hip and the other squeezing her entangled one.

And his eyes, like burnt copper and blood mixed together, pierced into her and Byleth felt her breathing fasten. Her pulse and flow of blood thrumming in her ears as she searched for any signs of the Felix he presented to everyone on the daily.

And he was so close.

From where his bare chest pressed to her side and her own burned through the silk nightgown. She felt warm, close to hot and overheated and it was the first damn time she ever felt that in this goddess forsaken icy hell- even the summer had a chill to them and she was close to running into flames to sedate herself.

She wanted him closer, wanted to burn until she couldn’t take it and drown in the comforting darkness he had to offer that was far safer than anything else.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.

She missed being immune to emotions, void of them even. The most she ever did was give a short laugh to her dad’s jokes and his forgetful mind trying to offer her a beer at the age of twelve.

Right, dad.

She wanted that immunity, she wanted it now and forever. Felix was the one who damaged her gate that held them at bay: he did unknowingly and unintentionally and beautifully. But she needed to lock it away, part of what she could to pretend the massive and overwhelming pain wasn’t suffocating and killing her.

It hurt too much.

It hurt her beyond words and expression, to the point of living and she was planning to walk away from it.

Or walk off from it.

Jeralt was the only thing to occupy her mind for such a long time, Sothis was gracious enough to keep her watch from afar, always filled with concern and love for the former mercenary.

She could still hear Sothis’ screams in the dead of night when she stepped off the ledge of the bridge before Felix caught her. She could still hear the crying that sounded like a sad, solo symphony from watching Byleth let herself come to ruins.

Felix never heard it last night, but Sothis prayed for his soul to never hurt again and blessed him for his kind heart that laid in complete agony.

Now Sothis was floating somewhere far off, maybe in the depths of Byleth’s soul or in her head.

Felix was, he was therapeutic and a chance to breathe clean air.

Felix is Felix.

He’s a sadistic piece of shit who Sylvain claims is the most “edgiest” person to be. He had a reputation for his incredibly short patience and temper, he was well mannered but never displayed it to his classmates and he was bit as hard has he wielded a sword. He wasn’t capable of feelings or empathy, not even remorse.

But Byleth could feel a tether form between the two of them the moment they met and eyes locked. It was an indescribable feelings that the moment his blunt self-introduction was over, she gave a nod and walked away as quickly as she could.

He was attractive and handsome, sharply so. Several of the boys and men were at the monastery and granted, some of them were considered to probably be more attractive compared to Felix, but there was something about him that made sense and confused her all the same. She could hardly believe he was considered the most unapproachable of the group.

Especially now...as his fingers traced under her bottom lip and he stared at her with concern. What she wouldn’t give to feel how crazy her heart should be beating and what it would feel like.

Byleth’s lips formed a pout she couldn’t control as her arms slid around his shoulders and connected behind his neck, bringing him down with her and hugging him close. It felt like the flames of Hell when his arms wrapped just as tightly around her smaller body, and she shivered at the heat he could soothe her with.

He rolled their bodies until he was on his back, arms holding her protectively as she willed tears to stay within the lashes they escaped from.

“I should leave before the others rise,” his hand skidded up her back, lips pressed into her hairline. “Please, forgive me.”

“Of course.”

A soft kiss touched her head as he rolled her onto her own back, lips making contact with her open palm that he held carefully with two hands. He brushed a few strands of her away from her face before showing a lip twitch and turning to put his uniform shirt and jacket on, along with his shoes.

“Felix,” he tilted his head to meet her gaze, “Thank you. For last night. For everything.”

He let out a huff of air, “That’s typically a line most often heard from Sylvain’s room beyond the walls and door that don’t silence his antics. If you wanted to use it, I would’ve suggested having him over instead.”

He was teasing, he was capable of it and good at it, but she still felt as though it was a slip of insecurity despite his humor.

She frowned, “I didn’t need Sylvain last night, I had needed you, Felix.”

If that didn’t throw him through a damn loop, he didn’t know what would.

“Felix,” she sat up to her knees and moved to the edge of the bed. She held out a small hand to him as he finished the last button, turning and placing his much larger one in hers when he just knew he would’ve slapped anyone else’s away. The indigo haired boy even went as far as interlacing their fingers, tracing the back of her own hand with his free one to feel the softness the armor protected.

“Byleth,” he said with as much seriousness as she did, albeit feigned. A small smirk tugged his lips when her cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

Her skin was comforting, her warmth despite always being cold herself, her touch, her. It was too much and not enough. He felt his head swirling from a fight inside his head, as if the once cheerful and caring part of him he locked away after Glenn died was breaking chains one by one each passing moment.

Her eyes saddened, like she was able to read a synopsis of him that alluded to his current thoughts. His jaw clenched at her expression and she brought him in for another embrace he couldn’t feel an objection to.

Holding her like this, it felt like a missing piece and that terrified him immensely. It wasn’t like he could pull away either, not when that damn belonging sensation filled him.

“Felix, you are exactly the person, thing, I needed. You helped me tremendously even before last night and if there is anyone I trust in this monastery now that my father has passed, it’s you.” She felt the hands flex on his hips but didn’t say anything, pulling back and staring up at his hair instead, she played with the loose tendrils that escaped the tied hair. She refused to look in his eyes so he couldn’t see what she was feelings, so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed with her words, et cetera and et cetera.

