#but also here and there all the time (still usually about wrong addresses)

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 16 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

You needed to rein in your anger for now. Jinwoo needed to defeat Baran as quickly as possible to obtain the ingredients necessary to cure his mother. Even though he might not yet know whether it would work, you did. The future you knew was enough to justify setting aside… whatever this was for the time being.

It was clear that Jinwoo wanted your support; otherwise, he would have already gone to the Demon Castle. You should have convinced him to go solo. According to the story, he’d be fine. Your interference might bring troublesome consequences, yet you wanted to help him—perhaps selfishly this time.

You still blamed yourself for what happened to his mother. You knew her eternal slumber was meant to drive Jinwoo to grow stronger. But you had the power to prevent it, to cure her, and yet—

At one point, you unconsciously began to feel that helping him was a way of making amends—for your helplessness, for things out of your control. Not just his mother [Why do you blame yourself?] but also for not arriving sooner from the garden. For being too late to save his father, even if the system might have stopped you anyway. You could have tried. Yet you were too late [it’s not your fault]. Too late to save his father. Too late to help the people devastated by Kamish.

[It was out of your control.]

---

The garden was as serene as ever, a tranquil oasis filled with blooming flowers and butterflies flitting through the air. The soft hum of nature provided a soothing backdrop, yet the tension inside you was anything but calm. You sat at your usual spot by the gazebo, sipping tea from a delicate cup, waiting for him to arrive via the invitation you’d sent with your butterflies.

When Jinwoo stepped into your domain, the portal sealed behind him.

Was it just you, or did he look more haggard than usual? Was it because of your… disagreement? He shouldn’t care that much about you. You needed to be sure of that. Otherwise… you didn’t know what would happen to this story.

"(Name), I'm sorry—" Jinwoo began, his voice tentative, but you cut him off with a raised hand.

"Sit," you said simply, taking another sip of tea. Your tone was measured, calm, but there was no room for argument.

To his credit—or perhaps his detriment—Jinwoo sat immediately, like an obedient dog, responding to its master’s command.

You laughed, and he flinched, thinking he’d done something wrong again. But you laughed because of the irony. Here sat the soon-to-be strongest man in the world, obeying you like a lost puppy. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, feel exhilarated, uneasy, or all of the above.

It was both endearing and unsettling.

You needed to address this situation—quickly.

But for now, Jinwoo needed to focus.

"Let’s set that aside for now," you said, waving off his attempt at an apology. You noticed him opening his mouth again, perhaps to protest, but one sharp look from you silenced him effectively. Lovely.

At least he listens when it matters.

"You need to return to the Demon Castle to gather the final material for crafting the Holy Water of Life, correct?"

"Y-yeah," Jinwoo stammered, caught off guard by your directness.

"Then why are you still here?" Your voice held a firm edge. Why hadn’t he already gone? He didn’t need you for this, not really.

"I—" Jinwoo faltered, the words dying in his throat. He was going to ask you to accompany him, but why? Why didn’t he use this time to leave, to step away from your anger? He couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, but leaving without resolving things with you felt… wrong.

Running away from this felt wrong.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. The tea in your cup swirled as you tilted it slightly, your thoughts as restless as the liquid. "I’ll help you," you said at last, the words measured but sincere. "Though I’m not sure how much help I’ll actually be. Just give me time to prepare.”

He clearly hadn’t expected that. “You don’t have to—”

"I don’t," you interjected, cutting him off once more. Your gaze softened as you set the teacup down and folded your hands on the table. "But I want to. Let’s just leave it at that."

Oh.

Jinwoo felt an odd sense of déjà vu. It reminded him of the past, back when he was weakest. When he didn’t know anything about his mysterious benefactor. When he didn’t know you.

Thank you. He wanted to say it, but it didn’t feel like enough. It never did.

You took his silence as agreement, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

---

The silence stretched on, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Jinwoo fidgeted slightly.

“I—” Jinwoo hesitated. Should he bring up that dinner? No. It wasn’t the right time, not when you were setting your fight aside for his sake.

“Hm?” you prompted.

“…Can you train Tusk?” Jinwoo blurted out, summoning the High Orc Shaman before he could stop himself. The towering figure of Tusk knelt immediately, his glowing eyes filled with both reverence and curiosity as he regarded you, and… confused by his nervous master.

You arched a brow, eyeing the orc, setting down your teacup with a soft clink.

Jinwoo scratched the back of his neck. “He’s good at casting spells—” He winced at his poor wording. “I… I thought he could learn a thing or two from you—”

You moved, and Jinwoo stiffened. Standing from your seat, you approached the kneeling Tusk, your footsteps soft against the gazebo’s stone floor. Tusk, to his credit, remained perfectly still, though his glowing eyes followed your every move.

Reaching out, you placed a hand gently atop his head, patting him lightly.

The orc blinked. Jinwoo blinked.

"Alright," you said simply.

You smiled—a genuine smile that Jinwoo hadn’t seen in days.

It was meant for Tusk, sure, but his shadows were an extension of himself. And Jinwoo… Jinwoo clung to that small glimmer of hope.

---

“Enchanting equipment?” you asked, your voice cool and composed.

“Yes.” Jinwoo nodded, carefully pulling two items from his inventory. “A few days ago, I bought some gear in preparation to return to the Demon Castle.” He handed you the wind-attribute robe and the nameless ring imbued with a water-attribute.

You regarded the items with a practiced eye, fingers grazing the surface of the robe before both pieces floated midair, enveloped in your signature silver aura. Jinwoo watched as your shoulders relaxed, your eyes fluttering closed.

His gaze remained fixed as your butterflies began to swirl, seamlessly merging with your aura as they danced around the equipment. Your hair swayed gently with the magical currents, and for a moment, Jinwoo was captivated.

The light flared momentarily before dispersing, the butterflies scattering back into the garden. The robe and ring floated down gently into your open hand. Without a word, you handed them back to Jinwoo.

Out of curiosity, he activated the system to inspect their stats, and his eyes widened in shock. The equipment’s overall defense had tripled. Not doubled—tripled!

The robe’s magic resistance and affinity were leagues beyond its original state, and the ring now pulsed with latent power, its water attribute refined into something far more potent. Even the overall quality of the items had improved dramatically.

“You’re… you’re really amazing,” Jinwoo said, awe dripping from his tone as he examined the equipment.

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your focus had already shifted to your butterflies, idly letting them land on your fingers and shoulders.

You still weren’t looking at him.

Oh right. Jinwoo’s expression faltered as the realization hit. You were still giving him the silent treatment.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Jinwoo’s reaction—his head tilted down, his shoulders slightly slumped, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked like a dejected puppy, an image made even more comical by his flickering gaze, which kept darting to you as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment.

Your butterflies noticed, fluttering inquisitively toward Jinwoo before retreating back to you. Jinwoo’s shadows, peeking through the faint dark mist at his feet, mimicked the butterflies with exaggerated shrugs, clearly as lost as he was about what to do.

You didn’t react.

---

Yeesh.

Jinho shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, glancing between the two of you as the car sped down the road. The silence inside was suffocating—not quite as unbearable as the last time he’d seen the two of you together, but still tense enough to make him itch for some form of normalcy.

His Unnie sat by the window, her head resting lightly against the glass, staring at the passing scenery. She hadn’t said a word since they left. His Hyung, seated in the opposite side of the passenger seat from her, occasionally flicked his gaze toward her, his brow furrowing ever so slightly before his focus returned to the road.

The tension was palpable.

Jinwoo cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Were you able to sleep well?” he asked, addressing Jinho.

“Yes, Hyung-nim. Unnie is really a great host!” Jinho replied, his tone overly chipper as he tried to ease the atmosphere.

For the briefest of moments, he caught the smallest of smiles gracing your lips. It was faint and fleeting, but it was there. Before he could even process it, your expression returned to its usual steady, composed look.

The silence resumed.

This time, it was Jinho who cleared his throat awkwardly. “By the way, what business do you two have at the World Tower this early?”

“We’ll be going,” Jinwoo answered curtly.

Your gaze flickered to Jinho, and you added, “Take care of my shop in my absence, okay, Jinho?”

“Wait, what—?” Before Jinho could even finish his sentence, both of you were gone.

Jinho blinked, staring at the now-empty car. “Huh?” he muttered to himself, still processing the abrupt departure.

He sighed, leaning back in the seat. “Well… at least the tension’s gone now…”

---

“As we practiced, Tusk!” Your voice carried across the battlefield, clear and commanding.

Jinwoo stood at a safe distance, watching as the shadow of the high orc shaman obeyed your order, prepared to unleash a spell. Tusk raised the Orb of Avarice high, the artifact shimmering as it expanded to match his increased size.

“Fire!”

The command was punctuated by a deafening explosion of power. The beam tore through the battlefield, obliterating every demon in its path, only leaving a charred crater. The heat from the explosion rippled outward, stirring dust and debris, carrying with it the echoes of decimation.

Jinwoo whistled in appreciation, folding his arms as he observed the carnage. Behind him, his shadows shifted, and your butterflies fluttered in synchronized patterns, as if admiring the display.

Meanwhile, you floated upward, your butterflies swirling protectively around you. Once you reached Tusk’s massive head, you landed lightly, patting the shaman’s forehead.

“Well done!” you praised, your voice warm. A neon blue butterfly followed your gesture, landing on Tusk’s—well, tusk.

The shadow rumbled in satisfaction, his massive shoulders relaxing as he basked in the praise. Jinwoo couldn’t help but chuckle

Yeah, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips, leaving Tusk’s training to her was definitely the right call.

---

“Say, can your butterflies level up?” Jinwoo began as his dagger sliced cleanly through a demon, sending the dark creature crumpling to the ground. “Like my shadows?”

You were a short distance away, directing a volley of butterflies toward a cluster of demons. The faint hum of system constant notifications rang in Jinwoo’s mind as both your forces and his defeated demons across the floor in the coordinated teams.

“Yes, they can,” you replied, casting a spell that sent silvery light streaking toward Jinwoo. His health bar filled rapidly, minor scratches on his arms close up. A boost in mana regeneration and overall speed left him feeling reinvigorated as he flexed his fingers.

“They gain power differently, though,” you continued, spinning your scepter once to clear some demons encroaching on your position. “Instead of receiving direct experience points from defeating enemies, they grow stronger by feeding on lifeforce. It’s a continuous process, and it takes significantly more time.”

Jinwoo hummed, parrying a claw strike from a nearby demon. He glanced back at you as you effortlessly destroyed another group with a volley of silver projectiles.

You nodded. “They also have ranks similar to your shadows, but the system referred to them as stages of metamorphosis. Egg, Larva, Pupa, and Adult. Their forms change at each stage. Sometimes they grow larger, sometimes their colors or wing patterns shift, and so on. The last time I maxed them out, though, the ‘Adult’ stage was locked, so my strongest children remained in the ‘Pupa’ stage.”

Jinwoo tilted his head slightly, avoiding a beam of light that zipped past where his head had been moments before. The shot hit its mark, incinerating a line of demons behind him. He didn’t bother turning to check the scorched corpses. His focus stayed on you.

Your scepter glimmered in your hand, its tip still smoking faintly from the spell. You ran a hand down its length, your expression calm and calculated as more demons circled you and him.

