#i have been shamed for my weight as a pudgy person myself before

[caashmoneynae]

MY MASTERLIST. -> click here for more!

❦

SHOW ME.

JOEY BADA$$ x BLACK!FEM!PLUS-SIZED!OC

SUMMARY: in which Chynna's insecurities are beginning to overwhelm her and Jo-Vaughn shows her just how beautiful she truly is. ✨

❦

𝗖𝗛𝗬𝗡𝗡𝗔 stared at herself in the full-body mirror she had in her dorm room, her chubby manicured fingers and large palms running over her stomach while a small frown occupied her plump two-toned lips. tears brimmed her eyes as she stared at herself, feeling her brain pick out each and every insecurity she had. her dark brown eyes scanned her chubby face, then her chubby and stretch-marked arms, then her chubby and slightly big hands, then her pudgy and stretch-marked stomach, then her thick and stretch-marked legs, and finally, her manicured, "big", and slightly wide feet, seeing nothing but imperfections.

being a plus-sized girl wasn't easy, especially if you were going to school. the body shaming Chynna endured almost daily was tough, but she tried her best not to let it get it her because, despite her weight, she knew she was a beautiful girl. her weight shouldn't define her or how people should treat her, yet it did, and she couldn't escape any of the stereotypes that came with it.

speaking of the stereotypes, there was one that's stuck with her since she was a teen: "big girls don't deserve love." unlike her peers, Chynna has never been in a relationship her whole life, and it made her think something was wrong with her. how did everyone else get to experience love but her? what made her so different? because she was plus-sized, that meant she didn't deserve to be loved and catered to? she didn't deserve to be held and admired? she didn't deserve to find a man who'd love her for her regardless of what she looked like? it just never made sense to her.

sometimes she had her moments where never experiencing love would get to her and she'd end up sobbing in her dorm room. sometimes she couldn't stomach seeing couples on campus and on social media because it made her realize she was incapable of experiencing something so beautiful, but all that came to an end once she met Jo-Vaughn.

he showed her how beautiful she truly was. regardless of all her stretch marks, flaws, and hyperpigmentation, Jo-Vaughn never stopped loving her, he just loved her harder. in fact, he was one of the first few men on campus who showed her respect. he stood up for her whenever someone was messing with her, wiped her tears and held her when she cried, helped her with her classes if needed, gave her his undivided attention, was there when she needed him the most, and so much more that made all her self-doubt wash away. he fixed Chynna's view on not only love but men and herself as well, and she'd forever be grateful that he came into her life.

he taught her what real love is and how it doesn't discriminate against what you or your body looked like, and he reminded her of it every day.

despite this, Chynna still had her moments where she felt unhappy with herself and the way her body looked, and right now, she was in the midst of one of them.

"why do i have to look like this?..." Chynna whispered to herself as tears rolled down her brown-skinned face and her dorm's door suddenly opened, making her quickly wipe her tears while a person stepped into the room.

"yo, mama, you ready to go?" Jo-Vaughn asked before pausing, noticing something was bothering her due to the frown on her face while he softly closed the door, "Chy', what's wrong?"

"...why do you love me, Jo-Vaughn?" Chynna asked softly, her voice nearly cracking, as she looked away from the mirror and turned around, her teary eyes staring into his dark brown ones, "there's so many other... skinny girls on campus you could be with and you choose to be with me: an insecure fat girl who gets bullied damn near every fuckin' day she leaves her dorm. some days i don't even look at myself in the mirror because i know i won't like what i'm looking at... why'd you choose me, Joey? was it out of pity? was it a dare from your friends? w-why? because you c-could easily have someone e-else... someone prettier and th-thinner... yet, you're with somebody like me... do... d-do..."

Chynna trailed off, hiccuping softly through her tears, as she glanced down at the ground before looking up at her boyfriend, "do you really love me, Jo-Vaughn?"

"baby... c'mere," Jo-Vaughn spoke softly, a small frown on his face from seeing her cry, as he opened his arms and Chynna walked into them, wrapping her arms around his torso while she cried into his chest, "you know i love you, babygirl. i love you with all my heart and the breath in my body. i don't want none of these girls on campus, mama, i want you. they only want me 'cause of my looks, but you want me for me. you care for me, you love me, you listen to me when i'm ramblin', you're always there when i need you, you always push me to be my best... shit, you the first girl that ever made me blush before, yo. you're my perfect match, Chynna. that's why i chose you. this ain't no pity shit and us being together ain't a dare, shorty. my love for you is real, and regardless of what ya body looks like, i'm gon' forever love you."

"i don't care how big your stomach is, how much it hangs, or that it has stretch marks on it and i don't care that you a tall girl, Chy'. 5'7 ain't shit to me, girl. i just want you, baby. nothin' in the world could make me not wanna choose you and no other chick could make me feel the same way you do. you're beautiful, smart, caring, motivational, funny as hell, sweet... you're everything i could ask for, mama. and that's why i love you. I JUST WISH YOU COULD SEE IT." Jo-Vaughn comforted the love of his life as he rubbed her back and kissed her forehead, causing the saddened woman to raise her head and look him in the eyes.

"...CAN... CAN YOU SHOW ME?"

❝ SHOW ME HOW... YOU CARE. ❞

"Jo-Vaughn, that wasn't funny, i thought that shit was gon' collapse!" Chynna laughed, causing Jo-Vaughn to laugh with her, as the two walked through the exit of a rollercoaster ride hand in hand with smiles on their faces.

"they could do a few adjustments on that ride, that's all i'ma say. but you can't trust shit that comes outta' suitcases, ma," Jo-Vaughn joked as Chynna laughed and shook her head, making his smile slightly widen at seeing her happy, "that brings me to my next topic though: your smile. i love seeing you smile, even if it's that lil' closed-mouth smile you do sometimes. i like seein' that small gap in ya front teeth when you smile, and i know that's somethin' you're insecure about, but it's adorable on you, baby. i like seein' those lil' dimples pop out whenever you try to fight your smile when you mad at me. i love hearin' ya laugh too. it makes me happy knowin' i could put a smile on ya face with just bein' me."

while the couple was at the amusement park in town, Jo-Vaughn made sure to show Chynna how beautiful she was by describing the small things about her that he noticed. he started with her legs, then maneuvered up to her torso, and now he was talking about her face. it made Chynna happy that someone paid this much attention to her to notice the small things she did that even she didn't pick up on, and it made her realize that Jo-Vaughn's love for her wasn't a facade — he loved her just as much as he said he did, if not more.

❝ TELL ME HOW... YOU LOVED... BEFORE. ❞

"ya dimples also show whenever i make you blush. you be lookin' like a lil' cute ass toddler." Jo-Vaughn chuckled, smiling, as Chynna smiled at him and she giggled while she leaned her head onto his shoulder.

"i wanna ride the Ferris Wheel, baby." Chynna smiled widely, pointing to the ride childishly, as Jo-Vaughn chuckled softly at her antics and looked down at her.

"anything for you, babygirl."

❝ CAN'T SPELL "US" WITHOUT "TRUST." PUT THE LUST ASIDE, THERE'S SOME THINGS WE GOTTA' DISCUSS. SO CLOSE YOUR LEGS FOR A BIT, BABY, LET'S OPEN UP. CLOSED MOUTHS DON'T GET FED, FINISH YA LUNCH, PANTIES IN A BUNCH. ❞

the line for the ride was surprisingly shorter than usual, but the couple didn't mind it, especially since this was Chynna's favorite ride. there was something beautiful about the Ferris Wheel and the way it just slowly moved around in a circle. it lets you see the true beauty of the park. you get the see all the rides, the happy people, the carnival food stands, and the beautiful sky.

riding a Ferris Wheel was peaceful for Chynna simply for the ambiance, and she wouldn't change anything about it.

as the couple sat in their Ferris Wheel car, Chynna stared out into the sky and admired the beautiful peach color it held as Jo-Vaughn stared at his girlfriend and admired her side profile, which is also something that she was insecure about yet he saw no problem with it. hell, he saw no flaw on her. even if she wanted him to see her the way she does, it wouldn't work. he saw her as a work of art, and nothing could taint his vision.

to him, she was perfect, but to herself, she needed improvements.

❝ TELL ME WHERE YOU BEEN AT THESE LAST COUPLE MONTHS. YOU SAY YOU WANT ME BACK, SO BABY, DON'T FRONT. 'CAUSE I COULD NEVER KNOW TOO MUCH BUT JUST ENOUGH, SO THE NEXT NIGGA NEVER FEEL HE GOT THE ONE-UP. ❞

"your nose," Jo-Vaughn began softly, catching Chynna's attention, as she looked up at him and the two locked eyes, "i like the way it fits your face. some people's noses are either too big or too small for their faces, but yours fits. i like that you pierced both sides of it because it makes me find it even more beautiful-er with the jewelry on it. but even without the jewelry, i still cherish it. i like to poke it or kiss it just to see you blush or smile from it. i like whenever you find somethin' hella' funny, ya nose scrunches and you snort a lil' bit. i like the way your reading glasses sit on the bridge of it because it adds more emphasis to how beautiful it truly is... it makes the beauty stand out more, y'know what i'm sayin'?"

"is your goal to make me cry on the Ferris Wheel or what?" Chynna joked, a smile on her face, as Jo-Vaughn chuckled and smiled at her, adjusting his arm around her shoulder while he placed a sweet kiss on her lips.

"just tryna' let you see what i see, baby. YOU TOLD ME TO SHOW YOU, RIGHT?"

❝ BUT WE AIN'T GOTTA' RUSH, TAKE YOUR TIME. WE COULD TALK UNTIL THE SUN UP, I SEE YOU TRYIN', TO SAY WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND, I PROMISE IT'D BE FINE. I COULD SEE THE SIGNS, BE HONEST, I AIN'T BLIND. ❞

"we have a winner!" the intercom shouted at the stand once Jo-Vaughn knocked down all three of the pyramid-stacked milk bottles, making Chynna squeal while she clapped her hands.

"go ahead and pick your prize." the man behind the stand smiled warmly as Jo-Vaughn smiled and looked down at Chynna, who was already staring up at him with sparkling eyes.

"which one you want, baby?"

"Blue!" Chynna smiled, pointing to the large stuffed animal of the dog from "Blue's Clues", as Jo-Vaughn chuckled and nodded his head towards the man behind the counter, watching him take the stuffed animal down and hand it to him.

"Blue's Clues" was one of Chynna's favorite old-school cartoons. her favorite host was Steve and after he left, she stopped watching the show because she only wanted to see Steve and nobody else, and Jo-Vaughn knew this, which is why he wasn't surprised she chose Blue.

her love for the cartoon earned her the nickname "Blue" from not only Jo-Vaughn, but her family and friends as well, and she smiled every time someone called her it because the show still brings her just as much joy as it did when she was younger.

❝ THE TRUTH IS WE ALL GOT OUR OWN DESIRES, OUR OWN DREAMS. IT'S A BIG WORLD, GOTTA' TRY NEW THINGS. SO RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, WHAT YOU GOTTA' SAY? YOU AIN'T GOTTA' LIE NOW, IT'S THE BED WE MADE. ❞

"you folks have a nice day." the man smiled, tilting his hat towards the two, as Jo-Vaughn nodded his head and let out a "you too" while he handed Chynna her prize, her smile as wide as could be while she held the stuffed animal in her arms and the two walked away from the stand.

"what should we name her? or should we keep the name 'Blue'?" Chynna asked, smiling widely, as Jo-Vaughn's arm rested around her shoulder and he chuckled softly at her enthusiasm while he looked down at her.

"CJ. the 'C' for Chynna and the 'J' for Jo-Vaughn." Jo-Vaughn suggested, earning a chuckle from Chynna, as the woman looked up at him and gently kissed his lips.

"i like that name." Chynna smiled softly, earning a smile from her boyfriend, as Jo-Vaughn kissed her lips and gazed into her eyes, watching them hold that same sparkly look.

