#dysphoria tw?

[wayward-delver]

Beastkin Lore and Trans-Coded Werewolf compilation cause I am too impatient to wait for the anime.

Also, Laios being Laios called out for it.

[whatcha-thinkin]

Tell your stories in the tags, if you want to share!

[shrewisweird]

sometimes i want a new face

[lillucyondabeat]

It do be capping

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

It is estimated those with ADHD receive 20,000 corrective or negative messages by age 10

Neurodivergent_lou

[brooke2valley]

See the difference...? 🖤 (Graffiti lettering by @deadeyedfae)

(TW: Depressive thoughts)

To be clear, this is a sort of Parody of yesterday's comic. Please do not worry about me 💕

If you feel similar to this, please please talk to someone. Don't keep it to yourself, you deserve to feel comfortable in your own body.

[crush-echoes]

i dont know if anyone actually likes me

it doesnt feel like they do

everyone seems so close to each other

what if theyre talking about me

do they hate me

[punk-sharkz-zero]

i hate talking about dysphoria with cis ppl because they immediately clock it as body dysmorphia, and only as body dysmorphia. (i say only bc some trans ppl can and do experience both)

i can't talk about how i hate how my thighs make me feel/look feminine because they always say "but you look fine!" or "i think you look amazing!" or "but you should love them!"

and it's so hard to describe dysphoria, especially to ppl who don't experience it, or who don't want to understand it isn't dysmorphia

and no matter how hard you try to explain they always try to make you love this body you have because "you should love yourself as you are!"

but i do love myself. but not quite exactly how i am. i love what i know I can be. i love knowing that one day i'll have top surgery scars i can trace with my fingers and a scratchy beard from T. i love knowing that I can eventually do my silly little effeminate gestures without hating how it makes me look. i love knowing that eventually i can look in a mirror and grin at the man i've become.

but that's not right now. i may cry a little when a shirt doesn't fit the way it should, but i don't hate the body that makes it that way. I may feel a pit in my stomach when I realize the way that i'm standing makes me look girly, but i don't hate that i'm standing that way.

i don't hate that i used to be a girl but i hate when people still think i am.

i don't hate my body, i just hate how it isn't what it's supposed to be quite yet. could that make any sense to the cis folks reading this?

I am trans and I love my body, just sometimes it doesn't love me back. and one day it will.

[cholerascum]

a thought that keeps popping in my head that i dont like.

[lgbtqtext]

[pawsthatcausechaos]

Being otherkin is going from ":3" to "I am not flesh, I am not bones, I am something beyond. these reflections, these shadows, they're nothing but lies. These eyes always deceive me, always trying to force me to believe that I'm something that I simply am not. I was given features only I can see, only I can feel. Why must I be trapped in this limiting body? Why must I pretend? Is this the universe's form of joke? Do my ancestors look down upon me and scowl? So many questions that are impossible to answer." To ":P" in the span of a few hours or maybe even minutes-

[scwambledeggs]

Dysphoria.jpg

[uncanny-tranny]

The whole "breasts shouldn't be politicized because the primary purpose of breasts is to feed babies!" can be a fine jumping-off point, but I really wish people thought deeper than that when we talk about the ways in which bodies are politicized and restricted.

Like, why's it that when we talk about breasts, they must have some Higher Purpose? It's true that breasts aren't inherently sexual, but they aren't valuable solely because they can potentially feed a baby. A human body doesn't have to serve a Higher Purpose in order for it to not be legislated against or policed, and I just wish people would remember it isn't always about babies, about other people, about anything else other than the people who have that body.

[lone-wolf-nergiganos]

Like and reblog if you can relate to this:

[r3dc4rr]

fruit of his scientific womb

[thesecondhandwoman]

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

Drink some water and take some time for yourself

-🧚‍♂️

THROUGH THE ACHE

Ambessa x nb!reader

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

Request: Anon 🤍

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reluctantly, you did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…?” you whispered, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were loved.

And that, for tonight, was enough.

A/N: [immediately starts bawling]