#I have. A LOT of acne and acne scars/bruises and I don’t mind them but it gets tiring cause everyone else seems to

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • Part 4 • 30 - Roland

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Drops of black ink fall into the bathtub as Roland unravels the skin wraps Lee had wrapped him with. Lilian watches as he rinses off all the inky residue revealing the pieces of art across his body.

When Roland was ten he broke his arm, his mom got him a cast instead of a new arm because it was cheaper, he had drawn a shark on it and made the drawing into a permanent tattoo when the cast was cut off. At thirteen he was attacked by a shark that swam too close to the beach, that or he swam too far out. When he walked back onto the sand he was battered and bruised, he had scars that would still be on him today if they weren’t given to Nero and Connor. His step-dad told him it was karma for the things he did earlier that day, he didn’t even care that his step-son could’ve been eaten alive if Roland hadn’t beaten that shark to death.

Roland wonders why he still likes sharks, maybe he just never had the money or time to get the tattoo removed, or maybe it was the respect he had for a bigger monster out there; that no matter how awful he or his step-dad was, there was literal bigger fish to fry.

Roland curses himself, he’s thinking about his stepdad again, and how something could be worse than him. Admittedly dying to a ferocious animal is way worse than a few strikes to the back, but there’s a difference between a trigger-happy, abusive parent and a defensive, scared animal. 

“Do you mind grabbing that second skin wrap over on the counter?” Roland asks Lilian as he thoroughly cleans his arms and legs.

Lilian goes over to grab the second skin. “Why are you covering it again, it’s too pretty to be covered.”

Roland laughs, taking the wrap from Lilian’s hands. “It’s not done healing, I just needed to get the extra ink off.”

Roland wraps up his limbs in the transparent gauze-like wrap before wrapping them again in blue bandages, he turns to the mirror to inspect himself, groaning at the sight of freshly emerged pimples.

Roland has the luck of a teenage girl when it comes to pimples, it’s like dandelions, there’s one, and then there’s a ton, and he can’t get them to go away as easily as his friends used to. 

“You can use some of my face wash if you want.” Lilian eyes Roland. 

“Ya sure? I mean, I don’t know if I should use stuff that isn’t really mine.”

Lilian scoffs. “Just because you’ve become possessive of your stuff doesn’t mean I have.” She pulls out an elastic and hands it to him. “Put your hair up, then it won't get in the way.”

Roland grabs the elastic and puts his hair in a high ponytail, a few shorter pieces fall back into his face. Lilian pulls out a specialty acne cream, apparently it’s supposed to pull out all the gunk in someone’s pores in a matter of four hours. 

“Only put that on the spots that need it, or else you’ll wreck your face even more than it already is.” She hands him the tube, and she then goes for a bag of pimple stickers, placing some on her own problem areas. “Take your pick, you won’t want puss leaking out of your face when the treatment starts.”

Roland scoffs. “No offence, but I’d rather not have unicorns and teddy bears on my face.” To that Lilian rolls her eyes. “There’s some sea creatures in there if you dig hard enough.”

Lilian brushes her teeth while Roland places salmon and starfish on his face. “How’d you get it anyway?” Lilian asks, in reference to Roland’s acne.

“Chocolate pudding.”

“You’ve been eating that a lot.”

“It’s becoming a comfort food.”

And it really is, it’s a simple treat, but it seems like in any slightly stressful situation he’s gotten it. Back at the hospital when he had first woken up, in the support group, his mom had gotten him a carton of it as a treat when he got released from the hospital after the freakout with his meds. He supposes it’s what spam is to Hayden, but then again it was never something present in the basement, god forbid Sonia gets them anything nice. 

However, Roland is happy that it hasn’t become such a big thing, last night he ate the last pudding cup he had in that pack of six. Admittedly having a cup almost every day isn’t the best, but if they were bought for him he should be allowed to have them. 

“So what are you doing today?”

“Sleeping.”

Lilian gives him a look, staring him up and down. Roland scowls.

“What’s with all the attitude?” 

She stays silent for a moment. “I thought you’d go get a haircut.”

“Don’t you need an appointment for that?”

“Leslie doesn’t get many customers these days, you’ll be fine.”

“Haven’t I had enough of altering my body this week?”

“I want to go outside you wet rat!”

Roland wheezes at the randomness of that insult. “What did you just call me?”

“A wet rat! Now go get dressed, and tell Mom we’re going out this time!”

Lilian waits outside on the doorsteps as Roland comes out the door, his hair still in a ponytail. As they walk out of the yard they’re greeted by Otto and Martha, who are out gardening.

“Hi dear, oh, what happened to your arms and legs?” Martha asks.

“Nothing, It’s just tattoo wraps.”

“Oh, are you doing the same thing that the other Recalls are doing?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Oh that’s lovely, are you taking your sister on a walk?” Martha peeks behind Roland to take a look at Lilian who clings to him.

“Apparently I’m getting a haircut,” Roland jerks the arm that Lilian holds onto, “I got called a rat.”

Otto and Martha share a chuckle, “Well, I hope you look less like a rat by the time your hair gets trimmed.” Otto jokes.

Roland and Lilian walk further down the street into the city. 

“Do you know them?” Lilian asks.

“I had lunch with them last week, nice people.”

“I’ve never met them.”

“You should.”

Roland and Lilian walk down the street of the suburbs, every once in a while there’s a big tree overflowing onto the sidewalk, shading the path in which they walk. Sometimes there’s a swing hanging down from them. Roland has never noticed it, but it seems like the city has become more youth-friendly recently. Though, somehow there’s more anti-homeless architecture, and Roland is not necessarily sure if it’s meant to be anti-homeless, or anti-teenager. There’s a big puddle up ahead from the rainstorm last night, one of the many blessings in an Indiana summer, unfortunately, it’s not a blessing for the light-sleeping Roland.

When they get close enough to the puddle Roland hops over it, but Lilian jumps into it, splashing Roland in the process, wetting his socks.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be a wet rat.”

“I don’t, stop letting me make you a wet rat.”

Roland starts running down the street, hopping from side to side, avoiding the puddles while Lilian chases after him stomping through all the puddles. She eventually catches up to Roland despite her coordination, hugging onto his back.

“I guess you’re the wet rat now.” He laughs.

“No, I’m a mouse, a pretty one,”

“Of course,” Roland chuckles. “The prettiest one of them all.”

On the course to the hairdresser Roland feels Lilian leave his side, he turns around to see her eyeing dresses in the window of a tailoring service. She pats her shorts as if almost imagining it on herself, she then snaps back around catching up to him as he continues down the street, watching her.

Entering the salon the same bell rings as the door opens, before Roland can even look at Leslie's old desk, she’s already up in his face.

“Roland! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” She exclaims.

“Hi Leslie!” Roland responds.

“Come to get a haircut? It looks like you need one.”

Roland looks at his sister. “Lilian would agree with you.” Lilian nudges him in the arm.

“Well don’t waste any time, come sit down!” She gestures to her chair. Roland sits down in it, and she places a cape around him. 

“So, do you still want that beach blowout?”

“I think I want something else.”

“No worries! Let me get you a magazine.” Leslie hands off a haircut magazine to Roland. “Boys these days like getting mullets, but honestly they look awful, at least the ones that they get.”

“I think it’s self-expression, ‘cause there’s no way they’re getting a girl with that cut.” Another hairdresser adds it sends a slew of giggles throughout the salon. 

Roland points to a certain hairstyle in the magazine, “How about that one?” Leslie looks back at Roland, inspecting the hairstyle he points at. 

“Huh, a short mullet.”

“Oh,” Roland looks to the ground. “I’m upsetting you aren’t I?”

