so much plastic surgery

The shape of you, here and now

Birthday fic for you @ladypigswagon. I know, I know. I’m really late, sorry T.T.

Stiles sees things he shouldn’t, dreams things that are impossible, that will never happen, things that he thinks could happen but don’t.

He sees his mother proud at his graduation from UCLA (NYU, Harvard, Yale, many others), disappointed when he chooses to not go to college at all and just travel around, interned and hateful, gone. Sees his dad healthy, sick, proud, disappointed, angry, happy, gone. He sees them still married, divorced, with other people, mourning. Sometimes he doesn’t see them at all.

Every time he dreams, he finds himself immersed in a world that is his but at the same time not. Sometimes he has siblings, sometimes he hasn’t; Sometimes he’s popular, sometimes he’s not; Sometimes he’s young, sometimes he’s old; Sometimes he’s innocent and naive, sometimes he’s jaded and amoral.

He’s human, a vampire, a fae, a merman, a fallen angel, a mage, a werewolf and other creatures he doesn’t have a name for. He’s a student, a thief, a lawyer, a policeman, an assassin, a secret agent, a doctor, a hacker and many, many other things and sometimes he’s nothing at all. He’s gay, bi, het, trans, ace, aro, non binary; he’s divorced, married, single, dating or none of those.

But whatever Stiles is, there’s always one thing that never fails to be there with him in one capacity or another, and that invariably makes his life better in some way: Him.

Sometimes Stiles meets Him as a kid, sometimes as an adult. Sometimes Stiles is the adult and He is the child. Sometimes they’re both adults, sometimes they’re both children. Sometimes Stiles needs help, sometimes it’s the other way round. Sometimes neither of them needs help, sometimes both of them need it. Sometimes they’re dating, sometimes they’re married, sometimes they’re friends. Sometimes He takes Stiles in, sometimes Stiles raises Him.

But whatever -wherever, however, whoever- Stiles is and whatever -wherever, however, whoever- He is, they always love each other in one way or another.

Which is why when one morning Stiles -ten year old school boy, unpopular, still unsure about his sexuality but very sure of being a he, dead mother, alive-alcoholic-workaholic-mourning father, he reminds himself because sometimes he can’t remember who exactly he is when he has just been a could have been- wakes up to a newspaper with a front page about a fire with His face on it as the only survivor of those inside the house, he doesn’t even think twice about getting to the hospital and sneaking inside.

Peter. His name is Peter Hale.

The moment he manages to catch sight of Him, the dreams stop and Stiles doesn’t see things that he shouldn’t anymore.

(He doesn’t know how to feel about that.)

Stiles wonders if his Peter is something else. He’s seen him as a trickster, a vampire, a demon, a merman, a fallen angel and many things more, but more often than not, he was either human or a werewolf. It’s not that he particularly cares (Peter is his whichever the form or shape he comes in), but it would be really convenient if he was some type of being that had accelerated healing.

Stiles looks at Peter’s scarred face thoughtfully. It’s not that he cares about his appearance (for all he minds, he could be completely disfigured or mangled, he has been before… Stiles has been too), it’s that he he knows that it will be difficult for him and a constant reminder of what happened when he wakes up and plastic surgery only does so much.

And wake up he will no matter what the doctors say. Whether it is because of his dreams or because he has some kind of precognitive ability, he can’t tell, but Stiles just knows.

Something chimes at the end of the hallway and unconsciously he looks at the clock. He sighs sadly at what he sees. He hid inside a toilet until night came to be able to stay after visit hours because his dad has a night shift today and won’t notice him gone. However, if he wants to make it home before Stilinski senior does, he has to go now.

“See you later, Peter,” he murmurs before letting go of the man’s lax hand and slipping out.

Stiles wonders if all those other Stileses were real, if they too dreamt about him before finding their Peter.

(He misses it. Did they miss it too afterwards?)

Every day, at one point or another, Stiles makes his way to the hospital. Sometimes before school, sometimes right after, sometimes at night, but every single day without fail because he lives in fear of Peter waking up and finding himself alone.

Sometimes Stiles reads to him. He tries things that he thinks Peter would find interesting, things that other Peters liked, things that have words he struggles to pronounce and whose meaning he has to look up later to understand.

