#cw: body dysmorphia

[bimbosanddolls]

Hey Kiki! I'm looking to become more of a doll as well. Can you share some eating habits you've changed?

Sure. Though let me start off by saying I'm not a nutritionist or dietitian... so take my words with a grain of salt.

I honestly haven't made any like, super drastic changes. And I've only cut two things out of my diet completely. I love my surgary cereals, but I've replaced them with healthier, multi-grain options. I've also stopped drinking sugary pop/soda, choosing water or sugar-free options instead.

Other than that, I'm just a lot more aware of things like sugar intake and trans fats, and I make more of an effort to get fruits and veggies into my diet. At the very least, I usually have a green smoothie for lunch.

I do also allow myself two days a week where I can have a treat. Because sometimes a girlie just needs a little treat.

I also try, as much as my disability allows, to keep active.

All in all, things are working really well! I've lost almost 20 pounds in about 6 months since I really started to focus on this. Still have a way to go to get down to my goal weight, but progress is progress!

Kiki's Note: I think its important to note that I am not advocating for like "thin is in" or anything like that. My body dysmorphia materialized as a young age and I always hated the person I saw in the mirror. As such, I didn't always treat my body the best because it didn't feel like it was "mine" anyway. Now that I'm transitioning, I simply want to get myself back to a "healthy" weight so I can feel good about the girl I see in the mirror. I don't know if I'll ever be "skinny" but know I'm gonna be hot af so that's all that matters.

[wisedawn13]

Trans Lan Zhan

CW // mentions of gender dysphoric and body dysmorphic thoughts

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are shopping—or, rather, Wei Ying is shopping and Lan Zhan is following. They're at the local outlet mall, semi-aimlessly meandering around.

"Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying's voice is like music. "You sure you don't need anything?"

Wei Ying stares at him intensely and Lan Zhan feels as though he could melt. He's had a crush on Wei Ying for years. Since the moment they met.

Wei Ying bats his eyelashes, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. Lan Zhan wants to bite it.

Maybe crush is too weak a word?

Lan Zhan lets out a small huff, turning his head to the side and hoping his hair is covering his ears so Wei Ying won't see his blush.

"I am fine," he states. He hates speaking, hates his voice. But despite his (innumerable) dysphoric issues, Wei Ying makes him comfortable.

He still tries to make his voice sound lower. Wei Ying has never commented on it or his choice of baggy masculine clothing. Wei Ying is his safe space.

That doesn't mean Lan Zhan isn't terrified to come out to him. He hasn't come out to anyone.

He trusts Wei Ying.

But he's scared.

Wei Ying laughs, wrapping a hand around Lan Zhan's (far to small for his liking) wrist, pulling him along.

"Let's go check of this store!"

"Mn," Lan Zhan says instead of 'I would go anywhere with you if you asked me to.'

Wei Ying lets go of his wrist once they're in and Lan Zhan mourns the loss, feeling far too cold now that his sun has drifted away.

He resigns himself to following quietly behind when something catches his eye and draws him over. Lan Zhan's breath catches.

It's a beautiful, shimmery button-up shirt. A very light blue at the top fading to a white at the bottom, faint cloud embroidery along the collar.

It's stunning. Lan Zhan has never wanted an article of clothing more in his life. He reaches out a tentative hand, touching it.

The material is so nice. It's something he thinks he could feel comfortable in, texture-wise.

He aches with want, but he knows he can't wear it. He can't. It's far too showy, far too expensive, and he is far too uncomfortable in his skin to pull it off. But he looks.

His shoulder is jostled slightly by another person. "Hey," Wei Ying says. "That shirt would look so good on you, Lan Zhan!"

"Mn…" He responds as if in a trance.

Wei Ying laughs lightly and grabs one of the shirts in one hand and Lan Zhan's wrist in the other.

He drags him to one of the workers on the floor and begins to speak. Lan Zhan only half hears the words.

"Hi, excuse me! I was wondering if we could get a change room for my friend here. We found this shirt and I just know she would—"

Lan Zhan doesn't know what possesses him to do it; he's not in his right mind. He's in a trance, and the shirt is so nice, and he just wants SOMEONE to know who he really is.

"He," he says. His voice is quiet, distant, but he knows Wei Ying heard by the gentle squeeze he gives.

"I know he would look so good in this shirt, so would he be able to try it on?"

That's it. That's it? Not so much as a confused glance or a pause in speech?

Lan Zhan had been terrified for months over what kind of reaction he might get (/any/ reaction is not ideal).

And Wei Ying just gave his wrist a gentle squeeze and continued on as if nothing happened.

Lan Zhan wants to cry. He wants to kiss him. But no. No. He can't. Wei Ying will have questions. He will have reactions. He probably is just… distracted. Yeah.

Lan Zhan begins to mentally prepare himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions and loud remarks (because if Wei Ying is anything, it's loud).

He finds himself in a change room alone, shirt in hand. Huh… When did that happen? He silently scolds himself.

After a moment of steadying breathwork, he sheds his layers of clothes, carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirrors on either side of him, and slips into the shirt.

Wei Ying chose a smaller size than he'd normally go for. It /fits/ instead of hanging off his body.