“No, no, something like this could actually work for you. I think I’ll take it down a little at the back, and add a tinsy bit of length at the bottom.”

Leslie takes electric clippers to Roland’s hair, getting it down to a pixie cut. “I believe this belongs to you.” She hands Lilian back her elastic. Leslie escorts Roland over to one of the wash basins, surprisingly this freaks Roland out more than his experience at the tattoo parlour, because his head faces the ceiling and Leslie isn’t even telling him her next move. 

“Oh April where did you get that top? It’s beautiful!” Leslie asks, looking in front of her. 

“Thank you! I got it from a local artist! She gives half the profits back to the Rewind Ward near us.” April explains.

“Isn’t that the one who lost all three of her high school sweethearts to unwinding?”

“Yeah, see, so she dated the first one, then he broke up with her, then she got with the second one and he got unwound, then she got with the third one, then the first one got unwound, then a day before they were supposed to graduate the third got unwound.”

“Well, at least she only experienced heartbreak twice instead of three times.”

“The last one’s name was Zane right?”

“Yeah, Zane.”

It’s as if all the colour drained from Roland’s face, they’re talking about Valerie, he’s the first boyfriend in the unwound trio. Him, the guy he can’t even remember the name of, and Zane. One of the things that kept Roland sane at the beginning of his recall was that the two women he had hurt had good men to keep them company, Valerie had Zane and Risa had Connor. But Valerie didn’t have Zane, instead, he was unwound, he could’ve had so much, a loving girlfriend, and his place back on the varsity team, but instead he succumbed to the same fate as him. Roland can only hope that somewhere out there, Zane is kicking AWOL.

Leslie taps Roland on the shoulder, waking him from his daze. 

“Are you okay hun? Sorry about them, I told ‘em to stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine.”

Leslie escorts Roland back to her chair. “I used to remember when I had to use the little high chair for you, now I almost have to send the chair to its lowest setting.” She reminisces. She pulls out a size 2 razor and clips it onto the clippers, he folds over Roland's hair and starts going at the sides.

“Leslie, do you think I look like a yin yang?” Roland questions.

Leslie furrows her eyebrows, “That's a weird question to ask.”

“I don’t know, my tattoo artist thought I was one.” 

Leslie sighs. “You see, hair is one of the many ways someone can express themselves. Here, you can get so many people from different walks of life with all the different sexualities. Sometimes the feeling you’ve got about someone is right, and sometimes it’s completely wrong, so I just chose not to assume anything.”

“But if you had to.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“But-”

“Assuming makes an ass out of u and me. Besides, if you really wanted to know why wouldn’t you just look up yin porn.”

“Leslie! Lilian is right there!” Roland points to Lilian, she rolls her eyes for the third time today. “I know what porn is Roland.”

“I feel like you shouldn’t.”

There’s another ring at the door, a muscular ochre guy around Roland’s age enters the building, he’s got his hair half shaved off with thick dreads on the other side, and he’s got piercing green eyes that cut right into Roland’s possibly no longer existent soul. He walks over to Leslie’s chair, inspecting himself in the mirror, he then turns to Roland, who’s currently getting the main part of his mullet done.

“Seriously, another guy who wants a mullet?”

“Yes, but he’s letting me make it look good.” Leslie puts her hand into Roland’s view, gesturing to the guy in front of him. “Roland, this is my son, Dante. You two used to have playdates all the time when you were little.”

“We did?!” Dante seems just as befuddled as Roland is about this new revelation. 

“Yes, we stopped bringing you around when his mom remarried… no offence.”

“None taken, that was a good choice honestly.”

Out of nowhere, Roland feels an arm wrap around his neck and the side of his face is pressed against the side of Dante’s. It practically flusters Roland and he thinks that Dante has just answered his question about him being yin yang. “Hm, yeah you do look familiar, we’ve got pictures together in your scrapbook don’t we Mom?”

“Dante! Get off him, I’m trying to cut his hair!”

“Right, right, sorry…” He backs off.

Leslie finishes cutting Roland’s hair, in the end, she’s right, taking a little off the back and adding a little on the bottom does make for a nice mullet. Roland pays with some of the money from the envelope and he and Lilian start heading home.

“So, should I leave you alone for the rest of the afternoon?” Lilian asks.

“Ew, no, gross, I’m not doing that, and you already knew I wouldn’t!”

“Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to see your reaction.”

Roland finds Lilian leaving his side again, he looks back to her staring at the same dress as before. 

“You really like that dress don’t you?”

“Well, not that exactly, it looks a little tacky,” She sighs. “I just want a big pretty dress, y’know?”

Roland blinks at her, “I don’t, I’m a guy.” Lilian scowls.

“Tell you what, for your eighteenth birthday I’ll try to convince Mom to get you a pretty dress.”

Lilian gasps, “Really!”

“I said I’ll try, that’s not a promise.”

“Thank you!!!”

#unwind #unwind dystology #unwind fanfic #unwind series #sequel fic #roland taggart #unwind oc

[wired-heartbeats]

*Thinks about F/Os gently trailing their fingers across my abundance of acne scars and acne bruises and softly assuring me it’s always been something they’ve accepted about me and that its just another part of me they love*

Oh god oh fuck hold on Oh shit

#I have. A LOT of acne and acne scars/bruises and I don’t mind them but it gets tiring cause everyone else seems to #like I don’t care about them in a negative way it’s just another part of being me but GOD do ppl think they have a right to try and make me #feel bad about it it’s exhausting #self shipping #self ship #my fos not even noticing or just accepting it as part of me or just being curious in a positive way would KILL me that’s all I want #.... maybe if I start drawing myself with them more #or at least the coloring the bruises gives me because it’s definitely kinda purple all along my spine shoulders chest and half my back #anyway your fos love you no matter what got it #cats chatterbox #dermatillomania def affects a lot more than some of us let on

[jennyslcte]

A MASTERLIST OF “OBSCURE” AND “UGLY” TRAITS AND OTHER THINGS. (1/?)

Anyone who knows me knows I love a downright gross character with sincere but obscure attributes. I recently made a PSA, located here, about how we should make traits like this more popular in the RPC. An anon suggested that I put together a list of traits and other things to work into a character’s personality in this sense! You can find that list under the cut. Enjoy!

Give your character bloody, scratched up knees.

Horrible fashion sense.

Bald spots.

Skin picking.

A habit of burping.

Make them overcompensate, make them desperate to save face.

Make them overly talkative. Obnoxious, annoying.

Awkwardness. Allow your characters to be awkward as fuck. Awkwardness isn’t always quirky. For me, it’s sweaty armpits and a bright red face.

Hey, there’s one. Sweat. Sweaty armpits. Sweaty tits. Sweaty hairlines.

Do research on health problems and concerns. Portray them in an understandable and careful way. A character can have Trichotillomania aka excessive hair-pulling. Give them diabetes, heart problems, OCD, Epilepsy, Arthritis, joint pain, back pain. The list is endless. Pull from personal experience too, that always helps me.

FARTS.

Write more about your character’s period. Sometimes it’s downright gross. Describe that.

Give them bad or crooked teeth. Missing teeth too.

Thin or thinning hair.

Throw in some facial hair too. Chin hairs, especially. I have so many.

Maybe your character a nail biter. 

Give them a messy home or a messy purse. 

Make them unconventional. 

Big noses. We love big noses.

Make them ugly but honest.

Make them unsatisfied for reasons they don’t understand. Let draw from this dissatisfaction and grow irritated by everyday life.

Obscure interests. Clowns, bruises, dirt, ghosts, trashcans, tearing out book pages, taping receipts to the wall, strange little tattoos, sex, demons, scissors. Whatever you can think of. 

