#dysmorphia mention

[transtalesofdoom]

The Egg Years and being Cis-Adjacent

I originally made this blog to talk about my new and exciting trans experience, so let's go do that. Long post, obviously and I just figured out how to do the Keep Reading thing

I didn't have any inherent dysphoria growing up, I was just a bit of a not-like-other-girls tomboy. Jeans were comfier than dresses, boobs and bras were sooo inconvenient, make up just meant more effort. Books and video games were more fun than going out to party. I wasn't good at dancing anyway. And don't even get me started on shaving your legs.

It became obvious to me that I wasn't strictly cis pretty much as soon as I learned that gender wasn't binary. It was common sense, really. If gender is a spectrum, very few people would actually find themselves on the very end of either side. So most people were just close enough to either end of the spectrum to consider themselves cis. Including myself.

As my understanding of gender grew, it became more and more ridiculous to assume anyone was 100% cis. There's always some criterion you don't fully meet. Of course, people could still use and identify with the label of cis, clearly there was some sort of leeway. But calling myself cis started to feel wrong. It felt like I was ignoring the very nature of gender as a vast spectrum by picking a label rooted in the binary. I was cis, but in a queer way. I started calling myself cis-adjacent when talking to other queer people.

I never had a "problem" with my assigned gender at birth, outside of the patriarchy and sexism and periods, but those weren't trans reasons to resent being a woman. Being a woman suited me well enough. I wouldn't have cared if I wasn't, if I woke up one day without boobs, I'd just go on and fit into shirts much more easily. I considered "gender-apathetic" as a label, but ultimately it felt like too much hassle for something I was indifferent about.

Really, that was what it came down to. I was close enough to being cis, I didn't have any internal problems with calling myself a woman or living as one. Sure, there probably was something more accurate for me out there, but I knew about the struggles trans people faced. A good friend of mine had come out as trans and started his transition. I was happy for him, but I also got to see the difficulties it brought to update paperwork and book appointments and constantly emailing professors about your new name and pronouns. Not to mention the whole coming out to family thing. Or transphobia. There wasn't enough suffering in me to submit myself to this much effort and misery. Or force everyone in my life to learn a new set of pronouns and name for me, irrevocably changing every single relationship I had in the process. I didn't even want to be a man anyway. Just look a little more like one.

And I could easily present pretty masculine without transitioning. I only wore pants anyway. And hoodies were super comfy. I cut my hair short more than once. I considered buying a binder, just to see what that would do for me, but every time I tried looking into it, I just got overwhelmed and, like I said, there wasn't enough suffering to justify spending 50 bucks and at least one extensive research session on it. Ironically enough, during my last year as cis-adjacent, I finally reconnected with a part of my femininity and wore dresses to special occasions again.

However, a new problem had found my body: The unstoppable passage of time. I wasn't a perky teenager anymore. My body gained weight, my boobs succumbed to gravity, and I had very little in common with what was considered a beautiful woman. Even a beautiful butch woman didn't look like me. No one beautiful looked like me, really. I told myself that I had a lot of internalized misogyny and fatphobia to unlearn. That the reason I started disliking my reflection was social conditioning. I was right about that, of course. But there was more to it that I, in my self-righteous blaming of society, didn't acknowledge.

Until the last full moon night of 2023, when my mirror reflected a ghost back at me.

[amethystsoda]

It’s finally dysmorphia hoodie season!!!! 🍁🍁🍁

[underwatersurfboard]

[angriest-ginger]

So, I have a theory about depression, self consciousness and body dysmorphia. (bare in mind that I am not a psychologist)

A lot of people have heard of the fact that the brain causes one your see themselves as 5 times more beautiful than you really are, but what if something about depression/ self consciousness/dysmorphia turns that function off, or even reverses it?

I've noticed that I have features that my mind will tell me are unattractive, but if I see those specific features on OTHER people, they won't seem unattractive or I'll actually find the features attractive on others.

I mean like, I'm sure there's an already documented reason why this happens but I just don't know.

Just a little food for thought.

[yearningsaphic]

Does anyone else look in the mirror long enough and examine your features to the point where you start to get physically nauseous? Just me? Ok

[read-write-thrive]

Charles Rowland Week Day One — Cricket Bat/The Brawn

There were a lot of unexpected downsides to being a ghost. Sure, he got a best mate and a “life” he loved out of dying, but it wasn’t all sunshine rainbows and ice cream. And not just the major things like being chased or attacked on cases, neither! Small things were just as bad, especially when they snuck up on you

Take the mirror thing, for example. It’s really not an issue, right? Charles wasn’t vain or anything, he didn’t need to see himself in the mirror constantly. But you don’t realise how much you look in the mirror until it’s gone, really. All of a sudden your only perceptions of yourself is what you can see looking down and what you can remember. Charles had done his best to not think about it at all, but was rather suddenly confronted with his image issues about a year into being dead.

Well, “suddenly” isn’t quite right. Truth is, they’d just found a place to call theirs and were set on fixing it up. They hadn’t settled on a name for their detective agency yet, but they were getting there. At the moment all they were doing was cleaning the space as best they could to try and make it feel more homey.

You see, the place was, looking back, their reward for their first case. They’d taken to wandering London, just seeing the sights really, when recently they noticed the building. In slight disrepair, sure, but the weirder part was the poltergeist wreaking havoc on anyone who came near it. The living (un?)consciously avoided the place, but the boys hadn’t heard the gossip and were the next victims to its destruction. They couldn’t be killed, of course, but they could still be thrown about (and injured, apparently! Blasted iron—).