"you wanna know what i like?" Jo-Vaughn asked as Chynna nodded her head, wanting him to continue, "your eyes. i like staring into them and seeing them tell me how you feel without you having to a word. they tell me stories about your emotions and i love listenin' to 'em. i like watchin' 'em sparkle when you're excited about something. i like seein' 'em dilate when you look at me too. it makes me feel appreciated and heard whenever i notice it. i like how whenever you see or hear something that excites you, they slightly grow wider in size. i like your eye shape too. i know sometimes you think it doesn't fit your face, but it does. it makes them stand out more, in a good way, of course."

"i also like that they're the same color as mine. not lighter, not darker, just... the same hue. it makes me believe that spiritually we were meant to be, and in a way, we technically are." Jo-Vaughn smiled, pushing her silk-pressed hair behind her ear and revealing her silver hoop earring, as Chynna blushed and she giggled girlishly, making Jo-Vaughn's smile spread wider since he could see her dimples.

"we are meant to be, baby. you're my everything." Chynna smiled softly, running her fingers over his jawline, as she gently cupped his face and stood on her tiptoes, pecking his lips a few times while Jo-Vaughn chuckled and secretly blushed.

"you're my everything too, mama. i can't imagine my future without you."

❝ SHOW ME HOW... YOU CARE. ❞

"so how'd you enjoy ya day, mama? did i make you feel better?" Jo-Vaughn asked, massaging her feet, as the two sat in his living room and Chynna held a cup of McDonald's ice cream in one of her hands, her other hand playing with his hair while she swallowed the ice cream in her mouth and sat the spoon inside her cup before speaking.

Jo-Vaughn didn't live on campus like everyone else. he had his own apartment because he valued his personal space and good energy and didn't want it to be tarnished by randoms on campus. sure, he had friends on campus, but half of the other men on campus weren't shit, so Jo-Vaughn vowed to stay away from them.

as long as he had Destin — also known as JID, Denzel, and Chynna by his side, he didn't need anyone else, and he most certainly didn't need anyone near him who'd fuck up his aura.

"i loved today, baby. especially the Ferris Wheel and you winnin' CJ for me," Chynna smiled, resting her head on the stuffed animal behind her, as Jo-Vaughn looked up at her and chuckled while Chynna twirled one of his dreads around her finger, "i also loved the way you described me today. you opened my eyes and let me see how beautiful i actually am, and that's one of the reasons i love you so much. you always lift me up when i'm down and make sure i never forget how much you care about me. you made me feel great, Joey... amazing as always."

"i'm glad i could wipe those tears and make you smile, baby. you deserve to be happy just as much as anybody else, Chy'," Jo-Vaughn smiled, smiling a bit wider once he felt her acrylics trace his jawline, as he leaned closer to her and kissed her lips, faintly tasting the vanilla ice cream on her tongue while he rested his hand on her shin, "DID I SHOW YOU WHAT I SEE IN YOU, MA?"

smiling widely, Chynna chuckled as she gently cupped his face into her hand and kissed him with passion, earning a wide smile from him while their kiss gradually parted.

"YOU SHOWED ME EVERYTHING, BABY. AND I'M SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU."

❝ TELL ME HOW... YOU LOVED... BEFORE. ❞

"'CAUSE TRANSPARENCY MY LOVE LANGUAGE. CAN'T SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE IF YOUR VISION TAINTED. LOVE IS LIKE GLASS, EITHER BREAK IT OR YOU STAIN IT. THESE LATE-NIGHT CONVERSATIONS TURN INTO ARRAIGNMENTS, JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH." Jo-Vaughn rapped into the microphone, his unoccupied hand holding onto Chynna's, as the two stood on the Rolling Loud stage and Chynna smiled widely, their eyes staring into one another while he performed for the large crowd in front of them.

years had passed and Jo-Vaughn and Chynna's relationship was still as strong as their college days. Jo-Vaughn and Chynna looked slightly different than they did in college, but mentally Chynna was a different person than she was in college as well. she had learned confidence, and she was now comfortable in her own skin regardless of what anybody had to say about her. who cared if somebody had something to say about what her body looked like? as long as she was fine with how it looked, she didn't care about what other's opinions might be.

Jo-Vaughn snipped off his dreads and rocked a low side-parted fade while Chynna got dreads and dyed them burgundy. the two went to college for different majors, but those majors didn't matter once Jo-Vaughn started to blow up from his music. Jo-Vaughn pursued a career in music and acting and Chynna pursued a career in modeling, which most students from her college would've said was impossible for a girl with her shape. but she proved them wrong — so wrong that she was issued a brand ambassador for Fashion Nova and Calvin Klein, which was ironic because Jo-Vaughn was a brand ambassador for Calvin Klein as well.

it was safe to say that Chynna had made it in life, and her weight didn't stop her from achieving her dreams or finding real love.

"'CAUSE I AIN'T TRYNA' JUDGE, BABY, I JUST WANT YOU TO BE YOU. 'CAUSE I'MA BE ME, KEEP IT G LIKE REAL NIGGAS DO. 'CAUSE YOU KNEW A NIGGA WAY BEFORE HE GOT FAMOUS, ON THE BLOCK NAMELESS, AND I'M PROUD TO SAY THE MONEY NEVER CHANGED US." Jo-Vaughn continued, a smile growing on his face, as he squeezed her hand and pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her waist while her arms wrapped around his neck.

these lines were true. before Jo-Vaughn transformed into "Joey Bada$$", Chynna was down for him and never once left his side, and he reciprocated that energy. with him blowing up as big as he did, he gained money and fame, and with the money and fame came groupies, and Jo-Vaughn never paid them any mind because he knew he had already met the love of his life. Chynna would be there for him if he suddenly went broke and lost everything, but the groupies were only there because of how big his name had gotten, and he knew this.

there was a big difference between "fan" and "groupie." fans respected Chynna because it was the right thing to do while groupies talked shit about her because they wanted her spot and knew that if Jo-Vaughn was still with her, then they had no shot at trying to bag him.

"WE'VE BEEN THROUGH MANY PHASES LIKE MAZES, STILL WE FOUND A WAY. I NEVER KNEW A LOVE THAT WASN'T PAINLESS. POURIN' OUT MY HEART WAS ALWAYS DRAININ', I GOTTA' SAY. NOW EVERY DAY, IT'S INDIGO RAIN, AND YEAH, THIS A BRIGHTER DAY," Jo-Vaughn rapped as Chynna adjusted the sunglasses on her head — which were his and not hers — and she looked out into the crowd, seeing fans either singling along, recording, or both, "A LIFETIME I PROVIDE FOR YOU, BY THE WAY. DON'T YOU FORGET THAT I WOULD DIE FOR YOU ANY DAY. RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, WHAT YOU GOTTA' SAY? YOU AIN'T GOTTA' LIE NOW, IT'S THE BED WE MADE, UH."

"SHOW ME HOW... YOU CARE." the crowd sang, making Chynna smile widely, as a blush covered her face and she looked back at Jo-Vaughn, who was already looking down at her with a smile while he kissed her forehead.

"SHOW ME HOW, BABY... RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, RIGHT NOW, BABY, YEAH." Jo-Vaughn spoke into the microphone, rapping his ad-lib, as Chynna grew shy under his gaze and she laughed before lowering her head, resting her head on his long-sleeve black shirt while Jo-Vaughn softly chuckled at her.

"TELL ME HOW... YOU LOVED... BEFORE." the audience continued, making Jo-Vaughn's smile widen, as he gently grabbed Chynna's chin and lifted her head, placing a soft kiss on her lips while the crowd cheered wildly at the sight.

"TELL ME ALL... TELL ME HOW YOU LOVED, BABY," Jo-Vaughn continued as Chynna's brown cheeks turned rosy due to how much she was blushing and giggles and laughs fell from her lips like a never-ending waterfall while Jo-Vaughn's palm caressed her lower back, "YOU AIN'T GOTTA' LIE TO ME, NO-NO. I KNOW YOU WOULD DIE FOR ME, IT'S FOR SURE. BABYGIRL, THIS LIFE WE LIVE IS TOO SHORT..."

at this point, it didn't even feel like Jo-Vaughn was performing for the crowd. it felt like he was performing for her. it was as if everyone else had disappeared and it was just them on stage. no cameras, no audience, nothing. just them and the music.

moments like this are the ones Chynna loved the most. she loved knowing that regardless of his lifestyle, he'd never change on her. he'd be with her until time ended, and he proved this to be a fact whenever she needed to hear it. he had never once been unfaithful or lied to her about anything, even something as small as him eating her food.

Chynna didn't believe she and Jo-Vaughn would last long at the beginning of their relationship because she was weak-minded and believed this "love" she felt was temporary. but little did she know, it'd last longer than she'd ever know, and Jo-Vaughn was right when he said he felt they were meant to be.

"BABYGIRL, THIS LIFE WE LIVE IS TOO SHORT."

[littlebearbigchub]

Fantasizing about a relationship where criticism of my weight is central.

We meet online where I lure him in with pics of me at my thinnest. He doesn't know that I've been struggling to get my abs back since those pictures were taken, that everytime I manage to drop a pound or two I rebound into binges that have the scale ticking up in fits and spurts. When we meet in person I've managed to lean down enough to avoid accusations of straight up catfishing, but I've been laying in on thick about how I've just been temporarily distracted lately from my fitness routine by work and my body will be back in peak condition soon. Its actually serendipitous though, because he works in the fitness industry and he's itching for a project to work on that he has complete control over. At his job as a personal trainer, all his clients fail because they don't have the self discipline he utilizes to maintain his perfect body - he can't stop them from skipping their workouts or binging on donuts. But by dating someone he's coaching he has the opportunity to completely control their diet and gym time, and he's confident he can whip me into shape in no time and start using me to promote his business.

He takes extensive photos of my "before" body. Posing me so I look even flabbier than I actually am, all with the goal of emphasizing how fit and muscular I'm going to be in comparison later. I'm particularly embarrassed the little muffin top my tight pants make so I'm desperately grateful for his help. By the time we'd met, I was getting into a dangerous place. I'd started to really flirt with the idea of just letting myself go - I'd been failing for so long to achieve the lean the body I idealized that I wondered if I shouldn't just give up and lean into my shameful impulses. The intensity of the shame of standing there before him and seeing the number on the tape measure that he slung around my waist has my eyes bugging hard enough out of my head though to shut those thoughts down though. For all I'd thought myself comfortable with my chub in private or sharing in anonymously on the internet, for all the self-work I thought I'd done unpacking internalized fatphobia - standing in real life infront of this Greek god who's not into fat feeling like a pudgy little boy in comparison has me euphoric, gulping down shame like water after a 10 mile run.

We fall in love and he pays attention to every single thing I put in my mouth. Everyday, I know he's watching, judging my choices. He's constantly exacerbated by how oblivious I seem to be about what it takes to maintain visible abs. Reminding me constantly that I have a calorie limit and macro goals to adhere too, repeatedly catching me with junk in my hands or my head in the fridge when I'm meant to be cutting. He takes candid photos of the extra pudge I can't seem to ever shed peeking out of my clothes in unflattering ways to show me why I need to be more diligent. Everything about the relationship is perfect except that we constantly fight about my weight and how I'm not supporting him and his business by being dedicated enough to his regiments for me. I cry, genuinely wishing I had the self-control to achieve the sort of body we both want for me.

But there's no help for me. His scrutiny is the only thing preventing me from blowing up into a real chub, and he secretly loves to remind me what we both know deep down, but refuse to practically acknowledge: at the end of the day, I'm nothing but a fat pig and that's never gonna change.

[eeveedel]

Submission for my anon for the insecure chubby Louis fic! (Feat a note from them)

Okay okay, here u go!! There’s a wee trigger warning here for insecurity, a little diet talk and emotionally abusive relationship- SO LOOK AFTER YOURSELVES. Please don’t read if you think this could upset you xx

--

It was still dark outside, Louis could tell by the lack of sunshine gleaming through his curtains. Winter wasn’t his best time, his mood would often reflect the weather. At the moment that was bleak and glum. Sometimes a little frosty and blue. On his good days, there would be a little joy and red rosy cheeks, hands being warmed by a steaming cuppa. Today definitely wasn’t the latter. Managing to heave his heavy bones out of bed and pull on his comfiest dressing gown, he padded down the stairs barefoot too lazy to find his slippers. He’s met with Zayn, standing in the kitchen already dressed and looking fresh.

