#I fucking weight myself after not weighing myself for months

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Was gonna post ch2 of Spider-Man AU today bc I always post something on my birthday but alas, I am lying in bed after nearly passing out at a restaurant and now feeling very nauseous so good times good times

[kkujo]

also idk i feel so fucking good abt myself idk genuinely being consistent with my gym routine has done everything for my mental health and confidence like i still feel bad abt myself sometimes but for the first time since i was probably 9 i'm having days where i look in the mirror and thinking DAMN i look good and those days are getting more frequent it's really the best feeling

[navybrat817]

Okay, lovelies. Remember when I said the good vibes you were sending me may have tipped the scales in my favor? Well, buckle in because I'm about to get personal. 😂❤️

Like many people out there, I have student loan debt. My hubby has student loan debt. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars a month. Not only do we have student loan debt with terrible interest rates, we also had medical bills and credit card debt to take care of unexpected emergencies over the last few years. It's stressful. Many of you understand.

My family has never had much and hasn't been able to help, which I don't expect them to. I work hard to do what I can. I still had 10 years to pay on my loans when I checked a month ago. 10 years. There has been no end in sight.

Until now.

After a lot of hard work and working with a financial advisor, we paid off our two major credit cards today. I am paying the remainder of my student loans in full tomorrow. And within the next year, the remainder of my husband's student loans will be paid in full. Not only that, we will have a true emergency savings account opened by the end of the year.

Lovelies, I sobbed. Full on sobbed. Ugly cried until my chest and head hurt. The stress of this debt has weighed on me and kept me up at night. I worried for my kids. I worried for myself. And now I can actually put some of this money toward both their future and mine. It's an amazing feeling.

Now, we're not out of the woods. 😂 My hubby still has that last student loan, along with a car payment and our mortgage. But, fuck, the weight is so much lighter and I feel like I can finally breathe. We needed this win.

Appreciate the good vibes, lovelies. I'm sending them back your way. I hope any weight you have weighing down on you is lifted. I hope you can breathe a bit easier.

Love you all. ❤️

PS - The advisor also said no big spending, but my teammate said I should buy myself something nice and that candles don't count. ☠️ Can I buy a fictional husband? 🤣

[beatrixstonehill2]

"This was me at nineteen versus now at twenty-one..... This sucks so bad! My transition was going so well, I was so pretty, my cock was tiny, my tits were big and full. Men absolutely adored me, I could hardly keep them off me. I miss having so many cocks rammed in my ass every day against my will, it was so hot! Ughhh..... I went to the doctor like normal, they tested my bloodwork and stuff. The doctor remarked that my cock was extremely small. I said I was fine with that and wanted SRS, but he smiled and said he thought I'd prefer it if I got to experience real orgasms with my cock before resorting to something extreme like SRS. He also told me I was very skinny for a trans girl my age and asked why I didn't want to be curvier. I told him I wouldn't mind a big butt and bigger boobs, and he put me on some crazy high dose of estrogen.

I rolled my eyes and agreed, because I'm a true submissive. Well..... after about a month I packed on twenty pounds and my cock was already five inches fully erect and I couldn't keep my hands off it. My balls finally got big and plump. It was so fun to jerk off. I used to need a cock ramming my prostate to cum, and even still, my cock would be flaccid, one inch, and barely ooze out one shot of clear cum. Now I was jerking off eight to twelve times a day, shooting rope after rope of milky white cum like a boy. I loved it SO much! Men loved it, too. They had a nice toy to play with as they fucked my ass. My cock became so red and swollen all the time, I posted pics of it on social media constantly! My parents were also thrilled by all the fun I was having with my cock, encouraging me to masturbate all day and go out to get fucked way less.....

I kept packing on more weight, at least twenty pounds a month. I tried to rationalize that it would taper off, that I wouldn't keep getting heavier. Plus in the short term I was so thick and sexy, and men found me even hotter, despite the fact that I had this huge cock now. Or because of it..... Six months on the new meds and I was about 210lbs, almost doubling my weight, and my cock was about a foot long, thick as my wrist, with two extremely generous testicles, both the size of a lemon. They were so hard to sit with and even walk with at times, but I could cum so fucking hard. Fifteen to twenty huge ropes of cum every orgasm. I'd moan like such a slutty princess every time, whether I was getting fucked at a party or at home, covering myself and my computer area with so much glorious cum, I never bothered washing it off. I loved stinking of it, sitting there, my fat belly jiggling, my boobs bouncing, my thick thighs pushing against my oversized balls.

But it kept getting worse. I got fatter and fatter every month. Now I'm so disgusting. You'd never know I was so sexy a couple years ago, barely any cock at all. Now I weigh almost 600lbs, and I can't stand it. I feel so gross and unsexy. Men want nothing to do with me, I'm just another smelly, fat trans girl who turned into a slob. I'm so fat I can barely walk, I just sit home, never bathing, never doing makeup or trying to look good. My cock is about sixteen inches, buried under loads of fat, my balls feel ready to burst all day. But my doctor recommends I don't jerk off, since my health is so bad and my blood pressure is through the roof.

The medication blew me up like a balloon, I wasn't even overeating, but now I stuff my face since it's one of the few pleasures I can still indulge in, even if it makes me feel even grosser knowing I'm just getting fatter. My cock is so hard all day but my doctor tells me all that excessive masturbation I like has put me at a very high risk of heart attack. Sometimes I'm naughty and push my belly down on my cock as I watch pretty girls on Instagram dance at parties like I used to. Their big tits bouncing, their bellies full of kids as they take shots and get fucked all night. I'm so jealous. My favorite is when I follow a trans girl who's nice and petite, getting fucked every night like a good girl, rubbing her tiny cock, only for a few months to pass, and I see her little cock grow to six inches, shooting thick ropes of cum suddenly. Her boobs get bigger, her thighs and butt get super thick, and she gets a cute belly to form, her pretty face getting round, with a double chin, looking so perfect and sexy. I push my giant gut on my cock knowing in a couple years she'll be just as fat and disgusting as me. I crush my huge cock, as my heart pounds through my chest, I moan and pant, and I finally cum, my chest gets so tight, my pulse feels impossibly fast and I make the biggest mess between my legs. Rope after rope after rope. I'm covered in sweat, feeling like my heart might finally give out, and slowly I settle down, my parents scolding me for cumming, despite how they used to encourage me to jerk off all day.... I know I'm so unhealthy and my heart can't take these heavy orgasms of mine, but it's soooo worth it, even if I am a disgusting pig now. I'm so glad my doctor put me on these meds...."

[thatguywhofedme]

Influencer to live piggy

I was browsing tumblr, looking through the same pages I followed, wishing the feeder in those stories and images was feeding ME into a food coma

I mean, I'm already gaining steadily by stuffing myself as much as I could, last time I weighed myself I was 225 lbs and that was a year ago

That's when I got the idea, why not make my own blog showing off my body, this will surely get the attention of a feeder who would like to stuff me silly

I instantly created my profile and decided to call myself deathbylard, thought this would be pretty clear as to what my blog would be about

After a couple of months, everything was going well

Everyone was loving my big belly, thickening thighs and fat juicy ass, I was now 274 lbs and was finally getting noticed, that's when he messaged me

His profile name was feedyoutodeath, little did I know it was literal

We began chatting and the more we talked, the more we discovered we had tons in common and when we decided to ask each other where we live, we surprisingly lived close by

We decided to meet at an all-you-can-eat buffet, I was waiting at a table when I heard the door open and recognized him instantly

He got to my table and told me how beautiful I looked and if I was ready to eat

I told him to fill me up while rubbing my belly

He instantly got to the buffet and came back with four plates full of the greasiest food he could find

He sat in front of me and began feeding them to me

There wasn't a lot of people, but the staff had a full view of someone getting fed mouthful after mouthful, getting messier from each bite

After I had miraculously ate everything, I was so full I couldn't get up from the chair and my big belly was in full view, bright red and hard like a bowling ball

He helped me from my chair, but not before whispering in my ear "I hope you enjoyed this little lunch of yours, because there's only going to be even more each time we see each other my little piggy"

I was so fucking turned on

We kept seeing each other at least twice a week if not more and he had me on a strict diet consisting of the most fattening and unhealthy food he could think of

After a year of this, I had BLOWN UP, I was so fat I needed a cane to walk the few hundred meters I could do without sweating and getting out of breath, my belly was going to my knees and my ass needed two chairs to support it

We decided to put me on the new scale he had bought me, it had a capacity of 750 lbs

When I got on the scale, I could hear it creak under my weight and after a moment, it beeped to signal it had finally weighed me

My feeder got under my belly and gasped, I asked him how much and he got behind me while groping my fat ass and whispered "614.57 lbs, you're officially my prized hog and only going to get bigger you massive pig"

He slapped my ass HARD, grabbed me by my hand and got me to the bedroom where I knew I was going to need another shake and a good fucking

During this time, my tumblr had exploded in popularity, I was getting so much attention from my huge body and they simply couldn't get enough of it

Some would even say that they wanted to be my feeder and would make me even bigger, but I knew they were only words and not actually fattening me up, I already found the one to do this perfectly

I told my feeder and decided it was time for him to take care of me and my blog while I relaxed and let myself go completely

I knew I was in good hand, being able to pig out while gaining as much weight as I wanted and getting fucked anywhere at anytime, what's not to love

I moved in with him and was surprised by the setup he had for me, bariatric bed with every life support machines I could need including a heart monitor, a fridge beside my bed, a 5 gallon jug high up from where my head would be and a trough !?!

I knew I was a pig, but that was a whole new level and I was simply loving it !!!

