#isolation guidelines

[wat3rm370n]

Healthcare tech pitfalls that universal masking and common sense isolation rules could fix.

I attended the National Nurses United webinar on the dangerous use of AI in healthcare. This is a serious issue, as I’ve said before, and the way they’re proposing to use AI for in healthcare is probably not even legal. But 2 stories stood out to me in the webinar about healthcare tech failures.

One person told the story about an automated shift change report that just makes a sheet with no human to human handoff between actual healthcare workers. In this case the automated sheet failed to show that the person coming into the hospital had “no immune system” and had the nurse not made the extra step of checking the patient’s chart, they would’ve put the immune compromised person in with the patient who had covid and flu. In this case the problem could’ve been solved by NEVER putting covid and flu patients in with non-infected patients. People with immune systems shouldn’t be sickened at the hospital either! It’s a preventable harm and the hospital shouldn’t be putting infected and uninfected patients together at all, ever.

Another story was that the automated system failed to alert the healthcare worker that the patient had covid, and the healthcare worker saw the patient without PPE. In this case universal masking would’ve solved that problem. After all, even if a patient hasn’t yet tested for covid, the patient could have covid! Especially in hospitals where they’re clearly taking zero effort to prevent the spread of covid right in the hospital.

These stories frankly are more about lack of infection control measures, with automation tools exacerbating the issue. Infection control measures are absent at hospitals, and hospitals are therefore deliberately infecting patients, because we know they know better — because they used to isolate covid patients, as is the right thing to do, and they used to have healthcare workers wearing masks.

If you don’t want to be sickened while seeking healthcare, I highly recommend writing to the White House like I did:

CDC HICPAC and Centers for Medicare and Medicaid (CMS) need to require hospitals to implement infection prevention, and stop sickening patients with a preventable disease. Healthcare workers need to wear N95 / respirator masks, and covid patients need to be isolated from uninfected patients. Common sense has been abandoned in many hospitals. Unmasked nurses entering the rooms of covid positive patients. Healthcare workers working while sick with covid or flu. Cancer units without mask requirements. Hospitals that mix covid patients with other patients. All of this is preventable harm, and should be prevented.

To the governor and state reps I replaced “CDC HICPAC and CMS” with “the state government” instead. 

Feel free to take this to your representatives as examples where infection control is needed in healthcare settings. That’s what I did. Somebody needs to reign these hospital corporations in, and have patients, and healthcare workers, protected.

I have also written my reps about the wildly dangerous harm that will absolutely come from replacing healthcare workers with “AI nurse-bots” — the worst AI hype idea ever.

[dick-chugger]

My most controversial opinion on politics is that all far-left ideologies fall under the umbrella of communism

[teabookgremlin]

one of my coworkers has covid so now basically most of the staff has been exposed and i swear to god i better not get it

[escargon]

there is something uniquely horrific about the self-censorship on tiktok resulting in a stark contrast between the content of videos of people desperately screaming for help, or advocating for justice and mutual aid and the comments being just wholly and completely different topics so the videos get the engagement and boost needed

[sbcdh]

In 1967 the government discovered that specific syllable structures combined with specific vocal tones and ultra-low-frequency sounds could speed up the process of unconscious internalization by over 1500%. This became particularly useful for teaching low-level employees large amounts of information, as "hypnophonic learning" could be done while the subject was asleep.

Hypnophone use became standard for new employees of the IRS and SEC, as it made large scale memorization of tax code and financial law significantly cheaper and easier than traditional conscious education.

However, long term use causes the subjects long term memory to atrophy, requiring nightly repetitions of hypnophone use. Some enterprising employees found that the effects could be counteracted with low dosages of LSD to preserve neuroplasticity.

Roughly 1 in 7 employees encountered a strange phenomenon: Mild financial clairvoyance.

One in roughly 50 employees experienced more significant effects, generally those ensconced in large isolated IRS warehouses, which seemed to replicate the monastic lifestyles of historical sages, depriving subjects of ordinary stimuli in favor of becoming attuned to minute changes in the sub-finantial background grid.

Once it was learned that these "enlightened" employees could predict market trends before they happened, the technology was bathed in funding, patented, and made the soul property of the IRS.

Now, these "Plutophants" are kept in nigh-perfect sensory deprivation at all times, fed a constant hypnotic fugue stream of psychic conditioning in the form of "radiosonic neuro-induction" which contains a special form of the United States Tax Code modified for recursive hypnophonic induction, as well as a ticker tape wired directly into the users spine.

The effects achieved are nothing short of stunning. The invisible hand is no longer invisible to us. The market can be fine tuned with surgical precision. The price of bread has maintained a perfect 0.002% +/- variance for over 25 years now, and those who attempt to disrupt the guidelines are regulated by the SECs crack psychonautics division, who are now able to hunt market manipulation via their disruption in the financial dreamscape.

Very rarely, a Plutophant can become so attuned to the guidelines that they achieve a sort of catastrophic neuro-depatterning, their synapses begin to produce a counter-signal to the neuro-induction frequencies; jamming, and eventually overpowering the machine. Study is still ongoing, but it is believed that they somehow perpetuate their own neurological fingerprint into the financial causal background grid itself, literally becoming "one with the market."

Study is ongoing.

[reasonsforhope]

"A recent court ruling from the Inter-American Court of Human Rights marks the first time an international judicial body has decided that indigenous peoples living in “voluntary isolation” have a right to do so, and that governments must act to ensure that right.

The ruling comes off the back of 20 years of activism challenging the Ecuadorian government’s encroachment on indigenous lands for oil drilling, and this, as well as other extractive activities like logging, were ruled to be intolerably disruptive to three groups living in voluntary isolation in the Ecuadorian Amazon.

International treaties protecting the rights of indigenous peoples have long been ratified at both the UN and the Organization of American States (OAS), but a case specifically determining whether a group living in voluntary isolation, which used to be called “uncontacted,” were guaranteed protection to allow them to continue doing so has never been ruled on.

While the United Nations Human Rights Council in 2009 and the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights in 2013 introduced guidelines and recommendations that included a right to choose self-isolation, neither were put into writing under international law, nor included in any treaty amendments.

As such, the Costa Rica-based court’s decision that nation-states, in this case Ecuador, must follow a “precautionary principle” when making decisions about future oil operations that may impede a group’s ability to live in self-isolation.

“This principle means that, even in the absence of scientific certainty regarding oil exploration and exploitation projects’ impacts on this territory, effective measures must be adopted to prevent serious or irreversible damage, which in this case would be the contact of these isolated populations,” said the court opinion, written in Spanish, and translated by Inside Climate News.