Zayn looked up from where he was standing, expression softening as he looked at the smaller man. “Hey, morning Lou.”

“Morning Zee. work?” Louis wrapped his arms around Zayn’s waist, taking in his scent of stale cigarettes. Familiar, smelling like home.

Sighing, Zayn gave a nod, pouring boiling water into Louis’ favourite mug for him.

“Yup. Got a couple of new starts today. To tell you the truth Lou, not a single part of me can't be arsed.”

Louis scoffed at that, softly shaking his head. “Och shut your trap, maybe you’ll meet someone who tickles your fancy” He teased, taking the mug Zayn made him.

A look of warning was shot in louis’ direction.

“Right Lou, that’s me off, behave yourself, I’ll be home to make dinner at 6. Make sure you eat, but please don’t burn down my kitchen. Yeah?”

“Yes Mama, I will take good care of myself, don’t you worry.” Sticking out his tongue playfully.

“Sure, see you later babe.” Bending down to kiss Louis’ temple and ruffle his already messy bed head, before heading to the door..

Sighing, Louis wonders what he’s going to do with his day.

Two weeks prior, he had been living about a half hours drive away. He had shared a small flat above a bakery with his then at the time, long term boyfriend. He and Nathan had been together for six long, lonely years. Yes lonely.

He and Nathan had met in their University’s Halls, they stayed right across from each other, Nathan studying Business Management, and himself, fashion and photography. Now, Louis could tell you some long romantic stories of how their relationship was love at first sight, how they got lost in each other's eyes from the start and spent sundays lazing in bed snuggling each other. But that would be a flatout lie. Louis had only ever dated girls before, meaning Nathan was his first and so far his only. It had started out relatively sweet, more of a best friends kind of bond than anything else. Louis had then started to question his sexuality. It was the little things, like Nathan holding the dip of his waist in clubs and bars, almost possessive, cuddling on the couch watching movies. Before Louis knew it, they were having passionate sex and being that sickly sweet couple everyone loved but rolled their eyes at.

6 months down the line, changes were happening. Ones that Louis didn't particularly like. Comments about his appearance and personality that would hit him deep in the chest. But no matter how hurt he was, how far out the window his self esteem had gone, Louis loved Nathan and he was convinced Nathan loved him too.

Five and half years later, Louis was sitting alone, sleeping in his best friend’s flat, utterly devastated, heartbroken and more or less, feeling like shit.

Deciding to go out and take some photos to cheer himself up, Zayn’s voice came into his head reminding him to eat breakfast. He munched on some cheerios and checked his phone, scrolling aimlessly down his Instagram feed. And there it was, he knew it was coming but actually seeing it was an entirely different story. Nathan had his arm around a tall, slim man. Gorgeously tanned, biceps bulging and perfectly straight white teeth gleaming at Louis, taunting him. The photo was captioned with something sickly sweet that only made Louis nausea worsen. It had been less than a month and Nathan had already found someone else. Someone who had everything Louis didn't. Long, lean legs, slim, toned build, dazzling straight teeth. No wrinkles, no pudginess, no freckles - just clear glowy skin and abs.

If Louis could feel worse about himself he would, but fortunately he was already at Rock bottom.

****

“Fuck sake Harry, move your arse.”

“Excuse me Liam, I am taking my time, the icing needs to be perfect”

“Och shut your trap Harold, you're too clumsy to obtain cupcake perfection.” Shaking his head, Liam went to serve their next customer, ignoring Harry’s scoff.

“Oh hi Nathan. Not seen you in a while. How's our Lou then? It’s usually him to do the morning tea run.”

Harry’s ears perked at the mention of Louis. Actually, thinking about it, he hadn't seen Louis in a while. At least a few weeks had gone by which was bizarre. He continued icing but concentrated at eavesdropping on whatever Nathan had to say.

“Oh. Right well, actually me and Louis broke up. He uh, he left me about a month ago. Only just managed to get myself out of bed to tell you the truth. Suppose it’s just the way life goes..” there was a silence for a few seconds where nathan picked up his coffee from the counter. “Nice to see ya Liam, catch you later.” And with that, he wafted out the door and presumably back up to his flat.

“Did you hear that Haz? That’s Nathan saying he and Louis broke up, or rather, Louis left him? Bit out of the blue don't you think? Louis always seemed too sweet to hurt anyone...Quiet wee thing he was” Liam had his brows furrowed clearly in deep thought.

“Yeah I heard, I don’t know Li, there was always something odd about those two. Louis always seemed too timid for his own good, maybe it’s for the best.”

Liam didn’t say anything, just nodding his head in response, processing Harry’s words.

****

Louis felt no better. Infact, he felt worse. He had managed to drag himself out from his hiding nest to go for a pee and make a cup of tea, but that’s as far as his body would take him. Hearing the front door slam he knew he was about to deal with the wrath of his best friend for wallowing in his sadness all day, failing to take care of himself.

“Bebz? Don't tell me you’re still in bed-” He curled his blanket around him at seeing the disappointment in Zayn’s face.

“Lou baby, you were doing so well...What's wrong?” Climbing into bed beside his best friend, he pulled Louis into his chest, taking in the wracks of his sobs, thumbing his soft bicep in attempts of comfort.

“Come on, talk to me boo? What’s happened?” Louis couldn't speak, he was embarrassed and hurting, Zayn would figure it out later anyway when he would see Nathan's post on instagram. Understanding Louis wasn’t going to open up, he held the smaller man even tighter to his chest whilst running his fingers through his feathery brown hair (That was still not brushed) “Oh baby, he got you good didn't he..”

After some time, he felt Louis sniffles lessen his breathing evening out letting small puffs of air from his slightly rounded cheeks. His best friend had always been a little chubby, especially since he had been living above a bakery, but he had lost some weight after his breakup with Nathan. He wasn’t sure if it was insecurity or heartbreak that had made Louis' appetite disappear, probably a mixture of both. Regardless, it was upsetting to see Louis’ spark fizzle out, to see him physically shrink and push his meals away.

Zayn and Louis had had constant arguments involving getting Louis to see a therapist. Louis didn’t let his walls down easy, not even with Zayn, he refused all suggestions of talking to a professional claiming “There is no need, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Zayn was resilient though, and there was no way he would give up on his best friend. He didn't know what Louis' relationship with Nathan had been like, he had barely seen him during the last 5 years, he had noticed how quiet and reserved he had become, at first he put that down to Louis growing up, but now he wasn’t so sure. “Come on bebz, get that arse of yours in the shower, I’m going to make us some dinner.”

Louis managed to shift himself out of bed, going to his ensuite and stripping down. Now, Louis wasn’t totally ashamed of his looks. But he also knew fine well he was nothing to be envied or admired. He had grown up with a few extra pounds (Okay, maybe a little more than a few) But he never minded it, he was always told by his friends how magnificent his curves were. Just like anyone, he had his little insecurities, his belly being one of them. After he had moved above the bakery, his weight had begun to creep up leaving him around a stone overweight. At first, Nathan had sweetly teased him about the crease under his chin, how he could packaway more food than ever before. He would softly tease Louis about how his killer curves put anyone to shame. But the sweetness that would make Louis feel all bubbly and a little embarrassed, turned into outright bullying and body shaming. Nathan began going out more and more, he would come home at 3am most nights, words were thrown around like confetti, ones that made Louis shrink inside himself and wear the baggiest jumpers he could find. He turned to food for comfort, which led to more shameful bashing from his boyfriend.

For the first time in a month, he studied himself in the mirror. Dark bags dragging down under his dull eyes, ginger facial hair looking unruly and anything but taken care off. His cheeks were not as full and pink, his double chin wasn't permanent anymore and only appeared when he looked down. His tummy still pooched forward, but it didn't hang down as much as it once did, hips still wide and thighs still thick, just a little slimmer than they had been. He was probably still considered chubby. It was weird that he missed his old body, surely he should be reveling in the idea that he now needed belts, but he wasn't. Because this wasn't him. He didn't recognise himself anymore. Nothing felt okay.

Tears pooled in his eyes, threatening to slip over. Louis wasn't going to let them though and forced himself into the shower, at least then he didn't know if the water that was streaming down his face was tears or from the shower. He liked it better that way. Dressing himself in his comfiest clothes and having to pull the drawstring tight to save them from slipping down he made his way to the kitchen where Zayn was pulling pizza and chips from the oven.

“Here bebz, eat up. I want that plate clean.” He placed a full pizza and a big bowl of McCains oven fries in front of Louis, kissing his temple before settling himself down.

Shaking his head he scoffed at zayn before telling him he was such a feeder. “I just want to see you happy boo, you’ll get your spark back if it's the last thing I do.”

They ate in silence, Louis knew Zayn was aware he wasn't ready to talk about why he felt so upset today. And that was okay.

*

“Boobear! How are you? I haven't spoken to you in too long my darling. You’re not at your flat are you…? That doesn't look like your place”

Louis shifted in his seat uncomfortably, he supposed it was about time he told his Mum about his breakup. Of Course he didn’t want to, he knew the fuss Jay would make and honestly Louis could look after himself and he didn't need to be babied. “Yeah um Mum, I actually have some news. It's about Nathan and I - we um, well we broke up. I can't afford a one bedroom just yet, looking for a job but ehm, yeah I'm staying with Zayn right now so…”

“Oh honey, you need to tell me these things, you know we all would have been there for you...what happened?”

“Mum I dont think I'm ready to go into that just yet, can we talk about this later? How’s the girls, and Mark? Are you all coping okay-”

Mark came into the video call, taking a seat beside his wife, he raised his eyebrows at seeing Louis’ face. He knew Mark was about to comment on his lack of double chin.

“Oh Louis my boy! You've finally lost some of that extra weight? I'm proud of you, Look at him Jay, doesn't he look so good!”

*

“Harry shut up, we don't need to make a website, we get enough business without social media.”

“Nah Liam, we’re making one, I don't care what you say. I'm going to put out an ad for a photographer to take photos then we can upload them to our Facebook to get people to share it. Help spread the word. Don't be such a grandad, google isn't as scary as you might think.” Scoffing, Liam rolled his eyes muttering something under his breath that quite frankly, Harry didn't give a shit about.

Looking at his watch and deciding to close up for the night he heard a small cough. From his place behind the counter he saw a mess of light brown hair, blue eyes and a soft round face. Louis.

“Louis! You haven’t been here in weeks, Liam! The wee guy has come to pay a visit!” At that, Louis crossed his arms over his chest giving Harry a glare before speaking up. “Fuck off Harold, I came to ask a favour but if youre going to be like-”

“Oh Lou you knew I was joking! C’ere.” Wrapping the shorter man into his chest he realised Louis didn't look so good. Tired eyes, beard, he looked slimmer too which made Harry a little sad. As he pulled Louis closer into him, still feeling the man's overly soft belly press against his own abs, he was happy Louis still had a little of his pudginess left. “Hey, are you okay? You’re not looking so good…”

Rolling his eyes, Louis felt a little tingle in his tummy as he realised how much he missed his banter with Harry “Yes yes Harold, I got dumped a month ago, yes I look like shit and havent shaved since, yes I’ve lost weight and I dunno why that makes everyone sad, atleast I’m not as fat as I used-”

“Stop right there you brat, don’t even finish that sentence” They pulled away from each other as Liam came in.

Harry realised Louis had said that he'd been dumped, which did not match up with what Nathan had said, he didn’t know why he actually cared so he decided he didn't and focussed on packing everything up whilst Liam and Louis caught up with each other.

“So what can we do for you then babe? Heard you said you needed a favour?”

Louis dumped himself in one of the booths by the counter, leaning back into the soft padded headrest, letting out a suffereable sigh. “Right yes well, dunno if I ever told you lot, I have a best friend Zayn who lives a little over a half hours drive away and um, after the y'know...breakup I moved in with him.” Louis kept his gaze on his hands in his lap, not really wanting to deal with Liam and Harry’s looks of sympathy he knew they were wearing. “So anyway, it’s his birthday next week and I was wondering if you guys could bake him a cake? And like maybe some cupcakes or something…”

Harry and Liam slid in next to Louis, Harry dumping a cup of tea in front of him, and Liam a box of leftovers that weren’t going to be eaten.