I was getting so turned on, that's when he got in front of me, put a pair of pig ear and a pig nose, he began force feeding me two boxes of donuts and said

"this will be your world from now on, you'll be in this bed or on all four eating like a true pig, only able to eat, get fatter and be my personal at home piggy

I've put cameras in your room for everyone on your blog to enjoy, they'll be able to see what a real fatty looks like and witness your disgusting diet, you'll be the star like you wanted from the start

I will make you the fattest person on earth and will continue making you fatter until that little heart of yours gives out for good, that's the only moment I will allow you not to stuff yourself until you pass out from eating too much

You better be ready because all of this starts right now"

I answer by putting my walker to the side, struggling to get on all fours and oinking like a real pig

He got into the kitchen and came back with a trolley full of my favorites, took all of them and throw them into the trough no matter what it was

"eat" is all he said

I obliged and began to stuff myself while moaning and grunting

He got behind me and forced my head deeper

"I don't want you to only eat at a normal speed, real pigs finish all of this in not time no matter what, so you better eat more before I force this funnel down your throat again"

I gulped and began eating faster, I didn't care if my mouth was full, I needed to eat faster to satisfy my feeder, that's what I was always best at and I wasn't going to disappoint him, not now or ever

Six years have passed and I was now permanently planted on my bed, hooked up on life support, my blood vessels being clogged up even more by each fattening feast that entered my greedy mouth and needing multiple pills for my diabetes, blood pressure and cholesterol medication just for me to be able to live a little longer each day

I was so fat now my ass was almost reaching the side of the massive California king size bariatric bed, I needed a crane fixed to the ceiling to move me so I could be taken care of

my body was now slick and sweaty all the time from the exertion of being in this massive body, my love handles, rolls of fat, underboobs and my swollen fupa were always sweaty from having lbs after lbs of fat creating a crease of unable to support all the humidity my body was creating, my three massive chins were coated with grease and crumbs from the multiple meals and shakes I needed in a day, it was the same story for my massive chest and enormous belly that now reached my toes all made it hard for me to breath, all my fat was ridden in cellulite all over, especially in my massive juicy ass and my belly was also covered in bright red stretch marks showing my feeder's technique of feeding me the trashiest food with no mercy for my weakened body while crushing my organs and I was really struggling to breath now, even my oxygen mask was barely able to feed me air and if I wasn't huffing I was wheezing like a pig while sweating like I had run a marathon

My feeder as kept his words, he made me the fattest person alive and we couldn't be happier about it, last time we checked my weight via the built in scale it said 1658.93 lbs

And just because I weigh this much doesn't mean we don't have sex, on the contrary

With the help from the crane, he would lift me up just enough to go under me and begin fucking my hearts out until I came again and again

He would also let me know how much he love me and my massive body, he would go on top of me while trying is best to avoid my massive swollen fatty liver that has gotten no rest in my years and unrelentless feeding and kiss me all over, sometimes he would concentrate a little more on my thighs, other times it would be my sagging ass, enormous thighs, my belly of course, he couldn't get enough of it and any other parts of my body really, he truly loves all of me

That doesn't stop him from teasing me by saying something like "look at what we did to your body, you surely are the fattest fuck anyone would have ever seen and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it" or "you know you're going to die on this bed and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, all you can do is enjoy yourself while it last until your fat coated heart is tired of supporting your body and you get your fourth and final heart attack" he loved to tease me in the meanest way possible and couldn't simply get enough of it

Although, when I was horribly full, feeling like my stomach would explode at any moment, he would get mad and play with my oxygen tube until I agreed to getting stuffed even more

And if I was being an extra good hog, he would up the pressure on my feeding hose so more and more delicious lard shake would go to my stomach and make me even fatter by the second

Oh speaking of which, my viewers also couldn't get enough of me

I now had millions and millions of followers who would log in just to see myself get pumped even more full of lard and get even fatter by the day

I was able to watch all of this happening on the TV my feeder put in front of me

He wanted me to see all the damage we had done to my body and everytime I looked at myself from the live feed, I still couldn't believe I was this impossibly, enormously fat blob who was only good at swallowing lard shakes and letting it all transform into new fat cells that will make me even bigger and unhealthy than I already was

By the way my heart was slooooowly beating, I knew I wouldn't have long until my body gives up

I had reached pretty much all my goals but don't think for a second I don't have any objectives

I still need to get fatter and keep growing for my feeder

I'm always going to be his personal pig and only live to satisfy his need to force feed me the most unhealthy and greasiest food and shakes imaginable

I'll always want more and more and EVEN FUCKING MORE !!!!

Oink Oink !! 🐷

[stickthinseason]

I’ve been getting questions and concerns so this is an introduction

I’m trying to stay private, my name is Kya.

I am 27, if you’re a minor and I’ve accidentally followed you bc I don’t always know- pls block me.

In 2022 my lil bro committed suicide, and I started having panic attacks that led to black outs and passing out, I stopped eating and was just smoking my pain away. I was having a ton of seizures, and bc I was forgetting to eat and just smoking flower- I was also swallowing it.

You can’t digest wax or thc or whatever- so I got a lot of perforations in the lining of my stomach, gastroparesis, and my stomach acid was damaging the part of your stomach that connects to the beginning of your intestines. Basically I was digesting my stomach before my other organs, and that’s not a sustainable way of living, when I started to try to eat normally again- about 7 months after his death- I was just vomiting up everything bc if the holes in my stomach lining. I didn’t even realize how small I was, I wish I had been more aware.

I was diagnosed with PNES, and medical bulimia

I’ve gained about 20-30lbs in 2023 and I’m trying to lose it. I think if I can get down to 110-120lbs I might be able to look exactly like my mom when she was young.

When my lil bro died, after his funeral my family wanted to try, and I tried to be part of the fam after my dad abused me and kicked me out- but my grandmother told me that I’m not part of the family- but I could be if I tried.

So I stopped trying. Bc my lil bro just died like who the fuck are you to say shit like that?

My sister weighs about 400lbs, maybe more, and my family never took pains to “help” her or get her to lose weight. They threw all their efforts into telling me to stop eating so much, that I’ll gain weight, that I’ll get fatter, that I can’t wear that- it makes me look fat. Everything they should have said to my whale of a sister.

At my older brother’s wedding- the same year my lil bro died- I talked to my uncle about what his mom said and he said “that doesn’t sound like something granny would say” and I was like well shit Mike, you weren’t there lmfao. He got drunk and mad and started yelling at me at the end of the night- bc he talked about it with our grandpa and they both think that granny wouldn’t say “I’m not part of the family but could be if I tried” like why don’t you go ask the cunt herself?

Gossiping old birds.

So now I’m going to kill myself to look like my mom. Because everyone loved my mom, until my dad killed her with abuse and neglect, and so someone will finally love me too someday.

[catboybiologist]

Transition journal and documentation: Jan and Feb of 2024

Measurements for January are up, and February will be soon to follow! Tagging @whalesharkcat and @trans4hire here. If you want to be tagged when I post these, let me know! The advice for injections is in the journal below.

Some quick notes to clarify things:

I'm consolidating qualitative observations into my journal. Oftentimes these haven't been easy to cleanly classify into different categories of observation, so I'm not really gonna bother.

As I'm sure you've realized, the timing of these observations isn't consistent. I have a private document with exact date stamps for everything, and these are mostly right at the end of the month. But my levels checks don't match up to this cleanly, so I group them with the closest set of other measurements. Sometimes I don't have one that cleanly fits.

I can't trust myself to measure height anymore, to be blunt. I want to ask the doctor every time but chicken out about it easily.

But anyways.

And now, as a journal, a brief summary of my thoughts on the past two months:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*deep breathing*

fuuuuuuuucccckkkkkkkkkk

Okay. So. I'm not gonna list off everything that's happened since the year started. So many independent things started happening, one after the other, that I had to start formatting it as a bulleted list to tell people I know irl what's been going on. Each one has been a crisis on its own- massive emotional events, health problems, health problems in people close to me, transphobic drama with former "friends", academic&research problems, and a resulting mental health spiral. And all of this leading up to my qualifying exams at the end of February, for which I barely scraped by and passed.

But. With all of this. There's silver linings.

The biggest one is that the start of this year has been a stress test of my overall emotional state since starting HRT. I'm not gonna lie- if all of this had happened a year ago, I don't think I would be here now. I either would have completely snapped and done something I regret, or... yeah. But as it stands? I cried. A lot. I isolated a bit. I had mood swings and anxiety and anger and excitement and relief and highs and lows beyond my wildest dreams. It was intense. It was not pretty. But it was cathartic, and healthy. Before this, I would've processed all of this as a generic, stressful, anxiety-ridden malaise, that would've weighed down on me until a breaking point. As it stands, however, I made it. Not in a neat way, not even really in an emotionally stable way, but I made it. And there is no fucking way that would be true pre-HRT. I think I can genuinely say at this point that estrogen has been life saving for me.

In the middle of all this, I switched to injections, right at the start of February. A mistake? Maybe, but I'm too fed up with delaying my progress because "the time isn't right", so I stubbornly refused to delay that change any further. It's a goal I worked out with my provider ahead of time and I stuck to it. So how's that been?

It's been an incredible and WILD experience. I'm on estradiol valerate. For those that don't know, estradiol is conjugated with another compound, which is then cleaved over time in your body to release it. For injections, that results in a peak irculating levels about 1-3 days afer injections. Some people feel it more than others- and holy shit, do I feel it. This has given rise to "the Sundays", because on Sundays, I'm going fucking nuts. My senses are heightened, and I start craving and reacting to physical touch in intense ways. It's not always sexual- while arousal comes easier to me the closer I am to peak, mostly I just become a cuddleslut. It is WILD. I'm also more emotional and cry more easily. Some cis female friends I have confirmed that it mirrors the feelings they get at a certain point in their monthly cycle, so essentially the fluctuating levels are giving me the sensory and emotional effects of a period every week.

The flip side of this is that I feel like shit on Thursdays, like I missed a sublingual dose when I was on that. After the first two weeks, I started taking 2mg sublingual on Wednesday night and Thursday mornings to avoid this, which helped a lot. My provider specifically said this was a good idea, so if you're dealing with that yourself, consider trying it out. I might move to a 5-day injection interval instead, but we'll see.

I've only had one problem with injections so far, which I'm dealing with right now- on my fifth self injection ever, I had unsteady hands and hesitation before stabbing myself, causing a not-great needle stick. Currently, I have a nasty looking injection bruise. Not painful, and healing pretty well, but not fantastic to look at. Self injecting has been intimidating and scary, moreso than I thought it would be. But the actual physical pain is much, MUCH less than I thought it would be, its just that the lizard brain refuses to stab yourself.

