#and i just feel so gross and flabby and i hate hate hate how my body looks rn

[balancefrost]

🙃

[seafoamchild]

it's so weird, going to the gym. especially the downtown gym, the yuppie capital of the universe, where all the girls are wearing brand-name leggings and have their hair in a perfect ponytail. the guys are watching themselves lift weights in the mirror. i see so many toned bodies and sculpted muscles, and it makes me cringe when i see my own reflection as i'm running around in circles on the indoor track. i feel like a godzilla-sized pilsbury dough boy, flabby and huge. i imagine the whole building shakes with every single one of my strides.

i gave up animal products for the sole reason of wanting to lose weight, and i lost five pounds before i went on vacation but then immediately gained it back with all the piña coladas, fish dinners, and cuban sandwiches i ate in florida. i had a meltdown about it. i hate that i cannot seem to make peace with my body. people tell me i'm so skinny, i look great, there's no reason for me to lose weight, i actually look better with bigger boobs and more shapely legs. but all i can see is fat on my stomach and humongous thighs. i don't go on 10 mile runs anymore. i get tired after 4 miles. i feel gross, out of shape, unpresentable to the public.

my thinking is so distorted and i wish it wasn't so. i can feel how annoyed and confused people are when i tell them i'm freaking out because i gained five pounds. thinking i'm fat when i know i'm not ACTUALLY fat makes me feel like such a brat. i see the objective stupidity of it all. but my brain will not stop telling me i look hideous. i can't even tell what's real. i'll think i look all right, and then literally hours later i'll see myself in the mirror and think i'm huge. i'm so tired of this. and i know it's not just me. i'm so tired of this for all of us.

[calsgotdepression]

2/11/23

(tw)

I think when I have thoughts of suicide, it’s never anything “serious”. As in, I think about death constantly, especially regarding my own, but I never plan to do anything with it. I know it’s just their job, but I hate doctors and therapists and professionals that ask me and others things like that where it’s such a simple question where the response is supposed to be detailed but if I give my own thoughts and feelings I feel I’ll be hauled off to a holding room for evaluation as if I was about to kill myself until dead right that very moment.

I don’t want to die. That’s something I think very often, which if you’ve never experienced thoughts like these it may come off as ironic or conflicting statements, but I think many can understand if you’ve felt this way before. I don’t want my life to end, but I want my life as I know it to end I think is the best way to phrase it. I have a job that I don’t love, but I don’t hate it either, coworkers that I enjoy, friends that I like, and family that I all care about and a cat that means more to me than I think anything else ever will in my entire lifetime. I wish I was someone who wasn’t me. I often wonder what life would be like if I was “normal”. That’s a hard word to define when there’s 8 billion people in the world, but I define “normal” as in fitting in with the crowd and having people not really notice anything strange or out of the ordinary about you.

I’ve always grown up with a shattered prescription of self and I’ve had moments where I have looked okay but I don’t think I have ever had a moment in my life where I felt genuinely good about myself in all aspects. I’m almost 19 years old and I still can’t have a fucking photograph taken of me unless the stars align and even then I don’t look at them because I know it always will make me feel worse. I don’t think I’m objectively attractive. My face isn’t symmetrical and going off of western “typical” beauty standards, I’m fat, ugly, and short. 

I want to start exercising to lose weight because I hate how big I am right now but then I start to think will that even make me feel better? I wonder what it’s like to not worry about what you look like constantly. I went out tonight and even in the car I feel like I’m being violated by every eye that sees mine, even if it’s not true. I had top surgery over 6 months ago now and though things have gotten so much better, it feels Right and Natural. I wish I didn’t have to be thankful for something I worked so hard for that others just get right off the bat. 

My height is something I always think about. I wear shoes with lifts in them because I’m insecure. I’ve had genuine thoughts of wanting to be wheelchair bound so I wouldn’t have to be seen as short. If I could get leg-lengthening surgery, I would. I care so much about my body and simultaneously not at all. If I could cut my legs off and I’d be free of this mental torture I’d do it in a heartbeat. I hate how jealous I get of others. There’s nothing I can do to change it and it maddens me to the point I’ve thought of killing myself over it. I still do now.

I’ve never had a serious relationship and the reason I don’t really care about finding one, especially at this current time is that I don’t find myself loveable. I’m gross and ugly and disgusting and short and unfunny and often in my daydreams I imagine strangling myself just to relieve my own suffering. I wish I didn’t have a body. I wish I didn’t have a physical form for others to perceive. Other things I can escape from.

My misophonia is triggered by specific sounds, and although this condition has afflicted me so badly I’ve wanted to go deaf and blind just for some relief, I can escape it, somewhat at least. But my body is everywhere I go. I can’t escape it. My hands are too small, my legs are too fat, my stomach bulges out, my arms are flabby, my underarms pool out in little things of fat that I wish I could make myself throw up and develop bulimia. I’m so tired of these feelings every single day of my life. 

I hope things will get better but realistically they won’t. There’s coping mechanisms but there’s things I can change and then there’s things that the world won’t change and I can’t force myself to stop caring about the opinions of the general public and my peers. 

I hope that I finish my story before then and make a name for myself before I commit suicide. It’s not and if, it’s a when at this point. I don’t think it’ll be soon. But anyone that knows me knows it will happen. I don’t know what comes after death but I hope my last thoughts will be of the people I care about the most and of my cat who I love more than anything else in this whole universe or any of those universes outside of that. I hope people see me as a good person. That’s all I ever want to be is good. I wish people were nicer to each other. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned out this way if so. Who even fuckin knows. I wish I knew why my hands are always so cold or why I was born incorrectly or what determines whether or not people 

I forgot what I was going to write

I wish I was formless and able to do everything exactly the same as I do now, but that’s impossible too. I think the only thing I want in life is to feel good about myself but I don’t think that day will ever come for me. I just don’t think some people ever feel that way and maybe I’m one of them. When I die please do something to help out cats or the Bangor Humane Society. I care about them a lot and I have a hard time finding things to truly enjoy and cats are one of those rare things. I love everyone and my heart hurts constantly. I wish I could give everyone a hug and go out in the street and scream and cry until I lose oxygen and dehydrate. I hope for a world in the future that exists where no one feels these feelings that I do. There’s so many things to be thankful for in my life that I can’t feel it to the full extent because I’m in the way. Maybe none of this matters but thanks for reading I guess

My 19th birthday is in 9 days. I don’t know how I got here or who I am anymore. I wish I did. I wish I could find someone who knew.

[thetfchangingroom]

Smooth Sailing

This is a terrible idea, James thought to himself, the “idea” here being a body swap with the captain of his parent’s prized yacht. Then again, if he hadn’t lied to that smokin’ hot chick from the party about knowing how to drive a boat, he wouldn’t have had to swap bodies with the old fart in the first place.

Conversely, captain McFadden was having the time of his life. He’d always had a soft spot for the Thurston’s incredibly dumb — and incredibly hot 27-year-old son, though “soft” wasn’t exactly a good word to describe the captain’s feelings for James, since it was difficult to stay “soft” whenever James would stumble into the bridge, drunk, half-naked and asking for some stupid shit like “can I snap a pic with the big wheel for my insta?”

But what James has asked for that day exceeded even the wildest expectations of the horny, middle-aged captain. “It’ll only be for an hour,” James pleaded (as if McFadden needed convincing) “just make it look like I know how to sail, and then we can swap back. I promise!” James spoke as if he were getting the better end of the bargain. This girl must be really hot, the captain thought, though he might not be the best person to judge that. He was very, very gay, and getting to spend some time in the young man’s photo-ready body had been a fantasy he’d jerked off to many-a-time.

So they came to an agreement: one hour in each other’s bodies. The cap would show off his “legendary” sailing skills, while James would stand back, and wait until his girl was properly impressed. They’d swap back, and it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

But things rarely go according to plan when it comes to swapping bodies. Because who’s to say which parts of you get swapped… and which parts stick around?

Everything seemed normal at first. Well, as “normal” as things could be after a body swap. McFadden felt incredible: the first thing he noticed was how much lighter he was. He’d jumped from 270 pounds to 185 — and lost all of the body fat he’d been accumulating from sitting behind the wheel for the last forty years. He must have spent five full minutes just posing in the mirror, running his hands over James’ muscles.

“Stop that!” James pleaded in the captain’s raspy old voice. He, on the other hand, felt weird as fuck. He gripped his fatty, flabby new body with a mix of wonder and disgust. The captain had really let himself go, and now James was paying the price. He also had to keep itching and adjusting McFadden’s package; turns out his body wasn’t the only thing about him that was “big.”

Jesus, James thought, I didn’t need to know how big this guy’s dick is. Gross! He kept reminding himself that this was a means to an end, that in less than an hour, he’d be back in his cabin, back with is girl, and balls deep inside her.

And that’s when James began to notice something was wrong. Because all of the sudden, the thought of fucking his girl made his dick shrivel and shrink (which, thankfully, made it easier to walk around). But every time he looked at his own body behind the wheel, sweaty and smiling and shirtless, he had to struggle to hide his erection. Maybe I’m just a little obsessed with myself, James reasoned. But this was no ordinary narcissism; James and the captain hadn’t just swapped bodies…

They’d swapped sexualities.

“Where’s the horn?” Jame’s girl asked in a dumb, airy voice. They were all three in the bridge now: McFadden at the helm, his girl on his lap, and James standing awkwardly behind the E.O.T. in an attempt to hide his criminally large boner.

“You wanna hear it?” McFadden said seductively. Never in a million years would he have expected to be turned on by such a ditsy, feminine presence. But the way she studied his body with those “fuck me” eyes made a tent in James’ $100 board shorts. As he reached up to blare the fog horn, he let his erect cock brush against the side of her thigh. With one hand, he honked the horn, forcing James to jump back in surprise. With the other, he slipped a finger under her hot pink bikini. Just as he suspected: she was wet as the ocean.

