#self image issues

[tswhiisftteedr]

Hey there, I hope your having a nice night or day, I saw that you wrote nsfw and was wondering if I could request something for chenya wit a female s/o who has a hard time gaing any weight, and a very skinny and tend to become insecure due to it.. and chenya "cheers" them up 👀

(I have this problem ☹ and would like to feel a bit better w some indulgence you know 🤷‍♀️)

Sweet-scented pigeon wing ☆ Headcanon + Drabble

☆RSA Student!Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker(Che’nya) x Skinny!Fem!Yuu!Reader :

Feeling insecure and self loathing sucks, but luckily for you, your act beastmen boyfriend Che’nya is here for you. And he’s going to ‘cheer you up to the best of his abilities!’

Warnings: Mature content, Che’nya is aged up to 18+ and NCR is an actually college, fingering, begging, not anything graphic(violence) reader is just insecure. Not proofread.

Note: Hi thanks for requesting, I’m sorry if this wasn’t what you were looking for, I’ve never written comfort for subject like body image, especially people who are ‘skinny’ as I’m more on the chubby side my self. (Working on it girly pops, I’m about to become a slim thick queen and you won’t see it coming, hdhhdjd lol) So if this isn’t to your taste I’m sorry, but I real hope it is!! Also some crack halfway through the smut, I guess it was to make it more cheerful and comforting, though idk if it’s good \:<

Before you two started dating, Che’nya had picked up on the fact that you were insecure in your appearance. Mostly wearing oversized clothes to hide your figure, and how you would panic whenever he hugged you out of nowhere, tensing as he fully embrace you in his warmth.

Back then, he used to think that the issues you had with your physic were temporarily, or mood related. ‘We all have those times we’re we feel low and unsure of oneself, right?’

Well to his somewhat ‘displeasure’ he was wrong. It’s not like he was mad at you for not liking everything about yourself, but more that it made him sad that you didn’t see ‘you’ the way he did.

Sure he understood the fact that being at risk of developing health issues like osteoporosis, higher chances for hypothermia and lower immunity system, just because of your weight, could make you insecure. And he also knew you did your best despite your struggle in weight gain.

The way he sees things, you can’t do much but you’re still already doing your max. So since you’re doing your best already, you shouldn’t worry to much about it.

He doesn’t expect you to change your opinion towards your body from one day to the other, even when you got together, he still saw the hesitation behind your eyes whenever he would compliment your looks.

But he did feel proud of the way your gaze slowly shifted through time, how you would look less ‘untrusting’ of his words after each time he would call you beautiful, cute, lovely, hot, ‘sexy mama~’, etc. The way you would wear clothes that were a bit more your size after each interaction, the way you felt more comfortable when he touch and caress you.

He knew your self doubts were still present, though he also knew that they were less dominant in your mind. As if every time he would hold your hand, hug you, kiss you, make out with you, those thoughts would be push further and further away.

Of course there were the days where those thoughts would resurface, hitting you with a wave of sadness and self loathing. Maybe someone had said something about your looks, maybe you weren’t so sure about you were wearing halfway through the day, or maybe it just one of those off day. The ones where you felt like shit no matter what you did, from the moment you awake, to the one you would fall asleep.

In cases like this, your lovely cat boy of a boyfriend would help by bringing your moral up, in his own very special way~

☆ more under the cut. ☆

You and Che'nya were hanging out in Heartslabyul’s rose maze, he had snuck once more to spend sometime with you. The both of you were laying down on the grass, staring at the clouds. When he turned to sneak a glance at your oh so beautiful face, he noticed a look of somewhat unease and despair on your face, so he decided to do something about it.

He knew what that faced meant, so he scouted closer to you slowly, his movement almost silent due to the soft grass under his body. His hands reached out suddenly, wrapping around your waist gently yet firmly before he lifted both you and himself off the ground effortlessly.

Now with you in his arms, without warning, he carried you towards the magic mirror in the dorm.

You soon found yourself back at your dorm, the ramshackle.

Once inside, he placed you down on the bed, keeping hold of one arm over your head while using his free hand to undo your buttons and zippers without hesitation.

Within moments, he had ripped your clothes apart revealing your naked body in all its glory. The sight of your figure and softness sent waves of desire coursing through him.

"You know, its pretty inconvenient for me not knowing when you’ll be down in a slump." He told you in a cheeky manner, obviously not serious. You can always count on Che’nya to tease in any given situation. “But it’s not all so bad, after all, when your like this I get to play with you.” he murmured against your neck, nipping lightly at your sensitive skin. “Though I would prefer it if it just some random fun, not me having to fuck into you just how perfect you are.” He told you with a rather serious tone, different from his usual one. Thought the softness behind his eyes told you, he wasn’t blaming or reprimanding you. He just wish you could see what he saw when he would gaze at you. But before you could think on that for too long-

"Now, lie back and enjoy yourself." Che’nya spoke out in his usual oh so casual tone.

With that said, he pushed your legs apart wider than they wanted to go and started playing with your ‘sweet-scented pigeon wing’ as he would call it.

Wait- the hell?! “Sweet-scented pigeon wing”, where does that even come from, like what the actual f- oh, right, you remember now.

Sweet-scented pigeon wing from potionology, it’s also known as Clitoria fragrans hence their vaginal shape. What a fucking bastard that he is for calling your coochie that!

