#body insecurity

[underoospeterparker]

Ahhh I luv your work! Can you pls do a plus sized reader x finnick where reader is a bit self conscious due to maybe something another victor said or how the capitol people were

thank you!! and thanks for requesting <3 i love this so so so so so so much!

victor!finnick odair x plus sized!victor!fem!reader

tw: body insecurity!! don't read if you are uncomfortable please

"Is something wrong?" Finnick said, his voice deep and uncharacteristically quiet. His face looked raw as he stared at you, silently pleading with you to tell him something. Anything.

You forced a smile. "Nothing's wrong," you replied, averting your eyes from his heavy gaze and focusing on the mirror in front of you.

They were right, you thought. You were ugly. Too ugly to be with Finnick, anyway. He was skinny where you were curvy, he had muscles where you had rolls of fat. He had a pretty face and you had a chubby one. You were nothing special.

He tilted his head, unbelieving. "Honey," he murmured. "Please."

The elevator doors opened and you stepped out, away from him and his piercing look. You glanced back, and the hurt on his face was evident as you turned around again. "There's nothing wrong," you whispered.

Later, you lay face down on your bed, head shoved into your pillow. Your tears were silent, but even if they were loud, they would have been muffled anyway.

You heard a knock on the door. Finnick. "Can I come in?" he asked, too good for his own good.

Knowing he wouldn't stop until he found out what was wrong, you relented, a sigh so heavy he could hear it from outside the room.

He pushed open the door softly, his head peeking out from behind the frame. Spotting you on the bed, he immediately crouched down by your side, pulling you to face him with ease.

Finnick's gaze softened at the tear tracks on your face. "Oh, sweetheart," he crooned, his voice oozing with honey. "You gotta tell me what's wrong."

He cupped your cheeks in his warm palms, nothing in his eyes but care and concern. "I don't know," you whimpered, and his heart shattered. "They were just-"

His face hardened, his body becoming almost unresponsive except for the occasional thumbing away of your tears. "They? Who's they, honey?"

You sobbed, and he climbed into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around you. "It's okay," he cooed, "you're okay, baby."

Once you felt okay to speak, he pulled away from you, just slightly. "Some of the victors," you said, hesitating slightly. He motioned for you to keep going. "They were telling me awful things. About how I didn't deserve you. How I was fat, and ugly, and-"

Finnick cut you off with a finger to your lips. "And you believed them?" he asked, incredulous. "Honey, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tightening his hold around you. "You're absolutely gorgeous, alright? Just the way you are."

"Really?" you murmured, your voice barely audible.

"Really. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll kill them myself."

You giggled wetly, pressing your face into his chest. "By the way," he said, "I'm just curious. Who said this to you?"

"I'm not sure," you admitted, wiping the remaining tears away from your cheeks. "I think they were the two from District Three. Why?"

He smiled. "Just wondering."

[balkanradfem]

Looking back at past insecurities

So as you all know, I am today very wise and mature woman; I say smart things, and I have good opinions. However, there was a time when I was but a wee child, with no insight, but I still had opinions. And insecurities, like all female children, I was worried about my looks.

One of the things I was upset about, was the appearance of my legs. Women's legs were shown in media as the main attraction back in the early 90s, when I was consuming movies and cartoons. Even in animation, a signal that a beautiful woman was behind the corner, was a dainty, curvy leg being shown from behind the wall, to distract and lure an unsuspecting character. My leg was not curvy or dainty. My legs looked muscular. They were also very hairy. I would look at them and feel like maybe I am not a girl enough, maybe I got too many traits passed down from my father, and now I didn't look like a girl, and I wouldn't count as one, and I could never pass a successful female cartoon character, a thing that was very important back in the day.

It's also, when you're a teen, you're convinced that any visual flaw you have is the reason why nobody will ever love you. It's funny now, but when you're 14 it feels real. So I believed I would be left behind by the world, because my legs were so unsightly and I shouldn't ever allow anyone to look at them, the disgrace. The shame.

I have since lived a fair bit of my life, and found that my legs, not only look muscular, they're very strong. They give me immensely good balance, because my feet are also large, and my thighs hold a lot of weight, so my center of balance is very low. Nobody can push me and have me topple over, I stand still. I rarely fall down because of how naturally good my balance is. I was able to go running, even after being sick for months, and I could do it for half an hour without training, just because of how naturally strong my legs are. I can do leg exercises without any issues, even without being consistent with it. Now I'm mad that my arms are so weak and I can't lift things as well as I can use my legs. My ability to walk, run, keep balance, climb, exercise, have been invaluable to my life. I'm never looking at my legs with anything but admiration because they're a powerful asset to me.

Another thing I had felt a bit bad about, was the size of my nose. I thought it was too big for my face, and it wasn't really. It was too much media with tiny nosed women that have swayed my opinion of how big women's noses are allowed to be. But, I thought I'd look better with a smaller nose, and that it was making my face be ugly, so it was a reason to drown in sorrow. (I say this jokingly. I only felt a little bad).

I look at the mirror now, and I'm laughing because this nose is big so I could breathe really well! I really thought as a teen that I would do better with a smaller nose? That's where my breathing goes trough! My lungs are, blessed and healthy, and this means I am not struggling to breathe, I am able to fall asleep breathing trough my nose easily, I can blow a lot of phlegm when I'm sick all at once, and clear my nostrils easily, this is a very functional and good nose to have! And it's the correct size for my face, I would look ridiculous with any other nose than my own.

