#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!

[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.

[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.

[arson-artist]

selfshippers who don’t identify with their real life body/appearance, who have gender/species dysphoria, who are therian, otherkin, or whatever else…

having a self-insert that doesn’t look like you irl is 100% valid.

your f/o sees you for your true self, not how you appear in real life.

all those “your f/o loves your physical body” posts? they don’t apply if you don’t want them to.

your f/o loves you.

the real version of you that might exist only in your head.

however many kintypes or personas you may have, your f/o recognizes and appreciates them.

your real body means nothing to your f/o, because it’s not you, it’s just the vessel that you are trapped in for the time being.

<3

[stahr-critter]

different

[thesecondhandwoman]

I’ve got another one for you. Can you do Ambessa x NB Reader, where the reader is on their period and is dysphoric. Could you also have Ambessa use her hands as, like a heating pad?

Drink some water and take some time for yourself

-🧚‍♂️

THROUGH THE ACHE

Ambessa x nb!reader

Synopsis: It was that time of the month, and something that you hated the most, desperately wanting to forget that this single part of you clung more than any other, and it was difficult to remove. But even with that, the ache was always numbed by her, Ambessa’s, warmth.

Request: Anon 🤍

The streets of Noxus were colder than usual tonight. A harsh wind swept through the city, carrying the scent of rain and the rumble of distant thunder. Despite the looming storm, the streets remained busy as ever, filled with the clatter of boots against cobblestone and the low hum of conversation in the shadows. Yet, inside the grand hall of Ambessa’s estate, all was still and calm.

You sat on a velvet chaise, draped in a loose robe, with your arms crossed tightly over your stomach. The dull ache that had been with you all day had worsened, now gnawing at you like an unwelcome guest. It wasn’t just the physical pain of your period, though that was certainly bad enough—it was the overwhelming sense of dysphoria that seemed to surge with every passing hour.

Your body, which felt alien to you on the best of days, seemed to betray you even more now. The soft swell of your hips, the warmth that clung to your skin, all of it felt wrong. You weren’t sure why, not tonight, but it made every inch of your body feel like an unbearable weight.

You had tried to distract yourself with work, but it was difficult to focus. The constant twinge of discomfort was too much. You needed to retreat, to hide away, to not be seen—at least until the storm inside you had passed.

Just as you buried your face in your hands, a voice broke through the silence of the room.

“Little one?” Ambessa’s voice was soft, but laced with concern. “You’ve been hiding away in here for hours. Is something wrong?”

You didn’t lift your head to face her, not trusting yourself to keep your composure. The last thing you wanted was to make her worry about you.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you muttered, but even to your ears, the lie was thin. You could hear the soft rustling of her clothing as she approached, the swish of her long gown barely audible over the sound of her boots.

“You’re not fooling me,” she said, her tone warm and understanding. Ambessa was no stranger to observing people, she could read them like an open book. She knelt beside you, her powerful hands gently taking your own, urging you to look up.

Reluctantly, you did.

Her eyes, always sharp and calculating, softened when they met yours. “Talk to me,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the gentlest touch. “What’s going on?”

A quiet sob escaped you, one that you hadn’t been expecting. The tears weren’t just from the physical pain, though that was enough to drive you to the edge. It was everything—the weight of it all—the days when your body felt like a stranger, the times when your dysphoria crept up like a shadow, and you could never quite shake it off.

“I hate it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I hate how I feel. I just want to disappear. Everything feels wrong. It’s not just the pain. It’s…” You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. You had tried to explain it to others in the past, but no one had truly understood. No one had known what it felt like to have your body betray you so completely, to be trapped in a form you didn’t recognize, didn’t want.

Ambessa didn’t speak for a moment, her expression unreadable, but the warmth of her hands on yours never wavered. Then, as if deciding something, she gently pulled you into her embrace, guiding your head to rest against her chest. The scent of her—leather, herbs, and something sweet—wrapped around you, grounding you.

“I know it’s hard, little one,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “I can’t claim to understand what it’s like for you, but I can see the weight you carry. And I, I don’t want you to carry it alone.”

You didn’t say anything, your face pressed into the softness of her clothing, the rhythmic sound of her heartbeat filling your ears. For a long moment, you simply existed there, comforted by her presence.

