#and i've tried so fucking hard to gain weight

[cactusdodes]

.

[doberbutts]

I want to talk a bit about the whole "fat trans men are denied top surgery" thing because it's true. Many surgeons have BMI requirements and will not operate on anyone classified as more than "overweight".

But I also want to discuss how testosterone often makes you gain weight, putting trans mascs in a fairly difficult position.

When I started testosterone, I weighed 178lbs. I rapidly shot up to 198lbs. At 5'10" I'm classified as just over a BMI of 30 according to my discharge papers, making me classified as obese. I also started having a bit of a cholesterol problem and being that A: I've also hit my 30s in that time and B: I have an extensive family history of high cholesterol in the men in my family, we tried changing my diet and exercise to see if it was lifestyle or if it was genetic.

In that timespan I dropped 3lbs (bringing me to 195lbs, just under that obese line) and my cholesterol continued to climb. It's been about 7 or 8 months with no other change.

When I tell people that I weigh roughly 200lbs, they don't normally believe me. To be clear I don't really care about any of these numbers, I care about my overall health irt stamina, strength, fatigue, etc and I care about my actual muscle mass and body condition. There are, admittedly, times where I look at my stomach and go :( aww I used to be skinnier. But then there's also times like two nights ago when I looked in the mirror after my shower and just saw A Guy standing there looking at me.

Anyway. My point is, testosterone (and age) made me gain a significant amount of weight, and nothing really I've done has gotten it off. Which is fine with me, because I feel better at this current condition and am stronger and have more stamina than I ever did at lower weights even when I was a competing athlete. Everyone I tell my weight and BMI to is shocked to learn that I am 200lbs and classified as obese. From complete disbelief until I stand on a scale, to the immediate "you wear it well" or "it's all muscle though", to the inevitable "okay but BMI is a load of shit anyway", clearly even though that's what the numbers say I am not exactly the poster child for what lawmakers and fat phobic doctors fear monger about when they discuss the "obesity epidemic".

I am lucky enough that while my surgeon is being very annoying in other ways, she at least has no BMI requirement. For 7 or so months I have been putting in a lot of effort to try and lose some weight to fix my cholesterol and I have pretty much nothing to show for it. If it's that hard for me, someone who visually doesn't really look fat, how difficult must it be for someone who is definitely not toeing the line like I am. How impossible for someone who is in the 400lb, 500lb, 600lb range.

Testosterone makes you gain weigh, and then surgeons won't operate if you gain too much. What a fucking joke.

[archangeldyke-all]

can you write something about sevika getting chubbier by skipping the gym because she's focusing on you and other priorities in her life. and finding out she's pleasantly surprised by the extra weight

YES I FUCKING CAN!!!!!!!

men and minors dni

since you've moved in together six months ago, sevika's put on some weight.

she's a tall woman, and she's ripped with muscle, so it's hard to tell at first. but... over time you begin to notice a bit of a change.

her hips are a little plusher beneath your grip, her ribs aren't visible anymore, her sharp jawline gets a little softer.

it makes you so fucking happy.

when you first met her, the woman barely ate. besides whiskey and bar nuts, her appetite mostly consisted of eating whatever scraps jinx leaves behind on her plate after lunch.

you made it a habit to shove snacks in her hands at any chance you got. trail mix, granola bars, sliced fruit: just whatever you had near you that you could give her. she always digs in without hesitation, never tries to deny the food, so you start shoving snacks in her pockets when you do her laundry, and her beg when she's not looking.

as you guys grew closer, sevika started blowing off her nightly visits to the gym to visit with you instead. you asked her once over dinner if she missed her hobby, and she'd just shrugged, smiling at you. "i'll still get a pretty good workout in with you once we get home, babe." she teased. you snorted and elbowed her, shoveling another bite of cake in her mouth, and she smirked as she spoke around a glob of chocolate frosting. "gym's not as fun as you, anyways."

she's still just as strong as she was before; if anything, the extra fat on her body just gives her more fuel to last longer during her fights-- more padding to block and diffuse her opponent's blows.

as much as you love the visual confirmation that you're feeding your girl properly, and she's treating herself a little softer these days; most of the time you don't even notice the weight gain. it's still sevika: the love of your fucking life. she's never brought it up to you, and you've never brought it up to her.

but now, she's standing in front of the mirror, pouting down at her pants.

you blink up from you book and watch her for a second, her hand groping the little pouch of fat she's put on her lower stomach. her lips twitch up at the side just a bit, just for a second, but it still makes your heart flop over to see.

"sev?" you ask.

she turns around to look at you. "my pants don't button anymore." she pouts. you chuckle, making grabby hands for your girlfriend from your shared bed. sevika launches herself in your arms without hesitation. she huffs against your tits, nuzzling your chest.

"i'll alter 'em for you. i know how attached you are to those dusty things."

sevika chuckles, pinches your side before she glares at you. "you like these dusty things too-- they show off my ass."

"mmhmm, real well." you say, nodding and smacking her ass on top of you. sevika giggles and collapses against you again.

she's quiet, drawing a pattern on your skin with her finger. you know she's got something on her mind, you just wait patiently for her to find the words.

"y'know i've gained, like, forty five pounds since we met?" she asks.

you raise an eyebrow at her.

"yeah?" you ask, trying to read her mood. sevika smiles.

"yeah." she says. "i've always been skinny-- at least, since i started puberty. i was a chunky kid, though." she chuckles. you grin at the image of a chubby baby sevika toddling around.

"are you... upset?" you ask quietly.

sevika chuckles. "fuck no." she says. "it's... nice?" she asks. you grin down at her.

"yeah?"

"yeah. i dunno. it's just... i don't feel like i have to train everyday anymore. i don't feel like a fuckin' failure if i skip a day at the gym. i don't get migraines or hangovers as bad anymore, and..." she trails off, looking away from you. you nudge her, recognizing the flustered look on her face and dying to know what's got her blushing. "i dunno." she whispers, chancing a glance up at you. "when i look down and see my stomach's soft... it just makes me think of all the nice meals i got to eat with you to get this way." she says with a sweet smile.

you choke a bit on your breath, then flip the pair of you over, groaning as you bury your face against sevika's giggling throat. "sev!" you whine.

"what?" she asks, laughing.

"you can't just say sweet shit like that baby, you'll make me cry." you whimper against her.

sevika kisses you head and smacks your ass, her free hand drawing patterns into your back. "you can cry babe. i'll hold you."

this does nothing to stop your tears. you groan and pinch sevika's soft side, relishing in the squeal it pulls from her, and the way her rock-hard abs are covered in a nice layer now-- all 'cause of you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

[partycatty]

so johnny puts on a little bit of weight right (eating or drinking who knows) and he fuckin hates it. maybe not insecure but he’s not happy with how he looks, his abs aren’t defined and hard as rock anymore, he can GRAB his stomach.

so fem!reader isn’t having it and FUCKS HIM BLOWS HIM RIDES HIM all while grabbing at the flesh of his ass thighs stomach anywhere she can nab and praising him because thick men and women are HOT

love you 💙💙

IM SORRY IM NOT MAKING THIS SMUTTY BECAUSE I NEED FLUFF FOR ONCE IN MY GODDAMN LIFE BLUE I LOVE YOU BUT YOU NEED TO BE SPAYED /LH

johnny cage > pudge

warnings: insecure johnny *chewing on his pudge rn*

notes: guys im tweaking over johnny hardcore this time around thanks to my favorite enabler @spacepl4ant <3

[ masterlist ]

• johnny has been insecure as of late, pulling and squishing at his body with frustrated groans every time he dressed himself in the mirror. his jawline softened, chest puffed and stomach spilling out over his belt. he didn't want to admit just how far he let himself go, drinking on his off-days and spending more time on the couch instead of his at-home gym. it took a toll on his perfect physique.