“To ascend to the next stage, each butterfly requires specific ascension materials. The materials differ depending on the field I want them to excel in—whether it’s devouring, illusions, healing, or something else entirely,” you continued. Your voice was steady, even as you broke into a sprint straight toward him.

Jinwoo remained perfectly composed, lowering one hand, bracing himself. Without hesitation, you plant your foot in his palm, and he used his strength to propel you into the air. The dagger held in his other hand slashed cleanly through the demon hot on your heels.

Midair, you spun gracefully, casting multiple magic circles that hovered around you like constellations. Beams of concentrated light erupted from them, carving through the horde of demons surrounding Jinwoo with pinpoint accuracy. The spells struck true, decimating the creatures while leaving Jinwoo untouched in the center.

You landed gracefully, the silver aura around you dispersing as your butterflies fluttered back to various parts of the battlefield, supporting Jinwoo’s soldiers.

“It was something I gave the system feedback about. It’s why your shadows only need your permission to rank up.” You brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

“A single Larva-stage butterfly is more than equal to an entire kaleidoscope of its siblings still in the Egg stage. And that comparison holds for the higher stages as well.”

Jinwoo’s eyes followed the graceful movements of your butterflies, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So… when do you get to name them?” he asked casually, flicking the blood from his blade.

You turned to him sharply, your expression almost scandalized. “My children are living, sentient beings, Jinwoo. I name them as I see fit.”

Jinwoo smirked. “You’re telling me you memorize all their names? From the look of it, you’ve got hundreds—no, thousands of them.” He chuckled, expecting you to roll your eyes or laugh.

Instead, you looked at him blankly, reply just as flat, “Yes.”

Jinwoo opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. After a second, he closed it again and shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Of course, you do,” he murmured, bemused. Honestly, he should’ve expected that. It was just so you.

A voice echoed in your mind, soft and respectful.

My Lady, Sir Jinwoo’s shadows have located the entry permit. We can now ascend to the next floor.

“Red informed me that Igris’ team found the entry permit,” you relayed to Jinwoo.

He raised a brow. “Red?”

“The child who always hovers to my right,” you said, and as if on cue, Red fluttered down to your shoulder. You patted her wings lightly, murmuring, “Well done.”

Igris materialized behind Jinwoo, confirming the butterfly’s report with a respectful nod.

Jinwoo made a mental note to ask you more about your telepathic connection and the mechanics of how your butterflies were born. For now, it was time to ascend.

“Let’s move.”

Together, you ascended to the 80th floor.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [18/11/2024] -

[doomtrooper77]

I've got a story to accompany this image. You can read it below. It is not a cute romantic story; it is more like my images. So, if that is not your thing, skip the story. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Wrong Side of the Tracks

I had been in the bar for an hour already. It was one of those places off the beaten track where everyone went from what some would call the wrong side of the tracks. Mind you, this place wasn’t rundown. It just wasn’t fancy. The long wooden bar was polished, and the stools were worn but comfortable. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. In the back of the bar were some big couches and chairs in an open area. Every seating surface was made of that old-school leather that got patina but never grew thin, never ripped. It was all cushioned just right for sitting and drinking the night away. Behind the bar was bottle after bottle of every liquor you could think of. Cases full of bottles of beer and more than a few on tap. However, don’t come in asking for some fancy new-fangled Microbrew bullshit. This wasn’t that kind of place.

Most people who came here were working-class people who came in for drinks and bar food. People who worked with their hands or on their feet all day. You had some white-collar folks sprinkled in, but mostly people who grew up in the neighborhood who managed to get a job downtown but still came back to visit friends and family in the area. That’s not to say it also didn’t have more seedier visitors. It was also a place where locals on the "wrong" side of the law congregated. Depending on the day of the week and the time, there was little you couldn’t find here if you knew the right person to ask.

You need a loan. There was a table in the back where some gentlemen of Italian persuasion sat most days. They were happy to give you some money for a hefty fee. If you needed something to bring you up or down, there was usually someone you could talk to to provide you with whatever you needed. But they couldn’t sell it in the bar. Business of that sort was not allowed in the bar; discussing it was different. If you needed someone’s leg broken, there was someone who you could talk to about that.

The bar was situated behind several warehouses and buildings in an old light industrial part of the city. You had to know where it was to find it and drive a maze of access roads and streets to find it. The bar had an address but didn’t appear on Waze or Google Maps.  The lot was big enough for everything from Harleys to big rigs.  The lot is dim, with most of the light coming from other businesses outside its perimeter.

I was on my 3rd beer when I heard the Harley outside. It was cold in the Midwest in November, but the hardcore bikers rode in the cold air. I was sitting midway down the bar when the door opened, and the crowd started parting. People quickly moved aside, even to the point where they pressed against others to get out of the way of the approaching figure. I got a glimpse of him just as he passed. I thought, “Jesus, he's gotten even bigger!”  He walked past, and you could feel his aura move with him. Predator. It was the only way to describe it. Some construction workers were drinking a few feet down, and one of the bigger guys either didn’t see him coming or had decided he was the alpha in the room. The biker didn’t change his step; his massive shoulders plowed through the big construction worker, pushing him into his buddies and spilling his beer down his shirt.

“Hey FUCK WAD, watch where you’re going!” The big construction worker said. He was big, about 6’5, and easily 280-290 solid pounds. You can tell he was used to being the big guy in the room. The area around them quieted as the biker turned around and took two steps back. I got a good look at him then. He was about 6’2, so shorter than the construction worker. However, everything else about the biker made the construction worker seem small. He had actual doorway-wide shoulders.  Arms are truly as thick as a healthy man's leg. Massive pecs encased under the leather vest. His lats push his massive arms away from his body at a freaking 45-degree angle. A neck so massive that it seemed like his huge shoulders just met his head somehow.  The part of my brain that was pretty damn good at calculating a man's size and weight told me at least 375 actual pounds.

One of the construction workers whispered “shit” as he pulled on his friend's arm. The bigger construction worker was wiping beer from his shirt and shook his friend's arm off as he looked up. Both men’s eyes met, and something happened. Guys know the feeling when you are in a situation where you quickly find out that you are not the alpha in the room. The biker took another step forward and pushed his chest into that of the construction worker. The biker tilted his head to that angle some guys do when trying to figure out how badly they will hurt someone. Not if, but how much. Everything around them quieted and stopped.

I could only see part of the construction workers' faces, but I could see the anger drain quickly away to be replaced by fear.  The Biker saw it and stepped into him more, pushing him back on his friends. Something like a wave of heat seemed to pass over me, and I could feel the raw dominance coming off that biker. It was like being on the edge of a violent storm. You can feel the air pressure change and smell the lightning as it crashes just feet away. Or it is like being on the edge of a vast forest fire, watching a fire tornado spin feet away and your skin both dry and slick with sweat simultaneously.

I felt my balls shrink up and throb at the same time.  “Sorry. Sorry.. man, I’m sorry,” the Big Construction worker was saying. No longer meeting the biker’s gaze, he said, “Sorry I bumped into ya. My fault. Sorry, sorry.”  The Biker stayed crowded in his space for another 15 seconds, stepped back, and looked at the construction workers' buddies, who all looked away. He turned to walk to the back of the bar to the area where the couches and chairs were. There was a dangerous and knowing smirk on his face.

Within seconds, the bar's sounds returned to normal, and people moved on as if nothing had happened—except for the construction workers. Those guys threw money on the bar, paid their tab, and quickly left.

However, I was now intrigued—no, make that obsessed—with the monster in the back of the bar. Over the next hour, I made my way down the bar toward the back of the room. I could see he was sitting with several other bikers and rough-looking men. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing but could see them on the sly. He filled one of the club chairs, his mass covering it completely. He wore this leather vest, black jeans, and big black harness boots. Out of the group, he talked the least.

A couple in the booth was just on the edge of the sitting area, which had a perfect view.  They left when I almost convinced myself that my little spy game had gone as far as it should. Before they could get two steps away from the booth, I slid into it. The waitress came over, and I got another beer.  I took out my phone and pretended to be scrolling on it while I was sneaking peaks at the monster. My cock was so hard in my pants that I had to squirm around a bit to give it room.  Knowing I might never see this guy again, I discreetly turned on my camera and videoed him. I kept making gestures like I was scrolling and typing, but I was filming his every twitch and flex.

I ended up drinking another two beers while getting more and more footage. The angle I had the camera meant I really couldn’t see my screen. I might have noticed when he started looking at me if I had. Only when I looked up to sneak another peek I saw two pools of steel looking at me.  Eyes so bright and grey that they seemed to glow, and they were looking at me. Not glancing but staring at me. I could feel the weight of his attention. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck” was all I could think.  As nonchalantly as possible, I slowly angled my phone away, and while pretending to be texting, I shut off the camera. It was time to go. I couldn’t dare look up at him to see if he was still looking, but I knew. I could feel it—the heat and pressure of his attention.

I had two problems. My cock was still rock hard, and I needed to piss badly. So badly, I thought that if I tried to make it to my car, I would piss myself. SHIT. I took out my wallet and threw 50 bucks and an OK tip on the table. Every second felt like my bladder was going to burst. SHIIIT. Taking a deep breath, I causually stood up with my hand in my pocket, trying to hold my boner down, and started walking across the bar to the hallway with the bathrooms. My brain screamed don’t look at him, my cock, on the other hand, throbbed under my fingers and said, come on one last look.

Glancing in his direction as I walked past the men who sat in front of him, I saw his head turn and track me. Like some goddamn tiger or something. I got to the bathroom and made it to the urinal, and let out 5 beers worth of piss. My hard cock throbbing in my hand the entire time. When I finished, my cock had gone to semi-hard. Stuffing it back in my pants, I washed my hands, took a deep breath, and told myself to walk out of the bar. Walk out of the bathroom and straight out the bar, not looking at him or anyone. Out the bar and to my car.  Go home. Go home and watch all of the videos you took of that beast. My cock twitched and started to harden again.

I opened the door, turned to go down the hallway, and ran into a wall of beef. He stood there, his massive body filling the dim hallway, waiting. I bounced off him and stumbled back two steps. I looked up at his face and those eyes. My body froze. I can’t explain it. I FROOZE. He looked at me, his head tilted as if he were deciding something. My heart was racing, and my mouth was dry. For seconds, I couldn’t say anything. Then I remembered what happened with the guy up front. I quickly said, “Sorry. Excuse me for bumping into you.”  

He started moving toward me. I backed up a step, thinking he was headed to the bathroom. But he wasn’t. He kept walking past the bathroom, and now he was against me. His massive body pushes me forward, my backward pace struggling to keep up. “Uh wait, hey, umm, excuse me.” Every nonsensical word came out of my mouth, and he kept pushing me back down the hallway. I started to fall backward, and I felt this massive hand grab my shirt and keep me upright. With no effort, he lifted me on my toes and carried me down the darkening hall. I kept mumbling until he said, “Shut up.” He didn’t yell. He gave an order and expected it to be followed.

We turned a corner and went down another short hall. There was an exit door. He pushed me through it into the night. Behind the bar, it was virtually pitch black, only lit by moonlight and his eyes. He walked us 50 feet behind a brick shed and pushed me against the wall.  His beard split into a hard grin, and he said, “Phone.”

Stunned and terrified, I said, “What?”