“I think you’ve mentioned him before yeah, we can do that cant we Harry?”

Harry was looking at the icing that Louis had managed to smear over his face from a donut he had absentmindedly shoved in his mouth. He broke his gaze and regathered himself. “Yeah, yeah of course we can do that Louis. Send us a list of allergies or like, just anything that you’re wanting made”

Harry smiled at the way Louis dimpled hands looked so little wrapped around the cup of tea he was taking delicate sips from, dribbling a bit down his chin. Louis lifted up his sweater paw’d fist, wiping it across his mouth. Nodding his head he spoke “Yeah, yeah thats great mate. Cheers for that, so what are you guys thinking about prices?”

Liam was about to protest any form of payment before Harry interrupted him “Actually Louis, you studied photography right?” Nodding his head and placing his cup of tea down on the table he spoke “Yeah, I graduated with a 1:1. Not to blow my own trumpet or summat but i'm actually not too shabby.”

“Perfect well, could you take some photos for us? I really want to set up a social media account, but neither Liam or I are too good at photography. Just like, we could set a date and you could pick up the cakes and then have a little photography shoot?”

Louis stayed quiet for a hot minute. He hadn't come to visit in the last month for fear of running into Nathan, and like, yeah he was on friendly terms with Harry and Liam but they weren't exactly friends. They didn’t even have each other’s numbers. Harry sensed the hesitation Louis was feeling. “Like it’s fine if not, it was just an idea…”

Louis shook his head, “No, no like I would love to. I just um, Im a bit funny being around this area after you know, like Nathan and-”

“Oh sorry, yeah of course, I could come to you? Like, put your number in my phone and we’ll figure out a date?” Harry locked his eyes with Louis’, searching for some kind of answer. Louis was squirming a little, clearly feeling a tad anxious after mentioning Nathan. He nodded though, and put his number into Harry’s phone. Brushing the donut crumbs off his thighs Louis stood up making his way to the door. “Well, thanks for that lads that will be a massive help to me...guess I’ll see you in a few days to take photos?”

“Don't forget your box of leftovers Louis, you’ve lost some weight, eat up.” Liam handed Louis the cardboard box, worry creasing into his forehead and pinched brows.

Louis scoffed at that and rolled his eyes “Why is everyone so obsessed with feeding me” He muttered under his breath walking out the bakery and down to a bus stop, making sure it was far from his old flat.

*

“Louis, what the fuck is your problem? Stop throwing your clothes all over the place, you look fine.” Zayn was sprawled on Louis’ bed, texting someone whilst Louis was frantically teariing apart his wardrobe trying to find something, anything that made him look decent. He didn’t know why he cared. It was only Harry coming round so he could take photos as a thank you for Zayn’s cake. They had decided Liam or Harry would be better dropping of the sweet treats on the day of Zayns actual birthday, which would be in a few days but Louis had insisted it was fine for him to still take those photos.

“Zayn I look like shit, and I don't really want to look like shit funnily enough” He stood in front of the mirror checking himself over. He had on obcenely tight white jeans that did nothing to hide the girth of his thick, wide thighs and left his tummy pooching over the waist band, thick love handles that were happily settled over his sides. These were jeans that he had held onto since uni, hoping he could get them over his arse one day, and he guessed today was that day. He had a soft sweater on that he had hoped would cover that extra flesh spilling out, it did a pretty good job in all fairness, but his tummy was still pressed up against the fabric.

He got carried away pinching and sighing at his figure. He was never happy with it, not when he was heavier, and not now. Zayn placed a hand on his shoulder softly looking at Louis. “You look great bebz. You cant deny those jeans do wonders for your legs and bum.” Louis nodded in agreement because Zayn was right. He did look alright in them. Not hot, but he looked okay he didnt look like utter shit at least.

“Want me to do your hair?” Nodding, Louis sat down on his bed whilst Zayn styled his soft fringe neatly acrosss his forhead. Louis had deceided to shave this morning, it had been a little odd at first seeing all his baby soft skin again, but it felt nice. Helped him feel more neat and put together. He was ignoring the voice in his head that was asking why he cared so much about his appearance all of a sudden. Like, it was literally just Harry. Just the tall hipster baker he had seen every morning and not thought twice about.

Why did he even care all of a sudden? Right. No. He didnt care. Didnt give a shit. All he was doing, was trying to pick himself up again and take care of looks.

With one last look in the mirror, almost satisfied he plops down on the couch waiting on Harry.

“So, why exactly are you so uptight? Like, I know you’re excited to have gotten a job but…” Louis squirmed a little and felt his cheeks flushing. He went over Zayns words in his head, he didn’t know why he was so hot and bothered, wanting to make a good impression on Harry. It was afterall, only Harry. The younger boy who worked in his favourite bakery who he had seen everyday for years. When Louis was with Nathan, he never looked twice at the boy. But the otherday when he was at the bakery he realised he had never noticed Harrys long lean figure, broad back, rounded biceps. He flushed a little thinking about it. But it’s not like anything was going to happen. Not when Louis still found himself wriggling in beside Zayn at night, waking up with puffy red eyes, swollen and sore from crying. Not when Harry was miles and miles out of his league. It was a teeny tiny crush. That’s all it was.

“I am not being uptight Zayn. I just want this to go well, like, it’s my first job y’know.” Zayn snorted and shook his head. “Here, Lou, you’ve managed to get chocolate on your face.” He swiped over the corner of Louis’ mouth rubbing away at the little piece of chocolate.

*

“Alright Curly? Come in, come in” Louis ushered Harry inside the flat, giving him a once over. Obscenely long legs made to look even longer in orange corduroy trousers, flowery blouse left unbuttoned to mid chest, not leaving much to Louis imagination. Realising he was being caught looking, Louis broke his gaze and looked up at Harry.

“So, Harry this is my mate Zayn, Zayn this is the bloke who works at that bakery, the one that has evidently ruined my waistline”

Zayn and Harry gave a soft chuckle at Louis depreciation, knowing it was his own way of hiding his insecurities.

“So, I’ve bought all the cakes, you got your photo gear?” Harry began unboxing the sugary treats, motioning towards them.

“Yeah yeah mate, I’ve got it all. You just tell me what kind of shots you’re looking for and I’m your man”

Louis blushed furiously after realising what he said. “Your man” I wish. Louis thought to himself. He does not have a crush on the man, not when he’s still hurting and knows fine well he is not the kind of guy Harry would go for. But still, he could appreciate an attractive man couldn’t he?

*

“Right mate, thats the last of the photos”

“Amazing, thank you so much Lou. Can’t wait to prove Liam wrong. These will do wonders for our sales”

Harry nudged his shoulder against Louis’ and gave him a dazzling smile before returning to flick through the photos.

“Hey mate, want to stay for dinner? I’ve just made Lou and I some pasta, there’s plenty for one more?”

“Zayn I’ve told you, I’m on a diet. I can’t eat pasta” Louis mumbled, cheeks burning red from

Embarrassment.

Zayn mouthed something at Harry that Louis couldn’t quite make out. Probably something about ignoring him because he’ll eat it anyway.

“That would be grand actually, I don’t have dinner planned so...” Louis caught Harry giving him a quick look, eyes looking a little sad and sympathetic. He squirmed under Harrys gaze, feeling self conscious, tugging down on his jumper. He felt like a bug under a microscope in that moment, wanting to hide away under baggy clothes and shrink into himself.

mumbling something about going to take a shower first Louis stood and let himself out the room. His feelings were all over the place at the moment. One day his heart would feel so broken and weary he could swear he would feel his heart strings tug and tear inside him. His insecurities and shame would bubble over and he wanted nothing more than to curl under his duvet for hours.. Other days, he had this new found confidence when he would wear whatever the hell he wanted, be loud, flamboyant, eat what made his cheeks flush with pleasure. And somedays he would go inbetween both. Today was one of those days.

It took a lot of effort to squeeze out of those jeans before climbing into to the shower. Why he ever thought he could look good in them was beyond him. He had to push his belly up to even get to the button, and he didn’t even want to think about the strength it took to pull both sides of the jeans together and get the button undone.

*

Louis came back into the kitchen in loose sweats and the baggiest jumper he could find. Silently, he slid into his chair at the table and was met with a bowl of creamy pasta. He opened his mouth to protest about the dish, but Zayn got there first shooting him a glare of warning.

“Eat.” He said simply, and Louis abided to this, pushing the pasta round with his folk, only bringing it to his mouth every few minutes.

Zayn and Harry made friendly conversation that Louis only half listened to, not contributing to the conversation unless he was directly asked a question.

“Bebz, come on. Eat up, this isn’t healthy” Zayn scooped pasta onto Louis fork and held it up to his mouth, coaxing him to take a bite. But Louis just pushed the fork away, trying not to snap. He knew Zayn was trying to help but it was honestly just embarrassing in front of Harry.

“Leave it Z. I’ll eat later. Listen, Harry mate, thanks for coming over, let me know what time you’ll bring those cakes by tomorrow. I’m going to head to bed.” Before anyone could answer him Louis scurried off to let his tears fall.

[gothams-gotchya]

Healthy Habits and Motivation

Today, I feel like helping people stay motivated. Particularly when it comes to one of my favorite things to do in the world: Working out.

I understand with the quarantine its been super hard for people to stick to their own diet, or workouts, especially go to the gym, where some gyms are closed at this time. I also understand the social anxiety that comes with asking for help with weight loss, or personal development. Our own insecurities can incite fears in us, and self doubt, that prevent us from bettering ourselves. I know for a fact that this is a thing, even with this virus, it engulfs us whole and makes us feel weak. I experienced that same social anxiety before, where I loved going to the gym, but asking for help or even so much as looking inefficient when it came to working out was a huge fear for me. I would never push myself farther than I knew I could go, and I didn't feel exactly confident when I was surrounded by people who I considered better than me and more successful in their health and fitness endeavors. I was always afraid of judgment, of getting attention for perhaps not being fit enough, but this qurantine had taught me different. I think I just needed someone to tell me that I could, someone that was better than me. Because we all have to start somewhere and all of us have our own ground zero that we have to work from. So I am here to say:

YOU CAN DO IT! You can go out there and do workouts and fail and keep pushing and keep fighting, and nobody is going to judge you for it because they know, and you know, WE ALL ARE TRYING TO GET BETTER!

At the beginning of this quarantine, I was let down, back from college, stuck in my home, lost, but I found motivation in at home workouts on the internet and in programs fitted to my personal goals. Since then, I have lost roughly ten pounds. The diet I invented for myself is no longer a diet, but a lifestyle, with some cheat days every now and again. I told myself I wanted to be better, and for some reason, having nothing to do, did just that for me. I talked to a personal trainer, and my biggest fear at first (of being judged) soon subsided into, "this is their job, to help me be the best self I can be." Now I have a new friend, several new friends in fact.

And when the gyms opened again a month ago, I went to the gym with a new mindset. During the quarantine I realized that there was no reason to be so insecure about my flaws, or about my failures, but to instead find motivation in the positive aspects of my journey. I also found that this stereotype that everyone at the gym judges you, and that everyone is stuck up, is exactly that, a stereotype, and a stupid one at that.

When you enter the gym, everybody is doing their own thing, nobody gives a crap what you are doing, how you are doing it, and what you look like. In fact, I made friends at the gym, even with a mask on my face, and experienced gym goers are extremely welcoming and helpful if you just ask. I got so many tips from this one muscly, strong ass sixty something year old woman. And there are plenty of others who will gladly help you along the way, because the gym is basically a community of people trying to the better themselves, seeing and meeting others that want to do the same makes them happy. So I implore people to take those steps, if they want to, to be more social and to not be afraid to ask for help. Its a lot easier said than done, but once you get over those initial inhibitions you realize that there is no reason to be so afraid. In the gym, and crossfit and other sub categories of fitness, you will find that there is a strong and supportive community, all working to better themselves and eachother. I'm sure there is that one asshole that you will find almost everywhere, but for the most part, there aren't as many assholes as there are potential allies.

