#tw beauty expectations

[skyeconch]

Hi besti :3 how are you ? I hope you are well you are having a great day

I hope you don't mind but I had an idea for a Horangi scenario, starts in angst that ends with something cute.

I don't know if they are any good but I'll share it with you anyway. (⁠;⁠;⁠;⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠)

In Korea they take very seriously what is the external appreciation in an unhealthy way so my idea was that YN at the beginning was looking for a bit of how is the Korean culture more than anything to be able to ask out Horangi and avoid some culture shock, the thing is that when YN discovers all this obsession that Koreans have for the physical appearance and that in Korean standards YN is unattractive which discourages them a lot, When Horangi realizes that he starts to avoid him one day he decides to confront him and ask him why he avoids him, to which YN responds with what he feels, at the end Horangi tells him that it is true that Koreans have very high standards of beauty but for YN he thinks it is very nice, he wants to have a date with them.

I hope you are having a great day and if you are having a bad time I hope tomorrow will be better. (⁠つ⁠✧⁠ω⁠✧⁠)⁠つ

Hello bestie 👋✨

I hope you’re having a good day/night ✨

Mine is well…average but good! ✨ thanks for asking🌸

Bestie your idea is amazing! Don’t feel discouraged from your mind bc I meant it✨💛

I’ll try to find a format similar and tweaks it a little bit to fits the scenario 👏✨

I hope you don’t mind waiting bc I don’t do well with pressure 😅 i apologize💛

I understand the beauty standards part tho 😔 it’s sad that we have to live up to these expectations everyday 🙃

I used to compare myself with them before but I realised that sometimes I don’t need to try so hard to meet that ✨expectations✨

I slowly learnt to be comfortable with who I am, with what I’ve given, and improve my life for my own future, not dependent by someone else’s choices or expectations 👏

It’s not easy for everyone, but I will keep pushing, and I hope everyone will find a reason to fight on as well! 👏🌻💛✨☀️

[artist-rat]

I feel your breath upon my neck / a soft caress as cold as death

[asmodeauxx]

happy sex update yall

buy me a kofi?

[thelesbianluthor]

The starting scene of episode 15 is the most heartbreaking thing I have ever seen oh my god... the way Emily screams out NO when she loses her connection to Lazuli...

God this hurt so much to watch

Brennan and Emily always rip my heart in two brutally i swear

[yangjeongin]

FELIX | W KOREA

[deputy-morgan-malone]

Quiz - Your OC's Animal Familiar

Hello! I found this quiz a while back, and really liked Morgan's result for it, and I have been crap at tags and tag games for over a year now but! It seems like a nice magical/spooky one for spooky month and I haven't seen anyone else post it, so I thought it might be fun if other people fancied it, during this Halloweek <3

Morgan Malone (FC5 Deputy)

~ Black Leopard ~

Also known as the Panther, this animal familiar is very stealthy and silent, seemingly the essence of the night and shadows. However, they are far from having an evil or dark reputation. Black Leopards represent seeing the beauty in all things, and finding good in even the darkest of circumstances. People with this familiar are usually good at expressing themselves, either artistically or through their talents and passions. A Black Leopard familiar helps their master feel safe and secure, inspires them, and can act as a mentor or teacher to them. This familiar represents -Expressing yourself -Seeing the beauty in anything -Facing fears -Intelligence -Night -Grace

NO PRESSURE tags to @voidika @inafieldofdaisies @cassietrn @clicheantagonist @direwombat

@lilywatt @socially-awkward-skeleton @josephslittledeputy @carlosoliveiraa @strafethesesinners

@aceghosts @roofgeese @shellibisshe

(I'm probably forgetting 10,000,000 people but on the other hand no spam!)

[uncanny-tranny]

I would give up my immortal soul if it meant that journalists, publishers, writers, family, friends - just everybody - would stop with the whole trans person's chosen name followed by "formerly known as [unused or dead name]"

[kingwaino]

i don't talk about him a lot on here but a couple years ago i got a beta fish which i so sweetly named sebass-tian hamil-fin. i'd never had a fish before but at the time, since i wasn't in my apartment a lot, a fish was really the only thing i could care for. unfortunately, he passed away today.

i didn't think i'd be this upset by it because i could kind of tell over the past week or two that he wasn't doing too well. i tried my best to make him feel better but unfortunately, it wasn't enough.

i plan to go and get another fish tomorrow but i just...don't really know how to feel about it right now. he was my first fish and certainly won't be my last.

[insipid-drivel]

Horse writing question I've been thinking about since I read Black Beauty as a kid. If you were to set Black Beauty in the modern day what animal husbandry/cruelty things would you highlight? Are there many issues left in the 21st century now that fewer people need horses for everyday labor? Thanks

I've never read Black Beauty, so I can't really make any informed comments either in praise of or critique of it.

A lot of people seem to assume I was one of those "horse girls" growing up with the horse-themed folders and horse-themed lunchboxes and horse-themed backpacks and horse-themed historical fiction YA library books dreaming of owning my own pony one day.

I wasn't, and as loving as the term may be, I'm agender and don't like the term "horse girl" applied to me, even though it's "the general name of the type of person". Right now, I'm tantalizingly close to getting my bottom surgery, and still get misgendered on a daily basis by literally everyone that speaks to or about me, no matter how loud I scream my they/them pronouns, or how many "Please use They/Them" pronouns I wear pinned to my shirt (I have several, still haven't been correctly gendered, even by the surgeon performing my bottom surgery - my mom only really tries to remember my pronouns when she knows I can hear her, and just reverts to she/her when she thinks I don't know).