I have never had anyone grab me by my throat and lift me off the ground before. His massive hand clamped around my neck; his other hand went to my pants pocket and ripped out my phone.  Still holding me up with one hand, his other expertly clicks the button to turn the screen on. It was locked. He looked at me and then at the phone. I expected he would demand the lock code. Instead, he turned my head to face the phone and held it up. Even in the dim moonlight, it recognized my face and unlocked it.

The massive hand that wasn’t throttling me expertly moved over the screen. His big fingers press and swipe my screen. The screen lit up his face. Harsh, rough, brutally handsome. In a few seconds, I heard the sound of the bar playing from my speaker.  His hand tightened on my throat.  I watched his face as he scrubbed through the video. His brutal features were darkening. The aura of potential violence made the air thick.

He turned the phone so I could see the video playing, which showed him staring at me and the camera from minutes ago. He pulled me down and leaned all of his weight into me, crushing me to the shed wall. He leaned in where our faces were touching. His steel grey eye was less than an inch from my own, staring into my eye like a laser beam. His beard rubbed against mine as his mouth was next to my ear. His hot, angry breath blew across my ear and neck.  It was intimate. Fear can be intimate.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you videoing me.” He said. His voice was deep, and his words were spoken normally, but the power behind them made me shiver.  My brain went blank. Words just tumbled from my mouth. Apologies. Explanations. Gibberish. I could see the rage ignite in his eyes as he pressed himself against me fully and repeated himself more forcefully. He asked again, and the anger and potential violence in his voice made my legs weak.

Then froze.  His eyes stayed locked to mine. His head tilted. He let go of my neck and reached down between us.  My brain may have been terrified and incapable of action; however, my cock was having the time of its life.  It could care less that this 390-pound monster was about to rip us apart. All it cared about was that 390-pound monster crushing and grinding me into the wall behind us. I felt the biker’s massive hand grab my hard cock.

The heat in his eyes was still there, in suspension.  Lifting my phone back up, I watched as he expertly tapped, swiped, and scrubbed through my phone. We stood that way for almost 3-4 minutes. I heard numerous videos I had saved to my phone from Leather sites, Raw Fuck Club, videos saved from Twitter and Pornhub. He flicked through them, and all the while, my throbbing cock was crushed by his hand.

Looking back at me, his eyes were still full of heat. “Is that it puppy? You getting some more jerk off material on your phone?” My fear is now joined with shame. SHIT. Shame giving me the power to look away.  His big hand squeezes my cock painfully, and he says, “I asked you a question, boy! You’re videoing me so you can jerk this thing off later?” His hand squeezed and pulled my cock roughly through my jeans. It throbbed and twitched with excitement.

I mumbled, “Yes.”

His face gets close to his mind, and the anger is back in his voice, “Speak up, boy! You got the balls to be filming me for your personal pleasure, be man enough to say it!”

“Yes, that is why I was filming you,” I said.

“Why me?” He said, his voice clearly expecting an answer.

I paused. Thinking of what to say.  Decided on the truth. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. As big as you are.  As tough as you are. As strong as you are.  As mean and scary.“ I stopped myself from going further.

He let go of my cock and pressed himself hard against me, crushing me more than before. “You like’em big and scary, huh?” His face was close to mind. “I’m 400 fucking pounds of the meanest and scariest motherfucker you gonna ever meet, boy.”  He pushed his mouth close to my ear and said, “I do mean and scary shit for fun. Are you sure you want that?” He fucking growled like a beast in my ear.

My cock didn’t give my brain time to think, so I quietly said, “Yes.”

He growled in my ear and crushed me even more against the wall. “Mean and scary it is.” He said.

Spinning me around, he pushed me face-first into the brick wall. He reached around, grabbed the front of my pants, and unbuckled my belt. He slid the belt off. Before I knew what was happening, he had made a loop out of it, put it around my neck, and pulled it tight. “There we go, puppy needs a leash.” He said. I was up on my toes. My skin was hot and cold. Excited and scared.

I felt his other hand grab the back of my jeans and yank. There was a ripping sound, and I tried to grab his hand to keep him from ripping my jeans. “Hey, I can take them down…” I never finished that sentence because I felt a fist hit me in the kidneys. Bright pain lanced up my side, and my legs went weak.

Pressing up against me, he said, “Understand this puppy. You’ve got three jobs right now. One, do what I say and nothing but what I say. Two, do whatever you can to make sure I enjoy using you however I want. Three, Survive. Do one and two well, and three shouldn’t be a problem. You fuck around thinking this is some date, and I can show you a whole other level of mean and scary. Do you understand me, boy?”

“ Yes, Sir.” I said.

He laughed roughly as his hand grabbed my jeans and ripped a big hole in the center. His hand reached through the hole to grab my shorts and grab one of the ass straps of my jock. He chuckled, “You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

I felt him step back and heard a zipper. He growled deeply again and pressed himself against me. I could feel his hot throbbing cock rub against my ass. He ground his hips back and forth and side to side. Fuck, it was huge. I could feel it throb and twitch as it moved across my skin. He slid it up my back and around my hips so I could feel how big it was.  I whimpered a bit in lust and fear. Leaning in, he growled, “Everything about me is big and scary.”

He slides his now hard cock between my ass cheeks, stretching the cheeks apart with-it’s size. I feel him let out a deep, growling breath as he crushes me between him and the wall.  I felt the big, veiny flesh slide up and down my hole. Yanking on the belt, he growls, “Open up.” He pushes his way in. Fuck its, huge. So damn thick. It just keeps sliding and sliding in. My breath is coming in short gasps. He chuckles as it pushes all the way in. I can feel his pubic hair and zipper teeth on my ass.  I want to yell, but the belt is pulled tight on my neck.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it. Take it all.” He says, grinding his massive body against mine. His cock throbbing deep inside me. Soon, he got a steady stroke going. His strokes are solid and deep. His powerlifting hips alternate from jackhammering into me to crushing me against the wall between him and the shed. He’s growling and breathing behind me like an animal. My legs are weak from the pounding.

I feel him loosen his grip on the belt, grab my hair, and pull my head to the side. I feel his thick beard rub across my neck. I moan as he rubs across that spot. The spot that makes me squirm when the right man finds it. He knows and licks across it. My body shakes. Then I felt his mouth bite down on that spot. Every nerve in my body cuts on and off. His hungry mouth bites and gnaws at my neck. Never breaking the skin. Holding me in place as his massive body goes into overdrive. Powerfucking me against the wall. I feel like a rhino is ramming into me. Time blurs and I don’t know if it has been 5 minutes or 15, but this monster has stamina. His pounding has never stopped.

I’ve never been used like this. I feel his stroke change, and by the 4th stroke, he explodes inside of me. Shot after shot, painting my insides. So much cum. So much I can feel it leaking around his cock and down my legs. He keeps his cock inside me until the absolute last twitch is done. When he pulls it out, I can feel more of it soaking my jeans.

I feel him step back and hear him say, “Turn around, boy.”  My legs are weak and wobbly. I feel like I have just lost a boxing match or been used like a tackling dummy.

He’s looking at me. Fuck he seems even bigger now. A huge fucking shadow in the moonlight.

I can barely see his face, but his eyes shine as he says. “You are not fucking done.” Looking down and then back up, he says. “Clean me up.” I look down, and his cock is still semi-hard and twitching. “You can get on your knees, or I can put you there. Get to work.”

Getting to my knees, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Just like when he was fucking me against the wall, his hands were soon clamped on the side of my head, and his hips were thrusting his cock deep into my throat. The more I choke, cough, and sputter, the more he likes it. By the time he was done, I was a messy fleshlight. He dumped three more loads down my throat. His big dick was like a firehose. I was so full, weak, and used that I just lay on the ground.

I felt his boot push me over to my back. His huge shadow was standing over me. He puts his boot on my chest, bends down, and shines my phone in my face again. He turns it back around, and I watch as he flicks through it again, stopping a few times.  “You didn’t do lousy tonight, boy. You managed to survive.” Putting real pressure on his boot and my chest, he repeats my home address, work address, and that of my sister. Nothing more, his threat was implicit.  “You better start working out more because next time, tonight will look like foreplay.” Then I watched his massive hand squeeze, and he crushed my phone like it was nothing. It sparked, and smoke started coming out of the cracked sides. I watch him lean back and throw the now burning hunk of glass and metal far further than anyone should be able to. “You need a new phone, puppy.” He says as he walks off into the darkness.  In the next few minutes, I heard a Harley start up and drive away.

Sometime later, I managed to get up and find my way to the parking lot. I smile as I gingerly get in my car, thinking about the cloud backup I have turned on for pictures and video on my phone. I do need a new phone. My dick twitches in anticipation.

[shopwitchvamp]

General reminder that this shop is run by just two (2) people, and that we don't answer emails overnight or (usually) on our days off. If you ever don't get a response right away, please do not panic. We will absolutely get to you during regular business hours!

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

(Do as you will with this, like switching who gets what etc etc. I don’t think this Quite answers the question, but maybe some of the set up? For it? Idk it’s almost 2 am I should be Asleep lol.)

They think she’s harmless.

Phantom knows she is not.

And, okay, so it was perhaps a bit underhanded to trick the boy, but she’s under the firm understanding that not only did he want to be tricked, he was meant to be tricked. After all, no one sane wanted the crown.

Lady Gotham was not exactly sane. And she wanted the crown. Just like everyone in her city wants. It wants and it wants and it wants.

It’s not like Phantom is just letting her galavant about either. The way Lady Gotham sees it, he had something of a plan about this from the beginning. He did not protest as she declared that she wanted a new Fright Night. That he would hold the title until she found her own court. Didn’t argue when she had him run around collecting artifacts of power and tomes upon tombs upon monuments upon obelisks of information from the living and dead and not-quite-either. And she paid him back for his troubles, well learned about the value of not owing debt. Ghosts didn’t bother his little town nearly so much, and she even paid him in gold and rarities for his services. In due time, she’d even tell him how to nurture that city-spirit-tie he’d begun to form, but not yet. Too soon, too fragile, and Phantom was still yet too alive to understand that the attachment to humans, the heartbreak of outliving them, was the nature of ghosts like them.

Phantom complained at length about just how often he kept running into John Constantine and a… Raven? Or some other bird. Not one of Lady Gotham’s flock, so not her problem. And sure, okay, she is supposed to be bringing order back to the realms or what have you. The fractured place fit her current fractured image perfectly as is, no adjustments needed.

But, and this is important- what she wanted wasn’t necessarily the crown. She wanted the investment. So much like her citizens, or her citizens were so much like her, there was ALWAYS another angle.

It’s simple. She, nearly mirror to the Infinite Realms that the fractured glass feeling of the title felt like slipping on a glove, needed healing. No one wanted to heal Lady Gotham, proud and prideful and snarling as her stone wings chipped and ground against themselves as she moved. But, there was some interest in healing the one who held the fate of the Realms in clawed hands.

Her curses acted as shields while she found ways to mend, and her status as a living city meant that stubborn heroes would come to her aid whether she deserved it or not.

Such as Phantom, holding the Soul Shredder at his hip, the Amulet of Aragorn around his neck, shards of a crystal staff and the containers of the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire. It’s not like she needed either, she wasn’t as insecure in her power as someone like Pariah Dark or that strange vampire creature Phantom had fought at least a few times now. He also had a few other artifacts, such as yet another ring and the scraps of a gauntlet now turned into a small arm brace. He looked pleased, probably. Lady Gotham isn’t too sure anymore. It was a sort of grimace, which is what she looked like when she smiled.

