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everlastiingiimmortals · 5 months

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So, I mentioned yesterday that there was a piece I saw where Stelle was wearing a rather fancy dress, and though I personally adore it because she looks so pretty, Stelle herself was hit with a very strong wave of dysmorphia. (Super brief mention of 1.5 events present! Not tagging spoilers due to it being about two weeks since the update dropped, but I'm giving a heads up regardless.)

Stelle has always, I think, been someone who prefers more neutral clothing, and though she has absolutely no problem with being referred to with feminine pronouns at all, she herself does not like the idea of presenting as particularly feminine. In fact -- and this scares her -- she sometimes does not want to be perceived a physical entity at all. While I do stand by my take and new understanding that Stelle is on the nonbinary spectrum (her disgust was both dysmorphia and dysphoria!), this does go a little deeper: Stelle is very very conscious of the Stellaron housed within her body.

Feeling the weight and warmth of the Stellaron inside, knowing she's artificial, frankly makes her want to tear herself out of her own skin sometimes. In the wake of her possession by Cirrus, I think this feeling only worsened with her horror and disgust at being robbed of her autonomy. That line of thinking became something along the lines of I am (in) a vessel, and this vessel has been tainted. It's very, very awful. And, on her worst days, when the paranoia starts to kick in, frankly? She's not sure if she is Stelle or if she is the Stellaron. Is her dysphoria a factor caused by the Stellaron desiring freedom or having its own thoughts? She doesn't know. There's no way for her to verify the person she used to be before, after all. She has no memories from before the space station. She doesn't trust Kafka.

But she knows the Stellaron speaks. She heard the voice of Cocolia's Stellaron. She knows the one within her pulls towards the desires and wishes of the worlds she's in, too. She's felt it. The existence of the Stellaron within her is why she walks on the Path of Destruction in the first place, its response to the desire of the people of Belobog to survive is why Qlipoth granted her the powers of Preservation. She knows it's why she can adapt to the Paths so fluidly.

She heard its call on the Luofu, too, heard it all throughout the battle with Phantylia.

On her best days, she just doesn't like being seen as very effeminate, because that isn't her. But on those particularly bad days, when she starts to lose sense of where the Stellaron ends and where Stelle begins, she'd really... rather not be perceived at all. Having eyes on her just makes her all the more conscious of the cancer she's housing, stable or not. This ties into her regular discomfort with being spectated by crowds, why she insists she's plain, why she dislikes dressing up.

That being said, no one aside from her twin Caelus (@celestial-narwhal) or Dan Heng would be aware of this extreme discomfort. It's something she keeps extremely close to her chest, and with her resting neutral, straight-faced expression one would find it near impossible to tell what sort of day she's having inside.

#//about; (VESSEL OF DESTRUCTION)#body dysmorphia tw #derealization tw #ask to tag #just in case #i think stelle really truly and deeply understands dan heng's discomfort with himself and his il form #she feels the same way with the stellaron #and to briefly sum up stelle's gender identity she's definitely nonbinary but she's comfortable with most feminine pronouns/descriptors #she just doesn't want to be perceived as very effeminate or present in a traditionally very effeminate way #frankly stelle feels more comfortable in caelus' clothes than her own on her bad days #give her a suit please oh my god no dresses #she'll take a jumpsuit just not a dress #she and caelus also have v similar builds and heights so they can comfortably swap clothes for the most part #which she is very very grateful for bc she misses her sibby all the time

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mvndrvke · 1 month

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effie + body modifications trigger warnings : body modifications, body dysmorphia, medical, child abuse, coercion. there is one medical illustration of a ribcage under the cut.

rather than focusing on all the modifications effie has had over the years, i'm gonna keep this pretty short and simple and just talk about the ones she still has. effie has had many procedures and modifications done over the years. capitol fashion is more than just clothes, after all ( as we see with characters like tigris ), and effie is no different in doing whatever she has to in order to chase current fashion trends.

after the 74th games and the end of her engagement, effie removes a majority of her modifications. she only kept three main ones to her ribcage, feet, and legs, which are described in more detail below.

reshaped ribcage. wearing tight-lacing corsets will mess with you if you wear them for a long time, and effie has been wearing things to alter her shape for pretty much her whole life. this restricted her ability to breathe, and after thg, effie has the lower part of her ribcage replaced to allow her to breathe more easily and maintain a more natural body shape. this is the only one of her main three alterations that happened after the 74th games; the others happened before.

feet curving. this is the only real aesthetic/cosmetic change that effie kept. she cannot unpoint her toes, and always walks like she's on her tiptoes, which made it easier for her to wear heels, but also eased the pain she has from plantar fasciitis (inflamed tissue in her heels).

reinforced tibias. realistically, this is because her legs are weak af. effie has shin splints as a result of the wearing away of cartilage in her knees and strain on her shins from wearing heels. she was really doomed to fail from a young age with this one. her shins are very weak because of this displaced pressure, and when she got her procedure on her feet, this followed swiftly after to compensate.