If you're thinking of switching to injections, here's a bit of my advice:

keep as many oral/sublingual pills on hand as you can anyways. These will be helpful if you feel your injections aren't carrying you emotionally for the entire interval, or if you don't have an environment where you can inject regularly

If you have a provider, they should provide a nurse tutorial and consultation for you to inject properly. If they don't, try to insist on one. They'll give better advice than I can.

think less, do more. Ideally, the actual moment of the stab should be painless. Be quick and steady about it. The fluid entering feels like pressure and slight burning, but nothing more than that.

vary your injection sites. A doctor or nurse should explain this to you, but this reduces risk of doing what I did and bruising yourself.

be extremely sterile about things. All of the wiping down and sterile technique you'll hear? Don't fuck around with it. Infection is no joke, and absolutely can happen.

Purchase spare needles and syringes from a pharmacist or online. Several reasons for this- one, if you make a mistake and a needle is no longer sterile, you don't want to hesitate about throwing it away. And two... well, let's make a second point about this.

If you want to stock up on estradiol for the future (if you're worried about future access to HRT), this can be easier with injections- but you have to be careful, and you'll need extra needles (for the love of fuck, do not reuse needles). Vials will always have excess medication, because it allows standard volumes to fill and distribute, and it also ensures that needle draws will always be able to be fully submerged. Do NOT try to run your vial out. You WILL run into sterility and contamination issues. That said, vial expiration dates are typically measured from time of first puncture. This will vary, but for me, I was told that the vials are good for 4 weeks after the first puncture. This is overcautious, but not egregiously so. My recommendation would be to use each vial for 1-2 extra punctures, and open the next vial a bit later. Still get prescription refills as frequently as you can. That way, you can stock up on unpucntured vials in case anything happens to your supply. THIS SAID- if you notice ANYTHING wrong with the vial- if the seal isn't containing the fluid properly, if bits of the seal are falling into the medication, if you can see a noticable hole in the seal, DO NOT USE THAT VIAL. Look me in the fucking eye. Do. Fucking. NOT. get sepsis. Do not fuck around with this. The flexibility to be cautious about your vials is a great reason to stock up on a bit extra in the first place.

To anyone in the US, if you're comfortable with doing this to stock up, I would highly, HIGHLY recommend starting this now. Slowly start using your vials for 1-2 punctures extra, stock up unbroken vials. Just in case something bad happens after the elections.

Typically, your medication will come with two sizes of needles- a draw needle (puncture the seal and draw medication into the syringe) and an injection needle. You might want to consider going *slightly* smaller on one or both of those needles. Estradiol is dissolved in a viscous oil as medication, and can be difficult to draw and dispense as a result. But, if you're patient, a smaller gauge might help. For the draw needle, it can help do less damage to the seal and preserve it a bit longer. For the injection needle, if you have a bit more sensitive skin, it might be comforting. Don't deviate too much, though, ESPECIALLY without a medical professional involved.

Remember that I'm not a medical professional, please consult one whenever possible.

I'm still on spiro for now, and I'm continuing it until my next levels check comes back clean. I don't want to erase months of progress getting my levels up by dropping it too early.

Measurement-wise, there hasn't been much change. But I'm starting to realize that the measurements aren't really telling the full story. My breasts look so much larger and, for lack of a better word, breast-like than they did even a couple months ago, but that hasn't been coming through in the measurements very well. I think what's happening is that my fat around my sides is shrinking at the same time my breasts are growing. This is reflected a bit in terms of underbust and waist measurements, but it still seems more dramatic than those are letting on.

Face wise, I think I'm really seeing some changes now. It's hard to put into words, but I'm starting to look more and more androgynous or femme by default, especially if I shave. I'm estatic, honestly, and I hope the trend continues. My chin and nose continue to be problems, but as the structure of the face around them changes, that's becoming less and less true.

I've been getting laser, but so far it's done pretty much nothing. There's lag time, and some of my health issues meant that I had to delay a session and get both sessions at a much lower power than I would've like. I was really hoping to have visible hair removal by June or so, but it looks like that's not happening. That kinda stings, and is a huge blow to my ability to pass by the one-year mark, which has been my target.

I think my boymoding has been holding, for the most part, although its been harder. Even with my sports bras, small bumps are visible under a t shirt, and the face changes won't be unnoticable forever. I've def been more loudly bisexual, and I think most people just write it off as me being fruity. Cis people can also be pretty oblivious, especially when changes are gradual. That being said, I've been coming out slowly to people, giving my usual speech of "I'm still presenting as a man for now, but just so you know this is what's going on", which removes a lot of the pressure and anxiety from boymoding. Still, I haven't told everyone (notably, labmates and family), and my timeline of social transition between June and August seems to be holding steady.

So uh, yeah. If you're curious about anything specifically, I'm an open book, although I may move it to DMs if it gets too personal. Hope that my progress updates are helpful to at least someone!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

this was a lil while ago but it's been on my mind and it was rejected by actual Reddit for containing references to violence lol so it's c&p from back when this happened w a minor update but AITA for saying I'd curbstomp someone for saying the N word??

I, (27NB) attended a murder mystery birthday party back in May for a friend Annie (25F) with our mutual friends (24-28 various genders) (There was 7 of us total). We all had a pretty good time despite a lack of planning for the party and general weird vibes (Annie had been upset all day at something their partner, Sean had done).

Towards the end of the night, myself and a friend we're discussing anagrams, I believe specifically for the word "ginger", I was very drunk and did not hear the letters being spelt properly so I guessed the word was "Rigger". The other party goers conversations were coming to a natural end so they joined in mine and my friend's convo. Upon hearing me say "rigger" and pulling a face when I realised what exacty the bad word was my friend was referencing was, Sean then said "Oh it's (n word)!". Another friend, Betty did not hear what they said and asked them to repeat in, which they did loudly. The whole party stopped for a moment. At this point I think I fucked up because I was immediately shocked and said "You can't say that!" and then they said "what, (n word)?" and repeated it another time. I made a comment saying I believed the only person in the friend group to be racist was Dan. I've since privately apologised to Dan for this comment as I don't think Dan is racist at all, and Dan has accepted that apology.

Pretty much immediately after that everyone started making plans to leave, within five minutes cabs were called. Everyone left the room leaving me and Sean alone. I think this is also where I fucked up, I approached them and said they cannot say that word, it's not theirs to say etc, in which they just kept repeating "I'll use that word if I want to". (edit from months later: apparently Betty's boyfriend was in the room and didnt like do anything and just watched this play out). At this point I was pretty much blackout drunk and threatened to curb stomp them if they carried on. Betty came in and diffused the situation and took me home. Betty says myself and Sean were stood very close to each other but I was visibly drunk and stumbling and clearly was in no shape to carry through with the threat (Sean is also significantly larger than me in height and weight so I don't think even sober I would be able to land a punch, not that I want to).

Betty filled me in on a lot of these details the day after as I didn't remember a lot but apparently afterwards I tried to be extremely friendly to Sean and sort out plans for us to hangout this week, something I obviously won't be following through on. (edit: we haven't spoken to each other at all since this)

I messaged Annie on the sunday to wish her a happy birthday(edit: the party took place on the Friday iirc) and she also told me what happened (she was not present for any of this as she went to bed early at the party, feeling sick) undoubtedly hearing only Sean's side of the story. Knowing it's her birthday and I didn't want to bother her with drama I just said maybe their partner shouldn't of said what they said, and she stated after having a mild go for me for threatening to curb stomp her partner that she can't weigh in. So I stopped speaking about it to her and just forwarded her some videos I took from that night (silly videos, one of her blowing out her birthday candles, etc) and she replied saying thanks.

I've messaged Sean saying we need to talk about what happened and basically said while I'm sorry for it happening in their house during Annie's birthday party, I'm not sorry for calling out thag disgusting behaviour. Betty and another friend, Jack have both said I was well within my right to kick off like that, and that I was clearly not going to follow through with any threats, and Sean was wrong to not only say the words multiple times but then to double down when called out both in front of everyone and privately. But i have doubts since it was a birthday party and perhaps saying I'd curb stomp them is a bit much. I don't recall myself being particularly angry while shouting at them but they've said they definitely felt threatened by me and put off on talking to me.

I also find it odd they feel so threatened by me/find this behaviour of mine odd as I have reacted a similar way (less aggressive) when Annie was also racist in front of me, Betty and Sean. I've also spent the last two weeks meeting with Sean, bankrolling and planning this birthday party with absolutely no issue (i don't think a birthday person should plan/pay for their own party and Sean is unemployed) and we've had fun! We joked around a lot and I feel like I'm pretty open about being too weak to throw a punch but always ready to fight (like a chihuahua). I even came over early to help set up for the party, because I liked spending time with them. So for them to feel threatened by me is such an odd feeling. I also feel uncomfortable in the fact that Annie and Sean feel comfortable saying slurs in front of me. The whole friend group feels weird about this situation, no one really knows what to say.

(edit: ok this is where the original post ended but there's still some drama) so the day after I called Sean(with consent, to talk) but Anne picked up and said she would speak on Sean's behalf and I was on speakerphone. He did not apologise (neither did Anne) and Anne defended his behaviour pretty heavily. her/both of their's resolution was for Sean to just not say the N word around me. I obviously said that's still incredibly fucking racist and I don't want to be friends with racists? I cut them off after the phone call and said I'd like the money back I spent on the party from Sean. Anne ended up paying it back two months later when I politely brought it up at another friend's birthday.

Betty and her boyfriend still hang out with Sean and Anne and seem to be pretty good friends with them. Betty mentions Anne to me fairly often and all I say is why are you friends with a racist and then she goes quiet. Everyone still maintains I'm the asshole that ruined the friend group and I still feel pretty insecure about what happened. I don't think I should've threatened violence but they all say "chat shit get hit". so idk. AITA? sorry for how long this is lmao

What are these acronyms?

[thedisablednaturalist]

Tw for weight loss mention

The whole exercise will cure your disability thing is a fucking joke. Yes exercise is beneficial for your health, but only if you aren't already on shaky foundations. You need to be on a treatment plan that WORKS before going into the maintenance phase. You wouldn't do regular maintenance on a broken item, you'd work on getting it up and running first. And maybe it would even need specialized maintenance afterwards if it's especially fragile.

I have fibromyalgia and acute degenerative disc disease. My immune system attacks my nerves and discs in my spine are slowly calcifying and causing the bones to constrict and damage my nerves (i think thats how it works). I have days where it feels like my body is on fire from nerve pain and days where it feels like my spine is about to rip from my back. And days where I have both (like today!). I get numbness in my hands and feet. I have horrible migraines. I can no longer walk unaided more than maybe 5 minutes without severe pain. I have something wrong with my knees and hips but the doctors don't know what yet.