Unfortunately, it fits a little too much for his liking. When he glances at his reflection, any hope is quickly tamped out by the realization that his chest is visible.

It's clear he has breasts. He quietly curses himself for getting his hopes up.

He's about to change back when there's a loud knock, startling him, and he hears Wei Ying is voice. "Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan! I need to see! Show me!"

He acquiesces. Lan Zhan is many things, but 'someone who can say no to Wei Ying' isn't one of them.

He slowly opens the door.

Lan Zhan carefully crosses his arms over his chest in a strategic placement that hides it while also seeming nonchalant (he hopes).

Wei Ying gasps, drawing Lan Zhan's attention. He sees Wei Ying staring at him with wide eyes and he quickly averts his gaze down and blushes.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying breathes. Something in his voice he can't quite place. Awe? No. That can't be right. "You look"—Lan Zhan tenses, unsure of what will come next but sure he won't like it—"handsome."

Oh.

/Oh./

Lan Zhan quickly lifts his head to meet his gaze.

Wei Ying is staring at him, blush on his cheeks, mouth slightly agape. "Wow…"

Handsome. Lan Zhan. Wei Ying thinks Lan Zhan is handsome.

A warmth rushes through him. Of all the things he though Wei Ying might say, that was not one of them. He's never been called handsome.

He likes it, a lot.

It must show on his face because he hears Wei Ying suck in a breath. "You smiled," he whispers. "You're smiling!"

Absurd! Lan Zhan is most certainly /not/ smiling, thank you. He is merely… Slightly relaxed and a little happy. That is all.

Okay, so maybe his mouth softened and the corners lifted up a TINY BIT. He hardly thinks that constitutes as a smile.

"You look so good, Lan Zhan. You're so handsome."

Wei Ying really needs to stop complimenting him, he doesn't know how to take it.

So, Lan Zhan shakes his head slowly and looks down, tightening his grip around him chest.

If he were looking, he'd see Wei Ying's gaze shift and something click into place.

Wei Ying clears his throat. "Uh, you can uh- go change back now."

Lan Zhan nods and does just that.

Wei Ying takes the shirt from him when they walk out, and he skips ahead to hand it to the clerk, whispering something to them. They nod and respond as they take the shirt and place it on the counter behind them.

He happily skips back over to Lan Zhan. "Let's go!"

Lan Zhan tilts his head in confusion but gains no answer other than Wei Ying, once again, grabbing him by the wrist and marching off.

He feels as if he's in a state of limbo. Uncertain of anything and everything.

As they weave their way through the crowd, he stops.

"Wei Ying."

He also stops, turning to look at Lan Zhan. "Hmm? What's up?"

Lan Zhan is well and truly flabbergasted. "Are you not going to ask me questions?"

Now it's Wei Ying's turn to tilt his head in confusion. "Huh? Why? About what?"

Lan Zhan /doesn't/ gape. He doesn't.

"I asked you to call me 'he,'" he says after a moment of silence, carefully pulling his wrist out of Wei Ying's grip. When Wei Ying doesn't react or respond he pushes again. "Are you not confused? Surprised? Alarmed? Disgusted? Anything?"

"Lan Zhan," he breathes. His eyes are so kind and filled with fondness, it hurts. Lan Zhan's chest squeezes. "Oh, Lan Zhan. You"—Wei Ying pulls him into a tight hug—"are you. It doesn't matter how you look or what words you want people to call you to make /you/ comfortable."

Wei Ying takes a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around him tighter. "I will always love you no matter what, Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan's breath hitches and a quiet sob escapes him. He wraps his arms around Wei Ying, holding on to him like a lifeline. His whole world.

And he cries. In the middle of a crowded mall, he cries. But it doesn't matter, because he's in Wei Ying's arms and that is the safest place on Earth. Nothing else matters. Wei Ying loves him no matter what. It's not a big deal.

Relief washes over him in waves.

He melts into Wei Ying's grasp, allowing himself to fully be supported by him. Wei Ying doesn't speak; he doesn't tell him to be quiet or stop crying. All he does is quietly hum and rub his hand up and down Lan Zhan's back.

It's… nice.

After what feels like an eternity of emotional turmoil, Lan Zhan is wrung out. His tears stopped long ago and his breath is slowly evening out.

That's what he registers what Wei Ying had said. 'I will always love you no matter what.'

Love.

Love.

Love.

No. It's. No. It's not that kind of love. He knows it. He… Well, he /thinks/ he knows it. But Lan Zhan was also so, so wrong about how Wei Ying would react.

Lan Zhan takes a shaky breath against Wei Ying's shoulder. "Wei Ying, you said you love me."

It's not a question.

He feels Wei Ying tense and it's a few beats before he responds. "Yes." It's quiet.

"… How?"

"Okay," Wei Ying says, pulling back from the hug enough to look at Lan Zhan's face. He cups it gently in his hands, wiping away the residual tear tracks with his thumb.

He smiles, it wobbly. "In every way."

Lan Zhan's eyes widen slightly at that, mind attempting to wrap around the implications of those words. He doesn't get long before Wei Ying leans forward and rests his forehead against Lan Zhan's.