#( muse || effie trinket )#body modification tw #body dysmorphia tw #medical tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #i'm not sure but just in case #coercion tw #if people need me to add different tags to this please let me know?#idk what to tag this as

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murdcrofcrows · 3 months

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stats • pinterest • connections

full name: sebastian 'bash' ashley owens nicknames: bash, baz, zebby gender / pronouns: trans man, he/him age & birthday: 27, december 27th occupation: dealer, con artist, thief gang affiliation: the jade tribe, soldier orientation & status: bisexual kinsey scale 3, single strengths: witty, bold, resilient, charismatic weaknesses: mischievous, reckless, manipulative character inspo: ziggy sobotka (the wire), ashtray (euphoria), jesse pinkman (breaking bad), stiles stilinski (teen wolf), carl gallagher (shameless us),

diving deeper -

* ◟ : 〔 elliot fletcher , trans man + he/him 〕 SEBASTIAN ‘BASH’ OWENS, some say you’re a TWENTY SIX YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both WITTY and RECKLESS, one can’t help but think of CHOKE by I DON’T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME when you walk by. are you still a SOLDIER, DEALER at JADE TRIBE , even with your reputation as the THE DIRTBAG? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and PICKING FIGHTS THAT HE CAN’T WIN, A HEALTHY DISTATE FOR AUTHORITY, QUIET CONVERSATIONS AND TRANSACTIONS IN DARK CORNERS, although we can’t help but think of ZIGGY SOBOTKA (THE WIRE), ASHTRAY (EUPHORIA), and JESSE PINKMAN (BREAKING BAD) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

BACKGROUND.

tw: death, drugs, body dysmorphia

he crawled straight out of the trash piles of fresh kills landfill in staten island, new york. at least that was the running joke in the family. it wasn't a broken home, nor were his parents bad. his sister was normal. as far as he knew, his father was a good guy firefighter until he passed away. anytime bash thinks about it, he has to wonder what the hell was wrong with him.

from the moment he could walk he was causing trouble. constantly doing stunts, climbing things, fighting with whoever was available, making messes, etc. this only got worse as he got older, constantly exhausting his widowed mother even more. he loved her, don't get him wrong, but he couldn't help it - he lived for the rush of it all and he loved to party.

to their mother's benefit - she tried to get him some help and it worked for something. he found out why he'd always felt wrong in his own skin and one of the reasons he felt off all the time. that counselor helped set bash on the path to come out and begin hormone therapy and puberty blockers. however, that didn't change his rebellious and overall mischievous nature - though it did give him confidence and esteem where he didn't have it before.

eventually he graduated high school, the one thing he promised his mother and he had to admit he wanted to give her at least one thing to be proud about. it was likely the last thing. for his eighteenth birthday she gave him boxes, wishing him the best but it was time for him to be his own problem and learn some responsibility (that's yet to be seen)

he fell in with the jade tribe quick, to be honest it was the first place he felt like he fit in. bash loved it. he feels like he's on the top of the world and every time he does a job it only adds to the rush.

bash is good at pushing product, he's been doing quick change transactions with cash since he was a teenager so he's only gotten better at that. he's always trying to take it to the next level, constantly out and about, at social events, making sure he's always available.

he still does a lot of stupid stuff to get laughs out of people. also has a bad habit of picking fights with people that he won't win. he's a scrappy kid but he's well aware that he looks like a sick victorian child on the best of days - that's why he's gotten really good at running. he's often cracking jokes, he's aggressive when it comes to selling product, and he loves to push buttons.

currently he doesn't have an end goal, he just wants to do his job well and keep having a good time. he still drops by to see his mom, give her some money when he can but she knows it's coming from somewhere suspicious so she often turns it down. other than that he's living his best life and trying to raise a little hell everywhere he goes.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

people he annoys

people to get in fights with

childhood friends

casual relationships

platonic sleep buddies

places he crashes when he doesn't want to be alone

clients

party buddies

squad

HEADCANONS.

doesn't like to sleep alone so if he isn't able to get someone home with him (platonic or not) he will sleep on the couch or try to crash at a friends house.

not great at fighting but he tries anyways - part of this comes from struggling to build muscle mass consistently due to a high metabolism

in the same breath, he is almost always eating - talks about food a lot

more to come

#bash | intro #lawlessintro #body dysmorphia tw #death tw #drugs tw

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 7 months

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Primetober Day 2: Smiley Face, with all extra prompts (Scars, physical abuse, and body dysmorphia).

Canon compliant. After receiving his Glasgow Grin in Exile, Tommy finds himself having to deal with looking in the mirror and seeing his abuser staring back. Warnings for abuse, torture, mutilation, infantilisation, dehumanisation, self-victim blaming, suicidal thoughts, descriptions of violence, and severe self hatred.