Sometimes he sings to him. He hums popular songs that he likes, lullabies that used to calm him as a little kid before everything changed, tunes that he comes up with on the spot.

Sometimes he talks to him about anything and everything. His dreams, his dad, his mother, his classes, what he likes, what he doesn’t, what he wishes that could be.

Sometimes he just sits there and holds Peter’s hand.

Peter finally wakes up at nearly 3am on the 24th of August. The man eyes him blank-faced and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s actually seeing him. He holds his breath, hoping that he recognizes him, that he has been seeing, dreaming things like Stiles. The moment is broken, though, when Stiles has to hide under the bed when a nurse appears and then has to beat a hasty retreat before the doctor on call comes too and finds the sheriff’s son where he shouldn’t be with a person he shouldn’t even know to begin with.

Back at home, he can’t sleep. He tosses and turns again and again until it’s a normal enough hour to justify being up on his summer vacation. Then he makes an excuse about seeing some friends that he doesn’t have and rushes to the hospital again.

He enters the room tentatively and finds Peter sitting in a wheelchair just by the open window. He veritably shakes with nerves, his heart jackrabitting in his chest so loud that he bets that even if his Peter is fully human, he can hear it.

Peter’s eyes are closed like many times before when Stiles stops by his side and his heart thunders even more, feeling a wet and cold sensation taking over him. No. Nononono.

“Peter?” he whimpers and gets no response. “Peter?” he tries again, desperate, and nothing.

Stiles cries.

Big fat tears slide down his cheeks as he shakes violently, trying to keep himself from sobbing out loud and attracting unwanted attention. It’s ok, he tells himself as he wipes his face, it’s ok. This changes nothing. He bites his lip and then takes deep shuddering breaths, hugging himself until he feels he can contain himself. Then, he takes off his packpack to take out Birdsong, by Sebastian Faulks, which is the book he has been reading to Peter this week. As he does so, he reaches to squeeze his hand before starting to read.

I know. I was there. I saw the great void in your soul, and you saw-

“While I appreciate the effort, I hate that book,” a very raspy voice says and Stiles lets out a startled eep, said book flying forward and going out the window before he can stop it.

Stiles turns around in his seat very slowly, too scared to be hopeful. He’s greeted by the sight of a Peter that is fighting to keep awake, his eyes nearly half-lidded. Stiles swallows thickly, trying to remind himself that just because he is Peter’s, it doesn’t mean that Peter is Stiles’ yet, that he can’t just throw himself at the man and never let go.

“Well, it’s good that the possibility of continuing that just flew out the window then,” he pipes and Peter’s lips tug upwards minutely. “Hi, Peter.”

“Hello, Stiles.”

[NEW] My 20 year old Idol Husband - A BTS Fanfic

20 yr old Jungkook, at the top of his idol boyband career, has a secret only he & his bandmates know – An underground relationship, with you, a girl he met at a fanmeeting. Things get a little out of hand and you find out you’re pregnant. 

All Chpts: #My20YearOldIdolHusband

Keep reading

You know what’s really fucking disturbing, and also shows how toxic femininity is? And the white beauty standards? About 90% of cosmetic surgery is done on women.

And here’s some more disturbing facts about cosmetic surgery: it’s becoming very popular in South-Korea, especially among women, to have extreme facial surgery. They change the shape of their face, get smaller noses and larger and rounder eyes, to look like the typical “pretty Korean girl”. Also, it’s the country in th world with most cosmetic surgery per inhabitant.

In India, surgeries to extend the length of legs is becoming increasingly popular. They say it’s an attempt to better careers and marriage. The surgeries are extremely painful. They break the leg bone and stretch the leg longer, then the gap in the bone is supposed to grow back. Bones that don’t grow back can end up having to be amputated.

All over the world, women have surgeries done on their faces, butts, tummies and tits. Iran is among the top countries in the world for cosmetic surgeries. Especially nose surgery, which is awfully common among women of color. (Now I’m white so I don’t have very much to say about this, but I thought it was important to mention that in this post).

Oh yeah, and let’s not forget the many different surgeries women get on their vaginas and vulvas, labia reduction and those things. They can cause serious complications.

