#i cannot tell you how many people have said this to me recently

[pixiedustandbluebutterflies]

"You have a really good attitude about your terrible, chronic, degenerative health conditions."

Well, my options are either deal with it or kill myself so ✌️

[ravynfyre]

so many people do not understand that 1) animals are not people, and 2) they aren't teaching their animals what they THINK they are teaching them.

dog group on the book of faces, someone is asking for advice on how to get their dog to come to them after the dog is done relieving itself outside. The dog doesn't like coming to them an they spend ten or twenty minutes or more catching the dog each time to bring it in. Which reminded me of one of many attempts to talk a person through trying to fix exactly this same behavior in *many* other dogs over the years...

Me: So, a quick question for you... does the dog not coming to you and you having to chase them down frustrate you?

Them: Of course!

Me: So what do you do when you finally either catch the dog or get them to come to you?

Them: I give the dog a correction!

Me: So. You get hands on your dog and then you immediately punish them for allowing you to get hands on them. And you wonder why your dog has developed the habit of not coming to you?

Them: No, that's not... I'm punishing them for not coming when I call!

Me: Which was.... fifteen minutes ago, or so, you said?

Them: Yes, when I first called them!

Me: Dogs brains literally cannot link an abstract thought like that. A thought and a consequence MUST happen within 2.4 seconds of one another, or the consequence becomes linked to the most recent behavior, thought, or activity. So, tell me... how is your dog supposed to understand that you punishing them is for the event fifteen minutes ago when you have made such a concerted, if unintentional, effort to teach them that them getting close enough for you to lay hands on them in the yard means an immediate punishment?

Them: But that's not what I *meant*!

Me: Doesn't matter what YOU meant... what THEY learned is that they come to you, and they get punished. Stop punishing your dog for the behavior that you want to see more of.

Stop anthropomorphizing your animals, folks. They don't think like us. Stop setting them - and yourself - up for failure.

[fans4wga]

"The studios thought they could handle a strike. They might end up sparking a revolution"

by Mary McNamara

"If you want to start a revolution, tell your workers you’d rather see them lose their homes than offer them fair wages. Then lecture them about how their “unrealistic” demands are “disruptive” to the industry, not to mention disturbing your revels at Versailles, er, Sun Valley.

Honestly, watching the studios turn one strike into two makes you wonder whether any of their executives have ever seen a movie or watched a television show. Scenes of rich overlords sipping Champagne and acting irritated while the crowd howls for bread rarely end well for the Champagne sippers.

This spring, it sometimes seemed like the Hollywood studios represented by the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers were actively itching for a writers’ strike. Speculations about why, exactly, ran the gamut: Perhaps it would save a little money in the short run and show the Writers Guild of America (perceived as cocky after its recent ability to force agents out of the packaging business) who’s boss.

More obviously, it might secure the least costly compromise on issues like residuals payments and transparency about viewership.

But the 20,000 members of the WGA are not the only people who, having had their lives and livelihoods upended by the streaming model, want fair pay and assurances about the use of artificial intelligence, among other sticking points. The 160,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists share many of the writers’ concerns. And recent unforced errors by studio executives, named and anonymous, have suddenly transformed a fight the studios were spoiling for into a public relations war they cannot win.

Even as SAG-AFTRA representatives were seeing a majority of their demands rejected despite a nearly unanimous strike vote, a Deadline story quoted unnamed executives detailing a strategy to bleed striking writers until they come crawling back.

Days later, when an actors’ strike seemed imminent, Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger took time away from the Sun Valley Conference in Idaho not to offer compromise but to lecture. He told CNBC’s David Faber that the unions’ refusal to help out the studios by taking a lesser deal is “very disturbing to me.”

“There’s a level of expectation that they have that is just not realistic,” Iger said. “And they are adding to the set of the challenges that this business is already facing that is, quite frankly, very disruptive.”

If Iger thought his attempt to exec-splain the situation would make actors think twice about walking out, he was very much mistaken. Instead, he handed SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher the perfect opportunity for the kind of speech usually shouted atop the barricades.

“We are the victims here,” she said Thursday, marking the start of the actors’ strike. “We are being victimized by a very greedy entity. I am shocked by the way the people that we have been in business with are treating us. I cannot believe it, quite frankly: How far apart we are on so many things. How they plead poverty, that they’re losing money left and right, when giving hundreds of millions of dollars to their CEOs. It is disgusting. Shame on them. They stand on the wrong side of history at this very moment.”

Cue the cascading strings of “Les Mis,” bolstered by images of the most famous people on the planet walking out in solidarity: the cast of “Oppenheimer” leaving the film’s London premiere; the writers and cast of “The X-Files” reuniting on the picket line.

A few days later, Barry Diller, chairman and senior executive of IAC and Expedia Group and a former Hollywood studio chief, suggested that studio executives and top-earning actors take a 25% pay cut to bring a quick end to the strikes and help prevent “the collapse of the entire industry.”

When Diller is telling executives to take a pay cut to avoid destroying their industry, it is no longer a strike, or even two strikes. It is a last-ditch attempt to prevent le déluge.

Yes, during the 2007-08 writers’ strike, picketers yelled noncomplimentary things at executives as they entered their respective lots. (“What you earnin’, Chernin?” was popular at Fox, where Peter Chernin was chairman and chief executive.) But that was before social media made everything more immediate, incendiary and personal. (Even if they have never seen a movie or TV show, one would think that people heading up media companies would understand how media actually work.)

Even at the most heated moments of the last writers’ strike, executives like Chernin and Iger were seen as people who could be reasoned with — in part because most of the executives were running studios, not conglomerations, but mostly because the pay gap between executives and workers, in Hollywood and across the country, had not yet widened to the reprehensible chasm it has since.

Now, the massive eight- and nine-figure salaries of studio heads alongside photos of pitiably small residual checks are paraded across legacy and social media like historical illustrations of monarchs growing fat as their people starve. Proof that, no matter how loudly the studios claim otherwise, there is plenty of money to go around.

Topping that list is Warner Bros. Discovery Chief Executive Davd Zaslav. Having re-named HBO Max just Max and made cuts to the beloved Turner Classic Movies, among other unpopular moves, Zaslav has become a symbol of the cold-hearted, highly compensated executive that the writers and actors are railing against.

The ferocious criticism of individual executives’ salaries has placed Hollywood’s labor conflict at the center of the conversation about growing wealth disparities in the U.S., which stokes, if not causes, much of this country’s political divisions. It also strengthens the solidarity among the WGA and SAG-AFTRA and with other groups, from hotel workers to UPS employees, in the midst of disputes during what’s been called a “hot labor summer.”

Unfortunately, the heightened antagonism between studio executives and union members also appears to leave little room for the kind of one-on-one negotiation that helped end the 2007-08 writers’ strike. Iger’s provocative statement, and the backlash it provoked, would seem to eliminate him as a potential elder statesman who could work with both sides to help broker a deal.

Absent Diller and his “cut your damn salaries” plan, there are few Hollywood figures with the kind of experience, reputation and relationships to fill the vacuum.

At this point, the only real solution has been offered by actor Mark Ruffalo, who recently suggested that workers seize the means of production by getting back into the indie business, which is difficult to imagine and not much help for those working in television.

It’s the AMPTP that needs to heed Iger’s admonishment. At a time when the entertainment industry is going through so much disruption, two strikes is the last thing anyone needs, especially when the solution is so simple. If the studios don’t want a full-blown revolution on their hands, they’d be smart to give members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA contracts they can live with."

[drunktuesdays]

everyone is fucking but no one is horny

one of my twitter friends recently said that if she could order up a fic it would be a story written by someone who has only ever read the classics, 1.5 star trek novelizations, and their mother's romance novels from 1970, written about two people are so out of their minds horny for each other it causes them to make the absolute worst choices anyone's ever made.

and i almost lost my mind laughing because i do know exactly what she means. there is a weird vibe i can sometimes sense within the first few paragraphs a fic that really bums me out. it's almost like i can tell the author is thinking way too much about what i'm thinking about their id and it's suddenly like we're all suddenly wondering how riding a bicycle works when we're mid-ride. when you start worrying too much audience interpretation or how a fic is going to do or play or ugh marketability, it genuinely adds some weird self-conscious distance to whatever you're doing. and it's the pits from the reader side because it removes so much horniness from your story even if the idea you have is genuinely good! i know this is not a niche complaint--you find it literally everywhere as every sector of the creative internet gets #content-ed and people can't escape the stats of how any given creative outlet does.

but god there's literally nothing better than sitting down and reading some freaknasty person's art where they do not give a single shit if you like it. they had something to say and my god they were gonna say it. i've accidentally acquired so many kinks by clicking on a story where someone took me on the most insane ride of my life and i thrilled about it. i don't wanna read about polite normal regular love. i don't wanna read about people using therapy-speak on each other. i wanna read about two people feeling the biggest craziest feelings of their entire life and they cannot do anything about it except bang it out. what else are we doing here? if they're not fucking down an entire house, well jed i don't even wanna read it.

[inkskinned]

crows use tools and like to slide down snowy hills. today we saw a goose with a hurt foot who was kept safe by his flock - before taking off, they waited for him to catch up. there are colors only butterflies see. reindeer are matriarchical. cows have best friends and 4 stomachs and like jazz music. i watched a video recently of an octopus making himself a door out of a coconut shell.

i am a little soft, okay. but sometimes i can't talk either. the world is like fractal light to me, and passes through my skin in tendrils. i feel certain small things like a catapult; i skirt around the big things and somehow arrive in crisis without ever realizing i'm in pain.

in 5th grade we read The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Night-time, which is about a young autistic boy. it is how they introduced us to empathy about neurotypes, which was well-timed: around 10 years old was when i started having my life fully ruined by symptoms. people started noticing.

i wonder if birds can tell if another bird is odd. like the phrase odd duck. i have to believe that all odd ducks are still very much loved by the other normal ducks. i have to believe that, or i will cry.

i remember my 5th grade teacher holding the curious incident up, dazzled by the language written by someone who is neurotypical. my teacher said: "sometimes i want to cut open their mind to know exactly how autistics are thinking. it's just so different! they must see the world so strangely!" later, at 22, in my education classes, we were taught to say a person with autism or a person on the spectrum or neurodivergent. i actually personally kind of like person-first language - it implies the other person is trying to protect me from myself. i know they had to teach themselves that pattern of speech, is all, and it shows they're at least trying. and i was a person first, even if i wasn't good at it.

plants learn information. they must encode data somehow, but where would they store it? when you cut open a sapling, you cannot find the how they think - if they "think" at all. they learn, but do not think. i want to paint that process - i think it would be mostly purple and blue.

the book was not about me, it was about a young boy. his life was patterned into a different set of categories. he did not cry about the tag on his shirt. i remember reading it and saying to myself: i am wrong, and broken, but it isn't in this way. something else is wrong with me instead. later, in that same person-first education class, my teacher would bring up the curious incident and mention that it is now widely panned as being inaccurate and stereotypical. she frowned and said we might not know how a person with autism thinks, but it is unlikely to be expressed in that way. this book was written with the best intentions by a special-ed teacher, but there's some debate as to if somebody who was on the spectrum would be even able to write something like this.

we might not understand it, but crows and ravens have developed their own language. this is also true of whales, dolphins, and many other species. i do not know how a crow thinks, but we do know they can problem solve. (is "thinking" equal to "problem solving"? or is "thinking" data processing? data management?) i do not know how my dog thinks, either, but we "talk" all the same - i know what he is asking for, even if he only asks once.

i am not a dolphin or reindeer or a dog in the nighttime, but i am an odd duck. in the ugly duckling, she grows up and comes home and is beautiful and finds her soulmate. all that ugliness she experienced lives in downy feathers inside of her, staining everything a muted grey. she is beautiful eventually, though, so she is loved. they do not want to cut her open to see how she thinks.

a while ago i got into an argument with a classmate about that weird sia music video about autism. my classmate said she thought it was good to raise awareness. i told her they should have just hired someone else to do it. she said it's not fair to an autistic person to expect them to be able to handle that kind of a thing.

today i saw a goose, and he was limping. i want to be loved like a flock loves a wounded creature: the phrase taken under a wing. which is to say i have always known i am not normal. desperate, mewling - i want to be loved beyond words.

loved beyond thinking.