It's grounding. Calming. Perfect.

"Lan Zhan," he whispers. Lan Zhan feels the ghost of his breath on his lips. "I love you in every way. You are my everything, my whole world. I don't care what you want, whatever it is I will be there. I will do it. I will be whatever you need."

He starts to pull away, eyes cast to the floor. "You don't have to say anything now, or ever. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or that you need to recipro—"

Lan Zhan cuts him off with a kiss. It's quick, but it shuts Wei Ying up.

"Wei Ying. I feel the same."

Wei Ying's eyes widen comically. "Y-you do?"

"Mn. Wei Ying is my world too." Lan Zhan smiles, actually smiles, and Wei Ying's knees buckle. "I love Wei Ying." He raises a hand to Wei Ying's cheek. "Wei Ying, I love you."

A sound escapes Wei Ying, something of a squeak-groan-growl-moan, and then his lips are on Lan Zhan's. It's messy and a little awkward, but neither one of them has the mind to care.

It's them. And they're kissing. That's all that matters.

Well. All that matters until Lan Zhan suddenly becomes hyper aware of the fact that they are in the middle of a crowded walkway in a busy mall. He pulls back. The sight Wei Ying chaising his lips elicits a small huff of laughter from him and Wei Ying's eyes shoot open.

"You laughed!" Wei Ying is beaming. Face flushed, lips wet and slightly swollen, beautiful.

Lan Zhan blushes, turns to the side, and clears his throat. "We are in a mall," he states, blatantly ignoring Wei Ying's growing smile because if he looks at him, he will kiss him again.

"You were bringing me somewhere?"

"Ah! Yeah! Let's go!" Wei Ying is chipper, smile aparent in his voice. This time when he reaches for Lan Zhan, he takes his hand, interlacing their fingers together. Lan Zhan looks at their hands. They fit perfectly. It feels right.

Wei Ying takes him across the store, chatting as they walk. "So! He/him, right? Any other pronouns you want?"

Lan Zhan glances at him, heart full of love and fondness. "He/him."

"Cool! Do you have any labels? If not, that's fine, I just wanna make sure you're comfortable."

Lan Zhan thought he was cried out, but he almost feels like he could cry again. "Mm… Trans. I am a trans man."

Wei Ying stops, and Lan Zhan's heart drops in anxiety. But Wei Ying only turns to him with a smile and kisses him on the forehead. "Thank you for telling me."

"Mn." That's all he can manage, but he tries to convey all his emotions and feelings in that one word.

Wei Ying seems to get it. His smiles softens and he quickly kisses him on the lips. "Come on," he says and pulls him along.

They enter a store and walk right up to one of the staff. "Hi!" Wei Ying chirps. "I'm looking for a binder for my boyfri–" Wei Ying stiffens, quickly turns to look at Lan Zhan. "Boyfriend?" Lan Zhan's heart skips a beat and he nods rather dumbly. Wei Ying turns back. "Boyfriend."

Lan Zhan is too out of it, blissfully thinking over the term 'boyfriend' to realize what Wei Ying had asked for.

A squeeze to his hand brings him back, his gaze meeting Wei Ying's silvery one. "Lan Zhan, wanna take a look?"

He's confused but follows where Wei Ying gestured.

A bunch of clothes lay out in front of him on the counter. Sleeveless, in different lengths.

He's confused.

The clerk clearly sees his confusion and pipes up. "We have a number of different styles of binders, I'm certain you will find a style that works."

Binders?

He looks to Wei Ying, lost. Wei Ying smiles and brushes his thumb over the back of Lan Zhan's hand.

"Lan Zhan, binders help you flatten your chest," he supplies.

It takes a moment, his brain not fully online after everything, but it clicks. He glances at them then back up.

"You mean?"

Wei Ying nods. "You can hopefully feel more comfortable in your skin and then wear that shirt. Because, Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan… You looked /so/ good in that shirt."

Lan Zhan blushes and gives a gentle squeeze in thanks to Wei Ying's hand.

They spend a bit going over the different styles and what they are best for before Lan Zhan settles on one he likes.

They move to a change room and Lan Zhan is handed a tape measure to check his measurements.

Once that's done, the clerk quickly grabs the correct size.

"It is generally ideal for you to have someone with you when first trying on a binder, to help in case you get stuck," the clerk says. "I can help you if you desire, or your boyfriend here could join you. It's up to you."

Lan Zhan's mind reels at that thought. Wei Ying seeing him. More of him than he's ever seen before. It… It doesn't scare him as much as he'd thought it would. He's never liked his body, but Wei Ying loves him.

"I would like Wei Ying," he says sheepishly.

Wei Ying smiles, something indiscernible in it.

Wei Ying takes the binder and begins to follow Lan Zhan into the change room when he stops. "Oh, would we he be able to wear it out of the store if it fits?"

Lan Zhan's eyebrows scrunch slightly in confusion.

"There's a shirt I want him to try again with it on."

Oh…

The clerk smiles. "Sure, that's fine as long as we have the tags to scan it. It's recommended you wash it before wearing."

"Great! Yeah! We'll take it off after that, thank you!"