Make your characters cut their hair on impulse. Get ugly, horrible haircuts. They can cut their bangs at 3am and regret it when they wake up.

Sleeping until the afternoon. 

Broken bones. 

Maybe they’re obsessed with the internet and social media.

Let them have lots of dirty laundry.

Hair chewing.

Necklace chewing.

Junk food lover.

The person who forgets to wear deodorant. 

The person who forgets to wear deodorant but always has a little travel one inside their bag. Thank God.

Rotting milk in the back of the fridge.

Doesn’t text back. Never answers emails. 

Make them fickle. Make them change their mind often. 

Give them a crooked spine.

Smelly feet.

Sore feet.

Bad at exercise.

Slowest runner on the planet.

Old pillowcases. They forget to wash them. But when they do, it’s awesome.

Excess cleaner. Everything needs to be clean or the world explodes.

Rashes.

Eye boogers. We all wake up with them.

Bad breath. Nobody wakes up with minty breath, dude.

Bad at makeup. Always has mascara and lipstick all over the place. One time, a foundation bottle exploded. 

Make them want to be liked. Adored.

Make them ignore people.

Ripped tights.

Chipped nail polish. 

Blotchy tans.

Uneven skin tone.

Ache. Pimples. Zits. Puss. WE ALL HAVE THEM.

Back acne....come on, give your character back acne.

Textured skin.

Poor communication skills.

Slow reader.

Not good at math.

Hell, not good at school subjects at all. 

Poop. LET YOUR CHARACTERS POOP, DAMN IT.

IBS.

Yeast infections.

Hairy balls.

Hairy legs. Hairy boobs. Hairy everything. 

Chronic kick the ice under the fridge person. 

Shopaholic. But, for like, stupid shit. Trinkets, books they’ll never read, journals they’ll never write in, stickers, ribbons, shark teeth, rocks, marbles, fancy napkins, plates, figurines, lotion, hats, Christmas decorations, and more. 

Did I mention trashcans?

Starts writing in journals but then gets annoyed and never writes in it ever again. Now they have tons. Too many. They’re all filled with one to three pages max.

Make your characters a try hard. Desperados. 

Make them get fired. Lose their jobs. Make them bad at their job.

Steal from the job.

Make them storm chasers.

Or a cashier at the dollar store.

Can’t swim.

Their whole life is a junk drawer.

Just give them a junk drawer. There are so many batteries in there.

MASTURBATE. LET YOUR CHARACTERS JERK OFF.

Do they masturbate a lot? How? Do they just do it to go to sleep? Make them masturbate just to go to sleep.

Ugly cry.

Ugly orgasm.

Scars.

Birthmarks. 

Discharge. 

Uneven tits.

Uneven balls.

Little dick, big dick, small dick. Sing it with me.

One day I’ll build that Ikea table. Not.

Dirty dishes. I’m not doing them.

Your character doesn’t do the dishes? Make them have a habit of chucking them in the garbage and buying new ones.

LAZY. LAZY. LAZY. SO FUCKING LAZY.

Has cereal with every meal. 

Drinks right from the bottle.

Collects mugs.

Collects rubber bands. 

Cries at everything. At every movie, every commercial.

Receding hairline. Sorry, buddy.

Silver hair.

Dry skin.

Dandruff.

Greasy hair. I didn’t have time to shower.

Mismatched socks. 

Ripped underwear.

RIPPED PANTS. OH NO.

Worst driver ever.

Secretly, I’m an asshole. But only in secret.

Accidentally burnt the apartment down. Nothing tragic. Nobody died. I left a pizza in the oven.

Let random shit happen. Not everything is a tragedy. Accidents. Oops.

Give your characters studio apartments. Small homes. Old homes. Little, tiny spaces. 

Give your characters regular, working class jobs. Receptionist, garbage person, cashier, deli manager, dishwasher, food staff, telemarketer. Once again, the list is endless. 

Break some hearts. Your character can cause the suffering. 

Dysfunctional siblings. 

Fried, dry ass hair. 

Make them make terrible art. 

Make them not very talented. You don’t have to be good at everything to be happy.

Involved in a crime. Missing person, theft. You name it.

Make them a bad criminal. Maybe they suck at it. 

Worst. Assassin. Ever.

NOT EVERYONE IS AN EXPERT. 

Maybe they smoke too much weed.

Smelly socks. 

Maybe they smell too good....so good that it’s disgusting. Potent.

#rp psa #masterlist. #resources. #BY ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #this was so fun.....maybe i'll make a part 2 sometime #rph #rpc #rpt

[coffeecakefanfics]

In the middle | Midsize!FemReader x B.B

A/n: This is for my midsize girls but tbh anyone can read it <3 also requests are open

Warnings: Mentions of Ass throwing, Drinking, Mentions of body insecurities, Mentions of cuts and bruises,18+ themes

Being Midsized is weird. You’re too fat to be skinny but too skinny to be fat, you’re in this weird middle ground where you feel uncomfortable yet sexy at the same time.  You LOVE your big thighs and ass but HATE your tummy, it’s awkward

Y/n suffered from this problem, she had a great set of tits and a decent ass and the CUTEST tummy ever!  The problem though? Finding and outfit for parties, parties like the pool party and hangout that Tony made mandatory for the Avengers.  The sound of laughter shook through the compound as Y/n walked into the indoor pool and hot tub, music was playing and drinks were in hand. 

“There she is!” Nat yelled and held her drink up. A couple people cheered and Y/n bowed playfully. A laugh tumbled from her lips as she grabbed a bottle of a mikes hard, something sweet.  

“Come on get in,” Nat motioned for the girl to get into the hot tub. Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. 

“Come on, take it off!” Sam teased. 

“Shut up, I’m getting in” she laughed and tugged at the ties of black cover up. 

“Take it off, take it off!” A couple more people joined in.  The girl laughed and turned with her back to them and let the cover up drop to her waist, playful cheers filled the room now as she dropped the cover up. 

“Daamn mama,” Wanda whistled.

“I know I know,” Y/n played back. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault, he’d blame it on the way that the highwisted black suit cupped her ass, the way her thighs jiggled when she walked, how incredible the view of her breasts were sitting in the top that he let his mind wander to how gorgeous she’d look under him. 

“Bucky?” she voice pulled his mind back

“I think pretty boy might like the view,” Tony chirpped. 

“Tony shut up, leave the kid alone,” Y/n rolled her eyes at the older man. 

“What were you saying?” Bucky felt his cheeks dust

“I was asking if you were going on the mission tomorrow?” her eyes were soft, and innocent, glints of happiness shook through them.

“Yeah, Me, you and Steve are running this one,” he bit his lip.  The night continued on, drinking, laughing, it was almost. . . peaceful, that was until the sex talk started. 

“Come on Y/n how many?” Thor was the one poking now. 

“Ew no i’m not here to get slut shamed,” she laughed and sipped her drink, Bucky’s eyes drifted to how her lips sat so perfectly against the bottle. 

“Don’t be a baby,” He continued pushing. 

“Fine but you can’t laugh,” she shot him a look and he held his hands up in defence, “My body count is 3,” she shrugged and took another sip. 

“You’re lying,” Sam scoffed playfully and sipped his own drink.

“I’m serious, My first was a kid named Damien Salazar in 11th grad, then there was Troy Cash my second year of college and then I had a guy after we broke up that was so bad that I forgot his name,” she shrugged. 

“I really was expecting more,” Thor shrugged himself. 

“That’s hurtful,” she teased, “Even if it was more I wouldn’t be less of a woman for it, no one is,” she spoke stern. 

