#body dysphoria tw

[picturejasper20]

Reading the fic ¨Second Chances and the Days that Follow¨ has made me think about the body dysphoria and identity crisis that Dan is likely going to go through post AGIT. I mean, think about it, he hasn't had a human body for more than a decade so he has to get used to that again. Remembering that he has to eat, sleep, etc and take care of himself.

In addition to this, his new body looks almost just like how he looked before he became Phantom. He is Danny but at the same time he isn't. He shares Danny's memories but he doesn't live the same life that he does nor has the same social circle. It would be like feeling you are just a clone of yourself, someone who doesn't belong in this timeline.

I wonder if Dan could get jealous about how Danny has everything while he has lost it all, some things that were out of his control (his family and friends, his creation). It would be very frustrating, specially because he doesn't know who to fully put the blame on his family and friends' death from his timeline.

[whatcha-thinkin]

Tell your stories in the tags, if you want to share!

[ofdualism]

@quirkbeat

It was one of those godforsaken days where Tomura woke from his slumber with absolute disgust with himself. He should have slept with his bandages on so he didn't feel his damn breasts when he sat up. A low groan left him, eyes looking down at his shirt, frowning even more at the 'lumps' that was there underneath his shirt. Sometimes he didn't care about them and could ignore them, but today was not one of those days.

He stood from the old ripped up couch that was in his room. Bare feet hitting the cold wood floor underneath him. The floor boards creaking at every step he took. His hands moved down to the hem of his shirt, grasping it and pulling it over his head. It was time to put bandages around his chest again. One hand dropped the shirt on the floor while the other hand moved to start scratching at his neck. The itchiness coming on early in the morning and his dysphoria probably made the want to scratch his skin off worse.

He walked over to his bag to retrieve more bandages to wrap around his chest. But when he looked in the bag, he couldn't find any. He thrashed around inside the bag, frantic to find them but he came up empty handed. He shouldn't have thrown the old ones he was wearing out. Damnit!

His breathing got a little bit heavier as he started to thrash around the room, not caring to be quiet. They had to be here! He surely didn't use the last of them a few weeks ago did he? He only threw them out due to them getting too disgusting to wear but he was sure he had more!

His right hand dug more into his flesh, feeling the warmth of his blood start to slowly trickle out. He didn't care though, actually it was the only comfort he was getting right now. Otherwise he might turn the entire hideout to dust.

He threw things off the shelves with his free hand, opening drawers of a broken dresser to see if they were in there. His left hand grabbing and throwing anything that wasn't the bandages. He was so in distress that he didn't hear the creak of the door behind him opening. It was only when he heard his last name being yelled, that Tomura stopped. At least thrashing around but his right hand kept digging into his neck.

He slowly turned his head to look behind him. Red eyes glaring at whoever the fuck was at his door. But once he saw it was just Dabi, his glare became a little less deadly. Since Dabi was one of the select few that knew he was transgender, he fully turned his body to face him, not caring he was shirtless. If Dabi hadn't had known though, he would have kept his back facing him.

"What do you want?!" It was a question but he was nearly yelling, his voice filled with irritation.

[punk-sharkz-zero]

i hate talking about dysphoria with cis ppl because they immediately clock it as body dysmorphia, and only as body dysmorphia. (i say only bc some trans ppl can and do experience both)

i can't talk about how i hate how my thighs make me feel/look feminine because they always say "but you look fine!" or "i think you look amazing!" or "but you should love them!"

and it's so hard to describe dysphoria, especially to ppl who don't experience it, or who don't want to understand it isn't dysmorphia

and no matter how hard you try to explain they always try to make you love this body you have because "you should love yourself as you are!"

but i do love myself. but not quite exactly how i am. i love what i know I can be. i love knowing that one day i'll have top surgery scars i can trace with my fingers and a scratchy beard from T. i love knowing that I can eventually do my silly little effeminate gestures without hating how it makes me look. i love knowing that eventually i can look in a mirror and grin at the man i've become.

but that's not right now. i may cry a little when a shirt doesn't fit the way it should, but i don't hate the body that makes it that way. I may feel a pit in my stomach when I realize the way that i'm standing makes me look girly, but i don't hate that i'm standing that way.

i don't hate that i used to be a girl but i hate when people still think i am.

i don't hate my body, i just hate how it isn't what it's supposed to be quite yet. could that make any sense to the cis folks reading this?

I am trans and I love my body, just sometimes it doesn't love me back. and one day it will.

[bonmotx]

record 5: The milk calcified the useless lump in her heart.

Something has broken. It’s a loud noise. The world is a blur in her head. It’s all so loud. It’s all so quiet.

Something has broken. It’s a loud noise. Someone is crying. There’s a lukewarm sugar in her brain. 