You'd think I live an obviously seditary lifestyle correct?

Hell no.

I walk aided on average 6 miles a day over difficult terrain OUTSIDE of regular activity almost everyday. My legs are muscular and strong. I get my heart rate up and a good sweat, like all the gym rats swear on. I am often doing physical labor such as weeding, digging, sample collecting, pruning trees etc.

I'm not saying this to make other disabled people feel bad or prove that they can do anything if they just tried harder. This is an extremely painful lifestyle I've chosen that takes a lot of lifestyle management AND BOUNDARIES to keep up with the work. I also have an extremely forgiving boss who is also physically disabled and knows what I'm going through (deciding between your passion and your health and having to do so each and every day) No one should ever be expected to do what I do. I'm not even sure if I should be doing this myself.

This is to prove that exercise? Has not cured me. My muscles are strong but still hurt as if they're broken and I have to take more breaks than my coworker. I am constantly getting out of breath and I flare up regularly if I'm not careful. I am in excellent physical condition outside of my disabilities. I go to different doctors several times a month to get checked out.

I previously went through a diet program and lost a lot of weight (basically starving myself and got off my depression meds which cause weight gain but are also the only ones that work) and guess what? That didn't do shit either!!! I still felt horrible!!! I've since gained back the weight anyway after switching to focusing on adding more nutrient dense foods than taking stuff away from my diet (also muscle weighs more than fat, and fat helps cushion my aching joints and spine).

The muscle doesn't do shit for my disabilities outside of maybe some stability. Exercising everyday doesn't make the pain go away. Without my medications and aids and nutrition plans and steroid injections and spinal adjustments and physical therapy (that takes my fibro and spine into account) and alternative work methods I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO DO WHAT I DO. Exercise alone is like trying to make a car run with no oil. Yes it'll go but it'll get more and more damaged till it can't and will need its entire engine replaced!

And yet I see new doctors and they look at me and the first thing out of their mouths is do I exercise? I should try doing a little every day :) and then i fucking blow their minds when I tell them about my job. No longer can they use that fucking cop out on me. I've been through this rodeo. Ive tried their suggestions. If you are in pain and nothing is helping? Exercise ain't going to do SHIT. You need to get to a point where you can move without severe pain first (if that's even possible). Then and only then should you consider implementing regular exercise if you can. Also weight loss talk is a red flag and a cop out. They made me lose 50+ lbs before they would look into the reasons behind my pain. Weight loss did nothing for me and exacerbated my pain.

I am living proof that all that shit is a lie and a cop out. That is the point of this post. I cannot believe people with serious medical conditions are being forced to put their bodies through extreme duress just to be believed. You are not disabled because of laziness or because you sit a lot. Plenty of people live seditary lifestyles and do not live in constant excruciating pain (they may develop disabilities later in life due to this however, and should be doing preventative exercises to maintain their health)

Please, share my story with doctors. Use me as an example. I am proof that "exercise first treat later" does not work. I should not have had to wait years to have my pain validated. I'd rather hundreds of fakers get (what? A blood test? An MRI?) than one chronically ill person get told to try yoga and go away by a doctor.

[silentglassbreak]

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing

Epilogue

All I wanted, so desperately, was to keep napping. The temperature in the room was perfect, the blankets were soft, Angel was lightly snoring behind me, creating the perfect white noise. It was one of the rarest occasions that I was actually comfortable enough to sleep.

That is, until the loud voices drifted up the staircase.

“It doesn’t need to be this complicated Noah!”

“Yes, Laura, I agree!”

“She said she wanted a neutral color, nothing feminine.”

“How is pastel green not neutral!?”

“It’s pastel!”

“Jesus, fuck, dude! It’s better than fucking grey!”

“Grey is the actual definition of neutral! With green accents, it’s the perfect color palette! You should know, you named a song after it!

“Oh my fucking God, it’s ugly!”

“I really liked the forest green, myself.”

“Stay out of this, Nick!”

And that was it. I was now trying my damndest to sit up, my legs sliding off the side of the bed. I stood up, my large belly weighing heavy on my spine, and stomped down the hall, to the staircase.

Holding the railing, I trotted down the stairs, rage filling my eyes. Those bastards were keeping me from my much-needed nap.

I walked into the kitchen, the dining room table scattered with paint swatch cards. Noah stood on one end, leaning with his knuckles down on the table. Laura stood on the other, hip jutting out, hands in the air.

“Dude, the baby is due in less than two weeks! Just listen to me on this!” Laura was holding up a swatch of several shades of grey.

“No! My daughter is not getting a prison-colored room!”

“It will have accents!”

“Enough!” My voice rang throughout the room, making them both whip their heads over to look at me.

Nick was sat helplessly at the table between them, looking absolutely terrified to see me. I didn’t blame him, I was one cranky pregnant bitch.

“Babe! I’m so fucking sorry, did we wake you?” Noah was walking over to me, but I held a hand up to him. He stopped dead in his tracks, having learned over the last eight and a half months not to test me.

I stepped slowly to the table, all three sets of eyes watching me.

I approached the cards, scanning the wide array of colors. After a quick survey, I held my hand out for the card in Nick’s hand; three shades of forest green. He handed it to me obediently.

I snatched the sharpie off of the table, and scratched a small checkmark on the middle shade, labeled ‘Pine’, and slapped both down on the table.

“Now, I am going back upstairs to try and salvage what is left of my nap.” My teeth were grit together tightly. “I had better not hear either of you bitching down here, or so help me I will make you understand the miracle of childbirth personally!” I pointed back and forth between both of them. Laura and Noah looked absolutely horrified.

“Am I clear?”

They both just nodded silently, and I turned around, making my way back toward the stairs.

“I told you grey was a bad idea.” I could hear Noah bragging.

“Yeah? Well so was pastel, so shut the fuck up.”

“I’ll go get the paint. We should only need like 2 gallons, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll ride with you.”

I heard the boys headed for the front door, as I was already walking up the staircase.

Once I landed on the top step, putting my weight onto my foot before stepping into the upstairs hallway, a sudden, warm, gushing liquid came flooding out of me, running through my underwear and down my legs.

I stopped, looking down to see the clear liquid pouring out, and I nearly toppled over at the sight.

“Noah!”

I heard his footsteps running on the wood, and he appeared at the staircase in a flash, booking up to me.

“What happened?” He grabbed my hand that wasn’t secured to the railing. He looked down, seeing what I was seeing. “Is that…?”

“My water is broken.”

He looked into my eyes, sheer terror and panic filling his.

“Oh fuck…”

-

Surreal is the only way to describe seeing my daughter. The feeling is indescribable, laying eyes on your own child for the first time. Noah stood next to the bed, staring at the tiny bundle, which looked comically tiny in his giant arms. Tears rolled freely down his face, his smile big enough to light up an entire major metropolitan area. His voice was so soft when he spoke to her, it was almost hard to hear.

"Hi there. It's so good to finally meet you." Her little sounds were making him bounce her gently. "Yeah, I know. Rough day."

I chuckled, laying my head back on the pillow.

"We're so happy you're here, baby girl. Your Mom and I have been waiting a long time to meet you." He ran one of his long fingers down her pink, perfect face. "You're getting anything you'll ever want, you just ask Daddy."

"Hey now, let's not start spoiling her before she even gets old enough to ask for stuff."

"Mm, too bad." He didn't look at me, he just stroked the soft black hairs below the beanie on her head.

Noah handed her back to me gently, and I eagerly took her in my arms. She made a soft cooing noise before her face began contorting into a cry.

"Oh, it's okay. I've got you." I bounced her in my arms lightly.

"She's probably hungry, Mama." The nurse was pulling a blood pressure cuff off of me. "We're about to move you to your new room. Want to let Dad hold her for a second while I get you into a wheelchair?"

I nodded, regrettably handing her back to Noah. The nurse pulled my blankets off, and helped me sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Think you can stand?"

I nodded, attempting to put weight on my shaky legs. The lack of drugs had my abdomen throbbing, and I gripped the nurse's arms for support. She helped lower me into the wheelchair, replacing a blanket over my lap.

Noah pushed my wheelchair down the hallway while the nurse led us with the bassinet. Once in the room, I was once again helped into bed, this time with Noah's assistance. I winced when I leaned back, feeling the exhaustion of the trauma my body had just gone through.

"Okay, do either of you need anything?" We both looked at her, Noah now holding the baby again, and shook our heads. "Okay, I'll let you guys have some time. Dad, that chair behind you folds out into a bed and there are blankets in the cupboard."

She turned her attention back to me. "I'll be back in about an hour to do a quick exam, and do the baby's first bath."

She left the room, a calm silence falling over us. Only moments later, small cries began coming from the blanket in his arms.

"Okay, I think it's time to eat." He walked over to me, lowering her into my arms.

I popped open the front of my gown, frowning at Noah. "I haven't started making milk yet."

"Remember they said that in the beginning she eats very little? And if we need help to call them? We got this."

Her face nuzzled into my chest, mouth open. I led her to my breast, her mouth latching like a suction cup. The sensation startled me.

"Woah! She definitely knows what to do."

Noah smiled proudly. "She's a smart girl, gets it from her Daddy."

I scowled at him, a smirk on my face. I looked back down at the baby, watching her eyes close slowly.

"For someone whose been relaxing in my belly for thirty-eight weeks, she sure is sleepy."

Noah was looking at the chair now, attempting to transform it into the bed he was promised.

"Well, she had a big day. I mean, how often do you get evicted from a nice warm house, and everyone's grabbing you and looking at you? She's exhausted."

My head leaned back, feeling the weight of the day pressing on me. The clock on the wall read 2:30AM.

"I get that."

Finally getting the 'bed' put together, Noah sat down heavily and sighed hard. "How you feeling, love?"

I shrugged. "As good as I can. Really sore." He nodded. "Really gross too. Like, I would kill for a shower."

"Well, the nurse said earlier that you can shower four hours after. That's at about 3:15." He laid back on the bed, looking over at me. "I brought swim trunks so I can get in with you, and help you."

The look on his face was painted with a mix of fatigue, wonder, and love. He looked happy, regardless of the lack of sleep.

I felt the baby's mouth pull off of me, and I looked down to see her eyes closed and mouth open slightly. I pulled the blanket a little tighter around her, and shifted my gown to cover my chest.

