#tw; body dysmorphia

[gor3sigil]

If you're all about body positivity but make fun of men with hairline receiding or bald, fat, with a beer belly etc, no you're not.

Pretty sick and tired of seeing people laugh and trash men who are not tall skinny queer looking white dudes and be like "everyone is beautiful" in the same breath.

[whatcha-thinkin]

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

[somnoir]

As a prompt Danny after he enters Gotham for any suddenly starts growing again for the first time since the portal incident and his body instead of slowly again decides to catch up all the missing years of growing at once so Danny goes from still looking 14 to suddenly having his father's height and looking his actual age.

Growing pains.... Literally

Since his death, Danny hasn't really... Grown. His parents think he's a late bloomer, that he'll grow later in life. But it's been four years since he's died and he hasn't grown a single inch in that time.

Frostbite is kind enough to tell me that... Well... He's stuck.

He's stuck in this form until something affects his physical form. Amity, even though it's considered the most haunted place in earth, doesn't have enough ambient ectoplasm for Danny. There are too many ghosts from the realm that feed of it, too many nevermores that need it to exist. Amity feeds it's ghosts but it doesn't have enough for a halfa like him.

When he moved to Gotham for the aerospace program (plus the scholarship) he doesn't expect much from it. People still question him about his age, it almost ends with him flinging his ID and birth certificate on people and cussing them out on his height.

He had even started exploring the city. There was this one cafe he found and the owner, Lily, was an absolute angel! With a shotgun. And he met a lot of people in Lily's Eden Cafe, like this weird kid that apparently dropped out of high school. Now, Danny ain't one to judge, so he's pretty okay with Tim. Except for the fact that he was so cool and smooth on a skateboard. Danny wanted one too.

Almost a week after moving, he's suffering. His body hurts, everything aches. It's as if something inside of him was trying to break out and it's making his bones strain. Everything about it hurts.

Many days passed of Danny being delirious from the pain, barely able to register what he was doing. A week and it's like he spent a coma walking around while his consciousness was asleep, practically dead by the lack of his memories.

The next time he woke up, it's been a week since he blacked out from the pain.

There's music in the background, almost familiar. The beat is something he heard Ember compose before his eighteenth birthday, then it was practically blasted through our the Ghost Zone when the day actually came.

"Shhh! Turn that racket down!"

"Hell nah! He likes it, see?"

"The little king seems.... To......change... Gotham..."

His eyes snapped open, gasping when he saw multiple pairs of eyes looking down at him.

"He's alive!"

Danny's instincts took over in that second and he's sending a blast of ecto towards the sudden scream. More screaming. Too much screaming. His head hurt.

"Holy shit, baby pop!"

He takes a moment before he's recognizing Ember... And the hole on his wall... And his glowing hand. Shit.

"Woah, woah! Calm down."

In Danny's confused state, he could barely register Kitty and Johnny in the room. Oh, and Shadow too. But still...

"I— What happened?" He groaned, blinking slowly. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His voice... OH MY GOD HIS VOICE! Why was it so deep?! What was wrong with his voice? Did he have a cold or something? Or maybe it's just his morning voice—

"Congrats on your dawning!" Johnny congratulated, grinning like a madman.

"What?" ooh, that was weird, "What the heck is an dawning?"

"Ooh, baby pop!" Ember cooed, "Forgot that our little king is still pretty new to being all ghost. C'mon now, baby. Mama Ember will teach you all about ghost puberty."

"GHOST WHAT?!"

Ghost puberty was a thing apparently. He had hauled himself into the Far Frozen after yelling at the four ghosts to steal him some clothes that would actually fit him. Because his entire body felt wrong... So wrong.

He was taller now. Having shot up from 5'4" to a whopping 6'2". Everything still hurt and now all his clothes didn't even fit! Nothing looked right when he'd looked at the mirror. He was almost as tall a shis dad now—he looked almost exactly like his dad now actually. It was almost terrifying how much he resembled his dad. If he went to visit now, he's sure that his mother would have a heart attack from how quickly he had grown.

"Frostbite!" Danny practically growled and oooh... Yeah, now it sounded differently to whenever he'd end up snarling. The deepness of his voice almost intimidated him.

"Great one!" The yeti greeted, looking utterly ecstatic to see him. "Ah, I see you've finished your dawning. I offer my sincerest congrats, your majesty."

"Yeah, yeah. The fuck is a Dawning?"

Frostbite blinked, before his expression morphed into a grim one. "Oh dear... I had thought that the Observants would have deigned to explain this too you upon your coronation... Well, let us sit then, great one. This will be a long one."

To summarize it all, Ghost puberty.

A Dawning was a time every ghost went through, so long as there was enough ambient ectoplasm around them to help their forms morph into their preferred appearances. Usually, a ghosts appearance to their own mentality. Their maturity.