Glasgow Grin c!tommy remains the best headcanon I do not take criticism.

ao3 link here —

Tommy hated mirrors.

That sounded pathetic to admit to himself, but it was true. Sometimes, if he avoided the mirrors in Techno’s house, he could pretend that Exile didn’t happen and everything was fine. If he ate enough golden apples to dull the pain, it was almost easy. He could pretend he was having a sleepover under the floorboards- Techno had asked if he wanted to sleep elsewhere, but it felt wrong to pretend like he was a person and not a beloved pest kept around for amusement- and he could pretend that he was going to see Tubbo any day now.

He couldn’t do that, looking at himself.

Not with the hollow look to his cheeks, the bruises keeping one of his eyes swollen shut. Not with the length of his hair, left to grow wild for months. Not with his sunburnt complexion, angry red marks from the sun dotting his skin. And most of all- not with his scars.

Tommy had always had scars, of course. He’d always been the type to get himself into scrapes, and he took pride in it, each pale-pink line proof he was a Big Man badass who could survive anything. He displayed the cut across his nose he’d had since he was little with pride, displayed the cuts from training and refused plasters to cover them up. In his mind, they were battle scars long before he’d gotten any scars from battle- and he treasured those ones even more.

But the scars Dream had left him with weren’t noble, or cool, or manly. They were just a pitiful sight, branding him as a victim. He hated that word- victim. The weakness, the passivity, there was no idea Tommy hated more than being a helpless little lamb. And, as much as he hated to admit it, that’s what he was in Exile. Dream had brought him down to a scared little animal, and was halfway through with taming him like one.

(But it was fine, he deserved it.)

When Tommy looked in the mirror, he looked so… young. He’d always hated the idea of being seen as a child, but he could see why everyone called him that, looking at himself in this pitiful, reduced state. He was small, suddenly. Not physically- he was still tall as fuck, and his vain hopes he might catch up with Wil someday hadn’t yet been dashed on the rocks- but something about the heavy, ugly scars covering his skin brought into focus the softness and youth of his features, in a way that only sparked piteous revulsion, and Tommy hated it.

It felt like he could see himself the way Dream saw him, and that sent shivers down his spine. He wasn’t stupid, at least not when it came to that. He heard the way Dream spoke to him, like a disobedient child or a misbehaving animal. Like something cute to play with when it was good and lock away when it was bad. Something tiny and pitiful to mould like clay. A thing, not a person.

And maybe sometimes it felt easier to be a thing.

His memories of Logstedshire were hazy at best, even the clearest ones leaving him uncertain about what was real or not. It was sometimes even like he had two versions of the same event- one viewed through rosy glasses, another jaded and cracked. It made shit so confusing- he knew that what Dream did, that was borderline torture, it wasn’t okay. What he wasn’t sure about was whether Dream was trying to be a good friend or if he didn’t give a shit about him. Whether Dream would change if he realised he hurt Tommy, or if he’d just do it worse to punish him for daring to try and be anything but a quiet, obedient trophy.

Even through that foggy lens, though, he recalled certain things perfectly- usually the things he wanted gone the most. The pain of blows to the head and chest, the loneliness eating him up inside until he just wanted to be gone, the words that still echoed in his head about how fucking useless he was, hated by all but Dream. Seeing the scars always brought all that back, but the worst of it was the two jagged, ugly scars zig-zagging across his cheeks in a parody of a smile, marks around it rubbed raw by thread, barely holding his face together as it healed.

It almost looked like a crude, childish imitation of Dream’s mask.

It was a brand. No two ways around it. It was a brand, ugly and raised and impossible to hide, forever marking Tommy with a symbol of ownership. Like a name written on the tag of a child’s toy, but instead carved, slowly and painfully, with an axe. The horrible aching across his cheeks had cleared up a bit- as long as he made sure to eat so many golden apples it made him feel queasy- but just looking at the hideous marks marring his skin, making him unlovable because they marked him as no longer human, made the pain come back in full force.

It was agonising, the feeling of a sharp blade through not just skin but bone and muscle, too. But that wasn’t the most painful part- at least he passed out from blood loss not too long after Dream had finished carving up one of his cheeks and got to work on the other. No, the worst pain was when it healed. Dream had only given him the bare minimum of healing potions, stitched the wound up with itchy green fabric thread. It felt as if it threatened to unfurl like an old sweater whenever he opened his mouth, let alone speak or even eat. Dream had to force him to take sips of water, and the one time he dragged his sleeping form into the ocean afterwards and woke up in its salty depths- Prime, the pain was indescribable. He couldn’t even try to swim to shore; he could just writhe in agony as the waves washed him onto the beach like the world itself would not let him die unless his owner permitted it.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Fuck no, it was the easy stuff to cope with. Pain could be washed away by golden apples, and even if Techno was mad at him the fuzzy high of the pain relief took the edge off the fear of punishment that sparked- and for some reason, Techno never hit him, or shouted at him until he cried, or took away his food, and seemed more confused than anything when Tommy would flinch away from him or burst into apologies.

