#motivational videos for black women

[blackgirlslivingwell]

How To Shield Your Self-Esteem & Combat Internalized Negativity As A Black Woman

In today's brief self-empowerment video we're talking about how to avoid internalizing negativity.

[baeway954]

It gets BETTER, when life gets HARD❤️❣️🙏🏽

[spookysalem13]

Find Me On TikTok

I will continue to rise no matter how many times I fall ✨️, I will always get back up after every hit I take. It may take me a moment to shake it off, but you can ensure I will always dig myself out every time, I will always stand back up after every fight, I will never back down and I will never give up. Like the resilient goddess that I am.

[superheroworkouts1]

[bookwormbluee]

You would kill me with your smile 🖤

[bhumble01]

Come check out some of your favorite designs

#trending #melanin #fashionstatement #melaninpoppin #businessmindset #mindsetbusiness #millionairemindset #hustle #blackbusinesses #capcut #instagram #tiktok #redbubble

[justaboutsnapped]

Why you shouldn’t support the upcoming game Black Myth: Wukong

Simply put, the creators behind Black Myth: Wukong are raging misogynists.

Founders and creatives of the studio have:

Joked about former female employees hypothetically doing prostitution

Used suggestive/objectifying/derogatory imagery & phrasing in their hiring flyers (under the cut), e.g. “In addition to hookup buddies, we promise to provide more thoughtful services” , “fatties fuck off”, etc.

Written entire think pieces on how video games don’t need female players or developers, how women are biologically inclined towards “softer” modes of gaming than men (there’s also a bit of homophobia mixed in through language such as “fuck sissies”), how some things should just be made for men, etc. “Fuck sissies, fuck tragic love stories, fuck moon-lit peach blossoms and flute-playing scholars! You don't need the reverse motivation of female players, you don't need to take care of those worms who just want to date chicks. Some things are just for men, their depression, their anger, their pain...”

Made numerous sexually explicit (& honestly incel-like) comments including ones about a female character in Black Myth: Wukong, e.g. “once you get used to this [character design] you can jerk off to it”, etc.

Boasted about how they’re losing followers, who must be women

To no one’s surprise, when people criticise the studio online, they’re met with vitriol about how they’re hypersensitive feminists, too politically correct, etc.

Chinese women have been YELLING non-stop on social media about how bad it is so it’s pretty depressing to see that a lot of non-Chinese gamers, even after reading an IGN article covering the situation, are apathetic. I get that a lot of people are excited about the novelty of a soulslike game based on Chinese mythology, but do you really want to support a studio that actively contributes towards and benefits from misogynistic gaming culture?

Talking about separating the artist from their art is bullshit if you're financially supporting them. Boycott! Pirate!

Here are some sources if you want to see detailed translations, learn more about the situation as well as the misogynistic gaming culture at large China:

[nerdvi]

In the wake of the whole james somerton fiasco and inspired by this post, I wanted to share a few of my um, soft signs, like, orange flags to detect when someone is bullshitting you.

First of all, I am on the spectrum which means 1) I tend to take what people say at face value and 2) I have a strong sense of justice which makes me prone to biases, all of which combined means I am at perpetual risk of swallowing the bullshit.

So, what to do about it? You turn on the critical thinking and pay attention.

As one of my favorite youtubers, Hannah Alonzo, likes to say: "consider the source, remember the motive". Who is talking to you?? What do you know about them?? What biases might they have?? How do they interact with your own biases?? Where are they talking from?? Is it anger?? happinness? boredom?? Also, why are they talking to you? Are they trying to sell you something?? Are they trying to convince you and why?? How do they go about the finantial motivation, if present? If you have, in this case, a white cis gay man talking to you as it he has it the worst of the worst in the world, there's probably some exaggeration and you should start to wonder. There's a good chance he's bullshitting you.

How they talk about women and POC No, no, stay with me. There's a rule I had back when I was dating men: Always beware of how they treat their mother. With the exception of extremes like mama's boys and cases of abuse, how a man treats the woman with whom they have that familial bond is a good indicator of how they are going to treat you. Do they berate her? speak ill of her? are aggressive or controlling? do they dismiss her opinions? Same with creators, and by god I tell you, specially cis male creators, queer or otherwise, always always beware of how they speak of women, how they treat women, how they treat POC. Somerton had a weird vendetta against straight women. It went mostly unnoticed. Then, he was dismissive towards lesbians and other queer women and it was once again overlooked. Then he went ahead and made sinophobic content about genres and cultures he knows NOTHING about. Again, it went unchecked. What I am telling you is IT'S NOT NORMAL. Contempt about women and non white-western cultures is not normal and if someone has them as them as an enemy or a scapegoat, they're probably bullshitting you. Take what they say and fact check it, see for yourself.