Apparently, Young Blood already went through a Dawning but remained in his child-like form due to his own mental age. He was a child in heart, mind, soul, and body.

Meanwhile... Danny who was still alive yet also dead, had followed on with his mental maturity. His body morphed, it changed, it adapted to how he saw himself, how he desperately wanted to become deep down in his core.

And this Danny Fenton was a 6'2" giant trying to control all his limbs that were suddenly too long, too heavy. Everything felt strange....

Tim Drake's favorite cafe was known for being neutral ground for both rogues and vigilantes. You don't fuck around Lilian's cafe or else she'll pull out a rifle and shoot you dead. So if course, Tim fucking loved the place.

Actually, many people frequented it.

He's familiarised himself with the faces of a lot of people by then. Even that scrawny new kid that arrived three weeks ago. Tim remembers Danny for how enthusiastic he was about going to collage, not even minding the madness of Gotham itself. It was like he thrived in it.

He waves at Lilian after ordering his usual, taking a seat in the corner before he's whipping out his laptop. Duke and Steph arrive soon after, immediately ordering before going off to join Tim.

Mundane things, something they all seemed to appreciate more.

The bell rings, more customers arrive and—

"Danny! Holy hell, what happened?"

Tim paused, immediately snapping his eyes towards— WHAT THE FUCK?!

Steph whistled, "Hot damn..."

Danny Fenton was a scrawny young man, shorter than Tim. Even more slim.

But whoever the hell entered the cafe was 6'2", almost as muscled as Jason, and slouching like Clark—as if he was in the wrong body. He almost dropped his drink if not for Duke gently guiding his hand down.

"Hey, Lils..."

God, what the fuck was that? What was happening? Who the hell was this awkward adonis with a voice as deep as the fucking ocean?

"Tim?" Duke waved his hand over his eyes, "Timothy? Timbers?"

"Duke, leave him alone. He's gone, never coming back." Steph snickered, shaking her head before her eyes went back to Danny, who was stuttering as he tried to order what he wanted. "But damn if I wouldn't act the same. Shoot your shot—"

Shoot his fucking shot he did.

"Hey Danny..." Tim slid up to him with a smile.

Danny blinked—woah was he tall and practically built like a fucking fridge—before his eyes brightened and a smile joined his expression.

"Hi Tim!"

Was this how Bruce felt like when he saw Clark?

Masterpost

[sn00kiisstuff]

Body dysmorphia literally got me feeling like i look like this😭

[feral-ballad]

Joy Sullivan, from Instructions for Traveling West: Poems; “Geography Lessons”

[unfortunately-still-alii]

When i call myself fat and they don't disagree

[iloveroblox9708]

[sioraiocht]

Jake's arm wraps around Mac, drawing him into his side as he decides that he can stay at least another half hour. This is more important. "Okay..." He listens to the comments about Hugh Jackman, unable to help the furrow that develops in his brow. There's a little twist of guilt in his stomach, chewing at his lip as he thinks about what to say. "Firstly -" He shifts as close as he can possibly manage, tangling his legs around Mac to show him that he's not leaving. "Hugh Jackman is a beast. I mean, that's fucking Wolverine. And he's Australian. He probably spent his childhood punching kangaroos. Plus - he's a celebrity with money and personal chefs. Anyone could look like this with Hugh Jackman's cash." He nods as if he's saying the wisest thing in the world. "Secondly - I'm not leaving because you're not Hugh Jackman." Hand slides to rest on Mac's chest, fingers massaging gentle circles. "I gotta leave because I can't afford to hire help. It has nothing to do with you. Believe me, if I had my way I'd stay here with you all night and all day and we'd never leave the bed."

His expression softens a little, head shaking. Breath catches in his throat as they kiss, shifting his body so that he's half leaning over Mac. Hand slides down along his side, fingers curling into his hip. "I don't want you be Hugh Jackman. If I was in a room with a hundred Hugh Jackmans I'd still be only focused on getting you naked. Because -" His lips move to press kisses down along Mac's neck, ghosting a soft trail down to his chest. He smiles softly against the skin. "I think you have the greatest body in the world. And it's all mine and nothing is ever going to change that." Jake's head rises again so that he can peck the gentlest kiss to his lips. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll stay here tonight if you promise to try and stop comparing yourself to Hugh Jackman." Teeth nip at his lower lip. "Because I really want to sleep with Mac, not Hugh."

the kiss makes his heart skip a beat, warmth flooding his chest. it's something he's never really experienced himself, something he doesn't want to let go of now that he's got it. he grins like an idiot against soft lips, nose bumping affectionately against the other man's. "yeah, babe," he hums smugly, stealing another peck. and another. and another. okay, maybe he's insatiable. "that's kinda the point." maybe, just maybe, mac can distract him enough to keep him tethered to his bed. that's right where he wants him to stay.