[lilacstro]

Astro observations part 14

Well, the result of my poll clearly said for this and waiting for it to end would make no difference I know haha, so here we go with part 14 :)

people with planets in subconscious houses(4/8/12) in water signs or even having planets in all of them or at least 2 could be really emotionally receptive, and may feel overwhelming emotions, sometimes being unable to manage this tsunami and moodiness that can manifest can even cause mental troubles

Girls having an afflicted moon/mars placement, or moon or mars in harsh aspects can experience hormonal/menstrual problems some point in life

One of the best friendships happen when your moon sign matches someone's sun sign and vice versa

women with 5th house Leo/Aries/Sun/Mars could be really protective around their children

For girls who say "I always cry on my birthday" or "my birthday month is my worst" could actually have sun transition into their 8th/12th house at the time of their birthday month. I can make a post on how your birthday month could be for you, let me know if you guys want to read.

I often tell my clients and I have seen it myself, people with strong Jupiter in their chart are the ones that go through a lot of hard times, the lesson here is to maintain that unwavering faith and optimistic mindset and move forward, it is not until then that you have learnt, Jupiter starts to bless you :)

people with ruler of 4th in 10th could actually struggle with having their secrets be their secrets in life, it would just somehow come out to people, not exactly fully exposed but people would know something is up.

planets in your 4th house can in fact tell you what you may like to keep hidden, for example having NN in 4th may not really like sharing my goals or plans with people.

ok so I recently saw some celebrity's newborn's natal chart, and I saw Mars conjunct Uranus in the second, and it just speaks to me that somewhere in this life, this baby gonna want to spend money like crazily-excessively and he would rebel otherwise, this sure can turn into many more mature things with time, but that impulsivity with money seems something that he needs to look after

Mercury in Leo people are actually so unafraid lmao, they can deliver the most obviously wrong facts with full confidence and when you confront them, well you cannot actually. But they can make excellent journalists, debaters, politicians etc.

People with 6th/8th/12th house placements or any of these houses in Virgo/Libra risings should be very aware of who they are entertaining. These kinds of people are actually really giving by nature but they need to be sure that people are not blantly "expecting" them/ latching onto them just for getting what they want.

6th house- literal service, cooking, cleaning, looking after them in tough times

8th house- to change them for their good at the cost of draining yourself

12th house- to mentally elevate or spiritually enlighten someone on the right path

I think it is not very talked about and a very underrated thing but Neptune in 2nd house people can be really intuitive, things they say may come true but they would not have enough confidence to speak it out or believe it themselves is one thing. Can make really good psychic/tarot readers and even astrologers.

Venus in 12th house people may attract situations where they can unknowingly want to keep their relationship/friendships private BUT please for god's sake, talk about it to other people, since to me this translates as an isolated Venus and the chances of being manipulated run high and you probably would not even know.

People who can have their comments get a lot of likes or want to comment out of desire can have Mercury in 11th, but please note Mercury and the 11th should most likely be in fire or air signs, water and earth can rather keep their opinions to themselves.

Speaking of which if you have Mercury-Mars placement in 11th, you are very likely to be someone who fights for what they like, be unafraid of arguing or putting out your comment on internet, for example: fighting that your fav artist is right or this song is being hated on for no reason etc.

You may often find yourself contradicting between the life choices of your North Node and South Node house/Signs. For example, someone with NN in 4th and SN in 10th would want to think "ok I wanna marry young, have kids and look after my kids", OR sometimes think "no not at all I will be an unmarried childless girlboss living her life in 30s", it is likely that it is not in between OR it can be, "well how will I manage this desire to have a successful career and be a mother at the same time idk"

People with Sun/Saturn and Neptune in harsh aspects could have father struggling with substances, or maybe dogmatism or have some kind of un real ideals, may feel very hard to impress, yet you would probably still in some want to get his validation which rather seems impossible because of how out of the world and unrealistic it could be.

Wherever Juno sits in your chart can show what can change in your life most when you meet your spouse or most significant other, for example people with Juno in 11th, would change what they usually prayed or wished for, their friends and social life. Juno in 9th may become more philosophical or open to higher education. Can make another post on this one

Speaking of which, Juno can also give clues on how your future spouse could be, it is like a tarot kind of description, not everything would be accurate but some of it sure would be. For example, Juno in 11th could have spouse who works on Internet or through Internet, could have Aquarian traits of having strong, different opinions, BIG hopes and dreams, etc. Can make a post on this one again lmao

paid readings open

support me on ko-fi :)

well that is it for today, send your post suggestions from above or anything else you wanna see:)

i love you all <3

[othercrossee]

[midnightorchids]

Hey babe- I wanted to know how you felt about booknerd!reader x Jason. Because it's been rotting my brain forever now and I need to know what someone as genius as yourself thinks about it. So like- We know Jason is a book girl. He's got huge floor to ceiling shelves in his apartment filled with non-fiction, historical fiction, classics, and maybe a few Si-Fi titles. I feel like he would love Toni Morison, Maya Angelou, Henrik Isben, Margret Atwood, and maybe even Harukai Murakami. He has this beautiful collection of leather bond additions of the Iliad Bruce gave him when he was 16. And when he finally invites you over, he cannot contain his excited smile as you start gushing over his home library. He makes you guys coffee and you spend hours talking about your fav genres, authors, online author drama - and after he's walking back to his apartment after dropping you off, he's smiling down at his phone at the message you sent. 'I had so much fun today! Ur library is so so so cool, was wondering if you would be ok going with me to Chapters next week? Wanted to pick up the new Skyward book' He's kicking his feet and hiding his face in his pillow. So deeply overjoyed that his crush shares in his immense love of literature. After you guys officially get together, he buys you so many fucking books. He fallows your goodreads wishlist religiously and surprises you almost every month with a new addition to your growing collection. He usually collects used paper backs, but for you, he splurges on the hardcover special additions. Of course it's because he loves you but it's also so that, maybe, you'll be more incentivised to move into a different apartment. One with floor-to-ceiling book shelves and a shared bed... just saying.. He branches out into more genres and authors he wouldn't usually read from just so he could talk about your favourite books with you. You do the same - your book collections getting mixed together in the process. Library dates, bookstore dates, used-bookstore dates. Your first couple of dates and realisations of love happened in and around books. You would always leave little messages inside the first page of the books you give him. So that if your every away or he's on a mission and he takes a book with him, he'll have one of your small messages of love as a reminder of something to return home to.

Hi hon!! I’m so sorry for the late response, I’ve been dying with uni and just life in general recently, but I’m back and ready to write again!!

I fully agree with almost everything that you said, like you’ve written it out so well and it’s just so cute! I was literally giggling and kicking my feet at the last one omg.

I shall try to add more stuff!!

Jason’s go to present for his loved ones is annotated copies of his favourite books. He only does this when he feels comfortable with a person because sharing his thoughts feels raw and vulnerable sometimes.

Having a significant other who loves to read and appreciates these types of gifts would make him feel happy and very emotional. It’s not often he gets to share this side of himself with people.

When he gifts his copies to his friends or his partner, he feels like he’s leaving a piece of him with the person, so he only does this when he trusts you.

He leaves detailed little messages on the margins of his books. He draws little smiley faces on the cute parts and angry faces on the parts that made him upset.

In the books for his significant other, Jason leaves little notes around the quotes that remind him of you. He highlights them in a different colour and makes sure his notes look extra tidy.

He sucks at wrapping things, so sometimes you’ll get a very poorly wrapped, tape covered novel. You’ll look at the wrapping and laugh, you’d pinch his cheeks teasingly and tell him he did a good job. He’d turn his face away in embarrassment, which leads to you placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Then, there would be times where he doesn’t have the energy to deal with the horrible wrapping paper. So, you’ll be gifted a plain paper back with a sticky note on the front cover that reads ‘for you,’ in squiggly lines.

It’s honestly sweet and he gets very shy about it.

Also, Jason’s taste in books is very diverse, he reads anything from the classics to romance to gothic horror. He reads anything and everything and because of that, I think that it would be very easy for you to share your thoughts and recommendations with him.

Even if Jason hasn’t read the book, he listens intently with a huge smile on his face. He loves listening to you talk. If he doesn’t know the author or the book, he will try to familiarize himself with what you’re reading and branch into different genres.

There would be lots of reading and bookstore dates. You’d browse through the different aisles with his hand in yours, only letting go when a particular book catches your attention. He watches you in awe as you gush about the different series.

(Side note, my friends and I always go to bookstores and just point out the worst books we’ve read and I think Jason would do that too.)

As you search through the shelves to find your next read, he’ll come to you all excited, rambling about the book in his hand. From the looks of it, it seems like he loves the book. His hands are moving around, he’s smiling and giggling, but if you pay attention, he’s actually just cussing out the author.

This becomes a tradition in your relationship. You both bring up books that you hate instead of the ones that you really enjoy. You’d spend the next hour of your bookstore visit just giggling at the random passages that the author thought were good enough to share with the world.

I think this would also lead to a book club of reading awful books sometimes just for shits and giggles. There would be weeks where you would read amazing, well written stories together, but then there would be times when you guys would pick up something bad just to make fun of it.

Overall, Jason would love having a book nerd significant other because he finally has someone who he can geek out with.

[disabledbutchblues]

able-bodied neurotypical people want quiet disability. invisible disability. they love it when we don’t complain and don’t shove our needs in their face. they love it when we stay home and die quietly instead of trying to live (but they don’t like it when we stay home and need caregivers).