The pair enter the change room and Lan Zhan is very aware of what comes next.

He's nervous, but Wei Ying's hand gently coming to rest on his back calms him. "You alright?" Wei Ying asks to which Lan Zhan nods. "Good. Okay, you ready to try on a binder?"

Lan Zhan hesitates, trying to fully process everything, then nods again."

Wei Ying gently rubs circles on his back. "Alright. Tell me if it's too much. I don't want to push you at all or make you uncomfortable. I hope you know that."

"I do," Lan Zhan says quickly, turning to face him. "I know. Thank you. I am okay." He kisses him once, because he can.

Wei Ying smiles and turns around. "I'll be here if you need me. I won't look until you ask me to, okay?"

Lan Zhan's heart swells. "Mn."

It's rather difficult and awkward to put the binder on, he quickly comes to realize. But he manages to get it on.

He looks at himself in the mirror, examining, and works to try and adjust himself as best as he can. It's not perfect, but it's better than he could have ever hoped for. He never had a big chest, his athletic build saw to that, but it was still too much.

He's nearly flat-chested with the binder on, more like it gives the illusion of pecks than breasts.

He stares. He stares and a sob breaks free.

"Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying asks, worry braided into his tone.

"Mn. Fine. Just…" He takes a shaky breath. "Wei Ying, look."

And he does.

"Oh, Lan Zhan! How do you feel?"

Lan Zhan tears his gaze from his body to look at his boyfriend (BOYFRIEND!!!) crying quietly. "Good. I feel good. Happy. Overwhelmed but good."

Wei Ying smiles and hugs him tight. "I'm so glad! You like the binder?"

"Mn. Love it."

Wei Ying presses a kiss to the top of his head. "Good, I'm buying it."

"Wei Ying?"

"Ah! Lan Zhan! I think I should get to treat my boyfriend to things he loves and deserves. I will not be swayed."

Lan Zhan huffs, but knows he can't sway him (not that he even wants to).

So, Lan Zhan wears the binder under his clothes, taking a moment to look in the mirror and feel. Wei Ying buys it while he does that.

He comes back, a small brochure of safety information for binding in his hand. "C'mon Lan Zhan! We've got a shirt to try and buy!"

This time, when Lan Zhan tries the shirt, he doesn't hide at all. He stands tall and proud, feeling confident in his appearance for the first time since he can remember. It's all so much, but in a /good/ way.

Lan Zhan changes, removing the binder with Wei Ying's help.

At the counter, Lan Zhan pulls out his wallet only to find Wei Ying has already tapped his card on the machine. Lan Zhan glares at him and Wei Ying laughs.

"Ah~ Lan Zhan! I told you I'm treating you to the things you love and deserve!"

Lan Zhan only glares harder.

Wei Ying takes the bag, placing the binder in it, then places a chaste kiss to Lan Zhan's cheek.

"I love you," he whispers in Lan Zhan's ear.

A shiver runs through him. "Love Wei Ying too," he replies dryly.

Wei Ying laughs free and bright. Lan Zhan will follow him anywhere.

----------

Well! Was not expecting to write a threadfic tonight, let alone one this long haha. I just got the idea of lwj quietly correcting wwx with "he" as his way of coming out and wwx just not really reacting, and somehow this happened 😅

Link to thread

[akaritheotaku]

Hello there! This is a little snippet I wrote a while ago.

Cw under the cut!!!

Tw: Thoughts of self-harm, body dysmorphia, and gore. Read carefully.

The mirror tells the truth because it can’t lie. But even as I stare at the pudgy girl reflecting back at me, I adjust the waistband of my underwear on my skin, desperately trying to make it look like some semblance of a change is present on my developing body because ‘it can’t be true’. No matter how hard I try, though, my stomach and legs stick out of the black cotton like thick marshmallows skewered on my bones. I hate it. I drop a hand to my midsection and pinch my fat between two fingers, a gory scene of blood pouring from my torso as I cut off more and more of the skin and fat plaguing my body playing through my mind. I twist the chubby skin between my fingers and stare with longing. ‘It’s a shame I’d die from blood loss if I tried’ I think, releasing the skin.

[an-sceal]

I got a haircut the other day, which was awesome. I've spent the past 48 hours looking at a stranger in the mirror when I pass one. I don't ever have a firm picture or solid understanding of "that is me in my body" when I look at myself anyway, just a vaguely recognized set of individual features (my ear with the elf point, my nose that is either too big or okay depending on the day, but is always the same shape, my eyebrows that are psychotic, my tattoo that is art.) Now my hair is short but still too long, which I will fix when I get home.

Before the haircut I was having a third or fourth day of feeling like nothing I was doing with or for my body was sitting correctly. Nausea from meds that are supposed to help my autoimmune disease, and bloating from meds that are supposed to help my stomach deal with the meds that help the arthritis, and fatigue from... everything? Anything? Breathing? (Possibly breathing, because allergens, and thus inflammation triggers, are high.) Clothes and hair and posture and voice were all clashing in this thing that contains me but doesn't fit. And I have had this body for many decades now, minus a part here or there, so I am very used to not feeling at home in it. Not feeling like my body is any sort of representation of who I am, or even a reliably identifiable placeholder for the spaces marked "ME".