Well at least if you had any doubts about sex, your mind was now well off them. But before your mental insulting and name calling of your boyfriend could continue anymore, it was abruptly cut short, by the one you were previously cursing out.

As Che'nya touched your sensitive areas, you could feel a mix of pleasure and shock coursing through your body. His cold hands contrasted with the warmth that was beginning to spread between your legs. He teased you mercilessly, rubbing circles around your clit before dipping his fingers inside of you. Every move sent waves of ecstasy throughout your entire being, making it hard for you to resist him.

In response to his actions, you arched your back involuntarily, moaning softly as he continued to torment you. "Che’nya stop... please..." You begged, but there was no real resistance in your voice. Instead, it sounded more like pleading for more.

"Feeling good, aren't you?" he purred, nibbling on your earlobe playfully. "You know you want this." With that, he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, stretching you wider than ever before. The sudden invasion caused another loud moan to escape your lips, followed by a whimper as he began to thrust them in and out of you rhythmically.

Che'nya chuckled at your moans and whimpers, loving the power he had over you. He increased the pace of his thrusts, going faster and harder until you were on the brink of orgasm. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out suddenly, leaving you panting and yearning for more.

"Not yet," he purred teasingly. "I want you begging for it, and obviously you got to explain why you deserve it, also you being attractive must be one of those reasons, ‘Kay!” With that cryptic remark, he stepped back slightly, exposing his erect member to your eager eyes. It was throbbing with anticipation.

You couldn't help but stare at his thick, throbbing dick, your eyes widening in a mixture of fear and desire. "W-What do you want me to say? T-That I... need this?" Your voice cracked slightly as he stepped closer again, pushing his cockhead against your entrance.

"Good girl," he praised, before sliding the head inside of you slowly. "Now tell me why else you deserve it." His pace remained slow, allowing you to adjust to his size while teasing both of them.

You bit your lower lip nervously, trying to gather your thoughts. "I... umm... I guess because... uh... well... it feels so good when you touch me like this... And that I’ve been good ..” You managed to stutter out between pants.

"And?"

"And, I suppose... that I'm somewhat pretty." You reply.

"You 'suppose' that you're 'somewhat pretty'? Hmm, I don't think that's going to cut it. You need to be confident about that sort of thing, especially if you want me to start pounding my dick into you." He tells you, giggling.

You blush bright red, feeling both embarrassed and aroused by his words. "I... I-I mean..." Stuttering again, you gather your courage and look him straight in the eyes. "I'm beautiful, okay? Okay?"

His grin widened as he heard these words leave your lips. "That's more suitable," he praised. He increased his pace little by little, gradually thrusting deeper inside of you. Each powerful stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it difficult for you to maintain composure.

"You smell so damn good," Che'nya groaned, burying his face in your neck and sucking on your tender skin. His hands moved downwards, once more, grabbing your legs firmly and spreading them wider apart, exposing your wet and needy pussy to his hungry gaze. "Yes, you are perfect, there’s no other way to think about it."

You blushed deeply at his words, feeling both embarrassed and aroused. "I... I mean, I—!"

Before you could finish your sentence, he thrust himself fully inside of you without warning, stretching your tight hole to accommodate him completely. A cry of pleasure mixed with pain escaped from your lips as he began to move steadily, claiming you body inch by slow but powerful inch. Each time he pulled out slightly, only to push back in deeper than before, hitting your G-spot just right, sending waves of intense ecstasy coursing through your entire being.

"That's better," he praised between heavy breaths. "You sound so much better when you aren’t worrying about how you look, but instead of how deep I’m fucking you." He said that last part with a snicker.

You moaned in pure ecstasy as he continued to thrust into you, his thick member stretching and filling up every inch of your tight passage. The combination of pleasure and pain was almost too much for you to handle, but somehow, you wanted more.

"Oh god, Che'nya," you cried out, arching your back towards him. "I want... more..." Your words came out breathless and desperate.

He picked up the pace even faster, pounding into you relentlessly. Each powerful thrust caused a loud slapping sound against your sensitive flesh, adding an erotic rhythm to their passionate dance. His hands gripped tightly onto your legs, leaving marks on your skin as evidence of their intensity.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Take all of me." Owing to his size, each deep penetration felt like hitting a new level of pleasure that left you begging for more.

Feeling his orgasm building up inside of him, Che'nya slowed down slightly, savoring every moan and whimper that escaped from your lips. "I can feel how close you are too," he panted between breaths.

"C-Come with me..." his voice cracked as he spoke those words, urging you to reach climax alongside him.

The feeling intensified beyond anything you could have imagined, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. And then, just when you thought it couldn't get better, another powerful thrust sent waves of pure bliss coursing through your body, sending you over the edge into a mind-numbing orgasm unlike anything you had ever experienced before. Your entire being shook with intense pleasure as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss washed over you, leaving you completely lost in the moment.

As for Che'nya, he held on tightly, his own release drawing near. With one final, forceful thrust, he let out a primal growl, burying himself deep within you to the hilt. Quickly pulling out, his hot seed spurted forth, painting your stomach and chest with thick, sticky cum. He stayed there for a moment, observing his work. “See, your such a lovely thing.” Was all he said while looking at your fucked out face and and cum cover body.