[paragraph about self then next ones on more general and important things] i recently realized that i make many people uncomfortable irl because i talk about my symptoms. i wasn’t aware it was wrong, because i’m autistic and struggle a lot with notions of public vs private space, and what can be said to whom. i’m very open about my disabilities and struggles, both because i don’t realize i’m saying something i shouldn’t, and because i don’t have a choice and often can’t mask (i am not high masking. not low masking either tho). i don’t wear unnoticeable noise cancelling headphones, they’re not good enough for me at all, i wear big obvious ear defenders with a fluorescent part. i sit down on the floor of a store if my legs hurt. i don’t sit normally anywhere, including at school, because i can’t, i can’t sit correctly and not move, it’s painful. i don’t hesitate to tell people i have terrible executive dysfunction. i openly say i am in pain and need to rest, even if it’s abnormal for a teenager to not have a healthy strong body. when it seems relevant to the conversation, i share the fact that i struggled with an eating disorder and self harm and that i recovered/am recovering. when someone asks me how i am doing, i tell them i’m feeling terrible because i am in pain or because i am suicidal or because i am overwhelmed— this is partly a choice to be open about my disability, partly the fact that i don’t notice until it’s too late that they don’t want me to be honest, and party the fact that there are many things i cannot hide. i tell people that i am not independent, can’t cook, can’t go to new places alone, can’t shop, can’t maintain hygiene and that i don’t shower enough or brush my teeth regularly. when someone asks if i plan on learning how to drive i say that i don’t want to right now because my processing issues would be dangerous and i would get in an accident. i tell people i have meltdowns and shutdowns at school. i hit myself in public sometimes.

yet i am not visibly disabled. i’m very lucky and privileged within the disabled community. i am visibly weird and there is visibly something wrong with me but i am only visibly disabled to someone who spends some time with me and sees me unable to process informations or unable to do IADLs. strangers don’t know i’m disabled until i tell them— they mock a symptom or ask why i can’t do something and i say i’m autistic, i’m disabled, i’m in pain. and they already hate that i tell them. they say it’s private. they say my struggles are something personal. something to talk about with doctors but that no one else should have to know about.

some people are way more disabled than me, visibly disabled, disabled at first glance. some use mobility aids, full time or not. some have intellectual disabilities, some use an AAC device, some have a physical disability that cannot be concealed or an intellectual/developmental/mental disability that very obviously affects the way they move or communicate. some people don’t have a choice to mask or not to mask, don’t have a choice to be visibly disabled or not. strangers will immediately notice that these people are disabled, even without engaging in a conversation with them. and they hate it ! disabled people are supposed to be quiet and invisible and going outside with ear defenders or a mobility aid or anything, no matter if it is a small or a huge accommodation, is too much. but the bigger it is or the more you need help to do a ‘basic, easy’ thing, the worse it is. they stare at me in the street because of my ear defenders, but they don’t just stare when someone is in a wheelchair, they touch and break and don’t have any respect.

ableists think disabled people shouldn’t be in their way because they think we shouldn’t exist or that we are worthless. having an accommodation or an aid in public is already activism for them, already disturbing, already forcing them to see that they are privileged and that the world is not accessible.

to exist as a disabled person is beautiful. it’s brave. it’s something to be proud of. not because it’s inspiring that you are strong enough to live with your disability, not because "someone else would have killed themselves already in your situation," not because "i could never be like that ! you’re so courageous !", but because ableism is everywhere and it’s so hard to live in this world where they don’t want us to exist. it’s so hard to advocate for ourselves.

and for those who are not visibly disabled (like me), or at least not always ; for those who have low support needs ; for those who know how to mask : point out inaccessibility. force people to see their own ableism. make them uncomfortable. it’s also our job, our responsibility. if someone mocks me and calls me useless because i can’t do IADLs i say i’m disabled, stay very calm and inform them that many people are unable to perform BADLs without help and that they deserve just as much help and respect as anyone else. if someone points out how annoying my ear defenders are i ask why the place isn’t accessible for people in a wheelchair. etc etc. listen to people with higher support needs than you and amplify their voices. but also act irl.

we can all do better and force society to be better to.

and remember that accessibility for you doesn’t mean accessibility for everyone.

a place that accommodates sensory issues might not have accessible toilets. so it’s not good enough. an autism support group meeting has stim toys and ear defenders and happens in a quiet place ? that’s wonderful ! can a nonverbal person participate ? are caregivers welcome ? we can’t just think that "something is better than nothing." yes it is, but it’s not good enough. if a place or an event is accessible for one thing but not for something else, then it’s not accessible. and we need to be loud about it.

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Supersons +1 propmt fill Part3 Tr3s

The sprinklers activated in an instant and covered the centre in a deluge of water. Whatever scientists remained scrambled to recover what remained of their creations before the water could irrevocably damage them. In a hidden corner, one Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent made knowing glances to each other, a mutual agreement reached in seconds after decades of friendship. With the help of a crowbar, the men quickly pry open one of the exit doors, making way for panicked civilians to exit the premises, 'Brucie' giving comfort to those distressed by the recent events. It wasn't long before they had to make themselves scarce. They had their sons to rescue, there was no time!

As Bruce and Clark snuck out into the empty hallway, having been quickly evacuated by a Gothamite's natural self-preservation instinct and discipline from years of attacks. They nodded, and went their seperate ways. Clark to go change into his Superman outfit, and Bruce to calm the inevitable deluge of reporters before changing into his own costume.

Cameras flashed over the front entrance to the event, blinding the last few stragglers to leave, and Bruce, standing tall against the crashing sea.

"Mr Wayne! What can you tell us about the new villain that Joker has teamed up with?"

"Mr Wayne, how does Wayne Industries intent to secure future events from attacks on this scale?"

"Where is Damian Wayne? Sir how can Wayne Industries secure the future of Gotham if you cannot protect your own children?"

"Mr Wayne is it true that you allowed Jack Fenton to attend the event despite knowing he was a quack?"

And on and on and on. Bruce never intended to give these people what they wanted. He had children to save, and investigations to conduct. Before he could excuse himself, however, a roaring boom echoed down the street like summer thunder. Reporters screamed as they trampled over each other to escape the path of a silver behemoth charging down the road. Thick metal plates lined its exterior. A large satellite dish adorned its top, and jutting out from the sides were massive guns. The van sported too many OSHA violations to be anything less than a tank on four wheels than any civilian vehicle. Batman will have to crack down on whatever corrupt whitecollar criminals allowed this monstrosity on the roads.

The van charged right up to where Bruce was standing on the pavement, before coming to a terrifyingly rapid halt, so sudden that the entire vehicle jerked forward from its momentum. It would have been cartoonish if it hadn't stopped cleanly right in front of him. The front door slammed open, and a pair of black-gloved hands grabbed Bruce by the shoulder. In public surrounded by cameras, Bruce was helpless but to comply.

"BRUCIE WAYNE! I'VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU!"

Bruce scanned the interior of the van in an instant, clocking in the undignified Clark Kent clinging to his seat like a child to their parents leg, tie messed up and suit creased. His classes were crooked on his face. "He just scooped me up like I was paper mache, Bruce!" The man's voice was shaking.

"Strap in Brucie, because the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle cares for no trivial matters like traffic laws, or even physics laws!"

What kind of branding was this? "The Fenton Family wha-" Jack slammed the gas. The GAV rocketed into max gear in an instant. The force threw the poor man off his feet. Bruce went hurtling into the backside of the GAV and crashed with a bang. The G-forces kept him glued to the wall like a black-suited starfish, at least until Clark extended an arm to peel him off.

"I'm starting to think you might be right about him being a supervillain." Clark whispered.

Bruce grimly nodded.

"Alright so now that we're all together, here's the plan folks!" Jack said, tone all too cheerful for the chaos he was creating on the road. Innocent cars swerved out of the way of the advancing war machine. Pedestrians clung to lampposts and fences as gale force winds blasted them from its wake. "Let's start with the bad news: Our kids have been spirited away by suffering spooks! The good news: The Fenton Radar works!" Jack tapped on a screen on the van's console, showing two beeping dots on a radar map.

"BUILDING!" Clark yelled. They were rocketing right into a townhouse.

Jack yanked the wheel to the left. The GAV turned 90 degrees in about half a second, turning both passengers into ragdolls thrown across the side. On the outside, a subtle Superman-shaped dent was visible. "Thanks for that, Clarkie! Now I'm sure you guys aren't as experienced as me and my lovely wife Maddie are in hunting ghosts, but don't worry! I can give you a crash course."

"Please don't say crash course." Clark quivered.

"Could you maybe slow down?!" Bruce yelled over the roaring engines.

"No can do, Brucie! Any slower and the GHOSTS will leave the Fenton Radar's range, and then we'll never get our kids back!"

"I think I'm going to be sick." So Kryptonians can get nausea from high-speed vehicles, interesting. He'll have to update his file.

"The Joker and his associates entered your portal and set it to blow, how can we even get the kids back if they're on the other side!"

Jack turned around with a smile. "That's what the Fenton PortaPortal version 2 is for! Never leave home without a spare, my grandpa Fenton always said!"

"Dr Fenton, that bridge was destroyed in a gang fight!" Bruce shouted. Construction workers were already scattering, but a thick concrete barrier stood in their way.

"No need to worry, Fenton engineering can handle a little hole here or there!"

"The entire bridge was destroyed, we're going to fall off!"

"I love your sense of humour Brucie, but even if we did it wouldn't matter!"

"I really think it does, Dr Fenton!" Clark gripped the bottom of the nearby seat hard enuogh to dent.

"Nonsense, watch this!" Jack pushed the gas even further, as if that was even possible. The GAV reduced the concrete barrior to smithereens. "Go go Fenton Famliy Ghost Assault Vehicle: Aerial Mode!" The mad scientist's shouted in glee. He pulled another lever, activating a pair of wings from the sides.

Clark would deny screaming like a girl to the end of his days.

~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Zone...

Danny shifted nervously in his position, atop the swarm of Lydia's bats, and flanked by the freaking Joker of all people on one side and Freaking Freakshow on the other. What did he do to deserve this?

If It was just the Joker and Freakshow, he would just happily transform and kick the snot out of these clowns, but sadly he's not alone.

Also tied up with rope both human and ghostly were one Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, the former of which looked none too pleased about the current situation. While Damian spat vitriol upon the Joker and his "D-list half-rate assisstant," with man himself largely ignoring his words to fawn over the chaos of the Realms, Danny contemplated his options. Good news: Freakshow hadn't blown his secret yet, which was cold comfort for the moment, seeing as if he had, he'd just be able to punch these suckers and be done with it, but nooo. Maybe he could overshadow the other boys and hypnotise them into forgetting? Was that a thing that can be done? Would've been convenient, and because of that, Danny suspected it's wishful thinking. If it worked, great, if it didn't work, well Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have ties to the Justice League, who have ties to the government, who hire the GiW, so there's a non-zero percent chance such a stunt would end up with him on a dissection table.

Which means he's left playing the waiting game, spectating the Joker jumping up and down like a fangirl over all the green, and purple, and fighting, and death. First day in Gotham, guys.

"Psst." Jon whispered to him.

Danny said nothing, but leaned a little on Jon's side.

"Don't worry, we're gonna be ok, I'm sure the J-J-Justice League will be here. Just sit t-t-tight, ok?"

Wow, that was really touching that he was trying to comfort Danny, but the ghostly part of him didn't even need to feel Jon's shaking, or hear his stutter to know the kid was absolutely terrified. Now that he thought about it, it really should be him doing the comforting.

"Eh I wouldn't hedge my bets on it." Causing the other boy to squeak in fear. Curse you, snark instinct. Why can't you be heroic and reassuring instead.

"Neither would I, boy." Freakshow said, almost like he was rubbing in just how much danger his secret was in.

"You will unhand us, or you will know the meaning of pain in every sense of the world. This I tell you. I will feed you to my chickens. I will cut up your flesh and grind it into paste and then fertilise my vegetable garden with it. You will regret crossing me."

Jon let out the faintest whisper, something Danny would've never heard if he wasn't a ghost, and a master of quiet sounds. "Really selling the normal kid act here, Damian."

"On the contrary, lovely chlidren, I believe it is you who will soon become ghosts. NEYEHEHEYEHEH" Oh god here comes the gratuitous laughter. "I can't believe such a t~~tttttTANTALISING opportunity has been out there for me this whole time! AHAHAHAHAAH. And for you, my little children, to have come to this wonderful little science expo alongside your dear old daddies only to become part of the exhibit?" The Joker cracked into laughter, slapping his knees and collapsing in fitful giggles.