“I, ...Byleth,” he tried.

She gave a sad smile, guiding him to lean downwards an inch and press a kiss to his forehead before she settled back down on the bed. His hand played with her fingers momentarily, staring at her.

“You’re one of my favorites, you know?” She gave him that side toothy grin he adored all too much and he smiled back.

“You’re one of my favorites too, Byleth.”

[sweetoothsuggestions]

Self Harm and Recovery

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Read With Caution

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Hello all, this is a post I wrote two years ago on amino and I wanted to put it onto this platform as well. I wanted to create a post on mental health, self harm specifically. It’s a difficult topic, but I feel it’s important to address and provide resources for those in the community.

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Please keep in mind this blog will not include everything, and it is important to seek professional guidance.

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Table of Contents

If header is marked with ‼️it is a warning for possible triggering content

1 • What is self harm / Spotting it‼️

2 • Coping Mechanisms

3 • Accepting Help

4 • Resources (apps, helplines, websites)

5 • What to do if a family member, friend, or classmate is struggling

6 • Glorification and Romanticism‼️

7 • Recovery and Relapses

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[[MORE]]

‼️1 • WHAT IS SELF HARM?‼️

If you’re currently dealing with self harm, I recommend skipping this header. This section will be discussing different forms self harm can take.

When an individual deliberately hurts themselves physically, this is self harm. It is considered a result of poor coping mechanisms when dealing with emotional or physical distress. It is important to acknowledge that self harm isn’t always the result of societal factors, and is often internal. Regardless of how self injury is influenced, it is a serious issue and important to address.

• Cutting

(Click title for more info) There are different methods of self harm, however the most common form is referred to as cutting. This is typically when an individual takes a razor or sharp object and damages their body. Most self harmers who cut, make slits on their wrists, thighs, stomach, or chest. This form of self injury is typically the quickest to escalate, as one gets more comfortable with this practice they will often begin going deeper and cutting more frequently.

• Burning

Another common form of self harm is burning, done in various ways. A burn mark can often be swollen and filled with pus, or more discreet and appear as a reddish brown patch of skin. With darker skin tones a burn can appear lighter or more faded as well. It’s important to realize that not every burn is self harm, most self harm burns are on the hand or leg.

• Bruising

When bruising, an individual will hit objects against parts of their body. This creates bumps and dark circles where created. This is typically done on the hands or leg.

• EDs

ED is an abbreviation for eating disorder also known as anorexia, while typically placed in a separate category of mental health, also relates back to self harm. However, EDs are very different than typical self Injury and really deserve a separate explanation, I will be briefly covering it as I did the other methods as it is important to acknowledge.

Like all forms of self harm, EDs aren’t always apparent. They consist of an individual struggling with body image (or dysmorphia) who take drastic measures to lower their weight. This includes forcing themselves to throw up (Bulimia), constricting calories, and skipping meals. This regularly hospitalizes those with anorexia and stands as one of the most difficult recoveries.

There are many other ways someone will self injure, these are solely the common ones. Other forms include:

• Hair Pulling

• Biting (Forum Discussion)

• Skin Picking

• Piercing

Okay, so that’s all that. I know it’s hard to read these things (as to why there are the tws) but I honestly think it’s really important people are aware of this. A lot of signs go unnoticed, and with self injury it’s especially important to catch early on.

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2 • COPING MECHANISMS AND ALTERNATIVES TO SELF HARM

There are many different coping mechanisms opposed to self harm, below are several common ones. Keep in mind these are not a substitute for seeking treatment, it is still crucial to seek professional help.

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Take a long shower or bath to relax and calm down

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Wash the Dishes / Cleaning and Keeping yourself preoccupied

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Create a playlist or mixtape of your favorite songs

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Drawing and Painting

(Or) on your skin (using a marker or pen with a blunt tip) or on paper to get feelings out peacefully

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Write about how you feel

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Take a run or move around

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Text or call someone you love

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20 minutes rule

“My therapist recently told me about this one. She said that when I'm feeling an urge to cut, if I can wait 20 minutes the urge will lessen and eventually pass. I can distract myself by making something to eat, taking a shower, or watching some TV. If you can make it through those 20 minutes, you'll be okay.”

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Run your hands under cold water

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Stress balls, occupying your hands

Here are some self harm alternatives online, you can also make your own list of what works for you

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3 • ACCEPTING HELP

Accepting that you need a change can be one of the hardest realizations to face. Self harm is not something you go at alone, it’s crucial to reach out. Wether this be to a family member, teacher, counselor, or friend you need to tell someone.

It’s scary, and by no means is easy. A lot of people don’t know how to tell someone, or you’re afraid of burdening them. But you are in no way a burden, getting help and gaining support is the best thing you can do for yourself. Regardless if you think that your harm is too minuscule to do any actual damage, it isn’t something you can control. Like stated earlier, self harm escalates and becomes dangerous even if you don’t want it to.

If you’re scared to tell someone directly, send them a message. Text or written, do whatever you can to let someone know what’s going on. If you suspect someone in your life is harming themselves, speak up and let an adult know. If you are an adult, let them know you’re there for them and help them find professional advise.

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4 • RESOURCES

APPS, WEBSITES, HELPLINES

Apps:

• Calm Harm

This app is password protected and provides activities and timers to prevent self destructive urges. It gives options of customization and allows you to change the app to your liking.