No, it was the gentleness of Exile that was always the hardest part of it to deal with.

Dream was nice. Most of the time. That sounded like it might have been a silver lining, with how lonely it was without him, but it made stuff way harder to understand. It made it so hard to tell what he should be upset about and what was normal, what was kindness and what was manipulation, what he deserved, and what was torture.

Even beside that, it wormed into his mind and stayed in there, like a parasite poisoning his thoughts. Every time he let himself fall into the careful rhythm of trying to anticipate his owner friend's needs before he voiced them, being useful and shaving off the parts of himself that caused hurt and never ever disobeying or having his own thoughts, he could hear Dream’s voice in his head, sweet like honey, telling him he was doing well, he was so less annoying now, he was proud. It made trying to stand on his own two feet so much harder. Tommy could withstand pain, but the temptation of being good was much harder to avoid.

It was so hard to be a person when it felt so natural to be a pawn.

And it just felt so much worse when he looked at himself, really looked at himself. When he looked at the poorly-healed Glasgow Grin sitting awkwardly on his face, that’s what he saw- a pawn. A thing left with an identifying mark so even if it stubbornly got lost, it could always be returned to its proper owner. A prized possession, but a possession nonetheless.

But that wasn’t all he felt. He could remember the way Dream would gently daub healing potions on the wound, the way he’d give a sly grin and “forget” to ask Tommy to give up the armour and weapons he was far too weak from blood loss to get with a wink. He could remember how, even when Dream hit him- because Dream sure as Prime did not stop hitting him- he’d always avoid any blows to the face, instantly stop and turn to worry and concern if he busted open one of the stitches by accident.

He could remember when he was half-conscious from pain and when Dream must have thought him asleep, when Dream gently traced a line down the scar with the tip of his claws and said, in the softest voice he’d ever heard Dream speak in, that they looked like the family they’d soon be now. The affection was bizarre, almost Wilbur-like, and Tommy had no clue what the fuck Dream meant by it, but it gave him a warm feeling when he remembered it almost as much as the nausea that’d leave him hunched over the sink, and he hated that more than anything.

Because, what else did that mean except that he was becoming just like Dream? He was kin, or would be soon enough, and that thought gave him a sick comfort. And- and that made him as bad as Dream, didn’t it? Worse, maybe. Because maybe Dream didn’t know he was a torturer. Maybe Tommy should have tried to be nicer, maybe Tommy deserved it. But that was because Tommy was uniquely annoying, a little pest that bugged everyone. He deserved that pain, yet he was twisting in the image of the person rightfully punishing him, and with no suitable target, he’d only grow worse. He’d become a Dream without a Tommy, a torturer without scum that deserves pain.

He’d become everything he’d hated and more.

Tommy hated mirrors, because when he looked in them, he saw Dream smiling back.

#My writing #cprimetober #c!primeboys #abuse tw #torture tw #body dysmorphia tw #mutilation tw #infantilisation tw #dehumanisation tw #victim blaming tw #suicidal thoughts tw

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oflostinfound · 6 months

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They're staring at the mirror, specifically at the way their chest scar peeks out from under their current shirt. Normally they were able to ignore it, but today-

They sigh, searching their drawers for a different top for the day. Maybe a turtleneck? It wouldn't be out of season for it anyway.

#💛 || ic post #💛 || status #body dysmorphia tw #scar tw

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oaxleaf · 1 year

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mag 90 - body builder

i like this episode because it really shows how it's possible to push the boundries of a simple concept. i don't think most writers would have developed the flesh into anything more than gore and body horror, which i personally find really boring. but that is not what happens. instead the flesh is stretched into themes of self-image, presentation to the world, and others views of you, and whilst stuff about body dysmorhphia does make me feel somewhat uncomfortable (but at least not in a way that makes this statement really hit home) this is very well written

to me, the flesh monsters are pretty irrelevant. they are there to present some type of climax of the episode, but i really find that the build-up and this guy's mental state is what is really meant to target us. people could disagree on that though

once again, the entities target those who already have an affinity for them. i mean, the ad literally says 'your perfect body is here' - that is not meant to aim at the average person who just wants to work out once or twice a week for health reasons. everything about it is designed to spur on someone already falling into this pit

this was an episode i always remembered really well, and i'm not even sure why. most episodes i can recall in vague details, but i remembered name, episode number, plot, etc. of this one going in. great episode, even if it makes me very uncomfortable

#tma #a mag a day #mag 90 #body dysmorphia tw

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elliot-needs-sleep · 6 months

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Broken

Fandom: Sally Face

Fic Type: Short form

Prompt: "It's broken."