It took me over 40 years to figure out that I wasn't a failure as a girl, as a woman, as a "female", even after I knew there were options well beyond the two I'd been given, or the notion of others thought I understood. Part of that was down to assuming I wasn't *____* enough to count. I didn't know what, but I knew I didn't hate my body, so I couldn't be trans, or even not-a-woman in some other way. Sometimes I clung to that as a defense, firm in reminding myself that I didn't, so I wasn't. Sometimes it just was, existing, a fact like my body, which is obvious to everyone else but a mystery to me at the best of times. In my mind, even though I've rarely felt at peace or in sync with "woman", I'd never had a moment where I explicitly felt that I wasn't a woman, much less one where I hated the idea. How would I have hated something that people told me I was, when I literally need to rely on the vague shape of myself and the labels people I trust have given me just to find myself in a mirror?

I was pretty clear for a long time on how I'd never felt any sort of gender dysphoria. Quite the opposite-- the things I held on to, got familiar with like the extra bump of my ear or the round tip of my nose, were all times I'd felt the MOST grounded and at home in this alien ecosystem I keep my consciousness in. Times I felt GOOD about how my hair fell or my clothes sat or my insides settled into my outsides. No dysphoria for me, no, no! Euphoria!

And that’s true! I have felt gender euphoria, lots of it, and bodily euphoria as I have moments where I'm seated and perfect inside my little squishy home. It never occurred to me that those opposite times, when I would have given ANYTHING to step outside my horrible hovel of a skin prison, might be... not how everyone feels. I'm not talking about self-harm or suicidal ideation-- the escape only counts if the me I know and am is intact when I emerge. I'm talking days where every part of me I recognized felt so disconnected and WRONG in relation to who I believed my body made me that I couldn't find any response but intense anxiety and eventual dissociation to cope with it.

I am not drift-compatible with my own body.

[untilteddocument]

They called me the roar of the stars fallen to earth.

My skin was proof against blades made of god-clenched shimmering air, my claws and fangs enough to cut even The Spine of the World. I could both weave myself among the Sea of Leaves and smash a path through the Eternal Tomb as I chose.

I was spoken of as blessing and curse, sometimes in one breath. I was offered tribute of all kinds, and all kinds I took. I coiled around spires to herald coronations, and loomed over the red-stained fields where prisoners were taken for execution.

All this, I had done, and more, until they found the land fittingly scoured. With nothing beyond perfunctory words of thanks, they bid me farewell, and left me in this, my old shell.

For centuries, I was Godsteeth, The Beast of Great Order, The Right Pillar of the Skyward Stronghold, a dozen names to shoe my dozen feet.

Now, and here, I am Abigail Sinter, of Mrs. Costa's first grade class in Abel Elementary School.

My parents found me curled up and weeping in my bed, my clothes for the day thrown with no care for where they ended up. I feigned delirium born from illness, which I strongly doubt they believed, but still my distress was such that I was given a reprieve from school that day. Of course, more time was needed, but none would see fit to give me it.

Even so, that day saved me. Expecting me, freshly clothed in a mortal child's flesh once more, to actually manage a day of school on the heels of

ept striking in a panic, and I felt armor buckle and bone snap iamond tears, my pleas to be left alone lost in eard my anguished screams as a victory cry i pretended until even i believed my lies e field oozed red with blood, caking my paws and making me retch

I rested, apologized to my parents, clung to their simple and warm love for me, and lied to their faces that I didn't know what was wrong, even as they watched me struggle with the provided spoon for my chicken soup, eventually just gripping the bowl and drinking from it. How could I not lie to them? Even they, in that moment, would dismiss what had transpired as, generously, the vivid daydreams of a young girl. Better they think me a creative liar than cloven from the real, but neither were the understanding I needed. That, I would likely not find anywhere.

The first day back was an ordeal, in ways I had not even considered. My memories, the accumulated experiences of what I was, remained, but precious little of it was of use to me. From seeing it countless times, I could determine the best path for cavalry to take along a given slope of hill. I knew well the various twists and turns of godsthread to wither the space between a creature and uncreation, to distill an area into mere godsbreath and water. I could roar encouragement in seventeen divine tongues, spin prayers to the heavens and invoke as many gods to see their will done.

Powers willing, I, Abigail Sinter, would never need to understand cavalry.

Godsthread had no purchase here, where logic had not even the power to dispel lies.

None of those seventeen tongues were English.

Here, I am a clumsy child, who fumbles with hammer-gripped crayons and still damnably says "pasketti." On that clear but biting-cold autumn day, I almost broke down when I tried to recite a poem for Show and Tell and found that the only words that could force their way out of my juvenile throat were insipid lumpy facts about apples.

Mrs. Costa smiled and clapped and I knew, then, that the thespian's profession could be mine, if only because I was able to smile and bow and toddle off to my seat without communicating my shame.

By comparison, the sciences were a relief. I had little occasion to learn them before, so I was in no worse a situation than I had been. How...interesting that the mere difference between a fish and a dolphin feels so distant to me. Many of the simplest ideas, so foreign, which made them beautiful and enticing.