A lot of my opinions have changed, because I've aged and experienced life, I've met a lot of people who didn't have what I had. A pair of healthy legs, a good functional nose. I've befriended people who had something wrong with their leg, or had one missing. People who struggled with breathing. I've met older people who had trouble with their hips, arms, shoulders, back, eyes, skin. I sadly, got some parts of me non-functional too, so now I can't run or walk as I used to, and I experience problems and pain on almost daily basis. So now it feels very silly to be critical of appearance of perfectly good, functioning, healthy and helpful body parts; they're giving me great joy and ability to do whatever I want with them!

And I also believe I never would think to feel shame about the appearance of my nose, or my legs, if I hadn't been exposed to media that was very particular about how women, or female characters could look. It was like being told 'this is whats expected of you', and I couldn't reach it. I was a teen, and teens are more sensitive to appearance than any other demographic. It made me distressed. There was nothing I could do but feel like something is wrong with me, and I would be proclaimed ugly because of this severe flaw. Somehow males were never subjected to standards that harsh; they would receive onscreen representation love regardless of the muscles in their legs, or sizes of their noses, I wonder why is that.

It would have been so nice to see hairy, muscular, big nosed women in the media when I was a kid! Then I would look at my legs and nose and think 'yes, I am just like that female superhero, I am going to kick ass when I grow up'. Wouldn't that have been nice to grow up with?

[leezlelatch]

I didn’t see if your request are open or not, and if they aren’t I am sorry.

But if they are..

Chubby Fem reader x Secondo?

Blessed Be 🧿 🪬

Secondo x plus size f! reader. Body insecurity, comfort, fluff, many Secondo kissies.

Secondo sits upon a plush couch, his legs crossed. He adjusts his cuff and lays a hand upon his knee, dark sunglasses shield his eyes even while inside the boutique, and his expression remains stoic as always. Salespeople hover around nervously, unsure whether to offer him anything, or remain silent as he waits for the woman he came in with to come out of the changing room.

It's so quiet, one could almost imagine crickets, and Secondo strains to make out even the softest shuffle from within the room you were currently confined. A worker to his right glances from him to the closed changing room door several times, her feet bouncing in place before she takes a step forward. Secondo holds up his hand, silently, and the woman stops, her face pale.

He gets up, gloved fingers adjusting his waistcoat, and he steps toward the door, knuckles rapping against the wood. "Amore," his voice is quiet, a gentle rasp. "My eyes are bereft of you. Will you not come out?"

There's a beat of silence, and then the door opens with a creak, your face peering out, brow furrowed. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. "Nothing is working...," you murmur.

"What is not working, my dove?"

"Everything," your voice is exasperated, pained as you hide your form behind the half open door. "This isn't the store for me."

Secondo arches a brow, his sunglasses subtly lifting. "Ah, then we shall go elsewhere, sì? Do not feel as if you must pretend to like the selection for my benefit."

"The selection is fine. These just aren't clothes for someone like me..."

"I am not understanding." Secondo attempts to push the door wider and you stop it. The quickness with which you attempt to shield yourself from him, the widening of your eyes, the shame in them, they stop Secondo cold.

"No," he says. It is not in protest to you, and it is inflected with devastation, worry, love. He pushes through the door, and you make a noise as you're crowded into the small space, the door firmly closing behind him.

Secondo takes off his sunglasses, his eyes moving over your form. You're wearing a dress, a lovely shade of green, and it is form fitting. The skin under your arms spill over the cut of the sleeve, breasts filling all available space, and every roll and bump is accentuated, your belly stretching the material. He can see the outline of your belly button. And then his eyes return to your face, and you look so sad. But the way your shoulders are curved inward, and you try so hard to not look at him, he can see you're steeling yourself. Waiting for an unkind word. Waiting to be told that you are too fat, too ugly. And his heart is in agony.

"Amore. Amore mio," he coos, stepping closer. "Look at your Papa." His hand cradles your jaw, turning you so carefully to face him, and it takes a moment, but your rapidly wettening eyes meet his. "Ah, sì. There she is. My most beautiful one." His fingers brush along your skin.

You open your mouth to protest, to pull away, but he only holds firmer, his other hand falling to your waist. "No, my dove. This is when we talk. We promised to be honest with each other, you remember, hmm? When I was so stubborn, too much of a cold man. But you have kept me warm by the fires of your heart, no?" His thumb wipes away a stray tear from your cheek. "Let me be your hearth."

"I should be doing more," you say, voice hushed and thick with tears. "I should look my best for you. You take me to these nice places, and I don't want to disappoint you."

"Amore. I have never wanted you to be more than yourself. I take you to nice places because I want to spoil you, but you must tell me when you feel uncomfortable." His hand drops from your face to join his other at your waist, slowly exploring your curves, curling underneath your belly, squeezing at the plushness of your bottom, gliding over the thickness of your thighs. "There is more than one definition of healthy. What I am concerned about, is that you feel confident, not only in what you are wearing, but what you are eating. I want you to have that extra treat than deny yourself because you think it fits some outdated notion that I have no interest in. And if you want to explore different habits, I am with you. Your journey is mine, no matter what form it takes."

You let out a breath, eyes straying to the ceiling as you try and reign in your emotion. But it's so hard not to cry, so hard to just...let it all go even though you want to fall into the sweetness of his words. The gentle reverence of his touch. "I just...want you to be proud of who is on your arm."