So if the social anxiety, the judgments, and the doubt are keeping you from being the best you can be, I suggest taking a minute or two to yourself to try and analyze those roadblocks and figure out how you can face them. Give into those intrinsic thoughts, find yourself and what fits you best. Even if you don't want to workout, there are still other ways to keep motivated or find motivation. I know you all can do it! Even I have to take a minute or two or more to myself, and thats fine, even I fail to keep up with my routine, and thats fine! Don't let yourself down! Even if you just do yoga, or swimming, or walking, all forms of exercise, and all forms of self care are open to you, and you will never be judged for picking one over the other.

I know where I was before this quarantine, I was only working out so I could have an excuse to be unmotivated and unhealthy. Its okay to be like that, but if you want to get better, the only way you can go is forward, push through it and work and when you see results, it feels sooo good. I think that all of the people on here that are fat shaming and forcing healthy habits onto others, I don't think they truly understand that all of us have our own reasons for choosing the lifestyles we do, or having the lifestyles we have.

Forcing this idea that being chunky or a little pudgy is a negative thing isn't getting anybody anywhere, and it only reinforces anxiety and fear and all the things that prevent people from being healthier or seeking help. I say, be who you want to be, and no matter what that is, stay motivated towards your goals, cause YOU CAN DO IT! Know that if you aren't surrounded by a supportive and positive environment now, you can be, and its waiting there for you to find; a niche that is solely your own, where you feel you belong, its there for you! Sometimes people need to be told that, negativity and fear won't get us anywhere, but people are here to help you! Ignore the naysayers! Find out where you want to go and go with it!

[irrepressible-domovoy]

I was trying to write fanfiction and somehow ended up with this instead. (It bounces around, but bear with me)

You ever notice how friggin’ jacked superheroes are?

Like, take Captain America: The First Avenger for instance. In that first scene where he’s just been turned into Erskine’s super-beefcake, Carter (or, more accurately, Hayley Atwell, because that was not scripted) couldn’t keep her hands to herself when he popped out of the pod shirtless with washboard abs and boobs that rivaled mine.

And every time we get a female superhero, she’s this stick-figure thin girl with an absolutely flat belly and no scars (unless they’re the Black Widow) and no stretch marks because those are considered “gross.”

But here’s the thing.

The actors aren’t naturally that way. It’s not even healthy to be that way.

I remember reading how Chris Hemsworth got his “look” for his shirtless scenes in Thor by not drinking water for a few days and right before he would need to be hospitalized for dehydration, they called, “Roll it!” (I legitimately cannot remember where this was. Someone help me?)

At another point, I remember reading an interview where Chris Evans said those super-tight shirts from the Captain America movies were really uncomfortable. He even hinted that they were painful.

And in another movie, (Was it Spartacus?) the cast pretty much survived on chicken and lettuce. Look, I’m not a nutritionist in any sense of the imagination, but even I know that’s not safe, physically healthy, or good for your mental health.

In Fight Club, Brad Pitt screwed himself up big time by cutting his weight constantly to keep his “perfect” physique.

Slightly off-topic, but Brendon Frasier nearly killed himself with the stunts on top of the weight/muscle-tone demands for The Mummy 3. There’s a serious problem with the industry here.

And let’s get onto the women’s body image here that affects literally every woman on screen: Flat bellies? Dudes. Cis women have these things called ovaries that are in there. We need more room. Plus, it is actually unhealthy for anyone of any gender to have less than 8% body fat, at bare minimum.

Then there’s the issue with erasing scars and stretch marks. I am twenty-two years old. I have scars from everything from an accident in the kitchen to skinning my knee as a kid on a patch of shattered glass. You (the writers and directors of the films) give them to the dudes, but not the girls? Just work those scars into your BAMF super-heroines. They already have the backstories for them to be viable and even likely. I, as well as more than half of the people on this planet, have these things called stretch marks. They are what happens when we grow. It means I started out as a baby and turned into an adult. They are not shameful and only serve to remind me that I, and the person on my screen, were once small and innocent. (Also, they either look like tiger stripes or lightning bolts, depending on how you look at them)

My point is, we the viewers (whether children learning how to view our own bodies and the world, teenagers struggling with self-image in a world that tells us we aren’t ever going to be pretty enough, or grown adults struggling with all of the above and more) deserve to be able to see heroes that are real and the actors portraying these characters deserve to not only feel better about themselves but to also be able to do their job without causing permanent damage to their bodies.

@fightyspidey and I came up with some ideas, if Marvel Studios wanted some suggestions.

Give us Thor, mighty Viking warrior king, with the fat from too many feasts. (Human weightlifting champions are known for being “a bit pudgy” but they can also kill you with a pinky. It’s not that far off the mark)

Give me Steve Rogers with stretch marks and scars from growing too fast after Project: Rebirth.

Give me a Natasha Romanov with scars that aren’t there to maximize the mangst and aren’t perfect little circles that are easily hidden.

Give me Tony Stark without a shirt and his scars aren’t some “sexy work of art,” but rather an ugly reminder of pain and hardship.

Give me Sif coming to visit the Avengers and she comes in with shorts or a skirt on and we see how she doesn’t shave her legs and literally no one cares.

I want to see the Hulk with stretch marks and Bruce completely chill with his pudge.

I want to see Peter, Shuri, and Wanda with acne and acne scars. (Please?)

I would love to see Scott Lang telling a story about the time he fell out of a three-story window (”And Luis did nothing!”) and he ended up with a bald-patch on the side of his head from where his helmet cracked his skull open. (I actually have one of those)

I want to see burns on Pepper, because her Extremis is still imperfect and can’t heal everything without leaving something behind in its place.

Happy should still have scars from Iron Man 3.

In short: Give me characters that I can see myself in.

The fans aren’t perfect. We don’t have clear skin, no matter our ages, and we have scars and fat in weird places and hair in even weirder ones.

Give us heroes that we can identify with.

Give your actors a chance to breathe. Give them a chance to be okay with themselves.

[splintersfeelings]

A Story about my Father - first draft, 3/11/2020

I smiled a smile of relief, a relief born of a year of work and growth.

“I made it. I graduated. I’m going to be teacher.”

I want to remember the path I took here. Remember, remember, remembering…backwards, because the cause is always before, buried in the clues that had no meaning except in hindsight.

 Like all stories, we start at the beginning. Away from this bright summer sun.

 A little boy was born in a hospital into a loving family, followed by his two younger brothers. He was an energetic, playful kid, a bit of a prankster. The nuns never liked him in school, and he was always getting in trouble for his practical jokes. He learned his sense of humor from his own father. The nuns called him Felix, because in this place, it wasn’t enough for the colonizers to take money and lives – they also had to take people’s names.

 I sat in bed, reading webcomics off my phone, basking in the artificial glow. A long day teaching, a short night to rest. How did I get here? What was I doing? Thinking back to all those mistakes, all those missed opportunities. Things that could have gone better, things that could have gone worse. Getting ready for another long day, I leaned over and shut out the light.

 As I dreamed, I wondered if this was the right path for me. Sneezing, I popped a pill to manage my spring allergies. Ready to leave. Ready for another day.

 A student cries during math. They’re afraid and unsure. They think they can’t do it.

 But they can. The work is hard, I tell them, because we have high expectations in this room. We work on adding and subtracting decimals.

 At the end, the student smiles.

 He was happy growing up. Or was he? It was hard to remember. When his father died, it tore his family apart. The three brothers slowly grew apart over the years, pushed by a grieving mother. She wanted him to be the head of the family. But it was a weight that no one, especially not one so young, should have to bear.

 The first day of student teaching.

 He didn’t want to let it consume him.

 The snow fell outside. I sat at home sick, waiting down the hours until it was time for my next dose of antibiotics. But all I really wanted was to be back out there, in that classroom, starting winter quarter, growing and learning and teaching. Giving back some of those opportunities that someone else gave to me.

  He didn’t feel safe at home, where he knew there was abuse waiting for him. But there was no safety at school either. Not from bitter and jealous classmates. Not from the unsympathetic nuns. On a bad day, maybe the cold, hard slap of a ruler’s edge along his bruised knuckles.

 What is a good teacher? The leaves were red, dropping from the trees onto the damp, Seattle pavement. I want to become a teacher that empowers students. I want students to learn to learn, to teach themselves. That’s a bit of an irony. A teacher’s goal is to make themselves obsolete. To put themselves out of a job. Build a world where everyone has access to learning, where everyone can learn from themselves and each other.

 Fortunately (or unfortunately), making yourself obsolete as a teacher is a tough job. So – we work, we scaffold, we learn to speak oceans in 2 short sentences, we ask questions that are simple. So simple. And yet, they must carry the weight of the world.

 He kept getting told that he was stupid. That he was lazy. Why didn’t he study? Why couldn’t he memorize? He was almost ready to believe them. Maybe he was stupid. But he didn’t believe them. Not even after they made him repeat a grade.

 It wouldn’t be the last time.

 STR? What is STR? I flipped through the website application. It would be good to move back to Seattle. My leave of absence had made me bitter. I was feeling sick of feeling stuck in grad school, of finding no passion in the research that had once excited me as an undergrad. What was the point of studying race, of studying injustice, of studying power, only to write papers that only 10 people would read?

 I attached my resume and hit submit.

  It wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying. But he just couldn’t sit down and read. When he looked at the words, they began to swim and blur together, and he’d simply doze off.

 But his creative energy wasn’t put to waste. He developed progressively innovative strategies to cheat on his exams, writing scraps of paper and tucking them into shirt sleeves, books.

 He only got caught some of the time.

 When I got accepted to UW Early Entrance, I cried. It was a big oppurtunity, a chance to escape from the terror of high school. A chance to prove myself. I knew I had to go, because if I didn’t try, I would regret for the rest of my life. I was hungry to learn, to read, to solve, to grow. I just needed to place and the people to help me do it.

 It was a big adjustment, moving to Canada. A strange place, with even stranger people. Hong Kong’s humid, tropical climate was a whole different world than the icy snow in Edmonton. He met the woman who would become his wife there, two diasporic roots. Interestingly, they would probably never have met back home – they lived in different worlds, one in Kowloon and one on the Island.

 Many nights, he went to sleep hungry.

 He repeated two more grades.

 It was hard to practice English. But he’d already gotten used to being called stupid, and lazy. He didn’t need anyone else to tell him he mattered, because he knew it already in his heart.

 But it would have been nice to hear it from someone else. Just once.

 The thing I remember most about getting kicked out of school was the shame of telling my dad. I was worried about what he’d think about me. If he’d think less of me for finally failing to live up to his high expectations. But he surprised me by giving me a hug. He told me that he was proud of me, and that if I did what I thought was right I should have no regrets. This was the turning point when our relationship started to improve, and I learned to see him as a human being. Someone with their own, silent story. Someone with their own ghosts, their own demons, their own long forgotten battlegrounds.

 His TOEFL scores were too low to get into University of Alberta, where his then-girlfriend was attending school. He ended up at the University of North Dakota. He had always loved tinkering, putting machines apart and putting them back together. He ended up studying computer science.

 When I was in 3rd grade, I stopped writing. I didn’t do my homework beyond short, terse, one-word responses. My mom was distraught because she knew I was able to say so much more verbally than I could show in writing. She spoke to my teacher, who had noticed a similar pattern. What was holding me back from writing, when I was reading more than a year above grade level?

 I didn’t know how to express it at the time, but writing was physically painful for me because of how hard I had learned to grip a pencil.

 I relearned how to write cursive. My teacher let me type up homework assignments instead of handwriting them.

 I had people who believed in me.

 He graduated from UND in 3 fast years, cramming in coursework to make up for lost time. His student visa expiring soon. He advanced 400 dollars on credit, took a train to Seattle, and declared he would work for Bill Gates.

 A week later he got hired at Microsoft, just before his student visa was expiring. He would stay there for decades.

 In 1st grade, I was behind in reading. I loved my phonics group with all the other Asian kids, working on sounds and letters while the other students read easy texts. When I was graduated into the grade level reading group, I was upset at not being with my friends. But I grew quickly.