Thanks anon for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

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[piendoll]

Am I your favorite?

Am I better than anyone else? Will anything make you love me less?

Even when I am so hateful, splitting at you, questioning you. Can't you just give me all your attention?!

Do I mean everything to you? Can someone replace me? Then you don't. Do you need me like I need you? Am I the only one?

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Staining Touch

this is shameless friendfiction of my dear friend @whumpcloud's story Things End | People Change, featuring poorest little meow meow vincent, my beloved. go check it out if you haven't already !!!

CW: guilt, so so much self-blame and self-deprication, references to past torture and also past SA undertones (vincent is going through it)

Clary has brought him something new, something to slowly fill out the empty space of the basement that is not his but as close as it gets. 

It’s a mirror, almost two-thirds of his height, strange and wobbly and cause of a weird noise Vincent cannot categorize into his existing knowledge when it is bent. Arguably, it is doing a very bad job of being a mirror, besides the fact that it is floppy and almost entertainingly noisy before being put up on the wall, because it distorts his reflection at the edges, pulling him into comical shapes like dough if he moves.

But most importantly, most off-puttingly is the fact that it portrays his reflection at all. 

At first, he can do nothing but stare.

In a little under two hundred years, all Vincent has seen of himself was through the eyes of others and those never regarded him too kindly. Not that he didn’t share that sentiment.

He knows what he can see, from the brown of his hair to the shape of his body, he knows what little is left that connects him to Henry, like the green of his eyes, and he knows what separates him, like the scar that sits right under them, as if mocking. 

And now that he can see his eyes again, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in two human lifespans, which is distinctly one more than he had any right to, he can’t look at what remains of Henry without seeing what remains of Lyfelde. 

That man, he… 

Vincent swallows. If it could, his undead heart would be beating faster –skipping like a rabbit– with each step that thought takes.

…He loved to leave marks. 

Not for some desperate desire to be remembered in an ever-changing world, but instead with the same expectations as couples that carve their initials in the bark of a tree, curious to see the way the tree tries and fails to heal the cuts, to see how they will twist with time.

Vincent is no stranger to cuts, to initials carved into his delicate flesh, to being torn open for amusement and to satiate careless curiosity, even though they will never show on his skin, no matter how he twists and turns to get a good look at himself in the mirror.

Lyfelde however never needed force to leave evidence of himself, even if he can proudly wear the title of the last permanent remainder of Vincent’s weak mortality long gone by, and at his hands no less.

After years and years of captivity, of relentless, giddy torture, Vincent couldn’t point out individual marks of memory, couldn’t remember the incisions, the lacerations, the breaks, only the aftermath, the pain ripping at the edges of his sanity.

But when Vincent closes his eyes, when he imagines his being as he sees himself, there are stains on his chest, in the shape of a freezing claw, long delicate fingers decorated with rings much older than Vincent ever hopes to be. 

There is one right over his heart, claiming it rightfully as Lyfelde’s, honouring the hard work he put into tearing him apart just to shape him into a–

Into a toy.

He is collared –like a pet–, marked by two hands wrapping around his throat and squeezing, a brute display of strength Vincent thought could keep him safe. 

Even now, after all of these years, his mind produces the image of his hands clearer than the face that is already blurred beyond recognition by time. Neither time nor the Hunters could beat Lyfelde’s touch out of Vincent’s memories.

Vincent stretches, looking over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the way his ribs protrude through sickly ashen skin. Even the thought that this is a far cry from his jutting ribcage in captivity, the corpselike result of starvation, turns sour with the sacrifice of those that feed him. 

He is tainted, he knows, from comfort twisted to form a blade –a stake– and embraces that should have been kind and understanding, that Vincent now can’t even bring himself to call “warm”.

He wonders –briefly– if, behind his back, in the security of Vincent’s blindness, Lyfelde’s expressions would have betrayed his intentions. If there was a way a trick of light and precognition could have warned him, if he had just seen it, seen the signs that should have been so glaringly obvious.

Still, at the cost of himself, he had found comfort and solace in the deathly cold touch, and that should have been warning enough.

Almost obsessively, his gaze scans over his own marred, unmarred skin, even as it is stretched and squished by the metal-mirror, now that he finally has the chance to, after decades of nothing. Some quiet, drowned-out part of him whispers back that this is why he avoided anything similar for so long, that the evasion of his own reflection was not only by force of his vampirism but by some self-preserving instinct.

It’s excruciating in a way that is dangerously addicting, a sizzling fire that he cannot look away from. Pain for the sake of pain for the sake of entertainment. 

Curiosity and her twin sister punishment.

If he dares to let his eyes drop lower, his hips will carry two hand-shaped brands of intimacy and trust that were only ever one-sided, burned into his skin deeper than any silver and scratch marks betraying the attempts to rid himself of the ever-present poison seeping from every pore. 

They condemned him to be both poisoned and poison at the same time, always a victim and always a monster and always rightfully so.

Vincent swipes the mirror from the wall, heaving, watching it fall to the ground, deafening but too slow. He wants to fall to his knees, begging and ripping the metal to shreds, ripping his own reflection to shreds so that he will never have to look at it again. … So that it will never be looked at again.

[charzeewrites]

Sometimes I wonder if I would love myself more,

If I didn't look like the monster I call dad.