He was nearly done with his current duties, at least. All he had to do was go to her flock, present the items to the correct bird or bat, and explain the mystical magical dread that they now needed to clean up, on behest of Lady Gotham. Even if they refused now, she’d just wait for them to become one of her subjects. By all means, she’d delay it, because she did love her knights. But she had use of them, and they already did so well to keep her from dissolving into total tar and despair and darkness.

To her oldest knight, the sword that shows the worst fears to whomever is struck down, a power he’d seen used to the unfortunate worst and devastating amount of its ability.

To her oldest bird that tried to leave the nest, the crown that responded most powerfully to the strongest emotions, an ability that would test his control over his emotions that he oftentimes masked.

To the one whose wings got clipped but learned to fly anyways, a ring that once allowed a dragon princess to hide in plain sight, a role that she had long since adapted to.

To the one that was almost in her grasp now, a skeleton key to unlock anything in the city, even as he locked himself away more often than not.

To the one who found her flock lacking, who forced his way in and made his place there, the amulet to let him fly higher than ever if he could bring himself out of the shadows long enough to do so.

To her bird that defied her father, she gifts the ring to heighten emotion, to bring out the parts of her she files behind such cheerful chirps.

To the youngest of the birds, she gives the crystal shards, allowing him to control others fates in a way he himself would loathe, either to have done to him or to do upon others now that he has been under his father’s wing.

And to the one that holds power within himself, the brace that is useless on its own, one that works only when given power higher than he himself thinks he wields.

“Keep an eye on them, would you? Even afterwards?” Lady Gotham told Phantom, her voice like a death rattle between headstones, but also the light at the end of an alleyway.

“Sure,” Phantom said, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe I can get Batman to help with this book report while I’m out. Think he’s read The Great Gatsby?”

“Perhaps so,” she rumbled.

Phantom hummed. “Good enough for me.”

And he was off. And Lady Gotham smiled.

It was a bit less of a grimace than she remembered it being.

Lady Gotham: Ghost King

...so I've fallen down the DP x DC rabbithole (I fell down ages ago). I've seen a lot of fics that personify Gotham. Lady Gotham and Danny interact in these stories in various ways. There are a lot of Ghost King Danny stories in this fandom.

I had a thought. What if Lady Gotham fought Danny at a weak point, or maybe caught him by surprise (since in these stories she's usually pretty weak), and she became Ghost King? Of course she could also be really powerful, but anyone fighting the Ghost King would run into trouble so I feel like it would take special circumstances for her to defeat Danny. What would her kingship do to Gotham (the city)? What would that do to the Realms?

Just a thought.

[star-anise]

What radicalized me was Conservative philanthropy.

I've said before that my parents were property managers, which is to say, the people real estate investors who owned apartment buildings hired to act as landlords for them. And they and a lot of my other relatives were really big into investing in real estate as a means of creating generational wealth. (This has not worked out for us, by and large. Some have given up, but others are still hustling today.)

This means that when a local government wants to create a Taskforce on How We're Totally Addressing the Housing Crisis, You Guys, and among all the shelters and charities desperate for funding, they look to appoint someone who can represent the landlords who control most of the housing here... they appoint the kind of people I end up sitting next to at Thanksgiving dinner.

So this story I just shared about landlords and government and housing benefit payment dates?

Yeah. That got shared with me by a conservative. Someone who knows I'm a fruity socialist leech now, and wanted me to know that this was proof that the private sector CARES!

Actually, it was part of an argument about how government or nonprofit housing wasn't a good solution to the housing crisis, because the private sector "can do it more efficiently". The landlords saw something was really wrong and they were having to evict a lot more people than usual! So they called up their buddies in office and got it FIXED! Let us join hands and sing!

I, meanwhile, knew that benefits recipients had been screaming about this problem to national newsmedia for months before the landlords stepped in, so I was less than impressed. Imagine a type of noblesse oblige that only takes notice when they realize they're making people homeless when they might have made a profit off them instead.

Every time conservatives pat themselves on the back for how good they are to the poor, I can't stop seeing just how good to the poor they aren't, most of the time.

(And also: I know how the economics work, and how most of the time the landlords couldn't afford to just let people stay for less money. Mortgages need paying. But that doesn't inspire me to let the landlords off easy; it says to me that we really do need radically different funding models for housing.)

[sebscore]

gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton) 

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across. 

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was. 

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.'' 

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question. 

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them. 

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.'' 

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy. 

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place. 

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''. 

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.'' 

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling. 

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues. 

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.'' 

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat. 

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him. 

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage. 

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye. 

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board. 

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space. 

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request. 

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.'' 

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly. 

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back. 

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it. 

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly. 

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before. 

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her. 

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.'' 

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view. 

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered. 

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.'' 

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.'' 

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door. 

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-'' 

''The board can kiss my ass.'' 

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA'' 

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH'' 

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR'' 

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started. 

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.'' 

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.'' 

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.'' 

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.'' 

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her. 

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business. 

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye. 

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.'' 

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down. 

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?'' 

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.'' 

''Atta girl'' 

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis 

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[sleepynegress]

*sigh* Featurism...

So, I woke up to this shit on the Twit app and I've only hit on this issue before, but today I'm digging in. Colorism is something that is not addressed often enough, but intersected within that and even more rarely spoken about, is the issue of featurism. The young actress above just got cast as Juliet in the latest big staged prestige production of Romeo and Juliet, opposite Tom Holland. And as usual the blue-checks, everybody else including "black", and even Black regulars are all-in on the cruelty.

...But I want to breakdown a nuance that is too often skipped over when this happens. The two people named with her, give away the featurism game, here; a particularly nasty form of often internalized racism. I guarantee if the young actress looked like this?

She'd definitely still get racist attacks, but the particularly nasty shit I'm seeing attacking her looks wouldn't come. In fact, I could see some people thinking they are defending her with "but she's pretty!" or more specific... "obviously she's mixed" comments. -Something pretty much every Black woman with features that don't align with a narrow perception of blackness hear often (and we'll get to why I specified women in a minute). And don't get it twisted...

These aren't exclusively nor standard white features either (see: the many ethnic features w/in white ethnic groups that also get hit to a lesser and non-racialized degree such as large "hook" and/or Romanesque noses for example, which is definitely about anti-semitism, anti-Romani sentiment, and other disparaged/discriminated against ethnic minorities in Europe) and yes, blue eyes are naturally occurring within non-mixed and dark-skinned Black people due to a mutation called Waardenburg syndrome. But there is a REASON why fetishizing even certain ethnic features within the African continental diaspora has been a thing for a long time...i.e. "the dopest Ethiopian" from the Tribe Called Quest lyric is pictured as this:

and this:

and not this:

...despite them all being Ethiopians of various tribal ethnicities.

A wide-nose, a tighter curl, coil, or zig-zag pattern of hair, fuller lips and often, but not always (because I've given examples above where features "mitigate" skin color) darker skin. Zendaya is grouped with Tracey and Francesca Amewudah-Rivers, despite being both lighter in skin color and having a Black parent and a white parent because her nose isn't what has become the standard surgical look...that too many celebs have. This includes the ones who got so-called "ethnic" work or just a slight 'refinement'. No, her nose is born w/it, made for that good African air, as I call it. Nostrils prominent, nose bridge wide:

I went make-up free as well, because even make-up practices these days, go for that narrowing highlight technique i.e. just below it's subtle.

Sza is a an example of it taken to extremes, even with the Hollywood standard "ethnic" refinement she did get.

The thing is... I don't blame or attack her for that. Because you see above that is just a taste of what happens. Lil' Kim was relentlessly bullied by the men in her life for her ethnic features for her whole life...and that is why she is off-limits to this day for me when it comes to all the work she's had done.

...And this is where I explain why I specified men being mostly exempt. It's because "Blackness" including all the physical features associated with it, is by default masculinized. ...Which is why Idris Elba is considered one of the most handsome men in the world, w/o the caveats that even Lupita Nyong'o often gets. Nobody calls Samuel L. Jackson ugly. He is even idolized and fetishized by a specifically white male gaze for how culturally "Black" he is perceived to be for all the wrong reasons, his signature "motherfucka" for example (and I could go off on a whole other tangent here, but digressing). All this to say... Featurism sucks. It's not talked about enough. Blackness in all variations is Beautiful. Tracy Chapman looking as young she does?? Hell, mark it down to both her dark skin (a natural UV protector) and not messing with her given features (and being a lesbian, men will age you. lol -I got jokes-):

P.S. THANK GOODNESS for Tems and her rising prominence as a beauty as well:

P.P.S. Even Jay-Z the billionaire rapper has had the comments over the years about his lips and nose, hence that lyric in Beyonce's Formation.

[wonwoonlight]

when mingyu takes jungkook's advice but forgets about one (1) thing

fluff // idol!au // mingyu is dumb in love // sex implied but this drabble is nothing but fluff!!!!!

It's three in the morning when Mingyu turns on the live.

He's still high on adrenaline for some reason; the whole day has been great and not one single thing went wrong even though some schedules got him worried at first. His meals were all exactly to his liking, his exercise went like a breeze, and he got to see you.

Perhaps the last one is what makes him so high. After all, it's been a little over a month since he saw you and finally being able to see you and feel you... gosh it was the closest feeling he would describe as euphoric.

You're currently sleeping in his room, blisfully unaware that your boyfriend has turned on his live just one room away.

"Hi." He grins and waves at the camera. "If you remember I told you some time ago that I'd start listening to a certain senior... here I am."

He fixes his hoodie over his head, happy that the fans seem happy with his wardrobe: a grey sleeveless hoodie with nothing underneath.

"I look like your boyfriend?" His grins widen, his mind flying to you. "Your boyfriend must be very handsome then."

"Hmmm, why do I look happy when it's 3 in the morning? Why? Am I not allowed to be happy at this hour?" He comes closer to his screen to look at the comments. "I'm not drunk! But I might’ve had a liiiiittle bit of alcohol earlier."

The live continues on like that, and between all the crazy things he's seen Jungkook did, he's starting to see why the guy is fond of doing lives at this hour. As an idol, he's usually wide awake at ungodly hours, and even though he knew the company and Seungcheol would have his head tomorrow, he can't be bothered to care at this moment.

He's blaming it on the alcohol too. But by the time he even remotely considers something might go very wrong, he's having too much fun with his fans and he's way too drunk on the happy feeling from everything that has happened during the past 24 hours.

"It's okay. If I get scolded then I get scolded." He addresses the fans' concerns. "They probably won't reupload this so consider this a present for all of you here, okay? Let's have fun while we're at it."

"Mmmmh. Is there nothing fun? Tell me something fun." He frowns as he squints at his screen, trying to read through the comments.

"What I'm wearing underneath this?" He grins teasingly and tugs the neck of his hoodie. "What do you think?"

It's seconds later that the comment section goes crazy, and he blinks in confusion, trying to see why people are screaming. It doesn't help that no one gives him any context until he finally catches one single comment that gets his heart beating so loud he can hear it on his ears.

Was that hickey on your collarbone???

He continues to play stupid, answers some questions that he made up in his mind while pretending to look for one in the comment sections, stays on live for another five minutes before he says he's starting to get sleepy so he needs to go.

He stares into space for a good ten minutes after he turns off the live.

He's fucked.

He's so fucked.