Word Count: 625

TW: IMPLIED AND REFERENCED BULLYING, BODY DYSMORPHIA, SELF HATRED, AND BREAKDOWNS

“It’s broken.” Sal’s voice was quiet from the bathroom stall, and Larry didn't know what he was talking about in the slightest.

"What's broken, dude?" He looked over at Todd, who shrugged in response, and then they both turned back to the stall Sal was hiding in.

"My prosthetic. It snapped when I fell after Travis tripped me." He was still quiet, but Larry could hear the slight waver in his voice.

"Sally, I'll be right back, I have an idea." Larry ran from the bathroom, heading back to the cafeteria to find Ash.

"Ash!" He yelled, getting a lot of odd looks from the other tables, and he slid to a stop in front of his friends.

"Sal's mask snapped and I need some sort of glue and tape, can you help me look for something?" Ash nodded, immediately standing up and leading Larry towards the art room.

----

Sal didnt know what to do. If it couldnt be fixed, hed have to walk out of the school without it. Or sit in the bathroom forever.

The second thought seemed much more appealing, honestly.

There was no way he was leaving this stall without the prosthetic. The thought of being seen without it caused his whole body to start shaking more then he'd already been. He could hardly stand to look at himself, let alone the idea of other people seeing him.

It was not happening.

Sitting with his back agasint one of the walls, he tried to focus on Todd's quiet reassurances that Larry would find something to fix it, but all he could hear was static as he stared down at the broken prosthetic.

It had broken in exactly the same spot as it had years ago, right along the fault line of the two different plastics.

Why did it have to break? Why now? Why not in the apartments where he could at least hide himself away in his dark room with Gizmo?

----

"All I can find is glitter glue and washi tape… I'm sorry, Larry." Ash sighed after a couple minutes of searching, Larry having torn apart all the upper cabinets while she looked through the drawers and bottom cupboards.

Larry just grabbed a tube of blue glitter glue and the washi tape covered in cassettes that she had set on the table, smiling and thanking her anyways, before booking it top speed back to the bathroom.

----

The static was getting louder, his thoughts were getting louder, and the shaking was getting worse and worse and he didn't think it would ever stop.

The door to the bathroom slammed open, and Sal jumped, clutching his prosthetic to his chest like hiding it would save him.

"Sally? You think you could pass me your mask? I think I can fix it." Larry. It was just Larry.

He sat there quietly for a second before shuffling the two pieces under the stall, which were quickly grabbed by Larry, and he could hear shuffling as Todd moved to look.

"That was all you could find?" Todd asked quietly, and Larry chuckled a bit before responding.

"Yeah, but it'll work just fine until we get back home and I can raid my art supplies for something better. Anyways! Sally, here's the not new but definitely improved mask!"

And with that, Larry carefully sets in on the ground just underneath the door, letting Sal pick it up and look at it carefully.

It was back in one piece, held together by sparkly blue glitter glue and several strips of washi tape, all covered in cassette tapes.

----

"So, how do you like it?" Larry asked nervously, and the stall door swung open.

Sal stood, his newly fixed prosthetic strapped where it should be, with tears falling underneath it.

"It's perfect. Thank you."

#whumptober 2023 #no.5 #its broken #sally face #short ficlet #bullying tw #body dysmorphia tw #self hatred tw #descriptions of a breakdown tw #elliotiswriting #sf sal fisher #sf larry johnson #sf ashley #sf todd #divider by cafekitsune

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sunkissedlouis · 14 days

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#body image tw #bd is bd-ing sooooooo fucking bad lately it's make me extra extra miserable i hate it #feeling like i want to break all the mirrors in the house!!#and one of my besties tried to talk me out of an insecurity i pointed out while we took pics ytd #and she's like girl you look fine it's the bd talking you're fine #I WISH I COULD HEAR AND LISTEN GIRL BUT MY MINDS LIKE NOPE UR LYING I LOOK HUGE AND HORRIBLE IN THIS DRESS!!!#i also wanna cancel the upcoming beach trip w/ friends bc i know im constantly going to be analyzing and feeling like shit #just. not feeling my best. cried thrice already #might delete later #body dysmorphia tw

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bakshiis · 1 month

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do they spend a lot of time dressing up, fixing their hair and/or putting on makeup?

brad spends a good chunk of time getting ready in the morning. he's very particular about his appearance, and he wants to make sure that he looks perfect before he leaves the house. often times he will change his outfit multiple times until he gets the 'right one'. it can be a viscous cycle for him getting ready in the mornings. he's very critical of his appearance, so getting ready in the morning can quickly lead into a spiral. he always steams his clothes in the mornings to make sure there's no wrinkles. if he finds that anything is out of place, he will have to start the process over again.

mundane headcanons, @oddsciences, accepting!