If at any point in a video or an essay you find yourself thinking "wait, really??" then it's time to fact check. Is it a bit suspicious?? is your logic telling you that's not quite how this works?? Then take to google, my friend, they might be bullshitting you. At worst, you dodge a fake fact, at best, you learn way too much about a topic you were already interested in.

Beware of the lack of nuance. I can not stress this enough. We all love monochrome, but life and societal issues are never black and white. It's just impossible, there's too many factors to consider. If you are being presented situations or anecdotes as absolute truths, you're probably being bullshitted. If it's too good to be true, it is. If it sounds waaay too convenient, it probably is. A good researcher, a serious investigator, will always have some nuance because they have done the work and checked the sources. If someone provides you 1) no nuance and 2) no sources, THEY'RE BULLSHITTING YOU.

These are the ones I can come up with just of the top of my head, I'm sure there's more and please, add them. Remember that naivité isn't a crime, I'm fairly naive and that's made me distrustful, and these are some of the techniques I've found that help me navigate through a world of information without losing myself.

[teachussomethin]

Unboxing The BAGJUNKIShop’s “Encrusted Lucite Clutch”

Unboxing The BAGJUNKIShop’s “Encrusted Lucite Clutch”

It’s on trend now, but we’ve always loved the sparkling of gems + rhinestones over here at SincerelyTyra.com. So, we had to have our CEO, Tyra Shange, do an unboxing video for The BAGJUNKIShop’s “Encrusted Lucite Clutch” when it arrived. The details are on point + we bought it to pair with the Steve Madden Kenley-R Rhinestones Heels. If you enjoyed this video, like, comment, subscribe + share to…

[theblackfemininesociety]

Girl Talk: Stop Comparing Yourself to Unrealistic Beauty Standards.

We just want all of our besties to see this video and take into account that 90% of the beauty standards and images you see that is pushed by the media isn’t real.

And this is with no shade: Jodie Joe, the face of fashion nova, has had surgery and it’s still photoshopped, altered and edited in realtime to make her look a certain way.

Stop comparing.

Stop consuming.

Stop trying to fit the mold when you were designed to break it.

Choose health and fitness over aesthetics. Prioritize your well-being, focusing on nourishing your body, staying active, and reprogram your mind to have a positive mindset.

Why?

Because true beauty radiates from within, and when you feel strong and healthy, it reflects in your confidence and energy.

Set realistic goals, celebrate your progress, and surround yourself with supportive communities that uplift and motivate you.

💌 A love letter to my BFS Ladies:

Here at BFS, while we adore sharing moodboards and celebrating outer beauty and fashion, we want to remind you that your journey in femininity and healed womanhood is about so much more. The true goal is healing, inner confidence and growth. Becoming the woman you aspire to be should transcend your outward appearance.

This journey is a mindset and a lifestyle that not only embodies the essence of a soft life but also breaks generational curses and defies stereotypes often placed upon Black women. It’s about nurturing yourself and starting a journey of self-discovery.

Your God-given superpower as a woman lies in this transformative work. Don’t just look the part—embrace the full, life-changing experience. Don’t cheat yourself from the profound growth and healing and real purpose that awaits you.

With love and inspiration,

The BFS Team 💋

Follow us on IG • Facebook • Join Our Groupchat !

[kingkatsuki]

Imagining Mitsuki trying to play matchmaker

And maybe she’s done that before, thrown girls at her son hoping he’ll hit it off with one of them and give her grandchildren. But it just royally pisses him off and he wants nothing to do with any of them. Then maybe she gives up for a while

But booooyyyyy oh boy, if you’ve caught his eye and she notices? She may not have introduced you, but she’ll make it happen. Just trying to help him out ya know?

She’d have to be as subtle about it as possible though. I could see him pushing you away just to spite her, even if he was head over heels for you.