Edwin had already picked up a magical tome on their travels (which he’d then casually carried in his overcoat—Charles, who was still struggling to reimagine his clothing, was only a little jealous, he swore) and was thankfully able to use it to banish the poltergeist. They both took a hit or two, but Charles had realised early on that he needed to take the attention off Edwin in order for him to actually use magic. Charles had quickly rallied against the poltergeist, distracting it and taking the rest of the blows that came with that. Well, he’d tried to tackle the poltergeist first, get on the offense and all that, but that hadn’t gone well. So then he just took the hits until Edwin did his job.

Edwin, for whatever reason, had been right pissed about it in the days since. He kept his sentences short, kept his nose in that bloody book, and was overall being a cranky bastard. Charles was still sore from the fight (how ridiculous that ghosts could even be sore) and was frankly fed up with it. Time to tackle it head-on.

Though he could’ve taken the empty chair on the other side of the desk, Charles decided that being up close and personal was better for this talk. He marched up to the desk and sat on the ledge of it, arms crossed and looking down at Edwin, feet nudging the base of his chair.

Edwin didn’t even look up from the book, “Yes, Charles?”

Charles carefully took the book (bookmarked it, naturally, he wasn’t a monster) and set it aside as he spoke, “We need to have a chat, mate. Now, if you’ve got the time.”

Edwin let the book be taken, though his (stupidly broad, how does a sixteen year old even get built like that?? too fit for his own good and he doesn’t even know it, the wanker) shoulders remained tense. He quirked an eyebrow as he looked up at Charles, “Since you’ve taken my reading, I suddenly have the time. What is it you wish to speak about?”

Charles used his hand to motion at Edwin’s face, “All this. I get that you’re angry with me, though I have no clue why, but I need you to come out and say it, yeah? I’m not a mind reader.”

Sighing, Edwin properly faced Charles, “Fine. If that would please you. I am unhappy with how you handled our encounter with the poltergeist, and I was hoping you would apologise for it. I see that will not be happening.”

“Apologise?” Charles questioned, bewildered, “What the bloody hell did I do? I distracted the thing while you used your fancy magic to get rid of it!”

Edwin remained unimpressed, “I can handle myself, Charles. Your display of… masochism, shall we say— was unwarranted and reckless. We had no way of knowing what the poltergeist could do.”

“And? What, I was just supposed to let the thing do equal damage to both of us? Or let you take all the hits? You’re the one with the bloody book, mate, least I could do was give you time to read it.” Charles huffed.

“And yet your soul is less tempered than mine, so it is extremely likely that you will succumb to injuries at a faster rate.” Edwin snapped back, hands steepled in front of him as if this were all just obvious facts.

Bewildered, Charles tried to clarify, “What are you saying? I can’t take the same damage as you? Seriously?”

Edwin’s eyes, usually steadfast in maintaining eye contact, flickered down Charles’s form, then back up to his face.

Charles knew what that meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten looks like that, in conversations like these. Every time he tried out for a sport, every time he tried to stand up to his dad, every time he tried to keep up with his mates. Charles knew he was twiggy, alright? He didn’t put on muscle like the other lads did even doing the same sports and eating the same school-provided meals. Hell, even when he tried going above and beyond in eating meat and lifting weights all he did was get lean, not properly muscley. A fact which everybody noticed.

As a result, he’d get these looks. Right rude looks. As if it was funny to think of him being strong or holding his own in scraps. There were a few times his mates would egg him on to fight some other bloke twice his size to try and embarrass him. Maybe it wasn’t so harmless, looking back, but Charles usually scraped by by changing it into a race or just talking his way out of it. He knew they wanted to see him take a beating, even if they framed it as him “proving” that he was stronger than he looked. They’d give him that same look every single bloody time, as if he had to be bluffing and they were thrilled to call him out on it.

This was made all the worse by his dad of course—his dad who outright laughed in his face any time he tried to stand up or fight back. His dad who left just enough visible bruises and scars to make it seem like Charles was out fighting every break and losing every single one of ‘em. The teachers took it as another sign of Charles being no-good and brushed off any time he wanted to get treatment or lenience for the injuries. The other boys would laugh at the bruises and such, asking what Charles did to piss off his foe. Asking why he kept fighting if he was so obviously always going to lose. Just look at him—how would a scraggy thing like him ever win a fight?

So yeah, maybe Charles was a bit defensive about how he looked and how strong he was. It was all the worse by the mirror thing—was he skinnier dead? How would he ever know for sure? To top it all off, he’s dead. Not exactly like there’s a gym for ghosts, is there? Well, not that they knew of yet at least. And with his luck, a ghost gym wouldn’t do anything either.

Point is, Charles was practically stuck in this stupid thin appearance for the rest of his ghostly days. And he hated it. He hated it every time he went to check a mirror and saw nothing, forcing himself to rely on his memory. He hated it every time he struggled to manifest better clothes—Edwin kept telling him to just visualise, right, but how was he supposed to do that when he’d avoided visualising himself at all for years? What if he made it worse by visualising? Maybe he was a bit bigger since dying! Some unconscious thing helping him out or some shite. He didn’t want to risk making himself any skinnier!

It was ridiculous, all of it. But Charles was not about to take that same bullshit from someone he thought was better than all that.

