#comparison pictures weight loss

[runs-4-pinkcupcakes]

Let’s do a side by side. I bought this Lily Pulitzer in 2021. Never dreamed it would be this tight. Tried to justify its a “small 10”. I saved it and now it fits. The times when you use clothes to follow your progress can really be quite awesome.

Now I need to find another clothing item. I think pictures like this are cool. Lots of work! But don’t give up.

💋

[hopesangelsprite]

His Little Angel

Pairing: ClanLeader!Gojo x Wife!Reader

Summary: Being the big boss of an infamous Jujutsu sorcerer family can be pretty hard, but being the wife of said boss is even harder.

Warnings: Groping, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Gojo's Powers, Virginity Loss, Slightly Mean Gojo, Pet Names (Angel, Little Love, etc.), Overstim, Cunnilingus, Semi- Public Sex (behind closed doors but people are still around-), Creampie

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

Viewer discretion is advised.

The first few months at the Gojo estate were arguably the hardest months of your life.

Everything from the elders to the wedding day, the stares and whispers that came with your new title of Madam Gojo; all of it seemed to be a part of some elaborate scheme designed to drive you insane. It didn't help that your husband was almost never around, busy with meetings and overseeing that the Gojo name remained sacred. His absence only gave way to more rumors, whispers of you being unable to fulfill your roles as a wife, that your marriage was one of convenience and that your affections lay with another man.

Only half of that was true. While your marriage had been arranged, born of the necessity to produce a strong, viable heir, your affections lay with no one other than your estranged husband. Though you didn't know him well, you respected the hell out of him for being able to take on the weight of the world and maintain composure under the constant watch of it. You only wished he'd allow you to take part of that weight away, to slow down enough to let you do your duties as at least a business partner if not his wife. "Madam, you're scowling again.", came a quiet voice from behind you, "You'll get wrinkles.". As your consciousness came back to you, you found that you were indeed scowling. The troubles were beginning to get to you.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your features softened, eyes darting up to glance at your handmaid in the mirror. "My apologies, I seem to be more tired than usual.", you mused as you watched her fingers carefully detangle your hair. In all honesty, it was a surprise you hadn't keeled over from exhaustion yet. Ever since you'd said your vows, your hands had been very full and very busy. Though Satoru took care of mostly everything, there was still quite a lot to fulfill on your end as well. If you weren't overseeing food and flower selections, you were playing nice with the elder ladies at the estate. Being cordial was tiresome and quickly becoming stale.

At your words, the hands in your hair stilled and the eyes trained on you in the mirror narrowed. "You aren't falling ill are you, Madam?", came that same small voice, this time laced with suspicion. You quickly shook your head and sat up straighter in your chair. "No, no.", you answered as smoothly as you could, "I just need a bit more rest, that's all!". There was a moment of silence before she nodded and continued to brush your hair.

That was another thing about the residents of the Gojo estate, they all were obsessed with your health. You understood that you needed to be healthy to produce an heir, but being under constant watch and polite restriction was agitating. It drove you to respect your husband even more when you considered the standard of perfection that he held himself to. After a few more minutes of quiet conversation, your handmaid withdrew from your chamber with a bow leaving you in silence.

The longer you stared into your own reflection, the deeper you found yourself slipping into your mind. On the outside, you were the picture of perfection, pristine and pretty with all the makings of a great partner, but on the inside... on the inside you were falling apart at the seams. You thought you had what it took to be the wife of the strongest, you had been raised to possess all the independence, intelligence, and talent your parents could give you. Still, it all seemed to amount to nothing in comparison to the cunning politics at the Gojo estate where every word had a double meaning, and every smile hid something sinister behind it. Though you had only been married for a short time, you honestly were beginning to think you weren't cut out to be a wife to the man people revered and worshipped.

Behind you, the sound of your door sliding open once again drew you back to reality. Your eyes flickered upward expecting to see that your handmaid had returned only to find yourself staring into the cerulean eyes of your husband. He entered into the room with a grace unknown to normal humans, bowing his head as he crossed the threshold with arms tucked into his haori. The door slid shut behind him, his presence commanding all of infinity to draw to him as well as your full attention. You stood with quickness, bowing deeply while fighting to calm the racing of your heart. "Welcome home, Gojo-sama.", you spoke politely into the room that now seemed to be buzzing with electricity.

A deep, sultry chuckle filled the silence of the room, and you swore the candles in the room flickered for a moment afterward. "Rise.", he commanded, and your body followed suit, "There's no need for formalities here.". A sudden heat washed over you at the timber of his voice, stern yet cordial as if the only interactions you'd had with him since your wedding day weren't in passing. As you took in the sight of him, however, any sort of ill feelings you'd been harboring disintegrated into nothingness. Gojo Satoru was a vision of beauty itself. He was tall and broad, standing proudly as his snowy hair fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. His eyes were a sharp blue that pierced into the innermost parts of your being, carefully analyzing all that made you you with every flutter of his wispy lashes. At your silence, his pretty pink lips turned upward into a smirk, the rosy color a stark contrast from his milky white skin.

"I hear that you've been hiding things from me... that you've begun to overexert yourself with the duties of the estate.", he purred with a darkness that made your heart flutter, "My duties.". Your eyes widened at his words, your head shaking in denial as you mentally cursed your handmaid for running her mouth. "I am perfectly well, I assure you.", you replied earning a deep hum, "As for the duties... I was under the impression that I was doing the tasks of a wife, of a partner.".

Gojo traversed the room silently, his footfalls eerily quiet as he invaded your space with an odd gentleness. Now that he was closer, your senses were bombarded with the heavy mint vanilla scent that wafted of him in waves; it made you dizzy. "As a partner, yes.", he began while taking your chin in between his index finger and thumb before leaning in closer, "But as a wife, your only duties are to live comfortably, look pretty, and serve me well.". From the steeliness in his eyes to the gentle tightening of his grip, it was clear that this wasn't a suggestion and most definitely not up for discussion. A glint of mischief flashed in his eyes as if he could read your mind; you wouldn't be surprised if he was able to.