Something has broken. The world is splintered around her.

Something has broken. Someone is crying.

“My child… my child…”

A dog is barking.

“My wife… she doesn’t remember…”

All the evil things in the world speak. All the dismissed things in the world speak at once, yet she can hear every voice as clear as glass.

Her fingers ache.

Someone too depressed to go to work wails. The prostitute wails. The soldier on the wrong side wails. A child born blind wails.  Every misfortunate soul screams and cries out into the world, Their screaming is thundering, but their surrender is deafening.

Ah. Is that the point?

All these people. These beings. Lost in an empty space. It almost tastes like milk-

Oh. That’s what happened.

She fell.

There was a scream. There was not enough time to respond. The Master is the clearest threat to the one who seeks to keep his position as the final god of this world.

A single lunge. A single swipe.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra stood on the Shadow Border.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra fell off of the Shadow Border.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra reached out her hand.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra locked eyes with her murderer.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra and The Final God’s gaze met.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra reached out her hand.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra plunged into the milk sea.

Everything in the milk sea at the origin of the universe was colorless and inscrutable. The people sang, uncountable. Their songs were filled with grief and rage and yet, their nonexistent emotions were buried away, because they weren’t important. This empty white space was where everything deemed not right for the world was placed. All at once, she was swallowed and embraced by that miserable nothingness.

Perhaps it was fitting that she fell here.

...everyone would be okay…

...so maybe…

She could just…

...close her eyes for a moment…

…and listen to the singing of the sea.

...no. 

...this sea isn’t singing.

It’s screaming, like a child taking its first breath.

The wails become a harmony. Something understandable. The lost flowers, the scattered arms of eaten gods. Every lost life exists here- yet that’s not right.

It wasn’t lost.

It was put here.

It was killed.

It was sacrificed so that a perfect world may exist. It was sacrificed for one person’s own ambitions. Everything here was murdered and put together into one being, and they all occupied this space combined together, individuality lost into the sea. 

That person put them here. Put everything here he didn’t want to look at. This place was made up of everything ungainly and unsightly, everything deemed defective. This sea of sacrifice, of suffering, where she now was placed.

It made her angry.

Who was he to choose? Who was that blue eyed god to choose? (Eyes were more grey, but they’re cold as ice.) Why does this blood that drips from her mouth feel so cold? (The ice killed her. It has taken root in her.) All this screaming has become a beautifully frigid noise, sliced through violin strings, a broken piano. 

(The funeral song of rage and grief played as the Master of Chaldea dies not from a dramatic action but because her suit failed and she froze to death.)

(A death devoid of purpose or meaning, not a murder or a suicide or anything with intent. Just an empty, sad accident.)

Who was he to choose? Who were they to choose?

Ah. The death of her parents, too, was a sacrifice, chosen by her, and her own mortality has become a sacrifice for her life to continue. Every life is just a grain of sand on the scales of a selfish being that wants to mold the word into their shape. Everything has been reduced to nothing but this, this idea of perfection that spat in the face of those who walked and talked and breathed and lived, lived, lived-

It’s all so obvious. 

(Something calcifies in her chest.)

All of this, all of this here, from the first god who reached a hand to a lost son, to the most very recent victims of the cycle, and everyone and everything in between, can all fall under the label of sacrifice.

And that… was something she could reach out to.

Sophia nearly laughed. 

She could grab it, and use it like she was used.

No human could survive this.

But it was fine.

Because she finally realized [                                                        ]-

The world outside continued for the seconds that passed. There was not enough time to respond with anything of value.

But those seconds resulted in something odd.

It was a cough, wet and choking.

The final god’s Arjuna stomach bulges out. Something swallowed up like any other sacrifice presses up to the surface and cuts its way out of him, falling to the ground in a duet with another sickeningly wet noise.

A piece of metal, ragged like a ripped piece of paper, not even a proper blade, a swan song in a solid form.

Something crawls from the milk. 

She could never know the reactions to this rebirth, but she knows that feathers drip from her body like puss, swollen under her skin and pushing through like something unnatural. Her tongue can feel something pushing from her gums before it pierces through, a sudden relief from the pressure that had been mounting. Her hands are twisting. Webbing and patches of fur make her fingers contort into new and fascinating shapes. Yet even as she cannot breathe, and her body erupts into a more violent change with each ragged cough, she grins at a pain she can finally, finally, control.

Sophia Vogel-Westenra tries to grab her chest as she hacks something up, something solid and squirming in her throat, blocking the air from her lungs, and she can’t breathe. It hangs from her mouth and the swirling blur of the lack of air makes her grab it and rip, and she can feel something wet drip from the corner of her mouth as she takes in a pure breath of oxygen and ozone and iron, and when she looks down-

Her own heart has fallen onto the ground, twitching and pulsing as it changes forms around the single, unchanging patch of flesh, where a rune is dug in like a brand. It is still because it is bone and calcified flesh, and without thinking, trembling hands reach out to it.