• he didn't want to burden you with the realization, opting to ignore the change by wearing looser clothing or pulling away when your touches get too intimate. it put you off, leaving you confused and worried on why he's being so distant. was it something you did? something you didn't do?

• it wasn't that he was neglecting you or declining your touch, he just visibly tensed or conveniently turned away to your physical advances. he felt gross, he felt unlike himself, as if he was wearing the wrong skin and it made it crawl. johnny wondered if you would be disgusted or upset with his lack of attention to his body. baggy clothes were his go-to.

• johnny knew you didn't properly notice, instead assuming he was going through a wardrobe change and trying something new. but, upon checking his walk-in closet, you didn't notice any new clothes.

• the two of you were getting ready for a dinner date out, johnny opting for one of his larger button-ups and flowy pants. as he faced the mirror to don the shirt, your padding footsteps were down the hall and quickly approaching.

• he couldn't just slam the door on you, what an asshole he'd be, but he didn't want you seeing his bare stomach and the way the pudge poured over his belt buckle. johnny tried pulling the pants up further, but instead ended up looking like a fumbling idiot as you finally walked into the bedroom.

• you were already ready, always earlier than your husband - he was the diva, not you - and you leaned against the doorway, whistling at the side-view he provided.

• "hey there superstar," you coo, looking him up and down. johnny feels hot. "looking good, my love."

• "thanks, sugar," his voice is strained, upset as he fumbles with the belt. "i think my belt shrunk in the wash."

• you give him a funny look. "you're not throwing your belts in the washer, are you?"

• he whines, flopping his arms to the side and looking at the ceiling with a huff. "no, it's not fitting right. i think i've gained weight."

• "i know," you nod, walking over to him and hugging him from behind. "i don't care."

• "you don't?" his voice is gentler, softer. "i do."

• "why?"

• "because i don't look like johnny cage," he moans, tugging at his shirt. "i feel awful. i wasn't training, i drank, i've been just... lazy."

• you're quiet for a while before you open your mouth to reply. "i think you look like johnny cage," your voice has a concealed playfulness to it. "i mean, you're who i married, and you still have my favorite parts."

• "what's that then?" he frowns. "if not my muscles."

• you trail your hands around his body as you face him, tearing his gaze away from the mirror behind you. your eyes can't help but trail across his features with a warm smile, struggling to pick the first thing you could.

• "your nose," you begin, getting on tippy toes to kiss it. "i like the shape. strong, charming.

• "your eyes," you place fluttering kisses, just barely on his lashes. "warm, they're expressive and you have a cute puppy dog look."

• "your hair," you run your fingers through the silky locks, scratching with your nails ever so slightly against his scalp. "you take good care of it, it's soft and cute when you wake up in the morning."

• "alright, alright," he giggles, pushing you away by your hips. "i get it."

• you pout at him, crossing your arms. he chuckles and pulls away, stepping back. you point behind him, to the bed. he raises his hands in a surrendering motion and plops his butt onto the sheets.

• you're quick to climb onto him, kicking your shoes off and straddling his lap. johnny's hands instinctively fall to your outer thighs, supporting you as you sat on his own.

• "you're sweet to me," you continue, hands on his face, ever so slightly kneading at his cheeks. "you're handsome, you're charming, you know what you want and you strive to get it, you're creative, you're brave, i mean, nobody else could've done what you did back in sun do. you saved the timeline. i'm glad you did, or i wouldn't be here with you."

• "it wasn't just me that saved everything," he protests, but not entirely denying your reassurance. "we had ninjas, fire gods, monks-"

• "ah-" you put a finger to his lips, his eyes widen in surprise. "but you were there. you gave kenshi purpose, you had that stupid, stupid drone, you cheered everyone up, you looked out for others. only johnny cage did that."

• he grins lopsidedly, scanning your face in admiration. "you're such a sweetheart."

• "because you deserve it," you kiss the tip of his nose. "and for the record, you're cute with a little tummy."

[fortheloveofgrowth2]

Choose Your Own Growth - Part Two: Ascension

Pop...pop...shriiiiip!

The feeling was intense. A rush of fear, adrenaline followed by a need. She began humping the air as the seams on her jeans split, then laddered and frayed.

"No! This can't be happening. Please stop." She became more panicked as the tingling between her legs began to intensify. "This isn't natural. Somebody help!" She screamed.

Her shoes bulged, indents of toes becoming visible on the tops of her sneakers. "It hurts, but."

Her heart quickened again as a wave of pleasure rushed over her. Sarah screamed in orgasmic pleasure. "OH FUCK YEAH!"

Her body convulsed as her shoes burst open in sync with her orgasmic scream, as her jeans shredded all the way up to her knees.

"I've gotta get up. I've gotta get out. I need to... Oh fuck another one." She moaned, her hands flying to her crotch as she masturbated furiously. "No. I've got to get out of here."

She tried to get up, only getting as far as a squat, as she screams again. Her buttons flying across the basement and her jeans finally giving up the fight. She was ten feet tall now, maybe even more. But she started to feel the resistance falling as her body temperature increased. Her breasts pushed eagerly against her bra, increasing their rate of expansion.

Her left breast was the first to escape the confines of her ever tightening bra. The remnants of her clothes on the ground beneath her.

The intensity of the transformation was incredible. All she cared about was getting out. But she realised the only way out, was through the basement.

She stands, her head hitting the ceiling so hard, she's knocked back to her knees.

"I'm incredible." She screamed. The pleasure began to rush over her again as a jet of cum escapes her swollen sex. "I need... I need."

The walls closed in on her as her brain tried to finish her ragged sentence. "MORE... OH FUCK I NEED MORE."

She came hard as her breasts began to swell at an increased rate to the rest of her body.

"Bigger?" She asked as she felt her toned legs begin to soften as the pleasure continued.

Even on her knees her head hit the ceiling, hitting the grated skylight that was under the pavement above.

"Need more!" She grunts as Sarah's panties, the final vestige of clothing burst off her increasing arse and thighs.

She closes her eyes and moans in orgasm as another surge pushes her closer to her escape.

The door opens and Dr Ashleigh walks back through.

"I see my formula is a success. Now let's see if the contagion sequence is effective. Leave. Dominate. Change the world. You are a goddess now."

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Player + Ghoul Reader

A player who showers their new classmate in gifts and praise in hopes of scoring a new lay. A slightly off-putting, but cute wallflower who true to their nature shies away from player's advances. "You don't want me. It'll just cause trouble for the both of us." Playing hard to get - how adorable. Truth be told, that aloof oddball is one of the cutest things they've seen in recent years. Aw, well - more fish in the sea. Player tucks a photo of that classmate in their wallet and tries to move on, but every partner they take on has some trait that reminds them of that person. They do anything to impress them while having the pretty thing they've been going "steady" with on their arm to no reaction everytime. They express genuine concern for their classmate with their fluctuation in weight and physical strength. It's so annoying - just like that knife pointing at their neck.

"You fucking asshole! I've seen how you look at them. You think you can just invite me over to your house and cover up the murals dedicated to them without me finding out? I know I'm not the only one either.... I'm going kill you, and hang you out to bleed - like the fucking pig that you are!"

They always knew this would come back to bite them in the ass, but not like this. Accepting their fate, they shut their eyes as their attacker advances. The wet squelch of tearing flesh rings sickly in their ears - but it's neither their blood spilled or their attacker's blade who dealt the killing blow. They open their eyes to see skin caught between another set of teeth - their partner reaching out to them to grab onto the faux strings of their love to save them from the fangs puncturing their jugular.

"H..elp...."

Snap.

With the last of their strength, they stab upwards. Like an unwanted doll, their body crumbles gracelessly to the floor. Tears rain upon their already soaked cheeks as to the silhouette loaming over falls to their knees; talons clawing at those jagged protrusions sticking out of their gums - a familiar bracelet around their wrist dyed in blood. They yank the knife sticking out of the side of their face like a thorn, the damage inflicted and the wear of starvation sealed under the grace of fresh, human blood.