Secondo steps forward, leg between your thighs in order to press you against the wall. You squeak in surprise, and he smiles, tilting his head to ghost his lips over yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I am proud. So proud, amore mio. This Papa does not deserve the blessing of your presence. The deliciously sinful sensation of your body pressed against his own." His fingers unzip the dress, closing the distance with a quick kiss when you sigh in relief as he pulls the tight material from your body. "I wish to drown in the beauty of you. Lose myself within the softness of your skin. You see, amore? Can you not see? I am undeserving."

His lips press featherlight to your neck, and then he bites, revelling in the way you arch against him. "You are so beautiful. Oh, my dove. Sì, sì, così perfetto per me..." The dress falls from you, pooling onto the floor, and he wraps his arms fully around you, hands flat against your back as he presses you against him with a desperate fervor, bodies melting against each other when he finally takes your lips in a passionate, deep kiss. Secondo licks into your mouth, swallowing any sound you make. His hand presses against your stomach, and he grabs at your flesh, kneading and caressing, worshipping you with hands that have overseen powerful rituals in Lucifer's name.

To Secondo, this is the most potent magic of all.

Secondo pulls away very slowly to brush his nose against yours, peppering tiny kisses to your cheeks. You take a shaky breath, fingers clinging to his jacket. "I love you," you tell him, lips pink and puffy and so perfect, he has to take another taste.

"And I love you. All of you. You are mine, hmm? You understand your Papa?" He looks deeply into your eyes, pinning you with a stare, that one that reminds you that Papa Emeritus II is just under the surface. It thrills you.

"I understand," you confirm, a smile finally crossing your features, one that he mirrors as his thumb once more strokes over your cheek.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Secondo picks up the dress and tosses it to the side, giving you space to change back into your clothes. He takes the edge of your shirt and helps you bring it down, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind as he continues to rain kisses upon every inch of your face he can reach from this position. It makes you giggle, so he does it more.

When the two of you leave the changing room, the workers are at the front, and thankfully say nothing as Secondo makes no effort to return his sunglasses to his face, that white eye rooting them to the spot as he guides you from the store. Will it be much of a surprise Monday morning when the manager receives an email from corporate about including plus sizes?

Secondo spends the entire ride home touching you in some manner, kissing you, lavishing you in the attention you rightfully deserve. Because your body is his temple, and he plans to worship it for the rest of his life.

You are more than worthy. You are perfect. You are his home.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance never takes his shirt of when they make love. He never takes it off ever, actually. Not in front of Keith.

And that isn’t a problem! Really. It’s completely Lance’s prerogative, Keith wants him to be comfortable. If he’s comfortable in his shirt, then he’s comfortable in his shirt.

But it’s more than that, Keith thinks. Because it’s not just the sex. It’s not just that Lance prefers keeping the shirt on most of the time. It honestly feels like Lance is afraid to take it off, as absurd as it sounds.

Keith knows it’s a strong stance to take, and it took him a long, long time to realise, but he’s convinced it’s true. He’s noticed too many strange things to believe otherwise. Like, for starters, Lance won’t take off his shirt in front of Keith. Like, ever. Again, it’s not that Keith has an issue with it — he doesn’t. But it’s certainly odd that Lance has no problems with any other article of clothing, easily stripping from the waist down to get pajama pants on, or what have you, but the second the shirt needs to come off he makes Keith turn around (which he does, without question, because as much as he loves riling Lance up there’s nothing he wants less than to make Lance uncomfortable or genuinely upset, or, God forbid, unsafe). And of course there’s the shower quirk — Lance gets antsy, if he feels dirty. He regularly leaves in the middle of conversations to go wash his hands, because they start to feel dusty or caked — which is fine, because everyone is used to that happening. He always comes back. What everyone might not know, though, is that Lance regularly does this with showering, as well — sometimes untangles himself from where he’s koalaed on Keith’s back to go take a shower, regardless of the time of night or whatever they may be doing. The thing about that, the one reason it makes Keith’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and concern, is that for the first few months they were dating, Lance would leave Keith’s room to do it. He’d get up and walk all the way to his own room and bathroom to shower. At first, Keith just thought it was because Lance had all his skincare stuff and soaps in his bathroom. But the longer they were together, and the more of Lance’s things that migrated into Keith’s bathroom, the less that made sense. Until, one day, after a few seconds of hesitation, Lance did shower in Keith’s bathroom. He walked in, towel bunched up in his hands, and locked the door behind him. That wasn’t the issue. Keith knows Lance has a thing about privacy, and grew up with so many siblings it’s probably a habit. But then Keith heard the unmistakable sound of Lance dragging the shelf Keith kept in there for towels and such in front of the door.

That gave Keith pause.

Because that couldn’t simply be a habit, nor was it a preference for privacy. That spoke of a fear that someone coming in. Of someone seeing him.

It was strange enough that Keith was going to ask him about it, when he finished and dried off, coming out of the shower in fresh pajamas and wet, curly hair. But he looked so nervous. Agitated. Like he was waiting to be interrogated. So Keith decided to let it go, smiling softly as Lance as he approached the bed again. Lance crawled over Keith, wrapping his arms around his waist — never the reverse, never the little spoon, because any time Keith tried Lance would squirm around until he was facing Keith or roll away completely until Keith got the hint — and slowly relaxed as he realized Keith wasn’t going to question him.