• Self Heal

This app provides a series of coping mechanisms for you to use, along with this gives anonymous support features and calming images.

• My Shiny Thing

This app was created in order to distract or take your mind off of self harm. A new installment brings up various YouTube videos and articles to take your mind off urges.

Websites:

• SIOU Outreach

This website allows you to share your stories, listen to others, and provides coping mechanisms as well as how to help. SIOU Works to support those who lack personal care and provide resources to struggling family members.

• The Trevor Project

The Trevor Project website, also using a help line (listed below) specializes in self harm and support. The website contains an FAQ, resources, and takes awareness to those in need of support.

• Self Injury Foundation

The SIF is a volunteer based community, that provides and structures research on self harm and education.

• Self injury - Cornell

The Self injury recovery, research, and resources center at Cornell focuses on adolescents and young adults who deal with self harm.

Helplines:

National Suicide Prevention Line

1-800-273-8255

Suicide Text Line

Text HOME to 741741

24 Hour Crisis Hotline

1-800-273-TALK

Self Injury Foundations National Hotline

1-800-334-HELP

Help for Teens

1-877-332-7333

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5 • WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO HELP

• Classmate

If you think/know a classmate is self harming, tell a teacher or your counselor (or any trusted adult). It’s always good to provide support, but remember that SH is personal and often times difficult to talk about. Be sensitive and caring, don’t belittle their issues or act as if their feelings are invalid.

A question you’ll want to ask is why, but a lot of times they won’t know. It’s important to respect that, and understand that there aren’t always external reasons.

• Adult

While self harm is predominantly seen in teenagers and youth, adults can self harm too. Adults are not classmates, tell another teacher and avoid confrontation directly. This isn’t a very common thing, but regardless is important to realize that everyone may need support at one time or another.

• Family Member

Similar to the classmate scenario, tell a trusted adult in your family (older sibling, aunt, uncle etc...) it’s also important to reach out and let them know you’re there for them. Again, don’t expect someone to automatically open up to you, respect boundaries.

! TELL SOMEONE !

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‼️6 • GLORIFICATION AND ROMANTICISM‼️

Self harm is not pretty, or your aesthetic. This ideal is dangerous and unhealthy, spreading the message that self injury is pretty or elegant.

An example of romanticism and glorification would be describing scars or injuries as something symbolic or more than they are. Molding self harm into something poetic or beautiful is once again the opposite of what it really is.

An extremely common form of this is when someone will take a black and white image of cuts with a weird quote next to it. This can also be seen in the media and cinematographic structures, 13 reasons why being a good example in this case.

Long story short, any piece conveying self harm as anything but emotional distress is glorification.

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7 • RECOVERY AND RELAPSES

Recovery is a process, it’s filled with difficulties and fall backs but it’s also about moving foreword. What matters is that you’re trying, and receiving help.

A relapse is when someone stops self harm for an extended period of time, and then returns back to it. The longer you can stay away from this the better, and eventually the urges leave fully.

Progress isn’t black and white, a relapse doesn’t mean you’re failing it means there’s still more to do and that’s okay. To summarize this section:

Do’s and don’ts of recovery (WORK IN PROGRESS) Don’t:

• view images of self harm in the media, avoid anything that may trigger you

• go near what you use

Do:

• Talk to someone about it

• Get rid of objects you use to harm yourself

• If you have a ritual that leads up to sh, break your schedule and try something different.

• restructure negative thoughts, instead of thinking about what you think you did wrong, think about steps for improvement.

• use alternatives to self harm

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Tending to self harm wounds

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That’s all I have for this blog, again I’m not an expert and a lot of this is based off personal experiences. I can’t stress enough how important it is to tell someone, no matter how scared you are push through.

My dms are always open if you’d like to talk or have any questions. If you think I wrote anything inaccurately or you have something to add please message me or comment.

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[the-quiet-winds]

So Much More than Royal (part three)

i am back kiddos. have you missed me? i’ve missed all of you. hope my writing was enough to tide you all over in my absence, but i am here now! don’t you worry.  @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts did ya miss me?

trigger warnings for the whole story: death, ransom, violence

[part one] - [part two] 

[Part 3: A Wolf Among the Sheep, Gnawing at the Wool Over My Eyes]

when they return to the palace, jane is waiting, drastically different from when they had left. her face is red and blotchy, tear stains marking delicate cheeks. she is still sniffling, clutching to a handkerchief as if it’s the only thing grounding her.

edward’s face drops when he sees her. he glances back at katherine to see her grave expression, and his eyes widen.

“mum?” he asks. “what’s going on?”

jane can’t say anything, voice overcome with emotion, and she just opens her arms. edward rushes into his mother’s arms, still not understanding but wanting to comfort her.

katherine stays a few steps away. unlike edward, she knows exactly what’s going on, and it makes her heart break. not for henry, no; katherine couldn’t say she was sad at the king’s passing. she was distraught, however, for edward and jane. and so she waits, at the edge, to be there to comfort them.

jane catches her eyes and nods slightly. katherine comes forward and joins the embrace, holding edward with one arm and jane with the other.

“eddie...” jane croaks. “your father-“ she cuts herself off with a sob.

“he’s gone, eddie,” katherine finishes the though softly.

“gone?” eddie asks.