#oddsciences #[ 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 . . . ] 💰 headcanon.#eating disorder tw #body dysmorphia tw

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welcometohollyweird · 7 months

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just got to work after crying on the bus because being in this body is tormenting & there’s nothing i can do about it. 👍

#bullshitting with olivia #ed trigger warning #body dysmorphia tw #sorry guys but todays gonna be a shit show

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fizzarollitm · 2 months

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Thinking abt fizz, signing on with Mammon, and his life pre-Ozzy

tw; mentions of survival sex work & body dysmorphia/disordered eating

For five years Fizz works under Cash as the backbone of what remains of the circus. There is a lot of promises that go unanswered and "great days" that end with the same disappointing draw. He spends those years recovering, getting used to his prosthetics, and trying to get back to where he was before the accident. He also spends it with Cash dripping poison in his ear regarding Blitz and like, anyone but himself. Lets just say he was groomed for people like Mammon long before he ever met him.

The day he auditions for Mammon was last minute and done after an argument with Cash. He blew their funds on something stupid and basically calls Fizz's bluff on leaving him to work for someone else so he just leaves. Takes what he can carry to his trailer in a hand sewn costume that still had pins in it and bet everything on it.

All or nothing, this was it.

On that day, the old Fizzarolli came back. No one could look away from him from beginning to end. He had them howling with laughter, sobbing from personal anecdotes, and left everything onstage. Mammon signed him and it only took twelve hours for his life to change in a new apartment, new clothes, sizings for his prosthetics, and a fake backstory to fill a ghost written memoir.

The dream ends when he gets the first bill. Millions expected to make up for all those "gifts" that seemed never ending and Mammon is "kind enough" to give him a cut of each show while the rest goes back to his debt. He is bound not by his soul but the air he breathes and clothes on his back and while Fizzarolli products run off shelves, he downsizes to a cramp apartment in Greed.

Food gets cut down (Mammon has been pointing out his weight gain too; probably a good thing) works his body harder and harder, the prosthetics add another heavy tab but now he can move properly. He adds them in, wears them down to the point he needs a second hardier pair (more debt) and about a year into working under Mammon starts doing survival sex work on the side. It closes the gap, he can breathe and eat again. (Mammon notices at their weigh in; time to cut back)

[ He can do this. He can do this. Its his dream, his wish— ]

#[MUSINGS] 「Froggy Flips」#disordered eating tw #body dysmorphia tw

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mvndrvke · 1 month

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SYRIO ALTROSS

personals & non-mutuals, please don't reblog! trigger warnings : body dysmorphia, body modification, coercion, abuse note : syrio is an oc i've made up, so please don't steal him!

syrio was part of effie's life for years. with families that ran in the same social circles, it was inevitable that they got to know each other, and eventually began a relationship. it wasn't one of love; effie didn't love syrio, and he didn't love her. they made an attractive couple, and that was all that really mattered. effie just wanted to be admired.

syrio didn't propose. he gave effie a ring, and that was that. effie was excited, young and foolish enough to believe that was what she wanted. but attempts to plan a wedding were pushed aside by syrio. he wanted his future wife to be the best, the most beautiful, the most fashionable. effie was what she made and created. she was not afraid to change herself.

so she did. again, and again, and again. she was the height of fashion, the brightest gem at every party. she was so lucky, and everyone reminded her of that. effie reminded herself of that with each change and alteration. she was so lucky.

things changed after the 74th games. effie's delicate rules of the world was shattered, and she struggled to have faith in the life she'd built for herself. she traveled with katniss and peeta for their victory tour. things were fine, but when the reaping happened for the 75th games, syrio reacted with excitement to see his fiancee's victors compete in the games again. to him, it was a good thing, an exciting thing. to effie, it was the end. she gave back the ring and offered no further explanation.

after the initial shock, neither did syrio. it was a relationship void of feeling, and one that left effie feeling disappointed and disheartened. she'd shaped herself into the perfect thing, but she was still too different. many of the alterations she'd made to herself over the years for syrio she had undone. she hated her body, but at least it was as she'd chosen. that, at least, she could be happy with.

