#body dysphoria tw

[mmmdrop]

i go back and forth back and forth about top surgery bc i’m so anxious about regretting it (as if i haven’t been trying to find ways to hide them ever since they grew) bc i can’t even get a tattoo without having an occasional freak out. and also any surgery/procedure just scares the hell out of me in general. but they genuinely feel like they’re NOT supposed to be there it’s like having someone else’s body parts attached to me it’s such a fucking bizarre feeling. like theyre just not supposed to be there they don’t feel like they’re mine…… and i have such a high risk of breast cancer and i never self-check because i can’t bring myself to touch them because they make me so uncomfortable like touching them makes me feel sick…….. and then i’m like idk maybe i’m being dramatic and i just need to suck it up 🤪 genuinely they will probably end up killing me tho if something doesn’t change like i haven’t checked myself for 10 years at this point

[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.

[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.

[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.

[riverpatel]

what are they confident about? // talk about their moral alignment.

River is actually pretty confident with their body. It took a lot of work and introspection to get there, however. They still struggle with body image and some dysphoria from time to time but mostly they have grown to love their body and are very comfortable showing it off to the world. The one insecurity being their insulin pump, which they find extremely unsexy and embarrassing despite it being something that actively keeps them alive. Everything else about themselves is still a work in progress.

-

"Chaotic good, all the way. When Stevie Knicks belted out 'You can go your own way' with Fleetwood Mac, I absorbed it and took it quite personal, baby. My motto." River is the prime example of do no harm but take no shit. They have always forged their own path in the world and have been extremely lucky to have people like Bowie, Fox, and Trix that have gone on it with them along with others they've collected on the way. They always try to go out of their way to help others in any way they can, they stand up to people who are treating others badly, and are always willing to share their opinion. River follows their own heart and it doesn't always line up with society's moral standards, but it is never inherently bad or harmful.

[runawaybouqet]

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS A NORMAL FUCKIN BODY,

[darkmasterkattsvault]

Southern Joss

Joss has a very interesting relationship with his body, in that, despite his dysphoria, he has no actual desire to transition in any form. He likes his body and is content in the ways he battles dysphoria.

As a child/teenager, his biggest source of dysphoria was his voice. He worked with a vocal coach to train his voice to be deeper and over the years, it’s become nearly natural for his voice to be lower.

His hair is actually his favorite part of his body and he leaves it long. He tried cutting it short and spent the next year or more dealing with not feeling remotely like himself. It hasn’t been cut above his shoulders since and he often keeps it pulled back and usually braided.

Joss binds more often than he packs. He binds with KT tape, as he can still do his job without worry of damaging his body. It also allows him to bind for infinitely longer. He doesn’t always bind. There are even month long stretches where he feels no need to do so.

Packing is something he does less often, just because he experiences far less bottom dysphoria than top. His bottom dysphoria is primarily managed via birth control, as his biggest trigger for his bottom dysphoria is menstruation. He plans to eventually have that surgically taken care of, but admits it’s not a priority at the moment.

In new places, it’s far more common that he will both pack and bind, in case someone asks for his ID for any reason. It also makes situations involving public restrooms slightly easier, though he often avoids such as a general rule.

.

So, Joss will refer to women in various ways.

First name only. Usually someone he’s close to and relatively close in age to.

Miss, first name optional. Someone he’s either being sweet to or someone near his age that he’s not too familiar with.

Ma'am. Someone who is older than him by a decent amount. OR someone he’s uncomfortable around.

He often physically struggles to call someone older than him by their first name, even when comfortable around them. Someone his parents’ age is possible if he’s comfortable enough, whereas anyone who could be a grandparent to him is nearly impossible.

He also never calls his parents by their names without it being a reference to the fact he’s their son.

His manners genuinely override any sort of social norms.

.

Joss loves his cat but has no respect for her, or so he jokes. Claims it’s a mutual understanding that they simply do not respect each other.

Joss holds the utmost respect for his horse. Like, in terms of respect, it’s his mama and daddy, his horse, then everybody else. As it should be.

Being told he respects you more than he respects his horse is a great privilege. It also implies that he fears you, at least a little.

If he says he has less respect for you than he does his cat, you’re absolutely fucked. Actually, he probably just uses the phrase “With all due respect” with you, because he’s too nice to admit that the respect due is zero. But he definitely tells people he respects his cat more than he respects you.

.

Joss got the guitar he still plays today when he was sixteen. He’s kept it in the same hard case ever since.

The guitar itself, while rough around the edges still plays well and outside of having to re-tune it after not playing it for a while, it’s good. He takes good care of it, for sure.

The case, however, is likely being held together with stickers and maybe some duct tape that then got stickered over. He’s redone the inside, to keep his guitar from taking on unnecessary damage, but the outside of the case is beat to hell and back.

There’s sticker bombing and then there’s whatever he’s done to this guitar case. He didn’t even mean to do it, but over the years his family has just bought him more and more stickers and until the case stops doing what it’s supposed to it’s unlikely that Joss will ever stop.

[darkmasterkattsvault-arc]

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just don’t want this body sometimes, okay? I don’t even want a body, much less this one.” Dysphoria days were rare, but when they did happen they were overwhelming for Kit. They were on birth control entirely to prevent bottom dysphoria but around the time it needed changing they got really messed up as their body readjusted. And to make it worse, they’d been unable to bind with tape, like they normally did, because they’d run out and their order wouldn’t be in for a few days. Which meant baggy clothes and hoping things eased off.

[8ug8ear]

my body dysphoria is a big rube goldberg machine of things i cant change that ends with a giant hammer that smacks me in the skull every night

[antelabbitsghost]

local bad bitch afraid of his emotions and his body

[nicambi]

any of y’all get that gender mood where you think you make a hot guy but an ugly girl and you swing back and forth thinking that any time you look in a mirror or that just me

[aroace-mako]

being an afab enby is like,,,so wild

because since i don’t specifically identify with masculinity im just vibing with my body like 70% of the time

but for that other 30% i’ll look down at my chest and be like HATE HATE HATE

[ohhoneato]

My girlfriend actually helped me with my body dysphoria and I've calmed down since my last posts. I now, once again, feel funky fresh.

She helped me make a makeshift binder with a cloth she uses as a bra sometimes and an old bra I gave her because I grew out of it.

[darkmasterkattsvault-arc]

Joss has a very interesting relationship with his body, in that, despite his dysphoria, he has no actual desire to transition in any form. He likes his body and is content in the ways he battles dysphoria.

As a child/teenager, his biggest source of dysphoria was his voice. He worked with a vocal coach to train his voice to be deeper and over the years, it's become nearly natural for his voice to be lower.

His hair is actually his favorite part of his body and he leaves it long. He tried cutting it short and spent the next year or more dealing with not feeling remotely like himself. It hasn't been cut above his shoulders since and he often keeps it pulled back and usually braided.

Joss binds more often than he packs. He binds with KT tape, as he can still do his job without worry of damaging his body. It also allows him to bind for infinitely longer. He doesn't always bind. There are even month long stretches where he feels no need to do so.

Packing is something he does less often, just because he experiences far less bottom dysphoria than top. His bottom dysphoria is primarily managed via birth control, as his biggest trigger for his bottom dysphoria is menstruation. He plans to eventually have that surgically taken care of, but admits it's not a priority at the moment.

In new places, it's far more common that he will both pack and bind, in case someone asks for his ID for any reason. It also makes situations involving public restrooms slightly easier, though he often avoids such as a general rule.

[infectedmetaphysic]

Just feeling really shitty that I’ll never actually have a body I don’t hate for one reason or another.