So yeah. Is there much more to say?

Plastic Surgery ✅ Completed

Hello all my sexy sugar babies!

I just completed my plastic surgery. They gave me so much pain meds I do not feel any pain at all. I got surgery at 8am and the procedure took about 5 hours. I reached down to touch my stomach and it’s completely flat. The complete results will show up in 3 months.

I even walked around my hospital floor. I’m surprised I can move, text, and talk. I thought I was going to be in bed for 1 week.

I can’t work out for 1 month by doctor’s orders so in the meantime I’m going to juice fast to lose more weight and then I’m joining Equinox to get SUPER HOT.

Looks are not everything. Beautiful comes from within but someone told me your looks take you there and your personality keeps you there.

My favorite IG quote: I’m not competing with you… I hope we all make it 💰💰💰

I love you all! Please pray for me for a speedy recovery ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Harry Cheats (pt. ii)

part 1

okie here we go, another round on this rollercoaster of emotions…shall we?

There was a few things you knew for certain, right then, in that hallway.

The first was that you loved Harry with everything you had and that wasn’t enough. The second was that you had about a few seconds before he would open that door and chase you until you forgave him. And the third..well…you had nowhere to go.

You couldn’t stay with one of the other boys in their hotel suite because Harry would’ve been just staying right next door. Plus, they had to move out as soon as their show ending.

You just needed somewhere to cry until you figured out what to do next, undisturbed. Practically abusing the elevator button, you tried your best to stop crying as Niall runs up to you and apologises, “I’m so sorry. I apologise on behalf of Harry. That….that was a shitty move and that twat will be paying for it.”

Nodding, you don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck to embrace him. “Thank you.” You pull away, “I wish I could stay with the rest of you guys, because I know you’ll all be there for me but…you have to know that I have to go.”

“I know,” Niall nods, understanding. Harry had just turned the corner when the elevator doors start to open. You refuse to look at him–turning to your hands instead–but you hear Niall say, “Mate, just let her go.”

“Niall, I can’t just–”

The sounds of scuffling. Then Niall whispers, “If you want any chance of getting her back, you will let those elevator doors close. You will let her walk out of this hotel, hail a cab, and go wherever the hell she wants. You will let her get on that plane, if it comes to it. And you will let her do all of these things and you will not once stop her, or question her. You will do this until the day she decides to let you back into her life.”

The elevator doors shut to silence.

Pulling Max’s name card out of your bag, you knew for sure that you were going insane. I mean, how many horrible mistakes can someone make in a day? How many horrible things can happen to someone in a day?

But you also knew that you had no choice. So you called Max.

“That was awfully quick,” he answers. Not even a hello.

You are thrown back, “How did you know it was me?”

You hear him laugh, then honk at another car. “Who else would be calling me? Believe it or not, doll, I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m the therapist, not the friend.”

Grinning silently, you ask, “And this is supposed to convince me that you’re trust-worthy? You could be a middle-aged rapist, avenging for your two kidnapped sons from your psycho ex-wife.”

Max scoffs, “I’m flattered you think I’m that capable, but sorry hon, I’m just a boring forty-year old man. And hey, you called me, remember?”

You roll your eyes, “Then you answer with a snarky remark, and you expect me not to answer with a snarky remark?”

A car pulls up suddenly, and Max sticks his face out of the window, “Do you wanna go to my place?”

“I never thought a rapist would go for direct,” you joke, settling yourself in shot-gun.

“I never expected you to sit next to a rapist.” Max moves a bunch of CD’s from the cup holders and throw them into the backseat. “Not that I am one, of course.”

You shrug, “If I sit in the back, it makes you feel like a taxi driver. And that makes me feel like I’m using you. Which I’m not. I just have nowhere else to go and I need you to hit Harry Styles in the balls.”

“I knew you looked familiar!” Max exclaims, sneaking a peek at you. “I’ve seen you in the magazines. How lucky you are to be dating someone like him.”

“Was,” you correct. “Was dating him. I’m not now. He cheated on me with a gorgeous model—well, she looks like a model—named Lily.”