For all those centuries, I had known only what I was made meant to do. I can quote paeans to the gods, I can call lightning and flame, I can snap bone, rend flesh, and yet the knowledge of how food spoils or what lies beneath the soil of the land were left until now, in this humble tinderbox for the fire of reason. Were not those important, even to the conductors of that war? I wondered, and in that wonder lay some comfort.

When recess came, I was accosted by a bully, an old adversary of mine, and found myself frozen, not with fear but with the sheer wrenching sensation that I should have claws, but I do not. My body could not coil, could not scatter him like so much charred paper. I almost tried crushing his larynx in my jaws anyway but stumbled and fell, my inelegant blubbering drawing even more mocking laughter. Tears rolled down the face of a child who skinned her knee. Screams tore their way from the mouth of a beast denied her pound of flesh. Chubby hands hid eyes wracked with guilt at how easily she considered murder.

I was Godsteeth, The Beast of Great Order.

I was a withered old husk, a dead seed trying to pretend it was still a flower.

I was a scared little girl, trapped between two worlds.

After school, my parents tried to talk to me, but I couldn't bring myself to say the full truth. I did tell them about the bullying, which led to an impromptu conference with school staff and exactly nothing else.

The days passed, and tasks became easier. I could pretend with greater facility, and I began to notice that I was able to lose myself in my work from time to time. Other things lingered, like the absence of clawed feet, of fangs and the breath of ruin, the ache of no longer having skin that could turn aside a volcano's heat...and yet I also welcomed the void in their place.

I spent fewer hours staring at my hands, wishing they could

I flinched less every time I bit into a chunk of meat, expecting blood and screams

I spoke more readily, more sure that a stray word would not invoke some unbidden spell

I was able to restrain myself, use tears and weakness in the place of roars and carnage

I could even feign reassuring laughter when asked of that sudden "sickness" from early in the year, which comforted my parents far more than it did me. They still had no inkling, no comprehension (and blessedly so) of the pain their daughter was hiding from them.

Or so I thought.

One day, it crystallized like so much clenched godsthread, such that I cursed myself for not seeing it earlier.

My father was avoiding me.

He masked it well enough, his hugs warm and genuine, his jokes embarrassing as such jokes are meant to be, but the thread stuck out.

His hugs paused before tightening, as if he had to brace himself for it.

His jokes were too ready, too easy, delivered with the fervor of a man bargaining for his life.

I wondered. Did he see what lurked under my skin? Was I truly that beast after all, only clothed in this world's logic and protein? I dared not hope consider this; if it were merely sealed away, I could think of any number of moments of unguarded extremis where it would come forth (mundane as it seems, slipping in the bath is such a one), and yet there were moments where I could see it in his eyes. I saw that he saw...something.

And yet, he was the first to come whenever the nightmares woke me, diligently sweeping the room for monsters (my dear father, you missed one), offering warm words and a warmer presence. Whatever he saw, he also saw his daughter.

In honor of that love and out of growing certainty, I forced the issue.

One night, I asked him to read me a bedtime story, as was customary. I chose a long-time favorite, a story of a kindly old witch, which he performed with the skill of a practiced hand. Shortly ater the story finished, I clung to his shirt sleeve, finally - finally - letting the lies drop from my gaze. He flinched at what he saw, I knew. The look on my face...he tried to turn away but couldn't, not when the pain, blinding as it was, came from me. Stuck in the trap, he stared, piteous, silently begging to be spared.

For the first time in months, I spoke in a different tongue, leaden and soaked with memories. Not a prayer, or a speech. Nothing so grand. Just a question, a mirror to one I had asked centuries ago.

{...whither does the wind lead you?}

He swallowed, then, and I knew something of what he would say in reply. He shuddered, his eyes wet, and he whispered a reply.

{...to broken promises, beast.}

We embraced, then, with no pause, clinging to each other in as much fear as relief and confusion. Our questions and answers and apologies and forgiveness came as one, hampered by tears and breath.

Oh, heavens, we were not alone.

Oh, heavens, we were not alone.

Past the rush, we fell to discussion, our words sharpened by the questions that came to mind. Neither of us understood why they would take two - at least two! - from this place, nor how many more they took to wage their divine game, nor why. We dared not speak for too long - neither time nor our obligations had any heed for us - but I knew both of us struggled with sleep that night.

They called me the roar of the stars fallen to earth.

They called him the jaws that would enclose the sky.

They lied to us until it became our truth.

They told me I was Godsteeth, The Beast of Great Order, The Right Pillar of the Skyward Stronghold, a dozen names to shoe my dozen feet.

Here and now, I know; for centuries, I was Abigail Sinter, a child, a patsy, a beast on a leash, a convenient idiot, a dozen truths they hid with pretty words.

And now I would have to live with it.

They stole you from your world when you were but a young girl, and they forged you into a magical weapon that has been feared across the cosmos. Now that the war is over and you’ve won, they send you back to the moment before they captured you. The skills, PTSD, and memories? Those never fade.

[daftpatience]

woo woo topsurgery waitlist vent comic incoming woo woo

[diagnosed-crazy]

Most of the time, I can do fine with filters. They don’t upset me. They can be fun.