“Thanks a bunch cap,” McFadden said as he hoisted the giggling girl over his shoulder and made for the door, “I’ll be in my cabin if you need me.” He gave her ass a hearty slap, causing her to squeal.

“W—wait!” James stammered, sweating like a stuck pig. “Y—you said—“

“Said what?” The captain smiled. Then, he leaned in and whispered: “it’s only been twenty minutes, son. I’ve still got forty. That was the deal, right? One hour?”

As much as James hated to admit it, the old fart was right. McFadden pointed down at his former crotch. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun taking care of that.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving James alone, frustrated, and horny as all hell. Just as the captain had been every day sailing on the Thurston’s yacht.

He spun around and dropped his pants. McFadden’s dick was even bigger than it felt, near the size of a beer can and leaking fresh pre all over the spotless deck. James wanted to feel disgusted. He wanted to gag at the sight of the fat old captain’s hairy bear cock — his cock.

But more than anything, he wanted to stroke it. He wanted his own, hot muscular body to get down on all fours and suck it dry. He wanted to bend over the radar and let his own body take him from behind. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be used. He wanted… to… oh no…

“GAGHHH!” James growled as he soaked the bridge with his cum. Turns out McFadden was a grower, a shower, and a shooter. James would never look at the salty sea captain the same way again, not now that he knew what the poor guy had to endure watching him strut around the boat half-naked all the time. Sometimes, it takes walking around in someone else’s shoes to learn some decency and respect. James had to learn that the hard way.

The very, very hard way.

[shorkbrian]

Never Ever

(Warnings - dub-con, non-con if you squint. NSFW, body insecurity)

“Stop fucking saying that!” Kiri paused, looking up from the magazine he was reading (men’s health, the one with big buff dudes on the cover, typical) to watch you storm out of the living room.

“Babe?”

You ignored him, stomping into the bedroom (you refused to call it “your” bedroom, or “our” bedroom, no matter how Kiri wishes you would).

Flopping down onto the big bed, you fluffed the covers out, quickly wiggling under them and pulling them up over your head. 

It was one of those moments when you didn’t feel like talking. You didn’t want to talk, you didn’t want to hear, to see or feel or do anything. You didn’t want to fucking exist.

You just wanted to sink into the bed and disappear, not only from the world, but from everyone’s minds.

Steady footfalls padded down the hall, into the bedroom. The bed shifted, and you heard Kirishima sigh.

“All I said was that you’re pretty. And you are. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous and breathtaking, and incredible, and stunning, and divine, and-”

“Shut up.”

Your growl made Kirishima chuckle, and it made your chest seize up. It’s so stupid, you’re so stupid. It wasn’t that big of a deal. 

“I don’t lie to you.”

That makes it worse. Huffing, you threw the covers off your head, met with the sight of Kirishima sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you. He was so big, so muscled and broad, and he had such a nice body. He’d never understand.

“I know you’re not lying. You wouldn’t lie. But that’s the problem, you big oaf-” Kirishima grinned, and you wanted to punch him in the face. This wasn’t funny. “-You think everyone looks great, and you’d never put someone down for the way they look, even if they looked like a grotesque swamp monster.”

Trying not to cry was at the top of your priorities. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Leave me alone.” If you said much more, crying would be inevitable. You shifted onto your side, facing away from the big redhead. With any luck, he’d get the message that you didn’t want him to be near you right now, and he would leave.

No such luck.

Kirishima grunted, and you felt the weight on the bed shift. He lifted up the covers, sliding in beside you, making no move to touch you. 

After a second of gathering his thoughts, Kiri spoke. “Well, I guess that’s kinda true. I think everyone has inherent worth, and their physical features don’t really contribute to it. Like, yeah, some people are really pretty, like Bakugou, but their looks don’t make them better than everyone else.”

A hand gently crept onto your waist, and you slapped it away quickly, scooting further away from the large man.

“But when I say you’re lovely, and attractive, and hot, and a whole-ass meal I mean it. And it’s not just about your body either, although like, you’re totally irresistible in that department.”

He tried again, a large hand clamping down on your waist. This time, when you angrily slapped at his hand, it stayed put.

“It’s just... You. You’re indescribable. I love you cause of the way you are.”

A warm, hulking body pressed against you, and you squirmed, but there was nowhere to go.

“I love you when you wake up in the morning, and you got like, those little eye booger things? Yeah. I love you when I come home and see your face, and when I get to hold you, and give you kisses-” A quick smooch was planted at the nape of your neck. “-and I love everything about you; all the good, all the bad. It’s no question.”

“Please don’t touch me.” You whispered. Such a wimp, you were crying now, throat tight, face hot. You felt so disgusting, and gross, and his words weren’t true, or if he believed them, then he was misguided. 

“Babe-”

“Please.”

“I’m not gonna do that.” His hold on you tightened, and he shuffled even closer, dwarfing your body with his own. “Tell me what’s going on, yeah? Let’s work this out.”

You stayed silent. It was too embarrassing, too trivial. He’d laugh at you, and you were a weak, pathetic little baby for even being bothered by this. Why couldn’t you just accept you were gross and ugly? Why did you have to cry a bout it?

“I’m not gonna leave until we talk, babe.” There was finality in his tone, and you could tell, he wasn’t going to budge.

Still, you couldn’t find the words. The feelings were just too much.

The two of you were still for a second, then Kirishima was shifting, turning onto his back, pulling you onto his chest and turning you so that your head rested on his chest. You’d struggle, but it’d be useless. Still, you wished he wouldn’t hold you.

You could hear his heartbeat like this. 

It was slow, steady, relaxing. You could probably fall asleep like this.

“I know you don’t feel good about how you look. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” 

When you didn’t answer, he sighed, before continuing. 

“I’m paying attention. I see how you try not to look in the mirror, or how you always try to sit so your legs don’t “look big” or whatever. How you always do that thing with your head and you hate looking down cause you'll get a lil double chin.”

An ugly sob tore from your throat. Oh god, he had noticed all of that? You felt horrible. Awful. You were so dumb and embarrassing. 

“But I love when you’re just you. Your body is good as it is. I know you don’t think so, but I know for a fact that your brain is lying to you. Yeah, maybe you don’t look like those people on tv, or in magazines, or wherever... but you don’t need to, y’know?”

A kiss was placed on the top of your head, and Kirishima’s hand was stroking along your back, soothingly rubbing.

“You deserve love no matter how you look.”

“But I don’t-” you sobbed into his chest, hands fisting in the soft material of his shirt. “-not looking like-like this. I hate myself so much, and I’m so ugly, and stupid, and I know it’s like, super dumb to get upset like this-”

“It’s not.” Kirishima chimed in.

“-but I can’t ever just... be good enough. I look horrible, and my personality sucks, and everything about me is wrong and bad. I am so disgusting, and worthless, and-”

“You aren’t.” Kiri growled, cutting you off. The man sat up, taking you with him. He pulled you directly in front of him, so he could grab you by the shoulders and look into your eyes. “I don’t care what you say otherwise. I’ll say it and I’ll keep saying it until your ears bleed and my tongue falls off, you’re worth the fucking world to me.”

He surged forward, mashing his lips against yours. 

You clawed at the arms holding you in place. You didn’t want him to kiss you, your lips were chapped and you were all gross from crying. But Kirishima wouldn’t let up, nipping at your bottom lip, hungrily kissing you.

When he finally did relent, you pulled away, a fresh wave of tears rolling down your face. 

“Please don’t. I’m repulsive and obnoxious, and-and annoying-” you hiccuped.

Kirishima grabbed your face, rubbing at your tears with his thumbs.

“No you aren’t. You’re sexy as hell, and you’re so smart, and you’re kind, and I could go on and on and on.” He leaned in, planted a kiss on the tip of your nose, following you even though you shied backwards from his touch. “But right now, I don’t think you’re gonna listen to what I say. Guess I just gotta show you, don’t I?”

Your eyes widened, and you tried to wiggle free of his grasp. “No-”

“Shh, c’mere.”

He clambered off the bed, pulling you to the edge as he did so. Once the man was standing, he started undressing, letting go of you in the process.

“Kiri, you shouldn’t do this.” You whined, scrubbing at your eyes with your hands “I don’t want to, I never do - I’m gross and you’re so fit and in-shape, please don’t make me do this.”

The redhead clambered back on the bed, now devoid of clothes. 

You were right - he looked like he could be a fitness model, all smooth muscles and gleaming skin. No matter how much you worked out, or watched your diet, you still couldn’t achieve the type of body you wanted, and it was so frustrating. Why was it so easy for him, yet unattainable for you? You’d do almost anything to get the body you desired.

“Hey, listen to me.” Kirishima shuffled closer, grabbing your face with both hands, forcing you to look at him with puffy eyes. “You aren’t gross. You aren’t ugly, or fat, or any of those things that you tell yourself.”

“But I am!” Your voice was high, distressed, and you felt like a whiny little kid. When would you ever stop embarrassing yourself?

Kirishima shook his head, leaning in to give you a quick peck on the lips, before his hands moved to your clothes.

“No, don’t-”

He fixed you with a solemn glare, one of his hands catching your own when you tried to push at him, wrenching them into his chest, right over his heart.

“Feel that?” it was beating like a drum, heavy and quick. “I don’t care what I have to do to make you realize how worthy you are.”

The man pulled off your shirt, letting it tangle around your wrists where he was holding them. You had neglected a bra today, expecting to just do a few chores around the house today, so your breasts were bared to Kirishima’s hungry gaze.