I was a stable hand, which is a form of skilled labor that is often unregulated and goes without union or OSHA protections, and is a form of work where underage and child workers are extremely common. If I got injured at work as a stable hand, it was my parents' problem to get me to the doctor - there was no on-site accident insurance or PTO or anything. It is not an exaggeration to say the horses were treated with more care for their safety and wellbeing than the stable hands - myself included - caring for them were. You either worked and made what the boss gave you, or you didn't work and you didn't get paid until you showed up and put in your hours. I was always paid in cash under the table by adults looking for cheap labor with minimal red tape and oversight - sometimes I'd even have relatives "borrow" me and commit me to working at a friend's ranch on weekends "as a favor to their friend/colleague who needed an extra pair of hands" even when I was already balancing working during the week WITH going to school, all before I was 16 years old. Some days I spent more time shoveling horse shit than I actually spent with any horses, but I stuck with the work for as long as my body would let me - even long after I was too disabled to keep riding.

Horse upkeep was something that very much got introduced to my early life because of my dysfunctional biological parents. I mostly worked in barns because I'd grown up around horses and horse-people, and barns are a good place where a traumatized kid can drown out the noise in their head with backbreaking labor, exhausting work hours, and animals that were more emotionally available than anyone I had at home. Earning the trust and affection of giant 1000+lb animals also gave me a sense of validation and power: "My parents may not make me feel safe, but this quarterhorse can kick at 2000lbs PSI and secretly hates everyone but me," is an empowering feeling when you live in an environment where your sense of safety feels like more of an essential daily need than food and water.

[possiblynya]

I promised you forever and you fell for the lies; it's weird, why do you like being traumatized?

(I have no idea what tumblr guidelines are any more so I'm calling this a tasteful nude, giving it a little tag, and leaving it as is)

[yonemurishiroku]

Percico prompt in which I am Cupid and the moment Percy just considers reciprocating Nico's feelings, the arrow I've stabbed into Nico's heart would pierce through his heart and I get to see how much it bleeds.

[mariocki]

Mad Doctor of Blood Island (Tomb of the Living Dead, 1969)

"You are quite mad."

"Then you should be very careful, doctor. Both of you. Mad people can be quite unpredictable."

[alchemistgoose]

"One could only imagine the days and nights of grueling training in archery Yelan had gone through for all her fingers to bleed."

(excerpt from yelan's canon vision story)

[sirjester]

(big unreality content warning for the link)

(edit: also flashing graphics warning for the link)

[uncanny-tranny]

You know, even if somebody was "turned queer" because of trauma, that is:

1. Not your business

2. Not something you should be interrogating them about, be you queer or otherwise (see point one)

Trauma is a deeply harrowing experience, and it's oftentimes something people don't want to share if they don't feel safe or comfortable. Creating environments where queer people have to both interrogate their queerness and defend themselves is simply hostile.

If somebody seemingly became queer after a traumatic event, what you do is support them. Likely the last thing that person needs is you barging in and demanding explanations and justifications before they're allowed to be queer and/or exist around you.

[ravencromwell]

"Minnie Mouse Toy" by Willie Edward Taylor Carver Jr.

“Would you like a Hot Wheel or a Barbie, sir?” The words float like ghosts in front of me when I speak them, frozen by the winter air whipping in through the drive-thru window. “Boys’ toy!” Gruff. No a. Just boys’ and toy. Two words. “Okay. We have Hot Wheels and Barbies.” “No wonder you work at McDonald’s, you idiot.” Idiot. I am five again. My mother’s knee-length, interstate-cold denim coat is a traveling house. When I stand close enough, I smell floor cleaner, cigarette smoke, minty gum. Home. The bright lights of McDonald’s are a circus of plastic, shining glee; my tiny heart twists with such rapture that I feel dizzy and hug the clouds of home that are her coat. My mom clears her throat. “Could I get a Happy Meal with the Minnie Mouse car?” The words are soft like the quilted lining of her coat, and each petal of a word builds a flower of please. The cashier hammers a few buttons and yips our order into a thin microphone, but then her eyes grab me and drag me from the coat. They look me up and down and tug at my shirt. I pull the coat closer until I am surrounded by the smoke and gum and cleaner and can feel the blankets on my bed piled around me. But I hear her through the imaginary walls as she hands the boxed meal to my mother: “You know you’re gonna ruin him?” The words lodge themselves into the foundation of the imaginary home. It dissolves, and suddenly I am just a boy near a coat in a bright place with nowhere to hide. “Thank you.” The flowers are dead. They fall fast to the ground. My mother carries the cartoon-colored box to the booth, drops a pack of menthols on the gleaming tabletop, and gently directs the toy car to the side of the cigarette box as she lights up a cigarette, exhales a whispering cobalt storm cloud of mint and worry, and then fights gravity to pull the edges of her lips into a smile. “Go ahead and play, bubby. We can eat after mommy smokes.” She tries to ash her cigarette. I try to play. The toy car is as heavy as her smile, and like the smoke, I know the weight of it is my fault, and unlike the smoke, I can’t make her feel better. The plastic is too thick and the paint on Minnie’s pink hairbow looks like my little baby cousin’s cheeks that change from white to red while she screams, crying, and her mom begs her to stop. I look to my mother’s face. *** I pull myself up from the memory. I am sixteen. I am in a drive-thru, and the word idiot is snowing on me. “Sir, we have two toys: Barbie and Hot Wheels.” He drives away. I keep standing.