But today...was not that kind of day.

I went to take a picture today, and I was moving my phone around and clicked a setting I didn’t mean to.

The filter option came up on my phone.

And the amount that every filter I looked through changed my nose made me want to cry. I’m not usually too bad with my body dysmorphia. It usually revolves around my muscles because I am much more uncomfortable and conscious of those, but seeing how small they tried to make my nose in those filters really set me off today.

I didn’t need anything else to make me upset today. I didn’t want to spend an hour being unable to look at my own face. It hasn’t ever been about my nose before, so I’m real glad that is now a thing.

[propheciesanddreams]

Got called “miss” and “she” and a name I don’t (version of my government name that’s far too fem for me) a ton today.

It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.

I wish I could be one of those androgynous enbies but my body just will never look that way. I will always appear as a woman.

The thing is… I don’t hate being feminine. I just hate when that’s the only option I’m presented with. I used to think I hated the color pink, for years. Rebelled against it. I really like pink. I felt the most me when I had pink hair but sometimes I fear if I wear pink I’ll only be seen as “ma’am” “she” “sweetie (condescending)”

It’s probably too late to be stressing about this. I just hate knowing I’ll never be seen for who I am. Everyone will always try to fit me into a box.

[solarmorrigan]

[cw: weight loss, body image issues/body dysmorphia]

Consider: Steve whose migraines become unmanageable for a while, or who falls into a harsh depressive episode after everything with Vecna, or who experiences reduced mobility or chronic pain due to the many varied injuries he's picked up over the years, or any combination of the above

Steve who loses his appetite and who isn't able to keep up with the workout routine he used to have and who loses weight and loses muscle mass and fucking hates it

He's always been on the lean side, but he hasn't been skinny since probably eighth grade, when he was still gawky and growing into his frame. But this is different; this isn't awkward adolescence, something he'll grow out of, this is the sight of his ribs through his skin and his hipbones jutting out and his wrists getting too skinny for his watch. This is feeling cold all the time and struggling to lift things he used to be able to pick up without much trouble

(It's fear, too. Not just a fear that he'll never get back to where he used to be, but fear that something will happen and he'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to help. Too weak to protect anyone the way he should)

There are days he can't quite stand looking at himself; can't stand the sight of baggy clothes that used to fit perfectly, can't stand looking at tired eyes staring out of the sharpened angles of his face. He feels insubstantial this way. Like anyone could look right past him - right through him

Eddie never does, though. He never treats Steve differently, except to worry about his health - but never what he looks like. He hugs Steve as tightly as before, kisses him just as hard as before, whistles at him when he catches Steve in the middle of dressing, just like before. Like he isn't disappointed that Steve doesn't look good anymore, like he isn't even bothered

He'll hold Steve, and pull him close on bad days, and he'll let Steve be upset, but he'll never stand for Steve speaking badly about himself. He'll always push back, sometimes gently, sometimes loudly, always reminding Steve that he loves him, and what he looks like is a part of that. Reminding him that Eddie loves it all

"But you can gain it back, if you want to. When you're doing better," Eddie tells him

"What if I'm never doing better? What if I can never get back to where I was?" Steve demands. "What if this is just my body now?"

"Then it is." Eddie kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "Then I'll help you learn how to love it as much as you did before. As much as I still do."

And he says it so openly, so honestly, that even on bad days, Steve thinks that maybe - maybe he could be okay

[molabuddy]

regret.

[wisedawn13]

Transmasc WWX Canon Era Thoughts

CW // mentions of transphobia and body dysmorphia

wwx knew he was a boy when he was around 4 years old

his parents were incredibly supportive of lil wwx's gender identity

when jfm found him, he'd misgendered wwx (since he wasn't aware of the change) but wwx calmly corrected him

only the Jiangs know wwx is trans while the rest of the cultivation world believes he is a cis man

wwx is not ashamed of who he is, but there are people who are cruel so jfm and yzy deem it best if they keep the fact of him being trans hidden

wwx is not treated any differently than any of the other guys

he quickly creates a talisman that lowers his vocal range for 24 hours (he has to redo it every day)

puberty is a horrible experience for him and he becomes increasingly uncomfortable

his body changes in ways he hates and he begins binding as a teen

the whole CR arc is the same, though there's an underlying anxiety about being found out because he doesn't know how the Lans view transgender people

wwx meets nhs

they quickly become close and nhs comes out as non-binary (they/he/she)

wwx feels comfortable enough around them to come out as trans

they are incredibly supportive of wwx and never tell a soul

the next person to find out wwx is trans is lwj

this happens day 2 in the cave of the xuanwu of slaughter

wwx no longer has the means to write a new talisman for his voice and he also has to remove his bindings to avoid being hurt (more)

lwj doesn't bat an eyelash at the knowledge: "Wei Ying is Wei Ying"

after lwj falls asleep that night wwx cries

lwj continues to be the only person who knows outside of the Jiangs and nhs and that never changes as time moves on

wwx, the yllz, dies and the world hates him as a man

lwj mourns him as a man

wwx has always been a man

13 years pass and wwx is summoned into the body of mxy, a young man, and once he has a grasp of the situation (doesn't take long) he weeps

he has the body he'd always wanted

no more binding

no more voice changing talismans

no more hiding

no more hating

he is free

lwj's heart soars when he sees how happy wwx is in his new body

if nhs has a smug little smile when he sees wwx comfortable in his skin, well that's nobody's business but their own

----------

I really want to write a fic about this

Link to thread

[eggtomatosoup]

what's wrong?