"Do you understand, angel?", he pressed while standing up straight and towering over you to which you nodded. With a shaky exhale, you poured your remaining courage into words and answered him, "Yes. I understand, Gojo-sama.". He hummed again, eyes darting over your figure unabashedly. The heat from earlier returned with fervor as you fidgeted under his gaze; the feeling of being exposed screaming at you to hide yourself from him, but his existence demanded that you stay put, that you submit to him. "There goes that damned title again.", he said with a click of his tongue more to himself than you, "Seems like I'll have to cleanse it from your palate.". Before you could fully process his words, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss started as a slow one, gradually increasing intensity as you let him lead you. The cool of his lips and the mint on his tongue made your spine tingle, a shiver slithering down it as his tongue invaded your mouth drawing a whimper from you. As the kiss deepened, you felt Gojo's hands begin undoing the ribbons of your kimono, the silky fabric sliding of your shoulders to further expose you to him.

More layers began to fall from you until you were bare, shaking under the cool touch of your husbands' hungry hands. For a moment, the air around you spiked with electricity and as the tension died down you realized that you're no longer in your bedroom. The scent and feel of an unfamiliar mattress greeted you as Gojo broke the kiss to begin marking a trail down the column of your neck. It took you a second, but the realization eventually settled in; he'd used his powers. The thought sent a wave of arousal pouring from you.

More slick began to trickle from you as his lips descended lower and lower until he was placing open mouthed kisses over your clothed mound. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched him remove the soaked white fabric from you and your heart nearly gave out completely as he separated your clenched thighs with ease. A strangled moan escaped him as he took in the sight of your cunt, lips plush and coated. "I suggest you be a good little wife and let me have my way with you.", he hissed, and the sudden rush of air made you tremble, "I'd hate to have to pin you down.".

Gojo didn't hesitate to flatten his tongue against your slit, licking upward until his lips latched onto your clit. A breathy moan fluttered from your chest as he sucked hard, cyan colored eyes locked on you as he started devouring you like a man starved. The unfamiliar sensation of his tongue swirling between your folds made your hips buck, your hands gripping the sheets in a weak attempt to ground yourself. Between your legs, Gojo had descended into madness; the sweetness of your pretty pussy intoxicating him with every swallow he drank down. As he suckled at your pearl, breathy moans met his ears, and he felt you begin to shake and inch up the bed.

He released your folds with a wet pop and nipped at your bud, a warning for you to hold still before pulling you back onto his mouth with dark eyes. You tried to protest but the words were ripped from your throat before you could utter them. Another long lick was dealt to your cunt followed by the prodding of his long fingers at your entrance. As his tongue flicked rapidly across your clit, the tips of his finger pushed past your entrance and began to scissor you open. The pressure that'd been building in your belly grew unbearable, tears prickling at your lash line as a hum from Gojo sent vibrations straight to your core. You opened your mouth to warn him of your impending release just as his fingertips brushed against a spongey spot deep inside your velvety walls. You shuddered, vision going white as your cunt clamped down on his digits; the orgasm rushing over you, pulling loud pleas from your kiss bitten lips.

He let you ride out your high for a few moments before separating himself from your folds. He watched you struggle to regain control of your body with pride, hands busy with undressing himself and freeing his throbbing cock from its confines. By the time the spots had cleared from your eyesight, he's placed your ankles on his broad shoulders and aligned himself with your entrance. You gasped as you watched his fat, pink mushroom tip slip through your lips. "W-wait! Gojo-sama-", you called only to be silenced by a hard stare from him. "Satoru.", he corrected you with a slap of his tip against your puffy clit, "You'll refer to me as Satoru from now on.".

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the massive length preparing to split you open, possibly split you apart. "Satoru, t-there's no way that'll fit inside me.", you tried to reason with him, "I've never... It'll break me.". A deep groan rumbled from his chest as he started to grind against your mound, precum mixing with your slick and covering his member.

"Don't worry, angel. I'll make it fit.", he assured you as he rolled his hips forward to catch on your entrance. Inch by inch, Satoru began sinking into your cunt with shallow thrusts. The sting of being stretched well past your limits caused the tears that'd welled in your lash line to fall from your eyes in streaks. At the sight, Satoru cooed and licked them away between whispered apologies and sweet nothings. He promised you that the pain would go away soon, a lie he partially felt bad for telling you. Afterall, he wasn't even halfway in yet.

When he did finally bottom out, he was fighting against the urge to fuck you into the mattress. Instead, he busied himself with adjusting the both of you, with manhandling you into a deep mating press. In that position, all your senses are once again overwhelmed with him. You could feel the tickle of his snowy locks against your forehead, his scent further addling your already frazzled brain. Your mind only slipped further away when Satoru pulled out completely to slam his hips into yours.

He fucked into you with long, deep strokes, pace slow and torturous. Any pain from earlier was chased away with white hot pleasure, your gummy walls fluttering around him as you fought to keep yourself quiet. You could only imagine what the elders would think of you if they heard you getting ruined, what the maids would whisper about if they heard the sound of Satoru's hefty balls smacking against your ass.

He wasn't having it, though. Swiftly, Satoru took your face into one of his huge hands, squishing your lips into a soft oh. "Ah ah ah, don't you fucking think about it.", he growled as he picked up the pace, "Keep that pretty mouth open for me, little love. I don't give a damn about who hears.". The knot in the pit of your stomach tightened at his words and he didn't miss how you clamped down on his cock. He chuckled at the sensation and took a moment to suck your tongue into his mouth before trickling a large globule of saliva into your own. He pulled back, hips now pistoning into yours as his high drew closer.

Moans and broken pleas bubbled from your chest with every drag and bump of his tip against your cervix, barely registering when Satoru's hand snaked between your bodies to rub quick circles into your already buzzing clit. A desperate scream escaped you at the staticky pops of his cursed energy against the sensitive bundle of nerves. " 'Toru, please!", you sobbed as the knot grew dangerously close to snapping, "I c-can't take it anymore!".

He couldn't hear you, he was too far away, too pussydrunk to comprehend your words or the flicker of the candles around him. A feral growl tore from his chest as he pounded into you harder. You should've already been done for, his reverse technique holding you together as he ravaged you with the selfish intent of pumping you full of cum. He dealt you a few more long thrusts before your chest pressed into his, back arching off the bed. You came with a silent scream, body shaking underneath his as you blacked out for a second and drenched his cock in a fresh wave of slick. As your walls spasmed around his pulsating head, Satoru's balls tightened and emptied into your needy pussy. "Fuck fuck fuck!",he hissed through clenched teeth, "That's my pretty little wife, take my cum.".