 Even though I didn’t enjoy reading, I loved being read to. I had adults at home who read to me all the time. And I spent all that time listening, thinking, learning.

 When he got married and his wife moved to Seattle with him, they knew they knew they eventually wanted to have a family. He wanted to raise a child who was loved, who was believed in, who was surrounded by adults who would help him reach his full potential.

 The bright light shined in my eyes. First breath. Faces. He looked at this child. Who was this beautiful boy? Who would he become? There was so much going on. So much change. Would the boy become like him? Would he struggle the same struggle? Would he repeat as many grades? It’s scary, to have so little control over your body, to be exposed to so much beyond comprehension. A blur, a smell, a sound. Small, pudgy hands waving. You don’t need to cry. You don’t need to worry. You’ll learn so much here. I was passed to warm, waiting arms. Your path might be hard. But I’ll make sure it will be just a little bit easier than mine was. Because I’ll always have at least one person who always believes.

[gotforthe7]

Got7 reaction to you being fat shamed on live television

Fat shaming is horrible and so insensitive. I myself have been fat shamed and it is not a nice feeling whatsoever. I want you to know that if you are on the chubby side, you slay my world! This was requested by @mrsbts5ever98 Hope you enjoy lovely! <3 Also I’m sorry this took so long! I recently got two guinea pigs and they’re kind of a handful hahahah (help me)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*Mark! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Mark wouldn’t have it. Straight after the show, Mark would take your hand and guide you to his managers office to tell him about the rude MC that had interviewed you and Mark. When the interviewer made the joke about you fitting into your dress, something switched in Mark. He became dark, scary even. Lets just say that when the cast on set saw him, they prayed for the MC and his well being. When Mark did talk to the MC again, he made it very clear that if he EVER made a joke like that again, he wouldn’t see the light of day again.

“I’m warning you now, say shit like that again and watch what happens to you.”

｡･ﾟﾟ･Jaebum! ･ﾟﾟ･｡

Jaebum wouldn’t want to approach the situation with threats and violence but he would most definitely make sure that the MC knew how upset his comment made you. The joke was about your eating habits and how much you had eaten in one of the challenges. This very clearly made you feel very insecure about your body and JB had noticed straight away. After the show he would pull the interviewer aside and ask him to apologise to you because the MC’s joke did not feel like a joke to you and that was unacceptable in Jaebum’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry but I can’t let you get away with what you said, what I want you to do is apologise to her.”

＊✿❀Jackson! ❀✿＊*

As soon as the joke about lack of exercise was made towards you, Jackson looked at him like he was a rodent in a dump. Memes would be made on his face that day, it was that obvious to everyone watching that he was disgusted with the behaviour of the person interviewing you two. He would actually be so disgusted, he would leave right in the middle of shooting with you by his side. After a few weeks, he complained to his manager and threatened to deal with things himself if nothing was to be done about the interviewers ‘little’ comment

“I promise you, I’m not scared to let him know how upset he made my baby.”

♡+:｡.｡Jinyoung! ｡.｡:+♡*♥

Being the most mature one of the group, he also handles the situation without any violence. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t infuriate and upset him. Before anything was dealt with the interviewer he turned to you and persuaded you that none of what the MC said was true. He thought you looked stunning on the red carpet tonight despite what the rude comment that was made about how pudgy you were. After he had reassured you, he went to find the MC. Eventually he got hold of them and told them sternly that their joke wasn’t funny and that they should apologise immediately before things turn upside down. 

“I don’t want to fight with you about this, you know you did wrong. Accept it.”

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡Youngjae! +..｡*ﾟ+

Youngjae would definitely fire a comment back at the MC. The interviewer would make the comment about how you eat all the cooking that Youngjae makes and almost immediately, his defence levels would through the roof. He would comeback with something like ‘Your ass must be pretty jealous with how much shit that comes out of your mouth’ Literally the whole studio would just laugh, making the MC very embarrassed indeed. Youngjae would just stand there proudly before whispering in your ear:

“No one messes with my girl.”

✿✼:*BamBam! *:✼✿

BamBam wouldn’t even try to hide his anger when the MC said something about your weight. He would blatantly turn to him in the middle of shooting and be like “Are you serious dude?” Long story short, Bambam would refuse to let either you or himself be interviewed unless the company changed the MC. He was mortified at the audacity of some people. What made him even madder was the fact that you had been affected the most by it. Later that day though, he made sure you looked at yourself with pure sexiness if you know what I mean  (ಸ ‿ ಸ)

“I don’t want to be interviewed by someone who’s a complete douche, thank you very much.” 

☆♬○♩●Yugyeom! ●☆♬○♩

Yugyeom was baffled. He hadn’t ever had an encounter with such a rude human being so at first he wouldn’t know what to do. But when he saw that the people around him weren’t saying anything, there was no way he could just sit back and watch. He would kinda interrupt the MC whilst he was in the middle of talking and say “Hey dude, that wasn’t cool come on” To his relief, the interviewer did realise how he offended you and profusely apologised. 

“If it hurts you, it hurts me Jagiya.”

What do you guys think?

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

The first time I wore a crop top was at the 2016 Toronto Dyke March. I’d found the tube of rosy pink sequins at a thrift shop, and I wore it with a pair of jorts hiked up to my waist, gold glitter smeared across my cheeks.

I marched down the street with the strip of my stomach that had never before been touched by the sun fully bared. The only thing separating that outfit from any other I might have worn was three or four measly inches of exposed skin — but you have to understand the weight of those inches.

I don’t have a body that’s supposed to wear crop tops. Your body shouldn’t limit your fashion choices, of course, but I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.

I’m fat. Like, in a size 22 kind of way. Over the years, my relationship with my body — along with my weight and how I take care of myself — has had its ups and downs. Either I was a curvy goddess or absolutely everything a woman wasn’t supposed to be. Fat women aren’t allowed to be neutral about our bodies. We embrace or belittle, eat or starve — and everyone knows what the general societal preference is in that dichotomy.

So, for me, crop tops are political. They’re rebellion, liberation. A pale and pudgy fuck-you to the beauty standards I’m exhausted of being exhausted by. And it’s only at the Dyke March that I felt okay to do it.

When I stopped feeling ashamed of my queerness, I thought I would stop feeling ashamed of my body at the same time.

I came out at 23 after years of shame surrounding my feelings about women. I’d spent those years dating men, experiencing the sort of body shame only heteronormative romance can bring. Was I skinny enough to date? Did he only like me because he has a fat girl fetish?

When I stopped feeling ashamed of my queerness, I thought I would stop feeling ashamed of my body at the same time. Part of if it was my sudden freedom from the male gaze. In her new self-released comedy special, Rape Jokes, Cameron Esposito talks about coming out and realizing that being gay meant upending the whole way women are valued.

“When you are raised female, when you are cultured female, the thing that you are valued for, the thing that you are taught you are valued for is your fuckability. That’s it. So I was also realizing that the whole system, the system set up to evaluate whether or not I have value, I was going to be opting out of for the rest of my life, because of the person that I was.”

She concludes that it’s a confusing thing to manage, especially when you’re young and isolated in your queerness. And that’s true — but it’s also freeing. That system is a piece of shit and you get to turn your back on it. You get to define your value. It’s one of the many gifts queerness brought me.

So there I was, a fresh baby gay, convinced that I’d evolved beyond hating my body just because the straight world told me to. But I was wrong.

[...]

[janeykath318]

[translightyagami]

21 for the writing prompts thing

me: oh wow this doesn’t hv a fandom or pairing attached to it. i could do anything w this prompt! how exciting.

also me: i’m literally going to write the same yotsuba arc lawlight that i always fall back on bc that’s who i am as a person.

21: “ Thanks for nothing. ”

Painted outside the window was a thick grey sky blurred by rain as it hit the glass. L tucked his hands into his pockets, chain jingling as he did.

“What does Light think about rain?”

Beside him, Light sat in a single sofa seat with a book. When L tried to read the title, Light moved his hand to cover it.  The chain jingled again as he turned a page and glanced at L. His long fingers rubbed the page corner andd flexed over the book’s spine. A long pause strung itself out between them with their eyes trained on each other. The rest of the task force had left for the day and they were alone except for the whine of every computer.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess it’s a little depressing.”

“Hm.” L pressed his thumb to his bottom lip. “You’re probably right. But I enjoy the rain. People say it’s cleansing.”

“Oh, really?” A tone of pure boredom underlined Light’s response. This drawl was cut by a slight grin. “Don’t chew your nails, Ryuzaki.”

“I’m not. I’m only resting my thumb here. Light should be more observant.”

Light let out a gargled scoff and rolled his eyes. His book dropped into his lap, forgotten, and he hiked himself up from the slouch he’d fallen into.

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “Does my not liking the rain make me more or less like Kira?”

“There’s no more or less Kira to be.” L turned his attention back to the rain. “You either are Kira or you aren’t.”

“Well. Which am I?”

“That’s what these are going to tell us." Hand raised, L shook it to indicate the handcuff around his wrist. Another ugly noise escaped Light and he dropped back into his chair. He crossed his arms and folded one leg over the other. His hands fumbled with his book until he had it open again. A frown curled his lips.

“I lost my place.” L hummed in acknowledgment while Light flipped through the pages and scanned for where he’d left off. “Oh, whatever. It’s not worth finding it again. The book’s not even that good.”

“It’s not like Light to give up.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m just sick of reading these dull books. I wish you’d let me bring my DS.”

“We couldn’t allow you to go back home after your captivity.”

“You mean after my first captivity.” Light turned a sour look on L, who didn’t respond besides an imperceptible tightening of his hand into a fist. “Or do you think this is just a fun vacation for me?”

His eyes were hard on the side of L’s face. They cut holes there trying to leave a scrape, a wound on him. Tilting his head to the side, L met Light’s gaze. A moment passed and the two moments until silence became a wall between them built upon bricks and bricks of unhappiness. Rain skittered on the window pane like fingers begging entrance. Light broke away first and reached to his mouth before letting his hand fall to his thigh. He felt L’s eyes rolling over him, calculating every angle at which he held himself.

“Perhaps we should ask if your father will bring your DS here.” L walked away from the window and tugged Light out of his seat. The momentum caused was sharp and Light collided with his back. Both of them knocked each other to the floor with Light stuck half curled around L, one arm pinned beneath his weight and the other one flung to the side. Heat flew to his cheeks. Next to him, L’s eyes were wide and darted around in wild surprise. The hem of his shirt rode up and his stomach, just on the edge of pudgy, caught Light’s unfortunate attention.

“Ow.” Light whispered. Every nerve he had was at war with each other in bright conflict. His body screamed from so much contact, so much touch, after weeks of nothing. L started to get up, forgetting he was tangled in the handcuff chain, and was jerked back to the floor. He lay there, hand on his chest and eyes to the ceiling, while Light held back an ocean of complicated thoughts.

“Well,” L said. “I’ve made a miscalculation as to my walking speed. I apologize, Light.”

“Yeah.” Light spoke into the floor with cheeks still stained red. “Try to not drag me around anymore. That might help.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind for the future.”

They both began to quietly untangle themselves. L moved with a strange gentleness as he assisted Light up from the floor and that gentleness struck Light like a lighting bolt through a tree. He hated this feeling. A loathsome and oppressive air surrounded that feeling although inside that air a pleasant glow still shone. That anything good should be felt in L’s presence offended him entirely.

“Are you alright then?” A single finger touched his hand and Light jumped back. “I did mean what I said. I’ll have Watari ask your father if he can bring Light’s DS.”

“Thank you.” Attention swallowed by his embarrassment, Light saw only the tilt of his own body. L started to walk away and he trailed after him, careful to keep within a few steps of his pace. He lurched when L sat on the bed and picked up the phone.

What followed was mumbled conversation that Light heard none of. His thoughts were caught up in their own shame. How dare he have such poisonous excitement over the sight of L’s skin, over the idea of his physical existence, after he demolished so much of Light. This was the man who put his father’s gun against his head and let him pull the trigger. The fingers that touched him were the fingers that snapped a handcuff around his wrist and locked the door to every room they entered so Light couldn’t run. So he wouldn’t get away. Light must’ve been sick to ever think a single sweetened thought about him.