The three groups in question are the Tagaeri, Taromenane, and Dugakaeri, who are part of the overall Waorani peoples since they share cultural traditions and language.

Testimony was heard from a community leader of the Waorani, Penti Baihua, and two young women who at the ages of 2 and 6 were survivors of violent encroachment by oil workers who killed members of the girls’ group, forcibly introduced them to modernity, and displaced them to different parts of the Amazon.

In the current case, the court ruled that a protected area the size of Delaware that was established in the early 2000s to guarantee indigenous Waorani (and others) rights was created in such a way as to leave oil exploration areas outside protection, despite being the ancestral home of Baihua and his people.

A 6-mile deep buffer zone surrounding the heart of the Tagaeri, Taromenane, and Dugakaeri’s territory called the “Intangible Zone,” has been repeatedly penetrated by extractive industries, which have built roads and other “colonial” infrastructure.

The court ruled that Ecuador must honor the results of a 2023 referendum, in which voters chose to stop oil operations in that region indefinitely.

The court used the term “living in voluntary isolation” to reflect that fact that there are no unconctacted tribes on Earth, but perhaps as many as 200 who have seen evidence of modernity, and received minimal contact—perhaps from a related tribe that doesn’t live in isolation—and chose to remain without any interaction with the modern world either out of fear or self-interest."

-via March 28, 2025

[wheelie-sick]

I'm moderately immunocompromised due to the medications I'm on that suppress my immune system

I'm also...

a university student. I'm in your classes

a community member. I'm in your public spaces

someone who does my own groceries. I'm in your grocery stores

someone who takes medications. I'm in your pharmacies

someone who likes to eat out with friends. I'm in your restaurants

someone who shops. I'm in your malls and shopping centers

someone who appreciates local artists. I'm at your markets

I am not elderly. you cannot look at me and see that I am high risk. You can't know to avoid me if you leave the house with covid or the flu but covid or the flu could kill me

new covid guidelines are suggesting that you can leave isolation while you're sick but that you should avoid high risk people. you cannot do this, we are everywhere. we look like elderly people on ventilators but we also look like fit young adults and energetic children. you cannot spot someone high risk. you cannot avoid us. if you're sick stay home

[odoraful]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑨 𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵

life has been a little less empty for zayne with you in it

⟡ content: zayne x gn!reader; established relationship; a little bittersweet, but still with fluff 🫂; appearance of zayne's parents; bits of zayne's childhood; 1.5k words

⟡ a/n: title is from a quote by the wonderful brennan lee mulligan from the D20 season a court of fey and flowers <3 i was feeling very soft about zayne’s life and this was written as a result :’) i hope this is an enjoyable read !

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Emptiness was something Zayne had grown accustomed to. It was in the streets that he walked on at night following a late surgery shift. It was in the study rooms he frequented as a university student–often the last person to leave once all his peers had gone. It was even in the classrooms of his childhood–remaining there to read and draw whilst everyone else played outside during breaks. Emptiness gave him periods of focus, which was important considering the career path he eventually pursued. Though, he had not always welcomed emptiness as a companion in his life.

The first time that Zayne was left home alone was when his parents went on an emergency trip out of town for work. Being only a child, he wringed his small hands as his parents hurried to pack equipment he did not yet understand. Before they left, they repeated instructions to the young boy about what he should do for the night. Warm up dinner, finish his homework, brush his teeth, go to bed early. They did not repeat these because they believed Zayne would be disobedient, but because they knew how frightening aloneness could be for a child. Having set guidelines for what to do would hopefully help him to feel capable of being by himself.  

“Remember, we’re only a phone call away, sweetie,” his mother reassured, smoothing his hair back with her fingers.

His father lowered himself on one knee to kiss his son on the forehead, tousling his hair and the careful combing his wife had just done.

“We’ll be back by tomorrow,” his father also reassured.

As the door clicked shut, Zayne watched from the window, pushing the curtain aside. After seeing and hearing the whirring engine pull away, he let the curtain fall. He stood at the entrance for a moment.

All became still, and he was greeted by emptiness for the first time.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He was shocked to feel his heartbeat drumming in his chest and hear every small breath he took. His own internal systems were exposed in silence.

He shuffled further into the house, the once familiar space now feeling too big and labyrinthian. Even his thoughts seemed to echo off the walls as he recalled what his parents had told him to do. Yes, he had tasks he needed to complete. Going through his to-do list would surely rid of the uneasiness bubbling inside him.

Zayne checked things off one-by-one. He tried to focus intensely on what needed to be done to forget about the fact that he was alone.

At last, Zayne retreated to his bedroom. His penultimate task was reading one chapter from the library book he borrowed. However, the words were distant to him as the crawling feeling of isolation left goosebumps on his skin.

Patches of unlit space in his room turned into sinister voids waiting to suck him in. The rustle of wind against windows became Wanderers raking their claws against glass.

He closed his book and snuggled deeper and deeper into the blankets, tucking his head inside and squeezing his eyes shut. He prayed he would have no nightmares tonight. If he did have one, he would wake up to nothing but a hollow room and his heart rattling in his ribcage. Torn between needing rest and not wanting bad dreams, exhaustion eventually took hold.

Zayne awoke not to terrors of the emptiness, but to the comforting touch of his mother. Through his own bleary vision, he saw his mother’s tired but gentle eyes. He sat up groggily. 

“You were so very brave, my dear,” his mother praised.  

“W-where’s Dad?” Zayne asked, sleep lifting with each blink of his eyes.

“He’s making breakfast for us.”

Something flickered in his mum’s gaze after her reply. She opened her mouth, hesitating to speak again.

“Zayne.” She took his hands in hers, brushing a finger over his knuckles. “Me and your father… we need to help as many people as we can, so that means this might happen a lot more as you get older.”

She examined her son’s expression. Zayne nodded.

“We love you very much, and we want you to do exactly as you did last night if this happens again, okay?”

Zayne nodded again, understanding then that he and the emptiness would have to get along from now on.

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At the end of another shift at Akso Hospital, Zayne drove out of the parking lot into the deserted streets of Linkon past midnight. Classical music quietly played in the background as he headed home, unlit buildings passing by in the rear-view mirror.

At the red light, he was the only one waiting. Perhaps this hour of the night meant that phantom cars would be most active, bustling about to do their ghostly activities. That sounded like something you would say to comfort him. Zayne could hear your voice in his head, could see you wiggling your fingers in a poor attempt at mimicking spookiness. The corner of his mouth twitched at his own imagination.