“No that’s not why we’re curious, you just never talk to us about this stuff,” Wanda noted.

“I mean you club with us and throw ass all the time but we never get to the personal stuff like that, you’re the only one we didn’t know,” Nat slung an arm around the girl, who laid her head on her.

“That’s a fair point,” The girl laughed.

“Question,” Bucky spoke up, “What the fuck is throwing ass?” The laughter after was deafening.

“Oh poor sweet baby Buck,” Sam patted his back before giving a pointed look to the girl across from them.

“Sam Wilson I know damn well you do not expect me to corrupt that poor man,” she shot up from Nats shoulder

“Come on, the man is 106 years old and hasn’t been twerked on, do him a solid. 

“I can’t and won’t have this conversation,” she rolled her eyes and took the last sip of her drink. “I am off to bed, See you two freaks in the morning,” she waved and wrapped a towel around her body. 

The mission went smooth, well except for a few bumps and bruises and a gash to Y/n’s suit, but it went smoothly.  Back at the compound she found herself restless, tossing and turning in bed led her to the kitchen, standing over a pot of coffee waiting for it to brew. 

“Can’t sleep?” The voice made her jump, spinning around to find Bucky standing by the table.

“Jesus Buck, A warning,” she smiled at him.

“Want a cup?” she pointed to the pot behind her.  Bucky simply nodded. 

“Nightmares?” she asked and slid a blue cup across the table to him.

“I don’t have nightmares,” he spoke, taking a sip.

“Okay Bucky,” she dropped it, holding the warm cup in her hands.   It wasn’t nightmares him up it was a feeling of, hate? no that’s not the word, discomfort in his body.  Something he never spoke of was the insecurity of his arm, he hated how the metal felt.  It kept him up sometimes, there was a point in time where he would try to claw it off, the scars are faintly there.

“What’s got you up?” he asked, carefully.

“Personal shit, I don’t need to make it your problem, her words were flat, nothing like how she normally spoke to him. 

“I’m here you know, to talk” his words tumbled, he never knew or was good at opening up.

“You too buck,” She smiled and took a sip.  Bucky studied how she leant against the counter, her her shirt draped her body, loose and hiding her figure, how her shorts were slightly risen up.  He loved her body, he loved how she looked in her suit, it hugged her ass and tits perfectly and outlined her figure, Bucky loved her tummy when he could see it, like when they sparred.

“Earth to Buck,” she was grinning at him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled and felt a blush creep up his face.

“What’s on your mind?” she had finished her drink and sat the cup in the sink.

“it’s uh- nothing,” he sipped the coffee.

“it’s not nothing because you drifted off, so spill” Bucky felt his head spinning, he couldn’t ask her that, he had too much respect for her.

“My door is open if you need it,” she smiled and let her fingers dance across his shoulder on the way out.  Bucky let out his breath and hung his head. He was so down bad. 

Once every three months shield brings their agents in to spar with the avengers, test them on hand to hand combat.  Y/n was slowly walking around the ring with her hands in defense, everyone stood around watching her and then new initiate.

“Go!” Fury yelled, the initiate jumped at the girl who dodged, tripping her up.  The initiate growled and lunged at Y/n again tossing punch after punch and throwing kicks. Y/n caught the girls foot and used it to pull her down.

“Time!” Fury called again.  Y/n locked eyes with Bucky who smirked at her. Y/n held her hand out to the initiate, the girl took it and smiled at Y/n. 

“Hey you did great, work on your defense a little more and you’ll be perfect” 

“Thank you” the girl smiled and left the ring. 

“Maybe if you lost some weight you’d be too,” a males voice spoke, accidentally too loud.  Y/n’s stomach dropped, feeling sick.  Her shoulders slumped for a second before a fire lit behind her eyes. 

“In the ring now!” she barked.

“Oh shit,” Sam cleared his throat.

“Here we go,” Tony took a deep breath and shook his head.  The young man scoffed and set foot into the ring.

“Go!” Fury called.  The man lunged, prematurely and ended up getting a shoulder to the stomach as Y/n took him down. He hit the ground with a huff.

“Again” he demanded. Y/n cracked her fingers, and held her defense.  The man was agitated, he was bouncing on his feet, rookie mistake.  He threw a couple punches that landed but when his strategy didn’t change Y/n saw the opportunity and sprung loose.  She blocked his punch with her forearm before kicking the back of his knee causing him to tumble, she set her foot on his throat, not putting any pressure, just to freak the kid out. 

“Listen up, I worked my fucking ass off to be in the place that I am in today, you’re all here to do the same, every one of you was seen as better than your peers.  With that being said does anyone else have any more dumb shit to say?” Her voice was sharp, thick, heavy.  The initiates eyes were trained on the ground, some were shifting, the energy in the room shifted and was uncomfortable.  Y/n jumped out of the ring and grabbed her bag, letting the gym door slam behind her. The team looked at each other with almost pity for the girl. 

“Nat, you’re in” Tony spoke calmly, trying to return the air.

“You fucked up kid,” He half sneered at the initiate who fumbled down the steps.

“I’ll go check on her,” Bucky mumbled to Sam.

“Let her cool off a bit man, she’s hurt,” Sam offered.  Bucky shook his head and left the gym. 

The door to her room was in fact unlocked, but Bucky still knocked before entering, waiting for her voice to speak.

“Come in” She had her back to him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I just wanted to check on you, I’m sorry I’ll-”

“No, no it’s okay. Thank you, it means a lot,” she smiled at him sadly.  His heart broke at the sight of her. 

“Look about what that kid said, he doesn’t know shit,” Bucky spoke carefully, he was trying to tread lightly.  She sat on the edge of her bed and let her head fall into her hands. 

“He’s right, I mean i’m in the gym 6 days a week and i’m lifting weights for 5.  But no matter what I do i’m still in this awful middle ground of being too fat but also ‘skinny’ and I fucking hate it. I hate my body and how it looks and I constantly feel like I stick out on the team,” the tears had started again.  Bucky sat on his knees infront of her. 

“Well fuck them,” he tilted her chin up.

“So what if you’re not tiny? You are still stronger than hell, you have such an amazing body, I mean you have the prettiest thighs i’ve ever seen, you have a nice rack and you have the best stomach,” Bucky smiled at her. She shook her head and wound her arms around yourself. 

“You are fucking beautiful, every inch of you.  Your acne, your stretch marks, your freckles, everything you hate about yourself I find, and this is going to make me sound gross but I find it sexy Y/n.  You’re not going to be everybodys type but sure as shit you’re mine” Y/n bit back the smile that was threatening to break through.

“Even my tummy?” she tried, playful

“Especially your tummy, you kidding?” he grinned and pushed her hair back, holding her cheek. “You are beautiful,” he spoke, barely above a whisper before connecting their lips. Y/n froze at first, unsure of if he was sincere or messing with her. He pulled away

“I’m sorry I should have asked,” he stammered and started to move away.

“No, I liked it” Y/n nodded and kissed him. 

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

[fakesurprise]

The War Before Christmas

The best thing about America is that it’s mostly empty space. Finding a vast field without witnesses takes almost no effort beyond a day of driving. I switch out with Noah and Anya every couple of hours and we make use of the radio for much of it. Everything I talk about that’s recent becomes about Jay, and I’m a little worried he’ll hear and just show up and happily offer up to adventure. That he’s only done that once this week was – almost astonishing. When I’m not driving, I’m sleeping or texting the wandering magician.