“Son of a bitch,” Max swears, “don’t worry, I didn’t even like him. His songs are okay, though.”

You take a deep breath in, “He fucked her for two months, all while telling me he loved me.”

“Just kidding,” Max corrects, “I have his voice so much. And his face! I mean dude! Get some plastic surgery!”

You laugh, “Please, you don’t have to lie to me. I know he’s a good singer with an even greater face.”

“It doesn’t count as lying if I was trying to make you laugh,” Max pulls up on the side of the highway. Strange, you didn’t even see him start the car. “You look terrible. Which hotel would you like to stay at? I know the ones with the best deals.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I thought I was staying with you?”

Max sighs loudly, “I’m forty, single and live in a motel. I know I look put together, but I’m not. And I want you to have the best right now. So, which hotel?”

“Whichever one has a decent room for a decent price,” you sink back into your seat, a little melancholy now. “You know, I’m going to invite you to my wedding.”

Max laughs, “You just broke up with the guy, how are you so sure you guys are going to have a wedding?”

“Maybe not with him, and probably not soon,” you admit. You turn to look at his profile. Gentle features, wrinkled by the world. “But you’re the man who put me on my feet. And you can even walk me down the aisle…I never had much of a dad.”

Max grins, “You want a rapist to walk you down the aisle?” Your jaw drops and you start hitting his arm before he surrenders, “I was just kidding! I would be honoured.” He pulls up outside a beautiful hotel. “Tell the man in the blue suit that Max sent you, and if you’re ever in Chicago again…give me a call.”

“I’ll update you on my love life, don’t worry,” you crawl out of the car and send him a grateful smile. “Bye Max.”

He was right.

Your hotel room wasn’t as fancy or impressive as Harry’s, but it was a good room for a good price.

And the walls were thick enough for your loud cries not to bring any annoyed neighbours knocking. You didn’t know why–maybe it was a force of habit–but before you even thought of booking a plane ticket out of this dreadful city, you checked your phone for any voicemails or text messages from Harry.

None, of course.

Niall’s message was loud and clear and it was desperate of you to think he would’ve broken it. Or, did Harry just not care? He had Lily after all, and he didn’t need another annoying, pestering, clingy girl. Maybe he just didn’t care.

And if your heart could break anymore, it did.

Days later, you were back home.

It was strange to walk through the doorway and see everything just as you had left it. Evidence that Harry hadn’t been here, but that was a silly thought. He’s still on tour. He wouldn’t have paused the tour to win you back.

You weren’t apart of his life anymore.

Quickly walking through the house, trying your best not to look at the many photographs of the two of you together on top of counters, you brought your suitcase into your room. 

When you had packed for Chicago, you had packed just for that day, thinking you could’ve brought Harry back with you. How stupid, you brush tears from your cheeks. You would’ve brought back a cheater.

But now, packing for…nowhere in particular (you didn’t know where you were going to go, you just knew you couldn’t live here anymore.), you had to fit your entire wardrobe in the suitcase.

Not bothering to take your old clothes, or any of the ones that Harry had picked out and/or bought for you, packing with tears streaming down your face was easier than you thought.

But that was just clothes, now it comes to the whole house. What could you take with you? Wasn’t everything else both of yours? You wish you could have at least an hour to ponder over everything, but you didn’t have that kind of time.

Even if Harry wasn’t here now, it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be here ever. He had a key to this place, for God’s sake. So you settled on the one picture that meant the most to you, but probably the least to Harry.

It was a framed polaroid of you two. Your best friend had taken that picture, when Harry invited over her and her boyfriend for a double date night. She had captured the exact moment Harry told you he loved you for the first time. Your features were relaxed, but your lips were parted. You were staring at Harry with such adoration. And Harry…

He was looking into your eyes as if he had just carved his own heart out of his chest and presented it to you; trusting you completely and utterly to protect it.

You buried it under layers of your clothes before you could cry again. 

Three weeks later, you received your first call from one of the One Direction boys.

It was Louis.

“We’re on a two-week break,” he had informed you. “Harry might go looking for you, so–”

“Don’t worry, Lou,” you had reassured him, while tightly wrapping your grip around your mug. “I’m not at our house.” You pause, then decide to ask, “How is he?”