With a shattered cry, you twisted to the side, trying to wiggle away from the big man, but he easily pulled you back into place.

“Look at you, you’re delicious.” His eyes were bright, a grin spreading across his face as he breathed down at you, gazing at your naked upper half.

“Kirishima, please stop. I don’t want to do this! Stop it!” You cried, feeling more tears spring to your eyes.

“Nope, not gonna happen.”

Your shorts were quickly pulled off your legs, along with your underwear, leaving you bare and vulnerable. You sobbed. You could only imagine what you looked like, held under Kirishima, unattractive and flabby underneath the muscular man.

Without a word, he dipped down to mouth at your collarbone, before planting hot kisses along your skin as he traveled further to your breasts. He finally let go of your wrists, which immediately came to push at his shoulders, but the large man wouldn’t budge.

“You’re so gorgeous, and hot. Look at how nice your tits are, all warm and soft.” To prove his point, he grabbed at the mounds, massaging them gently with his large palms as he kissed in-between them.

You writhed. “Hey, don’t-don’t! Stop doing th-at.” your skin was probably dry and riddled with odd textures - acne in some area, hair in others. How could Kirishima find that attractive?

He kept kissing all over your chest as you squirmed helplessly, still gently groping at your breasts with gentleness. His hands plucked at your nipples, softly squeezing your flesh, sucking hickies that made your breath hitch and your body jolt.

“God, you’re so perfect. Just right for me, just what I always need.”

His hands abandoned your tits, smoothing down your sides. “You feel amazing, just getting to touch you is so nice. You’re soft-” a kiss to your cheek “-and your skin gets all flushed-” a kiss to your collarbone “-and you look like a goddess.”

Hands skimmed over your stomach, and you burst into a fresh bout of tears, pushing more insistently at Kirishima’s shoulders. The man was feeling all over you, all of your lumpy bits, all of the places you hated and tried to hide and not think about. 

He pulled away from you, gazing down at you with softness in his eyes, hands coming to grip your thighs and pull you closer to where he was sitting on his knees.

“Y’know babe, if I was more patient I’d eat you out right now, always taste so fucking good. But-” moving to stroke at your folds with two fingers, Kirishima grinned at you wolfishly, baring his sharp teeth. “-You’ve got me all kinds of worked up, I can’t wait that long.”

You could feel his length pressing against the inside of your thigh, would be able to see it if you looked down. But then your chin would fold, and Kirishima would be able to see all the fat there, how the skin bunched and how you looked awful. No matter what he said, you knew the truth - you were disgusting.

A finger roughly worked it’s way inside of you, and you gasped at the sudden stretch, not nearly wet enough for it to be comfortable.

“Shit-” Kirishima murmured, before slowly taking out his digit. He leaned down spat directly onto your hole, smirked as he watched it clench at the sudden warmth of the liquid.

Then he was pushing his finger inside again, it’s way smoothed by his saliva. 

“Kiri... Please stoppp. I feel bad, ‘m not feeling good, it’s-”

“Shhhh, I’ll make you feel good in a second. Just gotta get my girl ready for me.”

You weren’t talking about the physical discomfort (though with the way he was rubbing over your walls, quick and determined, was making you shake), you were talking about your mental state.

You felt like trash; useless, foul-smelling, rotten garbage. How could Kirishima even want you? Why did he even want you? There was no way he found you attractive, he was just trying to make you feel better, trying to be kind and supportive, because that’s just the kind of person he was. 

Another finger entered you, joining the first in quickly stretching you. A third was added after a while, then a fourth, Kirishima kissing at the flesh of your torso throughout the entire process.

He was already breathing heavily, panting in between each kiss. You could feel his hips occasionally stutter towards you, as if the man couldn’t stop himself from moving, from rutting his cock against the inside of your thigh as he prepared you to take him.

“Mm, alright, ready baby?”

The fat head of his cock was lined up against your entrance as soon as his fingers pulled free, slick with your juices. Kirishima quickly stroked his hand over his cock, groaning lowly, before grabbing under the head, holding it steadily against your pussy.

“Gonna make you feel so good, want you to feel how much I love you.”

It didn’t matter how much you shook your head, or uttered blubbered “No!”’s, Kirishima was determined. 

He slowly sheathed himself into your tight heat, almost whimpering as your velvety walls enveloped his cock. The man has his eyes closed, biting his lips as he pressed further and further, before his hips jumped forward unconsciously, seating himself balls-deep into your cunt.

“Fuckkkk, baby, you feel so good, how are you even real?”

You could only gasp, filled to the brim with cock, unable to think past the thickness buried deep and pressing into all the right spots. 

Kirishima pulled out a few inches, but quickly sank forward again, sighing in pleasure as your pussy gripped his bare cock, making it wet and slick and creamy with all your juices. 

He brought his hand over your pelvis, pressing down on your mons with his palm, thumb hanging down to rub delicately at your clit, making you arch.

“Ohhh shit, what a good girl, feeling good?”

His question went unanswered as you moaned involuntarily, the sensations that the man was creating becoming too much and entirely not enough at the same time. 

“Love you so much, you’re so beautiful. My girl has the hottest body, the prettiest voice, let it out for me yeah?”

You shook your head, quickly clamping your hands over your mouth, whimpering as he pulled out, before fluidly thrusting back in. He hit so deep, past where your own fingers could reach, right in all the spots that felt the best.

“Awh, baby I wanna hear you.” He whined, still rubbing at your clit.

Your stomach was tight, pleasure lancing through your gut and up into your chest. You muffled your sounds with your hands, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at Kirishima, see his look of adoration as he ravished your body.

The man seemed fine with that, focusing on moving his body against yours, pulling you into his lap on each thrust. The way your hips were angled high made it easy for the man to fall into a comfortable rhythm, bottoming out before pulling back, the head of his dick scraping deliciously against your walls.

“You make me so happy, I don’t ever wanna be away from you. You’re the best thing in my life, I’m so glad I get to have you.” Kirishima groaned out, sweaty body pressing against yours as he leaned forward to embrace you in a hug. 

The man was always so touchy, wanting to hold hands, playing with your hair whenever he could, pulling your shirt aside to kiss at your shoulders whenever you let him.

He turned his head to kiss your cheek, before quickly becoming unsatisfied, pushing himself up so he could pull your hands away from your mouth.

“Wanna kiss my pretty girl.” 

And he did, almost melting against your body as his lips met yours. You let him do what he wished, fervently making out with you.

Again, his hand found it’s way to your slit, fingers rubbing against your puffy lips. When they made contact with your clit, you jolted, hot pleasure climbing higher and higher.

“Kiri, Kiri, gonna-gonna cum, gonna cum.”

“Oh fuck, me too, you’re so fucking tight, your sloppy little pussy keeps pulling me in, fuck.”

You whined, pulling your head back from Kirishima to breathe, only for the man to start kissing at your neck, hot and wet.

The pleasure in your stomach crested, throbbing through your core as you came, clutching at Kirishima. The man moaned against your neck, hips working into you in little circles as he chased after his own pleasure. Your vision blacked out momentarily as he kept fucking into you, prolonging your pleasurable high.

You were still riding the last waves of your orgasm when the man pulled out, grunting as he stripped his cock over your stomach, grunting. “I love you, fuck, I love you so much.”

He came on your stomach, moaning brokenly as his hand worked over his cock, eventually slowing down, before stopping completely. The man had his eyes closed, barely cracking one open so he could flop down beside you without hitting you.

The sounds of the two of you breathing filled the space, panting together. 

Kirishima turned on his side, facing you as he smiled. “That felt amazing. I’m so lucky that you’re mine.”

You ignored him the best you could, the feelings of insecurity creeping back in. 

A hand suddenly appeared on your stomach, running through the mess of Kirishima’s cooling cum, rubbing it into your skin.

“Kirishima, ew.” You groaned, head flopping back onto the mattress. You were too tired to push him away, too worn out to dispute his praises and adulation.

You suppose that had been his plan from the beginning.

“Sorry, it’s just - you look so sexy like this, my cum all over you. It’s like I’m marking my territory.” You frowned at the mans’s goofy grin, but just closed your eyes instead of saying anything.

“Hey-” Kiri shuffled closer, his clean hand coming to cup your chin and pull your face to his. Red eyes stared into your own, wide and truthful. “I love you. That’s never going to change.”

Your gaze flickered to the side, and Kirishima took ash opportunity to press your foreheads together, nose nudging against your cheek.

“Never ever.”

[enchantedblackrose]

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You 

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes. 

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face. 

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of,  were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message. 

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later. 

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too. 

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach. 

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs. 

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

 

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it.  "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I  really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it. 

You're pretty.