I got a little carried away talking about this, but I just love the idea of Mitsuki meaning well, but never quite getting it right.

Warnings: Mitsuki tries to play matchmaker.

Word Count: 1.6k.

It isn’t that Mitsuki wants to force him into a relationship, she means well. She doesn’t like the thought of him coming home to an empty apartment each night, especially because she’s one of the few people who know about his night terrors. She’s been on the receiving end of many a call at four in the morning where he’s calling to make sure everything’s okay, or hearing him as a young man screaming in the night when he wakes up from another one of those nightmares. And although she’s taught him well, never needing to learn to cook, clean or use a washing machine— some companionship can’t hurt.

There was a time that Mitsuki thought that Bakugou wasn’t searching for love— that he’d already found it. His cheeks turning a violent red when she’d suggested that he was dating Kirishima, immediately reassuring him that she wouldn’t love him any less and that she’s happy he’s found someone as Bakugou tried to set her straight.

It isn’t that she ignores Bakugou when he says he’s not looking. She’s just worried, and maybe she’s right. Maybe he is lonely, and could use someone to help fill that void between work and sleep.

A mother can always tell, after all.

But Mitsuki’s methods can be a little unorthodox. Masaru tries to tell her not to meddle, that their son will find love when he wants to. On his terms, when he’s good and ready. But now he’s pushing thirty, not even a tabloid based rumour about a girlfriend and she starts to get antsy.

The window for grandchildren is slowly closing, and the hope is diminishing so of course she has to take matters into her own hands. It’s for Bakugou’s benefit, it’s like she’s doing him a favour.

At first Mitsuki is trying to set him up with someone based on attributes, wealth, success, career goals. Even though it’s difficult trying to find someone as motivated and strong as her son, she knows there are thousands upon thousands of women out there that would love to date him.

And poor Bakugou would prefer to be doing anything else with his time, sitting in his boxers playing video games and sipping a beer sounds far better than a twelve course dinner with portions so small he’s got to cook at home after. Especially with women he could care less about, listening to them drone on at him about their meaningless lives while he picks at his hors d'oeuvre two courses in.

No matter how perfect these women seem on paper, how compatible they are based on personality tests and star signs the dates never work out.

When this tactic doesn’t work, Mitsuki still won’t give up. Working in the fashion industry for as long as she has means she’s got a phone book full of gorgeous women. Personalities may not match up, but however bias it may sound she knows her son is an attractive man. So it’s easy to scroll through her contacts to find an array of women who would jump at the chance of a date with the Number Two Hero (also another benefit she slips in to conversation).

Bakugou tugs at the black tie around his neck as he stands awkwardly in the corner of another one of his mothers networking parties. Wondering how at 29 he’s still subjected to this kind of misery, thinking this would have stopped well into his teenage years. Groaning internally when he can see her out of the corner of his eye dragging a pretty young woman towards him. He knows the drill, knows exactly what that old hag is up to as she gives him a warning glare that only he can see. Turning to the poor girl with a faux sincere smile as she introduces her to him, her hand tightening around his forearm in warning as he offers his hand out to the poor girl.

But as quickly as Mitsuki arrived she’s gone, pretending to wave at someone in the crowd as she excuses herself and leaves Bakugou standing alone with this woman. Listening to her begin to rattle off ad campaigns or endorsements she’s been involved in like he gives a fuck, and talking about how many offers she’s received for her next one. It’s all he can do not to tell her that he doesn’t care and walk off as he notices that old hag watching from across the room as he throws back his whiskey and excuses himself to the bar. At least there’s enough alcohol to drown out the pain and suffering his mother is currently inflicting on him.

Mitsuki’s quick to join him, wine glass in hand, as she asks what he thinks and gushes about how pretty and perfect she is.

“Yeah? So why don’t you date ‘er then?” Bakugou scoffs as his mother rolls her eyes and he can tell if there were fewer people in the room she would’ve hit him upside the head by now.

It’s exhausting.

Groaning as he collapses into bed to find one new text message from the girl he’d been introduced to hours earlier. Knowing that his interfering mother had clearly given his phone number out— again.

But when perfect matches, and pretty faces don’t work Mitsuki changes tactic. After that, it’s just anyone.