[steddieassheg0es]

Eddie is very used to being someone’s dirty little secret.

People want him in dark alleyways or bathroom stalls, hidden away from prying eyes. Self hating gays and straight boys who insist ‘getting your dick sucked isn’t gay’. Or, on a few memorable occasions, confused boys needing aid in self discovery. Those ones had been sweet, at least.

No one wants to hold his hand. To give him flowers or wake up next to him the morning after.

Which is fine. He likes sex, he enjoys pinning someone to one of those alley walls and having his way with them.

It’s just unfortunate that he’s so damn romantic.

He knows it’s foolish. Boys like him don’t get happily ever after. If they’re lucky they get to live a sad, lonely life. If they’re unlucky they die of disease or being hate crimed.

But the truth about Eddie is he’s…soft. He just wants to have someone to love, to take care of. He longs to plan a future with someone.

He dreams of a future with Steve.

It’s stupid and reckless to indulge in this infatuation but he can’t help it. Steve is just so….good. He’s brave, and caring, and despite what the others seem to think, he’s smart. Maybe not the way the little geniuses are, but hey neither is Eddie.

He’s almost grateful for that now though. If he hadn’t failed senior year twice, he never would have met this amazing group of people he can’t imagine living without now.

He could have done without the whole being blamed for murders committed by an interdimensional psychopath though.

Realistically he’s aware he’d never have known the difference if things hadn’t gone this way. It’s not like he was miserable before, he had great friends and the world's best uncle. But a sappy part of him thinks he’d feel the loss, know his life was missing something.

He really is too damn romantic.

Regardless, things did happen this way. Now he has a group of children he’s practically adopted. He has Robin who can relate to the painful experience of being queer in Indiana. Nancy who helped him finally graduate. Jonathan and Argyle who provide the most zen like company to get high with when he just needs to stop thinking.

He has Steve. The man who carried his broken, bleeding body out of hell even though everyone thought he was a goner. Who sat by his side for weeks at the hospital, helping Wayne feel less guilty about having to leave him to work.  Who held Eddie’s hand when he finally woke up screaming, not realizing time had passed and he was no longer in that awful place being eaten alive.

Steve had left his side once, after much reassurance from Robin and Dustin that they had things covered, to help Wayne move what he could salvage of their belongings into the new government gifted we’re sorry your trailer was destroyed while you save the world house. The additional hush money helped replace what couldn’t be recovered with a hefty chunk left over.

Then Steve was back, sitting diligently in the uncomfortable hospital chair until Eddie was cleared for release. Much to Eddie’s chagrin, cleared to go home did not mean cleared for much else. He’d been confined to his bed, then eventually the couch, for weeks after his discharge date. Steve hung around the entire time, patiently reminding him that the pain and the exhaustion meant he was still alive. That with time he would get better, and wasn’t that a miracle?

So really, it was inevitable that Eddie fell for him ass over elbows.

—

Summer was an exercise in restraint.

The new house wasn’t too fancy, they didn’t need much. Almost anything was an upgrade from a one bedroom trailer. But one of the delightful perks that came with it was a pool.

Wayne had insisted on it because the doctors had mentioned it would be a great tool for his physical therapy.

It wasn’t as big as Steve’s, but it had the benefit of never having someone they knew die in it so Steve and Nancy would actually swim for a little bit.

More often though Steve could be found lounging on one of the poolside chairs, golden in the sun. Eddie wants nothing more than to bask in his glow, kiss his pretty pink lips, dreams of carrying that warmth with him forever.

It also didn't help that Steve’s swim shorts were…short. Nothing scandalous, but certainly enough to draw Eddie’s eye to the perfect curve of his ass. He did his best not to stare.

He was a romantic, but he wasn’t asexual.

Eddie spends so much time watching, it takes him a while to realize he’s being watched in return. His heart drops to his stomach when he looks up to see Robin smirking at him. Her eyes flick back and forth between him and Steve, a knowing glint to them.

Surely she wouldn’t out him, right? To anyone else he’d be sure, but her and Steve are practically telepathic. The Party has basically accepted if you don’t want one to know something, you can’t tell the other.

The downside to hosting is he can’t make an excuse and run. He has to sit there with the worry building in his gut, trying desperately to keep the fear from showing in his face. He must manage, because no one says anything and they all seem in good spirits when they leave.

They already had plans to have a similar afternoon the following day, so there’s no avoiding Steve. But if he knows, he says nothing. Not that day, or the next, or the rest of the week.

Maybe Robin did keep his secret.

—

Eddie’s hackles are finally starting to lower when Steve shows up alone on a day they had no plans. He’s oddly shy when he asks if they can talk.

“I just…fuck I swear I used to be good at this. I'm no good with words though. That’s all you. Eddie, I…”

He sighs, frustration clear on his face and Eddie thinks this is it. Steve’s trying to find a way to gently let him down. He’ll be nice about it, but he won’t be comfortable with Eddie anymore. Slowly he’ll stop coming around, their friendship will quietly die. Eddie will die right along with it.

He’s so busy panicking in his head that it startles him when Steve speaks again.

“Fuck it.”

Suddenly there are lips on his and his mind goes blank. He lets himself get lost in this moment. This glorious, beautiful moment where everything is good.