How the fuck is he going to explain this to the company and all of his members tomorrow? At least he's actually been considering going public with you for quite some time, have talked about it with his members and the company also, but this isn't how he imagined it would be.

Biting his lip, he's too lost in his thoughts to realize you've stepped out of your room, looking a little lost also, wondering why he's in the living room.

"Why are you not in bed?" You ask adorably, rubbing your eyes as you plop on the sofa besides him. "And why is your phone propped like that?"

His arm wraps around you and pulls you to his chest, already imagining not having to hide you away anymore after whatever hurricane that will pass tomorrow.

But.

First thing first.

"Babe." He squeezes your shoulder, already feeling sorry at your sleepy hum because he's sure you won't be sleepy after this. But whatever, imagining his future self showing you off to everyone is going to be worth it.

He grins when you look up in confusion, the dangerous grin that you know is up for trouble.

"We might have a problem. "

[prentissluvr]

sorry won't cut it (rewrite) — sam and dean winchester

cw : gn!winchester!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, barely different from the original but slightly adjusted to fix some canon details i got wrong and adjust to my changed perspective of the whole purgatory situation, sam and dean did reader wrong, swearing, arguments, crying, nicknames (kid, kiddo, honey, sweetheart), 4.1K words.

summary : since dean disappeared, sam has been distant. when he calls you and you find out dean's back, you also find out that both of your older brother's have been lying to you.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

when sam answers your call, it comes as a relief. a surprise, but more than anything, a relief. it’s been two and a half months, almost on the dot, since he’s answered a call. usually it’s just one month. he has a single burner phone just for you, but it’s off half the time, and the other half he never answers.

you’ve grown used to his distance, to an extent. it still stings when your phone rings till voicemail sometimes, but you’ve just been too tired to argue with him, to ask him to comfort you, make him keep hashing through the pain of looking for dean and finding nothing but trouble. 

you want him to have the normalcy, the girl who loves him and makes him feel alright. you want to have faith that he’ll figure out how to factor you into it all eventually, but you still miss him, and you’re still lonely, so you keep calling, never getting angry or upset when he occasionally picks up. you just act like it’s normal, and you can tell he appreciates it, so you keep it up. in return, he asks you over sometimes, tells you each time how much amelia raves about you after you leave, and hugs you tight before you go.

it’s been several months since he’s invited you over, and he doesn’t really talk about her anymore. you figure something must have happened, but you never push anything anymore with him.

this call is different. one, because he finally picks up. two, because he tells you to meet up with him, no explanation or normal talk about what you should bring for dinner. three, he asks you to meet at a random address in kansas.

he sighs deep, “just… get here as soon as you can. i’ll send you the location.” then he hangs up and it feels like the hunting life all over again.

⟢

it’s a seven hour drive, and you’re tired out of your mind, high-strung and worn out from leaving right after your shift at a diner full of sleezes who don’t tip enough. even though this whole thing is strange for the new, hunting-free sam, there’s relief coursing through you at the thought of seeing him, hoping he’ll let your tired feet carry you right into his arms. you pull into a driveway of sorts, no obvious entrance to the unremarkable building in front of you, but your years of hunting and meeting up with your brothers at strange places during strange hours after strange calls help you find the door. it's a bunker, one you've never seen before.

you were always a little bit more like sam, disillusioned to the hunter life and the way your father raised you. you weren’t a fighter like him, but you slipped away at eighteen to go to college and found somewhere near stanford so you’d be able to visit sam often. he loved that, always so glad that you got out too. but you were barely gone a year before dean came back to collect you and sam to look for your dad. you came easier than sam, less attached to your new place and always finding yourself missing dean.

that’s what you’d been doing this past year. missing dean, and painfully. so when you knock on the door, calling out, “it’s me, sammy,” you freeze when it opens several beats later.

because the person behind the door isn’t sam. but it is your older brother. just the one who’s been who knows where and presumed dead, for the last year or so. the one you’ve endlessly searched for to no avail.

“dean?” your voice is small as his name slips from your mouth.

his eyes go soft, the way they rarely get, and the slight smile on his lips is half pained, half pure relief to see you after so long. “hey, kid.”

you launch yourself into his arms, and he catches you easily, right there in the doorway, and you have to fend off tears that you know wouldn’t put up so much of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted. but you were raised tough, and winchesters don’t cry all that often, at least not where someone else can see. so you swallow hard and tough it out, letting dean pull away from you and lead you inside. he moves through the house with a sort of ease he’d only have if he felt comfortable and safe there. this raises questions, along with the fact that he's here at all.

you’re speechless, but not for a lack of anything to say. endless questions stream through your mind, each one pushing to be asked, even more desperate to be answered.

but the only thing you can figure out how to say is “hi” to sam when he greets you in the living room. he pulls you into a hug, letting you linger for a moment before you know you have to ask all of the hard questions. something in his face is unreadable to you, which is rare when it comes to your brothers. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a hint of guilt. that rings alarms in your mind, but you brush your nerves aside when dean takes a seat on the couch.

you relax a bit when you sink down next to him, curling into his side a little. it makes you feel a bit childish, but you need it after everything this past year. he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you a little closer. sam sits down across from the two of you and you heave a sigh, wondering where to start.

opening your mouth and forcing words out is like a crack in a dam. everything comes out slow at first, but that lasts mere seconds before the flood.

“where… dean, where were you? i mean, i tried– i tried everything, i looked everywhere,” your voice breaks at that word, the weight of it meaning something only you understand. you look at him, brows taught and you’re confused by the surprise on his face, as if he didn’t expect you to say such a thing.

“what do you mean, you tried everything?” he asks, voice suddenly gruff and severe. you recoil from his side to get a better look at him. you don’t miss the look he shoots sam. this is already departing from what you expected, which is probably exactly what you should have expected, given your brothers. it’s just that, when dean hugged you back and he was solid and real and alive, when he sat on the couch instead of a chair so you could sit next to him, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to stay tucked safe into his side as they told you what happened, as they asked you to stay with them. 

“what do you mean?” you shoot back. “what, did you think i’d just kick back and call it someone else’s problem?”

“that’s what sam did. that’s what sam said you did.” his voice is accusatory and when you whirl to look at sam, utter bewilderment evident on your face, you can see him physically grimace. which means dean’s telling the truth.

“sam did what?” the question sounds like it’s targeted for dean, but you’re staring the younger down.

“listen, i– i’ll explain it to you later. what do you mean you did everything, you said you were going to school?” sam looks irked and defeated all at once.

“that is completely beside the point, sam, you lied to me?” you ask, voice tired and bordering on distressed, “but you’re not going to explain to me why? why you lied to me or why you apparently didn’t look for dean, i mean what– what’s up with that?” dean’s hand on your shoulder prevents you from standing as your voice grows strained.

“listen, kid, sam and i, we’ve already hashed this out, okay? it’s uh– it’s fine, alright?” with the way he says the word “fine”, you know that it still bothers dean, so you can’t understand why he’d say so. “we’ve got things to discuss here,” dean tries to reason with you before sam can respond. he’s no peace maker, but a full blown fight between the two of you could have an ugly ending.

“things to discuss?” you repeat, in disbelief of the audacity. knowing them, that means they need something from you, which begs the question of why sam asked you over in the first place. you don’t even want to think about them having ulterior motives outside ofjust wanting to see you, so you brush it off angrily. 

“well, i’m glad to hear that you two have hashed it out, but i haven’t yet, so we can discuss whatever that is later.” you shrug off dean’s hand, trying to focus on the things you’re already angry about instead of asking the even bigger question nagging at you now. when the hell did dean get back that those two had time to hash out something that major? you turn your anger back to sam, thinking about what it was like when dean first disappeared. “you told me you looked. you told me you did all that you could, that you tried everything in your power. now dean’s telling me that you did nothing?”

sam sighs heavily. “yes. okay, listen, i’m sorry i lied to you. but i just wanted you to try and live your life for once. i figured if i told you i did everything i could, that, i don’t know, maybe you’d give up and try to move on? go to school, do something you love, have real friends, maybe find someone?” he throws his hands up in the air, a defeated gesture because he knows you don’t agree, while he still thinks he did the right thing.

you scoff, because, god, he really has no idea. arms crossed and face the kind of calm that says run to anyone on the other end of your anger, you nod in false understanding. “yeah, what good that did,” you say, your tone so sarcastic and dry that sam just clenches his jaw and dean’s face turns from concerned to full-blown worried. he wonders if he should ask what that means, because whatever it does, it’s certainly not “good.” 

but you pick up again after a moment of thick, dripping silence. “you know, sam, you have absolutely no idea how this past year really was for me. i’m not saying it was easy for you, because i know it wasn’t. though now i know you also skipped the trouble of looking for dean and really, actually lived that hunting-free life you wanted. and–” you pause a moment, purposefully not looking at dean. “and it’s not– not bad that you got that, sam, all i’m saying is that just about nothing has been all, i don’t know, rainbows and butterflies more like you think,” your voice takes a scathing edge, a tone so rare to both of your brothers that neither knows what to say, “and you know what, sam? it’s looking to me like i’d be a lot better off if you’d just decided to tell me the goddamn truth.”

sam says your name, tentative like he’s testing hot waters, “i thought you said things were going well. you said you liked school, that you were making friends there? just explain to me what you mean so we can figure this out.”

“figure it out,” you repeat under your breath, sticking your tongue against the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something too harsh. “sam, things were going well! they were!” now you’re feeling desperate to make him understand, “but that night you told me there was nothing else we could do, nothing else to try and that i should just do my best to move on? i couldn’t, sam, i couldn’t do that. there had to be something more we could do, so i gave up on the things you said you did and i went further. i let you think i was fine, that i was doing what you wanted for me because you always sounded so tired. you always sounded like one more thing on your plate would make the sweet little life you built come crashing down, so i made sure you wouldn’t have to worry about me.”

dean’s does his best to make his interruption gentle, though he’s not the best at hiding his frustrations sometimes. he doesn’t want to upset you more, but you can hear the tension in his voice when he asks, “kiddo? what do you mean by you ‘went further?’”

suddenly you shrink in on yourself, your lower lip caught between your teeth and your eyes shining with fresh tears. “dean–,” your voice breaks before you can even say anything else. his hand is on your back, meant to be comforting, but it only makes you feel worse about it all. you know how much dean would hate the lengths you went to to try and get him back. “i can’t–” you shake your head, ignoring your oldest brother, “i can’t right now, but maybe… maybe if you’d told me the truth, sam, if i’d just started by reading through all of bobby’s books like you said you did, things would have worked out differently.”

“well, maybe if you told me you were going to keep trying, i could have helped you!” sam fires back.

you let out a strangled, frustrated noise as you stand, unable to keep sitting down. “would you? really? because i really don’t think you would’ve! you were so focused on moving on from losing dean that you distanced yourself from me, too! you barely picked up, never called, only talked about dean in three word sentences to tell me a lie about how you tried and failed to find anything to help! maybe if you paid any attention to me, gave any indication that you wanted to help or see me or be a major part of life like i wanted of you, i would have opened up to you!” it makes you even more angry when your voice turns teary, “and for once, i wanted to try to be the one to take care of you two. i kept my secrets, i never let on how fucking lonely i was, just so you wouldn’t worry about me!” 

a stunned silence falls over you brothers, sam’s guilt beginning to overrun his natural response of anger, and dean making up for that fading anger with his own. your chest heaves with laboured breath as you stare sam down.

dean’s tone is icy as he breaks the silence, “sam, is that really how you treated them while i was gone?”

sam exhales hard, ignoring dean in favor of looking at you, “i was just doing what i thought was the best for both of us. i didn’t know, okay, i’m sorry. i really am.” he looks sorry, and sad, like this is the opposite of what he wanted. under your anger, you know it’s true that he never wanted this. you know that sam thinks people are better off distant from him. but it hurts that he let you be one of those people.