Then, her hands—those hands that had so often been the instruments of power—shifted. They settled gently over your stomach, warm and firm, a subtle pressure that you hadn’t known you needed until that very moment.

“What…?” you whispered, confused.

“Let me,” she replied softly, her voice thick with care. Her hands stayed there, covering your abdomen in a way that was almost tender, but strong. “It’s not much, but I’ll keep you warm. I’ll help.”

At first, you weren’t sure how it was helping. The ache didn’t disappear, of course; that would be far too easy. But there was something soothing about the heat of her palms against your skin, something calming in the simple gesture. Ambessa wasn’t rushing to fix you—she was simply being with you, offering comfort in a way that didn’t demand anything of you. It was an act of care, pure and without expectation.

The longer her hands stayed there, the more the tension in your body seemed to fade. The sharp ache didn’t feel quite as unbearable. The feeling of being trapped in your own skin began to ease, as though the warmth of her touch was reminding you that you were still whole.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ambessa continued, her voice steady. “You’re allowed to have days like this. You’re allowed to feel however you feel, even if you don’t have the words for it. No one can tell you how to feel, especially not me.”

Her words sank deep into your chest, bringing with them a sense of relief you hadn’t known you needed. You realized that you had been carrying this burden not just in your body, but in your heart too—this constant fear of being a burden to others, of not being understood, of being less than because of how you felt. But Ambessa didn’t see you as less. She saw you as someone worth caring for

You inhaled deeply, the scent of her and the heat of her touch grounding you. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” you confessed, your voice small but steady. “I don’t want to feel broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’re human. And you deserve love, just as you are. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sincerity in her words made your heart flutter, and a wave of warmth spread through your chest. Slowly, carefully, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, finding solace in her strength.

Ambessa didn’t pull away. She held you there, her hands still gently resting on your stomach, her presence enveloping you like a shield from the world outside. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, just breathing together, the warmth between you a silent promise that you would never have to face the world alone, not as long as she was by your side.

When you finally pulled back, your face was streaked with tears, but you didn’t feel ashamed. You felt safe. You felt cared for.

Ambessa smiled softly at you, her eyes warm, her hands slowly pulling away from your stomach. “Do you feel better?”

You nodded, wiping away the last of your tears. “A little,” you said, your voice softer now. “But I think I just needed you to remind me that I’m not alone. That I’m okay. Even when I don’t feel okay.”

“I’ll remind you as often as you need,” Ambessa said, brushing a hand through your hair in a rare show of affection. “You’re more than okay. You’re everything I need, my beloved.”

The words—so simple, so profound—touched you deeply. In that moment, with Ambessa’s arms around you and her warmth still lingering on your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as broken as you had once thought.

You were loved.

And that, for tonight, was enough.

A/N: [immediately starts bawling]

[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.

[drakkonyan]

Let me out this vessel

[earthmoonz]

💖MAX KYLE 💖| style eras✨[click for hq]

in honour of wifey's 2nd birthday & inspired by @armoricaroyalty's amazing wardrobe analysis series, I thought I'd do a little look back at max from early adulthood until where they currently are in the story. (lena’s style has not changed nearly as much lol) costume design is one of my fav aspects of character development and I put a lot of effort into dressing my sim babies so I wanted to yap about it! (yapping under the cut!)

fresh faced! [2015] -  for much of max's adolescence they embrace a pretty standard uniform of graphic tees, skinny jeans + trainers. this doesn't really change for their first year of uni. in their youth they tended to value comfort over style (just autizzy things) but now they're experimenting with colour despite and beginning to emerge from their shell. having two mums means that max's own sexuality isn't a huge deal to them, but navigating the social aspect of it a different story entirely...

alt academic! [2016/17] - having made some friends (hello cleo! - not pictured), max is not immune to the goth-lite trends of the mid tens. they're hitting their stride academically and getting used parties and clubs. this is their first attempt at really exploring their femininity and soon they'll start to wonder if traditional womanhood is truly for them.

soft masc baby! [2017-19] - these years are where the more significant changes in max's style take place. 2017 is a big year for them. just as they begin exploring their gender identity, they meet their first ever girlfriend* (more on that later) and dressing more masc feels safe and exciting! they love how they're able to transform and their gf keeps saying how much hotter they look, but at as time goes on, max struggles with how they see their body under the baggier clothing. they're face with a question 'am I dressing like this for me or because of how others want me to be?'