Jay isn’t travelling with either of us, and we’re hoping it’s good for him, but scared for him as much as anything else. Dylan might not be human, but at the core of it he’s a forest spirit as I understand it. Jay is eleven, from far Outside the universe, and full of helpfulness and bindings. So far we haven’t been called in to deal with an adventure or an oops, but it’s just a matter of time.  

My life was normal until the magician and Jay, and explaining being a god-eater is always difficult. The term never helps, even though it’s more policing gods than anything else. You never realize how boring your life was until people ask about it. People being mostly Anya, since Noah is still shy as anything around me. Her life was mostly people being afraid of her because they could sense her talent; Noah’s was his insane parents trying to make him into something Other.

We’ve covered it, as deep as we wanted to. I’ve been so busy with the magician and Jay that most normal stuff has passed me by, and Anya and Noah were so busy travelling with Wilbur and trying to help everyone that a lot of regular things passed them by as well; none of us have the time to really follow TV shows, let alone games or the news. Amazing how much conversation is lost without entertainment.

Not that Noah minds the silence, and Anya enjoys the music well enough. I’m too used to Jay filling silence with being jaysome. Too used to many things I’m trying to let go of since I offered to teach Noah and Anya how to better use their talents. Turns out I’m a decent teacher, which is something I didn’t know. They’re both learning to experiment a bit, feel out parts of their talents for things other than destruction.

Which isn’t what today is about. I ask Anya to pull over in a field like the other ones around us. Trees, a few mountains, the roads snowed in enough that the snow tires of our car needed an additional push by Noah a few times to get us here. Anya pulls out her phone, checks the map twice.

“Nothing is here?”

I nod, ask them to move into the middle of the field and call Jay. I ask for one thing, and put my phone away slowly close to a minute later as I walk toward them. We all have nice, thick winter clothing on and Noah is looking about carefully, assessing threats and dangers without even thinking about it. Some day soon I need to meet this Aram step-father of his, because he’s taught the kid a lot in only a couple of years.

“Right. You have talents to destroy. My Christmas gift is you both using them.”

Noah starts visibly, eyes widening a little. The fae glamour he has that hides his acne now makes it a little easier to read his face, even with the mountain of freckles that remain. Anya’s glamour hides the fact that she isn’t quite human anymore; I don’t know the details of what she has inside her, only that it is from Outside the universe and kept her alive when she should have died. If that had a price, she either doesn’t know or won’t say.

“You push and pull things, you cause pain; neither of you have ever really cut loose with your talents. And you can’t get better until you have some idea how far you can go. Hence the middle of nowhere. And me.”

Anya shakes her head. “It’s a good idea, but –.”

“No buts. Hit me with your talent.”

She blinks, then lets out a low whistle when nothing happens. “You’re not eating my talent like you eat energy, and we can see when the god inside you manifests,” she says slowly, and gestures. The snow around me moves away with the force of the talent that hits me.

I smirk. “That the best you can do?”

Anya tries twice more, causing pain to no effect at all, and then turns to Noah. “Make sure the car is protected.”

He walks back to the car, his own talent pushing hers away from him – and it, I hope, since otherwise we have no ride.

Anya turns back to me. “I once gave everyone in Rivercomb a headache for a week because I could. My talent isn’t the sort of thing you cut loose with.”

“Which is who you need to.”

She smiles at that, and the smile is cold and certain. “On your head be it.”

One of the side benefits to being tough like a Jay turns out to be that I don’t need to breathe. Which is for the best as her talent slams into the world around me. The snow dies, turning into vapour. The barren grass is subject to pain, destroyed, and even the ground under my feet turns into dead earth in under a minute as Anya focuses her talent. She causes pain; whatever is inside her destroys.

The Other inside her swims toward the surface, her talent pushing hard enough to bruise the skin of the world around us.

“Focus on me,” I snap, in a tone of voice that mostly works on Jay.

Anya’s gaze snaps toward me and I feel the force of her talent crawling against my skin, trying to find a a way in. She’s panting for air, both hands stretched out toward me. “Pain,” she says, and the force of her talent pushes me back  a step before she collapses to her knees in the snow.

“Reign it in. Control,” I say, walking toward her.

Anya nods, not moving for a few seconds, and stands shakily on her own as I walk over. She’s sweating, eyes wide in shock. “That wasn’t just me.”

“It wasn’t, no. And you have no idea how glad I am that you realized that.”

That wins a shaky laugh as she looks at the ground where I had been. “That’s – a lot to process.”

“It is.”

“I should have realized I could do that, but I didn’t.” She shakes her head, bends down and cools her face with some snow before walking toward the car. “I’d probably be angry you did this just before so-called holidays, but I am looking forward to Noah.”

I move to the next field over and Noah leaves the car and walks warily toward me.

“You told me you cut loose against a magician to save your friends. This isn’t that: you’re cutting loose for you. Hit me as hard as you can with your talent, and do it until you can’t.”

He says something as he trudges through the snow.

“I can’t hear you,” I say, both true and cruel at once.

Noah walks up. “I said no. I’m not – I don’t want to do that,” he says in his soft voice.

“Which is why you have to. I could do crass things. I could sincerely threaten Anya, and you would defend her. But this has to your talent. Not your anger, not anything else. I am tough like a Jay right now, Noah. You won’t be able to hurt me. And we’re not leaving until you try.”

Noah doesn’t move, but there is a slightly almost-tug in the air around me. He can pull and push things, which it at once absurdly strong and too limited by far. He raises both hands, yanks them toward him. The feeling is a little stronger, but still easy to ignore.

“I did say try, didn’t I?”

Noah takes a few steps back, and the snow in five fields hurls toward him and dumps itself down on me in a giant ball of rock and ice moments later.

I walk out of it easily, brushing snow from my face. “If you can move one, dropping a mountain on me would slow me down. But be noticed quite a bit, so let’s not see if you can?”

Noah ignores my jibe; no talent is that strong, after all. But he gestures in a sharp, cutting motion and I have to brace myself a little against the force of it.

He steps back, shaking his head a little, and tries again. I walk toward him, hands in my pockets. “Most people never have to know how strong they are, and they’re all the luckier for it. But people like us don’t get that option. You have to get a feel for your limits in order to surpass them.”

“But I don’t want to,” he whispers once I’m close enough to him.

“Then you’ll get yourself killed, and probably your friends as well. I don’t know how good a teacher I am or will become, but I’d be an even shittier one if I let that happen. So we’re not going until you cut loose, without anger, at me.”

“I’m never letting you meet Aram,” he mumbles, and then I actually step back twice as his talent pushes into me. Noah’s right hand raises, spread out despite the pain from old scars, and I’m pushed back three more steps before I brace myself.

“Not bad. But Anya said you once hurt a magician hard in their own city. So prove it.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t just –.”

“You can. You have to. You can get stronger, Noah, in ways that aren’t dangerous. But that means getting stronger in ways that are first. To pull, to push: those aren’t small things. The world isn’t a small place, and everything means more than it does. Think,” I snap.

He steps back, closes his eyes. Whispers something I don’t catch at all.

The resulting push flings me back ten steps. I let out a laugh.

Noah’s eyes open at that, his grin a shy gift as he talent hurls out again, and again, and again. Realizing he genuinely can’t hurt anyone tough like a Jay. Letting the talent free. In a minute I’ve been skidded through two fields andthe strength of the pushes is waning.

“I can – do bursts, but nothing sustained,” he pants. “And not more than that, at once, I think?”

“Okay. And next?”

He blinks owlishly a few times.

“How hard can you pull?” I ask.

Noah steps back, frowning at me. His silence stretches almost two minutes as he paces a little, his talent washing gently into me a few times, pushing and pulling. Then he stops, and gestures.

I hit the ground hard, doubled over as the world becomes nothing except a roar within me.