“are you kidding me?” you exclaim, voice turning shrill as your composure slips further and further. “people got hurt, on my account,” you have to force that part out through gritted teeth, “i got kicked out of school, and i spent three months running from hunters!” both sam and dean want to interrupt at that. but you keep going, your voice quieter now, harsh and trembling, “but you were doing what you thought was best for both of us? try what was best for you. dean was gone, and i needed you, sammy, i needed you and the second you said you needed to get away, alone, i knew i didn’t have you.”

that shuts him up, has him deflating and his guilt taking over, and you can see it and you hate it. you almost wish he’d get angry instead because that means you can keep shouting at him to try and make him understand. but all you get are his clenched jaw, his sad eyes, and his guilty silence that tell you he knows he fucked up but he can’t figure out a way to make it better since sorry sure as hell won’t cut it.

it’s dean who cuts into the heavy silence again. “sam.” his name hangs in the air, weighed down with unspoken words. we’ll talk about this later, you guess is the message. you can feel how angry dean is without even looking at him. you know all he ever asked of sam if he was gone was to take care of you, and now dean knows he didn’t. he tried, the way he thought was right, but he didn’t. then his attention is back on you. he says your name, clear and careful. “i’m gonna need you to tell me what you did.”

you wipe at your face angrily as you whirl to face dean. trying to keep the ever present tears at bay, you tap right back into your anger. but it's more tired this time, less convincing with your voice taut from unshed tears begging to be released.

“all that, and that’s what you take away from this? really, dean? you’re gonna need to know what i did? i don’t need you to tell me to know that– that it was wrong and i don’t need you to make me feel any more shitty than i already do right now, okay?”

it’s his turn to wear a look of guilt on his face, but it only sits there for a flash before he keeps going. “kid, that’s not what i’m tryna’ do here, alright? i just wanna understand so i can keep us safe, yeah?” he puts his hands out in a peaceful motion, but something else unresolved floats back up into your focus.

“no. dean, no! because there’s something else here, something both of you have been avoiding this entire time!” there’s a sudden change in the air, like both of them are holding their breath, silently begging you won’t ask the question. “dean, how long have you been back?”

his hesitancy to answer tells you everything. “kid, listen, that’s not imp–”

“don’t you dare say it’s not important! did you hear anything i just said, dean? anything about how shit my life has been since you’ve been gone, how lonely i’ve been?”

“you’re right,” sam relents, forging on before dean can stop him, “he’s been back for three months now. it’s my fault we didn’t tell you. it’s all my fault, and believe me, i am so sorry.” you collapse into a chair with your head in your hands as he continues, “i know that does nothing to fix things, but i am sorry, and i swear i’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, kiddo. i’m all in now, and i did it all so this wouldn’t have to be your life, but you’re here now and we want more than anything to have you around, okay?” 

you lift your head up to stare at him. “three months.” your voice is dangerously quiet. “you two…” your tired mind can’t think of words strong enough, “drive me insane, you know that? dean, you just– you just went along with that and decided, let me guess, that it was best for me? because i was at school, living a normal life and away from the danger of this one? is that it? it’s best for me not to know my brother’s alive? because, you know, that reminds me of something. hm, maybe the time sam hid from us that he was alive for a year because he didn’t have his fucking soul? oh, yeah, it must be that.” you let out a short bark of laughter, but it and your voice are completely devoid of any humor. dean visibly recoils when you mention that. he’s thought of it, and still decided to keep you in the dark. “come on, dean, you know how that feels and you go and do it to me again? really? you gonna tell me you came back from wherever the hell you were without a soul next? where– where even were you?” you ask shrilly.

you’ve beat him too. “sweetheart,” he sighs, “i’m sorry. we were wrong to do that to you, okay? i– i was in purgatory. i can explain the rest later.”

finally, you think you might be out of things to say, to be hurt about. your voice is quiet and fragile now, and the dam holding back your tears is fractured in a million places, more than ready to break. “i missed you so much. both of you,” you whisper. you meant to make a scathing comment about how “sorry” and “we were wrong” don’t even begin to cover it, but you find that you’re not in complete control of the things coming out of your mouth. you’re just too goddamn tired. dean is crouching in front of you in an instant.

“i missed you, too, sweetheart. so much. i’m sorry.” he takes it as a good sign that you let him place his hand on your knee. you want to flick it away, maybe shove him away too.

“and i was so, so lonely. i was so scared,” you cry out, wishing you didn’t have to cry when you got angry. “and i’m so mad that you two did this to me. three months…”

“i know, kiddo, i know. i’m sorry.” gently, slowly, he tugs you towards him and into his arms and you slide onto the floor and cry into his chest, shaking and unable to say a thing. you want to tell him this doesn’t make it right, but dean hushes you gently when you try. “shhh, it’s okay. i’m here now,” he comforts. it’s true that this doesn’t make it right, but it’s almost all you need in that moment.

“sammy,” you choke out, still so angry with him, but wanting him near anyways, knowing that he’s too scared to come close to you after coming face to face with all of the ways you were hurt. his hand is on your back a moment later, hesitant at first, then strong and soothing moments later when you blindly grab for the fabric of his flannel to keep him close.

“okay. okay, i’m here. i’m sorry. i’ve got you, i promise,” he whispers, silently letting a few of his own guilty tears fall.

utterly exhausted, you stay slumped on the floor in dean's arms when your tears dry up. you can barely keep your eyes open and your breathing is soft and slow. 

“let’s get you to bed,” dean whispers, hoisting you all the way up as he stands. “sam’ll grab you a glass of water.” you sigh an imperceptible sigh because you know that dean is still pissed at sam. rightfully so, you’re more than just pissed at both of them, but you’re too tired to care in this moment, and the last thing you want is for them to be angry at each other. that’s your job for when you wake up hours from now. 

dean leads you to a foreign room and foreign bed, and you sink down onto the edge of it. sam is back moments later with the promised glass of water and tissues for your face. you cave to your exhaustion, climbing all the way into the bed. you curl up and tug at the covers slightly, eager to fall asleep.

“see you in the morning,” you mumble, effectively dismissing them with your voice hoarse from crying. you close your eyes before either of them can say a thing, not wanting to look them or your remaining problems and anger in the face.but your words are also a whisper of the beginning of forgiveness. 

“goodnight, kiddo,” dean says, his voice full of a familiar affection that he only uses for his little siblings as he presses a kiss to your hairline. he lingers at the doorway before

you drowsily register the sound of sam setting the glass of water on the night stand by your head. “i’m right across the hallway if you need anything.” a moment, then, “goodnight,” and a gentle hand on the side of your head before a kiss to your temple.

you fall asleep coming up with a list of petty ways you’ll have them make things up to you. neither sam nor dean will be pleased to hear that you’re calling shotgun in the impala for the next three months, minimum. sam for obvious reasons, and dean because he’ll know that means you’ll be taking your job as youngest sibling to annoy the living hell out of him very seriously.

[icepoptroll]

@june-doe-2024 day 30: Disability Pride Month

***From my Everyone Lives AU wherein an alternate Karnak is the kids' nurse following the Cyclone accident***

In which the kids all come back to life and Ricky finally gets to say his piece. I felt my AU was a good vehicle for this and will probably incorporate this into the fic later down the road.

Wooooooooo!!! My last June Doe for this year! I had the time of my life doing this event. Usually when I do month long art challenges like these I fizzle out by the end of the month and either don't finish or by my last few pieces I'm just not feeling it anymore but this time I think I really finished strong with my last few days. Or, well, comics have never exactly been my STRONG suit but I felt like this conversation deserved one. This is a conversation that we never really got to see in canon. Had I had more time, I probably would have made it even longer.

I always felt like Ricky sort of avoids confronting Ocean on the things she was wrong about, for a lot of reasons. For one, he'd rather occupy his time with things he sees as productive and fulfilling, and he was just never sure he'd get anywhere trying to explain these things to her. For another, he's very observant and he's seen lots of other people's conflicts with her devolve into a debate which she's always trying her damnedest to win. But while he knows who he is and he never felt the need to prove himself to her, deep down it does bother him that this issue never got addressed, and Penny can see it. Something I noticed (at least, in the 2016 version wherein Ricky still has enough lines lol) is that Ricky doesn't really care what Ocean thinks of HIM, but where he DOES feel the need to correct her is her views on the whole of HUMANITY. I think after the accident, getting a lot of time to reflect, he would come to realize that her misconceptions about disability not only affect the way she sees him, but the way she sees disabled people in general. I also did reference the 2018 version here: in that run, Ocean had a line speculating that Ricky had "two? three years?" left to live, insinuating that that's why he shouldn't be the one to come back.

Yes, I definitely could see Penny separately luring the two of them and then trapping them in a room with her to put this to rest, lol. It's the kind of tough love she'd be bold enough to provide. She definitely thinks he deserved a chance to speak his mind and that Ocean owes him an apology.

Mostly. . . Ricky just wants Ocean to love her fellow human. I can't wait to write more of my AU because Ocean's really going to shift her focuses after surviving the crash and I feel like writing all the changes in her thinking and beliefs will be interesting.

Big thanks to @victoriawaterfield for hosting the June Doe event. I had a wonderful time and it worked wonders for my art!!

[runnning-outof-time]

Omggg congrats on 3.5k!! That’s incredible! Duuuude this short prompt blurb challenge is gonna blow up! For me, would you be open to doing one with Tommy, using the prompt sentence, “Look at me right now”? He sure can be demanding when he wants something lolol🥰🥵again, congratulations dear! You deserve all the love!

Oh thank you so much for sending this in @tragiclotus ! You’re so right - he really can be! I hope you like what I did with this, and that you’ve been enjoying the blurbs I’ve been sharing! Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Part of my 3.5k celebration — find more stories here!

No One But You

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, worry of past lovers returning…nothing too major

Word Count: 1018

Summary: Tommy assures (Y/N) that she’s the only woman he wants after two women from his past reappear in his life.

She must’ve read the return address a dozen times. Why? She didn’t know. It wasn’t like reading it again was going to make the sender’s name change. But yet she did anyway.

(Y/N) knew who Grace was. She’d heard about her; knew what she’d done to Tommy and his family. So why the hell was she sending him letters now?

At first she spoke to Polly, who told her to hide them. As a clerk at the postmaster’s office, she’d make sure to bring any mail the Shelbys received with her whenever she’d come to visit her boyfriend. When she’d arrive at Watery Lane, she’d follow the older woman’s suggestion and promptly slip the envelope into one of the side table’s drawers; hoping that Tommy wouldn’t find them there. But they just kept coming.

And now as she was walking to Watery Lane with what was the fifth letter Grace had sent, she didn’t know if she could keep up with hiding them. So instead she kept it in her hands, re-reading it until she heard the door open.

She stood to her feet at the sound and walked over to greet her boyfriend, accepting his kiss and shoulder squeeze as a greeting. Tommy knew something was wrong the second he pulled away. (Y/N) wasn’t wearing her usual, welcoming smile. Instead, her expression was blank.