Lance didn’t drag the shelf over the door, anymore. But Keith still worried.

It got to the point that the rest of the team noticed, even: Lance was never, ever seen without his shirt firmly covering his upper body. Even in intense training, when the shirt was soaked through with sweat and plastered to his body, and everyone else had ditched theirs long ago — Lance’s stayed where it was, even though the feel of the wet shirt was visibly bothering him. (Which crossed out sensory issues as a reason to keep the shirt on, making things even more curious.)

Once, they had a diplomatic mission, and as diplomatic missions tended to go, they were expected to wear the planet’s formal attire. On that particular mission, the planet was a jungle planet, hot and humid. As such, the clothes were thin and gauzy, and there was hardly anything to cover the torso. Lance, upon seeing the clothes they were supposed to wear, locked himself in his room for the hours leading up to the mission — when he came out, he was wearing a shirt he made himself, that covered him from wrists to neck. It went flawlessly with the outfit and he looked wonderful, but he offered no explanation and blatantly ignored any questioning from the team.

At one point, Keith was going to let it go. Going to dismiss it as one of Lance’s many quirks, going to stop thinking about it — after all, when has he ever seen Lance without a shirt? It must just be how he prefers things. It doesn’t matter.

Then he remembered, abruptly, that he had seen Lance without a shirt, once. Two years ago, in there first couple weeks in space — when they both wound up stuck in the elevator, on their way to the pool. Lance had been shirtless, in only swim trunks and a towel.

He and Lance had been swimming more times than he can count, since then. And every time — every single time, without fail — Lance wears a long-sleeved swim shirt.

That, combined with the fact that Keith has noticed Hunk looking at Lance with special concern just as often as Keith himself does, marks this is a newer phenomenon. Something Lance has not done all his life, something that’s not just a quirk of his.

Keith could drop it. Really, he could leave it alone, never think about it again — as far as he knew for certain, it isn’t causing any harm.

But there is something. Something deep in his heart, telling him that he should at the very least ask. Try and find out why Lance is so protective of his back, of his torso.

What if Keith can help?

“Lance,” he starts, dog-earring his book. They’re winding down for the evening, Lance against the headboard of Keith’s — their — bed, and Keith between his legs, leaning on his chest. Lance is weaving intricate braids into his hair, singing to himself.

“Hm?”

Keith purses his lips, trying to figure out how to phrase it delicately. He’s not sure he can.

Eventually, he gives up. Lance prefers clear communication, anyway.

“How come you never take your shirt off?”

Lance tenses, fingers stopping their repetitive motions. His singing stops, too, in the middle of a note. He’s still for a long time, silent, uncertainty coming off him in waves, before he speaks.

“Why, itching for a glance at this rockin’ bod?” he says, laughing tightly.

Keith deflates. Lance doesn’t have to tell him, of course, but he was hoping he’d be able to — well, he’s not sure, but maybe it could be something good.

“Something like that, babe.”

Keith goes back to his book, and Lance hesitantly goes back to braiding his hair.

After a couple minutes, he stops. He sighs, long and heavy.

“What do you know about the healing pods?”

Keith keeps very still. He’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe too deeply, lest Lance change his mind.

“Not much. I imagine you know more.”

Lance hums. “They’re… really interesting. They’re basically these machines that accelerate a coma, keeping your body in perfect stasis. Any healing your body can do on its own, it can do faster, as well as keeping you from aging or helping kill unwanted growths or diseases. It can scan and diagnose basically any physical ailment, too.”

“Whoa. So all of Earth medicine rolled into one, basically.”

“Most Western or lab-created processes, yes. High tech stuff.”

When no more information is forthcoming, Keith presses.

“Why do you bring them up?”

Lance hesitates a long moment before answering, and Keith lets him. He can feel Lance’s heart pounding faster than he’s ever heard it, pressed as he is against his chest.

“The healing pods can’t repair something from nothing,” Lance says softly. “They can form skin grafts, encourage scar tissue, but they can’t… they can’t grow new skin.”

Lance swallows roughly.

“The Rover explosion burned off almost all the skin of my back.”

Keith’s heart stills at the admission. It makes — it makes a lot of sense. Rover was a truly massive bomb, and Lance was in his civvies, right next to it. He had no protection, and it took so long for them to get him to a pod. It makes sense, that the damage was severe.

Somehow, Keith never considered it. For all his injuries over the years, he’s never been badly burned. He has his fair share of scars, but he’s never had his skin just… obliterated, burned clean off.

“…Can I see?”

He’s not sure why he asks it. It’s a big thing, and Lance is already doing so much. But he does.

Lance bites his lip. A million emotions flash through those dark brown eyes. He takes a large, shuddering breath.

“It’s ugly.”

Keith says nothing.

Lance closes his eyes, and slowly — hesitantly — peels his shirt off his chest. He chucks it somewhere beside them, and then pauses for several minutes before he gathers himself and flips around, facing the wall.

Leaving his bare back in front of Keith.

Lance… wasn’t exaggerating. Instead of the smooth, brown skin he’s used to, the skin is rough — wrinkled, almost; darker in some places and pinkish in others. It’s a swirling mass of textures and shapes, a quiltwork of varying colours.

It’s nothing like Keith’s ever seen before.

It’s not ugly.

He’s not sure what compels him to do it, what tells him it’s the right thing to do, but he knows in his heart that it is: he leans forward, slowly, and presses a soft kiss right in the middle of Lance’s scarred back.