-

[all-the-atelophobia]

TW: meanspo to myself, binging, mental illness— plz block don’t report if you don’t like, I need an outlet to vent

I really really hate myself. My weight has skyrocketed to 168.4 pounds. Putting my BMI at 24.1. I feel so incredibly disgusted with myself as a person. I have had ZERO self control lately and it makes me feel so gross. My waistline has ballooned. My face is fat. My arms are flabby. My legs are so wide. My underwear cut into my fat and make my love handles bubble. Especially the past two days, I have eaten so much and so many times when I wasn’t even hungry at all. I only contributed to the stretching of my stomach, and I know I’m only making it more difficult to restrict in the long run. Food isn’t even moving through my stomach like it’s supposed to. I ate spinach pizza over seven hours ago and still managed to puke parts of it up just now. My nicotine addiction isn’t even helping. I’m simply destroying my lungs and my body. My gag reflex is diminishing, and I’m paranoid Will is getting suspicious of my purging sometimes. The best thing I could do is get back to restricting. And, honestly, even that will be challenging with Will sometimes. I need to return to work and just never eat on work days. Only then will I be able to get better at losing weight. I miss the days before the wedding when I would I would see 140 on the scale, or even the few times I saw a weight in the 130s. My face was so slim and defined, my arms didn’t look flabby, and my stomach was flat. I could confidently go for a run in some shorts and a sports bra. I wasn’t even close to as disgusted with myself as I feel now. My weight is rising again like it did on the way to my highest weight ever. When I was a walking balloon and ball of fat. I’m practically already there. I need to be skinny again. I need to be fit again. Only then can my mental health improve. I won’t abuse substances. I won’t need to get drunk or have wine to go to sleep. My mood will be better because I will simply look and feel better. I am so gross. I’m a fat, ugly, disgusting piece of lard. The amount that I eat makes others go hungry. I could sustain myself with so many fewer calories than what I indulge in now. I eat my emotions like a sycophant. I succumb to the cravings of my flesh like a Neanderthal, an imbecile. I am weak. I have no strength or self control. I stuff myself until I’m full. I gorge myself on fatty, carbohydrate-saturated crap. I am a glutton. My body is filled with sin from imbibing on horrible foods. I am disgusted with how I treat myself. I don’t show myself any self love because I am killing myself with indulgence. Why do I treat myself like this? Why cannot I not condition myself to run on few calories and the promise of a skinnier body. How can I be successful once and for all? My lifestyle is not sustainable at the present. I need to guilt my mind and my soul and surround my head with the thoughts of what an ugly, fat cow I am. Even cows don’t eat as much as I do. Even animals can stop eating when they aren’t hungry. My own dog doesn’t eat her dinner if she feels full. What did I eat today? I gorged on chips. Carbohydrate rich tortilla chips fried in oil. I smothered them with processed cheese and fatty, oily sausage. The queso literally had fatty grease pooling and floating on top. And. I. Ate. It. Anyways. I’m a disgusting pig. Sausage isn’t even recognizable meat. Intestines and spare decaying flesh parts stuffed into an artificial casing. And I washed those animal parts down with fried tater tots, bursting with grease. Even those were covered in cheese and pig flesh roasted in more fat. Then, even more food because I can’t stop myself. A flour tortilla stuffed with antibiotic rich chicken breast- literally the flesh of a bird. With more FUCKING CHEESE. And I even stole a bite of Will’s burrito because my own food wasn’t enough.

[fairycosmos]

god can’t people just shut up?? why do they feel the need to comment on someone’s body?? wtf I’m so tired of this bs. I have an extremely skinny friend. no matter how much she eats she never gains any weight. are people happy with it? of course not. they tell her she should eat more :))) she’s anorexic obviously :))) probably hates herself:)) just shut up!!! what does it matter if someone’s skinny or fat?? if they are healthy and happy it’s all that matters! this shit makes me so mad, sorry

right?? i hate being made so aware of my body dude it fucks me UP for days. when i work so hard to find pockets of peace in terms of my looks and self image. and then just one comment crumbles it all esp coming from family bc they r the root of most of these issues in the first place. and like i have so many fucking problems rn - my weight/my face is the LEAST of it. idek why she’s focusing on that when there’s much worse shit going on. anyway exactly!! nothing is ever enough!! there’s ALWAYS an issue. you’re either too fat or too skinny or too plastic or too flat or too flabby. it’s so weird to me that anyone would see someone existing in their skin and feel the need to outwardly comment negatively, if like you said the person is doing completely fine and is happy with themselves. also the assumptions about mental health issues  r so gross. but yeah appearance holds such little weight like it’s so meaningless -  why does any 1 careeee. dw it’s totally understandable!! it should make you mad honestly it’s so dumb

[marvelfangirllll]

All mine

Dean Winchester X Plus size!Reader

Words: 1586

Based off the post above.  (Y/f/c) favorite colour and (y/b/n) your bully's name or a random name.

Bullying trigger warning

I had been out with the girls shopping as I needed some new bras and they were already planning on going to the mall anyway.  I had picked out a few cute ones when they noticed a deal on some sexy lingerie pieces.  I had held up a couple to me in front of the mirror when Charlie and the rest of our friends then convinced me to try my favorite on.

I went to the change rooms and tried on the (y/f/c) one piece that lifted my breasts and flattered my hips and sides and lifted my bottom.  I turned myself around a few times.  I felt like I should be on the cover of a magazine.  "My lord if I wasn't me I'd date someone wearing this.  I then changed back into my clothes and left the change rooms.

"Was everything okay you took so long in there" Jody asked.  "Yeah I was about to go knock to make sure you didn't die" Charlie said.  "I was perfectly fine maybe a little more than perfect my self esteem hasn't really been up this much in a long time.  I'm definitely buying this." I smiled thinking back to how I looked.  I went up to the counter to pay for everything and that's when I noticed who was in line at the other cash.  The girl who bullied me for a long time who made me hate myself more then I could imagine.  Hopefully she doesn't recognize me. 

That's when she walked over to me while I was still waiting.  "Oh my is that you (y/n) (y/l/n)". She squealed and hugged me.  "Yeah it's me just picking up some stuff" I say hoping she'd leave.  She then looked at all the stuff I was getting.  "Cute but that one piece definitely isn't for a cow like you, you'll most likely rip it with your flabby skin, besides even if it does fit who you gonna wear it for?  Yourself... pathetic.  You probably don't even have a boyfriend and if you do than he's probably also a fat lazy pig".  This bitch was getting on my nerves and I tried my hardest not to cry.  "I'll have you know that I don't care what you think and that you certainly have not changed.  I do have a boyfriend and he is the sexiest man that I know and he loves me to pieces." I say glaring at her.  "Yeah and he's probably made up like the rest of your "boyfriends" (y/n)" she says putting boyfriend in finger quotations.  "I do thank you very much".  I said sassy. I then pulled up a picture of Dean and I together.  "That's your boyfriend, I know him he came to my bar one night and we screwed like crazy, the guy said that that he hadn't been laid like that in a long time.  I guess your terrible in bed then (y/n) and best regards to Poor Dean" she said and gave me her number "here for when he wants the best sex of his life again".  That's when I bought my bras but left the one piece behind and ran outside the mall.  Truth is we haven't had sex.

Charlie and Jody noticed (Y/n) had ran off and looked over to (y/b/n).  Jody then walked over to her "excuse me ma'am your under arrest for verbal assault". (y/b/n) tried to fight out of it "It was a joke I know that girl from our past, we're really close I swear" she tried to get free and get at Jody.  "Do you want to add assaulting a officer to the list" Jody says.  "No Sheriff" (y/b/n) relaxed and went down to the station with Jody.

When I was outside that's when I felt an a arm go around me.  "Hey, don't worry about bitches like her, your sexy and you and I know that Dean loves you.  If he didn't then I'd slay him like a dragon.  Charlie says and gives me a hug.  She then hands me a bag from the store we were at.  "Merry Christmas in July".  I then look in the bag to see the one piece I loved.  "I don't think Dean would ever cheat on you...also she's gone down to the station" she laughs.  "Jody?" I question.  Charlie nods with a smirk.  "No she didn't? Omg I thank you both so much your the best girlfriends I could ask for" I jump with Joy.

I head home after I took the girls out for lunch as thanks.  I decide to have a me day for the rest of the day as the boy's weren't in the bunker.  I decided to have a nice hot bath with a bath bomb and some bubbles.  I had a facemask on my face.  "As hectic as it may be I think I actually love my life" I say to myself. 

After my self care I decide to put on some comfy clothes and decide to bake.  I look at the things in the cupboard and decide to make a Carmel Pecan pie.

The pie had finished and I decided to put it aside to cool and put on a movie.  When my movie had finished I decided to go check on the pie and noticed it had left the location I had put it and went on a pie hunt.

I then found it still in one piece no slices gone and go to grab it when I feel muscular arms wrap around my waist.  "I'm back princess thanks for the pie" Dean says and then turns me around and kisses me.  "Who says the pie is yours?  It's for after dinner Dean and if you try to touch it before dinner then your gonna be in trouble" I then stick my tongue out at him.  "Anything you say babe" he then goes to make dinner.

I go to my room and put on the one piece that was bought and put it back on and looked at myself in my rooms mirror.  "I really do look sexy" I whisper to myself.  Then (y/b/n) comments start to come back and you feel some tears start to slip.  Thankfully I didn't have to think on it long as Dean called for Sam and I because dinner was ready.  I quickly try to grab some clothes and trip over my own feet.  I gotta get up and change. I push myself up and try to get dressed as quickly as possible but unfortunately things don't like to work out.  Dean walks into my room.

"I called for" Dean stops himself and looks me up and down the one-piece still on.  "Forgot dinner and Pie I think I found my full meal" Dean says flirtatiously.  " I quickly and finally throw clothes on overtop of the one piece.  "Let's just go eat dinner" I say not realizing it was quick and not my usual tone.  "Hey baby girl you alright?  I try to walk past him but he stops me.  "Yes I'm fine" he looks at me weird and walks us to sit on my bed.  "He wraps his arm around me and rubs my back soothingly.  "Do I not please you enough" I say and breakdown.  "Yeah sweetheart of course you do... what's all this about" he says cuddling into me.  "Its just we've never had sex and I feel so gross with myself and I bought the piece to feel sexy and to please you that my body isn't fat and bad" I cry and keep rambling.  "Baby girl your gorgeous, don't you ever say such things, whenever you wear something a bit revealing I'm always checking you out, even when you aren't I have to stop myself from always holding on.  "I'm so sorry for crying just a had a rough day, the bitch who used to bully me was there and she was saying stuff to get in my head and that she knew you and she said that she was the best fuck in your life" I continue to sob.  I then pull up a picture of (y/b/n) with shaky hands.  "Yeah I know her I helped her out because her fiance was really a vampire and it had been a long time since I had been laid while on the road...but that was years ago before I met you, I'm so glad that Chuck created you I never wanna leave you" Dean says and kisses me "how about we hang out in one of our rooms and I'll go get the food and bring it here and we can watch game of thrones re-runs" he kissed me again then went off.