Each of the free boys gulped, each of them considering how to save the apparent civilian(s) among them without exposing themselves...

@impyssadobsessions

[agooddaytoscream]

LONG POST: About the situation in Inner Mongolia, Tuva, Kalmykia and Buryatia:

See this red piece of land here?

It’s almost as big as the actual country of Mongolia right?

…Wanna know why?

IT’S STOLEN LAND.

I am a Mongolian person from Outer Mongolia, it pains me to see my fellow siblings being subjected to a cultural genocide right now in China.

ALMOST NOBODY is talking about this.

Go ahead and search “Inner Mongolia” on any social media platform, see anything loosely related to it being stolen, or the eradication of the Mongolian language and culture in schools by the CCP?

Not much or close to none, right?

Unlike Tibet and Uyghurs, the other two biggest ethnic minorities in China, which have a number of campaigns/gofundmes/articles about the situation, there’s only a few articles about Inner Mongolia.

Do you want to know why you don’t hear about Inner Mongolia? Censorship and oppression.

Remember Tibet? And how China oppresses Tibetan Buddhism as a result, resulting in His Holiness, the Dalai Lama to leave his people’s homeland and reside in India? The biggest religion practiced in Mongolia and Inner Mongolia is Tibetan Buddhism.

I currently cannot find ANY campaigns aiming for a free Inner Mongolia, much less any recognizing what’s going on.

The Mongolic people have been the victims of genocide multiple times.

I’ve heard numerous negative opinions from foreigners online and in real life about the Mongol Empire and how “Mongolians deserve to be oppressed, China is doing them a favor, Traditional Mongolian script is used in Inner Mongolia and has a higher GDP, Outer Mongolia only uses Cyrillic.”

( Mongolia was colonized by the Soviet Union, and subjected to communism, do you know what it feels like for your own family members, brainwashed by communist propaganda during childhood, even now swearing up and down that Russians are superior and everything they do is correct. And when asked whether the innocent Mongolian Buddhist monks deserved to die at the hands of Russians, they said it was deserved?! This is how insane propaganda can get, nobody is immune)

Do you realize how fucked up that is?? To hear so many say your people deserve this??

“Mongolian is our mother language! We are Mongolian until death!” shouted ethnic-Mongolian students in China’s Inner Mongolia, in opposition to a government policy, ending bilingual education. Critics of this policy see it as the latest move in a decades’ long campaign aimed at erasing the Mongolian culture.

- PLEASE READ THESE ARTICLES, they’re not the most recent, but they tell the truth.

Why critics are asking if Inner Mongolia is the next Tibet or Xinjiang This is from 2023.

Inner Mongolia in 'War-Like State' This article is from 2011, however the events that were reported are still happening.

Mongolians in China Face 'Cultural Genocide' as Language, Culture Swept Aside: Group

This article is from 2021. It’s recent enough.

This goes without saying, but xenophobia is also extremely prevalent in China against ethnic minorities.

I highly recommend reading this specific tumblr post. I am also apart of many fandoms surrounding chinese media. OP makes many valid points and I cannot support them enough.

From personal experiences, I have also read about my people and Central Asians being portrayed as brutal, savage, uncivilized barbarians in many Chinese-American novels. It’s heartbreaking.

I despise how the world turns a blind eye to my brothers and sisters suffering, just because the severity of what my people endured is less than other groups, doesn’t mean that we should only focus on helping one minority, support all groups under oppression and colonialism no matter the severity of their situations.

I just found this Youtube video detailing the situation in Inner Mongolia, it’s beautifully done. PLEASE PLEASE WATCH THE FULL VIDEO, Beginning to End.

Why China Doesn’t Want You To Know About This Place.

Not to mention, the countries of Tuva, Buryatia, and Kalmykia are stolen by Russia just like Inner Mongolia. Throughout its history, Russia has seized foreign lands, colonizing indigenous peoples and destroying their national identity.

Note: I am not talking about the Sakha (Yakutia) because I am personally not apart of their community and will not talk over Yakut voices regarding Yakutia such as: https://www.instagram.com/verona.petrova?igsh=MXkyMHY3NDVoZjZxMg==

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2iRvYqvu1M/?igsh=MTFucHg5aDdjaDFocA==

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by VERONIKA PETROVA (@verona.petrova)

The Tuvans are a Turkic group with their own language however, they share many cultural aspects with Mongolians. Tuva is the most poverty stricken place in Russia with the lowest standards of living.

The Buryats are an ethnic minority of Siberia whose population of around half a million largely follow a blend of Buddhism and Shamanism.

They are closely related to the Mongols, and the two groups share similar histories, cultures, religious beliefs, and lifestyles.

The Buryat language is considered one of the world’s most endangered languages.

Soldiers from Tuva and Buryatia have the highest casualty rates per 100,000 for Russia in the Ukraine war.

“These are some of Russia’s poorest regions: places where many young men see the army as their only chance to earn a decent living. And it’s these places that are now paying a disproportionately high price as Russian war casualties continue to rise.”

Please see: Free Buryatia Foundation, Buryat Liberation Movement, Mass Deportation and Ethnic cleansing of Kalmykia, The Kalmyk Deportations of 1943. Ukraine war: Tuva and Buryatia pay the highest price, but latest BBC Russian casualty figures show poverty not ethnicity the key factor.

Free Palestine, Congo, Sudan, Kurdistan, Armenia, Haiti, Yemen, Tigray, Syria, Afghanistan, Myanmar, Arakan, Tamil, Eelam, Western Sahara, West Papua, Kashmir, Canary Islands, & everyone undergoing genocide / colonialism.

Spread awareness about the femicides in Kazakhstan:

The Rise of Non-Consensual Bride Kidnapping in Kazakhstan: Developing a Culturally-Informed and Gender-Sensitive Response

Kazakh Activists Urge Authorities To Toughen Punishment For Domestic Violence

Can An Ex-Minister's Arrest In His Wife's Brutal Killing Finally Bring Protections To Kazakh Women?

EurasiaChat: Gender-based violence rears its ugly head again

YOU DON'T NEED TO GO OUT AND PROTEST, SIMPLY REBLOGING, LIKING, SPREADING AWARENESS, AND REPLYING HELPS AS WELL!!!

[plushyvi]

“it’s a common notion!”

game: fallout 4

characters: paladin danse, arthur maxson

summary: he gets a little jealous seeing someone else be interested in you the same way he is. he starts to wonder if it’s a common occurrence for you.

warnings: g/n! reader, they/them pronouns used, reader isn’t sole but you can read it as if they were, jealousy,

↣ paladin danse

“knight.”

you glance up from your seated position to see your sponsor, power armour and all, watching over you. “paladin danse. how was your search in lexington? find anything useful?”

“yes. recovered some brotherhood weapons and holotags for captain kells,” he explains to you as he watches you take your hands off the scribe in front of you, “what have you been doing since i left the prydwen?”

you think it was pretty obvious with how proctor cade has you running a mock infirmary in the armoury bay. you were given a white coat to show people you were acting as a second doctor to cade. the bay was filled with tens of soldiers who came back for a fight with the institute at a hold-out spot in the commonwealth, all injured and most near to death. cade’s office was packed and you offered your help since you worked closely with him a few times.

“are you blind, paladin?” you mumble out in a joking matter. danse shows a slightly embarrassed look. but you smile at him. “the most recent outpost the brotherhood established was overrun by synths. proctor cade cannot tend to all of these soldiers.”

“right…” he grumbles off as you turn back to scribe in front of you.

you hold his hand, wiping the blood off his palm and trying to clean his cut. he winces, but the obvious blush that patterns his pale cheeks is obvious. he cannot stop looking at you.

“i… i have some injuries i’d like you to look at,” danse suddenly speaks up. you look up at him from your seated position. “i know cade is busy.”

“oh, well, i’m also a bit preoccupied too, paladin,” you say and finish wrapping the scribe’s hand, “is it urgent? how badly does it hurt?”

“a ten,” he says without hesitation. you stare at him with a raised brow. “i, uh… just come see me when you have the time.”

you go to respond when proctor cade comes into the armoury in a hurry. his sleeves are tugged up to his elbows and he has dried blood on his fingertips. his eyes meet yours and he hurries over.

“thank you, knight y/n, i appreciate all your help,” he sincerely says. you finish off the bandages before sending the scribe off. he does so reluctantly and shakes your hand for a bit too long for danse’s liking. “i can handle the rest of the soldiers here. you need to get some rest yourself; elder maxson said that you had a tiring mission this morning.”

“are you sure, proctor?” you ask as you stand up. there were still a lot of patients here, albeit you had dealt with the more serious cases. many of the ones left were just injuries. “i can stay for another hour.”

danse stands behind you. cade, looking between the both of you, notices the paladin’s slightly furrowed brows. he only nods.

“yes, knight, do not worry. i’ve been the doctor on this ship for as long as i can remember, i know a thing or two,” he says to you. you nod your head and wipe off the blood on your own hands. “thank you for your help. i’m sure maxson is also grateful for your actions. now, go rest.”

you put the coat down on the box you were sitting on and take out the supplies from your pockets. the medkit was given to cade before you turned to danse.

“okay, leave your power armour here and i’ll meet you at your room.” you tell him. danse agrees and moves carefully around the patients to take off his armour.

as he removes it, the same scribe from before approaches him.

“paladin danse?” he mutters out quietly.

“yes, soldier?” danse replies, head held up tall.

“i wanted to say… thank you for teaching y/n the way of the brotherhood,” the scribe says to danse. his cheeks are tinted red and he plays with his fingers nervously. “they’re an incredible soldier, and they’re so nice… i admire them quite a lot—”

“that is ‘knight y/n’, scribe,” danse interrupts with a harsh tone. the scribe jumps a little at his words, and he slowly nods. “they are just doing their job, as they are ordered to.”

the scribe looks to the ground for a moment, a bit upset. danse feels like he should be apologetic, but he isn’t. he only keeps his stoic look on his face.

“right… i apologise, paladin danse, i did not mean to overstep my boundaries,” the scribe salutes to danse before looking away, “thank you, and knight y/n.”

danse lets the scribe go in silence.

“be easy on the kid, danse,” cade speaks up as he grabs some stimpacks from the box against the wall. danse turns his head to look at him. “it’s just a lil’ crush. knight y/n saved a lot of these soldiers, who wouldn’t be compelled to think about them?”

danse is quiet as he ponders the question. proctor cade goes to do his work as danse moves to his room.

he opens the door quietly to see you sleeping on his bed. your outer layer was taken off, jacket strewn on his desk and you laid on his bed, silently breathing. danse closes the door behind him and unzips the back of his uniform as quietly as he can without disturbing you.

truth be told, he wasn’t injured at all. his retrieval mission went as smooth as humanly possible, so he didn’t need to have anything looked over. he just wanted your attention on him.

he changes into a comfortable shirt and sweatpants before locking the door. it would be heinous is anyone caught you two together in his quarters. you yourself were in a tank top and your pants from your gear, shoes set by the bed. you looked peaceful.

danse sits on the bed as he stares at you.

cade had him thinking; did lots of people have a thing for you? if yes, then how many?

he feels as if it’s childish to wonder such a thing, but he couldn’t help himself. you were an intoxicating thought that clouded his mind.

he thinks that maybe you heard his thoughts, because you suddenly stir and turn around, now facing him. your eyes flutter open and danse feels his face heat up at how you look at him.