“he’s passed away, eddie,” katherine continues. “you’re the king now.”

“he... i...” edward stammers, and then it hits him. “no...”

he bursts into tears, clinging to his mother and sister. whatever he tries to say next gets lost amongst the sobs and he eventually gives up trying to speak. katherine rubs a soothing hand against his back, her heart aching for him. not only was his father dead, but being king was far too much responsibility for the young boy to hold. and while katherine was sure henry had named some kind of regent until edward was old enough, it didn’t change the fact that by law, edward was king, and everyone would be trying to use him for their own political gain.

she can’t help but look around; all the guards, servants, and ladies were kneeling regally to the royal family.

“the king is dead,” sir percival yells clearly, his voice strong. katherine feels both jane and edward shake against her.

“long live king edward,” he calls out next.

a horn blows a mournful tune from the upstairs, one of death and regret.

jane presses her forehead into katherine’s neck weakly. “you need to help him,” she mumbles out. “please.”

katherine nods, keeping her arms around her mother and brother. she had to be strong for both of them, help them both through this. one thing she knew for certain; she had to move back to court. edward needed her here. jane needed her here. and she was going to be there for them.

edward is still sobbing against her, and jane is barely keeping herself together. katherine would have to be the one, she realises, that gets them through the next few minutes until they can finally be alone and mourn properly.

it was a bit odd, katherine reflects, being the one doing the comforting after so long of it being the opposite.

she runs her fingers through her mum’s hair lightly, and she swears she sees the faintest hint of a smile at the gesture.

she lets the other hand continue rubbing slowly up and down edward’s back, even as sobs rack his slight frame.

katherine isn’t quite sure why she does it, but she begins to sing, so quietly that only the two people in her arms can hear, that same french lullaby she would sing to edward when he was a baby.

jane recognises it right away, katherine can tell, and after a few moments edward’s sobs seem to lessen just slightly, enough for him to be able to look up at his sister. he doesn’t seem too dissimilar to how he was as a baby, the tiny little boy who would be soothed as she rocked him, and katherine’s heart breaks just a little bit more at the devastated look in his eyes. she keeps singing, the soft movements of her hands in time to the melody, and edward’s eyes close as he leans against her. jane doesn’t want to put the pressure on her daughter to take care of both of them, but at some point in the song she can’t keep everything together any more. the tears start to slide down her face as she lets katherine comfort her.

because of the way she was holding her mother, katherine could feel the exact moment jane began to lose it, warm tears trickling down onto her neck. she doesn’t pause in the singing, instead simply increasing the rate of her fingers through jane’s hair just slightly. she lets her head fall to the side, her cheek pressing against her mother’s temple as she shook with tears.

they stay that way for an agonizingly long time, until katherine’s dress is soaked at the shoulder and edward is practically dead weight against her.

that’s when percival intervenes. he speaks directly to katherine, his voice gentle and sympathetic. “perhaps the queen and king,” katherine feels edward cling tighter to her at that, “should retire for a bit, so you and i can discuss some things, lady katherine.”

katherine nods. “I will escort my mother and brother to their chambers and then return to talk, sir percival.” percival gives a low bow and the three of them make their way to the door, katherine practically keeping the other two upright. it takes a while to get to their chambers, and when they do it takes a further few minutes for jane and edward to be curled up together on the couch. edward has almost passed out from grief and exhaustion and katherine looks at jane hesitantly.

“are you going to be okay?” she means until katherine returns; she knows she could hardly describe the situation as ‘okay’. jane gives her a watery smile.

“we’ll be alright for the moment. thank you, love.” katherine is reluctant to leave, but she leans down and kisses jane’s cheek, then the top of edward’s head.

“i’ll be back soon,” she says, before heading back down the corridor. she finds percival relatively quickly, and he looks at her with sympathetic eyes.

“i hope it is not improper to ask how the king and queen dowager are doing?”

“it’s difficult,” katherine sighs. “it hit them both hard. they will be okay, i hope, but it’ll take some time.”

percival gives a few slow, understanding nods. “in the meantime, lady katherine, we all look to you.”

katherine blinks. “excuse me?”

“as much as i hate to admit it,” percival says, voice laden with heaviness and regret, “the queen dowager and king are not in a fit state to lead at this moment.”

katherine can’t argue with that, the image of her mother and brother on the couch down the hall flashing in front of her eyes.

“hopefully, by the time the traditional mourning period is over, king edward will be ready to rise to his God-given position.”

katherine isn’t sure she herself is ready to lead in edward’s place, but she nods. “if the council wishes to give me the role of regent until edward accepts his role, then i will accept this responsibility.” a thought suddenly hits her. “i imagine lady mary won’t be thrilled.”

katherine couldn’t say that edward’s oldest sister had ever been a huge fan of hers; katherine definitely got on better with Elizabeth, now a teenager, than Mary, who hadn’t taken kindly to having a new half sister. she supposed it was understandable, but she did one day hope to bridge the gap between them and potentially be able to call each other friends. katherine was not in the line of succession, which she hopes might help mary warm to her, but acting as regent certainly wouldn’t help their relationship.

percival gives a quiet chuckle. “i would have to agree with you, lady katherine.” he clears his throat. “but for now,” he continues, tone back to the business-like manner it was in before, “your main duty is to plan the royal services. we already have the burial site, he will be celebrated and mourned in the chapel...” percival thinks for a moment. “most of what you’d need to do would be to organize the celebration. pick the hymns, prepare the eulogy-“

“i am eulogizing the former king?” katherine asks incredulously.