#( muse || effie trinket )#( npc || syrio altross )#abuse tw #coercion tw #body modification tw #body dysmorphia tw #i feel like this was probably pretty common in the capitol #their fashion is over the top and crazy and lookin at people like tigris #who went so hardcore into body modification #i think it's reasonable to assume that others did similar things or made modifications to themselves for the sake of fashion #i might do a whole post just about this at some point and the modifications effie still has #but idk #anyway if people need other trigger tags on this please lmk #i wasn't sure what to tag it as

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muutos · 10 months

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mangle was created as a male animatronic, but obviously there's little tying them to that. they never really were able to develop a personality before becoming what they are, so there was no real grasp of that beforehand. also their voicebox is inherently feminine when able to produce sound. they don't care the pronouns, they wouldn't understand the social construct anywho. they would probably prefer he or she just because it personalizes them, but they don't know. truly. so i just tend to refer to them as it and them.

mangle is in constant mental & physical agony that they call static, because it is white noise. it is knowing they aren't right, but this is their normal. pain is normalcy. they do not register at such, other than a mild discomfort or ... feeling.

they just wanted to give jeremy a kiss

they want to be made whole more than anything, which is part of it's agony. they are in horrible envy of the bodies of their counterparts.

hard to develop trust but once they do they're your pet doggy

just want pats

secretly (even to themself) wants to be told they're beautiful the way they are

perhaps they could accept themselves as they are but canon tl never gave them the opportunity.

harbors resentment to william for abandoning them and henry for leaving them to their fate. likely hates henry more-so, ngl.

please love them

#softly *mangle*#misc * / out of character #the mangle * / headcanon #headcanon.#body dysmorphia tw #𝐢. . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ [ 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧 › out of character ]

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 6 months

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Day 9: Slumber Party, with all additional prompts (Watching someone sleep, Possessiveness, and Murder fantasy)

Vampire AU. Dream watches his precious bloodbag sleep after his first feeding, and fights the urge to tear out his throat and drink his delicious ichor all at once. Warnings for stalking, past abuse and torture (not of Tommy, for once), intrusive thoughts, violent thoughts, trauma, body dysmorphia, extreme dehumanisation, possessive behaviour, obsession, codependency, and grief.

ao3 link

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Tommy talked in his sleep.

It wasn’t a surprise, Dream supposed. If anyone wasn’t able to shut up even in their sleep, it’d be Tommy. Loud, outgoing, human Tommy.

He had to admit, he was a little jealous. Humanity was a gift cruelly ripped from him, his curse imparted without consent. The sun forever torn from his grasp, the feeling of fresh air breathed through his lungs, the taste of fresh fruit, the changing of his face in the mirror, all taken by selfish whim.

He still had nightmares of being cattle, passed around from cruel hand to cruel hand, the venom coursing through his skin, laughter as he whimpered in pain. He’d wiped them all out long ago, of course. He’d made sure he was the last bearing his curse left alive, a monster turned protector. But seeing Tommy there, the scabs over his wrist red and raised, he felt more like those people who’d forced him to humiliate himself to spare his siblings than he ever had before.

Not in their torturous cruelty, of course. He was nothing like them, the way they took joy in his humiliation, treating him like worthless cattle at best and a toy to abuse in every way possible at worst. No- he saw Tommy much like the siblings he worked tirelessly to keep from meeting the same fate, forcing a smile across a battered face and asking for more if it would spare them. He would never understand that, never in his life.

What he understood was the hunger.

Until he’d gotten a taste of Tommy’s blood, feeding had always felt like a chore, like forcing ash down his mouth. He got through on as little as possible, the memory of the agony of teeth and venom in his skin burning at the thought. It was necessary to keep his strength up, heal from the sun’s stubborn rays, protect the mortals he’d taken on as his own, but it was an unpleasant and humiliating process for both him and the poor soul who’d generously volunteered.

But he and Tommy had been fighting over something insignificant, something he couldn’t even remember, and in the heat of combat, blood had spilt, staining his sword. The smell alone was distracting enough it was difficult to keep a fighting stance- when, after they’d resolved whatever it was with a laugh, he’d dared to have a taste, he was intoxicated.

The ambrosial taste of Tommy’s ichor, inexplicably utterly addictive, had haunted him ever since. He wanted to tear Tommy to shreds, open up his throat and drain him dry. Bash his head on the floor and sink his fangs into his flesh while he couldn’t fight it, and tear out his flesh to get to the delicious liquid inside. He wanted to eradicate Tommy to gorge on his blood, and he couldn’t stop thinking of killing him and digging into his heart to get to the prize inside.

The difference between him and the others was that he hated it.

Dream didn’t want to hurt Tommy- of course he didn’t, that was ridiculous. He was fun to mess with, but that was different to fucking killing him. He wasn’t some animal, cattle to use and throw aside. He was his friend, and very much an equal to him in every way.

Well, not exactly, but that wasn’t because he was human, was it?

He wasn’t- he wasn’t going to be like them, not now, not ever. He wasn’t going to let anyone treat his Tommy like that, forcing him to debase himself and act like an animal and call himself worthless. Tommy didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that, not even the bastards who took joy in making him smile and laugh while they sunk their fangs into him. But if anyone deserved that the least, it was his bloodbag.

He’d made sure the deal he’d made was fair and just. L’Manberg for Tommy’s blood, anytime he wished. He hadn’t pressured Tommy, hadn’t threatened to kill everyone he loved unlike some people, simply provided a fair trade- his freedom for L’Manberg’s. And, of course, he chose to become Dream’s bloodbag.

