So I see y'all bringing up fat fetishists. What are your thoughts if it is between two consenting (and enthusiastic) adults, not one-sided, and there is no fatphobia involved? My partner and I are both fat fetishists, but at the same time, very very very much into fat activism, fat fashion, etc. We realize one-sidedness and fatphobia are common problems when dealing with many fat fetishists, but is there anything wrong with what we are?
To avoid a war of 1000 years with certain groups, I will just say that we will always support the fat person or fat persons involved in a fetish. And we will not support a person with skinny privilege involved in such fetish.
aries: sherlock taurus: amigo gemini: why so serious cancer: replay leo: ring ding dong virgo: hello libra: 1000 years always by your side
scorpio: lucifer sagittarius: love like oxygen capricorn: everybody aquarius: dream girl pisces: green rain
The loneliness nestled beneath your breast never left you, though you pretended to have been abandoned by it when friend flock to your side. You still feel the sadness dripping down the back of your throat when she reprimands you like she cares, when he smiles at you and shares with you like he couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else. Even when they act as if you are the glue keeping them together, you still feel the crushing uselessness curling in your abdomen, where it has been for years. You have always known it was there, but you have never done anything with it.
Jubilee is the greatest friend that you have ever had within only a few days of meeting her. She is bright, sunshine, and even when you are gloomy and dark, she drags it out of you like it comes naturally to her. Perhaps it does. You never talk about your backgrounds, leaving a blank slate for each other to grow on, instead of casting a life that neither of you seemed to like living. She educates you, slowly, on how to be a person again.
Kurt smiles and you are swallowed by the sun, bright and warm and all you ever wanted. He is quiet and naive, but boisterous and wise, and you melt in tri-fingered hands that fascinate you, but nothing is so interesting as when he speaks, telling stories and plans and whatever, to fill the silences. He never minds your vacant silence, unlike so many of the others who wish you would just talk, for once, instead of being the quiet, angry little thing that you are. You feel yourself falling for him, and even though you know you can fly, you go into a free fall whenever his name is mentioned, soft smile marking your face.
The other… X-Men, they do not get it. Even though she wasn’t there, Jubilee takes everything you or Kurt explain about the battle at face value, and though you fought Kurt with a vengeance, she forgives you. Kurt forgives you - well, that’s not quite true. Kurt told you there was nothing to forgive. You do not forgive yourself. Someone has to keep you accountable, right?
At first, you thought Summers was still treating you like the enemy, and your wings unfurled behind you, splayed wide in all of their healed glory, but a tail wrapped around your wrist. You looked down at it, distracted, and Kurt explained, slowly and softly, that it was just the way Summers was. You might have fought Scott if Kurt hadn’t been there, and you add one more thing to your mental tally of things he will forgive you for. You still don’t forgive yourself.
He is a virtuoso with the way he plays you like a violin, but it not unkind, and you find yourself not minding. With words, he paints a version of you that is kind, that follows the name they gave you rather than the one your father did, he paints you as forgivable. Your name is Warren, which has always spoken of violence to you in a way that you cannot scrub from your self imagery. Kurt, one day, tells you what the German Warren means, and you choke on your own breath, a hand on your own chest. Protector.
You dream of him. Not of Kurt, though he is no stranger to your subconscious either, but of Apocalypse. You can still feel his residue sticking to the edges of your mind and it paints all of your insides, makes you sick with him until your crouched over a toilet, and nothing comes out. Your hair, longer now, falls in your face, and the body length mirror on the back of the bathroom door betrays you, showing you a sickly angel who needs someone to take care of him. You look back down at the toilet and wait to be sick, waiting for a long time before getting up off of aching knees and almost crawling back to bed.
In the morning, Kurt takes one glance at you and guides you back into your bedroom, settling you back into bed. You grasp his hand without actively thinking about it, once you settle in, and he seems to know more about what you want, what you need, than you ever do. He crawls into bed with you, curling his back against your front, and his tail comes out and wraps around your wrist, a protection you find yourself craving whenever he is more than a few feet from you. You find yourself craving a great many things about Kurt, but you do not question it. Maybe this is how friends feel. You do not feel like this about Jubilee. You still don’t question it.
You rarely fight with Kurt loudly. You do not have it in you anymore, and he has never had it in him. You fight quietly, and never about things that are about anything that makes any kind of sense. He wants you to forgive yourself, though he doesn’t say it in so many words. You want him to believe in himself, in his own beauty and grace, and you don’t say it in so many words either. It feels, always, as if you are dancing around the thought of each other, and there is a wall there you want to fly over, that he wants to teleport around, but nothing changes.
Forgiveness never comes. But, your hatred gets softer with years of him beside you. Maybe forgiveness does come, but you do not recognize it amongst years of love. Maybe it is simply there.