It took several moments for either of you to begin coming down, Satoru's hips grinding into yours as he fucked his cum deeper into your still fluttering walls. You shivered as the overstimulation took hold of you. A sudden knock came from the outside of the room, a timid, flustered voice calling for Satoru to meet with the elders; down the hallway you heard the overlapping voices of angry men drawing nearer. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your collarbones. "Don't worry about them, pretty girl.", he warned, and you felt his cock stiffen again.

"They're the least of your worries tonight.".

[mymegumi]

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ you just know

feat. fushiguro megumi

contents. fluff!

summary. there wasn’t a world where megumi is without you. there isn’t a universe where he doesn’t know you. and there isn’t a soul of his anywhere that doesn’t love yours just as dearly. in time, the two of you always find your way to each other, and neither of you can ever manage to let go.

fate isn’t real.

it just can’t be, because if fate was real, why did megumi just happen to know how all of his favorite movies ended before he had even watched them? it seems cruel to him, that he’s been cursed with this knowledge that no matter how well a movie manages to hide the plot twist in the trailer, eventually when he watches the full thing in theaters, he is met with disappointment.

itadori just doesn’t understand. megumi had tried to divulge this secret anguish to his friend and was met with a slap on the back and a ‘well, just don’t think so hard next time!’ which had helped him with his dilemma literally not at all.

kugisaki had been more sympathetic, though, and given him a tight-lipped smile accompanied by an awkward chuckle. he doesn’t think she fully understands, but her insincere concern was better than full-blown ignorance.

which is where he finds himself now, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck as he awaits your answer on his soul-consuming and life-shattering personality flaw. currently, you’re pursing your lips, eyebrows furrowing with a small little wrinkle forming between them.

he wants to reach out and smooth the wrinkle away.

“i think it’s a valid concern.”

he breathes a sigh of relief and can feel a weight fall off of his shoulders, mentally sagging a little bit at your response.

“because if i watched a thousand movies and knew the ending to all of them, i’d feel a little bummed.” you nod your head a little as you answer, hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder lightly.

you giggle, eyes lighting up as he moves forward to wrap his arms around your waist. “were you really that upset about it, ‘gumi?”

burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide his faint blush, he shakes his head and murmurs a soft ‘no’. he knows that you don’t buy his answer, but he’s grateful you don’t push him any further on it.

pulling back, you slide your hands down until they’re interlocked with his own. your smile is radiant and he can hardly believe a simple hug could’ve left you so stunningly happy.

and this is why he can’t imagine a life without you. he’d been worried over something so trivial, so insignificant in comparison to the bigger picture of jujutsu sorcerers and evils wanting to rip the world as he knew it from the seams. and yet, you’d managed to ease his trouble with barely even a word.

he loves you.

from the deepest part of his soul, he knows that he loves you and wouldn’t let anything keep him from you. you are his as much as he is yours and he wants to spend the rest of his days proving it.

but he falters a little.

there aren’t words to describe it. nothing to say that could be bigger than what he could show you instead. where he’s so eloquent with words in his mind, he finds his mouth doesn’t always say what he means. instead, he holds the door open for you, wipes the blood from your cuts after your fights, and holds you as you mourn the loss of friend after friend.

he can’t say it, but somehow he knows that you know. knows that you know how much you mean to him. the words won’t leave his mouth, but you always smile with a twinkle in your eye, kiss the corner of his mouth when it feels like cotton’s stuck in his throat, you press your hand into his and squeeze when it feels like his words are tangled on his tongue.

because you always know, when it comes to him.

he squeezes your hand, and smiles when you squeeze his back.

[girltalkcollectives]

🪞 Trying to love yourself in a world that profits from your self-doubt (and how i'm finally starting to win that battle) 🪞

Let's have an honest conversation about something I've been struggling with lately. You know those days when you're just scrolling through social media, feeling pretty good about yourself, and then BAM – suddenly you're wondering if you need that new miracle serum that promises to fix a "flaw" you didn't even know you had?

Yeah, we need to talk about that.

The Reality Check

At 20, I'm constantly bombarded with:

"Anti-aging" products (like… I'm literally TWENTY?)

Filters that completely change my face

Before/after photos that make me question everything

"Clean girl aesthetic" pressure

"That Girl" morning routines

Weight loss ads between every TikTok

"Body trending" conversations (because apparently bodies trend now???)

And honestly? I'm exhausted.

The Hidden Cost

Here's what this constant pressure actually costs us:

Mental energy we could use for literally anything else

Money we could be saving or investing

Confidence in our natural selves

Time we'll never get back

Real connections because we're too anxious about our appearance

The simple joy of existing without criticism

The Truth About "Perfect" Posts

Let's break down what we're usually seeing:

Perfect lighting

Strategic angles

Multiple takes

Careful editing

Specific poses

Curated moments

And sometimes? Straight-up lies

What Nobody Tells You About "Goals" Posts

That influencer with the "perfect morning routine"?

She took 67 takes of that "just woke up" shot

That's not her everyday breakfast

She's not actually that productive every single day

Those workout clips are from different days

The "no makeup" look has makeup

She probably felt anxious posting it too

My Personal Journey

Recently, I started documenting my actual, unfiltered self:

My actual skin texture

Real morning hair

Genuine facial expressions

Normal body positions

Regular daily outfits

Real-life messy moments

And something magical happened: nothing. The world didn't end. People didn't run away screaming. Life just… continued.

The Small Wins

I'm celebrating these victories:

Posting pictures without filters

Wearing what feels comfortable

Going out without makeup sometimes

Unfollowing accounts that make me feel bad

Actually believing compliments

Calling out beauty standards with friends

What's Actually Helping

Here's what's making a real difference:

Curating my social media: Unfollowing anything that triggers comparison

Finding real role models: Following people who look like me and rock it

Reality checks with friends: Honest conversations about our insecurities

Gratitude practice: Focusing on what my body does, not how it looks

Setting boundaries: It's okay to skip conversations about diets/appearance

The Mindset Shifts

I'm learning that:

Beauty standards are made up and literally change every decade

Companies profit from our insecurities

"Perfect" doesn't exist

Confidence is more attractive than any physical feature

My worth isn't tied to my appearance

It's okay to be a work in progress

To Anyone Struggling

Remember:

You don't owe anyone prettiness

Your body is not a trend

You're allowed to take up space

Your worth isn't measured in likes

Beauty standards are fake

You're enough, right now, as you are

Moving Forward

Here's what I'm committing to:

Being honest about my struggles

Sharing unfiltered moments

Supporting other women

Calling out toxic beauty standards

Celebrating all types of beauty

Working on loving myself as I am

The Revolution Starts With Us

Maybe the most rebellious thing we can do is just… exist. Unapologetically. Without shrinking or filtering or constantly apologizing.