“yes?” percival asks. surely it had been obvious? he shakes his head quickly. “we will need to begin immediately.” something dawns on him. “as regent queen,” a chill runs down katherine’s spine, “you need to make the formal announcement to the people.”

the next twelve hours are incredibly long for katherine. after the announcement, she’s immediately dragged into meeting after conversation, all directed at either the ceremony or edward’s soon-to-be-king status.

it’s well after six in the morning when she is released. she wanders into jane’s chambers, unsure of how long she’d be able to sleep, if she even could at all.

edward and jane are curled up in jane’s bed. edward is fast asleep but jane stirs when katherine approaches.

“love?” she says quietly. “what time is it?” katherine shrugs. “morning?” she guesses. jane shifts over in the bed and pats the spot on the other side of her.

“come here, love,” she murmurs. katherine climbs into the bed and curls up against jane, feeling her mum press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“what did percival want to speak about?” jane asks, voice quiet.

katherine gives a tiny shrug. “lots of things,” she answers unsurely. she doesn’t really want to tell jane that she is technically queen now, has been for hours.

“what is it, kitty-kat?”

katherine’s heart aches at that tone of voice - so soft, judgement free, ready to fight away all the nightmares.

“i was helping to plan the royal services,” she admits. “he’ll be buried in two days, celebrated at the chapel.” she shifts a bit, uncomfortable with talking about it. “they want your and eddie’s approval on a few things first, though.”

she’s silent for a long time. when she speaks again, her voice is caught and raw in her throat.

“i’m queen now, mum.”

there’s a brief moment of silence, before jane speaks.

“oh, love.” her tone is difficult to decipher, even when she continues. “how do you feel about that, kitty-kat?”

katherine doesn’t answer. she honestly doesn’t know how. her brain hasn’t caught up with all the emotions swirling around her head yet. she rests her head on jane’s shoulder and jane’s hand finds her hair.

“you need your rest, love,” jane murmurs softly. katherine gives a choked laugh.

“i don’t think i have time.”

as if they had heard her, two clergymen knock on the door.

“queen katherine?”

katherine stiffens slightly at the title and jane runs a gentle hand through her hair.

“there’s been a problem with the processional, would you please come and address it with us?”

katherine gives a disgruntled sigh, only loud enough for jane to hear. she presses another kiss to her daughter’s head.

katherine hesitates for only a moment after before shuffling out of the bed.

“duty calls, i guess,” she mumbles, before going out to join the clergymen.

it takes a further hour to sort out the processional, and before katherine has a chance to sit down she’s being whisked off a meeting with the archbishop about the funeral. she’s then met with the news that lady mary and lady elizabeth would soon arrive to take part in mourning, which leads her into a discussion as to where the young lady elizabeth should live; whether she should be educated at court or sent to live with a noble family.

katherine, quite honestly, feels that she should have no say in the young girl’s fate. she was not really related to either mary or elizabeth, and even though she and bess got along, they were far from sisters. she didn’t think it fair that she decide where elizabeth was to be sent.

she would ask jane, if she was given the chance.

she was not.

katherine is pulled in every different direction, questions and mishaps a plenty. the day was long, as was the following night. since being named regent, katherine had gotten maybe one hour of sleep, and that was with jane barricading the door so no one could disturb her.

elizabeth and mary arrive around two in the afternoon on the day before the funeral, both dressed in traditional black mourning outfits.

“your majesty,” elizabeth greets formally, curtseying.

mary does the same, just much , much stiffer.

katherine curtseys in response. “it’s wonderful to see you,” she says with a smile. “the king and queen dowager are awaiting your presence; we have prepared a feast for your arrival.”

katherine had very little input into the feast, in fact. her day had barely given her a chance to eat herself, let alone plan the feast, and luckily jane had taken it upon herself to organise it.

elizabeth returns the smile, wisps of her long red hair escaping from the hairpins securing her hair back. “thank you, your majesty,” she says. mary nods politely but does not speak.

with a slight nod, katherine turns to lead them down the corridor to the dining hall.

jane and edward are both already seated, picking at the food on their plates. the look up when the door opens.

edward smiles slightly at seeing his other two sisters. he slowly gets up and makes his way over to them. he hugs elizabeth tightly, then turns to mary. katherine could have sworn that mary gave the young boy - young king - a scowl.

“it’s so good to see you both,” jane cuts in, trying to break the ice settling amongst them.

mary gives jane a tight-lipped smile. “it’s good to see you too, your highness.” she takes a seat next to jane, leaving the seat next to edward empty. elizabeth immediately claims that chair and throws herself into conversation with edward. unlike mary, who had made it all the way to the age of 18 under the assumption that she would be queen, elizabeth had grown up knowing the likelihood of her taking the throne was rare, and she seems to hold no grudge against her brother for skipping the queue, as it were. katherine sits down on elizabeth’s other side, catching jane’s sideways glance and smile.

mary, jane and katherine eat in silence for a short while as edward and elizabeth chat, and katherine finds her mind drifting into a comfortable automatic state of shut down, managing to get some kind of rest while awake. she’s shaken out of her daze, however, when she hears her name. she looks up to see edward and elizabeth looking at her expectantly, and she blinks.