I set up the tv and my bed with comfy blankets and got in and Dean brought dinner and the pie I had made.  He then climbed in cuddling with me and cuddles with me as I'm the "comfiest pillow ever" .  "We don't ever have to do anything you don't want to do right now baby girl" he says then feeds me some pie and shoves some in his mouth too.  I love this man and how good to me he is.

[lilith-of-rivia]

Comfort

Trigger warnings: Mentions of body hatred, body dysmorphia, body image issues [Please note, i do not believe all women have to have babies, I normally write what I view my life in the future if its not a request.] 

Summary: after having your baby, your body just doesn't seem normal to you anymore. it gets to you one night and you break down, Henry Comforts you. 

Word count: 1,143

Masterlist

“-and when then the prince asked the beautiful princess to marry him. And she said yes!!” His voice was barely above a whisper as he excitedly tells a story to the bundle of soft snores and rosy cheeks beneath him. The story you had heard so many times over the last two months, yet still made your heartthrob. The story he made up to tell your daughter every single night before he put her to bed, the story of your love. Maybe a bit more dramatic, definitely a few more monsters a dragon then reality, but none less made your heartthrob. 

Knowing the story would be over soon, you turned from the wall outside her nursery to walk back to your shared room. You entered the closet, stripping your hoodie and jeans off, both covered in spit-up and dried breast milk. You grabbed your night shorts and a tank top, easily discard if she needed to eat later. 

you don’t know how long you had been standing there in front of the mirror but it was long enough to not know that everything you looked at made your stomach turn. You had no idea why you thought the things you did, but they were there, poking and prodding at your brain. 

“God look at those stretch marks.”

“You look like lard.”

“Henry is going to get disgusted soon if you don’t drop the baby weight.”

“He’s probably already cheating on you.”

Henry had gotten Liz down and fast asleep, the dog fed, dishes put away, and bottles made for when it’s his turn to feed her, even locked the house up, all while you stared at your reflection in the mirror by the bed. When the first walked in he didn’t think anything of it, but when he got back from changing to see you still there he got a little worried. His worries only grew when he saw the look on your face, your eyes were welling with tears, you didn’t even notice he was there. 

“Princess?” his voice was soft, not wanting to startle you, you heard him but wished you had before he came in, so he wouldn’t ask questions. 

“Hmm?” You asked turning your head to him, a small fake smile on your lips. You blinked heavily, the tears threatening to run if you weren’t careful. 

He walked over to you slowly, once he was a few feet away from you, his arm gently wrapped around your waist, tugging you into him. You turned your eyes to the floor, your demons reminding you that you were naked and the lights were all on. He could see everything. Your hands gently pushed at his chest, removing yourself from his grasp as you quickly grabbed your pajamas pulling the top over your head and the bottoms on quickly. 

“Princess, what’s wrong?” You could hear the worry in his voice, you wanted to tell him but how? How could you tell the man you loved more than life that you hated everything about your body, how you hate that having a baby ruined it. How you feel he’s readding his departure from you all because you gained a perfectly healthy amount of weight to carry and grow a human. You knew how crazy you sounded so you wanted to just forget it. 

“Nothings wrong.” You said with a fake smile as you brushed your teeth. His arms came around you again as he wrested his chin on your shoulder. His eyes on yours threw the mirror. You quickly spit into the sink before placing your brush back in its place next to his. 

“Then why’d you push me away, you never do that. Talk to me love.” his voice was so soft when he spoke to you, almost like you were a spooked kitten. 

“I hate my body…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. But he heard it. His eyes got big as he frowned at you. His lips pressed softly into your shoulder and his hands got tighter around your waist. 

“Why?” It was a simple question, but it was hard for you to answer. Because your reasons were stupid. 

“Look at me.” You lifted your shirt to your chest, moving his hands. “Look, it’s so disgusting. It’s just there. The stretch marks haven’t gone away no matter how much oil and moisturize I put on. My boobs are sagging and uneven. None of my old clothes fit, neither do my maternity clothes. I hate everything about myself. And I’m so scared you’ll leave me.” You were crying. This was a different cry, a cry Henry hadn’t heard before. It broke his heart. He didn’t know what to do. He had no idea how he could show you that in his eyes you were perfect. In his eyes, he saw a woman so string, the woman how gave him his first baby. The woman he would die for no questions asked. He wanted to give you his eyes so you could see yourself as perfectly as he saw you. 

He quickly lifted you into his arms, carrying your crying form to the bed. He laid you down on your back, him hovering above you. 

His lips kissed your cheeks, your eyes, your forehead, your neck, your ears, everything on your face he kissed. Over and over again, the small act alone made you stop crying, instead, you sniffled and laughed softly when his scruff tickled your neck. His hands gently moved to pull off your shirt and shorts. Leaving you almost bare beneath him. You went to cover yourself up, but his hands were too quick. He kissed down your neck to your chest, laying soft kisses on the top of your breasts. They weren’t sexual kisses, they were loving, passionate, soft, warm. 

“Where you see sagging and uneven, I see the lifeline my daughter has. The food she needs to survive, that nourishing her, growing her, keeping her healthy.”  

He continued down, his lips kissing every mark, every piece of flabby skin he kissed, caressed, held. 

“Where you see stretch marks, and loose skin, I see the home that baked, cared, protected, nourished, one of my two reasons to live. These are not gross, there’s are marks to show your fight, your struggle, everything about this new body needs to be celebrated. It may not be perfect to you, but I wouldn’t change anything about it.” You were crying again, but for a different reason. Your hands went to his face, bringing to you, your lips connected. You loved how his kisses still felt like they did when you first started dating. The spark never left. His hands wandered all over your body, holding caressing. Everything was perfect. 

“I love you.” He whispered, his hands holding your back, bring you closer to him. 

“I love you, more than anything.” 

Hey guys I know I've been gone a long time, my mental health has been trash. but I feel little better. although the election may not help. Ill start updating more. love to you all. 

[along-the-devils-backbone]

Tw: ED, Tw: Weight loss, tw: self-harm (?)

I'm tired of being huge. I'm tired of being the "wrong shape". I look at other girls that are my size and bigger -- beautiful people that I admire and have helped me so much in my self-love journey... and I see them and realize we're not even shaped the same.

I feel like I would give anything to be a pear-shape. A decent waist, and round hips... but instead, I have a fucking "B" belly, where it looks like I wore my jeans too tight & all my fat deformed into two bellies instead of one... Shirts cling to my upper belly and make me look like i'm smuggling two pool noodles around my waist at all times. High-waisted pants make me look like Tweedle-Dee. If i turn sideways, I look like a really sad floppy caramel apple with the stick shoved all the way through both sides.

I hate it. I hate me.

I've been trying so so hard lately to not hate myself. To work on my confidence and love my body. Some days I can look down and think "wow, i'm so soft. I'm so warm. I can't wait for Adrian to lay his head on my belly and nap." but more often that not lately, I see myself in mirrors and think "Holy fuck, what the fuck was I thinking?? This looks bad. REALLY bad."

And this week... This week got REALLY bad.

We're house-sitting for my MIL and in the 17 years i've been with Jim, her bathroom has been the bane of my existence. Floor-to-Ceiling mirrors line 3 out of 4 walls. BRIGHT fucking lights. I get to see every bad angle of myself in fucking hi-def 4d 1080p. Every roll, every imperfection, every weird dimple... And you can't just... NOT look. It's everywhere. I spend my entire time using the toilet/shower staring at her ugly pink flooring wishing I was literally anywhere else. I can't even walk PAST the bathroom, because the door is always open (so the dog can use her potty pads bc she's old) and i'll catch myself in the mirror, not thinking.

It feels like being drop-kicked by surprise every time I have to fetch something from the bedroom or go pee...

It's gotten so bad though, I feel like every step i've taken towards loving myself, has been undone. Like a bigass house of cards, it just came tumbling the fuck down and i've no idea how to begin rebuilding it.

I tried today, to dress up. To challenge myself & wear something I hadn't worn in public yet, because I saw so many plus-sized goddesses on tiktok trying it, and i thought "I'm going to do that. I'm going to dress up in this expensive dress i bought, and i'm going to do my makeup, wear fishnets & heels, and get gorgeous, then go to a park & do a photoshoot to PROVE how good I look!"

It backfired so hard.

I cried on a park bench.

I felt like a sad, sweaty apple in a sausage-casing that shouldn't have tried to be something other than a gross rotting apple. I came home & immediately changed into shorts and a tanktop and refused to look in the mirrors. I wiped all my makeup off to hide that i'd been crying. I faked being okay to Jimmy because I know he'd just tell me he doesn't care & loves me any way I look... but what's it matter if someone else loves you, if you don't love yourself? When you can't see what they possibly love about your body when they won't even touch it?

On top of all of this, i'm in pain. Literal physical pain. I can't get jack-shit done IRL because of it. I'm always holed up on a couch or in bed crying because it hurts so much. My doctors just shrug and tell me "Well if you lost weight, it probably wouldn't hurt so bad." as if there's not a knot of nerves that if you barely graze my back, i crumple into a heap because of the fucking pain. But let's not see a neurologist -- that's obviously just me being too fat :) right? :)

It makes me not want to eat. I want to starve myself and eat only coffee and boiled eggs for months on end until I lose enough weight for my doctors to go "holy shit, we were wrong! it's NOT your weight! Let's actually get you tested for things NOT related to your weight!!" But I don't do that. Instead, I sit here and eat, because food = happiness. It doesn't need me to rely on somebody to leave the house. It doesn't need me to spend forever walking and standing. It makes me happy, in a life where the only happiness I get comes from my partners. So i fucking eat. And it's not that I eat a lot. I eat maybe 3x a day. 4 if i have an extra snack. My portions aren't crazy huge. I have vegetables & cut out a lot of carbs & dairy whenever I can. I fucking went Keto for 3 months before I got fed up making everything out of cauliflower & spending fortunes on alt flours because i'm allergic to fucking coconut everything...