“Has something happened?” he asked her, his brows furrowing together.

“This came in to the post today,” she answered him, extending her hand to hold the envelope out between them.

Tommy’s brows furrowed deeper as he scanned over the words written on the envelope.

“Why does she keep writing you?” (Y/N) couldn’t stop herself from asking, desperate to know why he was still receiving letters from her.

She and Tommy had entered a relationship only five months ago, but she was no stranger to the life that he lived and the company he’d kept in the past. Tommy Shelby was sought after by many, and somehow she’d gotten lucky…or at least that’s what she kept telling herself. No matter how many times his actions reassured her that he was hers alone, that nagging seed of doubt still crept into her mind. Like it was doing now.

“I don’t know why,” he answered with a shake of his head, “I haven’t spoken to her since she left for New York.”

“She’s written to you five times,” (Y/N) couldn’t withhold the information any longer. Tommy’s brows furrowed again upon hearing her admission, so she decided to elaborate: “Polly said that I shouldn’t give them to you; that I should hide them instead. They’re in the side table. I don’t know why I listened to her. I just…I couldn’t bring myself to give them to you.”

Tommy looked down at the letter and back to (Y/N), seeing that she was now biting on her lip, a nervous tendency of hers that he’d noticed fairly early into their relationship.

“May Carleton also came to meet you last week…” she spoke again after silence had hung in the air for a few moments.

“She needed to speak about the horse,” he answered in a nonchalant manner, not thinking much more of the meeting he had with the other woman.

(Y/N), of course, was overthinking it.

“Hey…” Tommy brought her out of her thoughts, making her focus on him again. “I can see you fighting with yourself. Let those thoughts go.”

“I can’t…I just can’t help but wonder if maybe, if maybe that, that with them coming back…” she tried to speak but her mind betrayed her, and the lump that formed in her throat stopped her from speaking altogether.

Not much more was needed to connect the dots though. The clues had been dropped and Tommy was quick enough to pick them up and place them in order. “Those women are in the past, (Y/N). You’re the one I want,” he spoke with sincereity, hoping that it’d quell the thoughts swirling around her mind.

(Y/N) held eye contact with him until she couldn’t anymore. She felt those worries still bubbling up inside of her, even though he’d just flat out told her that he wanted her. She dropped her gaze to her fingers, watching as she picked at her nails.

“(Y/N)…” Tommy tried to get her attention, but to no avail. “Look at me right now,” he went another route, using his index and middle finger to raise her eyes to his again. He could see that they were watery now, and he hated that she was thinking so far into this. He took her cheeks into his hands, pulling her the slightest bit closer to him before speaking again. “There’s no one but you, ok? You’re the one I want to be with. You’re the one I want,” he reiterated his point, his eyes searching hers as he spoke. “Ok?” he asked again after she hadn’t spoken in a few moments.

“Ok,” (Y/N) breathed out, nodding her head the best she could with it held in his hands. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, hoping to steady herself. When she opened them again, they immediately hooked onto Tommy’s intense blue ones. “I’m sorry, Tommy,” she felt that she had to apologize.

“Don’t be,” he shook his head slightly at her statement, “there’s no reason for you to be sorry, love.”

“But I…”

“No,” he cut her off, “I’m going to burn this letter, and any other letter that comes. You’re the one I want, (Y/N).”

A small smile formed on her face at his words. She reached out and gently ran the back of her hand down his cheek, watching as his eyes dropped to her lips. Knowing what was coming next, she closed her eyes, leaning in slightly and meeting him in the middle, their lips finding each other’s in a passionate kiss that rid her mind of all of her doubts.

“No one but you, love,” Tommy whispered against her lips before kissing them again.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[sporesgalaxy]

Pacific Rim isn't anti-nuclear in the same way Kaiju movies usually are. The resolution is facilitated by the detonation of a nuclear warhead and a nuclear reactor power core. So........what's up with that?

I mean, it's deeply American, obviously, but what else? Why does it not feel particularly pro-war in the same way, say, a typical MCU does? What does it mean that the Kaiju are prompted by human activity (carbon pollution "practically terraformed" Earth for the invading aliens), but are ultimately not a true manifestation of Nature's Wrath (not even from Earth)?

What arguments is Pacific Rim making in the place of the typical kaiju movie anti-nuclear-pollution, wrath-of-nature fare?

I stream-of-consciousness rambled about this for multiple paragraphs and don't feel like cleaning it up much. Basically: I think Pacific Rim is a commentary on the myriad problems with political responses to climate change over the years.

•••

So, in the Great American Kaiju Movie, two nuclear blasts save the day rather than creating all the problems. Despite the fact that at least one of those nuclear blasts still probably did a lot of collateral.... I do wish Pacific Rim had focused a bit more on collateral, and the environmental damage caused by both the Kaiju and, inevitably, the Jaeger project AND Wall of Peace. Food rations are mentioned once-- but surely metal and construction equiptment rationing must also be in place to allow for wall construction! I want my environmental messages shoved violently down the audience's throat, damnit! But I digress

I think an important detail to consider in the Kaiju/Nuclear discussion is how Mako and Raleigh's Jaeger's nuclear power generator is what really allowed them to save the world, multiple times.

The history of politics around nuclear power plants vs nuclear warhead production is interesting, especially in the typical kaiju movie thematic context of man carelessly abusing nature. The argument in defense of nuclear power plants is that, despite the need for extremely rigerous and long-term nuclear waste disposal considerations, there is a lower volume of waste created by nuclear power plants in relation to the energy provided by them, when compared to other modern methods of energy generation like coal power. So, in theory, nuclear energy could be a beneficial power source for minimizing environmental impact.

In the Kaiju movies I've seen, nuclear power is only ever addressed as an extension of the inherently unnatural and harmful abomination of the invention of.the nuclear warhead. It's understandable, the environmental devastation caused by radioactive pollution is massive, and its something a nuclear power plant is very capable of doing if enough goes wrong.

So, what do the Jaegers represent within this conversation? what does the Wall of Peace represent? Here's my thought: they represent (more) active versus passive solutions to the growing threat of climate change. Jaegers represent the way that active work against climate change is only funded as far as it is beneficial to the image of the government.

Yes, the Rift was found to be impossible to blow up with nukes, but it's pretty clear that the world governmemts were putting more money into the publically popular and flashy Jaeger program than they were putting into researching the increase in Kaiju frequency and a permanent solution to the issue. Because of the complicity the world fell into once Kaiju and Jaegers were Rock Stars, the root of the issue with Kaiju goes unadressed for an entire generation, in favor of defeating each Kaiju in impressive and propogand-izable ways.

Only once the problem becomes too big for the propoganda-friendly Jaegers to manage do the world governments start looking for alternate solutions, and the Wall is immediately shown to be too little too late. As soon as it stops being useful for propoganda, the government loses interest in truly solving the problem, and begins investing in moving itself inland and leaving poor coastal populations to die.

The kaiju are only able to be defeated in Pacific Rim because a group of people separate from the government comes together and searches for a solution to the root of the issue-- the Rift being open in the Pacific at all.

Nuclear power is therefore not posed as a solution to war against fellow humans, but is used as a solution to a collective human effort to fight the exponentially speeding destruction of the Earth. The Jaeger pilots and everyone else working in the resistance HAVE to be willing to do anything, willing to take drastic active measures, in order to stop the destruction of the Earth's climate. Yay :)

[parfaitblogs]

scared of my guitar ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you fall out of love, and he notices. 

pairing: spencer reid x reader genre: angst tags: established relationship. they suck at communicating. whole lot of nothing again why can't i write guys. no happy ending.  word count: 1.2k a/n: this is for the girls who are the problem in their relationships!! i see u!! i hear u!!! thank u olivia rodrigo for representing us.

also posted here on my ao3 !

You were perhaps the most awful and cruel person in the world.

Those were the self-deprecating thoughts you had every single night, morning, and every hour in between. Thoughts you have been having for a month now, and thoughts you were praying would go away. Because the longer you have them, the more solidified they become in your brain, and the closer you get to knowing you need to address them. With him.

The man currently in your kitchen, making two separate cups of tea, like he did every night he was home. Putting all his love and care into making it the way you like, the way you had taught him. Which, truthfully, didn't take long to teach him — he was a fast learner. Always taking the first sip and telling you if it was still too hot to drink, burning his own mouth and allowing you to scold him for it. A nighttime routine that went on for as long as you could remember. 

But it wasn't enough.

You knew he'd crack you open eventually. He didn't need to be a profiler to read you — he knew more about you than you sometimes thought you knew about yourself. He used to coax you to open up to him about past traumas, never going too far, always pushing just enough to get you to share what you needed to. He was sometimes so in tune with your emotions you wondered if he had crawled into your brain and set up camp the day you two met. 

But no, that was just Spencer. 

The first time he asked if something was wrong was three months ago. He had come home from a particularly long case, and you didn't greet him at the door with the same enthusiasm you usually did. Sure, you were happy, but there was a certain spark behind your eyes missing. But it was two in the morning, and you were technically exhausted, so you were able to blame it on that. He was skeptical, but he knew you, and he knew not to push it. 

The second time he confronted you, you had spent an entire week without spending time with him. You both worked full time, but you also always made time for each other. Whether that be as planned as a Friday night movie, or as simple as picking the other up from work. But you had successfully avoided him outside of simple 'good morning's' and 'good night's'. 

He had sat you down the following Tuesday night, and asked if things between you two were okay. You lied, and said yes, and you watched him become even more suspicious than the time before. He didn't believe you. Again, he didn't push it. 

A small part of you wished he would've. Maybe you could've had the difficult conversation, and it would be over, and you'd be sitting on your couch with a shattered heart over a broken relationship, instead of a shattered heart over one that still exists. 

You knew it was coming when he had sat down with the teas, placing both of them on the coffee table, and you two sitting in an awkward silence for a few moments. 

You lifted your head to glance at him, expecting him to be staring at you, but he wasn't. His eyes, instead, trained on the two coffee mugs, cogs turning in his brain. A sight — watching him think — that used to bring you so much joy, now filling your stomach with an uncomfortable sense of anxiety. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could, his gaze unwavering from the mugs. 

"What's wrong?" 

What a layered question, you thought, bitterly. Because what wasn't wrong? 

You wanted to deflect it, tell him nothing, again, say you were fine. But with how serious he seemed, you decided against it. He wouldn't let that pass this time.

"I don't know," you settled on saying, voice shaky, unsure how to actually say what you were feeling. 

He slowly nodded his head, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Can you try to know, please?"

He still wasn't looking at you.

You inhaled, eyes fluttering as you attempted to regain your emotions, blinking away the tears filling them already. God, confrontation was hard. 

When you were silent for probably too many minutes, he turned his head to look at you, the sight cracking right down the centre of your heart. 

He wasn't sad looking, per se. Exhausted was probably the better word for it. His eyes devoid of most emotion, his naturally downturned lips frowning further. And that wasn't even the most painful part of it. No, it was the barely audible,

"You don't love me anymore, do you?"

His voice impossibly small, eyes blinking a few times, as if he was doing what you had done and fighting back his own tears. If somebody had shoved a knife in your abdomen fifty times over, twisting it every time, you decided it would hurt less than that.

You couldn't find an answer, your lips parting and closing three or four times as you wracked your brain for something — anything — to say that would take that expression off his face. But anything like that would be a lie, and he would see right through it. You knew that.

