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January 17 2023
#plus size#plus sized#medical fatphobia#fatphobia#dieting#healthcare#health#wellness#weight loss#nutrition#dietician#intuitive eating
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My experience with and opinion on fat acceptance
I am currently 16 years old and 5'6, 169 pounds. I need to tell my story.
I've been fat or chubbier my entire life due to poor eating habits taught to me early on. "Oh, you want thirds on that giant plate of yours? Sure, go right ahead." But I never really noticed until about 5th grade and really got self conscious in 6th grade. But, I was healthy. I'd say I was around 5'3 and 155-160 pounds. I moved around a lot, I was running with no thought about breath control every day at recess. But I still sucked in my guy and wore giant shirts so no one could see the shape of my body. Then, Covid hit.
I gained what i thought was so much weight during lockdown, as everyone else did too, as well as my oh so quirky mental illnesses. I was at 168 and it made me feel horrible. But not in the health way but the outer appearance way. Then I discovered fat acceptance.
I went from sucking in my gut to being sucked into a harmful mindset that I cannot change but that's okay.
Now, I have to give the movement credit where it's due; it both positively and negatively affected me. The negative part was that i gained about 20 pounds. I got to 180. The positive was that I gained confidence that I desperately needed. I started to not care as much about what I thought people would think, I started to wear more form fitting clothes, I started to even wear two piece swimsuits. But that 20 pounds felt absolutely horrible. And after about two years in the fat acceptance movement, I finally got out of it.
I finally stopped blaming everyone else, either for not being "fat positive" or for being the ones who made me fat. I finally stopped thinking the "naturally" skinny girls were my worst enemy. I finally stopped blaming my genetics. I finally realized just how much I was grossly overeating. I finally saw just how bad I was and how the path I was taking would've lead me to major health problems and an unhappy life filled with resentment and bitterness.
So I took that confidence given to me by the movement and I used it to better myself. After many ups and downs, I managed to get down to 162. I've gained 7 pounds back but I'm trying my best to be consistent. And this health journey started because I wanted to be healthier and just feel better, mostly because I wanted to justify it because I thought that it was wrong of me to want to lose weight to look a certain way. But honestly, fuck that. I don't care if it's fat phobic of me to want my own body to be smaller. So, health is a priority for me but I will be damned if I don't start looking the way I want.
And I tagged this with so many of these fat acceptance tags because I know for damn sure that I would've needed this post three years ago. To hear how it affected someone close to my age. So to anyone who is feeling like shit because you feel as though you can't lose weight or you don't feel as pretty as others; you can do this. You're absolutely gorgeous and handsome and pretty and interesting no matter how you look. But please, please, please don't take to the fat acceptance movement as a way go block out and ignore your insecurities. It doesn't work, it will only get worse. I lost those 17 pounds just by eating a few more vegetables and very inconsistent exercise. I realize everyone is different but it's way easier than you think it is.
Please, y'all, take care of yourselves.
#fat acceptance#tw fatphobia#fat liberation#fat life#fat activism#anti fatness#health at every size#haes#body postivity#body positive#body posititivity#intuitive eating#body neutrality#fat positive#fat positvity#fat politics#cw fatphobia#weight loss#diet#weightloss#healthy diet#tw weight#tw weighloss
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🥗🧘♀️💕
starting ozempic tomorrow - anyone else on it please tell me what you eat!!?