But as fast as the thoughts left him, they come crashing back just as quick. Steve is kissing him. Steve…wants to hook up with him? But what category does he fall into?

Not the straight boy looking to get his dick sucked. They never kiss. Eddie’s pretty sure Steve isn’t a self hating queer. So he must be looking to test out a new side to himself, see if it fits.

The thought of being an experiment to Steve breaks his heart. But at least it’s the best option available. It would be way worse to be used for a blowjob. And he never wants Steve to feel that kind of self loathing.

Steve pulls away first. “Was that…are you okay?”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah, of course. More than okay.”

The bright smile he gets in return is worth all the pain that will come when it’s all over.

—

Eddie’s a bit confused when they just kind of…hang out like normal after. There’s kissing, which is certainly new, but that’s about it. Steve doesn’t push for more.

He tries to tamp down the happiness that blooms in his chest. So Steve isn’t the one and done kind. In the short term it’s amazing, but he knows the longer this goes on the more it will hurt when it’s inevitably taken away.

The confusion only grows when Steve shows up the next night with flowers and a pretty pink hue to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I just…I wanna do this right, you know? My only experience is with girls, but who doesn’t like flowers? You deserve flowers. Anyway I was wondering if you wanted to go see a movie with me? Maybe get something to eat after?”

“Oh, uh…yeah, no, flowers are great. They’re very pretty. No one’s ever…right. I’ll just put these in water. Did you have a movie in mind?”

Steve follows him into his kitchen, watching him search for anything even resembling a vase in the Munson home. Would a beer mug be tacky?

“Um…well Labyrinth looks like something you’d be into. Or I think Ferris Bueller is still playing? Whatever you want, I’m not like a film buff or anything.” Steve reaches around him and selects the pint glass he’d been staring at, filling it from the tap and arranging the flowers inside.

He can’t help but think it looks like a physical representation of them. Beautiful and elegant flowers clashing with the crass and low quality chipped cup. But Steve just hums in apparent satisfaction before turning those pretty hazel eyes on him.

“You’d see Labyrinth? Up my alley it may be, up yours I doubt.”

“Well, I mean…everyone likes Bowie, right? Besides, the movie itself isn’t the point. I just wanna spend time with you.”

His cheeks are once again that delightful shade of pink. Eddie is so fucked. This whole thing is just going to make him fall that much harder, leaving him with his heart that much more shattered.

But when a pretty boy asks you out, you don’t say no.

—

Things continue this way as the summer warmth fades into the chill of autumn.

Steve is charming, and he holds Eddie’s hand even when their friends are around. Everyone but Robin watches in bemusement but no one makes a comment. He “formally introduces himself” to Wayne, but to the older man’s bewilderment. Eddie just shrugs, not really sure what’s happening either.

Behind closed doors, Steve presses in close. He lets his hands wander, but only ever above the waist. Usually they can be found in Eddie’s hair. He lets his tongue slip into Eddie’s mouth, hot but sweet.

But he never pushes for more.

The only reason Eddie can come up with is things he remembers overhearing in locker rooms. Straight boys love to complain about how girls need to be wooed. Need to be romanced before they’re willing to “put out”.

But Eddie doesn’t need that. As nice as it is to delude himself with the things Steve is doing, he knows it can only end badly.

So he takes things into his own hands. So to speak.

They’re in Eddie’s room late one night. Wayne is gone, because house or no house he’s still got to put food on the table and he’s too used to the overnight shift to change it now. Eddie’s got Steve underneath him making such pretty sounds as he leaves a trail of bites down that pretty neck. He rolls his hips, groaning when he feels an answering hardness against his own. Lets his fingers wander lower, plucking at Steve’s belt when hands at his wrist stop him. He’s gently nudged into sitting up.

“Eddie…woah, slow down. Hey. We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. There’s no need to rush.”

Mortifyingly, the words make him burst into tears.

“Oh Eddie…baby, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. What do you want from me Steve? What are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean waiting for? Hey hey hey, breathe. You’re okay. Just talk to me.” Steve’s thumbs stroke his wrists gently while he pulls himself together.

“Fuck, Steve, I just don’t know what this is. I thought I did but you don’t seem to wanna fuck so I don’t get what you’re looking for.”

“I’m not…oh. Shit. With how well things were going I thought…well, I guess I shouldn’t have assumed. Eddie, I like you, a lot. No that’s not true. Fuck it. All in, right? I’m so fucking in love with you, you have no idea. I want…god, I want so much. I want everything. But I…I get it, if that’s not what you want. We can go back to being friends.”

Eddie’s pretty sure his brain must have some remaining damage from the Upside Down, because there’s no way he heard that correctly.

“You’re…in love with me?”

Steve’s eyes dip down before they meet his again, that shyness from weeks ago making a reappearance. “Yeah. Yes. Embarrassingly so if Robin is to be believed.”

“Robin knew? Wait, no, forget that. Steve…Jesus Christ, this can’t be real. Of course I love you. I love you so much it’s driving me insane.”

A pleased little grin hesitatingly makes its way across Steve’s face.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, fuck.” Eddie leans in, pressing their smiling mouths together. His once aching heart now soars, granted wings by the angel in his arms.