“ah, sorry,” you say and start sitting up and wiping your eyes, “i’m exhausted—”

danse leans forward and wraps an arm around your shoulders. he tugs you close before he lays down on the bed. his thin blanket is pulled on top of the both of you. your face is smushed against his chest and your hands press against his upper stomach, trapped.

“get some rest,” he tells you.

“danse…?” you murmur against his skin. he shivers. “what’s going on with you today? i don’t see any injuries.”

he doesn’t say anything in response at first, utterly embarrassed by how he’s acting. he would never tell off a scribe for something like that. perhaps he should apologise when he finds the time.

but for now, danse kisses the crown of tour forehead.

“nothing, soldier,” he sighs out quietly as he closes his eyes. he can feel your hands slowly circle around his waist before you tug him closer, “i was just concerned, is all.”

“i’m okay, danse,” you respond, “you didn’t have to lie.”

“i’m sorry…”

“it’s fine. let’s just sleep now.”

he keeps his eyes open for a bit longer, which prompts you to sigh and lift yourself up. he watches as you plant a kiss to his lips, gentle enough to try and lure him to sleep. he relaxed into you in seconds.

“just talk to me later.” you tell him with a small smile.

he manages to doze off not long after you. the whole entire time, he thinks about how the scribe is right — you are an amazing soldier, and you have the biggest heart. that’s why he fell in love with you.

could he really blame anyone else for doing the same?

↣ arthur maxson

he’s on the ground for a change as he decided he should accompany you on your next task: training the new initiates.

“keep your hands steady,” you say as you watch them attempt to shoot the glass bottles on the boxes. most shots miss. “and don’t hold your breath for so long. you want to pass out in front of the enemy?”

“no, knight-captain!” a call is heard from the firing team.

“i want to see a smashed bottle from each of you,” you say with crossed arms. you watch from the sidelines and see how confident they are with a weapon — which isn’t that much. “we aren’t moving on until we get a clean shot from each of you.”

elder maxson had taken it upon himself to come and watch how you trained them, and he’s impressed. you’re not bad at it, just the right mixture of tough and encouraging. however, he thinks maybe he should’ve asked someone else to do this.

“well done, initiate frieda,” you say as you walk behind her. she lowers her gun and looks back to you, big doe eyes. she was shorter than you and her eyes seemed like the glossiest thing in the world. “you’ll be a sharpshooter in no time. i’m impressed.”

maxson clenches his hands around his bicep. he's let you train initiates before. did you always act so friendly with them? no, you weren't even acting friendly, you were being... genuinely nice. it made maxson wonder how you survived out there.

as you continue to help the other initiates, the girl turns to her friend beside her and begins to squeal quietly.

“did you hear that? knight y/n likes me!” she giggles out, unaware of the looming presence behind her. her friend goes wide eyed before going back to shooting. “i hope i’m on their team when we’re ready for the field, they’re so nice and so pretty—”

“shoot initiate dina’s bottle, soldier.”

frieda slowly looks back behind her to see elder maxson’s glaring eyes. his presence shook her and made the poor girl panic. her laser pistol shoot in her hands before she gulped.

“y—yes, elder maxson, sir!” she replies loudly.

that grabs your attention. you stop mid-sentence as you were talking to another initiate. looking to see the commotion, you’re surprised when you get the scene of maxson standing a foot away from the initiate you had complimented, looking about as mad as ever. you let out a small sigh.

initiate frieda shakily aims at her friend’s bottle. it isn’t a surprise when she misses by a long shot. that makes her friend and all the other initiates, who witnessed you compliment the girl, cringe in fear. the girl swallows the lump of nervousness and carefully lowers her gun.

“if you cannot shoot the target on demand, or under any pressure at all, you are not a suitable candidate for not only the brotherhood, but for knight y/n’a team,” elder maxson’s booming voice reaches across the whole training ground. the initiate looks as if she’s about to cry. but the leader doesn’t let up. “their team is only filled with the ones i deem the best. if you wish to be chosen for such a task, you must work very hard.”

“yes, elder maxson.” initiate frieda mumbles. she wanted to shrivel up.

“and if i may give you a word for advice,” his voice goes quieter, but his glare is harsher. she feels like she’s seen a ghost. “keep you focus on the brotherhood’s goal of freeing the commonwealth. i assure you, knight y/n does not have the time or the interest in someone like you, the way you do for them.”

she’s silent for a moment before she nods her head. elder maxson lifts himself up high again before looking around to the older soldiers.

"take this as a warning to all of you," he shouts as he begins to march. you have to hold back from rolling your eyes. "the brotherhood is now your whole life. you have no time to think of anything other than the good of the commonwealth. if you have joined for any alterior motives," he takes the time to look at you up and down. you don't know whether to be offended or not. "it's best if you leave now while you still can."

the initiates are quiet before they call out a 'yes, sir!' to him. going back to their training, most of them are scared out of their minds. but frieda especially; all she even did was call you pretty.

"elder, may i speak with you for a moment?" you question with a clenched jaw. he stares at you and, without even confirmation, you grab the fur of his jacket and begin dragging him around the corner of a building. you turn back to the eavesdropping initiates. "continue your shooting. when i come back, i do not want to see a single bottle left standing. knight rhys, make sure no one is cheating!"

the knight standing to the side on watch duty at the airport perks up at his name. with a silent groan, he nods his head. he turns to face the initiates and calls out to them to begin. laser shooting fills your ears before you hide behind the corner with maxson.

"arthur!" you grumble out with furrowed brows. he raises a brow at you. "what are you doing? i told you that you could come and watch if it meant you were quiet and didn't scare off my initiates more than you needed to!"

he crosses his arms over his chest as if to show you that he was pissed off as well. you rest your hand on your hip.

"you need to get your initiates in check. you cannot have them thinking this way about you," he tells you with a shake of his head, "not only will they be fawning over you all the time instead of doing brotherhood work, they will be distracted on the battlefield. careless lives will be lost, knight."

"what are you even—arthur," you sigh as you rub your temple. it's not like he was wrong, you needed to whip them into shape, but it was so early. "this is my second lesson with these initiates. give me a week and i'll have soldiers. just... you need to calm down a bit. what happened?"

he holds back from telling you. maxson was only slightly above admitting that he was wrong, but he'd be damned if he had to admit this to you. the crease between his brows becomes more defined.

"initiate frieda will be under knight wagner's supervision. i don't believe she would be an asset to you."

"shouldn't i have a say in that, elder?" you inquire as you raised a brow, "she is becoming a good shooter, and she gets along well with other brotherhood soldiers. not only that, but she got the highest agility score on the first day. i'd say she is an acceptable candidate for my team."

maxson rolls his eyes at you. your eye twitches at his behaviour.

"arthur, seriously," you exhale slowly and take his gloved hand in yours. he finally drops his arms from his chest and slowly relaxes his shoulders. "what's wrong? you've never been so hostile towards an initiate before."

it takes him a moment to gather up the courage to tell you anything, but soon enough he does.

"it would seem that these new initiates have taken a liking to you," he admits, "and i... i don't intend on letting that go any further."

your heart melts at his words before you let the smile you were holding back now take over your face. it’s a little funny, which makes you cover your face with your free hand. maxson’s brow twitches at your reaction.

“alright, that’s enough, knight,” he scoffs at you. he yanks his hand out of yours and massages the back of his neck. “don’t coddle them, is my point. you have to be their commander, not their crush-magnet.”

“‘crush-magnet’? what are you, 12?” you joke with a hearty laugh. that makes his face turn pink with embarrassment. “it’s okay, arthur. i’ll make sure to keep them in line.”

he looks at your face a little longer before he nods his head. you smile again as he rests a hand on your shoulder. he’s always been sheepish when it comes to any form of affection towards you, even if it was just some kind words. you let him come closer to you and soon press a kiss to your cheek. an arm comes around to hold your waist and he sinks against you.

“captain y/n, they’ve successfully—” knight rhys comes around the corner to interrupt, only he widens his eyes at the scene. he stops on his tracks and clears his throat. maxson is quick to remove himself from you and you rake a step away from him. “ah, i apologise, i—i didn’t, uh… excuse me, but the initiates have cleared all the bottles.”

“thank you, rhys,” you say as you nod your head, “i’ll take it from here.”

he nods his head and walks away while rubbing his ear. you glance to maxson before you stretch your arms.

“okay, i have to get back to work,” you say as you straighten your jacket. maxson runs fingers through his hair and fixes his own overcoat too. “now if you’re going to stay, you need to keep quiet, arthur. they need to be scared of me too. the way you look at people is already enough to make them shit their pants.”

“alright, knight, i will still supervise.” he replies.

you flash him one last sweet smile before he hears you call out an order for combat training as you turn the corner. he stands there for a few seconds longer.

he’d have to get over the fact that you were as amazing to him as you were to others.

[lizthewriter]

pretty isn't pretty / peter parker

PAIRING  mcu!college!peter parker x insecure!fem!reader

SUMMARY  you feel insecure about your apperance, but peter let's you know he thinks the world of you. (blurb).

TAGS  mcu!college!peter parker x insecure!fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, peter parker is a good bf

QUOTE  "i could change up my body and change up my face, / i could try every lipstick in every shade, / but i'd always feel the same, / 'cause pretty isn't pretty enough anyway," - pretty isn't pretty by olivia rodrigo

WORD COUNT 600

WRITTEN  12.30.2023

you stared into the bathroom mirror in peter's microscopically sized apartment. every little blemish was picked apart, every little imperfection taken notice of. you raise a hand to your cheek, a dull expression haunting your eyes. is this what people saw everyday? is this the person they waved hi to in the halls, the person they interacted with in lab? is this the sight people were subjected to?

"- and i was thinking maybe we could grab a bite to eat while we're out anyways, my tr- whoa, what's wrong?"

your beautiful, kind, lovely boyfriend leaned into the bathroom, watching you with concern. peter was perfect in every way imaginable. he had a handsome, adorable face, clear skin, amazing build, and a good height. he was intelligent, witty, sweet. how could he ever want to be with someone like you?

"nothing," you responded weakly, tfying to muster a convincing smile. "thai again? you'll have to give me some time to get ready -"

"hey, no! we don't do that," peter said, giving you a look that was half-reprimanding and half-concerned. honestly, did you even deserve him? "we don't close up on each other, right? that was a deal we made. talk to me, babe, please." he had grabbed your hands in his, looking at you with those warm puppy eyes you couldn't deny.

no longer could you meet his eyes. you drew your hands away, rubbing at the back of your neck. your eyes suddenly found their attention latched onto the new makeup you had bought recently, various differenr shades of lipsticks and such glaring back at you. "i- am i pretty?"

peter seemed flabbergasted by the question. "uh, no. i think you're very pretty, actually. like, the prettiest girl i've ever seen in my whole life and-"

you stopped him before he could continue with a gentle hand pressed to his chest. "no, peter, not do you think i'm pretty. am i pretty?"

the sadness in your eyes gave him more cause for concern. with your head directed towards the floor, he had to take a knee to look up at you, to force you to look at him. "hey. hey. where is this coming from, huh? is someone saying stuff to you? someone online, or?"

"i don't know," you whispered. it felt uncomfortable in your own skin. you never felt good enough. you never felt smart enough, or strong enough, or pretty enough. especially pretty enough. "i guess . . . everywhere. online and in movies and on social media. in real life even. there are so many other girls out there - prettier, skinnier, better. i'll never measure up to them."