Every finger is different, and the sharpest two take the firm, boney thing in-between them.

They ask what it felt like. It was pain. It was clarity. It was the way the shards of shattered bone dug into her convulsing hands.

She screamed.

It felt wonderful.

[basaaragon]

Bas had grown up feeling uncomfortable with people randomly flirting with him. He had always hated being the sole attention of one person and for that person to pick up the details about himself that he absolutely hated. It wasn't until he could actually formulate those feelings did he understand why he felt like that. It carried through to adulthood, that feeling of ignoring when people were flirting or trying to flirt with him. He wasn't one of those people that went out and dated—mostly because he had no time. One day, when his life was where he wanted it to be, he'd prioritize a relationship. Even if everyone said that finding love was one of those things that people said happened whenever you least expected it—Bas never really believed that.

"That I'd be at Yale or Harvard or Columbia for law school and not back in Aurora Bay." He didn't know what he was supposed to say about being back here. Bas always liked the idea of coming back to Aurora Bay one day, but not like this. "I wanted to come back on my own terms," he shrugged. "But the law school here is just fine." Bas didn't always need to go to the best school. "I was hoping that I'd get into either civil or immigration. I'd prefer immigration I think, but I'm still not sure." He looked at her. "What about you? What do you do?"

"Perfect. I guess I could really use some company." Despite being busy with work, sometimes he really wanted a friend or just someone to hang out with every so often just so he wasn't always stressed about something or another. He ordered himself another drink and turned to her to get her drink order. She seemed confident in his two left feet so he could only laugh. "I have zero coordination."

ever since she was young, isla had gotten a certain amount of attention from men. it was seemingly inevitable considering she was from a very prominent family, objectively fell perfectly into the beauty standards, and was taught to move with elegance throughout the world. it was only as she got older that she knew how to spin that attention into gold. and so, when her games weren't not working but working out differently than she expected, isla felt something she hardly felt: out of her depth.

"what did you imagine your future would be like then?" she asked, chin resting against two fingers as she listened. a small smile followed his words. it was a world she knew well, thanks to her father. "ambitious." the purr in her voice slowly coming back. "what kind of law are you looking to get in to?"

her hand pushed back some of the hair that had sprung loose from their meticulous style, glittered nails shining under the blue lights of the club. "I'd love a drink." her words smooth like silk. another smirk found its way back to her face at his declaration. "I'm sure you'd surprise yourself if you tried but duly noted. we can just talk." her head cocked to the side, stormy eyes studying him.

[uncanny-tranny]

The whole "breasts shouldn't be politicized because the primary purpose of breasts is to feed babies!" can be a fine jumping-off point, but I really wish people thought deeper than that when we talk about the ways in which bodies are politicized and restricted.

Like, why's it that when we talk about breasts, they must have some Higher Purpose? It's true that breasts aren't inherently sexual, but they aren't valuable solely because they can potentially feed a baby. A human body doesn't have to serve a Higher Purpose in order for it to not be legislated against or policed, and I just wish people would remember it isn't always about babies, about other people, about anything else other than the people who have that body.

[queerism1969]

[dr-frankenstein-in-a-maid-outfit]

I don’t really know where to put this, but the fact I am a flesh and blood organism instead of a steel machine is bothering me to the point of feeling like dysphoria. Like, I crave in equal parts to be perceived as a girl and perceived as a robot. I want to be able to take myself apart and put myself back together, or swap out parts based on need. Or have to charge myself. Do maintenance checks. That sort of thing.

Honestly this has me feeling super alone right now and any sort of community that has a similar vibe please reach out.

[elegancemultimuse]

"It is just a silly mistake I made when I was young." Juliette said as there was a lot of stuff she would have gone back and done differently. There was more to life than being worried about what you would look like on camera. It took her far too many years to figure that out. "I am comfortable with who I am now but back then I needed the attention."

“I get it. Being a host and a sugar baby had it’s perks.” He holds out the bottle of soda. “I say live well now. Who cares? You’re gorgeous in any shape and form. Fuck whoever tells you otherwise. I get it though, I had to have abs the whole time I was a host. You know how hard it is to have visible abs? You gotta practically starve yourself..”

[drakkonyan]

Let me out this vessel

[zinkysworld]

A Glisten and Twisted Glisten redesign! by yours truly Voice claim idea: James from Pokemon?????