The pull ends, and I manage to stand on the second try with his help. Anya has arrived from the car and shoves several chocolate bars at me.  I eat them faster than I’ve eaten anything in my life, the roar fading to a dull rumble within.

“What was that?” I ask.

“You said Jay eats a lot, so I thought I could pull his hunger to the front of you?” Noah is not quite hiding behind Anya.

“And you could do that again?”

“I think so?”

I get out my phone. “Jay.”

Jay appears beside me, and the toughness of him is his again. “It’s really cold in Moscow you know!”

“You’re in Russia?”

“I’m waiting for a book,” he says, as if that makes all the sense in the world.

“Ah. You mind getting Noah and Anya home to Rivercomb?”

“Nope,” Jay says happily, and they vanish almost before I can hear him ask Noah about his freckles and if he can tickle the Outside inside Anya.

I wait, but they have Jay occupied so I call the wandering magician as I walk back to the car. Five winter fields ruined, entirely without Jay’s help. It’s strange realizing I can be part of disasters not involving him.

The wandering magician picks on the second ring with, “Charlie.”

“Nathen.” I don’t use his real name often. “I – remember my plan to test Noah and Anya against Jay?”

“Jay made it into a snowball fight?”

“No. But I asked to borrow his toughness so they could use their power against me.”

“And?” he says in a soft prodding.

“And he thought it over. Jay hesitated before saying yes.”

“Oh.” I’ve heard the wandering magician say that word often; never in this tone.

“Yes. Jay learning caution is somehow scarier than it should be.”

He snorts softly. “Much about Jay is. I am nudging Wilbur back to Rivercomb, and a house is letting me stay in it while the owners are away on vacation. I’ve asked Jay to bring you both by tomorrow: we all have good reasons for doing other things right now, but –.”

“But Jay?” I ask, half-joking.

“And you,” he says. A chuckles follows my silence. “I don’t know where you are, but you should start considering gits.”

And he hangs up before I can ask what he wants.

#writing #prose #magician series

[fanatic-fanfic-blog]

Chapter 1: (no title yet)

(I know I just posted a request about a Donald Pierce fanfic but I had an idea of my own and had to get it out :D You will meet Donald in the next chapter, this is just the beginning of my characters story, so I hope you enjoy! P.S if anyone is still interested in taking a request involving Donald Pierce pm me and I will give the details! So a backstory on the theme of this fic: it is set in the Logan universe, where mutants are hunted down and treated poorly by people in the everyday world.)

I walked through the aisles of the mini mart, looking at the various rows of energy drinks and bags of chips as I grabbed a redbull and made my way to the counter. I paid in the cash my dad had given me a few days prior to buy snacks in between classes, and made my way back out on the busy city street.I lived in new York, and took classes at an independent night school university- mostly because of my anxiety. I hated being around a lot of people at once, especially people around my age. They intimidated me, and I hated feeling intimidated. This, however, meant that I often stayed up during the late hours of the night, though I couldn’t say that I minded. There were always interesting people out on the streets of New York passed midnight- which is when my classes for the night ended. It was a pretty good schedule; weekdays from six to midnight. This gave me the whole day to do whatever I wanted, which mostly involved running, reading, and watching movies. Call me agoraphobic, but I hated going outside when I didn’t have to. I always made time for my morning runs, though. What can I say, I valued my health. As I walked out in the cool summer night air that fell through the cracks of the tall buildings that surrounded me, I stopped to adjust the straps on my backpack.That’s when I felt it- a chill, almost strong enough to be considered an ache at the back of my neck. I turned around just in time to see a man running towards me- staggering almost as if he was drunk- which made the fact that he was quickly closing the distance between us even more frightening. I didn’t know what to do, suddenly forgetting how to move my legs. Suddenly forgetting how to move in general. He approached me quickly, panting heavily from having to run, which made it all the worse for me, as I had to smell the putrid alcohol on his tongue.

“Sa pretty girl like you doin’ out here all alone?” he grinned, eyeing my chest and legs. It was all I could do to stare wide eyed at him. Frozen in fear of what was to come. I couldn’t move, and yet I had always thought of myself to be the type of person who would be good in a situation like this. The kind that would stay calm, and remember what I had been told about self defense. But none of that was registering in my mind at this moment. Only the smell of alcohol and the gleam of a silver blade in his left hand. He saw me eyeing it nervously and looked down at it’s rusted blade.

“Ya like it? Was a gift.” He wheezed out a laugh through his toothy grin, and I had to stop myself from gagging as he pressed it roughly to my side.

“Not a talkative type. Good. We’s gon have some fun tonight darlin’.”

That was it for me. Something finally snapped in my mind as I raised my arm and socked him in the nose as hard and as quickly as I could, hearing the soft fleshy sound of it breaking under the impact. Now run, I thought, and turned around to start sprinting, anywhere, anywhere away from this spot. I made it to the end of the street, starting to run across it when a car came screeching to a halt right in front of me, as I quickly jumped back.

I didn’t say anything, mouth agape as I looked at it, windows tinted and it being too dark to look inside anyways. That was when I heard the stumbling footsteps coming from wher I had just been, and a gurgled “Bitch!”, come from the man with the knife. That knocked some sense into me.

“Help! Help me!” No one got out of the car, it just stayed there, lights turning off after a moment. Then the doors opened; all four of them.

Out came out the scariest group of men I had ever seen in my life- and I had lived in New York since I was three. The first one, the one behind the wheel, was tall- maybe 6’4, with no hair, and a snake tattoo classily winding around his sleeveless arms. The passenger side man had hair, too much of it; long and tangled up in a low ponytail, with a smile that showed too many teeth. All yellowed and decayed, from smoking, it looked like. The two in the back were just as rough looking- one had a gun tucked in the front side of his pants, in front of his shirt for all to see, and the other one was just beginning to bald, with acne scars covering his cheeks and shoulders. No tattoos visible, except a small heart under his eye. And I don’t think that meant “love”.

I said it again, breathy and quiet.

“Help.”

They just looked at me, grins apparent in their eyes if not on their mouths. I was beginning to panic, as the man was fast approaching. The one that had been behind the steering wheel looked me in the eyes as he said the man I had punched, who was now holding his nose, and breathing heavily out of his mouth;

“How’s she treatin you, Joe?”

My heart sank further than I had ever thought possible. In fact, i believe it left my body completely, for I did not feel it beat once after he spoke.

“Little bitch don broke my nose.” He spit out blood next to my shoe, and I looked down at it slowly- seeing the clots and strings of mucus on the sidewalk mixed in with red.

“Aw now, why would she do a thing like that?”

He shut his car door, and so did the others. I backed away feeling my feet go numb. This couldn’t be happening. This doesn’t just happen to someone. This can’t be real.

And yet, I knew exactly what I was looking at. I was looking at my death sentence. In that moment I could picture everything; the police finding my body in some dumpster somewhere in this hell of a city. “She was just walking home from classes”, they’ll explain to my dad, “when she was taken. Raped. Killed.” I was going to be a statistic in a matter of minutes. And it was too much. The man who had been driving told the man named Joe to get in the car, and he happily complied, still nursing his bloody face.

And then I turned, and I ran. But I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough, and I wasn’t brave enough to do anything but scream when the man grabbed me. When he punched stomach, kicked my ribs, ripped open my shirt. The others standing around him, looking out for anyone else. And that’s when it happened- after he tore open my shirt. That’s when I reached up to punch him. Only something hit him before my fist did- something sharp. Because when I saw my fist connect to his face, his whole body stilled, and his eyes went blank. Then I pulled away and saw it; the blades that extended out from my fist, covered and dripping now, in another man’s blood. The other men, they saw this, and they ran. Got in their car, curses flying out of their mouths in every language I had ever been taught, then sped off. I just layed there, next to a dead man, looking at my fist, where the blades had been. Now, there was just a fist, bloody and bruised. In my shocked state, I got up, and I began walking, stopping only once to grab the bag I had been carrying, and sling it back on my back, adjusting the straps. Then I made my way to the police station.