[donascozylivingroom]

MANIFESTING WL

You know, when i was a kid i was kinda deppressed so it ruined my confidence and my body image. i don't think i was trully phat, i think i just didn't like my belly and i thought that made me phat.

i had a panic attack when my dad screamed in a restaurant that i ate too much.

i ate a whole bread when i was a kid just to not feel the emotional pain of having a huge fight with my mom.

of course my relationship with food was effed up.

around 18 yo my friend told me about calories so i started restricting and i became slim. the first time in my life that i liked how i look. but i was still emotionally and mentally messed up so i got into a lot of trouble.

i'm 30 now and looking back at my "phat" 60 kg at 1.70m pictures, i look incredibly beautiful.

my whole life i unconsciously affirmed food makes me gain, and "i'm phatttt". guess what? i truly became it at some point. i was around 114 kg last time i weighed. i've lost around 6-8 kgs in my opinion and photo comparison because i no longer weigh...in the last three weeks.

aside from persisting in weight loss robotic affirmations, i also persisted in affirming after every meal that e4t|ng makes me lose weight. even if i have to repeat it for 30 mins after, i don't care, i am rewiring my subconscious mind and my beliefs.

I ate mcdonalds or pizza some days and i am visibly skinnier.

i scrolled around 3d tumblr and it just made me sad... it's not ok. food doesn't make u gain, your mind does. we live in a hollographic universe, life is a dream, of course it responds to your beliefs about it. you are the creator.

if you've ever seen tasty food and just by seeing it felt phattah, then u know, it's in ur beliefs, because food literally makes me slim.

when i discovered this i felt like i was in a food paradise. like, would Source make something so delicious hurt u? would it like u to restrict forever? it's all created by the media. created by humans, this belief.

get your powers back! yes it can take a long time (1-2-3 months) to truly change your mindset because it is so ingrained in u and society, but once u do, u will be that friend that eats whatever they want and still look perfect.

ignore any proof and just keep repeating when u see 3d not comforming, form a new identity around this and u will be free!

***EDIT*** Remember, if you have negative beliefs, no matter how much you shed you will never be satisfied. You are beautiful and perfect as u are.

Picture is not mine credit: pinterest

[houseofbrat]

Both William and Kate look extremely frail and in their 60s in the unphotoshopped pictures. Don't know what's going on with both of them, especially when they can clearly afford the best health and beauty treatments for men and women. William is trying to pull a Felipe with his beard and failing miserably.

I wouldn't say they look like they're in their 60s. Late 40s maybe.

They both look like smokers, which they both are. Kate started smoking at Marlborough. I can't remember if William started smoking at Eton or St. Andrews.

Anyway, they're both clearly stressed and look like they're not sleeping well. I don't know how much weight William has lost. I'm surprised the Daily Mail hasn't put up a side-by-side comparison of him since last spring.

Kate doesn't look that "frail" to me. She looks tired, stressed, and disappointed. William looks more "frail" to me. Turn him to the side and he almost disappears. He looks like he goes home and cries into his pillow every night.

As for the beard, I still think William grew it solely to hide the weight loss in his face. It's purely a distraction for people to focus on. I saw someone else say that he should do a goatee instead because his beard is so patchy on the cheeks. However, the goatee wouldn't hide the weight loss in his cheeks, which is why I suspect he has a beard for the foreseeable future.

[tminus266]

So I put on a shirt that I haven’t worn in a hot minute and realized it fits much different now.

I hated the pictures on the left when they were taken, but now I’m thankful I have them for comparisons!

Ignore the dirty mirror… it’s right by a bathtub and it always gets wet from the two year old splashing during bath time.

But I can see it in my face, in my arms, my tummy, and maybe I am losing my boobs a bit?!

I’ve been waiting to have a good weight loss comparison pictures! The difference in these two is about 46 lbs (picture isn’t from my heaviest weight but close to it).

🍀🍀🍀

[chaiandtakkar]

Whispers beneath the stars

Chapter 13 Part B: Khushi’s Interlude 

1990, Bangalore

The orphanage smelled of dust and sunlight—the kind of smell that clung to old buildings with histories too long to recount. Khushi sat on the worn bench, her legs swinging restlessly beneath her as she watched the other children play in the courtyard. She had been here for over two years now, bouncing from one facility to another, never staying long enough to form any real connections.

At eight years old, she had learned that most people didn’t want older children. Families had wanted babies—blank slates, children who hadn’t lived through too many birthdays alone, children who didn’t carry memories of a life before.

She had long since stopped hoping.

That rainy afternoon, when Appa and Amma walked in, Khushi didn’t pay them much attention. She had seen enough couples pass through the orphanage’s gates, their eyes sweeping over the children, looking for something—someone—to fit into their lives. It had become a familiar routine: they would meet with the staff, sometimes glance over at the older children, but almost always leave with a toddler or an infant.

Khushi wasn’t expecting this time to be any different.

But something about Appa and Amma was different, though not in the way that usually brought comfort. They carried their grief visibly, like heavy cloaks wrapped around their shoulders. Appa’s eyes, deep and distant, held an emptiness that was hard to ignore. Amma, too, seemed hollowed out, her gaze flickering with something too sharp for comfort—an unspoken sadness that ran deeper than Khushi could comprehend.

They hadn’t come to the orphanage looking to adopt. Not at first. They had come in search of something they hadn’t even realized they were looking for—some way to fill the gaping hole their son Raghav had left behind.

Raghav had drowned off the coast of Rameshwaram years ago, lost to the sea in an accident that had forever changed them. The grief of losing him had eroded the life they once knew, leaving behind a home filled with silence and sadness.

When they met Khushi, something shifted. She was older than most of the children they had seen, and perhaps that’s what drew them in—an understanding that this child, too, carried the weight of loss. But as much as their hearts ached, it wasn’t Khushi they truly saw.

