#self image tw

[kaunisbaby]

saw a picture of my mom when she was like 20 and like, she could've been a model, how did i end up looking like a crooked potato?? i usually don't feel self conscious about my appearance but seeing what i could've have looked like with her genes?? unfair

somehow some of my features got better over time, like i used to have a small forehead and now it's regular, my nose used to be much larger, i grew cheekbones and a jawline overnight at some point?? sometimes i compare pictures and i look like i underwent plastic surgery

but why did my mom look like adriana lima and i must take three hours to make myself look good

[nymfaia-archive]

no one: absolutely no one: zelos: i could go for some blueberry pie ;)

He had left her positively heaving, desperately gulping for air after he they parted. His kissed with all the rage and concentration of a wildfire, as if doing so would rid him of his thoughts just as violently as it rid her of her ability to breathe.

He did that well - testing limits, dipping his toes into scalding water despite knowing it'd make him hiss. Stars had danced behind her eyelids and collected in her lap before she was truly aware how far they had gone, her white-and-red poncho long forgotten, her shorts and the extra pack of supplies slinking to the carpet with impeccable ease.

Mayhaps it worked on both of them, she realized. It took her far too long for her mind to return to her, for realization to bubble forth, and then -

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. She hiked her leg up, using her ankle and calf to hide what he mentioned, heat torn between rising on her face and settling low in her belly.

She wanted to dunk him head-first into a raging volcano. She wanted him between her legs and nowhere else, tendrils of magma hair curling on her thighs as he did so. She so badly wished she had it in her to simply kick him out as he was, bare as he was born.

Maybe he would learn.

(He never would, she knew.)

A tense quiet spread between them. Her breathing had leveled, breasts no longer heaving, blue eyes boring into blue. She watched a grin slide into his face that told her she was as legible as could be, the swaying of her emotions as obvious as the beads of his excitement on her calf.

Alta made an expression as distasteful as she could muster, telling him just where he could stick it after her, and reached down. She still laid with her hips twisted, no longer having herself wholly on display for him to tease, but grasped a part of her thigh to part them like one would pull back blankets.

It was still just as blue, no matter the direction - nor how modestly - she tried to be. She may not have been as showy in this way, but blue-tinged lips peeked out between the mounds of her thighs. Her fingertips left indents in her flesh as she waited, half-patient and wholly too turned on to let his words truly count.

(The sound that poured from her lips when he pressed forward was not nearly as disapproving as her expression had. She fought them both - feebly, with nary a hint of true constitution - before she simply was, pulling at her thigh to welcome him further, eyes screwed shut to hide his smug expression.

Gods, maybe he was worth some embarrassment - she would let him get away with it if he never spoke it again, she knew, carnivorous and long-suffering, just enough - just too much to make her ache in ways that had her wholly, wholly forgetting his comment.

Oh, he could get away with whatever he wanted.)

[soledad-archer]

Blvd of Broken Dreams || Loxley & Sol

The night chill forced a numb Sol to put on her jacket while still in a daze. The tears had followed through with their threat and they left shiny frigid streaks on her cheeks. The shards of glass had been removed by Dona's repair spell but the cuts still stung. She worried she should have headed straight to a healing clinic to get fixed up but she didn't want anybody seeing her like this. Besides, the physical pain was something to put her feelings into. She had a reason to blame for her tears and her pain that other people could see. A distraction from her own brain that was threatening to explode out of her ears from all of the pressure it was under. The blood had stained the cuff of her jacket and while normally she took very good care of her possessions she just couldn't bring herself to care. She knew she was on the road to being alone again. She had had trouble making friends on her team but she didn't care when she already had such great friends. "When. Will. I. Learn. My. Fucking. Lesson." Sol was kicking at a tree. The throb in her foot joined her throbbing hand and it felt right. She wasn't meant to have friends or family and she felt she was just hurting herself by letting herself pretend. Playing house in a matchbox that she would inevitably burn down.