Bakugou could be saying thank you to a girl in a coffee shop whilst he’s out running errands and Mitsuki is asking if she wants to go on a date with her son— she already had a boyfriend. Or the kind waitress at lunch who gave him a little extra spice in his ramen— she wasn’t interested in men. And even one time where Bakugou stopped to let a lady onto the train before him— she ended up posting about it all over social media before he’d even arranged the first date.

Deep down, there’s never anyone Bakugou truly wants. Dates are done out of obligation, and spending a few hours taking someone out for food or drinks means his mother is off his back for a few weeks or a few months depending on how well he can hide the immediate break up.

It’s a few months later when Bakugou realises the true lengths of how far his mother is willing to go to get him married off. He’s given a short, curt answer about his last break up. A “relationship” that Mitsuki thinks lasted for six months, but really there wasn’t even a third date. He’s out for drinks with the guys after work when Mina shoves her phone in his face, drunkenly squealing about how she didn’t realise he was trying to date people right now. And Bakugou didn’t realise himself— grabbing the phone from her as he assessed the profile. Thinking it was just another scam account trying to con lonely, desperate women out of their money, but he notices it. Pictures uploaded to the profile that only his mother has access to, key words that she’s used on many occasions to describe him.

That old hag. He groans, passing the phone back to Mina as he steps out of the bar to call his mother. Hearing the disappointment in her tone when he says he’s not interested. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact she made the profile, telling him there’s hundreds of women replying to his page. That he can have his pick of any of them if he wants to— but it just doesn’t feel right?

Until there’s you.

And there’s almost something about you that makes Mitsuki not try, because however much she loves and adores her son you’re almost too good for him? You exude happiness, positivity and love. And Bakugou is well, Bakugou.

And somehow you get together and you just work? Like there’s some sort of gravitational pull navigating you into each others orbit. And everything is just easy.

It’s not like expensive dinners, formalities and pretense. It’s comfortable, safe, warm. When Bakugou finds his place with you, he wonders how he ever spent so many years alone. Now he can’t ever imagine life without you, and Mitsuki is shocked when he appears at the door with you for the first time. Because for the first time, her son looks genuinely happy.

The most positive thing about it is now she no longer has to try and play matchmaker for Bakugou, the hard work is finally over. And now she has far more things she can annoy him with instead— like grandchildren and marriage.

And although she may hate to admit it, she’s happy that her son could pick a better match for himself than she ever could. No matter how much she insists that if she’d met you first she would’ve immediately set you two up on a date.

Bakugou finally found his own happiness in you.

But just because she no longer has to play matchmaker, doesn’t mean she won’t try to organise your wedding, your first home, your first child. And you better be prepared for her slightly unorthodox methods for that too— as she buys you pretty lingerie for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines—

“You can’t buy my wife lingerie for valentines, you old hag!”

“Maybe if you’d marry her she’d actually be your wife, you little brat. You should be grateful I’m trying to help.”

And oysters being the main course when she invites you over for dinner—

“They’re a natural aphrodisiac, you know”

“You can’t talk about sex so openly when we’re eating, you old hag. Jesus—”

Most family dinners include Masaru offering you a large glass of wine in the kitchen as you watch your spouses argue together.

But deep down Bakugou is just grateful that you stick around even though Mitsuki is almost a third wheel in your relationship. But you make the perfect team, and together you can handle anything— even his mother.

[superheroworkouts1]

[headspace-hotel]

The post I made about conservatism made a lot of people Big Mad because of me drawing conclusions/assuming about people's ideas and motives outside of their openly stated motives, which, fair—I see this kind of thing being done completely spuriously all the time.

However, "reasoning beyond stated motives" is a necessary skill—it's even necessary to be able to do with yourself, because cognitive dissonance is a bitch.

anyway, reading right-wingers' posts and reading their media and watching the occasional sketchy youtube videos makes me notice interesting patterns in the kinds of things that consistently concern them, but for stated reasons that are inconsistent or seemingly uncontroversial.

One of the biggest ones is birth control.

Right-wingers talk a lot about the negative side effects of birth control, how birth control pills are prescribed instead of diagnosing the "root cause" of illnesses, how they or someone they know were prescribed birth control without a full explanation of the reasons and side effects, how doctors "push" birth control onto young women.

It's very often superficially presented as a concern about how "medical professionals don't listen to women, we need access to all the facts about our bodies, etc..."