“What, I’m too skin and bones for ya? Too weak? C’mon, tell me. I can take it.” He really couldn’t, truth be told, but he was ready to bluff his way through the hurt like always.

Edwin’s face scrunched up, “What the devils are you talking about? We’re ghosts, Charles, our appearances are entirely subjective. Not to mention they have little very bearing on this situation.”

Now it was again Charles’s turn to be confused, though he was still hunched up on the defensive, “Then what? What is it?”

“I do not want to see you hurt, alright?” Edwin snapped, “We do not know how to fix any injuries you might have sustained and you were completely defenceless! I was trying to focus on locating and performing the proper spell and there you were, ready to be obliterated in front of my very eyes!”

Charles gave a slightly relieved sigh. Edwin looked displeased at this, but Charles started speaking before Edwin had a chance to continue, “You’re mad at me because I scared you, is that it? Mate, I’m perfectly fine! We got that fucker out of here and I’m perfectly a-ok! Here I was thinking I’d properly mucked something up—“

“I am serious, Charles—“

“So am I!” Charles planted his hands on Edwin’s shoulders, forcing complete eye contact, “Look, as soon as we can, we’ll get our hands on some weapons for me to use alongside your fancy magic books. Hell, maybe you can make me one for all we know on magic!”

Edwin again went to reply, but Charles wasn’t finished.

“I’m flattered you care, and thank you for looking out for me, but I promise I’m stronger than I look. Get me a bat or something and, with you and your magic, I’m happy to take on any future baddies we come across, yeah?”

Edwin sighed again, but it was clear his icy demeanour was melting, “I suppose we can have that be our next move, now that we have a headquarters for ourselves.”

Charles all but cheered, ecstatic to have actually resolved their little spat, “That’s the spirit! I’ll be the brawns, you be the brains, and our Ghostbusters agency will be brills!”

“For the hundredth time, Charles, we are not naming our detective agency after some film!…”

—

Day one of @charles-rowland-week in the books! I make no promises to have something for every day/prompt bc my life is a mess (as per usual) but I wanted to at least do one :) hope y’all enjoyed it !!

[narratorstrash]

Do you think Cole’s body remained in Yang’s temple? Do you think his body— without a soul to keep it together— solely began rotting away & that’s why he now has a scar? Do you think that’s why it took a minute before he came back to the others in the end of DotD? Do you think he spent that minute regaining his sense of aliveness & steeled himself before returning to his friends?

Do you think his mother felt it when he died in the temple? Do you think she tried desperately, fruitlessly to reach out to him, to comfort him & tell him everything would be okay & embrace him in the afterlife? How do you think she felt when she reached out to hug him only to still be unreachable to him?

Do you think she was proud of him when he went after master Yang with the intention to finish him for good? Was she proud when he saved the trapped students & tried to free their captor despite all the pain & injustice? Do you think she still sat with him while he regained his bearings in the mortal world again, knowing it would likely be even longer before she could possibly get a chance to be with her son again? Do you think she prayed to the FSM for him to live as long as possible despite the pain it brings her?

Does she still dance in the afterlife, even with no partner? Does she still fight for those who can’t & protect the weak? Does she still recall the Geckles & Munts fondly?

Is Lilly still proud of her son?

[ajthecrayon]

Shitty Diner - Rosekiller

I hope this is what you had in mind @meowmeowkri if you saw me re-blog with this, no you didn't

I love batshit Rosekiller as much as the next person, but I don't see a lot of their darker hours. Where the anxiety is all consuming. This of course focuses on Barty. I haven't gotten the characterization for Evan down just yet, but a girl is trying her best. I don't have an ED or Body Dysmorphia so if I misrepresent anything that's written, please do not hesitate to let me know.

Tags: Bulimic! Barty Crouch Jr x Evan Rosier.

Word count: 1,782

Warnings: Eating Disorder mentioned, Bulimia specifically, body dysmorphia, graphic descriptions of vomiting, body checking, shattered glass, blood, alcoholism mentioned if you squint

Divider @firefly-graphics

The restroom of the shitty diner was silent save for the sound of some pop hit playing on the overhead speaker, and the sound of a fist hitting glass. His fist. It took a couple of minutes for Barty's mind to catch up with what he had just done. He blinked slowly, looking at the blood trickle from his knuckles down his arm, the glass embedded in his skin shining in the dim, flickering lights of the restroom. He looked back at his reflection, to any outside onlooker he looked gauntly, dark circles under his eyes, harsh angles. His ribs poking out a bit if he moved just right. As he stared, his reflection warped in the shattered mirror. Watching as his cheeks appeared a little more rounder than before, his stomach extending in a gross manner. And his biceps just looking wrong.

Dinner was going smoothly, he insisted on picking off of Evan's plate declaring that it was cheaper to do so. Even that felt like it was too much for him to consume in front of him. As he got a little more comfortable with Evan as the meal progressed and the food loosing heat he picked a little more off his plate. A little distracted from the thoughts that pointed at every insecurity engrained him, until he glanced around and caught someone staring at him. In reality, it was probably nothing. A person lost in thought. A quick glance that only came off as staring. And he felt sick. He couldn't help but let his thoughts drift and start telling himself this stranger had thought him to be eating too much, and unhealthy. Someone who had no business eating what he was eating. After that he let Evan carry the conversation. As he got lost in thought, he stared down at his thighs, how the flesh under his clothing felt too big, too much. His palms grew sweatier and he just about bolted into the diner's one toilet restroom locking the door with shaking hands and an equally as shaky exhale.