“Ah,” L said. “Alright. Well, try again in the morning then.”

Phone pinched between his thumb and forefinger, L dropped it back onto the dialer and gave Light an apologetic look.

“I’m afraid Watari was unable to get a hold of your father,” he said. “So we’ll have to ask him tomorrow. Light will have to make do with the books we have for now.”

“Mm.” A brattiness rose in Light’s throat. “Well. Thanks for nothing, I guess.”

“Light is being difficult.” L spoke with a drag to his voice but the corners of his mouth were sharp. “Is it because I made you fall?”

“No. The rain is making me tired.” Picking at a thread on his sweater, Light yanked on it until it broke free. “You said that the rain is cleansing?”

“I said that there are people who say that.” Curiosity flickered in L’s expression. “I don’t know anything about that myself.”

“Huh. Well, that’s--” Thunder cracked outside and  its echo covered over the second half of Light’s words. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s interesting. To think about, I mean.”

“Indeed.” L looked at Light, whose thoughts were tied up in ideas of rain and of touch. “I’m sure Light thinks about many interesting things.”

[barelyevenbones]

april 3

didn’t weigh - feel super pudgy rn. had an okay monday, not great eating wise. idk i felt good earlier but my boyfriend and i had like a discussion type argument but not really about like the way society views fat people vs skinny people and like health and i was trying to get him to see it from my perspective and idk afterwards he was like “you’re really bad at seeing things from the way other people do, like you’re always certain you’re right” and idk he’s right and that’s why that hurts.... but also i am right? but it also makes me feel bad because clearly i see more of the warped society on weight in the world and like his argument that like we should fat shame people for health was like mostly joking but in some ways he’s serious and like he has no clue what i’m dealing with. like obviously i know that being fat is bad for your health but i’m secretly starving myself to get skinny so don’t talk shit? but he doesn’t know and i don’t want him to so i’m trying not to make it a big deal but idk it just kind of ruined my day. and i had been feeling pretty good about my body before too but like now i’m realizing like obviously he thinks i’m hot but clearly he doesn’t think of me as one of the skinny/healthy type people so i have to work harder and be that person. ugh.

in: 12/30 ww pts

out: 2000 cals

[old-soulless]

Thank You For Calling Me Fatso

A brief note from Dai: When Melissa first shared her incredible transformation story with me, I was blown away. She's an incredibly brave person who has dealt with a lot of personal adversities throughout her life. She first shared a piece of her transformation story in an earlier article, “How Going to the Gym Scared the DEATH Out of Me“. What I didn't know at the time was how far back in her past her transformation journey began… when she wrote me to ask if I'd be willing to share her back story and some of the obstacles she's faced on her journey, I was honored, and after reading this article you'll see why. I'm confident that after reading her story, you'll be inspired to realize that, “we (all) have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.”

You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left… Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I was in fourth grade. You remember, the year we were all awkward 9-year-olds with mock swagger. You were the girl with the long, blonde hair, new shoes and designer jeans. You were the kid who played club sports, went on family vacations to Disneyland and ate hot lunch. I was the other kid. I was the round, pudgy kid, the one with glasses held together with duct tape. Yeah. That kid. The kid picked last for dodge ball in that musty gymnasium, sweating it out extra hard as I waited for someone, anyone, to call my name. I was the monkey in the middle, every single time. I was the kid who never dodged the ball, taking it in the gut while you all snickered on the sidelines. I was the kid sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating my solitary lunch with my solitary self, surrounded by a sea of laughing, pranking, squabbling kids who at least had someone to argue with. As you tossed your half-eaten lunches into the garbage bins, you passed me by, and I silently prayed to the Saint of Forgotten Children for mercy. I prayed you would at least pass me without a remark, without an insult, without a jab. The Saint of Forgotten Children must have been busy that year because you tossed insults at me like peanuts to an elephant, nothing more than an afterthought for kids who went home to casseroles and family game nights. You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Fast-forward a few painful years to middle school. You didn’t know it, but I was the girl silently suffering abuse at home. I was beaten until bloody, swollen and breathless. I was sexually assaulted while the other adults in the house looked the other way. Every morning I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and tied my shoes knowing that I would face another day of mocking, bullying and neglect. I put on a brave face on my way to school, and I held it there throughout the day, enduring the scorn and cruelty only one kid can truly heap on another. I left school every afternoon, steadying myself for the inevitable pushes, shoves and name calling that followed me all the way home. It was you again, now a cheerleader. You had even more friends than before. Your legs were longer and leaner. You had the ‘perfect’ body, so why did you have to mess with pudgy ol’ me? But mess you did, the snide lilt of your voice the soundtrack from elementary school, the classic song on repeat in my head. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

Don’t get your hopes up that high school was any better, littered as it was with classes full of beautiful girls with perfectly coiffed hair, handsome football players and me. The problem is, the monkey stuck helplessly in the middle is never allowed to catch the ball. I had become, like the ball itself, something to be dodged. Oh sure, I tried to make friends. But deep in my soul, where the music still blared, I knew I wasn’t worthy, and I suspected I never had been. The torment I suffered from those fourth grade days in the schoolyard carried through, the bullying and insults worsening in middle school, until the ultimate insult was thrown my way: apathy. I became something worse than the object of your scorn. I became invisible. I gave up on friends; why bother? Nobody cared that I ate my can of green beans alone, in the bathroom stall, the only thing I could afford to bring from home. Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

You may have heard, like I had, that college is where the kids who hated high school go to shine. Don’t buy it. College was a joke. I barely focused on classes, zoning out and finally skipping them altogether. Like my childhood, nobody noticed. When I stopped showing up to classes completely, nobody cared. That voice inside me, the one tapping along to the lyrics of my inadequacy, told me I wasn’t worth a college degree. I wasn’t worthy of an education, of walking across a stage, or of achieving my dreams, so why would I be worthy of any other form of self-care? The only thing that kept me company was your comments, which became my closest friend and confidant. We sat together, alone in my bedroom, eating ice cream and bags of Doritos, drunk-dialing Domino’s after our latest cookie binge. Your comments were my trusted sidekick through those years that everyone said would be the best of my life. Instead of acing exams, dating engineering majors or partying with my friends, I hosted a party of two: just your comments and me. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food.

If college was a joke, dating was the ultimate prank. I carried your words with me onto every single date, sitting across the table from a man I dared to like, picking at my salad and barely taking a bite. Eye contact was impossible. I trusted your insults when, one by one, each man failed to call back, the phone familiarly silent. I packed your softly muttered jabs into my gym bag, making feeble attempts at health and fitness, only to find that your contempt and ridicule followed me right onto the treadmill. Every step I took felt like two, the weight of your criticism heavier than anything else. It laughed me off the elliptical, through the changing room (as if I’d ever change there anyway) and all the way back home, to the corner of my bedroom we knew so well. I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food. The memory of your ridicule held me tightly on those long winter nights, the sound of the TV punctuated only by the ringing doorbell. Domino’s again. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Finding a job was the one thing I couldn’t quit, shrink away from or avoid. I had to do it. It coerced me out of my comfort zone, outside of that bedroom and underneath the covers of shame. It forced me to look people in the eye, compelling me to stuff your words into my plus-sized back pocket, where they sat silently until I was back home each night. There again, in the confines of my bedroom, I was free to eat away the pain. Oh sure, I was able to play the part all day at work. I laughed with co-workers, hunkered down to a work schedule and paced myself through office parties and lunches, but the minute I was home, those insults came hurling at me from the depths of my soul. Each muttered insult you flung my way hit me again with the force of those dodge balls, still leaving me winded and clutching my gut. The only thing that made it better? You guessed it. Food. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

That day was the day things changed

As a young adult, I successfully held several jobs, and with each passing year, your bullets left less of a sting. Sure, they were there when I met new people, hiding my feelings of shame and worthlessness between jokes and self-deprecating remarks. Your comments went on dates with me, but they were hidden away, like all the emotions I learned to bury years ago. But even tucked away, traveling right along with me, I began to live a bit outside of that bedroom, one step at a time. I began seeing a therapist who helped me realize your words held power over me only if I allowed them to. All these years, I gave you power over me, power to force me into a dungeon of helplessness and keep me there despite my desperation to climb out. Then, after years of struggle and hard emotional work, something amazing happened: I realized your words were just that. Words. They held no meaning unless I breathed life into them. I could choose to let them inside. I could choose to open the door, inviting your hateful comments to take up residence right beside me. Or I could choose to listen to the knock and walk away. Your words held no meaning unless I answered their call. That day was the day things changed. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Image Credit: Oprah.com

With this realization, I saw that I did have value. I mattered. People could like me if I only gave them a chance. So I did. I gave every person I met the chance to look me in the eye and get to know me. It was hard. Fear of judgment, ridicule and that old friend apathy haunted me. Would everyone feel the way about me that you did? Would everyone see the pudgy kid with duct-taped glasses? It was terrifying to let anyone really look at me. I brought out the record of your well-worn insults, and I sometimes played it, wallowing in that old, scratched soundtrack. But then, over time, I stopped listening so closely, because I knew better. I didn’t let your criticisms keep me down. I broke through the realization that those words, that soundtrack, could damage me and hold me back or become the power that propelled me forward. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love

With this newfound realization and sense of strength, I met the love of my life and married him two years later. My wedding dress was white, a flowing size 16. As I looked in the mirror that morning, staring at every imperfect body part, you visited me again. I saw your face in my mind, taunting me as you had all those years ago, brushing past me in the cafeteria with another cutting comment or icy glare. But rather than shirk back into another corner, another dark bedroom, I quickly dismissed your snubs, quieting that music in my mind. I felt your words begin to dissipate, just like the power they held over me. I raised my chin, looked myself squarely in the face and knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I went on to have four perfect and beautiful children. From the time I saw their tiny, scrunched faces, I vowed to protect them from insults like yours. I vowed to fill their precious hearts so full of love, acceptance and a sense of worth that they’d never have room to consider insulting another perfect and beautiful person. I vowed that my children be taught kindness, mercy and love and that they’d show those qualities in the face of adversity. I never wanted to foster in anyone else the feelings of shame or hopelessness I felt as a kid, and I never wanted to foster the cruelty and disregard for another person so many of you carried in your own hearts. I could have taught my children to be fearful, timid or bitter. That would have given your words even more power. Instead, I taught them to be kind, gentle and courageous. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons.

I finally broke loose entirely of the hold you had on me several years later when I walked into a Jenny Craig center. I had over 100 pounds to lose, and I was ready. It was a hard battle, at times rendering me frustrated, scared and weary. This time, however, was different. I never retreated to the dark corner of my bedroom. I never gave up. This time I had my husband next to me, cheering me on every step of the way, reminding me of my value. He reminded of the incredibly meaningful life I led, of those four precious little faces staring up at me each day and mimicking my example, learning from my ways. Armed with love and support, I tackled the job ahead of me, learning to fuel my body with nourishing, healthy food and show it love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I lost a total of 110 pounds. I became a brand ambassador and spokesperson, featured in TV ads, for a well-known weight loss company. I spoke to a group of several hundred corporate employees about my success and the road that led me there. As I walked up to that stage and looked out at the sea of people, scrutinizing every inch of me, I felt a sense of gratitude toward you. Your words were horrid. They stung far worse than a thousand bee stings. They still sting. But on that day, they no longer held me captive. I was free from the very words that held me hostage for over 30 years. I realized there were many others out there, victims who’d suffered disrespect and scorn like that you’d heaped on me. So many thousands of people are still struggling to realize their own self-worth. I had broken through to the other side, and if I could break through, I knew they could, too. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

With passion, empathy and determination to not only continue helping myself but to also help others, I created an online support community: www.runheiferrun.com. The name was born in jest, from a fun-loving friend who called me heifer when I started running. Unlike you, her words were said in loving banter rather than mocking ridicule, and they cajoled and pushed me into working harder toward my health. It worked. I worked. Four years later, I am still running. The Heifer community has grown to thousands of people, all of us doing the hard work to create healthy life habits and sustainable growth. We do this while fighting to keep the torment we suffered in our past just that: the past. We are helping each other go beyond the cruel words of others, to go beyond Fatso. Each of us has a story. Some stories may even be worse, yet we share one thing in common: hatefully scattered words no longer bind us. We’ve broken free, and we realize we have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Sincerely, Fatso

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Click to tweet

Author Bio: Melissa Kahn

Melissa Kahn is a Jenny Craig brand ambassador and the proud founder of Run, Heifer, Run! —a fun-loving community of fitness enthusiasts dedicated to commonsense solutions for weight loss and healthy living. Melissa competes in triathlons now, having lost over 100 pounds, or the equivalent of 45 kilos of fear. She has maintained her healthy weight for more than five years—another proud accomplishment considering she's yet to meet a cookie she doesn't like. Melissa lives in Phoenix with her husband Dave (a pilot), four foul-smelling teenagers and two spazzy dogs who remind her that the glass blender is always half-full even when someone forgets the top.