“Eddie…um. Not to ruin the moment, but what you said…it’s not that I don’t wanna have sex. Shit I want you so bad, have you seen you? I just don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. I can wait. I can wait forever. You loving me back is…more than I ever hoped for. If you just wanna snuggle and occasionally kiss, I’d die a happy man. Anything else is just a bonus.”

“You…you really mean that? If I said no sex, ever,  that wouldn’t bother you?”

Steve shrugs easily. “I’d be a little bummed, sure, but it wouldn’t change anything. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave.” Fingers brushing against his cheek alert him to his fresh tears. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fuck, you have no idea how amazing that is to hear. I’m used to being good for nothing but sex. Don’t get me wrong. I’m gonna fuck you so good you scream, pretty boy. But knowing that I don’t have to for you to stay? That’s kind of a miracle.”

“You’re kind of a miracle.”

“I love you Stevie.”

“I love you too Eds.”

—

They don’t have sex that night. Eddie’s not sure when they will. He knows for all of Steve’s talk, he’s never been with a man. Eddie’s never been with someone he loves, who loves him in return. They both need time to adjust, and there’s no need to rush. Wait until they’re both ready.

Eddie’s happy to wait. He has all he’s ever wanted. Anything else is just a bonus.

First let me be transparent and say this hasn’t even had a second read through, never mind been beta’s. I just really wanted to post one last thing before the new year here in the east coast and I’m cutting it close. I’ll probably come back and fix it up later.

This isn’t a second part to Depollute Me Gentle Angel so much as the other side of the same coin. When I originally had the vague idea that became the first story, I wasn’t sure which way I’d write it. So I decided both.

Title once again from We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross.

[justaz]

something i always thought about when it came to amnesia is how different people would act. like the whole nature vs nurture thing, your experiences in life shape how you act, think, and behave. if you’re uplifted throughout your life, more often than not you’re going to be a pretty confident person. if you’re put down and belittled throughout your life, you’re not gonna have the best self image or self esteem. in a lot of writings, when a character has amnesia, they seem to behave the same as before they lose their memories, while they’ve lost their memories, and after they gain them back. it’s always been something in the back of my mind but nothing that like totally bothered me.

something i think is cool though is that even though it’s not explicit i think i can see evidence of this in percy jackson. i cant make a case for jason as we never knew him before he lost his memories, but we were literally inside percy’s head for five books (and some side stories).

again under the cut bc it’s a long one teehee

first things first though lemme just say: percy is not dumb! he’s actually really smart and is emotionally intelligent and observant. we’ve seen this throughout literally the entire series, not just a specific book or a singular series. i’m talking about every instance he appears in the riordanverse.

lemme also say that percy was abused. this isn’t a headcanon or whatever, it’s literally canon. there’s and instance of it happened in the third chapter of the lightning thief when percy goes home after ditching grover and interrupts gabe’s poker game and as he stomps into his room gabe brings up his report card and calls him “brain boy” which insinuates that gabe constantly belittles percy’s intelligence (as he also calls him that when percy and sally are leaving for montauk) and it’s safe to assume that he didn’t just stop there (“guy secret” (physical abuse) and “he’d find a way to blame me” (gabe went out of his way to cause conflict with percy)).

so percy grew up in a home where he was consistently put down and went to schools where he was bullied no matter what (“sarcastic teachers - every jerk who’d called me stupid in school or laughed at me when I’d gotten expelled.”). being put down in this way your entire life would not lead to high self esteem and confidence. so while percy was emotionally intelligent and observant enough to pick up on luke’s bitterness to the gods, annabeths crush on luke, grover being thalias protector, chiron telling that half truth about the oracle in the attic, medusa hating annabeth by tensing up for a split second, etc., etc., he did not have the self esteem to pick up on annabeth, rachel, calypso, and nico being into him unless they spelled it out for him.

even then, when calypso told him that she had feelings for him he couldn’t understand bc “i’m just me” and it took rachel asking him what it would take for him to kiss her and annabeth literally kissed him under mt st. helens and it took another year for them to get together (i think there’s another reason there but that’s for another day), and nico had to tell him straight up that he had a crush on him for percy to realize (which tbf,, nico was so angry towards him that i don’t blame percy for not picking up on it).

the point is, percy is extremely emotionally intelligent and observant as long as he’s not part of the equation. when you bring him into it and consider other peoples feelings towards him, his own insecurities get in the way of him picking up on extremely obvious signs (calypsos treatment of him, actually just the entire battle of the labyrinth book).

(i would also add that he down plays his powers/strength a lot because of these insecurities but that doesn’t pan out with what i’m talking about bc when his memories were stolen, he didn’t know the true extent of his powers so he didn’t change much in that department as he still underestimated his own strength as with the water canons during war games.)

anyways, after he arrives at new rome and is y’know an amnesiac, he seems a little off from how he was in pjo (which i think would’ve been really interesting to see if he went by perseus instead of percy but that’s a whole other thing) and i think it’s bc of the amnesia. since his memories were gone, he didn’t remember gabe or his school bullies or sarcastic teachers so his self image kinda boosted a bit and he owned his intelligence and looks and what he had with him bc it was all he had.