He was knocked out of his replay of the events as a sick wave of nausea swept over him. He turned the water on in the sink. He shoved his hand under the running water the dark red turning light under the weak stream. The porcelain was long stained orange from the rust of the faucet, and as the water ran the red of his blood and the rust contrasted disgustingly against each other. He did his best to just focus on the stinging of his skin from the glass as the hot water knocked the shards out, ignoring the incessant need to vomit. His mind was still struggling to keep up with what was happening. The only thing tethering him was his shaking hands picking out glass shards from the broken skin of his knuckles. He made the mistake of looking into the mirror, and he immediately grimaced at what he saw. Flushed cheeks, and a sweaty forehead. The wave of nausea that hit him was immediate. He staggered across the small bathroom, and fell to his knees in front of the toilet, Merlin knows the last time this thing was properly cleaned. The impact of his knees hitting the dark tile rung through him, the pain was muffled by his nausea. He couldn't bring himself to care about the bruises that were already starting to form under his baggy jeans.

As his knees hit the ground, he shoves his bloody fingers down his throat, the taste of iron and copper is heavy on his tongue. He gags himself. His diaphragm and abdomen clench painfully as they respond to the intrusion in his throat. His esophagus and throat spasm sorely around his fingers. There wasn't much in his stomach to get rid of, but it was enough for him to cause an uncomfortable weight in his stomach. His eyes roll back and his fingers fly out of his mouth as the small amount of water he had, fries, and his stomach acid hit the stained bottom of the toilet in a disgusting slurry of fluid and chewed food. His fingers went back down his throat immediately after.

Behind him, a door pushes open. A door with a broken lock to Barty's future dismay. Evan has caught him in the act. He hovers in the entrance of the shitty diner restroom. His eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. A shattered mirror, with blood still clinging to the dirty glass. A sink left running. And his - he wants to say boyfriend - gagging himself on the nasty ground of the men's restroom, and vomiting into an equally as nasty toilet.

Evan's immediate reaction was to be mad, so mad. Not at Barty, but at himself. For not noticing, for brushing off jokes Barty made about his body. For just carrying on like nothing is wrong. Joining him in his week long benders of miscellaneous drinks and clubs that was followed by profuse hangovers that induced vomiting.

He shuts the door immediately behind him, not bothering to be quiet. He isn't all too gentle when he finally gets his hands on Barty either. He pulls Barty's bloodied, and now spit soaked hand out of his throat And wrestles him away from the toilet.

A startled noise is pulled out of the man on the floor followed by coughing. Barty immediately faces Evan shoving him away as he coughs up a mix of spit and vomit. The fluids hit the floor in a splatter. It's not much, but it's enough for shame to fill his chest, and it doesn't take long for it to transfigure into anger.

"Ever heard of fucking knocking." Barty hisses followed by more coughing. His hands are shaking from the exertion of expelling the contents of his stomach. His eyes struggle to focus on the man that is still standing above him.

Evan's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing at Barty as he takes in his pathetic form on the ground. "You're kidding," he bites out. That's what he's worried about?

"No- No I'm not kidding." he doubles down, even if the argument is pointless. The weight of being exposed, and caught in such a vulnerable position is heavy. The weight settles on his chest, a tightening hold settling on his lungs. His breathing stutters a bit as his eyes drift down and away from Evan. He's too dehydrated to form the tears his panic riddled body wishes to produce, his head aching and pounding. A dull pain settling behind his eyes as he falls apart in front of Evan.

His breathing is ragged, and he's spluttering nonsense as he panics. Mixes of him telling Evan to get the fuck out, and that he's fine. He's shaking so violently he thinks he's going to fall apart and fade away. As his breathing picks up in speed, his vision blurs even more. And he just can't fucking calm down.

Evan runs a hand over his face, not knowing what to do next. He takes a moment to settle his anger. Shoving it to the back of his mind to unravel and dissect later. He instead settles on the tile floor beside Barty to try and support him. His hands hover not knowing if he should touch him or not. He watches Barty nearly make himself sick again as he chokes on his breath and spit. He does what he knows best, and allows his touch to be rough.

He takes Barty by the shoulders, forcing him to look at Evan. "Hey-" he snaps. Trying to get him to look at Evan. Barty doesn't meet his eyes, his vision dancing around the room. The flickering fluorescent lights of the bathroom catching his attention instead as he looks up trying his best to not choke on his breath. He coughs and chokes anyway. Evan grips his cheeks meanly, gripping his sullen cheeks between his pointer-finger and thumb. "Look at me Barty." he says sharply.

Barty's vision darts to Evan, his dry sobs, and heavy breathing not slowing. He looks pained, and lost. His eyes are clouded with confusion and panic.

Evan takes a deep breath, "Barty- follow me. Barty c'mon breathe, gorgeous." he coaxes now that he's got his attention. Evan slows his own breathing. Taking measured deep breathes. He grabs Barty's shaking hand, guiding his palm to lay flat against his chest.

Barty keeps hyperventilating, choking and hiccupping as his panic is all consuming. He's knocked out of it when Barty's heart beats against his palm, and he feels the rising and falling of his chest. He closes his eyes. Trying to imagine that he wasn't sitting on the piss stained floor of their favorite diner, distracting himself with Evan's warm smiles, sarcastic comments and hidden smirks. His eyes flutter open after a while.