It was Raghav.

The first time Khushi saw Amma’s eyes soften, it was when she caught a glimpse of the way Khushi tilted her head, something Raghav had done. And when Appa asked Khushi about her favorite books, it wasn’t really because he cared about her interests—it was because he was remembering Raghav’s love for reading, trying to find echoes of him in the girl who now stood before them.

The adoption process was swift, almost mechanical. Khushi was taken to their home in a quiet ceremony—no grand celebrations, no warm welcome, just a new life she hadn’t expected. The house was spacious but filled with shadows—pictures of a boy who looked nothing like her, but whose presence lingered in every corner. Raghav’s room was kept untouched, his childhood toys still lined neatly on the shelves, his clothes still hanging in the closet.

Khushi didn’t know how to navigate this space, where everything seemed to remind her new parents of someone else. She felt like an intruder in a family that had already been fully formed, her presence an attempt to bridge the brokenness that had come with their son’s death.

In those early days, Amma and Appa spoke little of Raghav, but his absence was palpable. They didn’t openly ask Khushi to fill the void he had left behind, but it was there in the unspoken comparisons, the lingering looks, and the way they watched her, as though they were waiting for her to become something more—someone else.

Amma’s touch was gentle but often distant. She would comb Khushi’s hair with the same practiced movements she had once used on Raghav, and though her hands were steady, there was a tension there, a quiet longing. "Raghav’s hair used to be this soft," she would murmur absentmindedly, and Khushi would sit there, silent, the weight of those words pressing down on her chest.

Appa, too, tried to connect, but his conversations often turned toward memories of Raghav. "He would have loved to show you the beach," Appa said once, as they sat by the shore. "Raghav used to spend hours in the water, just like you. He had the same spark in his eyes."

Khushi wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a compliment or just another reminder that she was living in the shadow of a boy she had never met but whose presence seemed to linger in every part of their lives.

She tried, in her own quiet way, to please them. She studied hard, did her chores without complaint, and sat with Amma while she quietly worked in the garden. But no matter how much she did, it never felt like enough. There was always something missing, something she couldn’t quite become.

And that’s when the isolation set in.

Khushi began to retreat into herself, finding solace in the silence she had grown so accustomed to. She stopped asking questions, stopped trying to bridge the gap between herself and her adoptive parents. The house remained as it always had—quiet, steeped in grief, and filled with the weight of expectations.

It wasn’t that Appa and Amma didn’t care for her. They did, in their own way. But their love was always tinged with sadness, always shadowed by the memory of the son they had lost. They had taken Khushi in, not out of a desire to replace Raghav, but because they couldn’t bear the emptiness he had left behind.

And so Khushi lived in that space—in between love and loss, in between being wanted and being forgotten.

It wasn’t until years later, when Khushi donned her army uniform, that she began to see a glimmer of pride in their eyes that was for her and not for the shadow of someone else.

Appa had been the first to speak, his voice breaking the silence of the morning. "You’ve made us proud," he said, his eyes glistening. And for the first time, Khushi felt like she was being seen for who she was, not for the echoes of someone else’s memory.

But even then, she couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how far she went, no matter what she achieved, she would always be living in the shadow of a family she could never truly be a part of.

@arshifiesta

Also on blog here

>>Chapter 14

[avaisnerdytoo]

5YL Ep7 Motion Comic:

Some quick thoughts from the episode in which I found tons of affinity on. (Link to watch at the bottom of this thingy).

-

This episode presents a dilemma which I personally have a bit of personal fascination on. If you have a character that is all powerful, should they, or should they not ascend to godhood?

There are 3 characters I love in this world, Flash, Iron-Man (with less direct comparison in this instance), and Ben, all 3 possess the means to shape the world as they like, to exert some kind of weight onto everything else which only they can lift.

Granted Ben, through Alien X far exceeds my other two examples, but the question remains similarly.

If all 3 of these characters are heroes, shouldn't they take the reigns of the world?

Surely their judgment would spare us all, they have their hearts on the right place!

I hadn't typed this out publicly before, but dorky me actually likes to imagine many stories, including ones were my OC has some kind of access to significant power, as a fun wild card in my own stories.

Part of the fun of stories however, are challenges, and in my own, I try to maintain a sense of realism, although in such cases, I do often think to myself...

If I were in that situation, it would be seriously tempting to pull that kind of card, even if for something simple...

"Oh, character is stuck in the past with no way home except a tedious process of gathering all the resources to make a time machine to head back? Why not skip it and pull the Alien X card - or whatever OP thing for whatever example - and literally just go back home?

You were going to do it anyway... In this example the character has the knowledge to fix the problem, they simply made it easy on themselves, the faster they get back home the faster they get back to helping right? They don't have to use Alien X/OP Thing to solve the problem back home, they simply used him to return.

And as small excuses begin becoming bigger, slowly there are less reasons not to use him for everything."

I like Ben calling out "Life" as a good reason not to go through with using Alien X. That level of responsibility exceeds anything anyone should ever carry, as humans I mean. Not to mention the complete loss of reality to everyone else, would things even be "happening" at that point?

Kuro once said that he likes Ben not using him even without any deadlocks as it shows a massive sign of mental fortitude, every time he uses another transformation, he is choosing to be better.

And as contextualized in the comic, as a sign of respect for the symbol of the watch.

One head canon I like to play with is the idea that, "if Ben has full control of Alien X, perhaps as time went on he also acquires all the omnipresence that comes with it, as Belicus and Serena practically aren't involved at all, he could, like Dr. Manhattan, see it all, the whole universe as a static picture, only he doesn't retain the knowledge because it would be too much to handle".

To be honest, I always wondered how other characters would react to Ben having to full control of Alien X, true free control. Previously, they all understood the hassle that would be the arguments needed to make him work, but now?

The Hero of Heroes has always shown excellent judgment, he clearly can be trusted, why not get ahead?

Rook logically supporting the suggestion, or Kevin not understanding why freeing others of pain wouldn't be the instant choice feels right in character for me. And if I were not Ben, but alongside him, I would also feel some degree of pressure to wanting him to spare us all of anything further.

It should be evident by now that I haven't read the rest of the comic, I was actually doing so, and then I kinda dropped it haha, not out of distaste though, far from it hahaha.