He barely brushes his lips to the skin before Lance is gasping. The skin must be sensitive. But he’s not — he’s not pulling away.

Nor is he telling Keith to stop.

Keith moves his face slightly, pressing another kiss to the skin just to the left of his first.

Then another.

And another, and another, and another.

“…Keith?” Lance’s voice is unbelievably quiet. Breathless. Like the word escaped him without his permission, like a reflex.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, pressing the words into Lance’s skin just as carefully as the kisses.

Lance’s shoulders start to shake.

“I’m not,” he says, and this time his voice is wet, cracking.

“You are. You — you’re breathtaking, Leandro. Every part of you. Every piece of you makes my heart light up with joy.” He doesn’t let up on the kisses, one between every word. He’ll kiss every inch of Lance’s back — of his scars — until he realizes how honest Keith is being, and then more still.

“Do you know that? What you do to me? How much I love you, how much I dream about you, how much you invade my every waking thought?”

Lance sobs. “I don’t. I can’t. I’m — ruined, Keith, I’m —”

“You are everything to me,” Keith says firmly, easily. “Everything, my love. There is no part of you I don’t adore.”

Lance continues to cry, as Keith presses his lips to every part of the skin of Lance’s back, shoulders shaking and en endless river of tears dripping onto the sheets. At one point he reaches a trembling hand behind him, and Keith grips it immediately, holding steadfast as he travels from the small of his back to the curve of one broad shoulder.

“Salanghae, naui haneul,” he whispers, kissing the last spot left untouched.

I love you, my sky.

Lance sobs again, quickly turning around and burying his face in Keith’s neck. Keith holds him tightly, squeezing him together as his body trembles and his tears drip.

“I love you too,” Lance chokes out, fists gripping the fabric of Keith’s sleep shirt. He cries until he can’t anymore, until there are no tears left, until his stuttered breaths smooth and he’s half asleep.

Keith untangles from him, then, padding quickly to the sink to get him some water and a damp facecloth. Lance takes them both gratefully, and curls into Keith after he puts them away, tucking them both under the heavy duvet. He falls asleep quickly, cried-out and exhausted, with Keith running constant fingers through his hair.

For the first time in as long as Keith can remember, he sleeps completely peacefully, tucked snugly into Keith, completely comfortable with Keith’s protective arm across his back.

[oceandaffodils22]

Here’s a ficlet I wrote and posted on twitter for the pregnancy day of the past Stewjoni Biology Week organised by @deaddoveobikin 💚

Hope you enjoy some soft obikin with my beloved Preggy-Wan!

The war has finally come to an end, and the two generals can now indulge in some well deserved rest.

Or at least, they would if only Anakin did not let his oh-so passionate horniness enfold and - quite literally - fill his partner, who’s now expecting not one, but two babies.

Needless to say, despite the terrible timing, the splendid news is nothing but a breath of fresh air for the couple.

And so, days, weeks, and months go by between missions (and complaints from a certain overprotective boyfriend) - “Now, Anakin, enough with this nonsense. I am pregnant, not on the verge of death. I am perfectly capable of doing my duty, as always. Nothing’s changed.”

Little does Obi-Wan know, though, that a rather… big change is awaiting him indeed - and not simply metaphorically speaking. The more time passes, in fact, the larger and rounder the Jedi Master gets, engulfed in piles and piles of robes and cloaks, in a clumsy attempt to hide his growing belly.

There is no need, in truth, since everyone is well aware by now of the inextricable bond between the two Jedi - pregnancy and babies included. Yet, Obi-Wan seems not quite ready to be open about it, feeling ever more uncomfortable and insecure each passing day.

Alas, it is known that the stubborn Stewjoni old man has a habit of withdrawing behind a wall of apparent self-confidence and serenity - hard to tear down even for those closest to him. (Hard, yes, but not impossible. Especially for an equally stubborn partner…)

And so it is that on a particularly warm night, Anakin’s usual deep slumber slips away mere hours after its arrival, leaving him half awake in a surprisingly empty bed.

Rubbing his eyes, he looks around, struggling to see through the enveloping darkness, aided by the feeble and delicate light coming from the window - that very moonlight now gently caressing his beloved’s beautiful features.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to have noticed the ardent look his mesmerised boyfriend is giving him. Rather, he stays still, sitting on the soft beanbag chair in the opposite corner of the room, his lovely grey-blue eyes fixed on an indefinite point.

Anakin’s gaze, instead, can’t help but linger on the blessed view before him: Obi-Wan’s glorious belly and breasts - only veiled by the lace bra Anakin gifted him for his birthday - shining in all their magnificence.

“Anakin! What are you doing up so late?” The older Jedi breaks his lustful fantasies all of a sudden.

“Well, I could ask you the same thing.” Anakin slowly approaches him, his eyes still fixed on his body. He’s about to make one of his usual naughty jokes, but he stops the second he notices Obi-Wan’s uneasy look as he puts his hands on his belly, almost as if to cover it.

“Hey, is everything okay? Seriously, why are you awake? Wait, are you all right? Do you feel sick or-“

Obi-Wan gives him a tender smile. “I’m fine, dear one. No need to worry. You should go to bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”

But Anakin Skywalker is not one to easily surrender.

Thus, he hops on the beanbag as smoothly as possible, wrapping Obi-Wan from behind before the poor pregnant man has the time to realise what his pesky lover is doing.