But why birth control side effects. Not endometriosis, not fibromyalgia, but specifically the side effects of birth control. I don't see right-wingers constantly discussing concerns about women being dismissed as having anxiety or being "hysterical" when they have medical issues, or fat people being told to "lose weight" when they have a medical issue that may well have nothing to do with weight, or Black women being ignored and abused by medical professionals.

But birth control side effects, and doctors "pushing" birth control—that they will openly discuss and address as a problem.

Hmmmmmmmmm

[lactoseintolerentswag]

Rise Characterizations Pt. 6!!!!!!

After the turtles and Splinter, here we have the girl Ever. She's pretty spunky, I had fun analyzing her for writing.

April O'Neil Character Notes

Language Habits:

Uses bae/aave, something she could have passed on down to Raph and Mikey as they also use bae/aave

Most notably uses "mm-kay" in place of "okay"

Uses a lot of filler language, interjections, or onomatopoeia. Think "mhm", "uh huh, uh huh!", "oh yeah!"

"Ah nuts" is her go-to disappointed phrase

Grits and or strains her teeth when she's frustrated

Uses her own name (the full "April O'Neil!!!!") as a battle cry, or brings her name as a motivator i.e. "the one and only April O'Neil will solve this case!"

The more worked up she the louder she tends to be, this extends to stronger emotions such as passion or panic

Over text uses emoticons

Refers to splinter as "splints"

Refers to the turtles as "the fam"

Refers to villains/antagonists through insults rather than their names

Personality:

Adrenaline junkie, as she's often the first to jump into a fight. She also laughs in the face of danger, and was seen maniacally laughing and smiling the entirety of the gumbus episode

Jack of all trades. April has a lot of skills she's picked up from various jobs or personal adventures she's seeked out (like canoeing through the sewers in a hazmat suit and earning a crane license)

Wild and blunt. April is Loud, and rarely ever afraid to share her opinion. This can either make people draw back from her bluntness or be drawn in by her excitableness

Self-conscious. Despite her strong sense of self-esteem, April is still often motivated to impress the popular kids at school or at least fit in. She doesn't want to be seen as the weird kid, or associated with the weird kids

Persistent. April is always quick on her feet to hit back whatever comes at her. She has a good set of problem-solving skills that she's gained from all the skills she's picked up

Loyal. She's always willing to back up the turtles, and goes out of her way to keep Splinter happy with her company. Once she finds a friend it's hard to pry her away

Unlucky. Mostly in absurd or mundane ways. She has that whole curse with her birthday, but things don't often tend to go right for April O'Neil, which contributes to the disasters that cause her to get fired all the time

Miscellaneous:

Code-named "yellow submarine" by raph

Tends to have information on wifi passwords, secret exists, and access to keys from all the jobs she's been hired and fired from

Has a preference for blunt objects as weapons (most commonly bats, clubs, pipes)

Uses the environment in a fight in general

She's been part of the "warren stone fanclub" since 2010, and keeps all her ids in her wallet

Likes unicorns and cats (as seen through her brief texts with sunita and her pajamas)

Loves laser tag

Can beat Donnie at video games (if he didn't use cheat codes)

"sherlock_corn" is her handle online

Lives in an apartment/flat with her mom (showed onscreen briefly), that has its own bathroom

Has a subtly mentioned interest in fantasy, as noted by Donnie she tends to download fantasy rpgs and freaks out over cosplay wizards

Just an end note to all of you who aren't black, some offensive tropes I would stray from is making April the angry black girl. This is one of the most common stereotypes of black women in media. I wouldn't mistake April's passion or loudness for aggression. It would be a disservice to dilute her lively character into familiar but ultimately harmful tropes in media.

I am in no way saying you cannot portray April as angry, this is a powerful emotion and it should be explored with black characters, but I am saying that should not be the base of her character. Because well that's not even April's base. She's centered around fun and thrill-seeking.

Wikipedia (yes I know, But they have proven to be more dependable these past years) has a good article on the angry black woman stereotype, so that would a good place to start research on what to Avoid. In my splinter post I also provided some links on doing research on writing poc.