The woman at the front of the station had too much makeup on. She looked to be about 35, and was chewing minty gum as she asked me questions with mock sympathy, and a patronizing stare, looking me up and down; bloody, bruised, wearing shorts and a ripped shirt. I told her everything. How I had been walking when the man named Joe ran up to me with a knife, how I ran and almost got hit by a car full of men who tried to kill me in the street. How I punched him, only there were blades in my hand, and I don’t know what happened. How I walked here from that street, and not a single person stopped to help me.

“I see.” She said simply, typing something into the computer ahead of her, and turning to face me with a smile that seemed a little too forced. “Well, I’m glad you came here when you did. It was the right thing to do- turning yourself in.”

“What?”

“Darren.”

“Yeah?” A man who had been sitting in the back, listening to the whole thing suddenly raised his eyes from the place on the ground he had been staring at the whole time, and met eyes with the lady.

“You know where to take her.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I looked from her to the guy, but she was passed looking me in the eyes. The man stood up, and grabbed my upper arm, signaling for me to stand. I did.

“Please, can I call my dad?” I said, as I realized that the sun was starting to come up, and he must be sick with worry.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Her voice laced with the tiniest hint of resentment. “Everyone who needs to be called will be.”

#donald pierce #donald pierce x reader #oc #ofc #mutant #logan #marvel #wolverine

[fragileyetstrong-blog]

why i chose ballet

The reason I have decided to choose the subject area of ballet is because it is something that is a very big part of my life and always has been. Therefore I am very educated and can retrieve an abundance of primary research.

My initial thoughts were how I want to overcome stereotypes or show how ballet dancers are not always what you think they are.  Personally I do not fit the typical ballet stereotype by the way I dress, my dialect and my lifestyle choices and I think this is interesting because as soon as I am in a leotard or on stage performing it is like my true personality is taken away. The characteristics I usually have that make me Darci are stripped from me and all that is left is my body, my technique and my emotion that I portray. When dancing you have to use a lot of emotion especially when dancing as a character to fulfil the role and because there is no speaking in ballet this must be achieved through body language. It can be difficult because you may dance a role that is the opposite of how you usually act and therefore you create a whole new false persona.  

However when you are dancing there is a whole new emotion that I do not experience at any other time in my life. You are constantly striving to improve and progress because there is never an end point and perfection never seems achievable. You may reach your goal but as soon as you have reached that you will set a higher goal, it is an endless cycle. But with the music and adrenaline and the way you are controlling your body, it can put you in a state of ecstasy whilst you are in agonising pain. People do ballet because they love ballet.

As a 19 year old it may seem unusual that I continue to dance but not training to be a professional because that is usually the reason why people train their whole lives to lead up to be in a big company. I decided rather young that I didn’t want to do ballet as a career and people questioned this a lot and still do now. I have had the potential from a young age and would have been successful with auditions and could be an amazing dancer right now, but I didn’t want ballet to be my only focus and to control my life. If I were to train to just be a dancer and if I didn’t make it I would have nothing to fall back on and this scares me too much. Also I feared the competitive nature of ballet dancers because it is all about competition; competing against one another as well as competing against yourself. I have been raised to have happiness as my priority in life and I knew if I were to go into dance I would be unhappy majority of them time. I would have to watch extremely carefully what I eat, how much I weigh, exercise, my figure to fulfil the appearance of a classical ballerina as well as many lifestyle choices and I didn’t want these restrictions especially from age 10.

I have seen friends join companies and then a year later quit due to illness and injuries. Girls are asked to be a certain size and if genetically they don’t have a high metabolism or the figure or the correct height, there is a very good chance they’re not going to make it in the ballet industry. I find this unfair because this means there will be so many missed opportunities for beautifully talented dancers just because of the way they were born. Puberty is also a big issue with girls because training from a young age they may have the perfect body and suddenly they morph with no choice whatsoever.

By having a company of dancers that all look the same this means for corps de ballet everyone will be uniform in order to create the aesthetic and no one to stand out. Also for pas de deux if all males are the same and females are the same this means that any female can be partnered with any male with no height or weight issues, however this cannot always be prevented if you have exceptionally talented dancers who defy the appearance criteria.

The combat ballet dancers have with themselves is ongoing; ballet is tough on the mind as well as on the body. Injuries are a big part of a dancer’s life; they are constantly injured because they push their bodies too hard in ways their body shouldn’t move. Ballet is extremely unnatural for example an arabesque is completely defying the human bone structure but still you strive for the leg to be as high as possible which requires flexibility and turn out which you may not naturally have and therefore have to work for it to have the appearance of a perfect arabesque.

So not only bones, joints and tendons but also feet are completely unavoidable of being destroyed whilst doing pointe work. Toenails being removed surgically, blisters galore and bruising are just the average for a dancer. Dancers go for hours on end rehearsing and practicing in pointe shoes exerting themselves with barely any food or drink which is dangerous but it is just the norm and this is just overlooked. The pain mixed with the lack of food and weakness can just result in dancers collapsing or vomiting and making themselves very unwell but the dancer will not change their ways because it is all about bettering yourself.

But what I find really inspiring is that although all if this is going on behind the scenes, when you see a ballet performance this doesn’t come to mind at all. When you are watching it is just the most beautiful, elegant visual experience that really makes you feel a certain way. With the accompaniment of the music, costume and set it just pieces together all the hard work the dancer has put in.

I really want to look at the female form of ballet dancers and the strain they put their bodies through in order to look like that through diet, exercise and lifestyle choices. Although there are a lot of professionals who are very healthy physically and mentally, there is still a good chance that they have had an issue with their appearance at some point.

It’s not being self-conscious in a leotard that makes people change they’re body, it is entirely trying to build up certain muscles to have strength rather than make your body look a certain way.

Seeing your body next to someone else’s body who is better than yours does put you down, but personally I can overcome this because thankfully I am blessed with a slim physique, however I do put it down to dance. If I were to put on weight it would upset me which is wrong, however I cannot help how I feel. Currently I do not do any exercise to change my figure, however in the past I have gone through stages of waking up early to do abdominal exercises in order to achieve a flatter lower abdomen but I came to the realisation I didn’t need to do this to make me happy so I stopped because it was depriving me of sleep and put extra pressure of my back and therefore was unhealthy.