If i'm not eating to make myself happy, i'm starving myself. Because the idea of food makes me sick. Food = weight gain, and while i know i need nutrients to survive, I'd rather not eat & hope I lose the weight, than eat & have a chance of just gaining more and more...

Is it healthy? fuck no. Is it an eating disorder? oh hell yeah. Do I want to do something about it? fucking of course. Do i know what to do? Not one fucking bit.

I just know i'm not happy. I hate my body. I hate looking at myself from the fucking shoulders on down, and I've no idea how to change it without having surgery -- and i've come to the realization that i'm beginning to be okay with that.

I'm sitting on a park bench today, crying, thinking "It can't be that bad... right?" to want to be cut open & have my stomach stapled, or be rubber-banded so small that all i can eat is a boiled egg and half a coffee, because obviously I can't do it myself.

I'm lying in bed last night, picturing what would happen if I just took a butcher knife and hacked off my "upper" belly, so maybe i'd start to look like a "normal" fat person, instead of this B-belly bullshit that nature so graciously gifted me...

I'm sitting here, remembering every time my mother calls herself fucking ugly, horrendous, disgusting, because she's fat... and she weighs almost 100lbs less than me. Or the time my German Teacher joked about hating her body so much, she mentioned wanting to take a shotgun & position it so it would only catch her belly fat, and nothing else, so they'd be FORCED to liposuction all of the buckshot out & she'd be "normal"...

I know my gyno prescribed a lap-band surgery once. My fucking OBGYN... I ended up cancelling the appointment because I thought I could do it on my own.

I can't.

I know my insurance would cover it. I know i'd be stuck with flabby gross skin afterward & not have any money to get the tummy-tuck needed to make me look normal...

I'm thinking of going through with it anyway though... because i fucking hate my body, and i hate the pain I'm in, and I just want to be done with it all.

[roboqueercore]

cw // fatphobic language, body image

I think ppl absolutely have the right to vent about the things they don't like about their bodies, but some folks need to think about the things they post publicly. bc when fat folks see people share pictures of themselves just to call themselves disgusting/obese/flabby/etc without some kind of warning, that can be really upsetting. A lot of us had to work through so much internalized shit to love our bodies and your opinions about urself can really hurt us

I've been seeing a lot of people doing this lately and while I understand those folks are probably goin through it and need to vent, please realize,,

when I see someone's cute mirror selfie followed up by "this is so disgusting, I wish I weren't so flabby and gross, I don't even have to be skinny I just don't wanna be so fat/obese anymore" I know that the person posting is probably struggling with shit, but I also see another person telling me I'm an absolutely unacceptable weight, far past "disgusting" and "flabby." it also reminds me how many people just see fat and instantly turn away, disgusted, despite the fact that variety in weight and body shape is perfectly fucking natural.

and even though I love my fat body I'm still gonna be affected by this shit because I was raised to hate these things. I'm tired of folks reinforcing shit I've had to put in so much work to unlearn. (it certainly doesn't fucking help that people LOVE to use BMI as a metric when it's a shitty, shitty statistical model built on poor data and terrible ideas. your BMI being over 30 or whatever doesn't actually mean you're fat, it just means you weigh more than one random dead asshole expected you to.)

you have the right to say whatever you want about your body, but when you refer to totally normal (for lack of a better word) and beautiful bodies with loaded terms like "flabby" and "disgusting" that are used to hurt us for how we look, and share your opinions publicly as fact, you're harming people & reinforcing the idea that fat folks are gross or wrong for existing in a large body. please at least put a fatphobia warning or something so you're not just making other ppl feel miserable too. your words can affect others more than u think.

[gayidungeon]

Gronksgiving

You are at Thanksgiving dinner at your uncle Rob Gronkowski house, the football player for the New England Patriots. Everyone has left leaving you two alone to clean up. You have been doing this every year since you were little and it is always a good time.

Rob tossed a football in the air. His stomach hangs out. He ate so much. Your mom would be proud of what you did today.

"Hey, you can do better than that." You say as he throws another one.

He looks down and smiles. "Yeah, I know." As he pretends to fumble the ball and you fake out a catch. He looks surprised and smiles as you drop it. "Oh whoops, I guess it was a fumble after all!"

Gronk grins. "Hey come here, let me hike it to you" he says. He gets into a three point stance waiting for you to get behind him.

You get behind him and get into position; your head right infront of his massive ass. You know what he's planning, he does it every year to you. You let him though because he ways find it hilarious.

"Red 52, red 52" he says.

"Down. Set.." instead of saying hike, he shifts and rips a massive fart in your face. You always know when it's going to be bad one when he has a goofy grin while he does it. It burns your eyes and you fall on the ground choking.

"Oh come on, I said I was going to do that!" he laughs as you get up and rush him.

He hugs you tight. "I trick you into that every year."

"Yeah I know."

"How many years has it been now, eight?"

"Yeah. Hey, can we do something else now. Like wrestling."

Rob laughs again. "Sure thing buddy. You're on."

"SWEEEEEEET!"

You both change into your sweats and grab a Soda. Rob heads to his room and grabs the step ladder and stands in the middle of the room. "Ready?"

You love when he does this, it's one of the three favorite things you get to do every year. You nod eagerly and get crazy psyched up as he sets the ladder down.

"Wrestle!"

The wrestling match follows the same pattern it always does. You choke him with the rope, slap his fat stomach and get him in a head lock. He's so much bigger and stronger that he could probably out muscle you into submission but Rob has never taken advantage of that. For some reason he lets you get in these really good holds on him.

"Yep I'm winning" Rob says as he collapses on his sofa.

You tackle him extra hard, punching his shoulder pads as hard as you can. "I think you're losing."

"Nope, I'm still winning" he says through a laugh.

You climb on top of him and start wailing into his stomach as hard as you can. That's one of the other best parts about coming here, is how strong you feel after playing with Rob. Sometimes you think he's part ogre. "Ok, ok stop." He says shielding his face.

You don't stop.

"Stop or I'm going to start farting" Gronk threatens you.

You laugh and continue hitting him. He grabs you hand and flips over pushing all of his weight on top of you as you hit the ground hard.

"See I told you I was going to win" Rob says in between laughing.

You look up at him. "Only because you cheated."

"I did not!"

"You broke the rules, no cheating!" You smack his belly. It jiggles like the moon in the water.

"Ooooooh you're going to pay for that." Rob says as he mimics tearing off your arms and beating you with them.

"No, I think your punishment should be a stinkface" Rob says. You know what that is. It's one of the worst things ever.

"You got to be kidding me." You beg as he sits on your chest.

"Nope."

As you try and fail to push him off he grabs your wrists and puts them behind your back. You feel your arm wiggle around as his massive butt thrusts into your face. "Stop, please stop." You whimper as your nose is hit by a wall of awful.

"You can always give up" he laughs.

You try and fail to get him off you as he sits on your nose. You're crying, tears flying everywhere and dripping off his cheeks. You'd laugh if you weren't crying for real.

"And here it comes" Rob flexes as he starts farting in your face.

"NO STOP!" you yell as he flexes his butt muscles one last time and holds the pose. Mucus flies out of your nose and into your mouth, it tastes awful.

"Go on. Say you love uncle gronk's farts"

You push and struggle but you can't get him off of you. Your face is soaked in tears, snot and nasty gas as Rob laughs at your misery. Eventually you give in and whisper it. "I love uncle gronk's farts."

He finally gets up and lets you go. You let out a yell as the tears keep coming and you lay on the ground hopeless.

"I think that's the most fun I've ever had" He says as he pulls his shorts back up and waddles over to you. You wince as he picks you up easily. He sits down on the sofa and you sit in his lap as he puts his arm around you. You bury your head in his fat chest as the tears finally stop. The smell is still there, but it's fading slowly. He gently pushes your head back so he can look at you.

"Thought we were done with that." He laughs as he pats your head softly.

"Sorry, I just get emotional sometimes." You explain as you wipe your nose on his sleeve.

"It's OK, but I got a question. Why in the hell did you pick me?"

"What do you mean? You're the only option besides my parents." You say confused.

"Yeah but I'm a weirdo and you know it."

You pause for a moment as you try and think of an answer. "The truth?"

"Of course.

"You're the closest thing to a father I have. I know you're weird and all but I like it. You take care of me and stuff when you're not being a jerk."

"I thought you hated me because of all the farting." Gronk says.

"Yeah sometimes you're horrible, but I know deep down you're a nice guy. I'll put up with your stupid shenanigans because despite it all I think you care." You pat his belly. It's not as hard as a few months ago, you know it won't be long before he gets back to his regular flabby self.

"I had no idea." He says as he hugs you closer.

You wince as feel his sweaty belly fat against you. It's gross and smelly but right now it feels warm and welcoming.

"I love you too buddy" He whispers in your ear as you bury deeper into his embrace.

You hear him fart into the couch cushions. "Well you asked for it" he laughs as you laugh to yourself thinking about how crazy your life is.

"Well as long as it's not in my face" you say to him.

"That'sif you're lucky kid".

"What do you mean?"

"I love farting on faces." Gronk says. "I love seeing the looks of shame and horror on their faces."

You sit up as he laughs. "Well it's an acquired taste."