But, you weren’t in the passenger seat beside him this time. He stared out the front windshield, emptiness before him.

Parking the car outside his home, he approached the front door. Hovering his fingerprint over the handle, the sensor gave a small buzz of confirmation before unlocking.

Zayne listed off what he needed to do in his head as he turned the handle and entered. Since he already showered at the hospital, he just needed to change into his sleep clothes, have something to eat, and complete his observations of the day in his journal. Tomorrow (or technically today, though the late hour made it difficult to believe this was a new day) marked the beginning of the weekend when he could spend time with you. If he completed his to-do list diligently, then he could rest quickly and see you sooner.

He slipped his shoes off and undid the laces before putting them beside his other pairs. Zayne expected he would be greeted by an empty, unlit interior. The emptiness was no longer was an unwelcome, unsettling sight like he thought it to be as a child. There was a calmness to it that he had grown to appreciate. But, if he dug deep enough inside himself, there was still a feeling of loneliness he could not quite shake.

That was why he frowned when he saw the lights had been turned on in the living room. He definitely recalled turning them off before he left.

Zayne walked further inside, keeping his guard somewhat up for the possibility of an unwanted intruder.

Rather than a burglar, he was surprised, and much more relieved, to see you instead. Curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your body.

He almost didn’t want to interrupt you. You were so cozy and peaceful, bathed in the warm glow of the lights above. At the sound of Zayne’s footsteps, your tired eyes opened, and your head raised towards the noise.

“Zaynie,” you drawled.

Your voice was crackly with sleep, but your smile was as adoring as ever. Combined with the nickname you used for him, affection tugged at his heart.

He hung his bag up and loosened his tie, joining you on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, brushing loose strands of hair away from your face. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Mmm…” you leaned into his touch. “I thought I’d get a head start and see you earlier.”

 “Earlier being at two o’clock in the morning. You didn’t have to come all this way and wait for me.”

Hearing his point, your lips turned down into a pout.

“Firstly, all this way was only about a 20-minute drive from my place to yours,” you clarified, “and secondly, I wanted to wait for you.”

He breathed a laugh, something between incredulity and fondness. It wasn’t like you didn’t have work today either. Even after your own gruelling shift today fighting Wanderers after a flare-up in a no-hunt zone, you still had the energy to come see him after he finished. Zayne was about to give you a half-serious scolding about staying up late when you leaned closer to him. The words stopped short in his throat as your lips met his cheek.

His face, cold from just being in the night air, blossomed with warmth. Likely due to your tiredness, your reaction time was slower than usual as your kiss lingered for a second or two longer.

“Welcome home, Zayne,” you whispered by his ear as you pulled away.

Home.

His home.

A place that was no longer empty now that you were here. A once solitary existence now filled with your presence.

He wished that he could somehow speak to his younger self. He would say that he would one day be reunited with someone who would wait for him even in the dead of night. That person, with all their endearing stubbornness, would be the one to protect against Wanderers that might be stalking in the emptiness (for they were a renowned Hunter after all), and leave the lights on to dispel any deathly voids.

His mouth parted, breathing becoming unsteady as he whispered back,

“It’s good to be home, my love.”

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[creamecafe]

Fate by "Design" | Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: While doing art in a subway, the Salesman offers you to play Ddakji, a chance to win money. But you wanted his number. When you win, your acquaintance with the salesman becomes much more.

Pairing: Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, allusions to smut/sex, but not explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: This was requested by Crazy4herluv on my Wattpad book Squid Game Imagines/One-Shots. This is also my first Salesman work, so I hope you enjoy!

*Icon used for this header above that I made in PicsArt is from Pinterest. Divider is from @cafekitsune in this post*

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

The sounds of the almost isolated subway and people walking is the highlight of your daily routine. You had moved to Korea to work for a art company and you do sketches by hand.

It paid very good money but in your free time you liked to be in the subway and do art for others like New York. People would walk and stop to see what you possibly could be doing.

A lot of the time, couples, parents with their kids or even old people would ask for a drawing each day and you get paid at least $130-200 at the end of the day.

Your art simply consisted of charcoal sketches of the person who requested for the art as semi-realistic as possible with a watercolor splash in the back if they ask.

Sometimes you notice while you're drawing or sketching away looking for people to draw, you would see a man in a black suit.

He had black hair and was always carrying a suitcase with him. He was also very handsome, you thought. When you took the time to actually analyze him or look at him, not in a creepy way you thought, you noticed that he would throw something on the ground and slap people.

This guy must be insane, you thought. Slapping people everyday, but it didn't stop you wondering who he really was. You thought of going up to him and asking if he would like his own portrai. But you were nervous of asking such a good looking guy and you are an artist in the subway, so he was way out of your league.

Today felt like any other day. Until one person, the guy in the black suit came up to you. You were going to pack up for the day when you accidentally dropped pencils and other supplies on the floor, then rolled around. As you were on the ground picking up the supplies, you saw polished black shoes stop and turn in front of you.

You look up and see him. The guy in the black suit looks down at you while you're trying to pick up your stuff.

"Good evening ma'am. I have a question for you."

You got up from the floor and brushed off the germs from yourself from the subway ground.

"Hello sir. I finished my hours for the day drawing so I can't accept any art requests right now I'm sorry. You could always come back tomorrow if you like."

"I'm not asking for a drawing. I'm asking if you would like to play a game."

A game? Is this guy Billy the puppet you thought?"

"What game?" You asked?

"It's called Ddakji. Have you heard of it before?"

Ddakji. It should sound familiar but you felt like you don't know it.

"I don't think so. What is it?"

"It's very simple. You fold two pieces of paper, usually of bright colors as it's a children's game like an envelope and the goal is to throw down the paper as hard as you can so the other person's paper flips over."

"What's the point of playing the game?"

"If you win, I'll give you money. A hundred thousand won."

Your eyes widened at what he said. A hundred thousand won? That amount of money to get while doing art in a subway could take a year or two. Yet here's this handsome well kept money offering to you.

"And if I lose?"

"Well usually I slap people until they win or just give up." That explains why you see this man in the subway grounds slapping people and throwing stuff down.

"But seeing how creative you are. How about a portrait of me? Use all your creativity and imagination you can and give me something."

"Ok. I'll play. But I can change something?"

"What is it?" He turns his head to express curiosity. It's rare that people would ask for a change of things while playing, conducting he's the one in charge.

"If I win, I get to have your number."

The salesman is surprised at your boldness to ask him out.