I’m feeling overwhelmed with info, and I feel myself slipping into the danger zone of my eating disorder brain. Overly concerning myself with calories and macros and making sure EVERYTHING is perfect. I hate that lifestyle and reaaaally don’t want to return to it
Figuring out how to intuitively eat, lose weight and remain having gratitude towards my body eeeeeekkk
#ozempic#intuitive eating#weight loss#nutrition#adhd intuitive eating#mental health#losing weight#ed recovery#semaglutide#emdelphi
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#Warning: I talk about nausea and vomitting and weight loss medication in these tags so. Be careful.#The worst part of taking a weight loss medication is the unbearable feeling that you’re about to throw up#And knowing that you very well might throw up even despite anti-nausea medication and pepto bismal#The first time I took this medication a month ago (it’s a weekly injection but I wait 2 weeks between shots because of this)#I got so unbearably sick. I threw up on three separate occasions on consecutive days and it was the worst#My dad also took the medication and had a terrible reaction too#What’s strange is that the last time I took my shot 2 weeks ago I was fine#Legit no nausea or vomitting whatsoever#Today… definitely not.#I think it may have to do with how much I eat#The first time I took the shot I overate to try and counter the nausea#(It may seem counter intuitive but on lower doses of this medication being hungry would also make me nauseous so I would eat more to try#and counter the nausea. But clearly that was not the right decision oof)#Last time though I didn’t eat that much from the get go and was fine.#Legit I was eating less than 1000 calories a day. Which in and of itself is honestly bad…#This time I ate a lot more like the first time and now I’m nauseous again#I think I may have to stop this medication outright… it’s helping me lose weight yeah. But at what cost?#(Also I know that being overweight isn’t a terrible thing and all. But I personally don’t feel comfortable physically at a higher weight#but struggle a lot to lose weight because of pain and lethargy. So the weight loss medication sucks but I find the side effects worth it..#for the most part that is. The nausea and vomitting is a bit much for me though…)#Anyway sorry for the rambling tags#I’m using this as a way to distract myself from the nausea while the anti-nausea medication hopefully kicks in#Luckily it is helping and I’m starting to feel a bit less nauseous…#Knock on wood of course#Ugh never mind.#I got up from#the bathroom and my stomach started roiling again#Time to sit quietly in the living room and sip water with a cool fan on me to try and settle my stomach again…#Of course this woke me up too so it’s like… 6 am and I’m the only one in my household awake#Anyway sorry again for the ramble. Thanks for reading if you got this far. .-.
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Loosing kilos steadily since March
Today after more than a year or two years I finally see 76kg on the scale
It really hasn't been that hard. Though one of the things I've had to quit that I really liked was eating just after my quietapine kicked in, I felt like a zombie, like I had to do it. No brain.
Some days I may do it but it's been a while since I don't feel like it.
I've been eating better also more food made at home since my boyfriend is recovering from a heart attack. We cut down salt we use it very little and honestly when I eat out I get freaked out how salty some food is made, like it stings your tongue.
Anyways not much has changed but just that and a little bit of unplanned night fasting has helped tremendously.
My goal I set up is loosing 1kg a month. Last month I was stuck because I relapsed into old eating habits but I was determined to keep going.
Also the colonoscopy and endoscopy gave me a bit of a kick start back in April.
I used to get so frustrated because I wanted to loose weight fast but that does not work. It's much more viable to loose slowly and steady. The physical aspect comes in later when clothes are more loose and you feel lighter, that's great but also health wise you feel so much better.
I need to get down to my healthy range which is between 63 and 59 kilos, Im short but I'm big boned so I have to weight a little bit more than the standard BMI. I hope that by the end of year I will be around 72 kilos or so.