I'll definitely get back into reading though, this is absolutely amazing.

Watch 5YL EP7 : The Ink Tank on YouTube

Read 5YL : The Ink Tank Website with multiple reading options.

[xiadz]

my trainer once asked me if I was okay with pictures of me being posted, and I was like man whatever I don't have a facebook and I don't use instagram for any reason other than to sometimes message my normie friends, I don't have to see it so go ahead anyways, a photo from when I started originally vs where I am now (taken last week) was posted as a before and after and today was shown to me, the comparison in weight loss and definition next to each other really puts into perspective for me how far I've come (and how much further I want to go) but today specifically, 2 people at the gym came up to me and were super stoked and congratulating me on my hard work and it felt real good, it's finally over the last month or two really sinking in that I AM doing it and not just faking.

[kevinsreviewcatalogue]

Review: The Substance (2024)

The Substance (2024)

Rated R for strong bloody violent content, gore, graphic nudity and language

<Originally posted at https://kevinsreviewcatalogue.blogspot.com/2024/09/review-substance-2024.html>

Score: 5 out of 5

Between this and her prior film Revenge, I'm convinced of two things about writer/director Coralie Fargeat. First, she is a mad genius and one of the most underrated horror filmmakers working today, somebody who isn't on more horror fans' radars only because it took her seven years to make her next feature film. Second, she really, really likes taking beauty standards, especially but not exclusively female ones, and subverting and deconstructing them into oblivion. Her 2014 short film Reality+ was a sci-fi Cinderella parable set in a world where, for twelve hours a day, people can use an AR chip to look like their idealized selves. In Revenge, she took a woman who she spent the first act framing as a bimbo and a sex object and transformed her into an action hero, in the process stripping her of most of her obvious sexuality even as she literally stripped her of most of her clothes.

With The Substance, meanwhile, her camera spends a long time lingering on idealized female forms that are either nude or clad in very slinky and revealing outfits, only to then subject those beautiful women to body horror straight out of a David Cronenberg film, the result of its heroine's pursuit of the impossible beauty standards that Hollywood sets for women blowing up in her face in dramatic fashion. It's a story that treads the line between horror and farce, but one whose unreality ultimately hits home at the end even as someone who can't say he's been confronted with anything close to what this film's protagonist was going through. What's more, Fargeat is a hell of a stylist, as befitting a filmmaker whose writing so often contain the themes that it does. This movie is filled with rich visual flair of a sort that Hollywood seems to have largely forgotten how to pull off in the last ten years (leave it to a French woman to bring it back), anchored by two great performances from Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, a killer electronic score by Raffertie, and special effects that turn more and more grisly and grotesque as the film goes on. As both a satire of the beauty industry (especially in the age of weight loss drugs like Ozempic) and a mean-spirited, pull-no-punches horror film, this movie kicked my ass, its 141-minute runtime rushing right by as I hung on for the ride.

Our protagonist Elisabeth Sparkle is a former Oscar-winning actress turned celebrity aerobics instructor who's just turned 50 and received one hell of a birthday gift: finding out that she's gonna be fired from her show in favor of a younger, prettier model. Fortunately, a chance encounter at the hospital after a car accident leads her to discover a revolutionary, black-market beauty program called the Substance. For a week at a time, she can jump into the body of an idealized version of herself, under the condition that she then spends a week in her old body in order to recharge. Elisabeth embraces the opportunity and, under the identity of "Sue", her younger and sexier alter ego, promptly reclaims the stardom she used to have, including her old show. Being Sue, however, proves so enticing to Elisabeth that she starts to fudge the rules in order to extend her time in Sue's body past what is allowed, which starts to have negative effects on not just her body but also her psyche.

The first thing that came to mind as I left the theater was The Picture of Dorian Gray, the classic 1890 gothic horror novel by Oscar Wilde about an immortal man who has a portrait of himself locked away in his closet that slowly ages in his place. While the comparison isn't one-to-one, the allusions are obvious, not just in how Sue's malignant influence on Elisabeth manifests in the form of Elisabeth's body starting to visibly age and decay (first her fingers, then her leg, and on from there) but also in how one of the main themes running through the story is satire of the idea that beauty is the measure of one's goodness. If this film had a single defining line of dialogue, it would be "you are one," the message/warning that the mysterious figure who sells Elisabeth the Substance tells her repeatedly in their phone conversations and in the instructions she receives with it. Elisabeth ignores this and comes to imagine herself and Sue as two separate people, but these words haunt both her and the viewer throughout the film. Elisabeth and Sue being one and the same makes the contrast between Elisabeth's late-period career struggles and Sue's rocketship to stardom that much more stark. The only difference between them is that Sue looks to be half Elisabeth's age, and yet here she is proving that she still has what it takes to be a star. Elisabeth may still be a very beautiful woman, but according to Hollywood, being 50 years old makes her pretty much geriatric to the point that she may as well be a completely different person from who she used to be. No wonder, then, that Elisabeth wants to make the most of her time as Sue, to the point that she's willing to spend longer than her allotted week at a time in Sue's body because she no longer values her "inferior" old self, which turns into a self-fulfilling prophecy as doing so causes that old body to undergo rapid aging.

And Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, in turn, make the most of the dual role they share as the two faces of Elisabeth/Sue. Fargeat's camera loves Qualley, taking every opportunity to showcase her curves in almost fetishistic detail, while she also holds her own as the more free-spirited version of Elisabeth who lacks the inhibitions and insecurities brought about by the ageism she's experienced. Most of the movie, however, is Moore's show. She gets the big, flashy downward spiral over the course of the film, the same fetishistic camera turned on her naked body to show the viewer how she sees all her cellulite, wrinkles, and other imperfections that make an otherwise attractive woman feel that she's lost her youthful beauty, even before the actual body horror starts to kick in. Her interactions with her boss at the studio, played by Dennis Quaid in a small but highly memorable role as a sexist slob who's literally named Harvey just in case you didn't know who he was supposed to be based on, demonstrate how, even if she did find a way to feel good about herself and age gracefully, the shallow, image-obsessed business she's working in won't let her. Make no mistake, every awful thing that happens to Elisabeth over the course of the film is her fault, but she is no villain. She's an emotionally crippled mess plagued by self-doubt, her trajectory a decidedly tragic one as all of her mistakes slowly, then all at once, catch up to her.