"My number? You could walk out with a hundred thousand won. What could my number offer to you?"

"Well I might see a better prize than money. I see a real piece of art right here." You raised your eyebrow smirking

He smirks at you. This was going to be interesting he thought.

"We have an agreement then?"

You nodded. "I lose, you get a portrait. But if I win..."

"You get my number." The salesman nods smiling. "Five in a row you have to win." He then pulls out two colored orgami tiles of red and blue from his suit jacket.

"What color would you like?"

"Red/blue" you said.

"Alright then. Ladies first."

You look at him and then the ground. 10 in a row you can do this. You took a deep breath and slammed the envelope on the ground. The guy then slams his envelope on the ground flipping yours around.

It created a loud slapping sound and echoed that it startled you. You look up scared he was lying to his word and might actually slap you. You close your eyes and prepare for it.

"What are you doing?" The salesman asks

"Aren't you going to slap me?"

"You don't have to worry. I wouldn't slap a pretty face like yours. I only want a drawing."

Opening your eyes you took a deep breath. At least you wouldn't be slapped.

"1-0" The guys says. You assumed that was his keeping score

You pick up your envelope and roll up your sleeve. You threw it down but it didn't flip the salesmans. He picked his up and slammed it down flipping yours again.

"2-0". Now the chances of getting this guys number seems low and you might look like a fool. You were weren't to give up just yet. You relied on your skills of carrying an easel and so many supplies per day to the game.

Taking a deep breath, you slam down the card and it flipped the guys. You were smiled wanting to jump for joy.

"2-1" You put up 2 fingers with one hand and 1 finger to the guys face.

He said nothing but smirked. Talking wasn't his thing, you noticed. Probably why you found him attractive.

The salesman picks up his card and slams it and your flips over. It was a continuous picking up and flipping cards. You were getting better as the points were getting higher.

Now the score was "7-8". You were becoming tired and kinda wish you were home right now, sleeping. But

The salesman threw down his card and flipped yours. Now it was 8-8. A tie. Just two more and you get his number. You threw yours down and it flipped over. 8-9. Another slam from the guy and it was 9-9.

This was it. You weren't sure you would have enough energy to draw that portrait of his that he wanted. But you needed enough energy to finish this game.

You slammed it down and saw it flipped over. I won, you thought to yourself. Did I actually win? You thought.

"Congratulations. You won ma'am." The salesman smiled.

Those words felt unreal. "Yes! Yes!" You jumped around happy.

"Now, you asked for my number. I suppose you wouldn't have a piece of paper to write down my number, would you?"

What kind of question was that? You were a artist. Blank papers is all you carry. You grab your sketchbook from your bag and a pen to give to him.

He took it from your hands and wrote down his number fast. He gave it back to you and you saw it.

"What do you plan to do with that number, Miss?"

"I was wondering maybe you want to go out?"

"We can do that. Can I pick the place?"

It was the least you could let him do as he offered you money and kept true to his word to give you his money.

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm available. I might see you here too. Who knows?"

He nodded your response smiling.

"You have a good day madam"

"You too" God how you loved how formal he was and calling you madam and ma'am, even though you weren't really that old.

When you went home, you were exhausted but still smiling and excited that you got the guy's number. You texted your name so he could have yours saved as well. You went to bed, wondering what it could lead to. Possibly just one date or even more.

The next day, was the same thing. Wake up, eat breakfast, pack your things and head to the subway. You kept fixing yourself up for the salesman, wondering if he would come by.

He always comes by, you thought. He just has to. You scanned around the subway to see where he is as you didn't want to move your spot. After an hour had passed, it looked like he hadn't been around.

Maybe asking for his number was a bad idea, that he was avoiding to talk to you, you thought. A man walked by and dropped something not that far from you. It looked like money. Seeing this you get up, pick up the bill and try to call out for the man. But it looked like he was already gone. It was

Written in a black permanent marker, it says “Look at your phone ma’am”. Without thinking you check your phone and see a message. Meet me at the park at 4:30 PM. No need to dress so fancy but wear something you feel pretty in.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t believe what’s in front of you, more likely what’s on your phone. He’s actually texting you. The weird quiet but handsome black suit guy is texting you. You packed your things and went home and went to get ready to meet him in the park.

It was nothing special that you wore. Just a simple sundress/pantsuit but it was still one of the nicest outfits you had in your wardrobe. You kept wondering just what the man in plan for you. Walking around the park, you see the man still in his suit, hands in front looking around, possibly waiting for you, you thought.

Smiling, you walk up to him. When he sees you, he smiles with no teeth but still showing joy. He reaches out a hand. Looking at it hesitantly, you took his hand. The salesman then took your hand, bowed a little and kissed the back of your hand gently. You felt your heart skipped a beat when he did that.

“Hello ma’am. We meet again.”

“Hi. Were you the person that gave me the bill?”

“Maybe, a beautiful woman like you deserves more.”

Was this a dream? Were you dreaming or is this real. This man seemed to good to be true. You two walked to what would be your first date. The place he picked out for the first date was an art museum. It displayed the finest arts across the worlds and many different paintings. The salesman would ask about each piece and how did it make you feel. You responded to many of his questions but kept looking around. You guys kept talking and asking each other questions to get more acquainted with each other.

After the museum, he took you a some place to eat. Then you guys went to get ice cream. He paid for everything and asked if there’s anywhere else you would like to go. If you tried to pull out your card or even cash to pay for your own things, he would refuse so and said he got everything and that anything you wanted he’ll get for you. It had been late, so he dropped you off home and asked how was everything and if you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t thank him enough for the wonderful day you had comparison to just drawing in a subway for hours. Before you left his car, there was a slight tension between you guys that it could be cut with a knife. The man wanted to say something else but couldn’t stop looking at your lips. Looking at him, you see his hands reach towards your face and cup it as his lips softly touches yours.

His lips were so baby smooth and his cologne was so sharp from his neck, it felt like a gas hyptonixjg you. You cup his face, grazing it with your thumb. He pulls away, still looking at you with such yearning. Your thumb still on his face grazed his lips as you said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ever since that night, you two have been dating. He would take you on dates to other places. Mostly just walks in the park or art related stuff that you like. Your small kisses would turn into small makeouts into something more. He would sometimes, well mostly go over to your place and sleep over. In the mornings he would make breakfast in his underwear. You wish you could draw him right then and there.

He loves to pose for your art or whatever reference you need for your assignment in class. Once a month, he'll take you out to the art store to get whatever supplies you need. Your messy clothing consisted of paint or oil pastel stains is opposite of his clean, ironed and steamed suit. But he loves it either way.