“Anak-“ he instantly breathes out, only to relax mere seconds later as he feels Anakin’s soft lips stroking his cheek.

“Master, will you tell me what bothers you? Who do I need to punch?”

“Anakin!” The older man lets out a scandalised yet amused cry. “There is absolutely no need. Truly.”

“Then what is it? What’s the problem?”

Obi-Wan sighs, resigned - relieved, actually - to finally let it all out. “It’s- I’m not quite sure. I don’t even know how to explain it. Everything is so new and I have this… constant feeling of being heavy and big and… awkward. And-“

He lowers his gaze, embarrassed. “Oh dear. Now I feel incredibly foolish and ungrateful. I’m sorry, Anakin. This is all so disgraceful of me. I should only be happy and thankful for this wonderful gift the Force has blessed us with. I truly am. Please, forget what I said. It’s probably the hormones.

See? I told you you should go to sleep instead of listening to this old man’s pathetic rambling.”

Anakin’s lips curve into a fond smile. “Well, the thing is that this old man also happens to be my beautiful boyfriend, who I’m very much in love with.”

“Even this… big and round?” Obi-Wan’s oh-so tenderly surprised eyes turn towards him as Anakin can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, Anakin, I’m not. I believe I’ve made it quite clear. Now, could you please be serious?”

“Sorry, sorry! I will, I promise. It’s just that… It’s so obvious to me.” The younger Jedi smiles, his hands gently caressing his lover’s belly. “Of course I love you. How could I not?

Obi-Wan, you’re beautiful. You’re literally glowing! And yes, you’re soft and round... And I like you even more like this,” Anakin whispers as his enchanted gaze falls on Obi-Wan’s perfect body.

“I mean, I stare at you in front of everyone. I just can’t help it! I can’t stop looking at you.”

“Really? When?”

If he didn’t promise him to be serious, Anakin would surely chuckle again - because how can his Master be so maddeningly cute and oblivious?

“All the time. Even Windu noticed it! And offered me his best scowl by the way, thank you very much,” he huffs, pretending to be annoyed. “ ‘Focus, Skywalker!’ Well, it’s a little bit hard when my boyfriend is so kriffing perfect!”

“Oh, dear one.” Obi-Wan’s voice is as soothing as a balm, his eyes ever so charming and loving.

“Great, I’m blushing now…” Anakin murmurs, embarrassed, as he feels his cheeks burning furiously. “Now who’s the awkward one?”

This time, it’s Obi-Wan’s turn to chuckle and show him his profound love. So he leans in slowly, and kisses him with that mix of passion and gentleness only he is capable of.

“Thank you, my dear,” Obi-Wan whispers right after, finally letting himself go to his safe haven.

“You know I’m always here for you, my love. All three of you,” Anakin says softly as he puts a gentle kiss on his lover’s head.

And so they stay, their hands intertwined in one another on the perfectly round belly protecting the babies the two parents are so eager to meet.

[manedstripedcomic]

Maned and Striped - 076 - "Just the way you are"

Sometimes, you forget that you are beautiful for other people, and you need to be reminded of it. That's what happened to Lucas not too long ago, poor boy couldn't find anything attractive about himself, thinking Zack was the handsome one in the couple. Zack had to remind him of how much he loves him and how much he finds him attractive.

[ashersbraincell]

Body and voice insecurities fucking suck because you just want to enjoy videos/photos of ye good old days and every single one is RUINED by the fact that you stick out like a sore thumb with the sheer putridity of your ugly ahh mug and your annoying fucking voice

[suspiciouslynotapastor]

He heard what y'all were saying.

[denerturee]

Beware of this kind of person!!!

People who laugh and make fun of people's bodies are the worst DEMONS you can find...

[candywife333]

There’s Never A Right Time

This story is inspired by Say Goodbye by Chris Brown. I was in my feels and had a nice dramatic set of ideas that made me feel like writing angst. It’s a one shot because I have commitment issues with finishing my fanfics in case you guys haven't noticed.  It will be a pretty long fanfic. Here is the teaser. Hope you guys enjoy! 

Summary: 

Jungkook hadn’t thought about the woman he had left for a long time. He had gotten secretly married to her and all it took was a shadow of distrust to make him abandon her. If the world questioned the sanctity of her character, then the world had to be right. Right? He hoped he was right at least. Because if he wasn’t , he had lost the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life. As he continued to work as a top idol, artist, and entrepreneur time went by. He had other women but they never lasted long in his life. When he attended an award show with the rest of the members, he saw a girl there. Another artist. Definitely someone he knew he had never seen or heard of before. Who was she? Something about her was familiar. Maybe her eyes. And then it struck him, making him go as cold as a corpse. He had seen those same eyes somewhere else alright, in the mirror when he looked at his own reflection every morning. 

TEASER

The lady stood in front of him and the other members. She exuded a powerful aura, regal and dignified. These qualities were rather an unusual combination for idols, especially Korean idols so he was a little starstruck. Something that was rather unusual for any member of BTS to feel. She couldn't have been more than 18 years old though based on her appearance. The girl must be mixed race because she had very unconventional features for an idol. She had dark thick curly black hair that trailed to her hips and her skin reminded him of strongly brewed milk tea. The even more startling features were her plush lips, a prominent straight nose graced by a diamond stud, and double lidded eyes fringed with what seemed to be thick eyelashes. 