Behind the camera, too, Fargeat turns in a larger-than-life experience where all the little breaks from reality wind up giving the film a hyper-real feeling. I had questions about how somebody with no medical training was able to figure out how to administer the Substance on her own with only minimalistic flash cards serving as instructions (something that, as a medical worker who had to go through training for that, I picked up on quickly), how hosting an aerobics program on television is presented as a pathway to stardom in 2024, or how the network's New Year's Eve special got away with showing a bevy of topless showgirls (though that could just be Fargeat being French). But even beyond the story, I was too wrapped up in this movie's visuals to care. This is a damn fine looking movie, Fargeat's style feeling heavily influenced by the likes of Tony Scott and Michael Bay but turning a lot of their fixations around into subversions of their aesthetic. The film's parade of hypersexualized female flesh is taken to the point where it starts to feel grotesque, the quick cutting and the pounding electronic score are used to create unease as we realize that something is deeply wrong under the surface, the entire film is embedded with a deep streak of black comedy, and by the time the grisly special effects kick in, I was primed for some fucked-up shit -- and ultimately was not disappointed. The last thirty minutes or so of this movie were a sick, wild blast of energy as Fargeat goes full Cronenberg, her vision of Hollywood that's rooted less in reality and more in its worst stereotypes (especially those of people who work in the industry) exploding into a vicious, no-holds-barred mess that was honestly the only way it could've ended.

The Bottom Line

The Substance sent me for a loop and did not pull its punches. I recommend it for anybody with a strong stomach interested in either a scathing satire of the beauty industry or just a good old-fashioned body horror flick. It's one of my favorite films of 2024, and I'm excited to see what Fargeat does next.

[asgoodeasgold]

If you 💜 Brideshead, check My Archive for more - I am blogging about the whole film.

I am starting a rewatch of the 2008 movie adaptation of Brideshead Revisited, a 1945 novel by Evelyn Waugh. This is my most loved Matthew Goode film, based on one of my favourite novels, so it is very close to my heart.

I’ll be using the Director’s Cut bluray.

The collage above shows Charles Ryder's journey from young innocence to loss, love found and disillusion.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited (2008)

The cast of Brideshead Revisited (2008) is magnificent and includes, in addition to Matthew Goode (Charles Ryder), Hayley Awell (Julia Flyte), Ben Wishaw (Sebastian Flyte), Emma Thompson (Lady Marchmain) and Michael Gambon (Lord Marchmain). Emma Thompson took the young actors, who really got on well together, under her wings.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

Brideshead Revisited: The Sacred & Profane Memories of Captain Charles Ryder is a 1945 novel by Evelyn Waugh. It follows, from the 1920s to the early 1940s, the life and romances of Charles Ryder, his encounter with the aristocratic Flytes and their beautiful stately home Brideshead and his journey of discovery. It explores themes around nostalgia for the past and English nobility, happiness, love and loss and Catholic faith and guilt.

The novel (and film) start and end with older bittersweet Charles as an officer during the war billetted at Brideshead and reminiscing about the past.

📷 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brideshead_Revisited

Brideshead Revisited was turned into a stupendous 11-part mini-series in 1981 by Granada TV with Jeremey Irons and Anthony Andrews. It is an excellent adaptation which received critical acclaim. A high bar for the cast and crew of the 2008 movie who must have felt the weight of history on their shoulders.

Trailer:

https://youtu.be/_ZtPGYLEzpw

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited and IMDB

Brideshead Revisited was directed by Julian Jarrold and cinematography is by Jess Hall (both pictured with Matthew Goode). The screenplay is by Jeremy Brock and Andrew Davies. I think the film is a cinematographic gem and feast for the eyes. It’s a shame it got a lukewarm reception. I think the comparisons with an 11-part miniseries, which had the time to unfold the story, are unfair. The film had to condense quite a lot of the book and made some adaptive choices which may be seen as a departure from the novel but it remains, in my view, true to the spirit of the book and is a very good adaptation in its own right.

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

The main locations for Brideshead Revisited are Oxford, Venice and Castle Howard, a stately home in Yorkshire. The miniseries used Castle Howard for Brideshead so the director Julian Jarrold hesitated about reusing it, wanting to forge his own path. But he decided to go for it in the end as it fits the descriptions in the book and the baroque architecture “instinctively evokes Catholicism”.

It is a stunning place and one understands why Charles Ryder fell under its spell.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_Howard

📷 My edit from Brideshead Revisited 📀 bonus features

The original score for Brideshead Revisited was written by Adrian Johnston and is one of my many favourite things about the film. It is beautiful and mirrors wonderfully all the emotions of hope, loss, heartbreak and nostalgia from the story.

Here are a few samples:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yjq62bxvWE8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Chp7LszUYp8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2YXscQND64 

[fishingcatz]

If I ever post a weight loss comparison picture just know it’s with good intentions and that I’m not a fucked up twisted in the mind person

[chirpbudgie]

gidget angst. set a while post-rtaos.

cw for: emeto (not explicitly described), disassociation, past trauma. mention of weight loss, but it’s not meant to signify an e.d.

It’s the little things that come when you least expect it.

He just wanted to look at pictures of fish.

It feels exponentially harder to breath and tears have already begun to fall.

Don’t make him mad, he doesn’t come unless it’s serious, always the serious room

He does his best to blink away the image of a concrete floor (was the room always this dim?) and probably succeeds in speed-dialing.

he’s spiraling, what is he supposed to do he cant remember he can never remember its his fault please dont be mad

ground yourself how does he do that? he tries to picture the conversation with dr joy but its all blurry fuck he hates blurry faces

he gasps and clutches the table at the bout of nausea. there’s a distant clatter. he can’t make a mess, he’ll be in trouble he’s not supposed to

he doesn’t make it more than a few steps. he crumples to the floor.

(the rest doesn’t make sense in his head.)

“Welcome back, poppet.”

Gidget blinks slowly, trying to get the world back into focus.

“I’ve got you, shh.” A hand scratches at the nape of his neck and it feels nice. He knows the voice from somewhere. There’s footsteps, someone else in the Parable? He can’t see anything, it’s too bright; maybe out-of-bounds?

“Leigh, could you turn the lights off?” Leigh, he knows that name. That’s his friend. He hopes they’re friends. Is there a way you’re supposed to make it official?