The only time that he was out of the suit was when he was in bed with you. But other than that, you wanted him to be a bit more fun. You wanted to him have more color. Seeing those videos of online of couples doing painting of each others to see both of your art skills.

You begged the salesman to do wit you and he finally agrees. Squealing you get everything ready, canvas, paints, brushes, water and paper towels. You had 10 minutes to try to get each other’s features as accurate as possible

Time passes and both of you guys are done. You show your art of him and it’s him in his suit, pretty accurate and semi realistic but some details were missing. He nods and says it’s impressive of how much you can get done in less than hour.

You ask for his painting and he turns his Canva around and you see you in an almost renaissance like painting. Your mouth dropped and all felt like years of your art skills go away to just 10 minutes.

“What! How’s that even possible? Why didn’t you tell me you were good at art?”

“Well two people can’t be the artists in a relationship. One has to be a muse, to inspire the other.”

You scoffed at his bullshit. He just didn’t want to brag. An idea came in your mind. You grab a paintbrush and leave a stroke of red paint on his face.

“If you want to be a muse, why don’t you have some color on you?”

Smirking, the salesman takes this as a challenge and grabs his paint brush and paints across your face too.

Now you guys were having a paint battle. You tried to paint him more but he lightly grabs your arm and stops you. He leads you the floor, where he’s now on top of you. Seeing this as an opportunity, you grab a bottle of paint that’s open and smeared on his white shirt. He laughs at this and rolls you over where you’re now on top of him, straddling him.

Nothing was said between you both as you kept looking at each other. Like that night of your first date when you guys first kissed. Putting your head down you kiss him and he put his arms around on your back. The paint on your guys’ face mixed with each other. Breath was running out so you decided to stop. Your heart was beating so much just as he was trying to catch his breath too.

Now you’re forever grateful you asked for his number then taking the money. It’s a better reward than what the salesman had to offer you, as you got him, yourself. It felt like a dream come true. Even if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. Everything of being with him was like straight art. Maybe it was meant to be. That day you accidentally dropped your pencils and he came up to you. It could be called fate by others. Fate by design you like to call it.

He was right, one has to be the muse in a relationship and the other an artist. But to him, it was the thing he was missing the most. An new reason to be in the subway that fateful day.

Taglist:

@deffreal, @cocofia143, @sorry-meme, @elizabeth-hatake, @nini-0808, @hobinistaworld, @ineedsmootching, @alittlebitofeverything , @happyfrog7681 , @tiuhiatus, @goofiestgoober27, @jayyyourbabe, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy , @vampiregirlxoxo, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @l4venderia, @anthea1239, @iidontwannadiealone,

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[thirstkanaphan]

um...UM!!??!?!?

HONGJOONG'S VOICE ON SKIN??!!

minkkiway on yt isolated the background sounds of Skin and we're all hearing Hongjoong, right??!

Hongjoong: "I'm loving what I hear" 🧍‍♀️

AND WE KNOW THAT SEONGHWA'S ORIGINAL VERSION OF SKIN WAS WAY MORE EXPLICIT, RIGHT?

From Maddox's live earlier this week:

THEY HAD TO KEEP GUIDELINES IN MIND FOR SKIN SO THEY HAD TO MODIFY THE ORIGINAL LYRICS!! SEONGWHA WHAT KIND OF FREEEEAAKKKY LYRICS WERE YOU WRITING?

I SWAR TO GOD THESE TWO MAKE ME INSANE!!!

[wat3rm370n]

PBS News Hour asking for people to share how the change in isolation guidelines will impact people with disabilities.

TIP: SEND YOUR THOUGHTS TO THE PRESIDENT TOO!!

whitehouse.gov/contact

Screenshot of a tweet by PBS NEWS HOUR @NewsHour How will changes to the CDC's COVID-19 isolation guidelines impact people with disabilities? If this affects you, we'd like to speak with you for an upcoming story. Please fill out our form: bit.ly/43z8SSx PBS NEWS HOUR Question: How will changes to the CDC's COVID-19 isolation guidelines impact people with disabilities? We may reach out to you as part of our reporting. Please fill out our form. 2:34 PM Apr 14, 2024 - 9,397 Views

[wendichester]

I’ve fallen into the trenches and could really use a sam and dean winchester comforting a depressed reader🥺 maybe reader lives with them at the bunker and hasn’t left her room in days and their starting to recognize this pattern

₊˚⊹♡ still here, still yours,

pairing. sam + dean winchester x depressed!reader ( gn )

wordcount. 577 genre. comfort but angsty

warnings. depression themes, emotional numbness, isolation, mentions of not eating/sleeping regularly, gentle coaxing out of a depressive episode, hurt/comfort, found family

notes. i hope you've been feeling better sweets. know that my inbox is always here for you 🩷

It starts with silence.

Not the good kind—the bunker’s always been quiet, but this is different. A kind of hollow that sets Sam’s nerves on edge and makes Dean pace more than usual.

You haven’t come out of your room in three days.

Dean knocks on the door the first time, light and casual. “You dead in there, sweetheart?” he jokes. It lands flat even to his ears.

No answer.

The second day, Sam leaves a plate outside your door. It's untouched by morning.

Dean tries again with less bravado, more edge in his voice. “Come on, kid. Just open up. You don’t have to talk, I just—” Still nothing.

By day three, they both know this pattern.

The closing in. The dimming lights. The avoidance. You’ve done this before. Always quietly. Always politely. You retreat into yourself like it’s a kindness to them. Like your sadness is something they shouldn’t have to look at.

Dean doesn’t knock this time. He opens the door.

The room is dark. Blankets cocooned around you like armor. You don’t even flinch when the door creaks—just blink, slow and dull, from your nest on the bed.

“Hey,” Dean says softly. He’s got that low, careful tone he only uses when something’s really wrong.

You blink again, like you’re underwater.

Sam appears behind him, holding a mug of tea, fingers curled tight around it like he’s afraid it’ll fall. “Didn’t know what you’d want, so I made chamomile. Dean says it tastes like feet, but—” “Sam.” “Right. Sorry.”

He sets the mug on your nightstand. Doesn’t push it toward you. Doesn’t ask you to drink it. Just places it.

Dean crosses the room. Doesn’t sit yet. Doesn’t touch you. “You wanna talk?” he asks.

You shake your head. Barely. It’s enough.

“Okay,” he says. No pressure. Just okay. Then he sits on the floor beside your bed. Back against the wall. Arms resting over his knees.