"She's asleep?" I looked at Noah, smiling. "Yeah, nice and cozy."

"You want me to take her?"

I shook my head. "I can't stop looking at her."

"You think she looks like me?"

I peered down at my daughter, scanning her features. "It's a little early to tell, but I think she has your eyes."

He flashed his teeth in response.

The door opened, and the nurse stepped in, glancing at us.

"Hey guys, I've got to take a look at Mileena, and then I'll take the little lady for her bath."

Noah got up, coming over to take the baby from me. His eyes were locked on her face, which made me more comfortable when the nurse pulled open the blanket and checked to see if I was still bleeding.

"Alright Mama, you look good. You should be okay to shower here in a bit." She looked at Noah, snapping her gloves off. "Okay Dad, let's get the baby laid in the carrier."

"Can I go with her?" Noah's eyes showed concern. The thought of her not being in our line of sight must've scared him as much as it did me.

"Of course. Just follow me, we're going down the hall."

Noah set the baby down and walked back over to me to leave a soft kiss on my lips. "I'll be right back, babe. You going to be okay?"

I slumped down into my bed and nodded.

"Oh, I needed to ask, do we have a name yet? We need something to put on the bassinet card."

Noah and I looked to each other.

"Like we discussed?" I asked him.

"I think so. That fits her."

I smiled at the nurse, who was holding a pen to the chart in front of her.

"Addison."

She raised an eyebrow. "Full name?"

Noah answered for me.

"Addison Jane Sebastian."

[littlebearbigchub]

Update August 2024:

Today I did 5 pull ups in a row. This is the most consecutive that I’ve done in probably a year.

I also got on the scale dehydrated and post poop this morning and weighed 144.4 lbs.

These are not coincidental events. In my past few years of gaining I have been humiliated repeatedly by getting too fat to lift myself and being unable to gain the strength to compensate.

The worst part is that I haven’t even been trying to cut. About 6 weeks ago I was just happened to be talking to a personal trainer in a civilian context and he explained to me how I’ve been consuming protein crucially inefficiently for a bulk.

I feel so fucking stupid. For YEARS, I’ve been eating meals that were protein bombs thinking I could get through my macros to pig out how I wanted the rest of the day. One simple change and I reconstitute >4 lbs in a month.

If anything I think I’m eating more but the fat around my organs has definitely decreased which is extremely reliving since visceral fat is so dangerous.

Even last year I would probably have embraced this weight loss as relieving but after several years of gaining I’m no longer willing to give up the (subcutaneous) fat I’ve accumulated. Every pound is so erotic and I’m finally feeling ready to incorporate my weight and fetish into my romantic relationships.

For now I’m just trying to make a point to eat extra treats and such but I’m hopeful that despite some weight loss this change will eventually enable me to gain the strength necessary to lift myself through my upcoming weight goals.

I’m so satisfied with what this process of fattening has done to my body. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to humiliate myself with my fat everyday for the rest of my life.

[nurgletwh]

Update part two (this is the rest of it, there isn’t any more… at the moment O.o).

February 2024

It took all of two days for my BP to return to my ‘normal’ (the value I expected and where it’s been for a few years now).

It took over a week for me to feel mostly better, and two to approach feeling normal.

Chug away through the rest of the month, but I’m not energetic at all.

March 2024

Nothing super-exciting, although I slowly but surely feel more and more drained—almost exactly the way I felt when I went in because my blood sugar was high. Which was very confusing, because it was great.

Late March-April 2024

I felt awful again. I could barely get the energy up to do anything, and I was back to sleeping all the time. 14-16 hours per day on the weekend, falling asleep in my chair when I got home from work, waking up enough to crawl into bed and go right back to sleep for the night. Which also adds up to 14-16 hours per day.

Warning: diet talk

———

Remember how I started Ozempic? It does weird things to how I perceive hunger. Add that to how well I remember to eat and…

At some point I realized that in the last three days the only things I’d eaten each day were a couple of pieces of toast w/peanut butter for breakfast, nibbled on jerky for lunch, and maybe ate some more toast for dinner.

Thinking back further, I couldn’t figure out a recent time frame where I had done better than that. I had weighed myself in early February, and remembered wondering if dropping 25lbs. (11.3kg) in eight weeks was a good idea.

Shit.

(FYI: no*, it isn’t.)

So I got my exhausted ass out of the house and grabbed a case of Ensure, multivitamins, and other snacky crap I knew I’d eat. My goal was to get things back together enough to get the energy to start fixing my diet, nothing more. I knew aiming higher wouldn’t work until after I could do something besides work and nap.

(*Experts recommend an initial weight-loss goal of 5% to 10% of your starting weight within 6 months. For me, it should have taken nearly seven months to hit that 10%. Granted, these rates are for ‘unassisted’ dieting.)

———

It took all of three days for me to feel significantly better. Not great, but better. I still didn’t have much energy, but my sleeping patterns altered drastically. I was still napping after work, but I would wake up two hours later and accomplish something before going to bed. I didn’t accomplish much, but it was more than sleeping and more sleeping.

Things slowly got better, but again, getting to “ok” was faster than getting back to “normal.”

I know I dropped off the face of the earth, but it felt like every time I announced that things went wonky but I was feeling better now and put out a few chapters, things would blow up again. I wanted to make sure things were better this time.

Which was a poor choice; I should at least have posted something that said I was fucked up but working on it. I apologize for that lack of communication, although things did blow up again…

April 26, 2024

TORNADO.

A FUCKING TORNADO WENT RIGHT THROUGH OUR WORKSITE.

FUCK FUCK FUCKITY FUCK!!!

I know I posted about it. It wasn’t very strong (HA!) by the time it came over the hill and destroyed the house at the top of it, merely (MERELY!!) tossing over a few rail cars and flipping a few semi-trailers.

We got lucky. This very same tornado absolutely wrecked Elkhorn (west of Omaha, NE).

I’ve stated I live and work in the Omaha area, so I’m not too worried about posting this, but here is an overlay of that tornado’s path on top of Apple Maps with my little blue dot while sitting at my desk.

May 2024

Most of May went fairly smoothly. I even got a little writing done!

Unfortunately, I had fallen so far behind on projects at work during all of the above that I was now trying to get caught up. Said project was over four months late at this point. I was working a bit late (not crazy-late, but about an extra hour most days) while still drained, so I didn’t have a whole lot of extra mental energy for writing.

I was, however, finally back to plotting and planning! Yay! Progress!

Until… (is anyone shocked at this point?)

The Friday before Memorial Day I felt a bit drained.

I woke up Saturday with a headache, feeling achy and sore. It didn’t get better, so I took my temperature around noon. 100.1ºF.

Wonderful.

I took a Covid test (that’s my default action to feeling crappy now), but it came back negative. Note that I wasn’t coughing, and I didn’t feel particularly short of breath or anything.

Nothing improved over Sunday, but it didn’t change much, either.

Same for Monday (Memorial Day). But this now made three days with a fever (also three consecutive negative Covid tests).

I agreed to @grumpyoldsnake’s and their friend’s demands to get my ass to a doctor the next day if I still had the fever, although I really wasn’t feeling too bad other than achy. Note: still no coughing (I promise this is important).

I woke up in the middle of the night when I heard something that sounded like a goddamn goose in my bedroom.

Have you ever woken yourself up by making some weird-ass noise that you then can’t duplicate? Even though you know you made it?

I was able to duplicate it. Without much issue. It fell under “well, that’s odd,” and I went back to sleep.

A bit later I woke up to a different weird noise, but I was sidetracked by what I heard and felt after I coughed a few times. My chest was making a sound like a freshly opened pop can. When my mouth was open, it was even worse. I could feel it bubbling away (it didn’t hurt).

Fuck.

Guess what?

PNEMONIA!!

Fuck my life.

Prior to Friday, I hadn’t been sick. They tested me for the flu; that was negative.

Pneumonia is almost always a secondary infection, not primary. You have a cold, or Covid, or bronchitis, and it turns into pneumonia when bacteria settle into your irritated bronchi.

Me, on the other hand…

I never really coughed all that much. Reviewing the blood oxygen data from my Apple Watch, I could peg when the infection started really kicking in, although it looks like something started about a week prior to that (when I did a round-trip plane trip, spending five or six hours on a plane and in an airport two days in a row…).

It took a week to get to a place where my breathing to start feeling easier, nearly two before the oxygen levels started crawling back up.

I did start coughing.

And coughing up… liquid. It was the weirdest sensation. I’d cough, and end up with a mouthful of what felt like slightly thick water. It didn’t really taste, and was nearly colorless.

I coughed that shit up for nearly three days.

I never coughed up the stuff that had any sort of color, although it did get thicker and more ‘traditional’ for stuff you cough up when you get sick. Which puts to lie that you can tell you have a chest infection by the color of the crud you cough up. :-/

It took another nearly two weeks after finishing the ten days of antibiotics to feel like my breathing was normal. The first day back to work was one hell of a reality check, though. I hadn’t been moving around much, and I knew I was short of breath, but I made it all of fifty feet from my car, then about ⅓ of the way up the stairs to my office before I had to stop. I couldn’t catch my breath and was dizzy.

That was the first time I thought, “that could have killed me.”

Not walking up the stairs, but what led to me standing on the stairs, gasping like a landed fish.

It was emphatically hammered home when I made a joking comment to a coworker that it thankfully wasn’t that bad.

Her response?

“Oh, no. Your x-ray was bad.”

>.<

I’ve been getting better. My nutrition went sideways again due to being utterly distracted, but I think that is fairly understandable. :-P

I refuse to say “I’m doing fine now!!”

Fate doesn’t need the temptation.

I hope to get back to writing. I hope even more that I can tackle the monster my inbox has become (both at AO3 and my personal email, which has been just as neglected).

Take care, everyone. Stay healthy.

[perpetuelledaydreaming]

Ivy | chapter fourteenth

listen to: Right Where You Left Me- Taylor Swift (playlist here)

warning: infidelity. violence. blood. for this chapter is mostly grief.

word count: 2.1k

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fii!!

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows over your batter body. The blood on your hands had dried by now, as well as the tears in your eyes as you drove through the narrow grey road. With no helmet on, you finally feel like you can breathe as your mind plays over and over again a collection of the last twenty-four hours. 