"hey," peter whispered softly, a smile dainting his face as he gingerly held your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "you can't compare yourself to other people, okay? beauty is subjective. in other cultures, things that might be considered beautiful could be considered unattractive to us. and maybe that's not what you want to hear. if you want to hear me tell you that i think you're beautiful, then i will, because you are beautiful, no matter what everyone else says. like in a oh-my-god-is-that-her-jaw-dropping-i-want-to-get-down-on-one-knee-and-propose way. seriously, i cannot believe my luck, like how could i have gotten - mmph!"

he let out a muffled groan of shock into your mouth as you pressed a firm kiss to his lips. when you pulled away, you rolled your eyes, grinning from ear to ear. "peter benjamin parker, you're incredibly kind, you know that?"

"correction, i'm incredibly right."

[alicerosejensen]

I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Got Ink? 💉 | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of TGM

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x tattooed model!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of pain as a result of tattoos. Slight suggestive content if you blink | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Art comes in many different forms. And when you technically think about it, your body is a canvas that can be become a mural if you find yourself drawn to the beauty that tattoos bring. For WSO Bob Floyd, he appreciated art in every form and loved how patterns and colors could create something beautiful. When his sister invites him to a party for her job shortly after returning from a special mission with the Navy, Bob meets a woman who was the perfect canvas he’d ever seen.

Note: I cannot tell you how much I loved doing this request. As soon as I got it I was like, ‘I’m gonna love this,’ especially as someone who has tattoos and wants to have a lot (I have at least twenty planned) this was feeding my love for tattoos. To the anon who sent this request I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you’re okay with me choosing Bob since you said you wouldn’t mind if it was him or Jake—since I just did a Jake imagine I wanted to give Bob some love 🥹 Also I made it where reader was born in 1989 so if we were to go by Bob being born in 1993 like Lewis then she’d be about four years older since the events of TGM take place in 2019.

——————————

They often say that when you get your first tattoo it will either be the one and only time you subject yourself to the temporary pain of permanent ink…or it becomes one of many.

“It’s an addiction”, people defend, though they should probably look up the term addiction before using it in such context.

For many it’s the appreciation of art. Whether expressing it by becoming a tattoo artist or wanting to capture the beauty by etching it onto their skin like they are its own personal canvas.

Tattoos come in many different forms. There’s the traditional/old school style that is very recognizable with its bold black lines outlining bright colors. People in their old age, having grown up in the 60s and 70s, are the ones usually seen with these types of tattoos. Neo-traditional is not that far off from traditional, just the lines are not as bold. Delicateness is seen with fine line tattoos. In recent years it’s become popular amongst the younger generation—not just because they are pretty to look at but if one has a job that’s strict on policy then they can hide them better.

The oldest style would be the tribal tattoos. Beautiful elaborate patterns in various sizes, they represent the culture one comes from. Like fine line, watercolor tattoos have become a popular style—taking away the traditional black ink used as an outline so the colors have the spotlight. No color in a piece is blackwork and then there’s realism where it’s pretty much a picture that was printed onto the skin. Go on Pinterest and you’ll find multiple images of patchwork style where a collection of pieces put together can be any style already mentioned.

Japanese style, patch, geometric, black & gray, anime, portrait, the list goes on and on. So many ways to put a design on one’s body where it will remain until they go to the next life. Some people stick to pieces that represent sentimental value, like family or childhood nostalgia, others will simply see something they like and go, “I think it looks cool.”

When looking at Y/n’s tattoos, both aspects were seen in the array of artwork coating her body. After getting all the pieces that represented a person, place, or thing that impacted her life, Y/n started to get whatever the hell she wanted—not having an explanation for anything other than, “it looked badass so I got it. No value behind it, I just wanted it.”

Like many newly turned teenagers itching to get their first tattoo, Y/n was bold and got an intricate design on one of the most painful spots. Her reasoning was if she did it, then any other place in the future wouldn’t be as bad. All through college whenever asked what she wanted for her birthday or holidays the answer was always money to get a tattoo. An artist herself, she majored in drawing while attending Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York, also taking on an apprenticeship for a local tattoo artist. There she would get to work on her skills and tattoo people, progressing to doing tattoos on her legs and non-dominant arm. Anytime she traveled to a different state or country during the semester she studied abroad, Y/n got a new tattoo, wanting to have an array of styles from different artists on her body.

By the time she was 26, she had accumulated over 50 tattoos and still had room for more. From her neck down, artwork ranging from fine line to bold and traditional decorated her skin. Both her arms were half sleeves, ending just above her elbows with patchwork along her forearms and hands. The only place free of ink on Y/n was her face, though she did have her inner lip tattooed. If you asked her, it’d be the only place she regretted getting ink because it faded so quickly. But then again, she could get it redone if she really wanted to.

There were looks from people anytime she went out. Y/n loved dressing up in little black dresses and two piece sets to unapologetically show off her tattoos. Older, conservative couples or people who thought tattoos looked trashy on women would look down upon her. Getting hit on was normal, though she never gave the time of day and sending one look that read, ‘get lost’ had men scurry. Sometimes she'd be approached by teenagers asking about certain pieces, saying they wanted to get tattoos once they were of age and were looking for advice. Biker bars were a place she felt comfortable in, Y/n even taking a part-time job as a bartender so make some extra cash. People from all ages—well at least 21–were covered in tattoos like her.

In 2014, shortly after her 25th birthday, Y/n noticed an inbox notification in her instagram. She was used to getting messages on occasion. Being featured on the bar’s and tattoo parlors business instagram pages and accumulating her own following of potential clients had Y/n reach up to 80 thousand followers. The tattoo artist she worked for was very popular, having done work for celebrities and being featured in Inked Magazine.

Speaking of Inked Magazine…..

When Y/n clicked on the icon to open the message, the first thing she spotted was the blue checkmark. Then beside it was in bold lettering inkedmag. Coffee nearly spilled onto the floor when her grip faltered, gasping lightly at the name. She didn’t even realize the page was following her, confirming this by searching herself under their following and found her username staring back at her.

Heart pumping, Y/n opened the message. “Hi, Y/n, my name is Manda Williams and I’m a representative at Inked Magazine. We’re a fan of your profile and would love to work with you on our upcoming campaign. Would you be interested? Please email me at mandawilliaminked@gmail.com, I look forward to talking with you soon.”

Never did she think she’d become a model, let alone a tattoo model. She was taller than the average woman, standing at about 5’10 and strikingly beautiful. On countless occasions family members would say, “if you didn't have all that on you maybe you’d been discovered. You’ve got the height, the style, and high fashion look. Plus you’ll never get a well paying job with all those tattoos.” All they were met with was a roll of the eyes from the woman, annoyed with the constant nagging.

“I’m an artist,” she would defend. “I got accepted into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country and I work for a very renowned tattoo artist who has had Snoop Dogg, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga as clients. Not to mention I work at a biker bar where the people there love me. Want me to go further?” the look on their face would read they didn’t but Y/n would put the nail in the coffin with, “Let me point out the fact I get paid more with both those jobs combined than you working a nine to five in your little office job. Also you should educate yourself. Tattoo models do exist.”

If only those family members could see her now. Posing on a motorcycle in nothing but a bra and booty shorts as the camera flashed in front of her.

“You’re a natural, Y/n,” the photographer complimented, making her flustered.

She adjusted her position, running a hand through her hair, “If you think so I trust your judgment.” Being in a studio felt very different than when she would set up her phone on a tripod in her apartment. It took many tries for her to capture the perfect angle, often deleting fifteen out of sixteen photos. Here with this guy calling out movements, “a little to the left,” “bring your hand up—just under your chin, perfect,” “Now act like you’re suntanning on the beach—tilt your head back as though the sun is in your face,” Y/n felt what it was like to be a model.

Not many tattooed individuals got the chance to sign with top agencies like Ford and IMG. Very few were recruited so it came as a big surprise when an agent from IMG Models contacted her following the release of Inked Magazine’s issue. When she took the job she thought it would be a small section in the magazine itself. Instead, she was on the cover.

“You don’t have an agent?” Bonnie’s tone was confused, staring back at Y/n from behind her desk as they sat in her office at the IMG headquarters. Bonnie had seen her cover on Inked, immediately going to Y/n’s instagram where she contacted her though the email listed on the tattoo parlors page. From there she asked the artist to bring a portfolio, which she was shocked to find out wasn’t much. “That was your first model job?”

Y/n shrugged, making a face like it was obvious, “Unless you count the dozens of comments I get on instagram beggin for my next post, yeah it was. I’m a bartender and tattoo artist, modeling wasn’t something I thought was in the cards.” She refrained from adding, “also didn’t think IMG scouted people like me.”

It was safe to say Y/n was unlike the typical runway model. Every now and then a high fashion show would hire a man with tattoos to walk for them. Very rare would you see a woman on the runway. For Y/n, that seemed to be the case in the beginning of her career. She did walk in the Marco Marco show that year which was the highlight of her life. Inked Magazine got so much response on her first feature that they made her their staple girl. Y/n worked with them the most on campaigns and even got to do a cover shoot with celebrities like Travis Barker and Kehlani. Those features got her a lot of recognition to the point she hit one million followers on instagram.

It wasn’t until Y/n went viral on the internet for her Sports Illustrated cover and becoming the first inked model to be featured in a Victoria Secret campaign that the top designers were booking her. Before long she was auditioning for brands during fashion week, securing Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and Oscar de la Renta. Due to her tattoos being the star of the show, there were hardly any clothes on her save for tiny tops and skirts or dresses with intricate cutouts. She didn’t mind of course. After all, her tattoos were a part of her and the reason she was getting the opportunities of a lifetime.

Milan, Paris, London, New York. Fashion week was gonna have to get used to a new face in town.

Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Inked. Pick up an issue and you’d find Y/n on at least one page, if not the cover.

Every now and then she’d get asked to appear in music videos for bands. The Weekend once asked her to be the cover art for one of his singles, bringing her more attention as "The Inked Beauty from Blinding Lights cover art.”

She appeared on the Inked Magazine YouTube channel several times. The most popular video being when she did a Q&A released shortly after walking in the last ever Victoria Secret Fashion Show in 2018, becoming the first inked model to walk the VS runway. Though it had low ratings, Y/n’s bit was plastered on every social media site, many tweeting: “the best thing VS could’ve done for their final show was put Y/n L/n in it. She carried the damn thing.”

“Hello, I’m Y/n L/n,” she smiled shyly at the camera, her agent Bonnie and publicist giving a thumbs up. “I’m a tattoo and high fashion model from New York City. You may recognize me from the cover of Inked Magazine, or discovered me through some of my other projects over the last couple years—hell maybe I even tattooed you at one point,” chuckling as she feels her nerves slowly evaporate. “Today I’m here with Inked Magazine, the owners of my heart and career, and I'm gonna answer some questions sent in by you guys about my tattoos and career.”

The producer gives a nod, “Ready, Y/n.”

“Let me hear them, sonny boy.”

“What was your first tattoo and at what age did you get it?”

Thankfully she was wearing a tube top beneath her jacket, removing the clothing to reveal the many inked designs on her chest, and stomach. Pointing to the one just below her ribs, Y/n says, “So this was my first one—as you can tell by how faded it is compared to the others. I got it when I was eighteenth birthday, literally wasted no time and my family is actually who inspired it.”

“As of right now, how many tattoos do you have?” The question has Y/n think for a moment, tilting her head back slightly.