Anyways I'm happy for my loss hehe
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280 Hz Frequency: Unlock Weight Loss with Its Power
Welcome to a journey where sound meets spirituality in the quest for a healthier you. Ever wondered if a specific sound frequency could aid your weight loss efforts? The 280 Hz frequency isn’t just any sound; it resonates with our body’s natural rhythms, promoting balance and well-being. This unique frequency offers a holistic approach to weight loss, enhancing metabolism, reducing cravings, and…
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#280 Hz frequency#Emotional Eating#emotional well-being#Energy healing#Healthy Lifestyle#holistic practices#Inner Peace#intuition#Meditation#metabolism#Mind-body connection#Mindful Living#natural rhythms#Positive Mindset#Relaxation#sound therapy#Spiritual Growth#Spiritual Health#spiritual journey#spiritual meaning#Spiritual Significance#Stress relief#The Spiritual Parrot#Transformation#weight loss#Wellness
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- ED trigger warning -
Being skinny ruined my life. If you’re thin and think to yourself, “why don’t fat people just lose weight?” Please read this
I was the “ideal fat” in the sense that I did everything skinny people wanted me to do. I tried every diet in the book. I exercised regularly. I worked with doctors and dietitians to figure out the best way to lose weight. But nothing worked. I did everything “right” to lose weight, and my weight stayed the same
But the thin people in my life kept telling me that I wouldn’t be happy, attractive, healthy, etc. until I lost weight. So, heartbroken, I came to the conclusion that anorexia was the only option left. It felt safer than bariatric surgery, and was obviously much more affordable
I became the perfect anorexic. 700 cal a day or less, except once a week I allowed myself 1400 cal. For reference, my body required at least 2800 to maintain weight, and at least 1800 to keep my organs and stuff fully functioning. Still, 700 a day, I persisted because everyone in my life told me weight loss was all that mattered. If dieting didn’t work, anorexia had to
And it did. My weight dropped all the way down to 110 pounds. I was skinny - underweight, even - in all sense of the word. The people in my life saw it as a miracle. The ultimate success story. My mother, my “friends,” my doctors, they all congratulated me on my accomplishment
When I confessed my eating disorder to my doctor, he told me, “that’s not the best way to go about it, but I’m glad you lost the weight.” My mother took pictures of me and sent them to relatives to brag
Okay, great. I was skinny. I did what I set out to do. But there were severe consequences
The most obvious was my joint pain doubled, maybe even tripled, to the point that I couldn’t leave the house without a wheelchair
I also developed several health complications, including fatty liver disease and extremely painful GERD. I had to see a handful of specialists and get an endoscopy because of severe stomach pain
My partner, who was the only person who saw my weight loss for what it was (a horrible thing that only happened because of an eating disorder), convinced me to enter a recovery program
For nearly a year, I relearned how to feed myself. I ate everything I was told to eat, nothing more and nothing less. My diet was 100% in the hands of somebody else
And I gained back every pound I has lost. All of the work to become thin went right out the window. It was proven to me that thinness and health were incompatible with my body. If I wanted to be thin, I had to forgo my physical and mental well-being. And vise-versa
Prior to the anorexia, I never once struggled with binge eating. I was naturally an intuitive eater, and I did a good job of having a well rounded diet. After the anorexia, after recovery, I developed a binge eating disorder. I had spent so long starving myself, that my brain and body got stuck in survival mode, desperate to consume any and all calories out of fear that I might starve again. To this day I struggle with binge eating
I did everything thin people wanted of me. I dieted. I exercised. And when all else failed, I starved myself. Now I have liver disease, stomach issues, and BED. Not to mention the loads of mental issues that accumulated as a result of my weight loss journey. During the throes of my anorexia, I had to be hospitalized for suicidal ideation
When you tell fat people to “just lose weight” you are suggesting they give themselves illnesses for which treatments are not always effective. You are asking fat people to destroy their stomachs and livers. When a fat person loses so much weight that they become skinny, they are likely giving up so much of their health in efforts to be treated like a human being
If you’re thin, do your part. Treat fat people like people before we tear our bodies apart
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pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader
rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)
word count: 8.6k
summary:
You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.
His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.
author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!
warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!
“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.
“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”
There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.
“Maybe I should—“
“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”
That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.
“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”
You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.
“Be back soon. I love you.”
Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.
The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.
He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started. Joel clears his throat.
The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!”
“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”
After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."
"That must've been difficult."
"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."
Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.
"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips.
Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.
"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person.
Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it.
A cross.
The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.
You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.
That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs.
You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.
"C'mon out, pretty girl!"
You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees.
"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?"
His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree.
“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”
You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--
You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover.
"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"
You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.
“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses.
“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.
A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.
The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.
“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?”
“Yeah.”
“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”
“What about the other two?” You asked.
“The one of the red horse would be war.”
You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”
Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”
The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.
The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”
“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire.
“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”
“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“
“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”
“I can’t—“
“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”
“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”
Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”
“Send someone?”
“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”
“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”
“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”
You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?
“Okay.”
“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground.
“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.
Maybe he has to give more first.
“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”
“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.
“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says.
“What does that mean?” You ask.