“I just want to know how he is,” you sigh. 

Louis is silent for a moment. Then he murmurs, “Do you think it’s right for you to know how he is and him not to know how you are?”

You close your eyes, “Okay, fine. Thanks. Bye.” Hanging up, you look to your right to see your mom.

“Are you okay?” Your mom asks you, lingering in the doorway. “Do you need anything?” You knew it was just her way of asking you if you were ready to tell her what had happened. She already knew it had to do something with Harry, since you had refused to listen to any of their songs or check them up on the television, but she just didn’t know what happened.

You decide to keep it that way. “I’m fine,” you force a smile and slowly sip your tea. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

“You should take a nap,” your mother suggests. She looks at you as if she’s expecting it. She probably already made the bed. She’s pitying you. 

You decide to just let her. How bad can a nap even be? You breathe, “Fine, but wake me up in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes turned into an hour, and before you know it, it was night.

“What the–” you sat up suddenly, mentally cursing your mom. “Mo–!” But then you heard something.

No, someone.

A pair of voices.

A man and a woman’s.

It was your mom but it couldn’t be your dad. This voice wasn’t as deep, but it was raspy. And it took you a while to shake yourself from your groggy state, but when you realized who it was, you fell off your bed.

With a loud THUD.

The voices seized.

Harry was out there, you quickly scramble to your feet, checking your phone. He still hadn’t called or texted you, so why was he out there? Your thoughts started conspiring against you. Harry is here to invite you to his and Lily’s wedding.

Before you could think about jumping out the window to escape, the door opened. 

And there Harry stood.

The first thing that struck you was that Lily wasn’t here, and an engagement ring wasn’t on his finger. Thank God. You didn’t know why you were so relived, but only that you were.

The second thing that struck you was how long his hair had gotten. Has he still not cut it yet? What’s the point in this? You still didn’t know him at all.

And lastly, his face. You scanned his features, and what you found was as if you were looking into a mirror. Permanent red eyes, with bags holding them down. Slumped shoulders, un-coordinating clothes.

The words practically tumble out of his chapped lips, “I’m here to beg you to come back.”

part 3

anonymous asked:

Helter Skelter visually speaking is one of the most amazing movies ever imo, also Erika Sawajiri just looked extremely hot and beautiful (amazing acting tho). I loved the plot so much, kinda give an inside about plastic surgery and the medias. World of Kanako is just so fucked up, its like Oldboy but...even more fucked up,....

I’m like hella interested in wok now I need to see it

"How to Look Asian": Yellowface as Fashion Needs to Stop

Several weeks ago, I had an extremely painful and frustrating conversation with an acquaintance. The topic of the discussion was yellowface. If you’re unfamiliar, yellowface is the act of a non-Asian (but more often than not, white) person dressing up and/or putting on make-up to present themselves as Asian. Historically, it’s been used in comedy. Mickey Rooney as I.Y. Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s is probably the most famous portrayal of yellowface in Hollywood. Sadly, it’s still an extremely common practice in American film and TV today. A few examples in only the past few years include the movie, Cloud Atlas, and the television show, How I Met Your Mother.

Instances of whitewashing, or hiring white actors to fulfill a role that specifically calls for a person of color, can also be considered blackface, brownface, and yellowface. Often, Hollywood chooses to take a story that specifically addresses Asian struggles and contorts or erases it completely so that a white protagonist may take over. The message is simple and could not be clearer: Your stories are not worth hearing unless you are white.

Today, I’m not talking about Hollywood or the mass media. I’m talking about normal, everyday people. People of color are often treated as costumes – as nothing but mere fashion accessories rather than human beings. That’s why “Geisha” and “Native American” (in quotes because they do not accurately represent what they claim to) costumes are still so popular every Halloween. An alarming trend I’ve noticed is that it’s becoming fashion to fetishize Asian people and East Asian cultures. White people even often attempt to “look Asian” (whatever that means) because they believe us to be cuter, prettier, or more darling. It just takes a quick search on youtube or google to see what I mean. Try it out. Click on a link. Watch as young white women lament the fact that they aren’t cute and doll-like as their Asian friends.