"No.....nononono. I'm sorry.... I'm sorry... They were going to hurt you, and I'm.....I'm... so hungry. I didn't mean to do it. I had to do it. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. You're my only friend. I'm sorry!"

Their heart hammers in their chest, threatening to break free and crawl into their throat. You really were....the cutest thing they'd ever seen.

Player follows you everywhere after that. They can't let you slip out of their sights, or you may attempt to transfer schools like you'd done in the past. Nobody understands why such an outgoing and attractive person hovers over someone like you, but expressing their feelings on the matters vocally just results in them gaining some needed target practice and you with another hot meal. Long sleeves have never been their style, but it's better than people spreading the wild accusations that you of all people are hurting them - when they offer their flesh to you willingly and cook it into dishes they force you to eat in public or use the power of their influence on the student body and cry until the glaring eyes, and your hunger, break you. Their friends record you eating raw meat outside of the convenience store you bought it from and they couldn't be more disgusted. That beef was almost purely fat and they had a nice, healthy lean cut for you in their fridge.

-

Ghoul Reader, covered in blood and missing half their cheek from the force at which they rip out the knife: Sob - hick I'm a monster....

Yan Player: Haha, no baby - you're so sexy

[bomberqueen17]

*vibrating slightly in place*

So ok. When I was in kindergarten, my classroom was arranged so that four desks were linked together, so we were in little groups. I used to regularly vibrate my desk and the three it was attached to, with three other children in them, across several feet of floor space, until the linked desks ran into the teacher's desk, which was larger and did not move with the force of my vibrations. I was a good student, but hard to control, and markedly uneven in my ability to like. Do anything. "Well," my mom said once, upon beholding my entire spectrum of a report card, "we'd just hate to be bored."

When I graduated with my bachelor's degree, seventeen years later, my mom said "I never thought you could do it," and when I, shocked, said "what?" she said "well what with your ADHD and all," and I said "my what?" and she said "well, i never wanted to shake your confidence, and I thought once they put a label on you it'd be over, but you super have like, turbo ADHD. Why, what do you think your deal is?" She said it nicely and not in those words at all, but it was the first time I'd ever really realized that I wasn't just mildly eccentric, I did seem to actually have something wrong with me.

I've been trying to get a diagnosis ever since. I've never been able to. I had no health insurance at all for a huge chunk of my twenties, which put a damper on things. One doctor told me "you'd know if you had that" and when I was like "I... do" she was like "no i mean. you'd already be being treated." Which shows a wild and totally unwarranted optimism in our medical system, but she was a resident. The doctor overseeing her care of me suggested I try taking fish oil capsules. To "rebuild my brain tissue".

I did. It didn't help. I still buy them but mostly I use them now to get my cat to take pills.

Eventually in my 30s my doctors started sort of believing me maybe, or at least realizing they couldn't really brush me off (I have gotten... less easily-cowed as I've aged) but they were all like "oh, I can't evaluate that. You'll have to research and find a place that can do a neuropsych eval for you. Insurance doesn't cover those. So good luck. Have some antidepressants in the meantime."

I slid into my 40s, still undiagnosed. I read as many self-help books on the topic as I could find, did all the checklists I found. They all said "girl you super have like turbo ADHD." I tried meditation. I tried divination. I tried bullet journaling, which was hilarious. I tried yoga.

I actually damaged myself doing yoga and am banned from yoga, but at least I'm in physical therapy now. (Word to the wise: if you have really really flexible hip joints, don't fucking do yoga. "Usually I don't have to tell people not to get into that position," said my bemused physical therapist. "Oh," I said, blissfully bepretzeled. "It feels super good." "Mm," she said, "you've torn your labrum. Stop doing that." Now I do really, really boring stretches that don't feel nearly as good, but I also can walk without limping, so. Like. We take the good with the bad I guess.)

Anyway. My PCP in January was like "wait you didn't follow my super vague directions to go see 'the guys downstairs' and see if they can squeeze you into their eleven-month waiting period to get an evaluation that i cannot mention without saying it's several thousand dollars and your insurance surely won't cover it? you must not want this diagnosis very badly!" (At no point has anyone ever given me a phone number for 'the guys downstairs'. I still don't know what she meant by any of those directions. This PCP and I technically speak the same language but I've never understood a single thing she has told me and I don't think she understands a word I say in return, everything I tell her seems to be such a shock to her. You blame antidepressants for your weight gain? I've never heard of that. Ma'am please look up what the incredibly common side effects of antidepressants are.)

I called around but noplace both took my insurance and was accepting new patients. Finally I gave up. Then my Dude went on our insurance company's website and took over the search. He found that there's some kind of concierge service thing, which the insurance company normally charges $450/mo for but our plan includes it, because it's pretty well-hidden on the website and most people aren't ever going to find it anyway. So he said, you know what, I am going to instigate a query on this.

They took two weeks but eventually came back with a list of 13 places, most of them not remotely local. Ten of them were red X's, disqualified for varying reasons-- one because the phone number didn't work, another because it's a seven-hour drive away and doesn't do telehealth. One was in New Jersey. None of them were the local places I had already called.

Two of them were valid, but the insurance wouldn't cover the evaluation for various reasons.

One of them was fully covered, the insurance company said. So I went there.

Their website said "no you're not we can't see you". But Dude was like, call them on the phone. Surely, surely, the concierge service couldn't have lied??? Bet, I said, and called them and left a message, and said to him, if they call me back I will eat a hat.

But they did. They called me back. "Our insurance checker widget is down," they said. "But we do take your insurance! We can see you. We just don't know how much it will cost."

Ominous.

But. They could see me later in the week, via a telehealth appointment.

So I signed up.

The appointment was this morning. I turned up. Their insurance checker thingy still wasn't working so they couldn't be sure how much the appointment would cost me. I at this point don't care, and gave them my HSA credit card, and said do what you will.

I waited 45 minutes and then texted the number they'd texted me from with the confirmation, and a moment later the guy showed up. "Whoops," he said, "that system isn't working quite right either!"

He talked to me for like. Three minutes, and was like "yeah that sounds. Pretty textbook. I'm going to prescribe you stimulants." He then proceeded to take a very basic medical history, and I recognized all the questions because I have researched stimulant medication for ADHD so much. And he was like "We're going to start with Adderall, check at your pharmacy in like an hour." And then he gave me extremely useful and detailed instructions on how to take it, when to take it, what side effects to worry about, what to expect, what to note down in case it might mean a problem, and how to be safe about it. (He asked me three times if I'd ever been suicidal, and it had also been in the online pre-screening. I am aware that can be a rare but very serious side effect of stimulants!)

And then I went to Rite-Aid and I now have 16 pills in my possession, and i am going to wait until tomorrow morning to start taking them, and I am already scheduled for my follow-up in 15 days.

I have absolutely no idea how much any of that is going to cost, but for the record the pills were eleven dollars.

So. I don't know why the last decade of my life has been spent being told that a comprehensive and unattainably expensive neuropsychological evaluation was my only option. Maybe this place is a disreputable pill mill or whatever. But. I am going to get to try to medicate this disorder that has warped my entire life to this point, and I am going to try to see if I can't have some more control over my life, and if it doesn't work then at least I will know, instead of on my deathbed being like "i wonder if i'd ever tried amphetamines maybe I'd have been able to finish a project ever in my life, guess we'll never know".

Which was what I was starting to genuinely think was going to happen.

Literally though why can't a primary care doctor just refer you to a psychiatrist who can then decide whether you need an assessment or whether your condition is likely to respond well to a basic diagnosis?? I get needing the whole nine yards if you're not sure what's wrong with this kid and you don't want to give them the wrong thing-- like I know misdiagnosing a bipolar sufferer with depression can give you really bad outcomes, for example-- but-- I don't know? I don't know.