So, you settled on a small shake of your head, averting your eyes for your own sake. 

He didn't say anything; simply inhaled sharply and nodded his own head, fingers flexing and stretching against each other in a nervous habit you had noticed what felt like years ago. 

"How long?" he then asked, and you, for the umpteenth time that night, wanted to lie. 

But you didn't. "I had my first doubt four months ago," you said. "But three months ago."

"And you waited four months to tell me?" his voice was impossibly strained. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I didn't know if it was just a fleeting thought because you weren't home or not."

"Right," he answered, hands running down his face, index fingers digging into his eyes. "So then you waited three months after you realised?"

"I didn't know how to bring it up."

You could see the frustration slowly settling in his chest, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Spencer—"

"—No," he cut you off, shooting a bullet through your heart as his eyes fluttered shut, and he paused, swallowing back what you figured would be another sob. And you couldn't even blame him. "No, don't—don't justify it. Please. You strung me along for three months?" 

Yes, you did. And you felt awful, staring at him as he drummed his fingers against his thighs; an anxious tic, his eyes settling back on your body. 

"I'm sorry."

It was a pathetic apology, as if it could take back the past three months of interactions he was no doubt overanalysing inside his brain. It couldn't. You knew that, he knew that. 

"Why did you stay?" he finally asked after an eternally long silence between you two.

"I was scared," you whispered. Not intentionally — that's just how small your voice comes out, and it's embarrassing. 

"Of what?"

"Regretting it."

He let out a sigh, nodding his head. He could at least understand that. "I wish you would've told me."

"Me too."

More silence, more anxious heart-beating and more uncomfortable eye contact to each other. 

"I'm sorry," you repeat, breaking the silence. 

He merely nodded his head, eyes searching over your face for a few more seconds, before he stood up, picking up his phone from the coffee table and pocketing it. 

"Yeah," he said, quietly. "So am I."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[cheesesoda]

Shut Up & Drive

matt sturniolo x mechanic!reader

a/n: i know nothing about cars yall so i’m sorry to the car bros if i get something wrong

genre: fluff

summary: when matt needs to take the car into the shop, he meets a cute mechanic who fixes his car.

cw: language

—————————————————————————-

OIL CHANGE REQUIRED. matt groaned audibly as he saw the notification on the car. “what?” nick asked from the backseat. “i need to get the oil changed for the car.” matt sighs. he was not a fan of taking his car into the shop (but who is?). “cant you do that at home or whatever?” chris said. “no, i’ll have to take it into the shop.” matt retorted. “oh, ok, so do that.” chris brushes him off. since matt was the only one who could drive, he was obviously always the one to take care of the car too. “i’ll do it tomorrow, i guess.” matt grumbles.

the next day, matt drove to the mechanic to get the oil changed for the car. when he arrived at the shop, it appeared to just be a big open garage with cars parked all around. the sounds of buzzing and car doors opening and closing was overwhelming. as he was trying to look for someone who worked there, he spotted somebody underneath a car, fiddling around with something on the bottom. “shit!” the person exclaims before sliding out from beneath the car, shaking her hand in pain.

matt couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was. she wore a baggy f/c jumpsuit with the top half unzipped and wrapped around her waist, a black tank top on the upper half of her body. safety goggles were propped on top of her head but she didn’t seem to use them. her h/l h/c hair was pulled into a ponytail. a few tattoos decorated her left arm.

“mother fucker-“ she cuts herself off when she sees matt. “oh, hi! i, uh, didn’t see you there.” she chuckles. “are you ok?” matt asks, looking at her finger that she’s clutching in her hand. “wh- oh! this? i’m fine, it’s just a tiny cut.” she dismisses it. “i’m y/n, what do you need help with?” she holds out her hand for matt to shake and he does. “i’m matt. my car needs an oil change.” he explains. “lead the way, matt.” she grinned.

as she was working on his car, he couldn’t help but admire her. “so how old are you? usually it’s older people bringing their cars in because kids just have their parents bring it in.” y/n asks, still focused on the car. “i’m 20. how about you?” he replies. “no way! me too!” she exclaims as if she’s never found someone the same age as her. the conversation continues smoothly and matt can’t help but like her more and more by the minute. turns out they actually had a lot in common. he was fighting the urge to ask for her number or something, but he didn’t want to make things weird or uncomfortable and assumed her friendliness was just her customer service attitude.

y/n finishes the oil change and the two of them head over to the register. “alright, that’ll be $80.” y/n says when she rings him up. he swipes his card and thanks her. she waves goodbye to him as he walks to his car, seemingly contemplating something. as soon as he enters the car and turns on the engine, she runs over to him.

“are you free tomorrow night? wait- i should ask if you’re single—are you single?” she blurts out when she leans into his window. “um, yeah- yes, i’m single. and also free tomorrow night.” he awkwardly chuckles. “great! do you maybe wanna get dinner tomorrow?” she asks, suddenly a little shy. “yes, of course! i mean, where should i pick you up?” he can’t help but smile. “here’s my number and my address.” she writes on a small piece of paper and gives it to him. “i’ll see you tomorrow then?” he confirms. “yep! see ya, matt!” she grins and quickly kisses him on the cheek before jogging back to the shop. going to the shop wasn’t so bad this time.

[dekusdante]

Things that annoys me in the Jujutsu Kaisen Fandom

Sorry but this is going to be all over the place.

Am I the only one tired of the same trope being used when it comes to Gojo from JJK? In other words the enemies to lovers trope where the oc or reader is basically Utahime with out the name.

Like we all remember the episode where he gave out what type of person he was into which was a nice girl or something along those lines. I that as writers you have to take creative liberties but why are all the readers in these stories are exactly the same.

They either hate Gojo or is super easily annoyed at him. Jerks but its okay cause for some reason he loves them unconditionally. This is so annoying cause there is no push back from Gojo in these stories. Just him taking back the reader or waiting for them to return his feelings when in actuality he shouldn't.

Another thing that annoys me is why is it always the guy that's simping why can't it ever be the woman being madly in love and trying to win him over?

This enemies to lover trope has completely taken over the Reader x Gojo fandom and its so overused. Now I will admit there are some gems out there, but I just don't even bother reading anything that is enemies to lovers anymore. I'm just tired of reading the same thing over and over again with the same copy and paste formula/reader.

Also why is smut so strong on here. Like don't get me wrong those writers are killing it with the plot aspect but man does all the smut kill me. Like I want more plot these are really good and creative ideas but man the smut kills me lol. Still reading the plot but stop at the smut parts which is usually the end so we gucci.

Hmm, another trope I refuse to read in these are arranged marriage were we are supposed to be upset with the guy who is forced to marry someone they don't want too. Why? Well for starters it always start with the reader being mistreated by the guy for some reason and the reader putting up with it until something happens and the guy falls in love with them and has to gain both their trust and love again.

I can get behind this but they always make the guy so unredeemable in these that it would be crazy if she takes him back. [She always does] Another thing is we are supposed to hate the guy because he wants to remain faithful to the person he was with before the arrange marriage. Like why are we bashing a faithful man?

Another trope I hate is when the guy is always in the wrong. A while ago I read a Gojo x reader fic were reader was mad that Gojo couldn't spend a lot of time with her so she broke up. Okay valid even though I am sure this would have been addressed before or earlier in the relationship but okay. What annoyed me with this story is that she then goes on to get in a relationship with Nanami who then calls Gojo an idiot for losing a woman like her.

I could not believe what I read. Like what the hell did Gojo do? At this point Gege posted about Gojo's life and how the man is booked to the max and I couldn't help but think how distasteful it was to first make it appear as if Nanami would do something like that to Gojo and secondly pretend that they don't have more free time compared to him. Like Nanami even understood why Geto did what he did.

Anyway that's all I got for now. I am not here to argue but I would love to hear about what you think on this. A second opinion is always welcomed and if you have a trope you don't like then I would love to hear it.

Also if you have a story that you would like to promo then please do so in the comments. It is a okay if you want too. No pressure,

[wonder2realities]

cici's meditation guide 4 beginnerz <3

whether it's the void state or just guided meditations ; it seems like meditating is a pretty helpful thing to learn when wanting to shift/meditate. for some, they shift instantly and for others it helps them sleep better but noone ever really explains how to meditate so here's my attempt at a beginner's guide as someone who uses meditation 24/7 !

in my eyes, meditation is not only helpful for manifestation or shifting but is also just a good way to unwind after a really long day - it can be a bit scary if you aren't used to it so don't worry if you're a bit intimidated ~

as a disclaimer, i will say that meditation is all based on what works for you and what you can personally handle ! for some, they meditate for hours and for others they do 5 minute sessions - figure out what works for you and stick with it !

1. clearing your mind

this isn't a needed step but it's something that helped me a lot when i was first starting meditating and that's clearing your mind a bit before you start. you can listen to music or even watch a show, just relax a bit beforehand and don't think about anything that would cause you stress. my way of doing this is i usually write down what i want to achieve during the meditation first (am i shifting? am i just meditating to relax? am i planning on meditating and then sleeping afterwards?) and then listen to music to relax and address any thoughts or things that i feel like would distract me whilst meditating (ie : overdue assignments).

11. choosing ur method

do you like listening to music peacefully, can you focus well with it? — make a playlist of songs that you can meditate to. are you better at following instructions and can focus better on that? — find a guided meditation (personal tip ; go with a shorter one first that is just for the sake of meditation so you can get used to it). you can choose ambience, white noise or even just listen to nothing ! it's all based on what works for you ; if you don't know what works for you, test out different methods.

111. focus !!!

something that seems to be the hardest for most people is focusing, having to sit down or lay down in a position and focus can be a bit hard BUT one way of making it easier is some basic breathing exercises & i'm not talking about the ones where you hold your breathe for 20 seconds - i'm talking about the ones where you simply take deep breaths. spend as long as you wish, allowing yourself to relax until you feel like you're calm enough and then jump into what you're meditating for. for example , lets say you're meditating to manifest a day off school :

if you dont feel calm, take a few deep breaths until you feel a bit emptyheaded & allow yourself to get comfortable in that space (comfort is key !!!)

focus on wanting your day off & live in the end in whatever way you prefer (visualisation, affirmations etc) for as long as you wish !

you can drift away from your thoughts here and there and that's okay ! just don't panic and go back to focusing as you wish

remember that there's not one way of focusing , go with what vibes with you !

1111. don't think of time

now that you're focusing on what you're manifesting for, you may be thinking "how long has it been? am i on track?" — rather than worrying about the time, don't even think that time exists. allow yourself to live in a timeless space, it doesn't matter if it's been 5 minutes or 5 hours — time doesn't exist.

v. enjoy it

for whatever reason you're manifesting for, enjoy it. don't turn it into a stressful task, don't worry if you're doing it the "wrong" way — enjoy yourself & allow yourself to meditate. you cannot meditate wrong, so don't worry about that possibility and unwind.

EXTRA TIPS :

♡ if you're worrying about being disrupted during the meditation, meditate early in the morning/late at night

☆ scared of getting muscle cramps from lying down a certain way? do some stretches beforehand !

♡ struggle to be still for a set amount of time ? choose a repetitive motion and use that to replace being still (i personally rock side to side a lot, it won't make it harder for you to meditate)

thats all ~ if u have any questions feel free 2 inbox me <333

rmbr that you're forever limitless & changing ★