the question brings him pause, even as he turns onto his side once his back meets the mattress. he comfortably tosses one leg across jake's waist, tucked into him with a hand on his chest. "i dunno," shoulders rise in a sheepish shrug. dennis's pointed remarks linger in the back of his mind like some sort of invasive disease: you're looking pretty bulky today, mac. but it'd be lame to admit that, right? not sexy at all. "i was readin' a GQ magazine while i was grabbin' a six pack at the liquor store, cuz i can multitask," fingers trace along skin, teeth briefly chewing contemplatively at his lower lip. "and i saw hugh jackman on the cover. dude, he's fuckin' ripped and he's, like . . . fifty. and i realized: i wanna be hugh jackman, cuz if i was hugh jackman, you'd never leave my bed for responsibilities or whatever, right?" is that manipulative? mac doesn't question it. he's always trying to think of ways to keep jake glued to his hip.

"anyways, he was talkin' 'bout keto or some shit. and i was like, ' what the hell's a keto? ', so i asked my buddy dennis, who told me to fuck off. then i asked google, cuz obviously charlie doesn't know, dee's a chick, and frank's a fat shit. and i realized . . . " brows draw together again. "nothin'. i realized nothin', i still don't know what the hell it is." previously knitted eyebrows rise, however, when jake's words properly sink in. "you don't want me to be hugh jackman? cuz i can totally be hugh jackman for you, bro. and then we'll always be naked." brows wiggle enticingly, fingers gliding up the other's neck to coil around his jaw and guide his head to the side so mac can press another passionate kiss against his lips.

[thebearme]

Don't scratch a injury!

[bonesandbluud]

To be Angelic is to be Thin

angels are pure light, the most innocent beings. angels exist by consuming sunshine and caffeine. if you want to feel angelic then you need to be empty. Angels do not stuff their faces, they do not hide to go eat. they dont think about food all the time. angel get rest and enjoy flying together in pairs. angels never weigh more than 125. angels can fast for 2+ days and not even realize. to be angelic is to be thin, to be small and empty and pure. untouched.

stop eating and you could be angelic, too.

[beehoneyseyy]

did i binge or did i eat the recommended amount of calories for someone my age?

[ezbecomestiny]

Me trying to figure out the size and shape of my legs

[jokine]

i wanna fucking rip my skin off

i hate how i look so much it makes me want to bleed so badly UGH KILL ME

[lostmf]

I wish I could stop counting every bite ..

[astaroth1357]

Demonic Adjustments:

Content Warning: (fantasy) body dsymorphia

Lucifer: Had to get used to the extra weight on his skull added by the horns. His head would keep tipping from side to side for several days after the Fall as he worked out how to unconsciously keep them balanced. Dia thought it looked hilarious. He also kept getting wing cramps because he unconsciously raised them whenever he was anxious or irritated.

Mammon: Thought the straps over his shoulders and chest would dig into him too much so he'd just walk around completely bare-chested until Barbs made him stop. Discovered that if he got scared by something, he'd squawk REALLY loud. He had to task Belphie and Levi to pop out at him from around corners until he could get it under control.

Levi: Felt like his newly extended tongue was going to choke him if he kept it in his mouth, so he'd let it just droop out for the longest time. He'd have to wet it down to keep it from drying out too, so he would literally do the snake-tongue thing until Asmo got onto him for how creepy it looked. He had no idea how to sit on things with his tail so he would either sit on the floor or sideways in his chair until Barbatos coached him on big-tail etiquette.

Satan: Had a straight up baby giraffe moment when he first can into existence. Couldn't figure out how his limbs were supposed to work and flailed/flopped around for about ten minutes while growling and hissing at anyone who tried to help him.

Asmo: Originally had a scorpion tail, but it horrified him so much that he begged Lucifer to ask Diavolo to remove it for him. Dia eventually relented and ordered Barbatos to remove it and replace it with wings afterwards because that's what he's more used to having. Keeping the wings small and cute looking was Asmo's idea, of course.

Beel: Constant. Buzzing. He had restless wings when he first fell and being around him was like standing next to a buzzsaw. He eventually discovered that exercise was a good way to expend his body's extra energy and burn through his anxiety, so Barbatos set up a gym in the Castle for him. The buzzing stopped shortly after that.

Belphie: Would regularly wake up wrapped up in his own tail, so he took to clutching onto it in the night to "keep it under control." He had the hardest time walking/lifting his head due to the size of his horns. He would regularly get his head stuck in things because he would fall alseep in odd places and then his horns would get caught whenever his body shifted.

[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 !!