“You’ll see.”
Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.
Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.
“What—“
“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.
“But—“
“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”
You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.
You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize. You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.
"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.
You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.
“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.
“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks.
“Uh—“
“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off.
“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”
The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”
Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”
Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway.
“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”
“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”
“A little more than a day.”
Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“
“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“
He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.
You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.
"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."
You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.
The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark.
"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."
"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"
"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."
You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.
The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window.
"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.
"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."
"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"
"Every flock needs a shepherd."
You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.
“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop.
“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”
“Of course.”
She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.
Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary.
“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”
The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”
“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half.
“Just some concerns I was having.”
“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”
The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.
The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.
“Dig in,” he says.
Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating.
“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head.
Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”
“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”
“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”
“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”
“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”
He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.
Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.
“Yeah?” She asks.
“Can I come in?”
She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.
“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”
“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”
Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”
“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”
“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave.
“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.
“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”
He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”
Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.
“Everythin’ alright?” He asks.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”
“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.”
Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you.
You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest.
He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.
“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”
Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.
Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space.
“What?” He grunts.
“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”
“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.
Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.
Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.
Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.
When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves.
He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.
A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.
“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin.
“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.
“Probably there already.”
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.
“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”
“Sure.”
You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.
“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.
“Protection,” she says.
“From what?”
She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.
As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.
Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.
Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.
His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.
Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.
The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him.
“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.
Then, you run.
You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.
He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."
"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap.
"If you'll just listen--"
"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"
"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel.
"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask.
He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."
"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."
"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"
He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."
"But how?"
"The ceremony," he says.
"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”
“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh.
His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”
“I don’t—“
“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”
His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.
“Okay.”
Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.
“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”
“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”
She shrugs. “Dunno.”
You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room.
“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”
It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.
“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.
“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back.
The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands.
“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”
He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”
A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel.
“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”
“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully.
“Are you afraid?” He asks.
“No,” she says.
“Why?”
“Because I trust in your protection.”
Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.
He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.
Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”
Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.
“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”
He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm.
He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.
“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”
“No blood saved,” the crowd says.
To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.
Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.
He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael.
There’s hope for you yet.
Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night.
The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.
You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.
“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”
“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”
He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.
“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”
“But—“
“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”
“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”
“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”
Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.
There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.
There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.
And now there was you.
“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”
You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”
Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.
“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”
While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships.
While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.
He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down.
“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips.
“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”
“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.
“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.
“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”
Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.
“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”
When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”
Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.
“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”
“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish.
“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”
Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.
He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.
There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.
One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.
Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.
His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.
You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.
“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”
“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.
His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses.
“I don’t think—“
“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”
Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.
You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”
There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.
It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.
“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”
“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.
His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.
“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.
Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.
He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.
Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.
You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.
As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.
You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.
A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.
The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.
Then, you shut the drawer.
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Welcome To My 1 Year Goal In The Life Of Me!
It’s been a minute since I truly “tumbled”, but I think it’s time to start again. I want to use this platform once again to help motivate me with my weight loss.
I am not sure where to start with this entrance of me back into the weight loss world.
Back in the day (ugh, that makes me sound so old- but it really was 14 years ago) I was overweight and I lost almost 300lbs (which was 9 years ago) . Currently, I find myself back to where I used to be with all my weight gained back. I used to play it off to the fact that I found the love of my life and got married – and everyone gains weight when they get married. Well, its been 5 years of being married and I can’t play that card anymore.
I am tired of feeling heavy and that feeling of standing out from the others, but not in the good way. I am a very happy person, but I just need to be healthier. I will never hate myself for how much I weigh or how I look –I just realistically know I need to work on my eating and movement.
I want to get back to being able to walk around without getting out of breath - #BIG-GOAL-HERE!
So, I have decided starting today, November 11, 2024, I am going to start a 1 Year Goal on working on my health and fitness.
365 days of posting the good and the not so good as I work on me again!
In the past I mostly stuck to weight watchers – and while it did work – I am not a fan of the direction weight watchers has taken in the past years. Their mindset of losing weight isn’t what it used to be about, and it throws my motivation off. So, for right now I am going to stick with my own personal plan of healthy intuitive eating.