He coughs, as he tries to slow his breathing, still angry and ashamed. A few moments go by and he can speak again. "Don't treat me like a child Rosie." he chides, but there's no heat behind his words. He just hates that he was reduced to a blubbering panic mess just because Evan caught him throwing up of all things.

Evan let's out a relieved sigh, still taking measured breathes as Barty noticeably breathes along with him. He laughs a bit at his comment. Weakly, but at least Barty is looking marginally better. Even if his voice is rough from the sobbing and vomiting. "Deep breathes, love. Just like that…" he coos, his other hand wiping his spit and blood from his face and lips. Even a mess Evan finds Barty to be one of the most beautiful things on the planet.

Once Barty has calmed down he pulls his hand away from Evan's chest, the shame evident on his face as he scowls. He's not mad at Evan not by a longshot. He winces as the adrenaline starts to fade. A bright sting in his knuckles making itself evident. Evan notices and lets out a snort.

"That was your fault, idiot." he scolds, his finger poking Barty's forehead.

Barty scowls shoving Evan back in his seated position on the restroom floor. He was right, of course. But he wasn't going to admit that. "Not my fault their mirror was looking like it deserved a punch at the time…" not divulging the detail of his reflection being the cause of such a violent reaction. Evan rolls his eyes, deciding he'll press further once they're back home. He stands, offering Barty his hand to help him up.

Barty glares at the hand, but accepts it. Allowing Evan to help him up and out of the nasty restroom, in the shitty diner.

Hopefully I characterized them correctly, I'm not joking when I say I haven't written fanfiction since 2023. I suddenly want to expand on this little universe I've created, but no promises. Or I'll feel pressured and never write again.

[limehaspassed]

Perfectection

(Leon Kennedy x Chubby F!Reader)

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬

In which Leon Kennedy shows you everything he loves about you. <3

Inspired by my pookie bear, I love you and thank you for feeding into my obsession. Love you @illaxeem

CW: NSFW ,, Voyeurism ,, Cunnilingus ,, Mirror Sex ,, Hair Pulling ,, Praise Kink (briefly mentioned) ,, Light Mention of Body Dysmorphia ,, Body Praise

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was later on in the night when you finally got the chance to sit down, your day spent cleaning and rearranging things to your liking. You had been unhappy with the state of the house for a while so you decided to change it up. Now, after twelve hours of moving things around, you were finally done. You were beyond sure that you pulled a few muscles in the process.

For a while, you sat on the couch and rested your eyes, that was until you heard a key in the door. Immediately you jumped up, excited to show your boyfriend what you had done while he was at work. When he left earlier that morning, he had noticed you cleaning, he hadn’t noticed your plans of moving everything this way and that.

“Welcome home, dear.” You greeted as Leon walked through the entryway, the door closing behind him.

He gave a sluggish smile, he was also in the same state as you, exhausted. You gave him a soft smile and helped him slip his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack. He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. You chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“You alright?” You asked quietly, a slight hum to your voice.

Leon nodded against you. “Yeah. How was your day without me?” He asked in return, a slight tease to his voice. He knew that you didn’t like to be separated from him.

“Actually, it was rather pleasant, I got so much done. Do you want to see?” You replied to Leon’s surprise. You were always quick to complain about him working too much and not spending enough time with you during the day, yet now you aren’t complaining, in fact you almost seem thankful.

“Sure, show me what you did.” He let go of you, standing up straight. He wore a soft smile, his eyes warm and sleepy.

You grabbed his hand and led him to the living room. “Look.” You said, motioning to a completely rearranged living room, nothing was left untouched, even the small plants that were arranged on the coffee table.

“Oh.”

“Do you not like it?” Your face fell a bit.

“No, no. I like it, I just wasn’t expecting that. How’d you move all of that? I know for sure that the couch is heavy, I was the one that had to bring it in here.” He was confused on how you did this all on your own. You weren’t weak, he knew that, but you certainly weren’t as strong as him, you didn’t have the same training he did.

You chuckled again and punched his shoulder lightly. “I’ve been working out.”

“When?”

“What? Do you want to work out with me? I’m sure you would love to see that.” You ask teasingly.

“If you’re offering.” He replied bluntly.

You give a quick laugh and walk towards the kitchen and dining room, expecting him to follow. He did.

“Now, what would my big, strong cop like for dinner?” You asked, turning to look at him with a wink.

He chuckled at your tone and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you would like. I’m not in the mood for anything specific.” He explains, taking a seat at the table. He leaned back into the chair with a sigh, closing his eyes.

“Alright. How about turkey wraps?” You asked to which he hummed in response.

You started making them quietly, you didn’t want to disturb Leon. His job was oftentimes loud and all he wanted when he got home was peace and quiet. You respected this and always tried your best to remain quiet, keeping your voice soft and low. He never said anything about this but you knew he appreciated it.

It didn’t take long for dinner to be made. You plated the wraps and walked over to the table, setting one down in front of Leon and one in front of where you sat. You took your seat and waited for Leon to open his eyes before eating. When he opened them, he flashed you a gentle smile and began eating, you did the same.

“So what did you have for lunch?” He asked casually.

“Oh. I forgot to eat lunch.” You replied hesitantly.

Leon looked up at you, his eyes serious. “You have to eat lunch babe, it’s unhealthy not too.”

“I know, I was just distracted. I swear, nothing else made me not eat.” You explained to which Leon calmed down a bit.