"Haha kid you'll get there soon enough". You lean back and snuggle into his belly again. "I love you Gronk, I really do."

His stubbly chin rubs against your forehead as he chuckles out loud.

[bodyswapmischief]

The Interview

(Although not a part 2. This story is linked to The promotion) 

If you can believe it ... before today, my body looked completely different. I was ... for the most part hairless. And that worked for me. It showed off the curves of my muscles. My six pack, biceps, and chest glistened after every work out. But, now everything changed.

It all started because, I really needed a job. I applied to everything  I could find. But, no one ever called back. Until I got a call from Transform Inc. They were a really big company, in the city. I didn't even think I applied to them. I knew it was a mistake. But, never turn down an opportunity... or so I thought.

The day of the interview, I dressed in my best. I wore well fitted slacks and dress shirt. It hugged my body and outlined my well earn muscles. I hope I was interviewed by a woman or gay man. I might not be the smartest person or have the most experience, but with my body I could seduce the pants off of anyone.

Reaching the building, I quickly realized I was out of my league, job-wise. I went up the elevator and was immediately greeted by a lady, at the front desk. She was insanely attractive and led me through the office. As we walked, I started noticing the people in the office. All the women were attractive, and the men would have been too, if they were in better shape. They had a range of different size bellies. From a little bloated to full size beer belly.

I finally reached the office. "Your interview will be held in there." She said, as she walked away. I walked in and saw the biggest fattest guy in the office. He seemed stressed and tired. His face seemed young, but the weight added age to him. His beach ball belly rested on his lap and pushed against his small desk. His dress shirt struggled to contain his stomach and his equally large pair of fat boobs. His beard hid what I could only imagine was a double chin. He looked at me, like he was caught of guard. "Oh, please take a seat." He said as he clean off his desk. On his desk was a salad and a water bottle. I laughed in my head (Yeah like that's gonna help you, fat ass). His name plate read: Steven Fuller. (Yup the name fits) I continued to laugh to myself.

I sat down, keeping my eyes on the big fat blob of a man, in front of me. He was gross and every part of me hated him, for doing that to his body. I was snapped back to the present with the creaking of his chair, as he moved. It was screaming to get this fat-ass of it. He was also looking at me. Checking my body out, but trying not to get caught. He started looking for something, but stopped as his face turned red, from embarrassment. He lifted up his massive gut and pulled out a file. "I forgot, I put this on my lap before my lunch." He shyly said.

I started laughing. The comedy of this fat pig in front of me was just to much to take. He looked hurt by my reaction. "Yeah, kid don't get fat ... it sucks." He weakly smiled, as he started reading the file. "Don't worry I won't" I winked. He immediately puts down the file and looks at me, straight into my eyes. "Do you care about your body?" I was thrown back a bit. "Yeah ..." I replied confused. "Then this is not the job for you. I recommend leaving now." he starts to put the file away. "But ... look...I'm sorry I laughed... it's just..." I tried to explain. He looked at me, "No ... you look, I know you. I've been you. In fact my body was in better shape then yours and now look at me. I am ... begging you, just walk out that door and leave."

I lost it and everything I felt just came out. "I'm sorry you don't like what you did to your fat ass body, but I am not you." I started flexing under my shirt. "You wished you had this body. But, you can't. That gut is massive and no amount of salad is going to change that." Anger filled his eyes. But, suddenly the door opened and an older man walked in. His body made of muscle, which made him look younger than he probably was. "Hello, I'm Thomas Sterling and I will be finishing the interview, in my office." He motioned for me to follow. I turned to look at Mr. Fuller. He shook his head in disappointment.

We reached Mr. Sterling's office and sat down. "I'm sorry about that." Sterling said "He shouldn't have told you to leave." His powerful arms pulled out a box. "Well, he hasn't been the first person to be jealous of my body." I said. "Oh, and you do have a good strong body. 7% body fat?" He laughed in delight. The way he talked about my body was making me nervous. But, his tone was soothing. "No ... 5%" I answered. He opened the box and revealed doughnuts. "Here take one." He whispered. "I shouldn't." I said looking at the doughnuts. "Just one won't hurt." He said. I took one and bit into it. Blue filling gushed into my mouth. It tasted so sweet and good. Sterling smiled.

Slowly my stomach felt bloated and pushed against my shirt. (I did have a big breakfast) I thought to myself. "You have the job." He smiled. He quickly got up to get some paper work. The muscles under his clothes, showing off with every move. I wanted to be like him when I got older. "Help yourself to another doughnut, in celebration," he cheered. And, I did. My shirt and pants started feeling tighter. A tingling sensation started spreading through my chest.

"Sign these papers and you can start working tomorrow." I quickly signed, every paper. "Good, Good, Good ... I'm happy to know your happy with getting as fat as I want you to." My throat choke up a bit. I looked down and saw what was happening to my body. My pants were skin tight as they squeezed my legs. My softer chest was squeezed by the now tighter shirt. My flabby stomach was peeking out of my straining buttons. "What the Fuck! What happened to me." I screamed.

Sterling laughed. "It's all part of the contract." He brought out a syringe of blue liquid and injected it into a doughnut. "You will eat 3 of these donuts every month, and gain 5 pounds of permanent fat, for each. For every 5 pounds you will be paid 10,000 dollars. That will be 30,000 a month. This will go on for a year. Then you will have an option of staying on and getting promoted or leaving the company, if you wish. If you do stay on, you will be paid 100o times your weight per year. It was written down on those paper, you signed."

"You can't do this. I quit! These documents won't hold in court." I cried out. "Aw, I thought this might happen. That's why I created this new formula. It will make you more obedient. Now, finish the last doughnut for the month." He said as he handed me the freshly injected doughnut. My hand grabbed it on its own and brought it closer to my mouth. I scream for it to stop. But my hand forced it in my mouth. As soon as the blue goo reached my tongue, I started unwilling chewing. It really was the best thing I ever eaten. I felt the effects immediately take place. My expanding ass caused my pants to rip. The buttons on my shirt popped, as my belly jiggled, now having space to expand and sit in it's full size. My skin became itchy has my hairless body started sporting hair everywhere I could and couldn't see.

"Oh, that's a side effect, I haven't worked out yet. But, I can't say it doesn't make me happy. Now my bear in training go home and get some rest, because tomorrow you start work. And let's keep this contract our little secret." He smiled at me. I started walking out and bumped into Mr. Fuller, waiting right outside. My eyes red from wanting to cry. "Before you leave ... you should come to my office." I followed him. By the way he wasn't freaking out, I already knew that he understood what went on.

He helped sneak me into his office so, no one saw me. Once there, he pulled out some clothes. "Here these should fit you." He said. "Why are you doing this." I said with a shaky voice. "I was mean to you ... I got what I deserved, maybe worse." I felt embarrassed, changing my clothes in front of him. I hated showing off the new fat rolls that I could feel on my body. "You aren’t the only one that made a deal with that devil. I wasn't lying. I was like you. About 180 pounds of  pure muscle. In my first deal, I shot up to about 270. With a little more convincing, he has me at 300 pounds." He said rubbing his swollen stomach.

The numbers started running through my head. 3 donuts each month for a year. 15 pounds every month for 12 months. That would be a 180 pound weight gain. I'm was currently 180. I would double my size with pure fat. I would be 360 pounds. 60 pounds heavier than the man in front of me. I started crying. Mr. Fuller came closer to hug me. His belly pushed tight against mine. He started talking " Look, I don't know how many pounds you signed up to gain. But you are not alone. I'm the fattest guy in this office..." (not for long) I thought to myself "And, I still live an active life. I might not be as fast or have as much stamina, like when I was in shape. But, I am able to keep my weight down to my permanent weight and not an ounce more. Just eat right and exercise. In fact some of us guys from the office go to workout everyday, you should come" He let me go. I calmed my self and started walking out "what's the point" I said. As I walked out the door, I hear him yell out " You can always be fatter than you have to."

Those words still ring in my ear, as I stand here exploring my strange new 195 pound and counting body. Imagining how I would look fatter. The door bell rings. It's a pizza delivery guy. "Order for Eric, from Mr. Sterling." He unloads 2 large pizzas, a 2 liter bottle of coke, and a cookie cake. My stomach starts to rumble. Might as well eat because, this stomach is going to get bigger whether I like it or not. I can always got to the gym tomorrow.

(Follow my second blog @malereblogmischief, where I re-blog the sources for the picture in my stories.)

[the-entity-down-the-street]

Flutterby, Butterfly

Hey everyone, I’m back! I took a break from tumblr for a while, and while I might post less from now on, I figured now was the time to come back. Today I have something a little different. A story I wrote about coming to terms with my gender identity! It’s framed as me having a conversation with my own soul. It’s my hope that someone who has had similar experiences might find comfort in reading it. However, trigger warning, because there is a very honest discussion about my experiences with dysphoria and body problems in general. It’s a bit graphic and anatomical. I’ll put the story under the cut so you can skip it if you prefer. For everyone else, enjoy! 

We met somewhere dark. Not dark in the physical sense. Light filtered in through the bedroom window like any normal day. Pale sunshine like pastel prison bars shone through the blinds. I’d been here for weeks. Or months. Who knew anymore?

My friends, save one, had left me for their own homes. Not that I blamed them. This was a dead town without the university’s typical buzzing student body. The lifeblood had been supped dry. Of course, it wasn’t very exciting anywhere else either. We were suffering in the world’s most mundane and boring catastrophe. Locked away in our homes, quietly terrified, numbed in our isolation. This was where we met.

I had been cleaning the gunk off my soul. What else was there to do? After peeling away the rot of old habit, scrubbing away the mold of toxic friendships, and pulling at parasitic thoughts, I thought the work was done.

And yet.