Of course, because he knew Tommy. He might have presented himself as a big, manly, rude and inconsiderate lout, but the boy was kinder than anyone he ever met. The way he hid it belied that fact- even the kindest of people who are open expect praise, the fawning servitude of a dog that Dream was sick of being forced into, yet Tommy did good while obscuring it, so none would know. No one who didn’t spend hours in his wall, unblinking as he quietly observed.

To keep him safe. Of course. No other reasons.

Absently, Dream ran gentle hands across Tommy’s curls. They were tangled and matted, stuck out in awkward directions, perfectly imperfect. Dream wished he could be like that- he missed the way his hair stuck in too many directions, the acne that pockmarked his face, the scars that were proof he could survive anything. He felt like a porcelain doll, forced into eerie perfection. He almost wished it was true that a vampire could not see themselves in the mirror- it’d be far kinder than the constant reminder he was a prisoner in a body so wrong.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice was slurred, his words hard to make out even though he was talking his little head off, but that word was clear, and Dream felt a mix of angry possessiveness and pure, innocent joy bubble up in his chest in a confusing array.

Of course, wanting to tear Wilbur limb from limb was an expected feeling. Tommy was his, after all. They’d made a deal on it and everything. Tommy was his bloodbag, not to torment and treat as property, but to care for and cherish dearly as someone valuable. The idea of Tommy having any other family felt like a betrayal of that, and some dark part of him screamed that he needed to hurt Tommy for that, too. That it was a betrayal on Tommy’s part, that he needed to be taught his place, that maybe Dream deserved what happened to him, and it’d be a kind thing to do it to Tommy too.

No, no, no. He wasn’t going to do that. He wasn’t going to- to force Tommy to walk on all fours, or carve rituals into his back, or make him eat from the dirt, or any other of the fucked up shit he was so kindly treated to before having his humanity stolen from him, a violation of his personhood he’d never inflict upon another. As awful as the abuse was, there was no greater pain than feeling every cell in your body die and slowly twisting into a horrifically wrong form, too perfect and uncanny.

There was a reason Dream was the last. He wouldn’t change that ever. He was firm, at times, but not cruel, and it’d be a cruelty above cruelties to subject another to his very special hell.

He focused on the warmth in his heart, like the sunlight he dearly missed. The tone Tommy said that word in, even if it wasn’t yet the correct name, was so familiar. It was the way his siblings said his name, sweet and soft and loving. He missed them so- they’d grown from being so little and in need of his care into bigger than he’d ever be so quickly, and then they were gone. Sometimes, on the worst days, he regretted sacrificing everything for people who were so fleeting. But now, he could see them in Tommy, his silly jokes, his childish insistence that he wasn’t childish.

It was almost as addictive as his blood.

He ran a finger over Tommy’s wrist, guiltily. He knew how much that hurt, from painful personal experience. The way media portrayed vampire bites was a cruel lie- it was agony, like being eaten alive. Fangs dig into your skin, tearing at any flesh to let the blood flow. Venom entering your bloodstream, like fire in your blood, keeping you still and compliant but not at all dulling the pain. The sickening nausea and exhaustion afterwards.

Predictably, Tommy had woozily made his way home and passed out halfway down the Prime Path after Dream had drank from him, and Dream had had to carry him home and tuck him into bed as he mumbled nonsense, a look of terror on his face. He’d done the same the first few times- except he usually woke up to mocking laughter and bruises. Sometimes, newer ones would take pity. They never lasted long.

Kindness was something punished by a world of cruelty. Even Dream, as good a man he tried to be, was not immune. Was it so bad if he was a little selfish? It’s not like he was cruel to Tommy- the opposite, really, he treated him as kindly as he could. He shouldn’t have felt guilty over that.

After all, why should the cat apologise for having to eat the rat to survive?

Prime, he already was starving, imagining how Tommy’s ichor tasted. It almost reminded Dream of how being alive felt.

It would be fine to take another bite, he reasoned. Tommy was asleep. Tommy wouldn’t feel a thing. He’d be able to watch over him, make sure he was okay. It was fine. It was.

Stroking Tommy’s hair like a parent would a child with one hand, he grabbed Tommy’s wrist with the other and sunk his fangs into the raised circles, red and tempting, and as he feasted, he tried to ignore how Tommy’s eyes opened just a tad, how Tommy whimpered in the quietest voice.

He would think it merely a dream later, Dream told himself. It was kinder. And they made a deal. It was fine. Tommy was fine.

After all, Tommy was his.

#My writing #cprimetober #c!primeboys #dream smp #stalking tw #abuse tw #intrusive thoughts tw #Trauma tw #body dysmorphia tw #dehumanisation tw #possessive behaviour tw #obsession tw #codependency tw

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