“my apologies- what did you say?”

“bess was telling me about all the languages she speaks,” edward says, “and i was telling her that you’re really good at languages too.”

katherine shakes the cobwebs in her head then nods. “i speak a couple, as well. latin, french, spanish, italian, and i’m working on russian,” katherine says.

elizabeth lights up.

“tu parli italiano?” [you speak italian?] elizabeth asks brightly.  katherine gives a shy smile and nod. “forse dovremmo viaggiare insieme!” [perhaps we should travel there together!] bess continues.

katherine laughs. “può essere,” [maybe], katherine counters.

jane can see that elizabeth would love to keep katherine for hours, speaking other languages and discussing their studies. jane can also see the tiredness behind katherine’s eyes. “bess,” she calls gently. “maybe we should let the queen get back to work, maybe rest a little.”

elizabeth nods, giving katherine an apologetic smile, and katherine returns it with a kind one of her own to let her know there was no harm done. she gets to her feet, sending jane a grateful look.

“i must excuse myself, there’s business i need to attend to.” katherine hopes that her duties can include a nap, because it was getting rapidly harder to keep her eyes open, but with the funeral the next day she knows that’s unlikely. there were still final preparations to be made with the speakers and the archbishop still hadn’t finalised his address yet.

she spends the remainder of the afternoon and evening with the archbishop, clergymen, pall-bearers...too many people for her to keep track of.

it’s nearly midnight and she’s still up, running on barely any sleep, trying to finalize the eulogy. it’s impossibly difficult, she finds, to tell great stories of a man who had her tried for treason twice, irreparably damaged her shoulder, and nearly exiled her forever.

she doesn’t even hear the door open, but jane enters, holding a candle.

“you should rest, love.”

“i can’t,” katherine sighs. “i still have to finish this. i can’t stand there and not have the eulogy prepared.” she looks back at the page, but she’s so tired it’s hard to focus on anything she’s written.

“what can i even say about him?” she doesn’t even realise she’s asked the question until jane puts the candle down on the desk and sighs softly.

“love, you need to sleep. you can’t keep going on like this.”

“i have to,” katherine says hollowly. “it’s my responsibility. if it wasn’t me, then edward would have to do it, and he wouldn’t be able to handle it. he’s only a child, he shouldn’t have to have so much on his shoulders.”

“neither should you,” jane counters quietly. she pulls a chair over and sits down next to katherine. “when was the last time you slept, love?”

katherine shrugs. “i took a nap on tuesday.”

“that was two days ago.”

katherine shrugs again. “i’ve been drinking a lot of tea.”

jane looks at her with a slight glimmer of disapproval, but mostly sympathy. “that’s not healthy, kitty-kat.”

katherine chuckles hollowly. “the curse of the crown, i suppose.”

jane looks at her for a few more moments before sighing. “let me look at what you’ve written,” she says, and katherine pushes the paper towards her. it’s a mostly impersonal affair, focusing on the king’s military work and neatly avoiding the fact that he lost most wars he took part in. then it discusses the religious reform briefly, and goes on to give a polite commemoration of his life, saying as little as possible while still sounding nice. it’s clear katherine had no personal connection with henry, but for a formal address it would certainly be passable.

katherine wishes that she could have written more positively about henry, for jane. for edward. for the people in his life who saw the best parts of him.

it was just something she had no familiarity with.

even though she was never close with henry, she couldn’t help but notice the absence of such a large presence in her life. henry was ruthless yet personable, cruel yet kind, merciless yet merciful all, infuriatingly, at the same time.

katherine sees it every time she looks in jane’s eyes or see edward’s smile fade: the two are devastated.

that’s why katherine has been foregoing sleep and food in order to make the ceremony perfect. they deserve it. they deserve the best way to send off a husband and a father.

she also, somewhere where she wouldn’t dare to talk about it, feels a shame. a deep regret that henry had died, and not her - even though she knows it’s not true, some part of her thinks it would be easier on jane and edward if they had henry still.

all of the desire for everything to be perfect and the secret shame she feels bubbles to the surface, sleep deprivation tearing down her near-perfect queenly facade, and tears slowly begin to trickle down her face.

“oh, kitty-kat,” jane breathes, pulling katherine into a tight hug. katherine sobs into Jane’s shoulder, feeling much more like a child than the composed queen she was supposed to be. it feels familiar and comforting, the way jane’s hand finds her hair as always and begins combing her fingers through it, as her other hand draws soft soothing circles on katherine’s back.

both women share one common thought: they want nothing more than to take away the pain of the other, they want to see the beautiful smiles they know and love, they want there other to see there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

for jane, all she can do is try and comfort her daughter (the queen, she reminds herself) and hopefully get her to sleep soon.

katherine’s body screams for rest, but her brain is far too awake as she clings hopelessly to jane.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers harshly. “for all of this.”

“shh,” jane hushes quietly. “it’s alright, love, it’s alright.”

katherine’s mind flashes back nine years, in a very similar position, jane somehow alive after a near assassination, as she says the next words, so quietly jane barely can hear them.