Keep reading

I think you’re all fucked in the head. We’re 10 hours from the fucking hideout and you wanna bail out! Well I’ll tell you something. This is no longer a task. It’s a mission. It’s a mission for fun. I’m gonna have fun and you’re gonna have fun. We’re all gonna have so much fucking fun, we’ll need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles! You’ll be whistling ‘Zippity Do-da’ out of your assholes! I gotta be crazy! I’m on a pilgrimage to see a tailed beast. Praise Kurama! Holy shit!
—  Pein , Probably
I think you’re all fucked in the head. We’re ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out. Well I’ll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It’s a quest. It’s a quest for fun. You’re gonna have fun, and I’m gonna have fun… We’re all gonna have so much fucking fun we’re gonna need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles!

anonymous asked:

Did your monkey character self loathe so much that she got plastic surgery on her nose? I need a reason in the story for this to happen.

It’ll be explained in the story

But originally Tori Ashi was going to be a Bitter grumpy distant anime fan girl. But I had too many Grumpy Distant Girl characters.

So I decided Tori’s now a smug anime fan girl.

Colors not final

Ten Great Joan Rivers Jokes, in Honor of the Late Comedy Queen’s 81st Birthday

1. “I have no sex appeal. If my husband didn’t toss and turn, we’d never have had the kid.”

2. “My sex life is so bad, my G-spot has been declared a historical landmark.”

3. “People say that money is not the key to happiness, but I always figured if you have enough money, you can have a key made.”

4. “I was born in 1962 … and the room next to me was 1963.”

5. “No man will ever put his hand up your dress looking for a library card.”

6. “I’ve had so much plastic surgery, when I die, they will donate my body to Tupperware.”

7. “Want to know why women don’t blink during foreplay? Not enough time.”

8. “I don’t exercise. If God had wanted me to bend over, he would have put diamonds on the floor.”

9. “I knew I was an unwanted baby when I saw that my bath toys were a toaster and a radio.”

10. “Not all plastic surgeons are good. My cousin went to one and told him she wanted to turn back the hands of time. Now she has a face that could stop a clock.”

I’m really hating how everyone is hating on 2ne1 right now and I really don’t understand why supposed blackjacks hate on one member of the group. It just doesn’t make sense. First of all, CL’s a great, talented leader. I’m not going to say that she’s the best at rapping because she hasn’t reached the status of Yoon Mirae yet, but she’s good at rapping as well as singing. Her stamina is really good. A bunch of people are complaining about how she has the most parts in 2ne1’s new album, but she wrote most of it, I’ll leave it to you to decide if its fair or not. 

Then there’s Bom. They say that her voice has gotten worse but can’t you tell that she’s trying? Her voice has improved so much since Falling in Love. Her voice is just so unique and amazing. Also, on her plastic surgery(yes, blackjacks, stop denying her plastic surgery), if she wants to look the way she does, then let her. Its the beauty standards nowadays that make people, like Bom get so much surgery. Actually, I am pretty concerned about her addiction to plastic surgery, but its her life and she can do what she wants to do. 

Now about Minzy, she’s a great dancer, and I believe that she has the most stable voice in 2ne1. She has a lot of potential. 

Onto Dara, many people say that she has no talent, but why, then, is she in 2ne1 instead of someone else. You can say that its because she’s so pretty, but I think she got in because of her uniqueness. Her voice is something different. Its easily recognized. What would 2ne1 be without Dara? Would they be as famous as they are now? 

Now at the end of the day 2ne1 is just another girl group who worked their way up there. Please understand that I’m just tired of the hate they have been receiving. I know that there’s some bias in what I have written, but so what? 