The room gets darker and he can see again. He knows the face in front of him, but he can’t figure out

Oh.

“Are you going to throw up again?” The Narrator’s voice is gentle, like he’s made of glass. He feels like he’s made of glass too.

He nods. He flinches.

“Don’t try to stop it, dear.” A bin is held up for him.

And he weeps.

The Narrator rubs his back the whole time, even wipes his face and offers tissues when he’s done. It’s almost enough to make him tear up again.

“How are you feeling?” The fluffy man finally asks. They both know Gidget will likely be out of commission for the rest of the day.

{Like death eating a bologna sandwich,} he manages to sign.

His Narrator can’t stifle a laugh at the nonsense comparison. Gidget smiles too. It makes him feel a little better. Anything would make him feel a little better right now.

“Let’s get you comfortable, dear.” The Narrator helps him out from under the table. Gidget stumbles and has to lean on him, but they make it to the couch. The soreness in his fingers from gripping something is beginning to fade.

(The fuzzy feeling snuck up on him. His brain feels like cotton balls, trying and failing to compartmentalize. And in reality, the stumbling was his knees trembling like a baby deer taking its first steps.)

He snuggles up next to his Narrator. Leigh (his friend! his friend is here too!) appears and helps him drink some water. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until his hands were on the cup and began to spill it. He whines when it’s pulled away.

“Don’t drink so fast, you’ll hurt your stomach,” his Narrator scolds with no malice. “Take a deep breath with me, love bug.”

Gidget follows along a few times before he’s allowed to drink again. It doesn’t do much to clear his head, but he heeds the warning this time. And still spills.

(He always insists on trying to hold the cup, and it always ends up badly. Maybe Gidget has been looking at sippy cups, but only because he likes the colors. No other reason. He swears his hands aren’t this shaky normally.)

“What are we ever going to do with you,” The Narrator sighs with a smile. Gidget holds his arm so he can pet the man-shaped being’s sweater. It’s the one he really likes when he’s sensory-seeking.

(And Gidget loves to be taken care of. He’s too shy to admit it, but it shows in vulnerable moments like these. Dr. Joy has given him a “diagnosis” on what and why exactly he gets like this, but it’s a little too embarrassing to share. It’s healthier than disassociation, she assured, but it’s hard to separate the two when they’re together.)

“Leigh?” Gidget still isn’t very good at speaking and gets stuck, so it sounds more like ‘luh.’ His point seems to come across just fine, though.

“Leigh will be back in a minute, he wanted to get your blanket,” he soothes.

Gidget yawns at the reminder. He’s feeling a little extra tired, so it must be almost time for his afternoon nap.

He’s covered in a soft weight suddenly and feels himself begin to drift. But he lifts his head a little; there’s this one thing…

His Narrator presses a kiss to his forehead and Gidget’s insides feels like cotton candy. Or, like, a cat purring. It’s a good, warm feeling.

(By now, Leigh has expertly confined him to a weighted blanket burrito. He’s much easier to hold onto, and nobody is happy when Gidget rolls himself off the couch.)

And Gidget is content to doze, head rested on his Narrator’s chest to feel the vibration of his voice and squished into a stanley-sandwich by his friend.

“No, he hasn’t been triggered like that since we first met. I’ve never seen him this lucid after a panic attack… it took him so long to relax.”

“I thought so too. I wish he met his original narrator under better circumstances.”

“I’d like to get him weighed later, he’s much too light and his sensitive stomach isn’t doing him any favors. …Oh dear, he is rather pale, isn’t he?”

(But Gidget won’t remember those snippets of conversation when he wakes half an hour later.)

[she-wears-glasses]

So here we are again….I’ve been emotional lately over my weight loss and I think I know why. I am proud of my 100+ pound weight loss, and I’m aware that I have more to go. I know I’m not giving up anytime soon. I took some progress pictures and made comparisons to when I was at my heaviest, and it made me emotional for the woman who was over a hundred pounds heavier. I was sad for her, because I knew how sad and depressed she was in that picture. She was depressed with how life turned out for her, how it didn’t go at all with how she had planned it out to be. She was depressed with how lonely she felt. She was depressed because she felt like people didn’t respect her. She was depressed and upset with herself. I am so happy and proud of myself with the progress I’ve made with my health, myself and my life over all; but I’ve been sad for her. In a way I’m in a mourning period for her, and I guess it’s making me act weird. I know I’ve changed so much as a person to know I don’t want to go back to who I used to be, at the same time I just feel sad for her and how she felt.

I guess I’m writing this to write to her.

Dear the past she-wears-glasses

You do deserve respect and love. Don’t expect to get it from others when you don’t have it yourself. Instead grow to love and respect yourself and the rest will follow. It’s their loss if they choose not to love you and treat you right. I know it’s hard and you’ll be heartbroken and disappointed by so many different people in your life. Maybe it won’t be today or tomorrow; but one day you’ll be around so many different types of people who admire you because your heart will shine through your eyes to theirs. Your heart will grow bigger than it’s ever been before. I know this sounds hard to believe but it’s true. Trust me everything that you’re doing will pay off. And trust that your family loves you so much and they just want you to be happy and healthy. They will be your biggest cheerleaders and support even if it doesn’t always feel like it. They have nothing but good intentions and overtime you’ll see that they’re right.

I just wanted to say that love you and I’m proud of you. Thank you so much for getting me here, I am so grateful that you’ve been so strong throughout everything we’ve been through together. We’ll both keep fighting to get better. Day by day.

Love,

Present She-wears-glasses

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

no, losing weight will not affect your nose size/shape.

Thats so false lmfao most pregnant women change their nose when they gain and lose weight, you can also see the difference in many regular weight gains/losses pictures comparisons. I cnat speak for evan because i cant see whats the difference with his nose, but you dont need surgery for that

no, it is not false. weight gain or loss does not affect the size of your nose. please explain how would weight loss affect your nose, when there is no fat stored in your nose?! your nose is literally made up of cartilage and bones, you're not storing fat in there. please think critically.

ALSO: the reason pregnant women's nose change has absolutely nothing to do with weight gain, it has to do with hormonal changes and the increased blood volume causing facial swelling. and swelling just about everywhere else. it's a common misconception when you see a huge swollen pregnant woman that it's all weight gain to blame, nose included or not.. your blood volume increases ENORMOUSLY.