She was sporting an unusual outfit as well; a customized skirt and bra set that he only saw gypsies and belly dancers wear. A gold belt adorned her waist sitting lower on her hips with a diamond belly piercing highlighting her lithe , toned figure. He couldn't stop looking at her because strangely enough something about her was familiar. 

He made eye contact with her accidentally and what he saw made his heart palpate against his chest. He had seen those same eyes every day of his life in his mirror. Her doe eyes were too similar to his own. They say that eyes are a mirror to the soul, but her eyes were a mirror to his own. 

Who was she? He felt a stir of panic as their eyes met and she bowed down low. She was of average height, but her presence seemed to envelope the room since other well known artists,  idols, and staff greeted her politely. The stage director came near her bowing. To Jungkook’s surprise , she spoke in fluent Korean though she seemed to be a foreign artist. 

The stage director and the girl were a few feet away from BTS when the stage director exclaimed , “How is your mother doing Cha-ya? She must be worried since you have only promoted up til now in the US, Thailand, and India. Are you having a comfortable time adjusting over here?”

The girl’s eyes lit up in glee as she responded with a little chuckle, “It has for sure been a different experience than the U.S. and India for sure. The stage is so organized and everything is so close by for promotions. I am enjoying it to the max. Mom told me to eat well and sleep 8 hours a day. You know how doctors are like. She’s constantly checking in on me to see if I am stressed out. Saiyan and Arang are also being such worrywarts since this is the first time I’ve been here.”

The stage director continued in mild surprise, “Are they your brothers? I thought you were an only child ?” 

She guffawed in a cacophonous fashion which made several idols and artists look her way, in awe and confusion. Jungkook thought that she was a rather different type of artist. Very uninhibited by social norms. Clearly she had not been brought up in Korea. 

“Director, we are actually triplets but both of them were born a few minutes ahead of me so they insist that they are my older brothers. We are very tight knit and they will be coming to visit soon. Saiyan is a pretty popular model right now and so he will be finishing his Engineering degree at Washington State and rush over here for Seoul fashion week. Arang on the other hand finished his MBA/Medicine dual degree, so he will be managing a chain of Health and Wellness Resorts over here. “

The director’s jaw slid open in an exclamation. He sputtered in disbelief, “ How are all of your siblings so well studied and managing jobs like that? You must be the only sibling purely in entertainment.” The girl deliberated for a second before responding, “Mom made sure we all had solid educations before pursuing these types of careers. She is always skeptical of fame, and she brought us up to be extremely disciplined, stable, and loyal individuals. I am actually finished with my course in Law (focus in international law) ,but currently all that is stalled for the time being because of my activities in entertainment.”

As Jungkook was hearing this conversation along with the other artists in the room who were curiously eavesdropping as well, the Director continued in awe, “Your mother seems to be an extremely strong lady. I knew she was a doctor  who seemed extremely rich and well off, but she must literally be a goddess to give birth to such high achieving kids. What about your father, what does he do?” 

Cha-ya scoffed with a quizzical, somewhat bitter look, “He actually left her before we were even born. We found out who he was when we all finished college. Our mother made sure our upbringing was never lacking. We saw him a lot on the Korean and world news growing up but never knew that he was our dad. You know,  he is someone whose popularity never fades strangely enough. He sold his soul for fame, so it is to be expected perhaps.” The director looked so intrigued and invested as he prodded for more info, “ Who is he? Definitely we would know who he is? Is he a singer, actor, businessman in the industry over here?” 

Cha-ya’s entire expression became rigid and mask-like as she replied in what seemed to be a disinterested tone, “ We do not consider him our dad, so neither my brothers, nor I would like to claim him. He was a sperm donor. That is the long and short of it. Who he is, is as irrelevant as what today’s weather forecast is. He betrayed my mother and trusted the world over her. She went through so much pain just to be by his side. And when she thought the pain would end, he left her. I have to be on stage, so if you will excuse me now Sir.”

 She side stepped the director and went closer to the entrance of the main stage. Jungkook could feel the bile and vomit rising to his mouth. She had been pregnant when he had left her? He had three kids, that he never knew anything about? This grown beautiful artist was his daughter?And he had two more accomplished sons?  His parents had grandkids? And how the hell did she brith triplets?!! Wouldn’t her vagina tear ??????!!!

 His world was crashing down on him as the rest of BTS stared at him with stark grief painted across their faces. They all remembered her name, it was unforgettable.

Before he could process anything, he heard the booming noise starting up on the stage. Wait, wait up a minute! This track was the most popular pop/ rock release of the year all over the US. He saw his daughter he never knew he had on stage in an elaborate headdress dancing with precision and fluidity on stage. She had no backing track, the other idols could tell. This was live. Only one artist sang with no backing track in all her performances this year in the US. She was on MTV and all other award shows, becoming sensational, l hitting all headlines for singing with no backing track usually acapella . Shadow, that was her romanized name, but in all Asian countries she went by Nee-Da. 

She had risen to the top for the past 3 years for her herculanean work ethic , creative marketing/business acumen. She was known for her cutthroat ruthlessness in the music industry, mostly aided by the fact that her mother was known to own and manage the world’s most innovative new security system, Poison. He did not know what to be more shocked about at this point? How could he not have recognized her? Seeing her in real life was different from seeing her on stage with all the makeup and ornamentation on. 

She was the pop-star of the era, a business mogul with a net worth of close to 300 million dollars at such a young age due to her clothing and makeup line. She was his daughter. How could this even be possible? Jungkook could feel his identity crisis coming. How did he birth the most iconic popstar of this generation, who as of now hated his guts? What scared him even more was the realization of who her mother was.