“Just try to eat something for me tomorrow alright. I’ll be home tomorrow so I can make you up something good.” He offered.

You nodded and continued eating.

It had always been like this with the two of you, he was always watching out over you, making sure you ate. Before you met him, you would often skip meals for one reason or another, but when you got with him, he was always pushing you to eat when mealtime came around. He wouldn’t force it onto you but he would try his best to gently coerce you into eating. You appreciated the way he would look out for you but sometimes, you wished he would let it slide. Only sometimes, that was when you let your insecurities get the best of you.

Dinner came and went and soon it was time for bed. Leon had already laid down while you were in the bathroom, getting ready for bed.

You were standing in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at your stomach and thighs. You couldn’t help but think about lunch today, the lunch you didn’t eat. You felt guilty for not eating but you felt dirty for eating dinner. There was no balance. The pudge of your stomach testified to your feelings. You hated your stomach and thighs, how much bigger they were than everyone else’s, you wanted them to be smaller but you didn’t want to stop eating, you didn’t want to let Leon down.

You were trapped within a box of constant obsession, obsession with being skinny and obsession with gratifying Leon. You didn’t which to choose, you wanted both of them, you needed both of them. You felt as though without one obsession the next one wouldn’t exist. You couldn’t pick between them.

You sighed and looked away, pulling your shirt outwards a bit. You went to grab a different one, one that wasn’t as tight when you noticed Leon standing behind you, staring at you through the mirror.

“You alright?” He asks.

You nod and walk over to him, he was leaning against the doorway. “I just need to grab a different shirt.” You explain.

“Why? I like this one.” He says, placing his hands on your hips.

“Don’t say that when you don’t mean it.” You replied, removing his hands from your hips.

He smiled at you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him. “And how would you know what I like and don’t like?” He asks curiously.

“Because it makes my stomach look big.” You reply, looking away. You felt bad for thinking this way but it was the truth, there was no hiding it.

“Where?” He asks, tilting your head to look back up at him. He leans forward and presses his forehead agaisnt yours. “I don’t see anything wrong with you.” He whispers, his breath fanning across your face like a warm blanket.

You meet him with anxious eyes, your thoughts were getting the better of you again. “But-“

“Nope. No but’s” He interrupts you, placing a finger over your lips to silence you. He reaches down and places his hands on the sides of your stomachs. “You’re beautiful. You know that right? If I had to choose who was the most beautiful girl in the world, I would choose you. You want to know why?”

You nod slowly, not sure if you want to know or not. You were scared that he might turn this around and go the other direction with it.

He slides his hands down to you hips and pulls you even closer. “Let me show you what all I like about you. Come here.”

He pulls you over to the standing mirror in the corner of y’all’s bedroom. He places you in the center of it and has you look at yourself in the mirror. You try to look away but he grabs your chin, as gentle as he can, and holds you there. He then takes his other hand runs it over your body, his touch is featherlight, it tickles and leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

He runs his hand up your shirt, letting it rest on your stomach. He smiles lovingly at you in the mirror. “You want to know why I like your stomach so much dear?” He asks you, his voice a low whisper, it sends chills down your spine.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a perfect place to rest my head an it will carry our future children. You’ll be such a good mother, I hope you know that.” His voice holds a fondness you rarely hear, it causes your heart to swell and a blush to spread across your cheeks.

He chuckles at this reaction and runs his hand down to your thighs. He gently squeezes one as he speaks. “You wanna know why I like your thighs so much?” He asks, his voice takes on a more darker tone, one that’s more lustful. “It’s because they feel so nice around my head.”

“Oh.” You say breathlessly. You blush at this, wanting to look away, to hide your embarrassment, but you can’t. You can only look at him. There’s a part of you that’s enjoying this a bit too much.

He leans his head down and kisses your neck softly, using his teeth and tongue to tease the sensitive skin. You gasp at the touch and move your head as much as you can in his grip, giving him further access. His free hand slips between your thighs, reaching upward.

You squirm under his touch. He smiles at you in the mirror and moves his hand further up and rubs against you. You gasp and grab his arm. You squeeze your thighs together under his touch.

“Relax.” He whispers against your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. He is staring at you through the mirror, his eyes are intense, focused, and filled with desire.

You swallow hard and stare back at him with timid eyes. You weren’t a stranger to this attention but something about this was different, it felt all too much. It felt so real and open, you didn’t like looking at yourself but at the same time, it turned you on in a way you couldn’t describe.

You stare at him for a minute before slowly relaxing your legs, allowing him to continue. He continues and your grip on his arm tightens.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are.” His voice is just below a whisper, barely audible.

A shiver runs down your spine at his voice and you lean against him, closing your eyes. His hand continues to run against you for a bit until he pulls it away, moving it upwards towards your neck.

“Open your eyes.” It was more of a demand than a request.

You opened them and he smiled as he looked at you. His hand delicately ran across your neck before he leaned down and placed soft kisses along the sensitive skin. She let out a breathy moan, a small, timid sound, embarrassment was flooding through her. He smiled at this and pulled away, looking up at you in the mirror.

“Do you know why I like your neck? It’s because you get so flustered when I kiss it. Like this.” He leans down and kisses your neck again, this time with more fervor than before.

Your face turns red at the mention of you being flustered, you’re embarrassed over being called out. This whole process was calling you out and you couldn’t tune him out, he was too close to you, you were enjoying far too much.