○ I think Glisten would be pan, just cause he gives the vibes he just doesn't mind. If someone loves him, that's plenty enough reason to fulfil their wishes of being with him! ○ Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss - "...I saw you almost walk into a wall.” "Tch.. you're seeing things.“ - "It's simple really! I've got a morning routine." "What's the morning routine?" "...A secret." - And just look at him, he's so girlboss <3 ○ He likes being the centre of attention, and thinks he's a lot better than everyone else. He does know he's not perfect, and is upset by that, but he's the closest to perfection than anyone else!! So he's content. (in his opinion) ○ I don't ship him with anyone in particular? He'd be so, so silly in a ship, but I've looked at all the pairings and nothing's clicking :( ○ All dialogue between him and Rodger on the wiki seem like sibling bickering! I didn't make them full brothers because they look a little too not-alike. For some backup, he seems like a good uncle to Toodles in the dialogue too! ○ And poor, poor little guy has a big fear of being forgotten or abandoned by anyone and everyone. He's not one for alone time.

○ Twisted Glisten is in a lot of constant pain - he's still sentient, so he's not having a good time. ○ The corset around his waist, normally at a normal, healthy (enough) tightness, has been pulled to strangle him and hide his broken torso. He has the same torso as his original with all the ichor and nasty ouch stuff. He also tends to hide his face in his hands, now hating when people look at him. ○ He wants other toons to stay with him despite the hatred of being seen, and so he doesn't actively seek out attention like he used to. If someone willingly comes up to him, it means they don't find him disgusting, so he lets them stay and asks them to do just that. ○ Many things can cause a breakdown for him. Whether it be someone he trusted, like a toon by his side, at risk of leaving him forever, or just general disgusted stares at him. His mental state is worse than his physical one.

I tried my best to make him look a lot less 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎, and I think I succeeded? He looks like he'd flirt sometimes, but not shift lock behind you in a round, yk? Anyways, this was all on one canvas that took about 10 hours (holy moly), and I hope to do everyone in the cast soon! Anyways, it's 2am, goodnight ✨

Update: Above is a lazily updated ver, and also, I ship jewellery box now, SO BITCHES!!!! YAY!!! congratulations on getting bitches glisten u deserve it

[almightyhamslice]

Syringeon redesign!! FINALLY the last of the main characters (until Banban 8 comes out n I have to redesign the new silly guy and possibly Brushista)!!! He is a disgusting and disturbing worm but he wishes people didnt think he was disgusting and scary because he thinks he'd be a good parent!! (he's... not really...) He was conceptualized as a nurse mascot named "Fuchsia" but was "remodeled" when the scientists considered that he had no appeal to children, so they stopped caring to make him presentable to the public & modified him based on what traits would be useful to them.

"Fuchsia" was created with the DNA of a human woman and a hammerhead worm, though his four arms are from neither component, simply sculpted onto him when he was an inert clay figure. He is transgender and despises being viewed as a woman and has pretty severe body dysphoria that was only worsened by the scientists' modifications-- he always knew "Fuchsia" wasn't who he wanted to be, but the scientists and marketing department didn't know or really care about that. Several walls do display Syringeon's new name and appearance, but upper floors' gift shops still sell merchandise of "nusre Fuchsia" listed next to Slow Seline and Queen Bouncelia.

Comparison between Syringeon's original form and his new form. The scientists sought to make him a mechanized surgeon who could be expendable & care for the other mascots without fear of death, so he was made physically larger to effectively restrain the others. His original hands were all amputated to be replaced with various metal tools. He despairs over the loss because now he cannot use his hands to feel things. His mask is actually the same as it was pre-operation, he's not obligated to wear it anymore but he prefers to keep it on out of comfort.

Syringeon has a very strange complex about parenthood. He wants to be a parent and understands how to create subcases, but prefers to create them self destructively. He grafts them from his own flesh, injecting clay and givanium into his body and waiting a while for the new creatures to burst out of his stomach, like larval xenomorphs almost. It hurts a lot and he does it compulsively, he has no regard for his physical safety or wellness due to how his so-called caretakers treated him as expendable. The scar going down his stomach is permanent, the wound has been reopened and torn so many times the only thing keeping it together is his stitches.

He is cruel to his offspring in a similar way to how the scientists were cruel to him. He discards them once they aren't "cute" and creates new ones in their place. He has only one child he consistently cares for and loves unconditionally: Senengeon.

That was a lot and it was much heavier than usual!!! I overthought the fuck out of Syringeon because I designed him during a bout of dysphoria n that shaped a lot of how he is!! I hope you like him and aren't completely offput?? I mean ofc it's horror art but, you know what I mean!

[worthless-misery]

Dear diary...

I wish I could just get rid of this body.

It's just disgusting.

I just want to disappear.

[lonelyandpretty]

i need to be air with a personality.

[jeweledstone]

VENT MEMES

VENT MEMES

VENT MEMES