I just want to be able to start and finish projects. What I'd really love is to be able to make to-do lists meaningfully, as that is an ability I did used to have and now absolutely don't. I legit cannot make a to-do list in any meaningful or useful way.

So we'll see. I'm going to keep a journal and the real test of whether the pills work is to see whether I can actually keep the journal.

But I need to find some kind of edible hat, at some point, just to keep my word.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Try Me Part 2/6

Summary - A six part series where reader is a very passionate football player and Ruben is her new and equally passionate football coach. However, the two of them can't seem to get along.

Enjoy!

It was the second match of the group stage. Sixtiy minutes into the game and Ruben still had you seated on the bench.

"Coach?"

He stood with his back to you, facing the pitch, shouting at the girls to "Push!"

"Coach?" You shouted in vain. Either he was completely ignoring you, or he was just that emerged in the game.

"Ruben!"

His head snapped back to look at you. A bit forgetful that you were back there and not on the pitch.

"Please, just put me in." You pleaded.

His smug smile betrayed a hint of amusement. "Not this time," he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. "This will teach you a lesson, not to disrespect me again."

"But we're losing." Your plea turned into frustration as you tried to reason with him. "I've worked so hard. I deserve a chance."

He shook his head dismissively. "Hard work isn't everything, Y/N. There are many factors to consider when playing football, and your attitude towards me is one of them. Maybe this will teach you some humility."

Desperation filled your voice, "Please don't do this!" You stood, ready to walk onto the field and help your teammates weather he liked it or not. However, Rubens outstretched arm altered your steps.

"Sit down or your not playing for this team anymore."

"But..."

His stern gaze told you that he wasn't joking. During his time as the assistant coach he had never once cracked a joke.

"Fuck this." You said, bending down to remove your shin guards, tossing them aside and storming off in a trembling rage.

You didn't bother getting back to the locker rooms. You headed straight for the gates and out of the stadium, towards the nearest bus stop.

Ruben's words stung like a slap to the face. The fact that he was young and handsome only made him more annoying to you. What did he know about football? He had previously played for a team that often threatened relegation from the highest devison. A terrible merit for a coach, along with his alleged knee injury that forced him to put his football boots on a shelf. What did he know about coaching a women's team? What your team needed was a real coach, with real competence. Like your old coach.

"Y/N? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was shook to see you standing at his front door, dressed in all your football gear.

"It's a disaster." You announced, stepping through the door, without invitation.

"What is?" He asked, wearing a robe with palm trees on. Retirement didn't look good on him, you thought. He had gained weight and moved awkwardly between the furniture in his home.

"The new assistant coach, Ruben. He's taken over as if someone has given him your job already." You sat down in one of his leather sofas, exhaling your frustration.

"Now Y/N, Ruben is most likely to turn into your permanent coach for the next season anyway, which makes him your new head coach. "

"Unless someone else accepts the position, right? Like you?"

"But I am retired dear. Finally after sixty seven years I'm allowed to put down the whistle, sit down and rest."

You frowned. "Is that really what you want to do during your retirement?"

"Mostly, yeah. I've been worked all my life, coaching both women's teams and men's teams in football leagues all over the world. "

He seemed to hold for applause, but you just stood from the sofa. "You know, sitting down all day is gonna make you fat."

He chuckled. "Y/N. You were always one of my favorites. I already had plans to retire after stepping down from my position as the head coach for the mens team. I would have gone through with it years ago, If it hadn't been for a stubborn little bucked tooth girl who kept showing up to train with the boys team, insisiting that she'd do so until the club astablished a girls team.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, hiding your flustered face "I'm glad you didn't." You muttered.

"Me neither dear, me neither. Turns out I still had a few years left in me. As for your new coach, Ruben, his journey has just begun."

"But why does his journey have to begin with our team." You sighed.

"Give him a chance Y/N, he might turn out to be a good one."

You pondered the idea. You came to a conclusion. "I doubt it. Got anything to eat?"

Coach shook his head, rising to his feet. "You football players have the apatite of elephants."

You followed him into the kitchen. 

When you were younger coach and his wife were the ones to give you a ride to and from practice after school. They knew that your situation at home wasn't ideal and never hesitated to help out. You never had to buy new cleats,  not that you could afford any. Coach and his wife would always gift you with a pair of new ones ahead of the season, saying it was an early Christmas gift for you not to refuse their charity. You often felt embarrassed by it, your situation at home. But as you grew older you learned not to have it way you down too much. If it wasn't for Mimi, you would have moved out of that place a long time ago. But with Mimi's mother gone, you couldn't just leave her. You wouldn't.

"So, how are things at home?" He asked, reading your mind from across the table.

"It's...."

"Olá, estou em casa!"

You were about to answer his question when you heard a key turn in the front door, followed by somone stepping into the house. A man, with a voice that rang a bell.

"Olá, estamos aqui!" Coach replied. Him and his wife were Portuguese, always speaking the language around the house, even if you were there.

"Nós somos?" Ruben appeared in the kitchen doorway, two grocery filled bags in his hands.

"You?" You frowned.

He looked equally suprised to see you. He still wore his coach tracksuit, perhaps coming straight from the game.

"Ruben, I take it you know my former player Y/N. Y/N let me introduce you to my nephew in law, Ruben Dias."

"No way." You shook your head, rising from your chair. "You're fucking with me aren't you coach. "

He smiled. "I am not."

You looked to Ruben who still looked at you with furrowed brows. "This is not happening, this is so not happening right now. "You pushed past the both of them, on your way to put on your shoes on and leave, saddened by the fact that you wouldn't be able to step foot in this house again, EVER.

"Y/N, wait!"

You were out of the house, on your way to the bus stop, when Ruben came running after you, his hair somewhat tousled by the wind.

"He wanted to tell you."

"Tell me what?" You stopped, turning around to face him.

"That I was living with him since my aunt died."

"So why didn’t he?" You were a bit taken back. Ruben didn't look like himself anymore, or at least who you thought he was. Your new uptight coach. His face was more relaxed and he wasn't shouting at you.

"He knows that you and I...." He scratched the back of his head. "...that we've had some problems in training and perhaps if you knew that I was his nephew in law you would stop coming over to his house."

You're damn right. "So you knew about me before we met?"

Coach introduced Ruben to the team just ahead of the summer training. He must have told Ruben about you before that, about you and your home life? Coach and his wife were the only people outside of your family that knew about it, not even your teammates knows.

"I was like you once" Ruben said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"What, a 23 year old girl?"

"No. I mean passionate about my sport. The same passion that fuels you ahead of every game, the passion that makes you work harder than your teammates. I see it in you because I used to have that too."

"And then what happened?" You weren't sure where he was going with this. Unless this conversation would end with him apologizing for keeping you on the bench today, you didn't want to hear it.

"I got carried away and too driven, loosing the sight of what's important."

"Winning?"

"No, to play a good game with your teammates."

"Any game where we win is good game for me. Scoring goals is just a bonus."

He nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with conpassion. "You think that now, until the day you win a badly played game. The victory won't taste the same."

"Well then, I'll let you know when that happens, okay." You turned around, ready to walk away.

"I'll see you tomorrow Y/N and I'm sorry for not putting you on today. Hopefully we can move past this and...I dunno?"

"I..." You were lost for words. Turning around Ruben was still staring at you, hands in his pockets and that compassionate look on his face. Perhaps he was pittying you, knowing the trurth about you? But he had always known, which meant that he had always pitied you.

You adjusted the straps to your backpack, nodding your head his way. "See you tomorrow coach."

There wouldn't be a tomorrow. You'd have to quit the team now.

You lay in bed that night wondering which teams would take you in the middle of a summer cup. A team that didn't train too far from home, because you had to get home to Mimi every night in time for dinner.

