makeitp1nk

Hello!

I opened a few commissions to help me pay some expenses while I look for a new job :(

I have 5 slots for waist up/full body and 1 for  page/comic available

You can find all the info about commissions here

If interested, you can DM me , or fill this google form, or ordering via ko-fi

This is so fucking funny, apparently “war bad” is liberal propaganda now??? Yes, war IS bad you fucking dipshit.

All Quiet on the Western Front (the original book) was written by a German WWI veteran who was determined to show just how utterly horrifying, disgusting, and senseless the war- and by extension all war- was. The book and its adaptations take great pains to portray the suffering endured by the common soldiers on both sides, who didn’t even really want to fight but were manipulated/forced into it by those in power. The book was even banned in Nazi Germany and the author had to flee the country because the Nazis believed the book was “anti-German” and would hamper their war efforts by showing the German people the real horrors of war.

I am an ER nurse and this is the best description of this event that I have ever heard. 

 FEMALE HEART ATTACKS 

 I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is description is so incredibly visceral that I feel like I have an entire new understanding of what it feels like to be living the symptoms on the inside. Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have… you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor the we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack: 

 "I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up. A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m. 

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR). This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening – we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack! I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment. 

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in. I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery. 

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents. Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand. 

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be! 2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER - you are a hazard to others on the road. Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road. Do NOT call your doctor – he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later. 3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive to tell the tale.“

I must admit, I am not an expert on transgenderism. I struggle to understand so much of it, and the science is conflicting. When in doubt, however, I always try to err on the side of kindness, mercy, and compassion. I also try to get proximate, and I am learning so much from our transgender community. They are great kids who face enormous struggles. Here are the numbers that have most impacted my decision: 75,000, 4, 1, 86 and 56. 75,000 high school kids participating in high school sports in Utah. 4 transgender kids playing high school sports in Utah. 1 transgender student playing girls sports. 86% of trans youth reporting suicidality. 56% of trans youth having attempted suicide. Four kids and only one of them playing girls sports. That’s what all of this is about. Four kids who aren’t dominating or winning trophies or taking scholarships. Four kids who are just trying to find some friends and feel like they are a part of something. Four kids trying to get through each day. Rarely has so much fear and anger been directed at so few. I don’t understand what they are going through or why they feel the way they do. But I want them to live.

Hand holding. That's all it fucking took.

So catch me at Pride in a leather harness and holding a bat, because if hand holding is all it takes, we owe it to each other to stand together.

Call me a degenerate if you want. I don't care. It has always been the degenerates protecting each other when the cops raid our bars and inspect our clothing and haul us away for being cross-dressing, family-destroying, society-polluting, tranny dyke faggot freaks.

I know who I'd rather have on my side, and it's not the self-loathing pieces of shit who would rather destroy their own people than dismantle systems of oppression.

You are Yuna Hollander. Your son’s brand new boss should be talking about how skilled he is at his job, instead he talks about your son’s race. The way he looks like you. Your son tenses up by your shoulder. You cover the discomfort coming from the both of you, because this is the price for his dream and it is your fault.

You are Yuna Hollander. You know Shane has to work twice as hard to be half as visible as the white players even though he’s better than all of them (except maybe that Russian in Boston). You’re grateful that he has his father’s last name, it’s easier to market. You spend your lunch breaks making calls, answering emails, securing brand deals. You get home from work and clock into your second shift, building your son’s retirement plan. The body you made for him will only last him so long. You’re determined that he will live beyond it.

You are Yuna Hollander. Your son is at lunch and he’s not acting like himself. He’s tense like you’ve never seen him. He’s under so much pressure and you know you’ve contributed to that and it kills you. Maybe he needs to break from this regimen. You suggest he has a glass of wine with yourself and David. You’ve forgotten how important routines and rules are to your autistic son. You don’t know how to express that you think Shane is maybe in too deep with his hockey bubble, and that he perhaps should meet more normal people. Or at least, ones that aren’t hockey people. You don’t know how to say this because you’ve pushed him into this, now you’re changing the game and he hates that. You make a joke about a Swedish princess. Really? says David.

You are Yuna Hollander and your son has a girlfriend. This has never happened before. For a while you thought he might’ve been gay, but clearly you were wrong. He’s a hockey player. He’s the best in the world. He’s handsome, he’s talented, and he’s rich. Now there’s a movie star girlfriend. He tells you a day before the media frenzy begins. It feels so short. You used to feel closer to him. Something feels distant, and you hope that this can bring you back into his orbit again. You ask him to extend an invite for the summer to his girlfriend. You hope that this Rose Landry sees your son, past the jersey to the quirky, funny, honest man beneath.

You are Yuna Hollander and your son is bleeding on the ice.

You are Yuna Hollander and you visit your son in the hospital. He’s babbling away like he used to as a small child, before the other kids told him that the way he spoke and thought and acted was strange. It’s unashamed and giddy and you wish it wasn’t from the morphine. You haven’t seen him this unguarded in— you can’t remember. He keeps a tight hold on your hand even when he falls asleep. The nurse says the visit earlier from Ilya Rozanov tired him out.

You are Yuna Hollander and you’ve just witnessed hockey history. Scott Hunter has just come out in the most public way possible. No one will remember this cup for anything else. Your son has been texting his friend throughout the whole game. His phone starts ringing and he practically sprints out of the room to answer it. You look to your husband in shock. I can’t believe someone did it, you say. I can’t believe it was Scott Hunter, he says. You don’t know what Shane thinks. He stays on the phone for a long, long time.

You are Yuna Hollander and your husband has just told you. Why didn’t your son tell you? Why didn’t he tell you years ago? What have you done or said that he felt he couldn’t tell you? How did you not notice your son was living a lie? Did he love his girlfriend? Did you not notice that he didn’t love his girlfriend? You are a terrible mother. You are a terrible person. Your son is your world. Your son has not let you know who he is. Your heart is breaking.

You are Yuna Hollander and Ilya Rozanov is in your home, eating your food and drinking your husband’s vodka. He’s also been fucking your son for a decade and—

You are Yuna Hollander. Your son is gay. Your son has been in some kind of relationship for a decade. Your son has been afraid of the world, of the media, of the reaction. Your son has been afraid of you.

You are Yuna Hollander and your son is telling you that he tried so hard. You are going to throw up. You have never wanted him to be something that he isn’t. You have never wanted to stand in his way. All you have ever wanted is the best for him. All you have ever wanted is to help him achieve his dreams. You take him into your arms and you feel his heart beating against yours and you remember his heart used to be inside of you. You haven’t known him. But now you do. You feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.

A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS 

Daniel Ings as Lyonel "The Laughing Storm" Baratheon 

Peter Claffey as Ser Duncan the Tall