February 15, 2017 at 01:52AM

[jonathantwatson]

Thank You For Calling Me Fatso

A brief note from Dai: When Melissa first shared her incredible transformation story with me, I was blown away. She's an incredibly brave person who has dealt with a lot of personal adversities throughout her life. She first shared a piece of her transformation story in an earlier article, “How Going to the Gym Scared the DEATH Out of Me“. What I didn't know at the time was how far back in her past her transformation journey began… when she wrote me to ask if I'd be willing to share her back story and some of the obstacles she's faced on her journey, I was honored, and after reading this article you'll see why. I'm confident that after reading her story, you'll be inspired to realize that, “we (all) have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.”

You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left… Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I was in fourth grade. You remember, the year we were all awkward 9-year-olds with mock swagger. You were the girl with the long, blonde hair, new shoes and designer jeans. You were the kid who played club sports, went on family vacations to Disneyland and ate hot lunch. I was the other kid. I was the round, pudgy kid, the one with glasses held together with duct tape. Yeah. That kid. The kid picked last for dodge ball in that musty gymnasium, sweating it out extra hard as I waited for someone, anyone, to call my name. I was the monkey in the middle, every single time. I was the kid who never dodged the ball, taking it in the gut while you all snickered on the sidelines. I was the kid sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating my solitary lunch with my solitary self, surrounded by a sea of laughing, pranking, squabbling kids who at least had someone to argue with. As you tossed your half-eaten lunches into the garbage bins, you passed me by, and I silently prayed to the Saint of Forgotten Children for mercy. I prayed you would at least pass me without a remark, without an insult, without a jab. The Saint of Forgotten Children must have been busy that year because you tossed insults at me like peanuts to an elephant, nothing more than an afterthought for kids who went home to casseroles and family game nights. You never saw the tears I held back or the wounds your comments left. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Fast-forward a few painful years to middle school. You didn’t know it, but I was the girl silently suffering abuse at home. I was beaten until bloody, swollen and breathless. I was sexually assaulted while the other adults in the house looked the other way. Every morning I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and tied my shoes knowing that I would face another day of mocking, bullying and neglect. I put on a brave face on my way to school, and I held it there throughout the day, enduring the scorn and cruelty only one kid can truly heap on another. I left school every afternoon, steadying myself for the inevitable pushes, shoves and name calling that followed me all the way home. It was you again, now a cheerleader. You had even more friends than before. Your legs were longer and leaner. You had the ‘perfect’ body, so why did you have to mess with pudgy ol’ me? But mess you did, the snide lilt of your voice the soundtrack from elementary school, the classic song on repeat in my head. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone.

Don’t get your hopes up that high school was any better, littered as it was with classes full of beautiful girls with perfectly coiffed hair, handsome football players and me. The problem is, the monkey stuck helplessly in the middle is never allowed to catch the ball. I had become, like the ball itself, something to be dodged. Oh sure, I tried to make friends. But deep in my soul, where the music still blared, I knew I wasn’t worthy, and I suspected I never had been. The torment I suffered from those fourth grade days in the schoolyard carried through, the bullying and insults worsening in middle school, until the ultimate insult was thrown my way: apathy. I became something worse than the object of your scorn. I became invisible. I gave up on friends; why bother? Nobody cared that I ate my can of green beans alone, in the bathroom stall, the only thing I could afford to bring from home. Nobody even bothered to look. Nobody even noticed I was gone. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

You may have heard, like I had, that college is where the kids who hated high school go to shine. Don’t buy it. College was a joke. I barely focused on classes, zoning out and finally skipping them altogether. Like my childhood, nobody noticed. When I stopped showing up to classes completely, nobody cared. That voice inside me, the one tapping along to the lyrics of my inadequacy, told me I wasn’t worth a college degree. I wasn’t worthy of an education, of walking across a stage, or of achieving my dreams, so why would I be worthy of any other form of self-care? The only thing that kept me company was your comments, which became my closest friend and confidant. We sat together, alone in my bedroom, eating ice cream and bags of Doritos, drunk-dialing Domino’s after our latest cookie binge. Your comments were my trusted sidekick through those years that everyone said would be the best of my life. Instead of acing exams, dating engineering majors or partying with my friends, I hosted a party of two: just your comments and me. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food.

If college was a joke, dating was the ultimate prank. I carried your words with me onto every single date, sitting across the table from a man I dared to like, picking at my salad and barely taking a bite. Eye contact was impossible. I trusted your insults when, one by one, each man failed to call back, the phone familiarly silent. I packed your softly muttered jabs into my gym bag, making feeble attempts at health and fitness, only to find that your contempt and ridicule followed me right onto the treadmill. Every step I took felt like two, the weight of your criticism heavier than anything else. It laughed me off the elliptical, through the changing room (as if I’d ever change there anyway) and all the way back home, to the corner of my bedroom we knew so well. I consoled myself with the only friend who didn’t talk back: food. The memory of your ridicule held me tightly on those long winter nights, the sound of the TV punctuated only by the ringing doorbell. Domino’s again. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Finding a job was the one thing I couldn’t quit, shrink away from or avoid. I had to do it. It coerced me out of my comfort zone, outside of that bedroom and underneath the covers of shame. It forced me to look people in the eye, compelling me to stuff your words into my plus-sized back pocket, where they sat silently until I was back home each night. There again, in the confines of my bedroom, I was free to eat away the pain. Oh sure, I was able to play the part all day at work. I laughed with co-workers, hunkered down to a work schedule and paced myself through office parties and lunches, but the minute I was home, those insults came hurling at me from the depths of my soul. Each muttered insult you flung my way hit me again with the force of those dodge balls, still leaving me winded and clutching my gut. The only thing that made it better? You guessed it. Food. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

That day was the day things changed

As a young adult, I successfully held several jobs, and with each passing year, your bullets left less of a sting. Sure, they were there when I met new people, hiding my feelings of shame and worthlessness between jokes and self-deprecating remarks. Your comments went on dates with me, but they were hidden away, like all the emotions I learned to bury years ago. But even tucked away, traveling right along with me, I began to live a bit outside of that bedroom, one step at a time. I began seeing a therapist who helped me realize your words held power over me only if I allowed them to. All these years, I gave you power over me, power to force me into a dungeon of helplessness and keep me there despite my desperation to climb out. Then, after years of struggle and hard emotional work, something amazing happened: I realized your words were just that. Words. They held no meaning unless I breathed life into them. I could choose to let them inside. I could choose to open the door, inviting your hateful comments to take up residence right beside me. Or I could choose to listen to the knock and walk away. Your words held no meaning unless I answered their call. That day was the day things changed. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Image Credit: Oprah.com

With this realization, I saw that I did have value. I mattered. People could like me if I only gave them a chance. So I did. I gave every person I met the chance to look me in the eye and get to know me. It was hard. Fear of judgment, ridicule and that old friend apathy haunted me. Would everyone feel the way about me that you did? Would everyone see the pudgy kid with duct-taped glasses? It was terrifying to let anyone really look at me. I brought out the record of your well-worn insults, and I sometimes played it, wallowing in that old, scratched soundtrack. But then, over time, I stopped listening so closely, because I knew better. I didn’t let your criticisms keep me down. I broke through the realization that those words, that soundtrack, could damage me and hold me back or become the power that propelled me forward. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love

With this newfound realization and sense of strength, I met the love of my life and married him two years later. My wedding dress was white, a flowing size 16. As I looked in the mirror that morning, staring at every imperfect body part, you visited me again. I saw your face in my mind, taunting me as you had all those years ago, brushing past me in the cafeteria with another cutting comment or icy glare. But rather than shirk back into another corner, another dark bedroom, I quickly dismissed your snubs, quieting that music in my mind. I felt your words begin to dissipate, just like the power they held over me. I raised my chin, looked myself squarely in the face and knew that I was worthy of this man and of his love. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I went on to have four perfect and beautiful children. From the time I saw their tiny, scrunched faces, I vowed to protect them from insults like yours. I vowed to fill their precious hearts so full of love, acceptance and a sense of worth that they’d never have room to consider insulting another perfect and beautiful person. I vowed that my children be taught kindness, mercy and love and that they’d show those qualities in the face of adversity. I never wanted to foster in anyone else the feelings of shame or hopelessness I felt as a kid, and I never wanted to foster the cruelty and disregard for another person so many of you carried in your own hearts. I could have taught my children to be fearful, timid or bitter. That would have given your words even more power. Instead, I taught them to be kind, gentle and courageous. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

Love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons.

I finally broke loose entirely of the hold you had on me several years later when I walked into a Jenny Craig center. I had over 100 pounds to lose, and I was ready. It was a hard battle, at times rendering me frustrated, scared and weary. This time, however, was different. I never retreated to the dark corner of my bedroom. I never gave up. This time I had my husband next to me, cheering me on every step of the way, reminding me of my value. He reminded of the incredibly meaningful life I led, of those four precious little faces staring up at me each day and mimicking my example, learning from my ways. Armed with love and support, I tackled the job ahead of me, learning to fuel my body with nourishing, healthy food and show it love through movement rather than trying to outrun my demons. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

I lost a total of 110 pounds. I became a brand ambassador and spokesperson, featured in TV ads, for a well-known weight loss company. I spoke to a group of several hundred corporate employees about my success and the road that led me there. As I walked up to that stage and looked out at the sea of people, scrutinizing every inch of me, I felt a sense of gratitude toward you. Your words were horrid. They stung far worse than a thousand bee stings. They still sting. But on that day, they no longer held me captive. I was free from the very words that held me hostage for over 30 years. I realized there were many others out there, victims who’d suffered disrespect and scorn like that you’d heaped on me. So many thousands of people are still struggling to realize their own self-worth. I had broken through to the other side, and if I could break through, I knew they could, too. Thank you for calling me Fatso.

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

With passion, empathy and determination to not only continue helping myself but to also help others, I created an online support community: www.runheiferrun.com. The name was born in jest, from a fun-loving friend who called me heifer when I started running. Unlike you, her words were said in loving banter rather than mocking ridicule, and they cajoled and pushed me into working harder toward my health. It worked. I worked. Four years later, I am still running. The Heifer community has grown to thousands of people, all of us doing the hard work to create healthy life habits and sustainable growth. We do this while fighting to keep the torment we suffered in our past just that: the past. We are helping each other go beyond the cruel words of others, to go beyond Fatso. Each of us has a story. Some stories may even be worse, yet we share one thing in common: hatefully scattered words no longer bind us. We’ve broken free, and we realize we have worth beyond insults. We are beautiful and strong no matter our shape. We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Sincerely, Fatso

We are deserving of friendship and love as much as ‘the pretty people.’ We are worthy.

Click to tweet

Author Bio: Melissa Kahn

Melissa Kahn is a Jenny Craig brand ambassador and the proud founder of Run, Heifer, Run! —a fun-loving community of fitness enthusiasts dedicated to commonsense solutions for weight loss and healthy living. Melissa competes in triathlons now, having lost over 100 pounds, or the equivalent of 45 kilos of fear. She has maintained her healthy weight for more than five years—another proud accomplishment considering she's yet to meet a cookie she doesn't like. Melissa lives in Phoenix with her husband Dave (a pilot), four foul-smelling teenagers and two spazzy dogs who remind her that the glass blender is always half-full even when someone forgets the top.