“shoulda been me.”

jane takes a sharp intake of breath. “kat, no,” she says softly. “don’t you say that.” she doesn’t know where katherine’s words came from, but it pains her to know that katherine thinks them. she holds katherine even closer. “i love henry- loved,” she corrects herself, and her voice catches in her throat. “but if anything happened to you or eddie then i don’t know what i’d do. no parent should have to outlive their child, love. so don’t you tell me that it should have been you, because that’s just not true.”

katherine hears the hitch in her mother’s voice and it makes her feel worse. jane’s grieving for her husband, the love of her life, and katherine is making it all about her.

‘how typical,’ a dark little voice in her mind snarls.

she wriggles out of jane’s arms not-so-gently and steps onto the balcony, the cold january air biting at her skin. she grips the railing of the balcony with tight fingers, looking out over the blanket of dark that covered the town.

jane leans against the doorway behind her, fixing her with a sympathetic gaze.

“you need some sleep, love.”

“i’ll be fine,” katherine says, voice distant and slightly hollow. she doesn’t look back, continuing to stare out into the night.

“you won’t be fine,” jane sighs, and she takes several steps closer. “you’ve worked yourself to the bone over the past couple of weeks and you need to rest. if you don’t then you’re going to collapse, kat.”

“i said i’ll be fine,” katherine mumbles. her grip on the railing tightens even more.

jane closes the distance between them, putting a hand on katherine's back and looking at her face. kat is nearly trembling, but from cold or exhaustion jane can't tell. "let's get you to bed now, love," jane says quietly.

katherine pulls away. "i need to finish the eulogy," she protests.

"you won't get it done now," jane argues gently, "not like this."

"i have to," katherine says. she smacks her forehead suddenly. "i needed to get flowers," she says to herself. she makes for the door, shoving her shoes on as she goes, but jane catches her hand.

"you can't keep doing this," jane says, tugging on her hand. "this isn't healthy."

"it may not be," katherine agrees, "but you can't stop me."

jane sighs again. "i am your mother, love-"

katherine explodes. "and i am the queen!" her voice comes out as a slightly venomous hiss, angry not necessarily at jane, but at circumstances and sleep deprivation and inner turmoil.

jane takes a step back out of surprise. she hasn’t seen katherine have an outburst like this for a long time, not for several years at least. katherine looks exhausted; her face is pale and there are heavy bags under her eyes, and all jane can see is the scared little girl who ran away from the castle in her first week as a lady-in-waiting. jane can’t let katherine work herself to death like this.

“queen or not,” she says evenly, “you’re still my little seymour. please, love. just half an hour’s rest, that’s all i’m asking. and then you can finish everything else you need to do. i’ve just lost my husband, and i am not going to lose my daughter too.”

katherine hears jane's words, she really, truly does, but she can't focus on them. there's too much that still needs to be done before the sun rises the next morning, before the ceremony and the burial and the celebration. she sets her shoulders, standing as regally as she can in her fatigue. katherine had long  surpassed jane's height, now standing nearly a whole head above her mother.

jane sees the change in her daughter's eyes. she's not going to give in.

katherine gives a clipped, empty laugh. "if you lose us both, that's just god's will, i suppose," she says, before continuing to the door.

“kat-” jane says, voice breaking, but katherine keeps walking. she’s vaguely aware of jane’s voice but she has too many things to think about, too much to do.

jane watches her go, heart breaking just a little bit more. the way katherine is acting isn’t sustainable, and jane knows that she’s going to collapse soon. she only hopes that katherine will let her help her before it reaches that point, but a part of her brain that knows her daughter, her wonderful, devoted, stubborn daughter, won’t let that happen. katherine was going to fall, and she was going to fall hard. and jane couldn’t do anything about it.

katherine strides down the hall hurriedly. flowers, how could she forget the flowers?

she fastens her cloak on and slips a dagger into one of the pockets.

katherine makes quick work of the walk to town. the florist, of course, is asleep, as are most is the residents, but katherine has no time for him to be sleeping. she knocks loudly.

“who’s out here waking me-“ he grumbles. then he sees katherine, face half concealed by the cloak. “your majesty!” he bows. “what can i do for you?”

“we need flowers for the funeral tomorrow,” katherine says briskly. no point wasting time. the florist pales slightly at such a prestigious task but he nods.

“right away, your majesty. i can have my assistants deliver them first thing in the morning.” the honour of creating bouquets for a royal funeral seems to outweigh any negatives of having to work through the night in his mind.

“thank you,” katherine sighs, grateful that at least the funeral wouldn’t be ruined by a lack of flowers. “you will receive your payment from the royal treasury on arrival.” she turns around, intent on leaving, when her vision starts to blur. she puts a hand on the doorway to steady herself, and when she can see well enough to start walking again she heads out of the florists.

“your majesty,” the florist calls nervously, “are you alright?”

“yes,” she replies, a string of ice in her tone, “perfectly fine, thank you.”

she pushes through the haze in her eyes and continues out into the cold night.

katherine is about halfway back when she hears footsteps behind her. she pulls the hood of her cloak tighter around her face, then tightly grips the hilt of the dagger in her pocket, readying herself for anyone who dared to mess with the queen.

she walks slightly faster, drawing herself up to her full height and refusing to turn around. for several moments it seems as if whoever it is had stopped, and katherine wonders if it was a false alarm, but then the footsteps start back up again.

indeed, they seem to get faster, picking up speed and following her, to the point where katherine is sure they must almost reach her. the engraving on the hilt of the dagger digs into her hand but she doesn’t loosen her grip; if anything she tightens it even further if that was possible.

she slowly begins to pull it out of her pocket, the blade glimmering in the moonlight. she grips it tightly in both hands and waits, even as her feet continue the walk.

she's nearly there, another couple hundred paces at best.

katherine can feel herself growing dizzy, her legs giving out with each step she takes but she presses onward.

the echoing footsteps follow, growing closer until she swears she can hear someone breathing nearby.