“I counted just the other week and I think it was close to…. seventy,” nodding she adds, “yeah I think that’s right. I know I had fifty when Inked contacted me four years ago for my first feature. So I’ve added twenty to the collection since.” She made a mental note to count again when she got home that night.

“Do you have any tattoo regrets?”

A nervous chuckle escaped, “Fuck, uh….yes,” she looks down shamefully, but gives a shrug like, ‘I can explain.’ Lifting her head back up, Y/n takes her two index fingers and gently pulls down her bottom lip to reveal the messy smudged ink that once read, ‘baby girl’. The camera zoomed in and once they got a good shot of it Y/n let her lip fall back into place, “I don’t know if you were able to read that but when it was freshly done eight years ago it said,” she pulled a face showing she was too embarrassed to say it. “It said ‘baby girl.’ I got it when I was twenty on a dare and frankly I thought it would be hot, but it faded so quick—which,” she raised a finger, “that’s the one place I would say don’t get a tattoo. Even though it’s technically temporary…you’ll end up with a blob of ink like mine and it’s not cute.”

“Where were the most painful spots you got tattooed?” Immediately she lifted her arms to show she had ink on her armpits.

“These basterds right here,” the producer and crew laughed, nodding along with her. “You feel me? Yeah, I thought the ones on my stomach and ribs were bad. Those were a tickle compared to my armpits—-oh and my elbows. I think I actually broke a sweat when I got those done. It’s why I have yet to conquer my knees,” patting the covered area, Y/n shakes her head, “I don’t know If i can do it. But funny enough, these tiny little hearts on my palms,” Y/n flashed her palms up, the camera focusing on the two red lined hearts in the middle of each hand. “These hurt so bad. Thankfully I’m not putting anything else here because I strictly wanted the hearts, so I’m sparing myself.”

“What do they mean?” The producer asked, taking a pause from reading out the next question. The little smile Y/n gave was shy.

“I was told a lot growing up that I keep my heart in the palm of my hand,” while she explained Y/n kept glancing at the hearts, “kinda like the saying, ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ but with me it’s literally in the palm of my hand. So I got these little hearts on my palms—that way when I hold someone’s hand, they can feel the love and care I have for them,” sending a wink to the camera she finishes with, “because my heart is in my palm.”

“Have you ever dated anyone with more tattoos than you?”

“Noooo,” she snorts. “Not because I’m not open to it—I’m very attracted to people with tattoos. And I have dated people with a lot…it just seems that anytime I do get into a serious relationship, I’m the one who has more than the other. And if you’re thinking about who I think you are—,” Y/n points directly to the camera, like a mother scolding her child, “the answer is no, he did not have more than me. Louis has thirty-three, I believe, since the last time he and I talked—which was,” she pauses to think, “I think around New Year’s.”

“Do you find yourself enjoying campaign shoots or runway shows more?”

“That’s hard,” Y/n pouts, causing her agent to chuckle since she knew the answer first hand. “Both are fun in their own way. I love being able to come into a studio or go out on sight and do a photo shoot—except in the fucking winter because I’m usually half naked freezing my ass off.” She pauses to laugh with the crew before continuing. “And then there's this feeling of ‘wow, that just happened,’ when I step off the runway. Getting to work with designers I’ve idolized since childhood and being the face of Mugler is a dream come true. If I had to choose…..it would be campaigns and photo shoots. There I can express myself more freely.”

“Do you see yourself still modeling in ten to twenty years time?”

There was a question she had to think about, taking a moment before answering. “I sure hope so. I love my job and definitely see myself continuing in the future. As long as my agent Bonnie and Inked don't get tired of me,” she laughs, winking at the woman who blows her a kiss. “But honestly I have experience as a tattoo artist so I could see myself opening my own parlor. I’d love to start my own blog or get other tattoo models into the industry. There’s a lot to think about what the future holds, but for right now I’m gonna have fun in the present.”

While home in New York when not booked, Y/n continued to work part-time at the tattoo parlor. She left the bar shortly after signing with IMG, but still visited whenever she could. There was even a picture of one of her Inked shoots framed above the bar.

With her new found fame the parlor had little to no openings each month. Regulars and new clients had to call in to reserve an appointment the second the schedule was dropped, which was sometimes weeks in advance. Several of the friends Y/n made in the modeling industry would get tattoos from her, though they always tended to go for the fine line style. More celebrities booked with her boss, adding Cardi B, Rihanna, and Louis Tomlinson to the list. The latter whom, as mentioned, Y/n actually got romantically linked to in mid 2017. It only lasted a few months, but the photo of the two on the Inked instagram was the most liked on their page.

Louis wasn’t the only high profiled person Y/n was involved with. Unfortunately the downside to fame meant her personal life was to be blasted on every inch of the internet. From starting her modeling career in 2014 to spring of 2019, she’d been spotted with actors Michael B. Jordan, Tom Felton, and fellow model Vladimir Ivanov. Like Louis, they only lasted a couple weeks to months—save for Vladimir which lasted almost over a year—and ended on good terms where they remained friends.

Frankly when it came to settling down Y/n hoped to find someone who was sweet and down to earth. Who was a hard worker—passionate about what they did for a living and wanting to share that with her. Someone who could make her laugh and feel like she was the only girl in the world. It was hard finding someone like when the spotlight follows you around. Y/n had been in the public eye going on six years and due to her connections with big named people she never seemed to catch a break when it came to romance.

All those qualities she desired in a life partner came to her in the form of the adorable weapons system officer she met at a party in November of 2019. The poor guy felt so out of place. From behind the bar Y/n could see him at the corner glancing around like he was searching for someone. Only getting a glimpse at the side of his face, she didn’t recognize him. The party had many from the fashion industry to celebrate Anna Wintour’s 70th birthday. What was ironic was Y/n took up the task of working the bar, kicking into her skills from when she was a bartender at a popular biker club in Manhattan. With her view she was able to see the entire floor as people entered.

The man she’d been eyeing must’ve come in when she was busy making the Hadid sisters their drinks. He wore a white dress shirt with some slacks and a matching blazer. His glasses reminded her of the popular style from the 80s. Come to think of it, they were probably the aviator style. He was tall, roughly six foot so she’d be eye level with him considering she was wearing two inch kitten heels.

Seeing his flustered demeanor and the fact he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there—not to mention he was handsome from what she could see, Y/n waltzed over, “May I get you anything?”

When he spun around she was met with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her. They blinked rapidly, like they were trying to decipher if she was in fact real. Then they snapped straight to her neck, following the ink of the exposed skin on display from her red latex mini dress—which his face mirrored the color of since he was making it quite known he was checking her out. He had a baby face to him, which was kinda adorable, and Y/n assumed he was maybe a year or two younger than her.

Offering a smile Y/n said, “So what will it be?”

“Huh?” He said confused before remembering what she initially asked before he got distracted. “Oh uh, just water please.” Still smiling, Y/n took a clean empty glass and filled it with ice before adding the water. Finishing it with a straw she placed it on a napkin in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he took the glass, glancing around briefly before letting his shoulders drop.

“You seem a bit out of place,” Y/n wiped down the countertop, catching his attention again. The man nervously laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A bit,” she teased, nodding her head to the crowd in front of them. “All these people walk around like they own the place. You’re the first person I’ve seen tonight who doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. Are you here with someone?” Part of her was hoping he’d say a friend invited him, feeling a sudden rush of butterflies at the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“My sister dragged me along,” he confirms, the model mentally sighing in relief. But she couldn’t get her hopes too high. For all she knew he may have a partner back home. “I was visiting her this past week and she begged me to come. I told her it was a bad idea since I’m not….part of this crowd.”

“Ah,” she hums, biting back a grin at the way he described the industry. “Not a model or influencer, I take it?”

“Nooooo,” his laugh filled her stomach with butterflies. “Not at all. I don’t know how to work social media. Are you?”

Y/n refilled a guest's drink and handed over a beer to another, “I dabble here and there,” it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t familiar with her work. Usually at events like the one they were at she had people coming up to her already knowing who she was. “You’re probably like, ‘thought she was just a bartender,’” she giggled at the flustered look taking over him. “I was one before being discovered. I’m doing this for fun honestly—-and because Anna likes what I make her.”

His eyes went to her neck and collarbones, lingering on the ink. She assumed he’d never seen a model with so many tattoos before. “You can look,” she smirked, when he glanced away from being caught staring. “You’re only seeing a small portion of the canvas,” his eyes went wide at her words, making her giggle, “these babies are the reason I’m in this business.”

“You're a tattoo model?”

Y/n raises a brow at the surprise in his tone, “Didn’t know they existed, handsome?”

“No-no,” he quickly apologizes, “sorry I meant no offense. I knew there were models with a lot of tattoos. My sister told me that the industry was starting to expand by signing more people with them.” His words have Y/n intrigued. Obviously his sister was someone in the business, she wondered if she knew her.

“Is your sister one?”

“No, she’s an agent,” Y/n stops what she’s doing, towel long forgotten.

“For a modeling agency?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” Just as the question left her lips, Bonnie’s voice interrupted the two, “Bob, there you are! Oh good—,” she grins wide when she sees who he’s talking to, “You guys met!”

Snapping their heads toward each other, the two have the same expressions of, “wait what?”

Bonnie claps her hands, coming beside Bob at the bar and motioning between the two, “Y/n, this is my brother, Robert—the one I was telling you about last week,” mouth slightly agape, remembering the conversations the two had about Bonnie’s brother—in which the agent suggested setting up a date between the two—Y/n watches Bob react the same when Bonnie then says, “Bob, this is Y/n L/n. One of my clients at IMG—I know I’ve mentioned her before to you.”

Not knowing what to do at first, Y/n extends her hand to formally introduce herself, “So you must be the famous, Bob,” butterflies swarm her stomach again by the warmth of Bob’s hand when he goes to shake it. “I’m Y/n. So nice to finally meet you—Bonnie’s told me a lot about you.”

“W-wow,” Bob stutters, mentally hating himself when he does. “It’s really nice to meet you too, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight, but now I see why Bonnie was so adamant I come.” A pointed look is thrown at Bonnie, who shrugs with a smile like she did no wrong.

“Well seeing as you two found each other without me, I’ll leave you both to it. Bob, let me know if you plan on riding with me back to the house or if you catch a ride. And Y/n I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Winking, Bonnie takes the Cosmopolitan Y/n made for her and scurries off, leaving the two alone.

“I should’ve known,” Y/n laughs lightly, topping off Bob’s water. “Your sister has brought you up the past couple times she and I have gotten together,” lips curl into a smirk, “she wasn’t lying when she said you were a cutie.”

Bob turns red, smiling shyly, “when she told me about the inked beauty she worked with, she left out the fact you’re a walking piece of art.” His boldness impressed her, Y/n leaning closer to him against the bar top, resting her elbow on to so she could lean her head on her hand.

“How long are you gonna be in New York?”

“Till Wednesday,” part of her was disappointed that it was only four days away considering it was currently Saturday. But it was enough time for something to blossom.

“Tell me about yourself, Bob. The night’s early and I could listen to you talk for hours. Let’s see if Bonnie was psychic when she said we’d be quite the puzzle when put together.”

Ever heard of the type of couples where the girl radiates black cat energy and the guy is a literal golden retriever?

That was Y/n and Bob to a tee.