Rooster’s bloody lip, Jake’s blood on his face. The way they looked at you and everyone looked at you as you exited the base with blood dripping from your body. How you’d brushed off Jake as he tried to talk to you after the exercise, how you’d undressed willingly to Bradley, how you didn’t tell him you were his. Jake’s face when Bradley told him you’d slept together, Bradley’s face as Jake told him you’d been together for five months. 

You barely realize you need to stop before you go farther than you intend to. You hear the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Summer was slowly slipping away; it ended for you when Jake and you had broken things off, though. Your heart weighs heavy as you walk on the grass; a part of you wants to keep pulling away from this. 

You hadn’t been there in a while. 

You’d visited only once since you’d come back. 

“Hey, Dad,” you start softly, your voice quivering. Kneeling, you brush away the fallen leaves, clearing a space to sit beside the cold stone. You trace your fingers over the engraved name, the memories of him flooding back. 

Thomas ‘Iceman’ Kazansky 

1959-2022

You wonder what you can say; your heart feels so heavy as you watch the tombstone. A constant ache that you had never indeed addressed. 

“I really wish you were here right now,” Tears well up in your eyes as you continue. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I feel like I’m messing everything up,” 

You pause for a moment, watching his name expectantly. I wish you could feel him, hoping he could send you a sign. You need him here, you’ve fucked up everything, and now you’re entirely alone. You’re alone because he left you so, so soon. He isn’t there. He will never be able to make it right. You broke everything, and there’s no way to make it right. 

Suddenly, grief overwhelms you. Your shoulders shake with the weight of your emotions, and your tears fall freely, splashing onto the grass beneath you. 

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” you admit through your sobs. “I’m angry at myself for letting it get this bad, I’m angry at you for never allowing me to look beyond what you wanted, I’m angry for,” you stop yourself. It is useless to blame anyone but yourself; it is your fault. Silence lingers for a second. “I should’ve been happy with just Rooster, right?”

You stare at the stone as you bite your inner cheek. 

“Right?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. Deep down, you know it can’t be the truth; you’re lying to yourself and him. It can’t be true because you know that being as happy as you were with Jake meant that it wasn’t a mistake. 

“I don’t know how to make it better, and now we will go to a death trap together, and,” you take a sigh, attempting to calm down the way your chest aches. “If I choose one, I lose the other,”

Defeated, you sit next to the stone, your back to one of the sides while you try to stop crying. The lump in your throat doesn’t surrender until a while has gone by. The memories of Ice flood back, a bittersweet montage of all the lessons he taught you, the compilation of them in your mind. To find clarity, you go back to those moments. You go back to what you learned, hoping to find an answer. 

Tears well up in your eyes as you recall Ice’s voice. A lesson you learned when you started to fly with him, you can feel him. In one of those times, he let you take control of the flight when you were barely a teenager, one of those airplanes he’d gotten just to teach his kids, which mostly ended up being just you. 

“Don’t let anything get in between you’re flying,” he’d told you during that sunset after you’d made a wrong turn. “Nothing gets between you and this plane. No fear, no tears, no one, and nothing. You and your wingman have to get home safe before and above anything,” 

When you open your eyes, leaning drowsily back against the stone even further. You can finally breathe as you make your decision. You want it to stop; you want to put a pause on your life, on the decision, and you are hurting—they're hurting. You want to save their lives and know you’ll put them in more danger if you don’t stop.  

“Dad,” you murmur as you turn to the rock, secretly hoping to see him beside you. “I wish you were here,”

You can feel him; you can imagine him nodding in understanding; you wipe away the few tears in your cheeks before standing from the grave. 

You don’t arrive at your house until the twilight of the day casts a warm, golden glow that bathes your body in a soft, ethereal light. That is how Jake’s eyes fall on you; you seem so small. You have looked like that for Jake since this morning. The first time Jake had seen you like that was after you’d told him about kissing Rooster, then when he’d broken up with you. Before, it wasn’t feasible for Jake to see you in another light that wasn’t strong and decided, confident in yourself. 

You curated yourself so well in front of everyone before, he’d come to realize. No one is close enough ever to see the cracks. He wondered as your eyes fell on him if it was indeed a privilege to see you this torn apart. It didn’t feel like it, not when he could see your swollen nose and the dried blood on your body, eyes bloodshot from crying so much; he knew it well. It felt like even less when your eyes darted to the other side of the door, where Bradley was standing. 

They’d managed to get themselves to the nursery before they continued to tear themselves apart. Still, while Bradley was getting the stitches to his busted lip and Jake was getting checked to see if his nose was not effectively broken, they were biting each other’s heads off with insults and allegations. 

It wasn’t Jake’s proudest moment; the regret of letting you go alone in such a state was also eating him alive. 

At least until now, you don’t seem as broken anymore. 

Bradley notices it first, though. Perhaps because he has known you since he could remember, maybe it is because he also knew his uncle Ice like the back of his hands, he is not quite sure. But he is confident that, for him, it is pretty obvious that you’ve made a decision. 

You know he’s aware of it too, the way the corner of his eyes wrinkles, even with all the bruising, you can see it too. His face was etched with concern and anticipation, then something worse, fear. Jake’s anxiety doesn’t scale up until you speak. 

“Will you come inside?” 

The words come from you reasonably soft, but they pick it up immediately. The determination is unwavering. You are resolved. Neither Jake nor Bradley, who’d been pushing for an answer in the morning, were ready for you to have decided it that fast. The tension in the air is palpable as you open the doorstep into the room. The sun’s dying rays paint long shadows on the floor. 

Jake and Bradley suddenly are apprehensive about entering the place. Holding out at the other side of the threshold as you take off your shoes and look for clothes, you cringe as you watch your jacket and shoes from the day before on the misarranged couch. Quickly, you rearrange everything as well as you can while waiting for them to come in. You hope Jake doesn’t notice, but he does. 

He can’t stop following you with his gaze. 

“Aren’t you going to come in?” You ask them without looking, effectively avoiding Jake’s unwavering gaze. 

Bradley’s frustration is suddenly palpable as he watches how nonchalant you’ve turned after all this. “You’ve chosen,” he says as he enters the room. 

It is strange how much can change in 24 hours. Yesterday, barely at the same time, he thought he was getting you back. Now, nothing can be farther from the truth. 

“I have,”

Jake clenches his jaw as he expectantly waits for you to say Bradley’s name. He wouldn’t be surprised. He knows he was never the good guy; he knows he has played dirty before, trying to force you to decide. He isn’t the good guy you would’ve wanted. For a second, he lets himself think that he might be able to be happy for you and him. 

“I’m not choosing either of you,”

“You’re joking, right?”

“I���m not,” you state firmly. Bradley’s frustration is evident, but you press on, your gaze steady as you continue. “I’ve thought about this long and hard, and I refuse to let my emotions control my decisions. It’s not fair to any of us, and it’s time to put an end to this,”

Bradley’s voice takes on a skeptical tone. “How are you putting an end if you are not making a choice?” he scoffs. 

Your eyes dart to him, the tan skin and his caramel hair. You know him so well that you can trace the wrinkles in his forehead by memory now that he’s frowning. It seems unfair to him; how could it not? He had you this morning, in a bed, in his arms. An illusion. 

“We are going to get ourselves killed if we continue down this path,” you answer back firmly, your chest heavy as you watch Jake and then Bradley. “Nothing is more important than trusting each other, and we have less than a month to do so.”

Bradley persists, his frustration simmering. “You’re using the mission as—”

“—an excuse,” Jake’s voice suddenly interjects firmly. You snap your head towards him as you watch him softly. There’s nothing in those sea-foam eyes that can tell you what he’s thinking. 

You counter, “It isn’t an excuse. I’m doing what’s best for the sake of your well-being, for our well-being, for the team. I am not choosing either, and that’s my decision.”

Bradley’s brows furrow. “You’ll have to pick a wingman.”

You bite your inner cheek as you lean against the marble table where Jake and you’d spend so many nights together. Him cooking, you reading. Conversations always ran long. If it wasn’t conversations that ran long, it was kisses. 

“Maverick’s going to be my wingman,” you state softly, without looking at them, avoiding their reaction. 

“What?” they bark at the same time. The disbelief is palpable.

“I’ve called him. You are better off without me, and you’ve done this exercise with each other. Neither Cain nor Simpson want to see me interacting with either of you in the sky anyway,” you try to sound as reasonable as you can, but there’s no hiding that you’d also convinced Maverick of the choice. 

Bradley persists, “But we’ve been—”

“The decision was taken,” you interrupt firmly. “The mission is first, and I’m taking my emotions out of the equation, and that’s it,”

Bradley’s mouth opens for a moment and then closes. He stares at you wide-eyed, with utter shock at your words. There wasn’t a day where he wouldn’t think to fly without you before, not being your wingman but putting him together with Jake; even after everything, it feels too much like a betrayal. 

“You’re running away from them,” Jake speaks suddenly. 

Your eyes dart to him. There’s a feeling of betrayal in his words. It wasn’t a lie. Part of you knew it was the wisest decision, but it was a decision where you would’ve been let off as quickly as you could, without hurting the other one, without letting the other one go on a mission with a broken heart. You were washing your hands from this mess. 

“I’m not,” you retort. Your heart was racing, your voice suddenly turning strange and hoarse. 

The effect those sea foam eyes have on you is not fair. You feel naked now under them. You twisted yourself in so many ways for them, for them to keep looking at you like they used to. 

“And after the mission?” Bradley’s voice breaks whatever thoughts you had on Jake. 

You look down. Not wanting to answer because you wished that there wasn’t a timeline, that this could be suspended in the air, your eternal wish. 

Jake’s eyes linger with yours; he knows it already.

“She’ll have to choose after the mission,” he says softly. Already too aware of what was coming. 

“You’ll have to choose then after the mission,” Bradley agrees, lingering heat from the previous events from the night before still simmering in his chest, all that anger turning into harsher words. 

“If we don’t die first,” Jake replies. It’s barely a whisper, but all of you get it. 

If you come back. If all of you come back. That word always taunting you, now you couldn’t look at either of you anymore. 

“Let’s worry about not dying first. I want to shower now. Can you please go?” you say, avoiding their gaze. 