"i'll have you know," she calls, turning her head slightly and forcing her voice down as to not give herself away, "i am armed."

there’s no reply from behind her, just a low, rhythmic breathing. katherine’s hand starts to hurt from the dagger, her legs are aching with exhaustion and her vision blurs yet again. this time, however, it doesn’t come back into focus.

a sharp pain fills her head and she suddenly drops the blade, clutching at her forehead. she falls to her knees involuntarily and hunches over, eyes squeezed shut. in the seconds before katherine passes out, she feels herself falling sideways, the hood of her cloak slipping down to reveal her face. then everything goes black.

[faith-in-the-forecast]

❂Why Body Check Pictures and “Thinspo” Pictures Are So Toxic And Damaging❂

Trigger Warning: I will be discussing the effects of these toxic and harmful images

Body check pictures and “thinspo” pictures are extremely damaging to those of us with eating disorders. Even when body checks are done without ill intentions, they can still have a big effect on us and on the perception people have of eating disorders. 

Firstly, I should start by explaining what I’m referring to. Body check photos are photos, usually of someone’s entire body, that are posted with the deliberate goal of showcasing one’s body, sometimes to show progress of weight in either direction. A lot of times, you will see the classic side by side photos of someone in recovery versus themselves at their lowest weight. “Thinspo” photos are photos of people who are usually extremely thin, often posted by people trying to achieve that appearance. 

I find both of these types of photos so frustrating, and I barely know where to start, so I’m just going to jump right in.

I get so frustrated when someone posts a video of their “eating disorder story,” and the whole video is photos of them at various declining weights. This is so common! I would rather hear someone in recovery actually talk about their experience with their ED, what was difficult, and how they overcame it, rather then see merely one symptom of their journey. Anyways, body check photos are also extremely common on websites like Tumblr and Instagram. I realize that some people aren’t posting these images with harmful intent, and I have no problem with someone posting a full body picture at whatever point they’re at, obviously. I’m referring to the pictures that are deliberately trying to showcase someone’s weight in a way that can be harmful to other people struggling with eating disorders. These body check images perpetuate stereotypes about eating disorders, whether the poster realizes it or not.

Body check photos, such as the side by side comparisons, are continuing the stigma about eating disorders that they aren’t valid or real unless someone loses a drastic amount of weight. This is simply untrue. People of all different shapes can struggle with eating disorders, and the amount of weight loss by no means measures the severity. Some people don’t lost weight during their struggle. Some people do. Some people gain weight. But by posting the before and after images in videos or online, you’re sending a message. That message may be invalidating to others struggling, and may be telling people who don’t have eating disorders that they are always visible, and that they aren’t legitimate if there isn’t a drastic weight loss.

Secondly, it perpetuates the idea that eating disorders are all about weight. It dumbs down all the other symptoms and focuses on one: weight. In reality, weight loss is a symptom of the disorder, not the root of it. It sends the message that eating disorders are weight disorders, not psychological ones!

Body check images also are an open invitation to the viewers of the images to compare their bodies to yours. Everyone’s disorder looks different. If you post a body check complaining about how you look, someone struggling who might look different than you may be comparing themselves to you and it can be extremely triggering. Eating disorders can be competitive, whether we like to admit it or not. 

People posting “thinspo” and body checks often say they’re doing it “just for them.” But if it really is just for you, why are you posting it? Look deeper into yourself. If it’s a need for validation, address that.

I could write pages and pages about why thinspo is so damaging. Like body checks, it takes all the stereotypes people have about eating disorders and magnifies them. It gives people the impression that eating disorders are all about weight, that they have a certain look, that they are a choice, and that they only happen to certain people. 

Often times, in the dark moments of our illness, we try to trigger ourselves. That’s just a fact. It’s extremely sad and I wish it didn’t happen, but it’s true. But you need to think about other people if you are someone who posts these images. You never know the state of mind or health someone is going to be in when they see it. For people with eating disorders, it can be extremely triggering and fuel their behavior. For people without eating disorders, it can make them think that eating disorders are a choice and something that can be achieved. It’s a lose lose.

Do you want to be part of someone else’s destruction by posting these images? Or do you want to spread hope and positivity that recovery is possible?

I guess it’s just hard for me to understand it completely, because my eating disorder has always been something that was secretive and I would never want to be a part or a factor in dragging someone through the hell I go through. There’s a reason this blog isn’t plastered with images of me at my lowest weights, or body checks, or full of numbers and personal data. It’s because people compare their disorders and it’s extremely harmful and triggering. And there’s no need to! Everyone’s disorder is valid. Whether you’re overweight, a “normal” weight, or underweight, I accept you and your illness is real and valid. I am always here to talk. 

If you want to trigger yourself, I’m here to support you and listen. Just don’t post things that are going to trigger others and further the stigma. Your pain is valid, you don’t have to show us. Tell us.