---

Anyway!!! We've ended our analysis trip of the main cast in s1. Next I'm thinking of picking apart our antagonists :]. Gonna take a break to work on my own fic, but stay tuned if you found any of my other posts helpful! It's been a fun ride with you all <3

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes- Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: You decide to take all your problems out on the dance floor. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

eight

“Ladies leave yo’ man at home, the club is full of ballers and they pockets full grown— and all you fellas leave yo’ girl with her friends— cause it’s eleven thirty and the club is jumpin’ jumpin’”

Your hips sway in rhythm with the song, body glistening with a soft sheen, evidence of the time you’ve spent on the dance floor. The fluorescent lights feel like they’re only on you. Men and women have either danced or tried to dance with you all night. You’ve given your number to at least eight, so far. One of them a blonde with blue eyes, older but handsome.

So…. how did you get here?

Well…

Your bed was comfortable enough for the few days you were glued to it, teary eyes and puffy face as you gazed at the phone on your pillowcase.

To call home or not to call home… that was the question.

It seemed like each time you reached for it, the constriction within the confines of your heart stopped you from lifting it off of the satin.

So you turned, gazing up at the sky behind your popcorn ceiling. Thinking for hours and hours. Could there be a way you could stay? Any other way besides going back to that dreadful office with that fanged serpent inside. That beast. Wolf. Asshole.

Nothing came to you. Maybe you’d be lucky enough at the week’s end when your check finally arrived. Lucky enough to buy more time and search even farther for more open work opportunities. Yet luck is gentle sometimes, it hides away from the people that need it.

So you tossed and you turned for hours, feeling suffocated by the matting and lack of ribbons in your hair. Until you decided to just rip the bandaid off and give in. Or so you planned to. The bright light made you squint and press anything but the phone button, or maybe it was your subconscious. What you did press was a recommended video.

A woman, a gorgeous woman with jet black locks and intimidating eyes struck you silent as she simply said,

“Get up. No no no, I don’t care how you’re feeling right now, I don’t care that you lost them or you’re depressed or he hurt you. It. Doesn’t. Matter. Get up right now, go get pretty and go show the world how pretty you are. I promise you it will fix things.”

That’s all you saw before you were up on your feet, taking an everything shower for longer than you ever have. Tending to your wild curls and plump skin. You ate, too. Stale cereal as it was all you had but— you still ate.

Then you thought. You thought about what always makes you feel good again. Alive.

Dancing.

Now you could have risked your head and paid Katerina a visit, of course. Yet you played things smart. You took the next best thing. Ballet isn’t the only rhythm you know. You did your makeup and fit into your shiniest dress. Like a disco ball, glistening in silver. Then? You searched for the nearest nightclub nearby. One where you could just dance your problems away.

Now you’re here.

“Hey baby, I’m likin’ the way you move those hips tonight.”

Ew, he smells of strong liquor.

You only smile kindly at the stranger who’s missing a front tooth and twirl, turning your back on him and continuing to sway your hips. He takes it as an opportunity to place his hand on one— and you stumble forward, pushing it away.

Too many men have felt entitled to dancing with you tonight, and he’s just another. No one asks, anymore.

“No…” you sigh through a nervous giggle.

He sucks his tee— or tooth? “Bitch.” Is all he follows with.

You frown at that, parting your lips to utter another word but— you don’t get the chance.

“Hey, leave my friend alone!” That sing-song, familiar voice.

You turn on your heel where Cindy Moon stands tall, brows furrowed as she regards the drunk asshole who is acting like he owns rights to your swaying body.

“Cindy?” You sound shocked and god— you are. What a coincidence.

Soon as the vile man leaves, she grins wide at you and pulls you into the warmth of a tight hug. It’s the first one she’s ever given you. She hugs you so hard it’s as if she’s afraid you’ll slip into the crowd of dancers if she lets go. Christ, it’s only been a week.

As kind as this is, you’re baffled.

The music is pounding in your ears, so loud you’re borderline screaming, burning at your lungs so to speak to her.

��Wait, why are you here!?”

She tilts her ear toward you— taking a moment to analyze your voice before realization strikes her.

“Company gathering!”

What? Here?

You freeze.

She must see the terror in your eyes because she immediately raises two comforting palms and shakes her head.

“Nonono— don’t worry! He never comes to these! I mean- Jess always invites him but he hasn’t showed so, doubt he will today!”