Sam follows, a little awkward, like he’s not sure how to fit in the space. He ends up on the floor too, legs crossed, elbow bumping Dean’s.

Silence again. But it feels less sharp this time. Less like drowning, more like… floating.

“We’re not gonna make you do anything,” Sam says eventually. “Just thought maybe… you shouldn’t be alone in here.”

Dean shrugs. “We figured we’d just hang out. Quiet’s fine.” He pauses. “I mean, it’s not that fine. Sam brought a book. I brought snacks. One of us is clearly more helpful.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling a little. And somehow, that—that—cuts through the fog more than anything.

You don’t say anything. But your fingers twitch near the blanket’s edge. Like maybe you’ll reach for that tea. Maybe not now. But maybe later.

Dean sees it. Doesn’t say a word. Just leans back against your nightstand and starts telling a story. Something dumb. A hunt that went sideways. The one where he got hexed and couldn’t stop singing Bon Jovi for a week.

Sam groans through the middle of it, “It was two days, and you were so off-key.” “You try singing while cursed, Sammy.”

You close your eyes. Not to shut them out—but to breathe them in. This moment. This safety.

Dean glances at you and quiets down a little, but he doesn’t stop. He just talks. Like you’re still here. Because you are.

You’re not okay. But you’re not alone either. Not in this. Not ever again.

And that— That’s something.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[90skonweek]

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's '90s Superboy Week!

This is an event intended to celebrate Superboy's 90s origins, and the character as he existed prior to the Teen Titans (2003) retcon (aka the one that introduced Lex Luthor as part of his backstory)! For more information, check out our guidelines.

90s Superboy Week will run from April 13 - 19th, 2025, in celebration of the anniversary of the release of Adventures Of Superman #500, Kon's debut in comics! The prompts are as follows:

Day 1: Family / Friends Day 2: Superman / Cadmus Day 3: Media / Isolation Day 4: Youth / Future Day 5: TTK / Sci-Fi Day 6: Style / Identity Day 7: Free Day

Have any questions? Feel free to drop us an ask, and see you in April!

[md-intermission-archive]

"Murder Drones: Intermission": A Story of Understanding

Uzi Doorman: Understanding Loneliness

I feel like during the development of this episode, Uzi was the hardest character for me to wrap my head around. To my understanding, she’s feisty, angsty, and plays up this persona of being apathetic. A sort of lone wolf thing.

She’s snappy towards her classmates who ostracize her, snappy towards adults in her life, and overall gives a middle finger to anyone who isn’t on Team Uzi. It’s a very “me vs. the world” type of thing. That, to me, just felt like the callous shell of someone who’s painfully fragile and has been hurt so often.

I will admit, I may be projecting slightly, but I honestly read her as like… a neurodivergent kid who didn’t know how to navigate social circles, so she just became incredibly bitter. Her father didn’t help her situation at all because he also treated her like a freak, literally calling her a disappointment in his business ads. Then on top of all that she had no mother figure to look up to. All of this accumulates into a habit of isolation. “No one will love me, so fuck it. I’m on my own”. She acts like she’s fine on her own, when in reality she’s so starved for genuine connection. With that in mind, in Intermission I wanted to peel back those layers a little bit. I wanted to explore self-isolation and that hunger for love. 

Some people clocked this I think: the way Uzi’s attitude is toned down in Intermission. I didn’t want to play up her angsty teen act as much (and I capped her at one “bite me”) because then I’d risk falling into the trap of making her into a caricature of herself. The way I framed her in my head is “if she wants connection, then she’d be happier around people who she sees as her friends. If she’s also fragile though, she’ll make an immediate 180 at the slightest hint of meanspiritedness”. This was the guideline I gave myself when it came to bouncing her off of V and N. N melts her icy demeanor. He’s very gentle and encouraging with her. One example being how N kneeled down to her eye level when speaking to her when she was putting up her walls again. As someone who’s constantly ostracized, she needs a gentle touch in order to relax.

I made sure to keep that in mind, that while she was being treated gently, she should show more signs of happiness. Comfort. Part of that comfort is also reflected in being mischievous/playful. As for the 180 she makes if shown any sort of cruelty, that’s reflected in acts of self-isolation. 

This is something I’ve observed from myself and people in my life. If someone is already deathly afraid of rejection, they won’t reach out for help and their immediate instinct will be to isolate. In the beginning of the EP when Uzi’s having her Solver flare up her immediate thought is “I’m going to put up a firewall (repress) and just not even mention this to anybody”. Then when N offers to help, she still shows signs of being uncomfortable because she’s not used to it. It isn’t until V’s comment calling her a lost cause irks her that she decides “screw it let’s give it a shot”. She hates being underestimated, so this reaction made sense to me. Meanwhile the climax of the episode is where I wanted the most overt display of her fears to be presented.

As I said earlier, Uzi’s sensitive to rejection. She attacked the only people in her life who care about her, and the worst part was it wasn’t even her fault. Uzi is a person who really wants a sense of control over her life for the sake of security, so that loss of control and the idea of “oh my god they hate me now” was the final straw for her. So, she isolated. She ran off (or in this case, flew off), she barricaded herself, and she cried.

During the scene when Uzi's found, I had a bit of an issue figuring out where to go from there with her. I had two options: I could once again lean into her badass persona and have her fight back, or I could have her fold. I decided the latter. To her, she just lost the only people who cared about her, she's a monster to worker drone society, her father doesn't care about her.

What's the point. She's doomed to be alone.

If V didn't have her revelation, Uzi would've let herself die. While I understand that's an upsetting choice to make in the narrative, given Uzi's circumstances it felt like the appropriate reaction. Which is why the events following were so important.

While Uzi's at her lowest point she's shown pinch of kindness.

While it’s true V’s initial intention was to off Uzi, her showing compassion and sympathy was what helped calm Uzi down. Rather than making her put up walls like V usually does, V was able to break through them a tad. That interaction, N pouncing at her with a hug, and the final scene was meant to cement in Uzi’s head that she finally wasn’t alone (even if V still struggled to not be prickly with her). The three are still incredibly messy, but there’s that sense of trust that Uzi now has people in her life that actually care about her despite her messiness. The mischievous attitude even comes out when she says, “you found a nanospark of warmth in your heart to care about me”. She now feels more comfortable with V to an extent, and she finally has a support system.

I think…the reason why I love Uzi so much is that she’s sadly reflects the experience of what it's like not being able to fit into society's mold of acceptable. Even if she might not be neurodivergent, the bullying and isolation she experiences is very familiar. I wanted to do her justice as much as I could with that all in mind and with the resources I had. I wanted to give her one happy ending to a day when every other feels like utter hell.