You looked to where she slept peacefully. You pulled the sheets to cover your body, ready to sleep too, when your phone lit up, temporally illuminating the room.

You received a notification. From Tinder! Quick. Grabbing your phone, you sat up in bed, eyes adjusting to the light from the display. It was a notification from Tinder alright. Another message from Ruben Dias 26. You tapped the screen to see your conversation thread, rembering the message you sent him a couple of days ago. He had left you on read since then, with you checking every night in vain. But now, he had finally given in, which guys on dating apps often did. Especially around 2:30 a.m., your current time.

"Is this big enough for you?" 😜

The message read. Followed by a picture attached to it.

Immense heat rose to your face as you blew up the image to cover your screen. It displayed a male hand holding on to the shaft of a throbbing cock. Rubens cock?

Tagslist:

@kathb59

[shadowcitrine]

Couch

Boondock Saints, Short, Just for fun/silly.

Summary: You and Connor moving a couch.

Notes: Female reader, you form, half mention of Y/N.

A/N: Finally tried a you-form.

“Okay! Grab that end!” you crouched down to slip your fingers underneath the edge. “We'll go on–”

Connor closed his eyes, blowing out a breath to prevent himself from snapping. It'd already happened once but you gave him a pass considering that you just showed up with the damned thing. “Sweetheart,” the pet name was strained. “Can we just wait for Murph?”

“Nope.” 

“Lo-”

“No.”

“Y/–”

Standing you leaned over the couch that took over nearly the entire width of the hallway. “Didn't know that MacManus meant big baby in Irish.”

The playful pleading melted off his face. “I'll get you for that.” He lifted the bottle of beer to his lips never taking his eyes off of you as he slugged it back.

“Oh! I'm shaking! Stop procrastinating.” Crouching down you gained purchase on your burden.

Connor set down his beer against the wall and did the same. “You say that now until I put you over my knee. On three! One.. two… three!” Both of you stood the couch swaying awkwardly as you shuffled backwards.

“Won't have to– use your– knee. We– have a new– couch.”

Connor's face was turning red and part of you hoped it wasn't from the muscle strain. “We'll fuckin’ see ‘bout that!” He puffed out a few breaths trying to take more of the weight but all it did was force you to scurry backwards. “Won't be so funny when you're beggin’ me t’ stop!”

You grunted as you pivoted by the door to let Connor swing the other end around. “More like keep going.”

The couch slipped from his grasp in surprise dropping hard on to the ground with a bang. “Love!” He gasped. “This is a side of you I've never seen.”

“And you fucking won't–” you shifted your hold huffing a few breaths. “if you don't help me!” Connor scrambled to lift his side again when the door behind you opened. Barely glancing behind you you indicated with your head for him to move.

Murphy lit a cigarette and opened the door wider. “What's all this then?”

“You little shit!” Connor dropped the couch again. 

“Connor!” You snapped. “Door.” You nodded with your chin to Murphy who graciously opened it wider and backed up.

“Fuckin’ help her you useless git!” 

“She's a strong independent woman.” Murphy tucked the cigarette between his teeth as he studied how best to take it off your hands without causing you strain. 

Grunting again you shifted to the side as Murphy's hands took their spot next to yours. The relief was instantaneous not that you'd ever admit it. “God damned right!” 

“Lords's name!” The pair chimed.

[delucadarling]

Current rambling thoughts on dieting/weight loss, nothing that's a downer:

Back in April I got blood test results that showed my cholesterol was high and my sugar was barely shy of being diabetic. It spooked the shit out of me, as despite being fat most of my life, I was also pretty healthy and somewhat active. It was after getting covid that I was so fatigued I dropped the active thing pretty much entirely.

The doctor was more focus on the sugar, and recommended cutting back simple sugars, adding in more fiber, and increasing my weekly activity.

I'd been wanting to get back into shape for a long, long time but I've been nervous about trying the gym again. My dad was one of those shithead people that secretly films people in the gym doing things 'wrong' or committing the sin of being fat in public. It had me terrified of trying to get fit where other people could see me, because you know, most people don't want to be mocked.

Lucky me, I have the most amazing, supportive girlfriend ever. She took me by the hand and very gently showed me around the gym, helped me learn how to use the machines, and didn't mind when I shadowed her around as she did her workout. From there, I got excited! I used to LOVE working out, I just mostly did simple stuff, running, and swimming. I did a lot of WiiFit when I was younger, and this one Jillian Michael's DVD I found at Walmart for like $5 at the time. Running was the big one though (hello Zombies, Run folks).

So just making those changes (less soda, more fiber, more exercise) over the course of maybe 3ish months I dropped almost 15 lbs. I hadn't been tracking my weight, but I did compare the results the doctor took from my previous three appointments. I was kind of shocked! I've never had a healthy relationship with weight loss, and every time I've tried to lose weight it lead to a lot of heartache, misery, and doubled weight gain. So I more or less wrote off my ability to trim down and decided to just be fat and happy.

I will say though, the extra bulk has recently frustrated me. I can't do yoga the way I used to. My limbs are still flexible but I keep getting blocked by my own fat. I have to go real easy on my joints because of all the extra weight, which is frustrating, because I'd honestly love to try jogging again. I just don't want to fuck my back and knees up again.

I decided to give losing weight another try, with a lot more self-love, after a lot more research, and with the support of someone who has loved me even at my fattest and never said a word about it.

It hasn't been too hard this time. I don't feel like I'm depriving myself. I am impatient, I want to see results NOW, but obviously that's not how things work. And slow is better anyway.

I know tumblr has a generally negative view on weight loss, and I fully include myself in that. I bought into the 'starvation mode means you'll never ACTUALLY lose weight permanently) thing, I was convinced anyone trying to lose weight had the same disordered ideas on it that I used to have (and still struggle with sometimes). It's a loaded topic for a hundred reasons, so I am trying to be conscious of when I talk about it and around who. Hence the tags and putting it under a cut. I'm happy and excited to be trying this out, putting my health first, trying to feel strong and capable in my body, but I absolutely know first hand how upsetting hearing about dieting can be. Not to mention how hard it is to avoid the more toxic side of trying to change your diet and fitness.

I've found a lot of resources that are very facts based, cut and dry, and leave out the moralizing behind weight loss and weight gain and just weight in general. There are a lot of very encouraging resources as well.

So yeah! As said, this is just a ramble, I like to write to get my thoughts down, and it always comes easier when it feels like I'm talking to someone, not just myself. I probably won't post a lot about this, but it's been just over a week since I started tracking my food and daily weight specifically, which always used to be something that would send me into a bad habit spiral. This time feels different. I've been doing fine. There have been a few moments of disappointment, but they've been easy to shake off. Mostly I'm just astounded to learn more about the macros involved in the food I eat, and I'm also happy to have tools to help me find portions that make me feel full and not stuffed. On the days I've been not kept to my deficit goals, it was because I was hungry and decided it was more worth it to feed myself than stick to a number and I didn't feel a bit of guilt about it afterward.

I'm pretty pleased with how it's going so far. I feel stronger, I feel more energetic, and tracking my food intake and weight makes the part of my brain that loves a spreadsheet very happy.

[doublydaring]

the great thing about gender is that you can do anything at any time and there's absolutely no way to be yourself incorrectly. the point of life is trying things and seeing what makes you happy, and what makes you happy is probably going to change a lot! but also if it doesn't that's a learning experience too! sending love <3

first of all anon, bless your heart.

bizarre rant with way too much personal information below the cut. SORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRY!

second, because at the ripe old age of zero years old i was a wise old sage with a level headed autism that put me perfectly at the intersection of considerate and above the petty worries of the world i have been telling forlorn transgenders this over the phone since day one (no joke someone I hadn't spoken to in five years called me up the other day to have me talk them through softening their transition, its okay to be nonbinary guys) but ack! sometimes its so hard to take your own advice.