Currently I don’t know how much I weigh – I just know it’s too much and my scale says #ERROR – meaning tooooo heavy. Yikes!
So, I welcome you to my 1 Year Goal and appreciate any feedback, all the positivity, and happiness along the way.
Some #’s I plan to use with my blog if you so wish to keep up are:
#1yeargoal #myeating #whaticooked
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can you talk a little about wegovy and muonjaro for weight loss?
The answer is maybe.
If it were just the drugs themselves, I'd say absolutely. But there is a surprising amount of cultural baggage associated with these medications, and I don't really know that I can do them justice.
So first, let's talk about weight. There's a fantastic book called "Fat Talk" by Virginia Sole-Smith, about being overweight or obese in an age that prioritizes thinness, and how diet culture in particular is a threat to young people. Another, called "Intuitive Eating" by Elyse Resch, discusses how calorie restriction- commonly cited as the "way" to lose weight along with exercise- only works once or twice, because our bodies get wise to it and want to hold onto fat.
Humans evolved to gain weight. Fat is how we store energy for times when we might not have enough to eat. And if "not having enough to eat" (whether because of famine or because of calorie restrictive dieting) happens repeatedly, we have evolved to change hormones and metabolism so we a) don't need as much food to stay alive and b) are primed to eat more food than we need when it is available.
Aren't human bodies cool?
In the medical world, there are a lot of things tied to weight. For example, statistically, being overweight or obese means you're more likely to have health conditions like high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease. It is unclear, though, if those problems are caused by the weight itself, or other dietary, activity, and behavior patterns that may also happen to contribute to the weight gain. Things like a sedentary lifestyle, frequent consumption of foods with low nutritional value, avoidance of medical care due to stigma, or even chronic calorie restrictive dieting.
Unfortunately, due to this statistical tie, there is a lot of effort made in the medical world to get patients to "lose weight at any cost" instead of recommending dietary, activity, and behavior changes for health reasons alone.
Culturally as well, we prioritize thinness as attractiveness. I remember in high school there was a poster in my health classroom that read "Ideal weight- or it might be hard to get a date!". There are lots of negative associations with people who carry more weight, including that they are lazy or stupid- things that have nothing to do with body size.
Now, that doesn't mean that there aren't things that could be benefits of losing weight. For example, joint and back pain can be improved with weight loss. But weight loss is probably not the end-all be-all cure-all it's touted to be.
Because it is really hard for most people to meet this standard of "lose weight at any cost", there has long been medications that purportedly help people lose weight. Most of these medications have been stimulants, which decrease appetite and make it more comfortable to engage in calorie restrictive dieting. They also increase energy, which can make it easier to exercise or tolerate more exercise than would otherwise be possible.
Before we talk about the drugs, I want to say- there are risks and benefits to all medications, including these! The discussion you should always have is what risks are you and your healthcare provider willing to tolerate for the potential positive outcome. Also, this is a discussion of the drugs when used for weight control. The same drugs used for diabetes are at different dosages and have potentially different risk/benefit comparisons.
Ozempic/Wegovy (semaglutide) and Mounjaro/Zepbound (tirzepatide) are both a type of medication called a GLP-1 agonist. GLP-1 agonists are also called incretin mimics, because they mimic a type of hormone (incretin) that tells the brain and body that it is full. This makes it easier to eat a small amount of high nutrition food and feel satisfied. They also work by increasing metabolism. Between the decreased consumption and the increased metabolism, weight is lost.
Over the course of a year and a half, tirzepatide causes about 15-20% average reduction in body weight with continued use. Over the course of about the same time, semaglutide causes an average of about 15% body weight reduction with continuous use. Say, for example, you weigh 100kg. A year and a half on one of these medications could get you down to 85kg.
The problem is, as soon as that drug is withdrawn, the body realizes it was starving, and tries to compensate. These drugs are good at getting rid of weight, but maintaining a new weight usually means staying on a lower dose of the drug perpetually. Most people regain all weight (and potentially more than they lost) within 5 years of stopping the drugs.