The angsty teen may be badass, but her heart is still fragile.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

On Good Behaviour 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: after release, you try to get on the right track but your new boss isn’t much help. (ex-con reader)

Characters: Loki

Note: :)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Once you return with the tea, you’re shut out. You’re thankful for the moment of isolation. More and more you enjoy the time when you are alone. When there is no expectation. 

When you were locked up, you always had to be on, always had to be ready. Either a guard was coming to flip your cell or someone else was scoping out what little you. As your mind wands, you can’t help but trace along the scar which marked a fight over your coveted commissary cupcakes.  

You exhale and scroll down the document on filing expenses. You’ll need that for all those transactions at the cafe. An airy sort of disbelief clouds you as you try to focus. How things have changed. Now you can simply go buy a dessert and walk out unscathed. To think you survived like that for so long makes you feel even smaller in this fancy office. 

You have to break that mind set. You have to move on. You can prove everyone right. Not again. Your family, your teachers, your friends. Now, Mr. Laufeyson too. You will not back slide. 

When the door opens, you flinch and glance over. Pine exits first, trailed by your boss. The blond glances over and dips his chin slightly, “it was a pleasure meeting you.” He drawls as he approaches the door. He pauses to peek back at Laufeyson, “about time you got some help. I might actually get my books balanced on time this year.” 

“Very nice seeing you, Jonathan,” Laufeyson shoos him with his long fingers. “Perhaps if you didn’t insist on meandering.” 

Pine snorts, “good luck to you, darling.” He gives a two-fingered salute and lets himself out. You look at the laptop and highlight a paragraph to add to the image of your concentration. 

“Well, you sure do put on quite the front, as your ilk might phrase it,” Laufeyson says as the door clicks shut. He turns and sits on the edge of your desk. 

“Sir, I’m doing my job,” you assure him and look up from the screen. “Is there anything else I should be doing?” 

Your hand rests on the mouse. His eyes scour the desk and he clucks. You wince as suddenly he reaches for you. You form a fist with your other hand as he seizes your wrist. He squints down at the rigid line across the back. 

“This looks like quite the accident,” he muses. 

“Sir,” you tug gently. Your heart pounds behind your ribs. Before, if someone touched you without warning, you’d crack them in the jaw. This isn’t then. This isn’t prison. 

He hums and lets you go, “oh yes, I’m sure you have been through a rather turbulent time. This must all be very dull to you.” 

“It’s calm,” you assure him and rescind your hand, hiding it in your other. 

“And you surprisingly so,” he stands and tuts. You watch him stride around the office. “There is one other meeting today. I expect the same courtesy.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply. 

He sniffs and spins on his heel. He marches through his office door and your frown. It’s as if he’s taunting you, even baiting you, into misbehaving. But why? Doesn’t he need help? Is that not why he hired you? 

You go back to your review, switching to the inbox as a new inquiry dings in. As you draft your response, a knock interrupts you typing. You clear your throat and stand up. You open the door and your voice clogs in your throat as you reveal a familiar face. 

“Dina,” you blink at your parole officer. 

“Hiya,” she smiles at you. Her blush-laden cheeks and fake lashes are deceiving, along with her rose-coloured jacket and skirt set. “Look at you, dearie, all proper.” 

She squeezes your shoulder and you hold back a growl. People are so touchy outside. Inside, they know better. 

“What are you...” you crane to see the clock on the wall. “I’m not late.” 

“Oh, I’m not here for you. Well, I am but I’m not,” she waves off your worry. “I’m here to chat with Mr. Laufeyson. I find it helpful to review parole conditions with employers.” 

“Uh, right. Yes. I’ll get him,” you back up and welcome her in. She giggles as she steps inside, her eyes flicking up and down. 

“So good to see you trying, dearie.” 

Her cheerful tone grinds on your nerves. She puts on this octave that tweaks in your ears. A mask over her true self. Before you came back with your letter of offer, she was threatening to put you back into gen-pop. 

You go to Laufeyson’s door and tap gently, “sir, your next meeting.” 

There’s a lull before he appears. You back up as he steps through and he slithers toward the pink balloon of a woman floating around. He extends his hand. “Diana, was it?” 

“Dina,” she faces him and her eyes round. “Oh, my, aren’t you a specimen,” she trills and shakes his hand. 

“Dina, apologies, thank you for coming. Might I offer you a refreshment? Coffee? Tea?” He says. You fight not to roll your eyes as you foresee another trip to the cafe. 

“Oh, no, it’s afternoon, no caffeine for me,” she insists. “But thank you, Mr. Laufeyson, you are a gentleman.” She releases his hand. “And so tall. Look at you.” She fans herself and you cringe as you stand trapped against the wall opposite your desk. 

“Shall we?” He angles as he gestures to his office. 

“Oh, happily,” she bounces forward. You watch without a word. Laufeyson turns to follow, his smile falling into a rather derisive expression as he eyes her ringlets. They are a bit young for someone her age. 

He shuts the door after him as she makes some comment about the decor. You shuffle back to your desk and sit. You’re a bit peeved. He could have warned you it was Dina. No, that would be too considerate. 

You roll your chair to the desk and run your finger over the space bar. It would be far more prudent to have a machine, or at least a kettle in office. Perhaps that could be a project for you. You could draw up an estimate of the cost against the price of the repetitive cafe purchases. The initiative might just break through the ice of Laufeyson’s ego. 

💼

There was a routine in prison. Meal times, bed time, it was all the same; it was everything in between that was unpredictable. Would you be sleeping in your bunk or in solitary? 

The days turned thoroughly dull. You're not mad about it. You like the slowly building sense of security. That peace only punctured by vivid dreams and noisy neighbours. 

It's pay day. Your first. You expect a chunk to be missing due to the advance but you've budgeted it all out. As you do your time; all according to boldly defined borders. 

You get out of work and go straight home. Dina checks in to make sure you're not out without reason and she's sure to do so frequently. She keeps asking about Mr. Laufeyson, likely to determine if you're doing well. You think you are. 

You take the early bus. That way you get there with time to spare. You sit on the bench outside the building to eat your overnight oats. You have an earbud in as you listen to a podcast about an old reality show they always put on in prison. You didn't really like it but it became a pasttime anyhow. 

As you swallow the pasty oats, you ponder whether you should add more cinnamon or sugar. You try not to go overboard with the latter. You push your tongue through the mouthful as soles tap closer. The men in their suits and women in their cleancut dresses sift into the building with pricey briefcases and branded coffee cups. 