I have gained some weight in the last year or so and I just can't seem to get over me looking ooooh just so slightly off, to me, like I feel like I don't look like myself. I don't know.

Testosterone's largest impact on my life was it's role as an appetite stimulant, before I started testosterone I lived in a constant state of nausea, and it basically cured me of that. It was huge instead of going to bed anxious every night that I was going to throw up I slept like a baby, it also helped me to start working through the main symptoms of my ARFID. I literally called it a miracle drug to so many people, it changed my life.

But! I don't know if I still want to be on it. It's been almost three years and I've suddenly started having problems with my dosage, I've been off and on it trying to figure things out and I don't know, it just got me thinking, what if I don't want to do this anymore.

I do look different than I used to, or at least I think I do. I feel like I don't look like myself. I don't know.

Part of me feels like I'm just giving up, because transitioning socially has been very difficult for me. Female terms feel comforting in their familiarity, masculine ones always feel deliberate and effortful. I want to be beautiful, I want to be desirable. Does going off testosterone simply represent a submission to societal pressure, to finally giving in and trying to be normal.

In my junior year of high school I had a crush on a blond man. I had no chance with him, he was tall and gorgeous and smart and rich and a senior and it just was not happening, but I sort of put a pause on my transition that year as I got to know him, and tried to be more feminine, more conventionally attractive. It didn't work. I am not that. I cannot be that. I can't! It is something that I am not capable of, it is something I have never been capable of. I feel like as soon as I hit puberty it was over for me. I got gross. And that's terrible, that's so terrible, that's a terrible thing to feel and a terrible way to think but I cannot help it because I feel like that is the input that I am receiving from the outside world. I just had this conversation with a couple of friends but it really is ethnic trauma. My mother got a nose job at 14 and extensive laser hair removal to dull her ethnic traits, traits that she then passed on to me, traits that were amplified by my dad's genetics, traits that she implicitly taught me were ugly and undesirable and needed to be changed. And then I had the nerve to be autistic too, pick a struggle, really.

WHATEVER basically I am fucking fiending for sexual validation from cis men that I am too cowardly to actually go out and get so instead I'm just going to bitch and moan on here. I am not going to detransition because their is nothing to detransition back to, I was never a girl, but so much of me wishes I could be, I want more desperately than anything to be a beautiful and desirable woman. I thought because I couldn't cut it as a girl I should try being a boy but I don't know, it feels unnatural. A bitch needs to get on estrogen or SOMETHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[m4rs-ex3]

lines so? fucking raw? i cant believe theyre from tdp

"lots of things are hard. like magic, but you figured that out didn't you?" "...yeah. somehow relationships seem harder."

"history demands nothing! i make history. it does not make me."

"we all want peace and we all want love, but violence tests us. in a twisted way it converts us to its cause. because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. you want to hurt someone else... people are still hurting, and they are still angry. we can't ignore that. or pretend it will go away. somehow we have to hold it all in our hearts at the same time. we have to acknowledge the weight of pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again."

"we gain nothing if we throw away the chance to learn and grow."

"back then, when i was just a little one, the other elves saw me as a doe. but i knew. i always knew, that i was a buck. i chose [this] name." 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

"i'm a mess" "no, you're not. it's okay."

"you're too good to feel this bad about yourself."

"most people believe that reality is truth and appearances are deceiving. but those of us who know[,] understand we can only truly trust the appearance itself. you can never touch the so-called reality that lies just beyond the reach of your own perception."

"it seems i am a crown without and adult, and you're an adult without a crown."

"justice [is] more than fair decisions and fair consequences. true justice [is] a fair system. the blindfold gives us a way to test the system. that i should use it to imagine i had not been born yet, and that i did not know if i would be born rich or poor, what color my skin would be, what culture or practices my family would have. that a fair system should be fair no matter the accident of my birth. that the rights, and laws, and opportunities within the system should stand to protect and empower everyone."

"i've had his letter for a few days now, but i-i just can't bring myself to open it. i don't know. i know it sounds crazy, but it's like, right now, there are words he hasn't said to me, and they're all right in there. they're just waiting to come to life. but then once i read it... once i read the last word... then he'll really be gone. forever."

"i know i'm not your birth father, but in my eyes and in my heart, you are my son. i see myself in you. i'm proud of you. and i love you unconditionally."

"the great lie of history. advisers and scholars will tell you that history is a narrative of strength. they will recount stories of the rise and fall of nations and empires. they will be stories of armies, battles, and decisive victories. but this isn't true strength. it's merely power. i now believe true strength is found in vulnerability... in forgiveness, in love. there is a beautiful, upside-down truth, which is that these moments of purest strength appear as weakness to those who don't know better."

"i've tried to be selfless as a king, but, as a father, i have a selfish wish. and that is for you to be free. reject the chains of history. do not let the past define your future, as i did. free yourself from the past. learn from it, understand it, then let it go. create a brighter future from your own hearts and imagination."

"sweet words can be more dangerous than hidden daggers."

"i feel so overwhelmed with everything, i-i have so many thoughts, things racing through my head." "sometimes you just need to focus on the present, take a deep breath, and just be. sometimes, things can get so complicated that our minds can't quite sort them out alone. but when you slow down and let yourself breathe, your spirit and your body can catch up with your mind, and help out."

"to know something truly, and deeply, you must know it with your head, hand, and heart. mind, body, and spirit. i love you with all of myself, and i always will."

"i think i've heard about this... a philosophy of accepting you are already dead... so you will not fear death. what a beautiful challenge you've given me. i must come up with something you will fear... more than death."

"we're all a mess sometimes. me? i'm usually a mess."

"there is a cycle in the world. life and death. it is at the core of all things. the moon embodies this cycle. bit by bit it will fade away: then bit by bit it will brighten. death is frightening. birth can be as well. yet they are two things that connect us all. kings and commoners, rich and poor, elf and human--each one is equally vulnerable in the beginning and in the end. let that fact be humbling. let it bind us together. remember that as life inevitably leads to death, so also does life come from death. this is a cycle, not an ending. for those you have left behind, think on all they have given you. for those who will come after you, think on all you will give to them. know that you are always connected."

"white lies are illusions you build with your words to protect the hearts of those you love."

"they're gone. i'm never going to be okay with that, but i guess i have to face it."

"you're not doing this without me. i let you jump into [there] alone and i knew right away i made the biggest mistake of my life. i could have lost you. we do this together. don't try to change my mind." hindsight is a bitch

"i like being alive."

plsplspls rb with urs

[saltwaterandstars]

I while ago I saw @doctornerdington recommend the book Body Work by Melissa Febos. I recently bought it and I'm about halfway through reading it. So far I think it's excellent and I'm finding it helpful, but it's stirring up lots of thoughts and feelings and so I've decided to write some notes about that to keep a record of how I'm responding to it. So, under the cut it a personal essay of sorts. It's not a statement about what I think anyone else is experiencing or should do, it's just a record of my own experiences, thoughts and feelings about which are being evoked as I read this book. If you do read what I've written and want to comment, I'd welcome that, but it is quite long and I'm imagining not many people will read it. If you are going to have a read though, please note the content warning tags. I wasn't sure really what it needed tagging for, so if you do read it, let me know if you think it should be tagged differently.

Body Work is a series of essays by Melissa Febos. On one level it’s a book about writing memoirs—writing about personal experience. But the book is about much more than that. She talks a lot about the scripts we have taken in from society, from the patriarchy, scripts that we unconsciously write from, but also the same scripts that we shape our selves and our lives around. I’ve just finished the essay Mind Fuck, which is ostensibly about writing sex scenes. But in exploring what goes on when go to write about sex, especially when that we includes people disenfranchised and brutalised by the patriarchy, she’s really exploring what it is to be an embodied person; what it is to understand our physical and sexual realities, to live them, to make conscious choices in relation to them, and to write about them. She talks about the importance of identifying and getting beyond the narrative threads that were previously sewn into me by sources of varying nefariousness or innocuity.