The lady he had left, the woman he could never forget even in his dreams was her mother. And her mother owned the world’s scariest personal security company, Poison. The company had revolutionized personal security by founding a bracelet and many other gadgets that created magnetic repellant force fields around individuals. It was notorious for being marketed only towards woman and could only be activated when the device recognized the XX chromosome, so the device would never protect men. 

Basically, women all around the world who had these devices now had a programmable magnetic forcefield around them which shielded them from the outside world. Firearms, Tasers, and aggressors were all repelled by this technology. Women could safely walk out in the middle of the night as long as they had a device, which was continuously made affordable at its very inception by the reclusive owner of the company. 

With this  technology ,the owner instantly became the most powerful business woman, icon, feminist, that the world knew. That is in fact all the world knew. That she was a woman. But nobody knew anything else about her, she was an elusive person who didn't show up to most media events. Her personal motto was that the products advocated for themselves. Her financial officers and other company higher ups showed up in the media, but she never did. Most people in the world didn't even know how this woman looked like, because of how reclusive she was. 

All people knew was that she was Cha-ya’s mother and that she had two other kids. 

What Jungkook got to know that made him almost go into a stroke was the sheer fact that Cha-ya’s mom was his Y/N. The one whose heart he had broken years ago. 

Y/N was a billionaire of gargantuan proportions, a net worth that made his look like chump change.  His daughter was the iconic popstar of the century, someone whose craze and popularity surpassed his own in his heyday. Which meant that his son Saiyan was the new model who had just walk in Paris Fashion Week as the face of Armani. The same one that Jimin’s daughter had raved about the other day. Which meant that his son Arang became the CEO of the exclusive wellness resort, Ellysium , a resort only catered to the richest of the richest. All this calculations overwhelmed Jungkook to the point that there was only one reasonable outcome. He fainted. 

[misespinas]

“I was brought up in tafetta dresses

And taught to be pretty and precious

Spending my playtimes with

Plastic princesses

Who all had those bodies,

Just utterly ludicrous!

Minuscule waists and huge boobs

And it’s all nipple-less and no pubes

And no creases, I mean, Jesus

It’s pretty confusing—

Especially at six.”

Rita Hanson

(Tim Manchin, “One Day,” Groundhog Day the Musical)

[fitnesflag]

Embracing Body Positivity with Science 🌟🦋

Hey beautiful souls, let's spread some positivity and talk about why it's essential to be proud of your body, just the way it is. 🌈💕

Self-Acceptance: "Learning to be proud of your body is crucial for mental well-being," says Dr. Kristin Neff, a psychologist. "Self-compassion involves accepting yourself fully, including your body, with kindness and understanding." 🌺💖

Body Diversity: Dr. Linda Bacon, a researcher in body image and health, emphasizes the importance of embracing body diversity. "There is no one 'ideal' body type," she explains. "Every body is unique and deserving of love and respect. The keyword is not about conforming to societal standards; it's about celebrating diversity." 🌍🌻

Health at Every Size: "Health comes in all shapes and sizes," notes Dr. Deb Burgard, a psychologist specializing in eating disorders. "The keyword is not about achieving a certain weight or size; it's about prioritizing health and well-being, regardless of your body shape or weight." 🍏🌟

Media Literacy: Dr. Carolyn Becker, a researcher in body image and media, highlights the importance of media literacy in promoting body positivity. "Media images often perpetuate unrealistic beauty standards," she says. "By critically evaluating media messages and surrounding ourselves with diverse representations of beauty, we can challenge harmful stereotypes and embrace our unique beauty." 📺💪

Self-Care: "Taking care of your body is an act of self-love," says Dr. Marsha Linehan, a psychologist. "Nourishing your body with nutritious foods, staying active, getting enough rest, and practicing self-care rituals are all ways to show appreciation for your body and prioritize your well-being." 🍓✨

[hekatiane]

I am absolutely radiating. Why can't you see?

[barbie-necromancer]

I hate how much space i take up

[punkboyjuul]

5k notes and I apply to a modelling agency

tagging moots for help

@vileviale @the-pack0 @transwerewolfgirlfriend @heckingturtles @a-chaotic-business @artisfox @knickersbar @deathgonewrong @yes-i-exist-shutup

[longreads]

Fuel, Medicine, Pleasure

What could it mean to give yourself the food you need to keep going? No punishing, no guilt, no withholding. Just nourishment. For Longreads, Krista Diamond explores body image, hiking, and how eating your favorite yummy junkfood might just save your life while hiking in the wilderness. 

“No one has ever opened up a packet of Oreos on a mountaintop and said, ‘I’m being so bad.’ But bad is a word I’ve heard a lot in the real world. Bad is the word my mother used when she brought out ice cream after dinner. Bad is what my friends and I were when we ate zebra cakes in our high school cafeteria. Bad is what the women’s magazines told me I was being when I ordered the french fries instead of the salad. Bad is how I felt each time I ate a slice of birthday cake at a party where I’d vowed to stick to the crudités. Sugar is bad. Carbohydrates are bad. Fat is bad. All the things you want are bad and you are bad for wanting them. For me, this is complicated further by the fact that I live in Las Vegas, a city that paradoxically values both indulgence and conventional beauty in equal measures.”

Check out Fuel, Medicine, Pleasure at Longreads.