Just an annoyed blackjack. 


witnessing the way that people attack, dehumanize, disrespect and judge other human beings (yes, celebrities are in fact human fucking beings, who the fuck knew right) makes my stomach churn because it is so gotdamn embarrassing that so many people are so quick to judge something that they are LUCKY they couldn’t even begin to understand. not a lot of people know about the severe emotional abuse kim was put through when the love of her life helped kick start and invest himself into her career/life when she first met the notorious BIG, the man who loudly destroyed her inside and out. he tossed her around, degraded her, made it no mystery that he preferred “light skinned women”, consistently shat on her complexion because of it, cheated on her with women who fit his criteria of “perfection, and was consistently made to feel like she would never be wanted in any area she strived to exist in, after all she was also a black, dark skinned woman in hip-hop and rap– no fucking walk in the park.

some people are lucky enough to never experience the toll an emotionally abusive relationship will have on someone, especially as a woman. and for lil kim, as a black woman, who because of her skin tone she’s had to develop a larger vision of our society probably moreso than any other group– i cant imagine how deep the graves are that have been dug inside herself, because emotional abuse from someone you love, and who claims to love you does exactly that– it turns a woman into a fucking graveyard, where all the things you strive to be and all the things you used to be end up suffocated by the weight of self-doubt, dysphoria, and self destruction. 

i give lil kim so many props, ALL OF THE MOTHERFUCKING PROPS, for being alive today and for being such a successful and important icon in hiphop and rap as a female artist. she has dodged the inevitable extinction of women who have been emotionally tortured. when your soul and a sense of who you are has just been so royally fucking snatched from yourself, you spend the rest of your life trying to fill that hole. and i identify with this, and people who are addicts (like myself) who are constantly trying to escape the reality of themselves and what they were left with once they’ve been robbed. we often hear cookie cutter tales about celebrities/other human beings that leave a judgemental sour taste in your mouth such as "well, her father was never around, that explains why she’s such a slut. must be daddy issues.” or “her mother was an alcoholic, so of course she is now too. and she’s famous, so obviously she has an eating disorder. gross.” and we look at those stories and say “how pathetic” and shrug it off but don’t observe and even TRY to empathize with the behaviors. we are all addicts in a sense. some of us eat too much, some of us steal, online shop at the wee hours of the night, hoard newspapers, have a lot of sex, compulsively buy makeup, smoke cigarettes— the list goes on and on. and so many people are lucky they don’t have an addiction that knocks on death’s door every time it’s practiced. but so yeah, it makes SENSE why lil kim had so much plastic surgery, right? i think no one bothers to even look another human being in the face sometimes and tries to see themselves. it’s either that, or they immediately see their reflection and deny it and jump on the defense. “oh, well at least i’m not THAT bad.” most of y'all are lucky it never gets “THAT bad.”

sorry this was all over the place but i have mad love for lil kim and my heart has just grown so fucking big ever since my own personal addiction started, and i have so much empathy for other human beings because of it and idk this kind of shit just makes me sick and scares me. it literally terrifies me that such a significant amount of people out there are like this. and it inspires me to be strong and not care what other people think of me because the people who judge me and ridicule my behavior don’t even want to try to know the person who really is inside right here and i want no part in anyone who acts like that. that shit is none of my business. 

I hate how idols in general always get hate from netziens no matter what they do. Small? “To skinny” Kinda chubby? “Too fat”. Lose weight? “They were so much better before!” No plastic surgery? “Wow they need to do something, that face is terrible.” Plastic surgery? “What a plastic surgery monster”. There is just no winning for idols I think and it’s so sad that these people can’t live their lives the way they were born and be in the industry they want

Exo reaction when they see your childhood photos.

XIUMIN - Look! You just looked like this!

LUHAN - Oh my god, your childhood pictures made my day! You looked so funny!

KRIS - *Did she had a plastic surgery or something, how she became so pretty?*

y/n - Why are you staring so creepy at me? You won’t even say a word about little me?

SUHO - is this REALLY you?! Why you’re wearing panties on your head?

LAY - You’re just sooo sweet! *speechless*

BAEKHYUN - You’re still doing that face like on this picture!!!

y/n - what face?! *confused*


CHEN - Is that a bucket on your head?

CHANYEOL - hahahahahahha, can I keep that?! Please! It will be my new blackmail material!

D.O. - You were sooooo cute! I can’t even!

TAO - Sooo tiny and sooo beautiful !

KAI - How this is possible? You didn’t change at all. Are you witch or something?

SEHUN - I learned something new today. What is ugly, stays ugly.

y/n - At least I didn’t had a plastic surgery and I don’t wear so much makeup like you!

*loving relationship with Oh Sehun*

~ Admin Ruda.