I’m finding reading the book personally very helpful but, of course, it’s only helpful to the extent that it’s disturbing me, that it’s leading me to bump into and acknowledge the scripts—body-related, sexual, and otherwise—that I’m still living in accordance with. It’s interesting that this process feels to me so desperately uncomfortable, terrifyingly unsettling, actually, and yet, at the same time, it also feels like such a compassionate thing to be doing for myself.

I’m a white woman in my late 50s. I come from a poor, working class background, but through education and profession I am clearly middle-class now (and class is still a big deal in the UK, even if it’s not as explicit as it used to be). I look and sound middle-class and have the privileges that come with that. I’m bisexual but have been in a monogamous relationship with a man for 25 years, so pretty much everyone who knows me or interacts with me sees me as straight. To a very large extent, for the first four decades of my life, I tried very hard to live within the straitjacket placed on me by the patriarchy, especially in relation to my body. I spent many years trying not to gain weight, trying to be conventionally, heteronormatively attractive and so on. And like many women, I was fully aware of where those scripts, those rules, were coming from and the harm they were doing me, but I was just too scared to even attempt to let go of them in any kind of meaningful way.

There were ways in which I did live beyond the patriarchy’s imposed limitations. For example, I had a successful career in a male-dominated profession. But in my 20s and 30s especially, I attempted to do that while still trying to be seen as attractive and well-behaved and unthreatening (which would be hilarious if it wasn’t so heart-breaking—I was threatening just by existing in those spaces—I couldn’t be there and be successful and not be a threat.)

I also had a sex life where, at least some of the time, I experienced myself as having agency and freedom. But I lived that part of my life pretty much secretly. I wasn’t ashamed of my sexual behaviour; I just didn’t trust that society—including many of the people in my day-to-day life—would value and respect me if I allowed myself as a sexual being to be more fully seen. So I hid myself from view—not an uncommon coping strategy for me.

In my 20s to 40s, I was frequently fearful and anxious. Whenever I did something that challenged the scripts, the rules, I was very scared. I am not a feisty, up-for-a-fight kind of person. I find breaking rules difficult, and being a ‘difficult person,�� challenging other people, even just disagreeing with other people, feels disturbing to me (this can’t possibly have its roots in my childhood—surely not?!) So when I did do political things, feminist things, when I stood up for colleagues, said no to unreasonable demands, just disagreed with people, even, I felt real, like I had acted authentically and in accordance with my values, but I also frequently felt like the world was about to end. At the very least, I was often just waiting to be punished and expelled from the pack. It’s a hard way to live.

My 50s have brought me—through the menopause and the development of a life-changing chronic illness, and the death of people I love—some dreadful challenges, but also, through the exact same experiences, a real increase in freedom. For one thing, I am no longer attractive in a stereotypical heteronormative way. I’m just not. My body just can’t be that anymore. And while I’ve had grief and fear around that, I do also have an ever-increasing sense of freedom because of these changes, too. And because I’ve been so ill and my poor body has had (and continues to have) such a difficult time, my whole way of relating to myself as an embodied person has had to change. I’ve had to cultivate great oceans of kindness and patience to be in this struggling body, and it turns out, kindness and patience with my body are also antidotes to the poison of the patriarchal rules I swallowed in when I was young. Who knew?!

And I have to say, the less invested I am in being seen as attractive and pleasant and reasonable, the more my fears around the imagined consequences of being authentically myself subside. In the last couple of years in work before I retired, for example, I was pretty much immune to the attempts by my (mostly younger male) colleagues to pressure or bulldoze or embarrass or emotionally blackmail me into doing what they wanted. I wouldn’t say I became fearless because I didn’t, but alongside the fear was a kind of gleeful, arms folded across my chest sense of oh this is going to be interesting.

The death of loved ones has been an immensely painful experience, but it has also functioned as rocket fuel to help launch me out of my state of fear-based inertia. I’m not going to go into details, but basically everyone else in my immediate family died young, so I’m a chronically ill woman approaching old age with a truly awful genetic inheritance in terms of family longevity. I hope I live till I’m 90, but maybe I won’t. Maybe if there are changes I need to make to be more alive and present and free in my life, I might want to get on with that. So the questions I’ve asked myself again and again in different forms over the last few years are: How many more years am I going to spend living by these shitty rules? How many more years am I going to waste not allowing myself to explore who I actually am? To be who I am? Oh, and when I die, do I want them to put something like She was always so well-behaved—on my headstone? Is that how I want to live the rest of my life? Et cetera, et cetera.

Over the last few years, in ways small and large, I’ve managed to shrug off bits of the straitjacket. The biggest change is that I’ve completely stepped away from a pretty successful but personally damaging career. I’ve also allowed myself to finally get to know my pagan self and to be that self more publicly. And regularly in day-to-day situations I’m managing to catch myself about to act in accordance with Febos’ narrative threads that were previously sewn into me. Sometimes I manage to step out of automatic pilot and to make a conscious choice to do something different, to be more authentically myself in that moment, even when that feels scary and exposing.

Which all sounds great—and it is! But if that was the end of the story, then reading Body Work would not be proving so unsettling for me. Turns out, the really difficult explorations and changes I’ve already made were actually the easier stuff. Could it be that I’ve managed to avoid the extremely difficult work by focussing on the really difficult work?! As I’m reading the book, it’s becoming clear that what still remains to be examined and unpicked is the tough stuff. So here I am again today, asking myself the questions:

Who is it serving to keep myself, my needs, my wants, my interests, my values, hidden from view and not enacted in the world?

And how is doing all that serving me, too?

And how many more of my precious remaining years do I intend to spend in this understandable but deeply unsatisfying holding pattern?

[im-just-cam]

Hello. My name's Cam.

This is my last post ever. I'll be honest, the past few weeks have been really horrible. To me, Ana is like a persona, another version of me. All though I've tried to love and embrace Ana, she hasn't been that good to me. My hair has been getting thinner and thinner, my nails more brittle, I can barely stand without feeling dizzy and I'm always weak. I've been trying to romanticize Ana but there's nothing fucking romantic about it. It's honestly so miserable. And on top of that, I'm not even fucking skinny. I just thought "what's the point of starving myself and working out for 3 hours a day if no one can even fucking tell". I'm honestly angry and annoyed at myself. To think that I wasted all that time, obsessing over body image and calories, and I'm still the fat friend. I'm still fucking overweight. I'm not skinny. I'm fucking ugly. I hate it. I hate you Ana. I'm annoyed that I wasted so much time glorifying and romanticizing ana when I was so miserable. When most of the time I just wanted to disappear. I'm so mad that I wasted all that time believing that food was my worst enemy. I can't believe how hard I made it to enjoy living. I can't believe how much internal torture I put myself through. I can't believe I thought something as horrible as ana was part of me. I can't believe I just accepted that and never questioned myself. instead of hanging out with my friends and enjoying life, I was at home, in bed because I was so tired. What was the point of all that? I didn't gain anything from it except pounds. Yes, I gained weight instead of loosing weight. What the fuck man. Why would I do that to myself? I just can't believe how much fucking misery I put myself through, all for the sake of being 'beautiful' and skinny and perfect. You know what? Fuck being beautiful, fuck being skinny, fuck being perfect. I'm gonna live life like a normal fucking human. I deserve to be normal. I deserve to live life. Why did I make myself think anything different? So yeah, I'm just gonna stop caring. I don't fucking care about how many calories im eating anymore, I don't care about how many calories in burning. I don't care if I think I need to purge. Shut the fuck up ana. Honestly, shut up. Ana ruined my life. Fuck Ana, fuck eating disorders, fuck being pretty, fuck being perfect, fuck being skinny, since I can't fucking succeed at any of those, I'll just stop trying. What's the point? I'll never be pretty, I'll never be skinny, and I'll never be perfect. I'm disappointed in myself for ever thinking I could. I'm so disappointed because I thought ana was the answer. No it fucking wasn't. I'm done. I'm done trying. I give up. I give being obsessed with calories, I give up starving, I give up purging, I give up all of that ED shit. I'm fucking done man. I'm so tired of trying. I've tried so hard but never succeeded. I'm done. Fuck anorexia, fuck bulimia, fuck binge eating, fuck restrictive eating. Fuck it. I'm done. I can't keep living like this. I'm sorry to anyone who followed this blog for the ED stuff. I hope you can find your way in life. But as for me, I'm done. I choose recovery. This is Cam. Not 'kc4l-cam'. I'm done with that kcal shit. Fuck it. I'm out man. This is my last post ever, goodbye ED Tumblr. Goodbye.