Some studies suggest that repeatedly regaining lost weight may be more detrimental to health than remaining overweight or obese when it comes to statistical risk of type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and other "weight-associated" illnesses.
The main side effects are GI-related. Most of these are nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, gas/bloating, constipation, dizziness, and abdominal pain. More severe side effects include pancreatitis (inflammation of the pancreas) and gasteroparesis (paralysis of the stomach and part of the digestive tract).
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Gentle suggestion that you might want to look into intuitive eating. Intentional weight loss is unsustainable by definition (backed by numerous studies, it is *far* more likely for you to end up regaining more weight than before dieting than it is to keep the weight off) and is designed to make you feel bad about your body in order to sell you solutions. Not trying to sound preachy or anything, it just makes me sad to see diet culture convincing people they need to change their bodies when there's nothing at all wrong with them
Yeah I don’t really do crash diets or anything like that, just reached that awkward stage where increased physical activity (which causes great progress initially) has reached its usefulness.
So when I say looking at healthy lunches, it’s just to give me a bit of a shake so I’m more aware of my general consumption.
I 100% blame it on growing up without much money so even when I’m full I’ll clear everything in front of me.
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You would think that by now (nearly 55 trips around the sun) I would have accrued a fair understanding of health and fitness; anything that would make me healthier. With age comes wisdom right? Wrong. With age comes age.
I’m not so arrogant that I can’t admit I’m wrong or woefully undereducated when it comes to what is truly best practice for ensuring I am as healthy as possible. I was, just like probably the majority of you out there, under the impression that managing food, exercising and cutting out the shitty stuff would equate to being fit, and if I went hardcore - maybe even thinner. I was wrong.
For many many years, I’ve had a love/loathe relationship with food, my body, the scale, mirrors, exercise and my overall aesthetic. Dysfunctional is probably more accurate. Diets, cleanses, and calculated fastings. Paleo, Atkins, Whole 30, intuitive eating, and on and on. I’d see results for a while and then succumb to cravings, binges, make excuses, feel guilty af, lose any gains and more likely gain all my weight back plus some. Mentally, I’d feel beaten, hate myself and vow that next time it will be different. I’d read blogs about new and amazing fitness regimes, seek out trainers and experts, make vision boards, post accountability pics… you name it, I’ve probably tried it. Weight loss, portion control, and micromanaging macros became a daily practice. I felt my confidence - my worth - tied to my weight. Thinner tied to happiness. But since it inevitably doesn’t work (or at least meet my bloated expectation), it was a roller coaster of feelings; yo-yoing between miserable and proud of myself. I had been drinking the diet culture Kool-Aid for so long, it was incredibly difficult to accept that I am what I am. I will never be thin. Period. I will always be the shape I am, always have a natural set point that my body wants to wobble around, and I will always be struggling with making peace with that. And that’s okay.
Having a partner that encourages me to own my shit, inspires me and accepts me has helped immeasurably. I’m grateful. I still believe that exercise is good for you. That will never change, but my perception of food and diets needed to be addressed. And has been. Food isn’t the enemy. I’m not preaching go eat anything and everything, but for myself, I need to stop vilifying carbs, sugar, and fats. I’m tired. I’m tired of struggling to hit a number. I’m tired of feeling defeated. I’m tired of comparison. Tired of fighting biology, my hormones and negative headspaces.
Acceptance, learning, and joy - these are my new aspirations.
It took me 50+ years to figure this shit out, I plan on enjoying the next gaggle of days I have left. I’m giving myself permission to be happy. You should try it.
@daily-esprit-descalier
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Hi my love, if you don't mind me adding my two cents- intuitive eating isn't a scam? I don't know what they're on about, it's not like you're paying for anything. Personally I think it's been better for my weight loss to schedule meals when I'm actually hungry, instead of forcing myself to eat at designated meals. If I'm hungry in the morning and I want a dinner meal instead of a breakfast one, I'll have it. Then I'll be full all day and not snack as much.