chaos femme! [2019-20] - having graduated uni and endured their first big break up, max moves to san myshuno eager to reinvent themself. working as strip club bartender they begin dressing femme again, but this time with a sharper, moodier point of view. it's a lot of very high heels, mini skirts and c*nty wigs. almost every pic they post goes viral and they're fast becoming a fixture in san my's queer nightlife scene. this is max's single & chaotic era + this is also when they enter into a short -live but toxic romance with jade. they're working hard, partying harder but of course this lifestyle becomes hard to sustain and it's only a matter of time before it wears max out.

gay casual! [2020-23] - settled in san my, max has moved on from the dollhouse and found a literal home at the 'old salt bar' - an lgbtq hotspot both day and night. they've got a solid group of friends and are truly doing well for what feels like the first time in years. naturally their clothing returns to a brighter colour palette and this is where see them fall into their usual style of cropped tops, baggy trousers and chunky trainers. max's gender expression has more fluidity now and they start experimenting with a more fun, artsy style of make up with brightly dyed hair to match. it's clear now that max tends to mirror the environment they're in and it's clear that they're finally in an environment that feels right for them. unfortunately, they've little idea about the storm heading their way.

flux! [2023-] - this is the max we meet at wifey's beginning. they're in throes of grief but trying to bury it deep. their gender expression remains fluid but their overall style becomes less significant as more pressing matters take hold. this version of max is headed down a darkening path and when out in the world, they're more likely to dress to project confidence and intimidation which to them means a moodier colour palette. only time will tell if they're able to reconcile the innocence of their old self with the truth of their current one...

[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

[brainz4sale]

trans masc dysphoria tip!! 🏳️‍⚧️

✨ ROSEMARY WATER / COCONUT OIL ✨

helps to grow and thicken bodyhair :3

you can buy it cheap or just make it yourself! It’s not a gendered product and easily accessible <3 for me personally it works wonders when I apply it all over me every few days :3 I also recommend eye brow brushes to temporarily dye facial hair! just make sure to find the right tone and not stain your face

[xiaokuer-schmetterling]

for my transmasc peeps !!!

and for anyone else who is interested in chest-flesh-supportive undergarments lol

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my review: i have personally used the gc2b binder--i didn't wind up liking it for myself because of the way the compression interacted with my sensory issues (and the heat. omg i was so sweaty in the summer hahaha) but also. i am very sensitive to fabric textures and prefer loose clothing and ngl don't even wear bras at all anymore so it really depends on the interactions between your dysphoria vs your dysmorphia vs your potential sensory objections!

and i'm excited by the new tape product (which btw is $14 per roll at time of posting) so i'm gonna check that out when i can!!!

ps! if you have financial struggles or barriers to gender affirming healthcare that would prescribe a binder for you--there is a donation program with partner organizations in 42 usa states. here's the link! and although this company is based in the usa, they have international partners in many countries!

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spoiler: the answer is yes

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PSA: list of resources if you are in an immediate mental health crisis (just checked, soz, this list is specific to usa, canada, uk, new zealand)--i will keep looking into more widely-available international resources

edit: this support group available online to ANYONE, ANYWHERE (with the obvs limitation of being hosted in english)

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end post

[worthless-misery]

I want to crawl out of my gross, disgusting skin...

[flowerakatsuka]

some small kuroba updates : their pronouns are now they / he and i also knocked their tits clean off with that bat. 😔 ( more serious explanation for the change under the cut. tw for mentions of gender dysphoria. )

something i was thinking a lot about while i was away was kuroba's experience with gender and how they felt about their body. a major source of his dysphoria is his chest and i always imagined he'd get top surgery at some point in his life, so i think it makes more sense for him to get it done sooner rather than later.

now, kuroba had their top surgery done not too long after they graduated college, thinking it was better to handle it before having to shift their focus mainly on working at their family's flower shop. therefore, any previously drawn boob jumpscares have been retconned so that kuroba mainly sleeps in just their bottoms whenever they opt to not wear a tank top to bed.

the pronoun change was inevitable, i could feel it in my bones.

[outletcrash]

something something jesus's wound from the holy lance looks like top surgery