I say I do not watch my diet, but I certainly do, I’m just not obsessive over it. I will always aim to eat my 5 a day and have a balanced diet but I do still eat junk food regularly for enjoyment and drink alcohol which I know is extremely calorific but I can see past this. Although I know dancers who do restrict themselves rather severely:

“In ballet class I used to always feel self conscious about my back and chest being on show as I struggled with body acne. It got to the point where I was so embarrassed I decided to do something about it. The doctor prescribed me a one and a half year course of drugs to help cure my acne. They worked so well and after the course finished I was only left with faint scarring. However, due to the hormone imbalance within these drugs I quickly but subtly started putting on weight after coming off­ the course. I was back to square one again, l was nervous to go to ballet class as I wasn’t as slim as I used to be, or as slim as my class friends, and my desired figure for general life and for ballet had disappeared. After being given the lead role in the upcoming ballet company show, and knowing I’d be dancing with a boy, I decided a change was needed. Not a drastic change but a small adaptation to my diet which I hoped would help me shed a few pounds and get back to where I used to be. So I decided to cut all refined sugars. No cake, biscuits, sweets, chocolate etc. Only natural sources. I kept it under wraps for the first 2 months, I knew that as a ballet dancer many people would stereotypically associate my dietary change with a possible drastic eating disorder if they knew about it. I kept it to myself and carried on maintaining a strong will power and going to the gym to help boost my metabolism. Now 3 months later, I’ve lost 1.5 stone and am at a healthy and happy weight and body shape. A body that is toned and strong. A body that has allowed me to be a powerful but elegant ballet dancer without feeling the need to be stick thin”

Injuries are a very big part of a dancer’s life, especially for a professional it could be the difference between making it or never being a famous successful dancer. I suffer issues with my knees, wrists and spine due to hypermobility, but these issues are majorly exaggerated due to dance. My bendy back means I can achieve a perfect cambré but it causes me issues with other elements to dancing and therefore it has its advantages and disadvantages.

9 months ago I had an operation to remove a tumour the size of a small football attached to my ovary named a thecoma which is extremely rare. Since puberty I have constantly had issues with my hormones and whenever I have gone to seek medical advice I have always been discriminated against due to my petite frame and the fact that I am a ballet dancer. Doctors always try to dig deep for me to admit I have issues with food due to my size and I have to have my mother with me to back me up that I do actually eat 3 meals a day with a balanced diet containing plenty of nutrition. This has always upset me but never as much until my operation. Because I do not fit the physical polycystic ovary syndrome symptoms, it meant that the Doctor would not put me in to have a scan of my ovaries and it turns out that if I had of had this scan the tumour would have been spotted a year prior to it haemorrhaging and causing me a great deal of suffering. I was nil by mouth for 7 days waiting for my operation the emergency list and if it weren’t for me being strong with a healthy diet, there could have been life threatening consequences and therefore by doing ballet it pretty much saved my life. However ballet also was against me because my abdominal wall was so hard it meant that the tumour did not protrude and therefore not visible and so I was not aware of it. Also it was ballet that actually caused it to haemorrhage because two days prior I had been rehearsing cygnets from Swan Lake which is extremely difficult and really pushes the body to its limits and in this case my tumour. Therefore I want to look into how ballet has both assisted me as well as limited me.

[tragicbooks]

The photographs are beautiful, and the message behind them is anything but superficial.

<br>

If you’ve flipped through a magazine since, oh, the dawn of time, you’ve probably seen photographs of women who are retouched almost beyond recognition.

These girls become "flawless," losing anything — bruises, scars, cellulite — that could identify them as less than what our society considers perfect. Emily Lauren Dick, a photographer, is not having any of that.

With her book "Average Girl: A Guide to Loving Your Body," Dick hopes to redefine what we consider beautiful by showing women just as they are — bruises, scars, cellulite, and all.  

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Like most humans, Dick was tired of feeling like she didn’t quite measure up to society’s standards.

In fact, the idea for the "Average Girl" series was inspired by the photographer’s own experience.

"I called my project Average Girl because personally, I’ve never been a fat girl and I’ve never been a skinny girl … I‘ve always been in the middle … an Average Girl," she wrote on her project's Kickstarter page.

That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with average. In her mind, "Average was where we all fit." She set out to create something for "any girl who has felt mediocre and who has struggled with not being considered ideal by social standards."

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

"Average Girl" is more than just a book of beautiful photographs. Dick hopes it will be a tool to convince women they don’t have to constantly improve their bodies to fit society’s narrow definition of beauty.

"I think we all wonder if the way we look is normal and although we are all different, we are all very similar. Young women need to see that we have a lot of similarities!" Dick says of her choice to photograph women in their underwear. "The things we are embarrassed about having (stretch marks, scars, bruises, acne, etc.) are things that are very common. We've just been told by the media that we should not have them."

"When we see stretch marks, blemishes and bruises we have started to question why they are present … and that is the reason for this book," she explained on the Kickstarter site. "I want them to see the stretch marks, blemishes and bruises as markers of living their lives to the fullest."  

She interviewed more than 80 young women for the project and filled out the text of the book with reader-friendly facts and even worksheets about the value of a positive body image.  

"The photographic component only reinforces the message that we need to practice self love and we are only going to do this if we change social beauty standards," her page reads.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

The photographs are stunning, but the topic of body image is anything but superficial.

Think back to those magazines you’ve been flipping through forever. Have you ever stopped to gauge how you feel when you see them? Would you even notice if you started to hate yourself or your body as those images flashed before your eyes?

When 3 out of 4 teen girls feel depressed, guilty, and shameful after three minutes of looking at a fashion magazine, it’s time to offer them some alternatives. Dick hopes her book will do just that.

"I want the conversation about women’s bodies to be focused on all that they have been through, what they can accomplish and what their bodies have done for them," she said.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Want to help make Dick’s vision a reality? You can support her Kickstarter here.

<br>

[socialviralnews]

The photographs are beautiful, and the message behind them is anything but superficial.

<br>

If you’ve flipped through a magazine since, oh, the dawn of time, you’ve probably seen photographs of women who are retouched almost beyond recognition.

These girls become "flawless," losing anything — bruises, scars, cellulite — that could identify them as less than what our society considers perfect. Emily Lauren Dick, a photographer, is not having any of that.

With her book "Average Girl: A Guide to Loving Your Body," Dick hopes to redefine what we consider beautiful by showing women just as they are — bruises, scars, cellulite, and all.  

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Like most humans, Dick was tired of feeling like she didn’t quite measure up to society’s standards.

In fact, the idea for the "Average Girl" series was inspired by the photographer’s own experience.

"I called my project Average Girl because personally, I’ve never been a fat girl and I’ve never been a skinny girl … I‘ve always been in the middle … an Average Girl," she wrote on her project's Kickstarter page.

That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with average. In her mind, "Average was where we all fit." She set out to create something for "any girl who has felt mediocre and who has struggled with not being considered ideal by social standards."

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

"Average Girl" is more than just a book of beautiful photographs. Dick hopes it will be a tool to convince women they don’t have to constantly improve their bodies to fit society’s narrow definition of beauty.

"I think we all wonder if the way we look is normal and although we are all different, we are all very similar. Young women need to see that we have a lot of similarities!" Dick says of her choice to photograph women in their underwear. "The things we are embarrassed about having (stretch marks, scars, bruises, acne, etc.) are things that are very common. We've just been told by the media that we should not have them."

"When we see stretch marks, blemishes and bruises we have started to question why they are present … and that is the reason for this book," she explained on the Kickstarter site. "I want them to see the stretch marks, blemishes and bruises as markers of living their lives to the fullest."  

She interviewed more than 80 young women for the project and filled out the text of the book with reader-friendly facts and even worksheets about the value of a positive body image.  

"The photographic component only reinforces the message that we need to practice self love and we are only going to do this if we change social beauty standards," her page reads.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

The photographs are stunning, but the topic of body image is anything but superficial.

Think back to those magazines you’ve been flipping through forever. Have you ever stopped to gauge how you feel when you see them? Would you even notice if you started to hate yourself or your body as those images flashed before your eyes?

When 3 out of 4 teen girls feel depressed, guilty, and shameful after three minutes of looking at a fashion magazine, it’s time to offer them some alternatives. Dick hopes her book will do just that.

"I want the conversation about women’s bodies to be focused on all that they have been through, what they can accomplish and what their bodies have done for them," she said.

Photo via Emily Lauren Dick, used with permission.

Want to help make Dick’s vision a reality? You can support her Kickstarter here.

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