he noticed that reyna had recognized him and wanted to kill him (or was angry, i can’t remember exactly) when he first arrived at camp and he also noticed she was the leader quickly and knew that he shouldn’t question her in front of the other campers and remained silent. he picked up on octavian blackmailing hazel, hazel and franks romantic tension, the fact that nico recognized him, etc., etc. further more, he owned his intelligence and didn’t shy away from it. he noticed that while octavian was saying one thing, he was simultaneously saying something else, he picked up on the manipulation (? is that the right word? idk, silver tongued-ness of octavian). he knew that octavian would be a powerful political enemy and since a lot of decisions in new rome are made in a political way (? does that make sense?) that octavian would be a powerful enemy in general.

in his meeting with reyna afterwords, he had apparently counted the lines on her arm and picked up on the fact that they stood for the years that she was part of the legion and the ring and the spa, blah, blah, blah, basically just reread their whole meeting in son of neptune. reyna even says that he’s smarter than he appears (which, yeah, might be a dig at him, is also a compliment bc she did just call him smart so-). he also almost immediately picked up on the fact that reyna was insinuating that they could be…something and he could choose what that something was. without the memories of his past and the subsequent self esteem issues, he immediately picked up on the signals reyna was sending him. so now that he doesn’t have his memories, when he’s part of the equation he can still reach the right answer without his insecurities clouding his judgement.

then when he got his memories back and we moved onto moa, we kinda got pjo percy back. the scene that sticks out to me the most is percy and annabeths date in rome. annabeth tells percy that she knows him and percy wants to respond with “and you like me anyways?” but doesn’t, showing that with his memories coming back, so did his insecurities and shitty self esteem.

so while it’s not explicit and attention isn’t called to it, it’s nice to find proof (i guess) in pjo/hoo that the amnesia actually affected the character is a realistic way (i guess).

[dkniade]

Comment: Thought I’d post an old 2021 poem. This one I rather like, still. (Original Comment) “A poem of spring and learning how to heal and recognize kindness.” I wrote this back in springtime.

Notes: self-image issues, violent imagery, metaphoric injury

Ballad of a Thousand Winds

(千风之曲)

03.28.2021.

.

i. a dog’s knowledge on kindness and lack thereof

.

The herbs you put on my wound,

I mistook them for poison. And the

tweezers which remove glass shards

were seen as knives. Fight or flight once

flashed warning signs as I flinched

from the tongue licking my cuts.

It was considered a bite —

in my mind only.

.

ii. with these tainted hands

.

So I forced myself to heal myself with

these occasionally trembling, bruised

hands. And I wondered if they were

ever clean by another’s standards.

.

iii. a touch so gentle it’s foreign

.

And I question, now, this lack of pain

and mistake it as numbness, asking

to be taken back to a once-feeling state.

What a terrible metaphor this must

be in their eyes, I think to myself.

What a horrible image of me

this must be.

.

Having my face handled in such a gentle

manner with these kind touches,

I almost feel like crying.

.

iv. favonius ballad

.

Dandelions fly in the air within a

boundless field, beneath a pure sky

and gentle west winds. Around me,

monarch butterflies flutter against

the blue. And I question if this is how

spring’s supposed to feel like:

peaceful and alive.

.

v. spring sprouts

.

In spite of the cruel winters, life still

continues to bud from those fresh branches.

And the days of bloom show their faces.

.

And I ask:

What use is green grass

if there’s no sunshine nor

a blue sky to accompany it?

.

And I respond:

At last, we can recall the colour

of the grassy plains before us.

.

vi. may the wind lead

.

May the winds guide you towards a path

of thrilling battles and new sceneries.

.

And may the west wind blow and lead the way.

Always.

[shittygaypornmagazine]

I don't like looking at pictures of myself but sometimes, looking at an especially "ugly" photo, I think... there will be people a hundred years from now, who will look at it and think: she was real. she was alive. she was here. and the she made weird faces. and she had bad angles. and... she was. just as they will. and sometimes... sometimes it helps.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

"You feel better if you look better"

It's time for some 1940s Bucky (and stucky) insecurity theorizing(?)...

"You feel better if you look better," is a quote I've heard my entire life. The meaning is essentially, if you take pride in your appearance and put effort into making yourself look how to want to look you are way more likely to feel better about yourself. As opposed to not caring or thinking about what you look like and then throwing on whatever you have or maybe not showering, not brushing your teeth, or not getting haircuts, etc. (whatever hygiene/self care thing that comes to mind) then because of not doing those things, you think you don't like yourself, as opposed to realizing you're just not enjoying yourself as much as you could.

It crosses over heavily with the "dress for the job you want, not the job you have" idea in my head. All about self confidence and projection of who you are/who you want to be.

Anyway, I heard that quote again recently and instantly in my head I saw pre-war Bucky. I don’t know why. I just know I instantly saw Bucky, brown hair and pale gold skin, standing at the rusty, worn vanity in that tiny, original Brooklyn apartment they had together. Whistling a tune to himself, looking through a cracked mirror with flaking gold leaf edges (a hand-me-down from his Aunt) at his own reflection as he got ready to go out dancing on a Friday night. His heart thumping in his chest and his mouth practicing lazy, easy smiles with youth-plumped lips, soft from the vaseline he put on before bed last night.

And you know what I thought? What else I thought, other than Bucky combing his hair, practicing his lines, getting ready...