Jake’s the first to leave; you know his steps by now. You don’t need to see him; he doesn’t need to see you to know you’re both defeated. Bradley, though, lingers in the sun for a moment. He wants to say it almost involuntarily, always waiting for more information, always expecting you to confide in him. 

Now, you seem as cold as Ice was. 

“You know you’re making a choice here, right?” Bradley insists as he decides to leave; you raise your head to watch him. “Not choosing is a choice. Choices have consequences too, Brat.”

an: Honestly I am so thankful to anyone who is still reading this. I am so excited for the next few chapters we are only missing five and I really want to end this by the end of this month. thank you all for still keeping up with this I know I've been flaky and I am sorry! everything hasn't really been easy but your comments light up my days.

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[morally-grey-variant]

love is a dagger [loki x oc] [part three]

loki x oc

part three

[master post]

Setting: Agent Grey Forrest can’t quite reconcile her alliance with Loki. After six months of regular hand-to-hand combat and close-weapons training, they’re not quite friends but can’t exactly stay away from each other. Everything changes the day Loki accidentally stabs Grey during a training exercise.

Summary(3): Loki bares his teeth. Grey bears the weight of his guilt. Wolves are not born cruel; they lash out when danger is thrust upon them. All monsters deserve love – even if all they have known is fear. (wc 3.1k)

Warnings: Later episodes feature dark & explicit themes -- Minors DNI. Freshly stitched-up wounds, pain, implied self-harm themes (no descriptions or direct references), general angst, swearing, inferences of past trauma, non-explicit nudity (if I've missed something please let me know!)

Showering is a kind of bliss and torture in and of itself. The stitches pull as I lift my hands above my head to release my ponytail. Scrubbing shampoo into my long, dark hair means I'm forced to curl into myself and tuck my elbows into my sides. This won’t heal quickly, and I'm going to have to learn to work around it. Might as well start now.

Soap slides down my torso and over the puckered seam; I tip my head back in a silent scream, the sharp sting paralyzing my entire body. 

Some tough agent I am. 

But the scalding hot water on my scalp, scrubbing dried blood off my face and hands and everywhere, is enough to make it worth it. When I finally step out of the bathroom, a trail of lilac-scented steam in my wake, Loki is still there. Waiting for me. 

I wish I'd picked cuter pajamas. Comfort eclipsed cuteness, though, and my old gray t-shirt and loose flannel pajama pants are as much as I could manage after the painful effort of shimmying into a loose green bralette. My hair clings to the back of my tee, leaving a big wet patch.

Leaning back in my desk chair, Loki stares deeply into the middle distance. He's somewhere far away, deep in thought as he clenches the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles are white.

“That's my only chair,” I say. “If you break it, I don't think they'll give me another.” 

He eases his grip. His gaze loosens, and those green eyes drift to me, considering each piece of my pajamas. “Did you re-dress your … wound?”

I shake my head. “And I don't suppose you'd know how to wrap hair in a towel.” I sigh, sinking onto the edge of my mattress. Leaning forward, I dab my white bath towel against my dark, wavy locks in dismay. 

Towel bunched up in my lap, I close my eyes and let my head fall into my lap with a small groan. The pain is absolutely killing me now. I shouldn't have gotten the stitches wet in the shower, soap drips notwithstanding, but there's no way I could've gotten into bed without washing up first. Wiping myself down with a wet washcloth wouldn't have worked, either – too much reaching and straining. 

I focus on taking deep, calming breaths, the counselor’s words echoing in my head. Square breathing, just like music class in grade school – breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold. 

Deep breaths stretch out my ribcage. Another involuntary groan slips out. Fuck.

“Grey.”

Loki sounds closer, and I’d like to think I’d forgotten his presence in my self-indulgent suffering, but there’s no way I could ignore the way his presence fills up my tiny bedroom. I hum a noncommittal response. I want to lift my head to look at him, but my head might as well weigh a hundred pounds.

There's a tug against the towel, and Loki pulls it out of my lap. Gingerly, he drapes it over the back of my neck, letting it fall forward over my hair. He gathers it up in front, and with a subtle twist, wraps the towel around my hair and tucks it back behind my head. 

“Woah,” I laugh softly, finally letting my head lift. “How–”

One side of Loki's mouth turns up in a thin-lipped grin of acquiescence. “Thor,” he explains simply, his smirk deepening as some memory floats to the surface. “If you tell anyone, he'll have my head for it.”

I can't help but laugh. Loki is warm and familiar when he wants to be, like a reluctant housecat. I'm overcome with an urge to wrap my arms around him and drink in all that dark warmth. 

The laugh rubs my shirt against the wound, and I flinch. 

Loki's face drops. It cracks me open from the inside. 

“I'm fine, Loki,” I say, forcing myself not to curl an arm around my torso. “Really. It'll probably scar, but it's not that bad. I'm fine.”

He shoves the chair back with a flick of his wrists, suddenly towering over me. “It’s not fine.” Loki's eyes darken, his brow creasing. The chair rattles backwards on an unsteady wheel and bangs against the side of the desk. A chill sweeps over me. “Stop saying you're fine, Grey. I think you've forgotten that I stabbed you today. You're not fucking fine.”

“Don't break my fucking chair if you're having a tantrum,” I frown, though I don't bother standing. I won’t fight with him. “You didn't stab me, idiot. It was a training exercise. I didn't get out of the way fast enough. If you'd stabbed me, I'd be in a drawer underneath the hospital by now.”

His eyes flash knowingly before he whips around, practically stomping away from me. He can't go far in the tiny room, and his march to the window would almost be comical if it didn't fucking kill me to see him this upset. I wouldn't treat the god with kid gloves, though. He could handle my anger.

One arm braces above his head as he leans against the full-length window, staring out at the darkening landscape below. The half-moon reflects onto his pale, brooding face. His hood bunches up around his shoulders, pushing his dark curls forward from where he's tucked them behind his ears. He's trying to calm down, too.

“You're exactly right, you know.”

Something in his tone sends a shard of ice through my chest. He doesn't break his stare, watching the world spread below us, though I know he's not really seeing anything. 

“I'm ending your training.” He continues coldly, his voice flat and businesslike. As if he's ordering coffee. “This has gone far enough.”

“Loki–” I protest, pinching the skin on the back of my arm. “That's not fair. I have a say in this, too. I'm not going off to war. We're sparring in a padded room. No one else will train with me–”

He whips around, face contorted in horrifyingly inhuman fury. His hands ball up into fists at his sides. “Do you know the last agent I fucking stabbed, Grey?” He seethes through clenched teeth. A muscle in his jaw flexes, twitching up through his temple. “I killed Phil Coulson. Stabbed him in the fucking back.” 

His eyes glaze over, the whites now run through with pinkish-red. He spits his admission through his teeth like a snake spitting venom. The things that haunt him in the middle of the night, that he wishes he could bury deep and let them rot in his heart forever. But they forever lurk just beneath the surface. When he looks at me, he sees Coulson.

“I know, Loki. I’m not afraid of you.” 

SHIELD agents learn about Loki the moment they ask to work directly with the Avengers. We learn about all the Avengers, sure – Cap's brave sacrifice, Tony's arrogant but self-sacrificing genius, Thor's god-like might – but they’re obsessed with Loki. The training videos have something of a “keep your enemies closer” vibe that would make you think he's some bloodthirsty supervillain. Loki murdered Agent Coulson in cold blood. Loki tried to conquer Earth to spite his brother. Loki lies and cheats and stabs people in the back.

Well, he only stabbed me in the front.

“I'm not afraid of you.” My voice is even and calm. “Sit down, Loki.”

He doesn't move a muscle. If I didn't know better, I'd think he wanted to slap me. 

“Coulson's alive,” I continue, shrugging with all the nonchalance I can muster. “And you can't end our training. You don't just get to decide things for me.”

“Coulson is alive by chance,” Loki counters quickly. He's lost some of his fire, though. His muscles relax slightly, even if he's still obviously on edge. “And I do get to decide for you when you're putting yourself in danger.”

Now it's my turn to get angry. His words stoke the little ember that ceaselessly burns in my chest. I get to decide for you. 

“Why do you care if I put myself in danger?” I shout, ignoring the way my ragged heart chafes in my chest. 

“Because I care about you, you fumbling imbecile!” Loki shouts back, palms spread wide, face contorted in wretched agony. “I had to sit here and listen to your agony while you did something as simple as shower, knowing I am the cause of that pain. For weeks – likely for months – I will be forced to watch you suffer from afar because of my mistake.” The words pour out of him, uncontrolled and unfiltered. “Day after day, I'm subjected to loathsome glares and rightfully placed suspicion. I know quite well who I am, Grey. The God of Mischief; the Prince of Lies. An arbiter of human misery.

“I found the only soul whose face doesn't contort with hatred when they see me, and I sank a dagger into her chest.”

Loki's chest falls. His entire body slumps forward under the weight of his admission. He tugs his hands through his curls again, twisting away from me. “I must go,” he finishes, his words clipped. He hastens past me.

I snag the loose fabric of his sweatshirt as he tries to walk past me towards the door. “Don't you dare.”

He freezes mid-step. He obeys, though his head is still turned away from mine. My hand curls into the fabric with a tight fist; the weight of such a grip that might bring him to his knees. 

“Don't you dare, Loki,” I repeat, still looking up at him though he won't meet my gaze. “Running away won't fix this.”

His chest shudders with a ragged breath.

“You want to drown in self-pity just because you made a mistake? Learn the difference between accidents and purposeful attacks, you fumbling imbecile.” I can't help but grin a little as I echo his frustrated insult. “If you leave now, not only am I going to have to deal with this on my own, but it's going to fucking hurt when I re-wrap this stupid thing. I earned this, so I get to deal with it on my own terms.”

I earned this. I deserve this.

He finally looks down at me. Red-rimmed green eyes leak small tracks of tears down his cheeks. That shatters the cracked thing inside my chest. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and help take care of me,” I continue, clinging to his shirt and forcing my voice not to crack.

I chose to ally myself with the villain. The man – the god – no one else will even go near.

“Stark will be furious if you forgive me.” Loki smirks down at me through his tears. 

I earned this, because this is exactly what I deserve. Loki doesn’t get to decide who suffers and who grieves. He isn’t the only kicked dog here.

“Good. Maybe some disobedience will humble him.”

Loki rolls his eyes as he finally shifts, taking a step back and lowering himself to sit beside me on the edge of the mattress. “Humility is not a concept he recognizes, I'm afraid.” 