[lostmf]

I wish I could stop counting every bite ..

[vinzulu]

[ibrithir-was-here]

Rosemary is for Remembrance Part 5

Part 1

Part 4

Part 6

[sphylor]

For the kiss prompts, number 21 with Mountaindew if you wanna! Please and thank you 🖤

can i just say thank you so so much for sending this?? i havent been able to stop thinking about it all day KJNFHBS ive been tossing around some ideas in my head for a couple of months now but this helped me turn those into actual writing shjbfd also on AO3

21. …on a place of insecurity. (cw for body dysmorphia)

Dew picked up the pair of jeans he had tossed to the floor before going to sleep the previous night and stepped into them. They slipped past his calves and over his knees with ease as he pulled them up. When they reached the meat of his thighs, though, he had to shimmy them up a little. He did his fly up and turned to reach for a tshirt but paused when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Something felt off. He stepped closer, trying to figure out what it was. He looked at where his trousers met his waist and noticed how they dug into his pale skin, causing it to ever so slightly spill over the top of his jeans. He frowned. 

There was a knock at the door and the sound of creaking as it opened.

“Hey, firefly. Are you ready to come help me in the greenhouse?” 

Dew didn’t turn to greet Mountain, he didn’t even lift his gaze to look at the earth ghoul’s reflection in the mirror. His eyes were still fixed on the fat of his waist and his brain was filled with roaring static. His view of the mirror was blocked, though, as Mountain stood in front of him. Dew sucked in a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been withholding and looked up at Mountain

“What’s wrong, droplet?” The concern in Mountain’s voice echoed the expression on his face. 

“I-” Dew faltered. He felt stupid for feeling so weird about it. He looked down at the ground in shame. Except his gaze never reached the ground, it got caught again on his waist. 

Mountain followed his line of sight and smiled softly. “I see...”

“I gained weight, Mount.” Dew’s voice shook slightly as he said it and he felt even more pathetic.

“You did.” Mountain agreed. “I’m guessing you’re not feeling too great about it, though?”

Dew shook his head and Mountain hummed as moved to kneel before Dew.

“I can understand where those feelings might be coming from… May I touch you?”

Dew nodded and Mountain gently placed his hands on his waist. “Do you remember how thin you were when you were first summoned? I do,” the earth ghoul brushed his calloused thumbs against Dew’s soft skin. “Your hip bones jutted out so prominently,” he moved his thumbs to circle the bumps of Dew’s hips, delicately pressing into the small layer of fat between the skin and the bone. “And your stomach looked like it had never been home to a good meal in its life,” Dew shuddered as Mountain pulled a hand away from his hip to stroke down the gentle curve of his belly. “I thought you were the most beautiful ghoul I had ever seen. But I also didn’t know if you were gonna make it-” Mountain’s voice broke slightly as he looked up at Dew, who wiped a tear from his cheek before the earth ghoul could notice it falling. “I still think you’re the most beautiful ghoul I have ever seen. But now? You have never looked more alive.”

Dew didn’t know what to say. He was overwhelmed with emotions that he couldn’t even name. He tried to open his mouth to speak, to tell Mountain how much he appreciated his words, his whole existence. To tell him how grateful he was each and every day to have met him. But he could only manage to say one thing. 

“I love you.”

Mountain smiled, clearly knowing everything that those words meant in that moment. “I love you too, firefly. Each and every part of you.” He lowered his head to press a kiss into the softness of Dew’s stomach, his lips as soft as rose petals. He moved further up and pressed more kisses into his skin. Over old scars and new curves. Looking up at the mirror, he saw every so-called imperfection suddenly made perfect. He wondered if this was how Mountain, how everyone in his pack, saw him every day. Mountain worked his way up Dew’s body with his kisses until he reached his face, where he stood up, planted a kiss on the tip of Dew’s nose then backed away.

“Hey!” Dew frowned.

Mountain laughed lightly. “What?”

“You forgot a spot.” Dew pouted and pointed to his lips.

Mountain raised an eyebrow. “You’re still meant to be helping me in the greenhouse today, remember? I can’t just give you your reward for that now.”

Dew somehow managed to pout even more and Mountain rolled his eyes. He bent down and gave Dew a little peck on the lips. 

“A little taster, then. Just for you.”

Dew laughed and shook his head “I guess that will have to last me all day.” He threw on a shirt and quickly brushed his hair before putting it up in a ponytail. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror again. This time he smiled. Only a small one, but it was a smile nonetheless. 

The fire ghoul looked up at Mountain’s reflection in the mirror. “Hey Mount?”

“Yes?”

Dew turned around. “Thank you.” Mountain crossed the room and cradled Dew’s face with a large, warm hand. “Thank you for letting me love you as much as you let me.”