new love plus




The time around new year’s can be especially hard for those recovering from eating disorders, and people struggling with body image issues. We are bombarded with messages focusing on “new year new you”, lose-weight-quick fad diets, and resolutions that make it seem as if shrinking yourself should be the mission of your upcoming year. It can be overwhelming! But through it all, remember that your body is whole and valuable and deserving of respect, and happiness isn’t reached by a smaller number on a scale ❤️
Dress is “note to self” henley midi from @rebdolls #rebdolls #sexyforall



Here’s to another year of joy, happiness, and positivity! 

Oswald’s Nervous Tick

Has anyone noticed that when Ozzie is worried about someone he loves, he bites his fingers?

I’ve only seen it twice now. Once when Galavan had his mother:

And the other time was right before Isabella died:

Idk. It’s a weird, cute little quirk that he has. It’s a little thing that he does when he doesn’t want to show that he’s worried, but deep down he really is.

body language meta + kisses

Plus a little friendship Cole to round out all the boys.

Cullen places a hand at the back of his neck and dips his head when you give him even the slightest attention. Smile curling his lips, a blush creeping along his cheekbones, his hands shove into his pockets as soon as he notices he’s doing that thing again. His hands run through his hair when you leave, the only sign of agitation he’ll show. Leliana teases him every chance she gets, and he can’t meet your eyes, feet shuffling and kicking something on the ground no one can see but him. The War Table is what reminds you of his determination when you forget, hands slamming on the table to emphasize his point, shoulders bound tight. Waving a hand when he disagrees, or is exasperated, to dismiss the topic. And at the end of the day, he touches his forehead to stave away worry. When he finally kisses you, his fingers glide along your jaw to bring you in, and it’s soft yet intense. Most of all, it is sincere. 

Solas’ general aloofness is broken as his shoulders curl in towards you, hands untangling from behind his back at last and itching at his sides to reach out. But he doesn’t. His respect for you knows no bounds. His eyes are all you need to tell you how he feels, smoldering at the edges of violet rimmed blue. Smirking at your jokes, his hips sway as he shifts his weight when you get close, visibly relaxing. Even during his most passionate moments, his palms lay open before you, and invites you to take them to calm him. After battle he uses his staff as a counterpoint to lean, and you catch his smile out of the corner of your eye as he quietly reaches with his spirit and examines you with his eyes for injury. Eventually, being around you makes him tense, except when he kisses you - a bowstring snapping at last. 

Blackwall has always been easy around you, leaning against the doorframe whenever you speak at the stables. Intently, he listens, and doesn’t speak much himself. His muffled chuckle is warmth in the cold. When you sit near him as he makes toys, his fingers quiver, and you could swear you saw a bit of skin flushing when you ask him if he’s ok. When was it the last time someone expressed concern for him? You’re not sure, but as a hand lands on the small of your back to draw you close, his gentleness and reverence is astounding enough to steal your breath before his lips. 

Dorian is a paradox, hiding tension with wit and sarcasm. His arms cross over his chest, and he stands with his shoulders back, as if he knows the stance is intimidating. Daring. He gestures wildly with his hands when he is speaking about something he cares about. At last you see him comfortable, sinking into the floor and grounding himself here in the moment instead of in his head. His fingers tap against a book when he is waiting with the disguise of patience for you to finish speaking to someone else. It is the first indication that he must trust you, this letting down of his guard. You pull him in first, with a hand on his shoulder and the other carding through his hair, to cant your lips against his. In turn his hands run over your back, palm between your shoulder blades, to anchor you.

The Iron Bull laughs. His hands splay across his stomach as he bellows, or over his heart when it hurts, a grin and creasing eyes. Slapping a knee, or perhaps your back, which sends you flailing forward - but he catches you before you fall. When you come to visit him, he spills further into his chair as if you are what he needs to unwind. Trained to never give anything away, especially though his body language, he is always pulled tight and in control. Though, when you are in battle he pushes in front of you to take a blow more times than you’d like. Nothing is preamble for the two of you, when you tell him, and he gathers you into his arms under your rear and picks you up to kiss your lips.

Cole appears when you need him, as compassion would. Crouching, he perches like a bird on your banister, swirling your thoughts back to you and encouraging you. You can do this. His hat hides his face when he smiles, easing your heart somewhat. His gait is loose and loping when everyone is fine and the hurts are not on the surface, lifting his face to the sun. It catches on his hair, fine like sunshine itself, and you can’t help but feel grateful. Wondering how you could possibly deserve a kindred spirit, he feels, and ducks away with a whisper on the wind. “I am happy to have you, too, friend.”