The fallout from this will cause an avalanche. I wince as a mountain of potential consequences piles up in my mind. Faces flash through my mind as I picture just a few people who will need more than a little convincing that this accident was, indeed, an accident. Natasha. Nick Fury. Tony Stark. Thor. Natasha. Agent Coulson. Cap. Natasha. But for now, there are no consequences. As long as I can keep him safe in here with me, tucked away like a secret deep in my heart, we’re a universe of two.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Loki’s voice is gentler now. He's not crying – I doubt more than a few tears actually fell to begin with – but his demeanor softens considerably, even though he still seems on edge. Loki is more than a mere secret. He’s an earth-shattering whisper passed beneath hastened breaths. Deceptively silent. Taking up far less room than he deserves.

I care about you. 

The words echo again. What exactly does that mean, though? A lingering hand on my thigh during training; his head cupping my face while the doctor stitched me up.

Loki isn't a villain.

“I’m imagining everyone I'm going to have to explain this to when I can't report for duty tomorrow,” I concede, shrugging. The small movement draws out another involuntary hiss of pain.

I deserve this.

“You didn't bandage it after your shower?” 

I shake my head. “Too much… stretching. Getting dressed was hard enough.” I deserve this.

Loki pushes himself off the mattress, reaching to grab the bandages sent home from the medical wing. “Let me help you.” 

My face goes bright red. Fuck. In my proud insistence that Loki stay to atone for his mistake, I forgot that helping me might mean… this again. I tug up the bottom hem of my t-shirt, exposing the wound to the air. Loki furrows his brow, glancing between my face and the stitched-up gash. “You should've let me do this right away.” 

Oh, god. It's redder than ever, the skin puckered and inflamed around the black stitches. The shower and friction against my shirt have irritated it like crazy. I can feel my pulse in the bright red, raw edges.

I deserve this.

Loki gingerly lays gauze over the redness. The tips of his fingers brush against the skin just beneath it. My whole body shivers. He glances up, his face only inches from mine, before returning his diligent attention to his work. “Your hand is freezing,” I say quietly, hiding my embarrassment poorly. His hands are cold, but when his fingers brushed my bare skin...

“Sorry,” he mutters. A dark curl falls over his face as he holds one end of the long bandage roll over the gauze. The hem of my shirt slips from my fingertips, falling over the wound. “Hold still, darling.”

I barely fight the shiver that word sends through me. “Sorry,” I echo, barely breathing.

“Grey, are you… will you be… decent?” He stumbles around “are your tits out” as I nod hurriedly, though I instinctively pull my arms around my chest again. “I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to remove your shirt again.” I swear to God that he's smirking just slightly as he says it, avoiding eye contact with me the whole time.

“Of course,” I answer, painting my pinched voice with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Because this is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. “I managed to get a bra on after the shower… just in case, I guess.”

Loki frowns again. “That explains much of your miserable whimpering.” 

Oh. I didn't realize I'd been that loud.

“Just hold still,” he continues, brushing a hand against my waist. “Hold your arms up like earlier – yes, that's it,” he murmurs, tugging my shirt up and over my head. I'm sure every inch of my body has to be flushed pink by now. Not because I want him taking my clothes off. Absolutely not. No way. 

The little monster in the back of my head grins wickedly. Because you absolutely fucking do.

I tip my head back, unable to keep watching. That only makes it worse. Now I can feel him with alarming clarity, every nerve in my body focused on his tender touches. I'm blindingly aware of my thin, forest-green bralette – some soft cotton thing that I picked because of the color name, and not because I've come to love the color green – as it clings to my skin, delicately cupping my small breasts.

“I'm sorry if I'm hurting you,” Loki continues in a low, clenched voice. “I'll be done in a moment.”

“It doesn't hurt,” I breathe, trying to stay as still as possible. The bandage – and his arm – loop around me, wrapping completely around my torso until he can grip the other side.

He encircles me with his arms. I can’t breathe. 

Two long fingers press into my side, holding the cloth in place; I tip my head back, overwhelmed by the intimacy. His hands brush against my skin with every circle his hands make around my torso. 

Surely he can hear my heart thundering against the inside of my ribs. It threatens to rip through my stitches and burst out through that fresh opening. Loki’s fumbled slice weakened the dam; if I’m not careful, I’ll pour out through the torn seams. A lifetime of painstaking restraint wells up behind a crumbling levee. 

“All right.”

I tilt my head down. He's checking his handiwork, eyes downcast. Dark curls tumble forward as his head leans down, falling loose from their usual careful slicked-back style. I imagine myself brushing those curls back from his forehead, lifting his face to look at me, demanding he tell me exactly what he’s thinking. But nothing about my allyship with Loki has ever been so straightforward.

His impossibly broad left hand lightly rests against my right side, his long fingers stretched wide across my torso.

He lifts his eyes. The slight red remnants of his earlier outburst are fading, and the soulful eyes piercing my heart are so dark and ancient that I’m frozen in place. Some hint of a thought lingers on his slightly parted lips.

His dark eyebrows arch upward slightly; curiously. 

My jaw softens, my comment or quip long forgotten. He notices, and his gaze drops to my jaw. No; to my lips. Oh.

Loki tips his head forward, brushing his lips against mine. He’s soft and hesitant, achingly restrained. Cautious.

I catch his lower lip between my own, pushing into him. He hums contentedly. The sound rumbles deep in his chest. Oh.

He slides his hand down to brace against my back, pulling me forward ever so slightly. Cupping my jaw, his long fingers sliding into my hair and beneath my ear and I’m lighting up at every touch. I relax into him, his cool fingers perfect against my flushed skin. I wrap my arms around his neck and wind my fingers into his curls. They're exactly as soft as I imagined they would be.

I've wanted this for longer than I would admit to myself. I've wanted Loki for months, wondered how his hands would feel and his lips would taste and his hair would twist between my fingers. Every aching hour spent sparring with steel and fists and sharp words and barbed grins, my wolf among the woods, the predator sharpening his prey. 

My broken boy who burns the world just to spite the ashes. 

If Loki is a monster, then let us be monsters together.

[bolotomia]

The first week was really hard to stay consistent, probably because I was on my period too, but this week is going by very smoothly. I don't miss eating, I have been leaving food on the plate like I haven't done in literal YEARS, it almost feels like the saturation has shifted and now everything is a little grayer to my senses. I'm not craving anything, I'm not feeling that anxiety about eating something, saying no to food is much easier, and even when I allow myself to have a big delicious meal, on the weekend for example, it doesn't feel the same. Maybe it's my depression getting worse, but at the same time, my depression has only made me gain weight so far. I've always envied those people who said "oh when I'm sad I can't eat, I lose my appetite and etc". I've always been the absolute opposite. I've eaten up my feelings from a very young age, but now something has changed. Maybe it's the fear of not seeing progress in April when I weigh in? If so, this "strategy" is really working.

I saw that on my notebook the original plan was to weigh in in April and take measurements once a month, but that is just too little control over my progress, so I've been taking measurements weekly, and will only weigh in in April. By the measurements, I've lost some cms around my chest, waist and hips so far, which makes me so so happy. I forgot to take measurements of my arms and thighs last week, so I will only check progress in the next one.

By mid April I'm supposed to be around ~85kgs, so I have to lose 15kgs by then. That is a scary number to me, but also, being at 85kgs means having almost the weight where I last remember having some confidence in my figure and my body. The expectation is insane, to the point where I don't know how I would take if I get to April and I don't reach the goal, but also, how can I NOT reach the goal if I'm fasting for long periods and OMADing?

I watched a video some time ago about a woman trying to lose weight and she reported something similar, she was fasting for like 2 days straight, then having one meal, exercising TWICE A DAY, and not losing weight, and she only started losing weight after some surgery she had to go through. That makes me so paranoid. I'm not an ed teenager anymore. My metabolism is not the same anymore. I don't know if I can achieve the same results in the same timeframe anymore. This is so fucking scary.

[2-m0use]

Huge ramble below.

At a hotel resort rn and seeing all these beautiful thin girls is making me so jealous. I need their bodies so bad. I feel weirdly gross.

Also I got told to use a different body slide bc the one I wanted to go on had a weight limit of 150 pounds and I am NOT that heavy! This is the second time someone assumed I was 150 when I was not! And I weigh les now than I did the first time. I hate to admit it but I'm honestly offended? I wish I wasn't bc that makes me feel shitty, like. I wouldn't judge someone who is bigger.

(SH talk under the cut)

Also I saw a lot of my little cousin's scars, bc they're open about it since they're healed and the whole family knows anyway and it made me feel weirdly jealous too? Idk what to make of that. It was something between feeling invalid and just wishing I could be as open as they are? Like. I'm so jealous of them. I know their only 14 but they're so thin too, and yeah, I was almost that thin at their age too. But it's more than that. They (seen as a girl by the family) are dating a girl, clearly openly enough that I think their dad (and maybe their mom too?) knows and I just.

Idk. I wish my parents were cool with me liking girls. I wish I could be more open about my self destructive behaviors and my mental health struggles with my family.

My mom even asked me to be a "strong female role model" for them when they went to an inpatient facility and had also recently tried to come out as nonbinary. And I was just like. You don't even fucking know I SH too, you seem to have forgotten that I came out to you years ago (probably actively ignoring bc my family is not accepting other than my sister kind of)

I'm just rambling but I feel weirdly jealous and competitive about them. They left already bc they have an early plane ride home, but I was feeling all weird around them wishing I could be more like them and feeling inferior on so many levels. (They even dress cooler than me, and a lot of it is they're thin enough to wear baggy pants with a baggy shirt without looking bummy, like I do) even their older brother is cooler and thinner than me, and yeah he's taller than me but proportionally I was not that thin at his age.

I'm just feeling all kinds of bad about myself and my body and about.. living with my parents? And not having my drivers license? I want more independence. I want to be myself openly. I want to date people. Etc etc. I don't have a good way to close this out I'm just processing.

Anyways I have just under 4 months until my 21st birthday, and then another hotel resort trip a couple weeks after that, so those will be new motivation and deadlines for reaching a weight goal. I'll just see how fast I can lose weight in the next couple months and then pick a specific number goal as it gets closer. I'm still racing myself to 120.. every time I get close (under 125) I gain period weight..