Also it's helped me realise when I'm full. If I'm eating sweets and I'm full, I'm finding it easier to admit I'm full and put the rest to the side, instead of going "Oh I should just finish the pack" and eating more calories than I want or need.
Lastly, if I'm hungry outside of meals, it's healthier to have a meal anyway, that fills me up, than filling myself up by snacking.
Ymmv, but I've definitely found it easier to keep a weight loss on intuitive eating!
I love this, tagging it so others can find your words of wisdom!
#overweight diaries#th1nsp1ration#th1n$pø#tw ed but not sheeran#⭐️ve#⭐️rving#starv1ng#b3d#overweight answers#b!ng3
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Everything You Need to Know About Fruits and Veggies: Apples
Apple (Malus domestica)
*Poisonous *Medical *Culinary *Feminine
Folks Names: Fruits of the Gods, Fruit of the Underworld, Silver Branch, The Silver Bough, Tree of Love
Planet: Venus
Element: Water
Deities: Venus, Dionysus, Olwen, Apollo, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite, Diana, Zeus, Iduna
Abilities: Love, Healing, Garden Magic, Immortality, Spiritual Development, Opening the Door Between Realms, Manifestation, Abundance, Hexing
Why Poisonous?:The seeds within apples contain chemical compounds that cause cyanide poisoning. Mild symptoms include: anxiety, headaches, dizziness, and confusion, while acute poisoning can cause high blood pressure, paralysis, coma or death. Do not consume a large amount of apple seeds at once.
Characteristics: The tree is small and deciduous, reaching 3 to 12 m tall, with a broad twiggy crown. The blossoms are produced during the spring while the fruit itself is matured in the autumn. The flowers are white with pink tinge that fades over time.
History: Originated in Central Asia with its ancestor plant, Malus sieversii which is a wild apple native to southern Kazakhstan. In the bible, it was used a symbol of temptation as it was the fruit that tempted Adam and Eve to be thrown out of the Garden of Eden. It is also known as a symbol of immortality, health, vitality, love and fertility by many religions. In Wicca, you cut an apple through its core to reveal the five-pointed pentagram that represents the four natural elements plus Spirit. It has been written that witches would use apples to hex and poison their victims, while the tree itself is sacred to Druids. The druids believed it was one of only two tress that would support their beloved mistletoes. On the Twelfth Night tradition, Pagans would sing to the tree, hoisting cheerful mug of wassail to drive wassail demons and coax out an abundant harvest for the Earth. It is also said that unicorns love to dwell in apple orchards and love the taste of the fruit. Before eating an apple, one must rub it to remove demon or evil spirits that maybe hiding inside.
How to Grow An Apple Tree:
Easy to Grow? No
Rating: Moderate/Expert
Seeds Accessible: Yes
How to Grow an Apple Tree
Video Guide
Where to Buy Seeds
Magical Properties:
On August 13th, Diana’s Festival in Greece (Venus’ in Rome) was celebrated where a ritual meal was prepared with apples still hanging on their boughs.
Wiccan altars are piled high on Samhain for apple is considered the food of the dead
Their blossoms can be used for love spells, sachets, brew and incenses
Can be used for love divinations by cutting the apple into two and counting the number of seeds
Banish illness by rubbing the apple on you and burying it
Eating an apple can help you gain immortality through wisdom
The wood of the tree can be made into charms for longevity
Apple wood makes for excellent magical wands, especially for emotional magic
Rubbing an apple peel on your forehead can waken your third eye, allowing your intuition to develop
Eating an apple or drinking apple tea can fill you with trust and abundance
Medical Usage:
Apple blossoms and the fruit are full of fiber, vitamins A and C, and quercetin, an antioxidant believed to help prevent cancer
Placing crushed apple leaves on a wound can prevent infection
Can lower the chance of chronic conditions such as diabetes, heart disease and promote weight loss and brain health
May help reduce airway inflammation related to allergic asthma
Sources
#witchblr#witch community#witchcraft#green witch#paganblr#occulltism#plants and herbs#nature#herbalist#medicinal herbs#herbalism#kitchen witch#witch tips#fruit#apple seeds#witches#beginner witch#baby witch#witch resources#botany#botanical#witch blog#witches of tumblr#apple tree#tree#offerings#pagan wicca#wicca
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How to deal with the urge to relapse every couple of months? As soon as I get close to my heaviest weight I start freaking out and relapse. I tried seeking report online but got accused of exchanging on ed for another. I happened to be fat at my heaviest which means in order to completely recover I will probably end up fat again. And I’m having a hard to accepting that I’m just supposed to be in a bigger body.