He drops his hand, keeping the one on jaw in the same position, slightly tightening his grip. He leans forward and places a kiss to the back of your jaw, just under your ear. He nibbles on the skin, causing another moan to escape your mouth.

“Oh those noises of yours are so divine, my love.” He whispers against your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes go wide but not because he complimented you, no because of how turned on you were by his praise. It struck a chord with you, a chord you didn’t know existed until now.

Leon then readjusted his grip on your jaw, tilting your head up slightly. “You know what I like about your jaw? It’s a perfect spot to place my lips. It’s also perfect for grabbing.” He explained in a low voice, his lips so close to your ear that it almost felt like he was kissing it.

You watched him through the mirror as he trailed a hand over your hip, his eyes connecting with yours. He was smiling, always he was smiling at you. God, you wished you could marry that smile already.

He then let go of your jaw for a moment, reaching down and grabbing the hem of your shirt with both hands, he pulled it over your head, letting it fall towards the floor afterwards. He then reaches up and grabs both of your breasts.

“You know why I like your boobs?” He asks, gently massaging them. “It’s because they’re the perfect place to lay my head, plus they fit so perfectly in my hands. It's like they were made for me and only me.” A hint of possessiveness enters his voice as he says this, a glint of dominance clear in his eyes.

You lean back against him, relaxing into his touch. That is until he drops his hands, stepping away from you for a minute. He smiles at you through the mirror, a wicked and twisted smile, one sure to turn your stomach with anxiety.

“Turn to face me and lay on your back.” He demanded gently, his smile softening slightly as he noticed your anxious attitude.

You did as told, looking up at him confused as to what he had in mind. He sits on his knees at the end of your feet and leans over you. He takes his hand and tilts your head back until you could see yourself in the mirror, your view upside down now.

“Don’t look away and don’t close your eyes.” He commands, kissing your chin before moving back to an upright position.

Taking the fabric of your pants in hand, he tugs them down, pulling them all the way off and tossing them to the side. He does the same thing with your underwear, exposing the cold air to your lower regions.

You try your best not to look away as he turns to look back at you, his smile ever so present.

“You look so beautiful, my love. I hope you’ll be able to see just how beautiful you really are.” He speaks softly, his thumb caressing your inner thigh. He then spreads your thighs apart and wraps them around his neck as he leans down, pressing a warm kiss against you.

You gasp, his eyes flickering up to capture yours for a second before he runs his tongue against you, causing a low moan to escape you. He takes a moment to enjoy your moan, savoring the sound before continuing, running his tongue along your clit.

You clench your hands as he continues to run his tongue against your clit, your mouth hanging open as you moan. Your eyes stared at the top of his head, his hair falling in front of his face. You reached down and grabbed it, intertwining it between your fingers. It was soft and cool, contradicting the heat that was your body.

Leon takes his hand and presses two fingers inside of you, stroking you in tandem with his tongue. You hands tighten on his hair and you can hear him groan, something that only adds to your excitement , to your enjoyment.

Leon continues, lavashing you with his touches until it feels all too much, bringing you right to edge. Your core is burning, your heart beating out of your chest, and your throat slightly sore from moaning so much. God, you swear you could see constellations as his tongue only continued to pleasure you, that was until he stopped, pulling away from you completely.

A whine emitted from your mouth involuntarily, coming out as an impulse as you were denied your orgasm. He looked at you in the mirror and smiled.

“Next time, I’m recording that sweet voice of yours.” He says as he leans back over you, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Now, get on your hands and knees, facing the mirror, please.”

Your face went red at his words, you were always embarrassed with this position, far more embarrassed about than any other position the two of you have tried. However, despite your embarrassment, you did as told, sitting up and facing the mirror, supporting yourself from your hands and knees.

His smile grew as he watched you, a lustful look overtaking his eyes, desire was written all over his face.

He placed his hands on your hips and positioned himself behind you. He leaned over you again, placing kisses all along your back. You watch him, your cheeks burning hot. The mirror, the position, the constant kissing, and constant praise was all too overstimulating your brain, emotions swirling left and right. It was too much, you couldn’t handle it all.

He positioned himself behind you and slowly pushed himself in, giving you time to adjust. He starts at a slow pace, a rhythmically and constantly pleasing pace. He’s watching you, his eyes staring directly into yours. You go to look away but he grabs you by the hair and pulls your head back up, you gasp at the sudden movement.

Your eyes met his again as he quickened his pace, pushing into you at a faster pace, one that causes you to moan and whine. You were already denied an orgasm once, now everything felt all so sensitive and alive, every little movement of his was driving you crazy.

He angles himself, hitting in the exact spot that sends you flying over the edge, constellations forming in front of you. You could see Cassiopeia and Orian, all handcrafted by Leon, made perfectly for you. It isn’t long until you feel that heat flood back to your core, your body twitching and convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you.

You could hear him groaning, his hand tightening around your hair, eliciting a moan in response. You never knew that his hands in your hair would be so hot. You never knew watching yourself being railed would be so exciting.

Second after glorious second goes by and you soon feel yourself reaching your climax, you look up at Leon, he’s already watching you. His eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration, it’s almost cute.

“Fuck, Leon, I think…” Your words are interrupted by your own moan, his thrusts reaching even deeper now. Your hands curl into fists and every muscle in your body contracts as Leon quickened his pace, his thrusts more frenzied and pleasure driven.