Something was off. Beneath the grime was someone I didn’t want to recognize.

“Hello again,” they said. “Are you done hiding from me?”

“You’re a side-effect,” I told them. My body issues were the last bit of junk to tackle. I thought I’d settled them as I got healthier, but isolation and recent weight gain had done me no favors.  “Once I’m back in shape, you’ll go away.”

They sauntered over to the bed and plopped down. Fresh, clean, and naked, they moved like someone who had never known restriction. “Is that so?”

“Of course. I just want to be thin.”

“And flat,” they said, gesturing to their chest. I envied their beauty. Lithe, fit, and androgynous.

I crossed my arms. “Insecurity isn’t an identity. I’ve always hated my boobs.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. They’re flabby. Gross. They don’t fit on me.”

“Would you be happier if they were perkier?”

“I mean—”

They sat up. “Or do you push them out of the way when you look in the mirror, even when you’re skinny?”

My mouth pressed into a hard line. What could I say? Countless timed I found myself squeezing them into my armpits, squishing them against my ribs, blocking them out with my hands. I measured the beauty of my naked body by how I looked without them. Even chubby I’d push them out of the way to feel better about myself. We both knew what they were trying to tell me.

“I’d like to be flat-chested. Big deal,” I said, at last. “Body preference isn’t an identity. I’m still a girl.”

“Is that why you fantasize about having a hysterectomy?”

“Hey, nobody likes their period. It’s messy. It hurts. I get bloated.”

“You get womanly,” they said.

“Ugh, don’t say it like that. That’s just weird.”

They shot me a smirk, like I’d proven their point. “Disgusting, isn’t it? You’re so uncomfortable you barely want to put your clothes on.”

I turned on my heel away from them. “Pads feel like diapers.”

“And tampons are so much worse,” they added. I agreed. That cotton between my legs made me too aware of my own body for comfort. “Remember when you were on the ring? And you could skip your period? Felt natural, didn’t it?”

“Until I got bloated and lost my sex drive.”

“Yeah, that sucked. It was like being hacked from the inside. No wonder you avoided hormonal birth control for so long.”

I had. I even tore up my womb with that copper torture device to avoid it. Part of me hoped it would perforate my walls so the doctors would have to perform a hysterectomy. That didn’t help my case, I realized.

“No, it doesn’t,” they agreed. “Getting your tubes tied was the right choice.”

The right choice. That was one way of putting it. Everyone knew I was staunchly childfree, and I was solidifying that staunchness with a snip. I told myself the two months of euphoria after was just a sense of personal accomplishment. Of freedom. Of finally having bodily autonomy.

I always got a little rush from changing my body. Haircuts, dye, new piercings, tattoos, whatever little modification I could afford to make my body feel like mine. Yet nothing compared to what that surgery did for me. It wasn’t a rush. It was an awakening. It was…

“You. You disconnected from womanhood,” they explained, moving their fingers in a snipping motion. “That’s why it felt so good. Nothing hits like gender euphoria, baby.”

“But I like girly things. Make-up. Jewelry. Pretty dresses.”

“Never said you didn’t. Style isn’t an identity.”

Oh. I faced them, defeated. “Then what is my identity? Where is it?”

They stood up and approached me. Sea green eyes saw straight into me. Because they were mine. “You’re looking at it. Where am I?”

“Inside me.”

“Exactly,” I told myself. “I’m not part of your garbage. I’m not an issue. What am I?”

“…You’re my soul.” The moment I said it, I knew it was true. I couldn’t pull or scrub or peel them away. We were the same, yet not. The disconnect between us was slight, deep only as breast tissue and muscle mass, but it was the root of most of my body issues. It was the unease of unbalance. I wasn’t myself yet.

“There you go.”

“But what does that make me? What am I, if not a woman?”

They smiled at me. A sweet, knowing smile. “If you want an honest answer, you’re the purple that falls between the pinks and blues of the world. The shade varies on the hour of course. Sometimes fuchsia, sometimes lavender, sometimes wine, but purple all the same.”

“I was asking for a label,” I said, flatly.

They shrugged. “Take a word and use it. What do you want it for? Others or yourself?’

I thought on that. The answer was both. I wanted to explain myself to others, and I wanted to define myself for myself. Androgynous felt right, but then again, so did genderfluid. Nonbinary was broad, but I kind of liked that. It was an umbrella to cover everything else. All these words were synonyms that described, to different degrees, the nuances of my soul.

“Then use all three,” they suggested. “You’re a writer. Since when do writers use just one word to describe something? Especially something so complex as a person? This gives you wiggle room when explaining it to people. If they don’t understand one, maybe they’ll understand another.”

“Yeah, I don’t think my mom knows what the fuck nonbinary means.”

“But she knows what androgynous is. She knows what feminine and masculine mean. You’ll tell her you’re the balance between them. That’s where you’re happiest,” they explained. “But in the end, no matter what label you pick, they’re all true. You know who you are.”

I did. We did. They did.

Yet I felt my world crumbling. I was sitting alone, naked as my soul, staring in the mirror at someone I wasn’t. The people who knew me didn’t know me anymore. I was an alien in my own life.

I had a sudden burning need to erase my old self completely. I wanted the person I saw inside to be who everyone else always knew, to project them onto their memories. More than anything I wanted my real body. This one had an awkward fit, like I was wearing something from several years ago, and I was squirming in it. It felt… off.

“This feels backwards,” I said. “I’m growing backwards. I’m not growing into myself. I’m cutting myself away. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Has it been comfortable cutting off old friends you’ve outgrown? Has it been comfortable to confront the toxic habits you’ve clung to?”

“No.”

“But it’s been for the best?”

“Yes.”

“Then there you go,” they said. “Sometimes metamorphosis feels like going backwards. Remember when you were little, and you called butterflies flutterbies? That’s you. Right now, you’re the flutterby. You’re dissolving in your cocoon. Do you think that’s comfortable for the butterfly?”

“No.”

“But it’s for the best?” They phrased it like a question, but I knew it wasn’t.

“…Yes.”

“Then let yourself dissolve.”

I sighed. “But then what? Who will I be without my old self?”

They smiled again. “With time, the butterfly.”

[megabadbunny]

warning for body image rants/discussions of internalized fatphobia/mentions of disordered eating/general bullshit

so I was pawing through facebook photos looking for something (cough possibly an example of me wearing hideous early 00′s fashion, which, why, cough cough) and I stumbled across a session of my friend and I trying on wedding dresses about 9 years ago

and like...I remember looking back on these photos later and thinking I was fat??? I remember looking at these pictures after the fact with complete and utter disgust at how horrifically, disappointingly fat I was???? I didn’t feel too upset with this particular photo because hey, even if my arms were flabby disgusting twin beached whales, at least I kind of had an hourglass shape, right? But hoo boy, I wasn’t so kind with other photos...

like I remember looking at the following photo and wondering if I should even post it because look how fat my tummy was

and I remember being disappointed in myself here because I had *~*~gasp*~*~* gained weight in the preceding months

for the record, I’m just shy of 5′6″, and in these photos, my weight ranges anywhere from 135 to as low as 119. Even according to the bullshit BMI chart, that means that at times, I was verging on being unhealthily thin. I dimly remember looking at those figures and feeling weirdly proud of myself, even though at the same time, I was still disgusted, because my arms were still soooo flabby, my thighs were sooooo big and gross, my tummy pooch was soooo big and noticeable. Apparently being just an arm’s-length-away from “technically underweight” still wasn’t thin enough for me.

(and it wasn’t like I had issues with other folks’ weight. Other folks’ weight wasn’t something I really thought about or noticed all that much. I mean sure I noticed some people were bigger and smaller than others, the same way one notices hair color or skin tone or age or gender presentation. But I didn’t look at other women and think “Wow their arms are disgusting” or “Jeezus how about you lay off the third bag of Cheeto’s, huh buddy?” Those thoughts never extended to anyone else, they were all just sort of trapped and echoing around my own head. It was just this weirdly self-deprecating, self-loathing, self-centered bullshit.)

I don’t even know why I’m posting this tbh, except that today it really hit me just how skewed my perception of my own body was. It wasn’t a surprise that I had body image issues--struggling with a bout of disordered eating in earlier years (emetophobia, anyone?) that left me underweight for the bulk of my junior high experience meant that my perception of my own size and weight was thrown off-kilter before puberty even had a chance to strike--but I guess I just hadn’t realized just how bad those body image issues really were, even after I clawed my way back to normal eating. Today it just struck me how much time and energy and brainspace I wasted in my late teens to mid-twenties, just hating myself and how “fat” and “horrible” and “disgusting” I was.

(It doesn’t help, by the way. If you’re wondering. The self-hate, that is. It doesn’t keep the weight off. It just makes it easier to lapse into bad habits--because what’s the use of trying if you’re just a fat ugly garbage monster who will never be anything better?--and that just makes you hate yourself even more, which makes you acquire even more bad habits and treat yourself even worse, and wow, talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.)

I won’t lie, part of me still looks back on these photos with longing, wishing I was anywhere near that slim again, but damn. After starting meds and therapy, even on my roughest days, I rarely get close to the sort of extreme self-loathing I had back then. I would love to shed some weight and get into decent shape but I would take my current fluffy chubby self with her burgeoning confidence and gradual self-acceptance over my skinny anxiety-ridden self-hating self any day of the week.

so I guess the point of this is just--please don’t hate yourself. Especially please don’t hate yourself because of your weight. If you legitimately need to lose weight for health reasons, please do it in a healthy way. (Same if you need to gain weight!) But please do yourself a favor and take the self-hate out of the equation. Take the steps necessary to ensure your health but keep in mind that you’re so much more than a number on a scale or a tape measure. You’re worth so much more.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3