I thought about how we sometimes say in this fandom that Bucky accepted Steve post-serum so fast because now his outsides just match his insides and that he was happy (or he told himself he was happy) that now dames could see what he'd seen all along. Now that Steve's appearance matched his mind... maybe he'd get a gal to settle down with after the war (ignoring the strange heart break that Bucky felt even thinking that) and everything would be good. Him and his lady would have some blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies with cute crooked teeth and endearing lisps. Steve would paint in vivid, full color now they they fixed his eyes. He wouldn't instantly cough with the smell of paint thinner and sealant and have to crack the windows or face an asthma attack. His lady would cook mean dinners and would invite Bucky 'round for dinner, knowing Steve needs some companion other than his art and knowing that the kids love him so. Yeah. He'd get a gal... Life would be good. Steve would get what he deserved, not what other's handed off to him, bent and beat up from their own use. Second hand.

Steve would get what he deserved.

But do you ever think maybe Bucky dressed himself so nice, swaggering around and doing his hair just so with pomade, so, so charming all the time, mouth dripping in honey, because, yes, of course, it was part of social life/social performance at the time but also because he felt he couldn't ever be as golden as Steve was inside? He's gilded instead. Steve is a precious metal hidden in gritty dust, just needing a little shine. Bucky feels like he is dipped in gold and all dust and rock inside. The opposite. The moon to the sun. Lackluster once you have seen them both; the cold, shy moon always pales in comparison to the glorious flames and warmth of the sun.

Steve is so good and Bucky felt he wasn't so good, nowhere close, but, hey, he can dress well and talk well and distract himself from those feelings. He can distract everyone else from his short-comings with extra performance too.

And those feelings that get, oh, only about a million times worse after he returns from the shackles of death itself, from HYDRA, from being locked inside his own head, imprisoned and remade from the ashes of himself... only the same in vague outline. He returns quickly to the routine of grooming. Self-soothing in a way. And Steve sees Bucky being Bucky in these reforming patterns. So he is overjoyed with the new hair products cluttering their bathroom and the time Bucky spends in front of the mirror (nevermind the fact that when Bucky looks in the mirror he's seeing dark circles and pale skin and scars and the fragile amalgamation of a shattered, splintered man)...

Bucky eventually is able to indirectly admit these feelings and habits to his therapist. It is slowly and painfully dragged out of him, like wisdom teeth, broken into little peices and then still pried out with pliers because those feelings are stubborn, stuck in your jaw and aching. Part of your skeleton. You do not want to let them go.

After admittance, Bucky tries a new method of doing good for yourself to feel good about yourself that includes very similar routines but excludes the mirror. He doesn't often look at himself and he practices watching the way Steve looks at him rather than comparing himself to Steve's, well, everything. Because he is so... everything. So good at everything. Bucky can, maybe, be good at somethings too. He can learn.

(Psst, like this)

[giraffyhat]

-Just one sentence-

I was told I was adorable today.

And does she know, that stranger at the window handing me back my credit card, does she know the deep wound in my heart that longs for those words.

Does anyone realize that just one sentence

"You're an adorable human being"

Will simultaneously break my heart and mend it?

I think

We ought to tell strangers they are beautiful more often.

Maybe, like me, their heart-wounds long for those words too.

(Written by Lu 04/23/23) 7:22 pm)

[piendoll]

I need to be stronger than others. Focus on ME. And if anyone misunderstands me and is hateful, at least I know my intentions.

[charzeewrites]

I wish to be beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I feel it as the boys stare,

As my best friend tells me how pretty I am,

Or as my lover tells me each night how I'm the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.

But I want to be truly beautiful.

Yes, I'm pretty.

I have a soft smile,

Smooth black hair,

Freckles adorning my body,

A warm blush permanently on my face,

A thin figure,

And kind pale blue eyes.

But I wish to be truly beautiful.

The kind of beauty that lies within.

The kind of beauty I lack.

Oh to be beautiful.

[bunnylafee]

What shall I write about tonight?

I got to see girlfriend on Sunday. We went on a little date that ended at waffle house and a small makeout session in her car when she dropped me back off. It was nice getting to see her and spend time with her. I hope to be able to do it again before to long. Our schedules haven't been syncing up so well as of late. Work and personal lives getting in the way.

I like when we video chat and even if we aren't really talking I get to look at her. Small glimmers of happiness rise up in me when I see her and shivers down my spine when we touch.

I need to work harder on my self confidence and self esteem. I want to feel good about myself. I just don't know how or where to start. Not really.

Any ideas? Send them my way. Thanks in advance

I would write more but I'm feeling kinda drained.

[sam7sparks7]

I can never hate anything about myself the way cis women hate literally everything their bodies

Most of it is rooted in the toxic beauty standards but they take the concept of self loathing to another level

And talking about body positivity with them is futile

[strawberryclumsy]

Uhhhh

Two things

Totally did NOT cry about the fact that my friend texted me saying that they want to hangout which rarely ever happens to me. Which in reality, should probably be a normal human kindness thing but I dunno (yes I’m mentally ill, why’d you ask??) (this is not directed to anybody in a negative way cause I know that a few of my friends follow me (one of which is the one I’m talking about)

And Two, also did not just burst out in tears cause I was thinking about the fact that, if there’s a heaven type area after you die, that no one would want to talk to me or interact with me in anyway sooo