This is not an easy thing to deal with, is it, anon? It can be so hard to accept that the way our body needs to be is different from the body we have idealized. It can be hard to learn to love a different body than the one you always thought you should have, particularly if you live in a fat body which is treated as a negative by the world around you. It's okay, first of all, to acknowledge to yourself that this is hard. You're allowed to find it hard. You may find it easier some days and then be surprised when a difficult moment comes up because you'd thought you were past it. All of this is difficult to feel, but okay. You're allowed to experience and acknowledge these feelings.
Additionally, I'm so sorry that you tried to seek help and were accused of exchanging one ED for another. It's always such a slap when you seek out real help and it goes badly. It's brave and important to seek out help and I want you to know that you deserve to find true help and understanding.
So anyway, the urge to relapse: I suggest you practice facing and addressing those feelings. Be gentle with yourself, be gentle with your feelings. Every time you manage to eat intuitively despite the urge to relapse, try and focus on it afterward as a positive thing you have done, a strong thing. You may struggle with feeling like it is a negative, since it does not mesh with weight loss. So you can try to focus on the positives. That you faced down poor self-esteem to treat your body and mind with care. That you did something healthy for yourself in spite of a disorder that tells you you don't deserve to. That by allowing yourself to eat you allow yourself to affirm your own worth, your deservingness of health and of a happy life. It may not feel real at first and that's okay, just keep at it. Whether you write down these affirmations, say them in a mirror, or just repeat them in your head as you go about your life, just try to gently move your thinking about yourself in a positive direction in a way that works for you.
Finally, I suggest you get connected to other fat people in restriction recovery. (And yes, there are many, and they often get overlooked or slapped with the label of "atypical anorexia" because when most people think of anorexia they do think of thinness. But many fat people have indeed felt the pressures of society and turned to restrictive eating disorders, and I'm sure you'll be able to find your people, especially on here.) I think it's probably really important to be connected to other fat people in ED recovery so that you can compare experiences, unpack fatphobic messages together, and support each other in finding beauty and worth in the body type you have. These are the people who know firsthand how to support you to heal when your community around you might fail to do so. As important as it is to be able to validate your beauty in yourself first and foremost, we humans are social creatures and so it is desperately difficult to learn to love ourselves when surrounded by those that fail to love us properly. I hope you find your community and grow into a true sense of self worth.
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AGH (tw video is fatphobic and also mean to anorectics by which i mean triggering) there’s plenty to critique about intuitive eating coaches but where is the nice lady who tells me that it’s fine to go eat just because i feel like it. WHO is this bitch and why am i seeing her. can’t quite explain it but the things going on in this are exactly the things that are the worst for me. i will be reading this research to assess but it seems like a good example of how being tacitly forced to include bodies of any size in even the restrictive “eating disorder” diagnostic territories has lead them to remap those places (obsessing over food used to make one an anorexic or perhaps eg a bulemic, now it is instead a maladaptive behavior associated with obesity). more supporting evidence for me that “disordered eating” is not only essentially meaningless (fascist self denial is in fact ordered eating, how we eat is ordered socially) but a regressive frame in a way. and anyway i know this is a fake expert but it is worth pointing out that “weight loss” expertise is now organized as these other kinds of medical behavioralist conglomerations—like why is a so called obesity doctor entering the zone of anorectic psychiatry—rhetorical question but answering it lets us put medical fatphobia next to outdated but Bring Them Back social theories about eating disorders and their treatment re social control. anyway it should be illegal to go on an app and tell people not to get a snack
#good example of rhetorical use of bingeing by fatphobic ‘providers’#anorexia is obviously a historical periodization
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