@loxley-blair-lockhart

[cagesings]

johanna’s self hatred never fails to make me unbelievably sad. turpin raised her to not have an ounce of confidence in herself because who is easier to take advantage of: the confident girl or self-loathing girl? he knew exactly what he was doing when he threw criticism in her face when she was a child. he knew exactly what he was doing when he told the household staff not to show her any kindness. even in an au where life is a lot better for her, johanna still lacks any real self-confidence. turpin takes advantage of that fact. he tells her that she’s the reason her mother did what she did. he tells her that she deserves every wrong thing that happens to her. his punishments are cruel and unjust. for a man who claims to have been guilty for doing what he did to lucy and took her child in for that reason, he just sought to destroy her. even post canon when johanna is happier and when she’s getting healthier, she still can’t fully love herself. she doesn’t think she’s worthy of it. she wants to be beautiful, but never feels that way. she wants to be the good wife she was raised to be, but she isn’t perfect enough. this girl could’ve been raised in loving circumstances and grown up getting help that she needed, but turpin deprived her of all that.

[babyboutmachine]

undefined

Me every morning. 😂 #BreakTheCycle

[sicksweets]

GOD I HATE MY BOOBS like not small enough to be aesthetically pleasing but ALSO not big enough to be aesthetically pleasing. They're just a weird medium and slightly saggy I hate it ugggghhg

[maryreadings]

maybe i have body dysmorphia idk all i know is i feel unhappy in my body rn

[lietwice]

thinking about how desperately garak wants love vs his absolute refusal to ask for what he wants

some of this is kinda based on ASIT but I think it's so heartbreaking how he doesn't hide that from himself either, like it's not a subconscious desire, he fully knows that he's lonely and wants romantic conversation, he's just not willing to ask for it. he wants it so badly but it's never been an option for him. it's a desire that he allows himself to have as long as he doesn't let it cross a line, and the line is believing he has any hope of achieving it. he just has to be careful not to hope.

it's not something he'd ever put into words but I think someone who got to know him well enough would see it. he's just radiating this aching kind of loneliness, and doesn't expect anything to come of it. he doesn't think he deserves anything to come of it. I read this fic where he gets hurt, and the tiny little bit of attention and touch he gets as a result ends up kinda soothing him. and that's when he realises how touch starved he is, and wants more, but deprives himself until he can't stand it any more.

so,, I wanna explore that I think. how badly he wants to be touched and treated kindly, and the only way to achieve that without asking for it is getting hurt. the mindfuckery of wanting it so bad that he's willing to be hurt just for someone to take the pain away, because that's less difficult for him than just asking someone to be kind to him. he needs them to have a different reason to do it, which in this particular coping mechanism is bc he's hurt so they'd treat him like they'd treat any hurt person. and there's his history of addiction to the wire, so that plays into it too and leads him straight down the path of 'if I am damaged and hurt then I will feel good later. therefore being damaged and hurt is good.' which then of course only adds to his pre existing 'being damaged and hurt is what I deserve'

so... if you do want a thread going into that, be warned! heavy, heavy trigger warnings.

[llsadgirl]

-from Pinterest

[lover-of-mine]

[phantom-rats]

more of this lil freak

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

But not green.

You know the song Mr. Jones? Yeah.

[warm-autumn-evenings]

*through tears* I BELONG HERE. ON THIS EARTH AMONG OTHERS. I BELONG JUST AS MUCH AS THE NEXT PERSON. I DESERVE TO BE ALIVE. I AM JUST AS GOOD AND BAD AS EVERYONE ELSE. I DESERVE TO BE LOVED. I DESERVE TO BE FREE.

[uncanny-tranny]

Whenever people who are entrenched in diet culture talk about how terrible chemicals are, I just want to whip out this:

[feral-ballad]

Hieu Minh Nguyen, from Not Here; “Elegy for the First”

[Text ID: “once, I ran, face first, into a mirror / because I didn’t / recognize / my reflection, because I didn’t see a / reflection at all.”]

[to0needy]

i’m so fucked up that i think my therapist finds it annoying when im scheduling appointments with her