[saminator]

the joys of being a masculine trans man

Today, sometime around 9:30 pm, I had an epiphany. Maybe I finally found the joy of being trans. I'd always heard people say it, but I thought it was bullshit. Until today, being trans had caused me nothing but misery and fury. If you asked me anytime before today, April 3rd, 2024, at 9:30 pm pst, whether or not I liked being trans, it would have been a hard no.

I have prom coming up. I'm going to the prom at the school I would have gone to if I'd stayed in my middle school's town. I know a lot of people there, and three of the people at that school are the only hope I used to have when I was 14 and 15, still figuring myself and the world out. Don't get me wrong, I still am, but I was so unhappy back then, and they offered me unlimited comfort. Anyway! I'm going to prom with them and I was kind of excited about it. I'd been having a hard time getting myself to be excited about anything lately. I told my parents I needed a suit for prom and they asked if I could wear something I already had. I said no. All I have are two blazers from the women's section that I got in 2021, one red and one gray, which are incredibly comfortable and nice but they were from a time when I wasn't allowed to shop in the men's or boy's section, and another 3-piece suit which is a bit too large for me that my ex-girlfriend (who's trans) gave to me because I would enjoy it far more than she ever did. I'd also borrowed a blazer from a friend, and again, while it was wonderful, it was also from the women's section. I wanted something new, something that I picked, something that fit me and made me feel okay. So, we started looking for one.

My dad and I went to the mall two days ago to try and look for a suit, but they were either really expensive, or just not my size. Then, my mom told me to look for it online and have my dad pick it up on the way back home from work. I did that. I ordered a gray blazer and dark blue dress pants from the boy's section. My dad got them home. I tried them on. I loved it more than I had ever loved any piece of clothing before. My dad was so encouraging about making sure I looked good and he kept suggesting different variations I could try of the outfit. After a whole hour of trying on different shirts under the blazer and showing my mom and having her feedback on it, I went to go change. Then my dad called me, saying "don't change! wear your blazer!" and asked me to move the trash bins into our backyard because it's extremely windy and they were being knocked over (also because HOA hates when trash bins are left out apparently). So I went to do that.

And I was walking down the driveway with the wind blowing in my hair, I thought Wait. Is this what they mean by the "joy of being trans?" Earlier, I couldn't stop staring at myself in the mirror because I looked so fucking handsome it was UNBELIEVABLE. My smile didn't feel ugly, my hair didn't feel shabby, my entire body didn't feel like a mistake. And now, in the wind, dragging the landfill bin behind me, I felt happy with being trans.

I don't care if others don't see me as a man. The mirror sees me as a man. That's all that matters. The sheer happiness I felt wearing a suit that wasn't someone else's or from the women's section or too big or not mine was crazy, Suddenly, my short height, my high-pitched voice that no matter how deep I try to make it still gets me misgendered, and my un-muscular body didn't matter. I WAS IN A FUCKING SUIT THAT I LIKED THAT FIT ME THAT WAS FROM THE BOYS SECTION THAT MY PARENTS ALSO LIKED THAT KEPT ME WARM IN THE WIND. I was smiling like a maniac on the way to the backyard.

I'm sure this experience doesn't just happen to masculine trans men. Maybe you're a cis man reading this and you're short, have a high-pitched voice, and aren't jacked up. I see you, and I know how isolating it can feel to be the way you are, no matter how hard you try. I've tried working out to get muscles. I can't gain weight easily. I'm literally 5'1'' and 90 pounds. I hate it. But who cares! I have a suit that's sexier than sex!

I love being masculine. That's something you won't hear people say often because masculinity is demonized because it was always weaponized in the past (and still is). But I'm not all of those men. I'm my own man and I choose to love and embrace masculinity. What is masculinity anyway???? Is it suits? Is it being built? Is it having a deep voice? Is it having a beard? Is it being tall? Is it doing taxing manual labor? No! It's none of those things objectively, not even the suits. I've said this before and I'll continue saying it, if wearing dresses or skirts or doing makeup makes you feel masculine or is your definition of masculinity, hell yeah! Go for it! To me, masculinity is home. It's looking at myself and smiling because I look good. It's wearing a suit and feeling warm and cozy and ready to do anything. It's having a better relationship with my parents because we're all trying our best. It's being daring and taking risks just because I want to. Femininity couldn't give me any of this.

Especially in a time like now, where no trans space is safe from discussions of the happenings of the world, the world where people want to erase us because they think we're a threat. The fact that people are afraid of us is astonishing. But we persevere, we wear our suits or dresses or overalls or corsets or fishnets or khakis or hoodies and we pursue happiness because it's comforting to think that it exists for us. And it does. If someone like me could find euphoria in being trans, anyone can.

But yeah, in conclusion, the joy of being a masculine trans man is trying on your prom suit with the wind blowing 18 miles per hour in your hair and feeling alive and manly masculine male >:)

[furryprovocateur]

saw my psych today. first time i've felt anxious about an appointment with her and it went as bad as i expected. nothing against her, truly. she's sweet and helpful and informative it's just i knew it'd worry and concern her to tell her about the acute heart failure. i mean. she's a medical professional. it'd be bad if she didn't worry. still it just sucks to put someone in that position, i fucking detest doing it. doesn't help that i felt like a buffoon when i tried to explain that i just have no energy lately to do anything. going to walmart to pick up my meds yesterday made me exhausted. what hope do i have of maintaining a regular exercise schedule again? still, it's a fucking desk job. it's not like i'm going anywhere and i spend most of my time dicking around. why does this job make me so fucking tired? why can't i just. . . be more active? i wish i understood what was fucking wrong with my fucking body. i've said it before and i'll say it again: i'll never know what's wrong with my body until they do an autopsy, and i'm not even important enough to get one. fuck. i'm just tired of worrying about my weight, i'm tired of having medical professionals look down their nose at me when i don't lose weight or i gain it back. maybe this just is my body! maybe this is always going to be my body. i made my peace with it. i know it's not healthy, i know it's not right. but it's my reality.

it's just hard to be stressed like this. i mean, i should be, my health is important and i'm eating like shit and knowingly not exercising. like, i wholly should be worried. it's just not productive to constantly be on edge about something and for most days to only be good when spent in absence of it. i don't think i'm unhappy and honestly my mood is good most days, but i have felt this constant anxiousness about my health. not to mention it's been added to the constant anxiety about money and what the fuck i'm gonna do for money long-term. pat's gonna die one day. it's already sick enough that i've exploited him by living with him into my thirties, into his retirement. the best thing on earth would've been if he never met my mother. he won't admit it, but we both know it's true. ugh. i just wish i had a full-time job that didn't kill my soul. i wish i could work one without my soul dying. i don't want to work just to live. i want to live my life without the hovering hammer of poverty. without all this fucking debt maybe i could make something of my shitty life! but who knows! i will always be in debt and in poverty and just generally trapped. i want to leave this state and country and i will never be able to! ugh ugh ugh.

whatever. i should probably delete this in like an hour