Out in public they stood out—even in a city like New York. Then when Y/n went to San Diego to meet his friends for the first time after four months together—which also resulted in her being stuck in California due to lockdown from the covid pandemic—it was like everyone couldn’t believe someone like Bob was with someone like Y/n.

He was a quiet, reserved naval officer and she was a sharp-tongued, world renowned tattoo model. They were the definition of the couple in high school you’d never expect would hit it off.

When Bob introduced Y/n to the squad, they instantly knew who she was, but had different ways of discovering her. Nat saw her walk in the VS Fashion show, Mickey and Reuben recognized her from The Weekend’s cover art, Javy remembered her from an episode of Ink Master she appeared on, Jake saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and Bradley actually got a tattoo from Y/n when he was in NYC.

The entire period Y/n was in San Diego she grew close to the squad, even Maverick who had a lot of questions about her work and tattoos. “You think I’d look good with them at my age?” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the question, ensuring the Captain with a pat on the back.

“Some of the sexiest men I’ve met have been your age with ink more in than me,” she giggles when he goes red. “I worked at a biker bar in New York City. Believe me, Pete. Anyone can look good with some ink.”

Needless to say when it came time for Mav to get a tattoo, Y/n was the one doing it.

A lot of the squad ended up getting work done by her. Jake, Mickey and Rooster had a few already so they were familiar with the process. Nat only had one from a drunk night in college, which Y/n redid on her behalf since it had faded. Payback was a man who liked bold, meaningful tattoos so sometimes Y/n had her work cut out for her but she always came through.

“Yo is this gonna hurt bad,” Javy was practically sweating as Y/n removed the stencil from his shoulder. The design was a geometric sun about the size of an airpod case.

“It’ll sting, but this area generally isn’t too painful. If this was your bicep then it’d be a different story.”

Javy didn’t look convinced, turning to look at the guys while the stencil dried, “How was it for you guys?”

“Didn’t hurt at all for me,” Rooster shrugged, “my bicep was worse—like she said.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Payback waved a hand. “You see how tiny it is? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Going over the details once more to confirm the colors and shading, Y/n moved her chair closer after turning on the tv to an episode of Chopped. “You ready, Jav?”

“Ready,” he didn’t really sound like it but it was too late to back out. The buzz of the needle filled his ears and soon the stinging sensation they all said had him clutching his first.

“Try to relax, man” Bob sat on the chair next to Y/n, “being tense won’t help.”

After over a year of dating Bob had his fair share of tattoos. His were mostly small and easily hidden by his uniform. When they first got together, Bob loved learning about her tattoos. When she got them, why she did. If there were any meaning behind certain ones and if she planned to get more.

She was like a walking art gallery. So many colors and styles. Large and small. Y/n told him stories about almost every one—even if they were embarrassing like the inner lip tattoo.

“Biggest mistake,” she wiped a tear after she was done, the two laughing so hard. “Not only did it hurt but it faded not even a year after I got it. Now it looks so bad—I should get it redone but what’s the point when it will just end up looking the same.”

Bob hated when people would give her looks of disproval when they’d go out, usually from those who were unfamiliar with Y/n’s work. One time he nearly got into a bar fight with a older gentleman who thought it was okay to call Y/n a Jezebel. Rooster and Mickey had to hold him back, but Y/n simply looked at the guy and said, “Baby, I’m a fucking millionaire because of these bad boys. While you’re about to kick it the dust I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue magazine next month. So eat shit and die already.” The man was left speechless, making her and the squad smirk in victory. The equally tatted bartender who knew of Y/n whistling and even given her a free round.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bob pulled her into a searing kiss when they left the bar moments later, Y/n smirking against his lips, “You think that was hot? I’m a mess under these pants from seeing you so worked up, baby. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Whenever he and Y/n would cuddle she’d trace the raised ink with a finger, Bob doing the same to hers and committing them to memory. He loved to kiss the ones on her neck and collarbones, but his favorite were the tiny hearts on the palms of her hands.

“What do these mean,” he asked one day during the early days of their relationship. They were laying out on the hammock, taking her hands to admire the collection of small tattoos along her fingers and wrists. He hadn't even realized she had any on the palms until he flipped them over. There his thumbs traced over the red outline of each heart.

“If you ask any person I’ve ever loved or cared for they’d tell you I carry my heart in the palm of my hand,” she flips her hands so they are holding Bob’s, the tattoos against his skin. “So when I hold people’s hands, they know a piece of my heart lies with them.” Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Y/n shifts so her lips are against his jaw. “And I’m kinda hoping you’re the only one who gets to hold them from here on out.”

Anytime after that Bob would press a kiss to the hearts whenever he held her hands. Then when asked about what tattoo of Y/n’s was his favorite his answer was always, “the hearts.”

His family adored her. At first they were put off by her striking image but learned quickly Y/n was perfect for Bob. The children of his siblings loved taking washable markers to color in the tattoos Y/n had that were black and white. “Can I draw you a tattoo someday?” Little Emma asked shortly after the couple celebrated one year. She was a little artist who loved asking questions about the pretty pictures on Y/n.

“Of course, my love,” she promised. “Draw me whatever you desire and I shall get it done.”

The first fashion show Y/n booked after the pandemic Bob had front row seats. With his phone out he was the ultimate cheerleader, though he refrained from whistling or making noise so as to not embarrass the model, but would be in absolute awe when she strutted past him. It was the Tom Ford show, Y/n had walked out in a long black trench coat, coming to the end of the runway first before removing the item to reveal a silk dress underneath. It was spaghetti strapped with an open back, thigh slit to compliment her legs and the cameras loved it. She walked a few steps back up and turned to strike one last pose before making her exit.

Bob was mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen her walk the runway and my God if he wasn’t already a simp he sure was then. A photographer captured his reaction to her discarding the coat and it went viral on Twitter.

@ inmyreputationera: if my man doesn’t look at me like @inkedbyY/n bf at NYFW then I don’t want it.

@ Inked✔️: We’re all Bob Floyd when @inkedbyY/n steps onto the runway.

When it came time to pick out her wedding dress Y/n was unsure of the route to go. It’d been five years the two were coming up on, one year of being engaged with the wedding to take place in North Island. A beach wedding in the late fall, Y/n wanted to look elegant and classy.

“Whatever you choose you’ll gonna look amazing, darling,” Bob kissed her head after she sighed when shuffling through bridal magazine pictures of dresses she’d cut out. “You know I love your tattoos—they are a part of you and I don’t want you feeling like you have to cover up for the sake of pictures. Baby, you’re one of the top models in the world. Like you told me when we first met, those babies are what got you discovered. Show them off.” Rubbing her shoulder exposed from her tank top, his lips pressed to the ink covering the skin. “But if you like this,” he pointed to the dress she kept going back to in her pile, it was elegant and pretty with neckline that fell just below her collarbones. “Then you should get it because you love it.”

The ceremony dress ended up being the one with a high neckline. It had open back with Y/n deciding on a her veil cascading down to the floor to become a small train rather than having the dress itself have it. Lace covered her arms, the ink peeking out from beneath to make the material stand out more due to the contrast.

She was stunning. An actual goddess that had Bob’s jaw drop the second his eyes landed on her. For the reception Y/n changed into a white two piece set that showed off her legs.

And you best believe she hired local tattoo artists to do a ‘spur of the moment’ tattoo booth at the party.

It didn’t take long for Inked Magazine to want to do a bridal shoot with Y/n. And if you look at it one way, it was a full circle moment. The issue marked ten years since they discovered Y/n and blessed her with the career of a lifetime that led her to meeting the love of her life.

All because she had a knack for getting ink.

……………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa

[ovaruling]

i know everyone’s tired of me talking abt this but bc i’m on the subject now—once more on cosmetic surgery complications: let me clarify what i mean when i have said in the past “it’s rarely if ever a matter of ‘if’”—when you see “after” pictures on a cosmetic surgeon’s website, do you ever see ones that are “2 years after,” “5 years after,” “10 years after”? how often have you seen or spoken to a woman 20 years after her cosmetic surgery? do you think the surgeons do?

no. you know why? because, unless you’re getting more surgery, you stop mattering to that surgeon after your last post-op appointment. they do not give a shit about your long-term results. when you call in 2 years later, wondering why you’re experiencing xyz difficulty—guess how much they’re going to care? at most, if they even TAKE your call, they’ll tell you to go see your primary care provider.

most people have no way of knowing when their surgery is going to start causing problems. it might be a year. it might be 2. it might be 5. it might be 10. it might be 15. it could be 30. but trust me, you do not undergo major traumatic surgery to your body and get away with absolutely zero consequences.

i’m tired of people thinking they’ve got an argument when they tell me, “but EYE had xyz surgery, and i’m fine!”

tell that to the women en masse removing their breast implants due to complications that didn’t arise until years later. tell that to the women who are trying to remove gluteal implants and reverse gluteal injections because 5 years later and they’re showing signs of inflammation and infection (Blac Chyna, most recently). to women like me who’ve had nerve damage and spinal damage and muscle damage and infections and autoimmune conditions develop out of thin air after having that last post-op appointment.

i think a large number of we women who have had major cosmetic surgery are mentally unwell to begin with—or else we wouldn’t have gotten surgeries. but what i want to focus on is that we have grown up, as girls, being taught to ignore our discomfort, to minimize our pain, to get over our illnesses. i cannot in good conscience discount this phenomenon when i take into account why it is that YOUR surgery went so perfectly.

are you really recovered? or are you just ignoring the side-effects? did you already make up your mind that you’d bear the hardships of major surgery for the visual you wanted?

have you ever actually taken a moment to think about what you went through to have this surgery? have you forced yourself to adapt to the discomforts, just brushing them off as understandable collateral for something far more valuable to you (how you look)? how did the anesthesia affect you? how long were you on the table? how did your body respond to being given what it thinks is a mortally deep wound for no reason? how much pain medication did you need after? could you go to the bathroom by yourself? could you walk? how’s your scar tissue? is it still there, years later? what about your scars? have you lost sensation at the surgical site? is it still numb, years later? can you brace your core anymore? can you lift your arms above your head? how long? can you twist at the waist? what about your organs? did they suffer strain? what about your circulation? and can you draw in a truly deep breath after your breast surgery? how’s your oxygen intake after your elective rhinoplasty? or after your breast augmentation? have you felt any tingling numbness or dead zones or back pain after your BBL? or have you even thought about that? about any of this? stomach- and side-sleepers who’ve gotten breast augmentations, are you feeling rested these days?

how many of us have brainwashed ourselves into thinking we aren’t experiencing any unusual level of pain? how many women have died because of their practiced ability to shrug off extreme inflammation as “regular wear and tear”?

and you’re trying to tell me there’s NO chance of you or your tiktok faves having suffered even 1% of a change to your health after undergoing a major surgery?

no one knows it better than i do. you can lie to everyone else who’s never had cosmetic surgery, but you can’t lie to me. i know what you went through. and you don’t have to lie just to preserve your integrity.

i know women go through hell for this. and if they have, they need to pay attention to their bodies and watch for signs of long-term damage. or else you are also going to risk waking up one day and going, “hm. weird that i can’t feel my clitoris anymore. wonder why. it’s not like anything’s ever happened to—oh, wait.”

no one tells you what it all looks like 5-10+ years down the road. all you’re thinking about is the next year, at most. you aren’t thinking about lifelong consequences. you aren’t thinking about being 60, telling your doctor you had a tummy tuck when you were 27 or extreme liposuction at 18. you aren’t thinking about it. and that’s my whole fucking point, because neither was i.