"Ahem," the pointed leather toes turn and stop before you. 

You look up and swallow. You hide your mouth as you lick your lips. "Mr. Laufeyson. Good morning," you greet. 

"Waiting on me?" He tilts his head. 

"Um, no. Just eating my breakfast." You stir the oats. 

"Outside?" 

"It's... a nice morning," you shrug. 

"Suppose," he mutters. "Well, if you would like to come inside..." 

"I'll be on time," you assure him. 

He narrows his eyes before he goes. You bite your cheek and eye the half-finished container. You feel guilty. You twist the lid on and wipe the spoon clean with a tissue and tuck it all in your bag. Your hunger evaporates. 

You take your travel mug in with you as you hitch up your bag. You slow before you get to the stairs. You suppose you could stop and make sure to appease him. 

The cafe is mostly empty and you put in the usual order. The woman at the counter smiles. A girl, really. Younger than you. She might be in school. When you were her age, not very long ago, you were already in orange. 

"Would you like to try our new light roast espresso?" She asks. 

"Oh, no, it's not for me," you say as you count out change for the tip jar. 

She nods and thanks you for the tip. 

"You mean you come here every day and it's not for you?" She asks. 

"My boss. He works upstairs." 

"Right," she smiles. "Well..." she moves behind the display and grabs a thin sheet of parchment. She plucks out one of the swirled cupcakes. "Cinnamon bun. Another new creation." She shoves it into a bag and puts it on the counter, "free of charge." 

"Oh, no, I can't--" 

"I won't tell anyone," she smiles. 

"Um, okay, thanks, but... why?" You ask. 

"I don't know. You're here all the time. Kind of a hassle to be running down here all the time when you're not even getting anything out of it." 

"I guess so. It's nice. Thanks." 

"Let me know if you like it. I had to get up early to bake." She says. 

"Sure." 

She makes the cortado and you take it with another thank you. You head up with the end of the paper bag scrunched against your travel mug. You approach the door and realise you are a bit short of hands. You knock on the door with your elbow. 

You wait. You try again. Finally, it opens. 

"At last," Laufeyson sneers. 

"Coffee," you offer him the cortado. 

He makes a noise. Almost as if he's surprised. He takes it and backs off. 

"Mr. Laufeyson," you cross to the desk and put your cup and muffin on the desk, your bag in the chair. "I had something I wanted to suggest." 

"Mm, and that would be?" 

"A coffee machine? Or kettle. I drew up a pricing analysis--" 

"Oh, is that your suggestion? What is it, then? Are your feet getting sore? Not used to hard work?" 

"Um," you shake your head. "No, sir. It would be more cost-efficient--" 

"I've no worry for finances. It is my specialty, darling," he retorts. Your lips part then snap shut. You nod. 

"Understood." 

"Besides, it hardly seems you mind so much. What is that you've stowed away?" He points to the paper bag. You look at it and swipe it up. 

"A muffin," you turn to him. "Want it?" 

"Want it? Do I want a sugar-laced mess? No, I do have some standards... despite hiring you." 

Your brows pop up and you blink. You drop the bag on your desk and grit your teeth. You have to make yourself turn away. You pry your fists open and tap the button on the laptop. 

"Something to say?" He prompts coyly. 

"No, sir, I'm only starting up for the day--" 

"Ah, then, you will remember to smile." You don't say anything as you move your bag out of your chair. As you bend to nestle it under your desk, you feel a tickle along the back of your skirt. "Perhaps you might invest in an iron with your first check." 

You snap up and spin, swiping away his hand with a swat. "I didn't give you permission to touch me." 

His green irises flash and he takes a smug sip of coffee, "oh," he shakes out his other hand. "Violence." 

You frown, "no, you... you touched me first." 

"Ah, yes," he holds out his ivory hand to examine, "see, it is already red." 

You shake your head, "you--" 

"I believe that is against your probationary arrangement," he tuts. "Dina did seem rather concerned for your propensity towards anger." 

"I'm not-- I didn't-- you--" 

"Tsk, tsk, and it was going so well." 

You stare at him, temples thumping as he backs away and twists on his heel. He struts into his office with a snicker. You fall into your chair and slump. You should've known it's all too good to be true. 

[cy-cyborg-draws]

My disability doesn't need to be hidden

Two weeks ago, I made a batch of videos for Tik Tok that were supposed to be going up over the next month or so. However, out of the 5 uploaded and queued, 3 were flagged as needing manual review for potentially breaking community guidelines. The only thing about these videos that was any different from the other content I'd made in the past, or the two new videos that didn't get flagged, was that they featured either images of myself where my legs and wheelchair were visible, or images of my fursona Nix (who has the same disability) where their legs and wheelchair were visible. I took all the videos down, since the later ones wouldn't have made much sense in isolation and made a quick crop to the earlier ones so my/Nix's legs were out-of-frame and low-and-behold, they didn't get flagged. This isn't new. In the past, Tik Tok has removed or hidden my videos (meaning they were stuck on 0 views and people visiting my page couldn't see them) when my legs and scars weren't entirely covered. I kind of expected it to happen to the video that used IRL footage of me and I had a backup plan, but censoring Nix in particular just felt... petty and uncalled for. It's bad enough to do this to real disabled people's bodies and that I even had to have a backup plan for it at all, but the other videos? They were stylised drawings of a purple dragon with simplified scars. A drawing I've used on other platforms with no issue by the way; I've uploaded videos with those same images to both Youtube (shorts and youtube proper) and Red Note. It's only Tik Tok that has an issue with it consistently. Despite the vent I had about it all on Tumblr when it first happened, I will eventually re-upload the videos, as well as upload them to other platforms, but I have to figure out how to get around whatever is flagging them first. I won't be hiding or censoring my/nix's stumps or scars if I can avoid it. I know it seems petty and it's going to make things harder in the long run, but I started my tik tok account to share my art, the vast majority of which has disability as a central theme in some way, shape or form, and to educate about disability, and I can't do that If I have to hide mine. My body and my disability (whether depicted on me or on my characters) isn't gore and it doesn't need to be censored. [ID: An image of a purple dragon with yellow wings and a yellow underbelly, flying in front of the 2021 disability pride flag. The dragon is missing most of it's tail and it's hind legs, with the right leg gone from above the knee, the left from just below it. Both the tail and legs are covered in very visible scarring, and there are a few smaller scars on the arms. There is white text with a black outline on the image which reads "Disability just being visible isn't "Graphic and Disturbing Imagery"". /End ID]