It isn’t long until you’re pushed over that edge, your eyes closing as your orgasm hits you hard. You can feel him cum inside you shortly after, riding you through your high. Your muscles relax and you can feel your legs about to give out.

“Leon.” You breathlessly whisper his name, opening your eyes to look back up at him.

“Yes, my love?”

“We should do that again sometime.”

He chuckles and pulls out of you, running a hand along your back. You sit down on your knees as he comes to sit behind you, his arms wrapping around you warmly. He places a kiss on your temple before leaning his nose against your hair, breathing you in.

“I love you, beautiful. I love you so much.”

You smile and lean back against him. “I love you too, dear.”

“Now would you like to head to bed or watch a movie in our freshly rearranged living room?” He asks, a slight tease to his voice.

Your smile grows and you close your eyes again, enjoying being so close to him. “Whatever works best for you.”

They ended up going for the movie, however neither of them got to watch it, they both passed out on the couch a few minutes into the film.

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Thank you for reading loves 🖤

[ouaw-facts-i-just-made-up]

Gricko lost a ton of weight when he was a young adult and got told by his "friends" at the time that his skinny-ness was attractive. They thought his hollow cheeks were beautiful and edgy. It seriously fucked with how he saw his body. Long after he got his life together and gained weight those comments still got to him.

He has body dysmorphia but he doesn't reach out about it or share how much it actually bothers him outside of jokes. He's actually very insecure about his wrinkles and wishes his body looked "right."

This is a :( fact.

Combined with all the other College Time Gricko hcs he is starting to be not only the oldest but the most sad, which to be fair is hard when your competition is Torbek.

Its okay gricko your wrinkles are so so cool and you should be able to have a nice amount of fat on your bones as a treat, I say as I tuck this adult man goblin into bed.

Hes got better friends now at least? I mean one of them is Kremy (sorry Kremy you are an asshole though), but thankfully I don't think any of them are that kind of shitty. They just kill people instead.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Honestly do we even know that that is Orianna? In Ori's original lore Corin made a robot that looked like his dead daughter and then treated her as such. It's possible she's a modified Viktor puppet with Orianna's brain rotting in her metal skull, completely vestigial, and Singed just won't admit that his daughter is dead.

[britcision]

Alright, it’s time to talk about Lycion and dysmorphia and being a trans allegory

Because… yeah, I think a lot of people can really relate to being scared of mirrors because you hate everything you see in them, and going to extreme lengths to get a body you love

It’s not a complicated allegory

But, and I think this is pretty important and possibly more useful to the trans community than declaring him ours and trans… dysmorphia and dysphoria are not exclusive to trans people

They’re not even particularly related to any part of the body; it can be any part of it

And like 15 years ago when I was learning about trans issues and shit, I went and did a little research, because I eat knowledge. And y’know what fully settled any questions I had?

Found a case about a lady with what is currently being called body integrity/identity disorder, which is basically dysmorphia so severe that people have otherwise healthy limbs amputated to be able to live life in a body they can stand

This lady got both legs fully amputated, got a wheelchair, and became a pillar of her community where before she was almost bed bound

And y’know what, if that’s a thing that can happen and we can all agree that removing her legs was integral to her health, y’know what seems completely trivial by comparison?

Every gender affirming surgery ever

And y’know what is even more trivial?

All the other transition measures that have nothing to do with surgery, like hormones, puberty blockers, and social transitioning

Being trans has become a super political idea for basically no reason whatsoever, but it’s harder to maintain that ideology if you learn about things like dysphoria and dysmorphia as just medical conditions that absolutely anyone can get, and then look at what that means for gender dysphoria

Cuz if peoples’ brains can decide an entire limb has Got To Go then yeah, they’re probably also capable of deciding “that pronoun is Wrong” and we can take that just as seriously; it’s a much easier fix and also free

Basically I’m saying Lycion is our gateway drug cuz if you can understand this elf hates his body so hard he became a werewolf about it, are you really gonna throw a fit over someone getting a packer?

None of this to say you can’t or shouldn’t headcanon him as trans (and unless it comes directly and unambiguously from Ryoko Kui it’s a headcanon, nothing wrong with that it’s what fanon is for)

Just, y’know. Sound folks out on him without mentioning that part right away for your own safety and possibly entertainment 😁👉👉

Oh and super important: he’s not canonically cis either. Pretty sure it was just never specified. Enjoy and apply this knowledge across every character ever whose assigned birth gender isn’t brought up in canon

The thing Lycion definitely is in canon is a goddamn furry and an otherkin allegory, and arrested for awoo crimes. He’s one of only 5 characters in the Adventurer’s Bible with a stated gender (the others being Otta, Kaka, Kiki, and Inutade - everyone else has pronouns but no gendered nouns in English at least)

(Lycion’s “definitely a man” - or “definitely male” in the official translation, which technically excludes him from the gendered committee altogether)

You are, of course, welcome to disregard canon in all things you do - I personally encourage it, it’s much more fun to play in the space and do your own thing, and Dunmeshi has deliciously efficient story telling; there is so much empty space to play in

[flowerakatsuka]

some doodles based on the gender thoughts i've been having about kuroba the past few days, mostly on how their appearance changed between middle school and their final year of high school. i also thought it'd be funny if kuroba didn't get recognized by classmates while they were helping at the flower shop back then, ( foreshadowing ig. )

[vixensofdeath]

I feel like a pig in pretty clothing and makeup, it’s so obvious that I’m hideous but I still try to hide it all away and act like I’m not ugly when I am