The tension in your chest eases at once, your body surrendering to the vibration of the sound. You’re grateful to god now more than ever that he hates any living, breathing corner of the world with joy and fun. You can’t imagine him in a place like this.

Wait…

“Who is Jess!?”

Cindy starts to sway her hips as the prior song bleeds perfectly into the neck, you follow suite— hands raking back your wild curls.

“C-O-O! But don’t worry, she’s super cool! This was her idea! Hey— Miguel never told us why you quit anyways!?”

She’s awfully sweet and strikingly beautiful. You see the men looking at her from the corner of your gaze, mesmerized by the young beauty with the slender frame. Yet, sweet as she is— this was your night away from all of it. He is the last thing on your mind.

Your mind wanders, searching for the right answer to put a pin in this conversation. You find one soon enough.

“Morale.” You practically snort. It’s understood immediately.

She nods once, eyes squinting as she stands on her tip toes and searches over the lively crowd. As if there’s a lightbulb floating at the top of her head.

“Hey— let’s go grab a drink!”

She’s a genius, she must know the subject makes you squirm. You grab her hand, letting her lead you off to the bar where an awfully pregnant woman with gorgeous, coiled locks sits— sipping on what you hope is a virgin lemonade.

“Two shots!!” Cindy orders, leaning over the bar and getting chatty with the tender as he prepares them.

Alcohol, yes. Just what you need. You sigh in relief, taking a seat next to the Aphrodite sipping on her drink. Her curls are dark, and her skin is gorgeous and glassy, and she’s— staring at you.

Not for a single moment, no. She’s analyzing you. Eyes locked on the side of your face.

You offer her a quick glance, squirming in your seat as she squints.

Is there something on your face?

She gasps, it makes you jump.

“No shit… you must be Ribbons.”

Ribbons?

You turn to her, brows furrowed and eyes soft as they search for an understanding to what she means. She sticks her hand out, over her swelled belly and like a zombie- you shake it.

“Ribbons, it’s what they started calling you around the office. I’m Jess, from where you used to work.”

Jess.

She must see the realization settle in your eyes because she giggles. It’s a warm sound.

You can see why people like her, why they regard her highly. She’s gorgeous, and she smells of a garden with freshly bloomed jasmine blanketing it. And her smile, it’s welcoming.

You offer her your name with an embarrassed shake of your head, partnered with a soft laugh at your oblivious nature.

“It’s alright— you didn’t have the pleasure of meeting me before saving yourself from mister hates-everyone-and-everything.”

Oh, she’s funny. Lively. You like her. You only wish it was her instead that you worked under, maybe things would’ve been different. You’d bet your pretty soul that Cindy and Mary Jane must have thought the same thing, at least once.

Cindy returns to earth soon enough, no longer drooling over the blonde bartender with a boyish grin. She hands you a shot, keeps one for herself, and hands Jess one too. Your brows lift, concern swimming in your bright eyes.

“Don’t worry, it’s virgin. Just lemon juice and seltzer— didn’t want you to feel left out!”

The kind thing, you grin at that and so does Jessica. Your glasses raise in repetition of Cindy’s own.

“To you, Ribbons. For having the guts to do what none of us ever could and getting the hell out!” She’s joking, you think. But a more analytical part of you knows well that deep down, she is not.

Christ, he’s that bad.

“Amen to that, sister.” Jess adds, and you can only laugh at the irony as you clink your glasses and shoot the horrible, burning thing back. You immediately wince as the substance itches at the base of your throat, making your eyes swell with water whilst you cough.

“Ugh, is that tequila!?”

Cindy only nods before dropping the glasses down and grabbing your hand again. She barely flinched.

“Let’s go dance!”

You don’t get the opportunity to recover and say goodbye to the pregnant Aphrodite before you’re back out on the dance floor, swaying those hips to the beat. Except now, it’s with Cindy by your side. The music is good, the drinks being brought to you by mesmerized men are good, god- the night is good. Time feels slow as it passes. That lady was on to something. You showed the world your pretty face and you got rewarded for it.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe the music but you finally feel it again. Alive. The buzz makes you feel loose, like with each sway of your hips— you’re throwing more of your problems into the burning pile and watching them melt away into nothing more than ash.

Meaningless ash. Where they can’t hurt you.

Cindy dances with a man beside you, but you dance alone. This moment, it feels too good to share with anyone else.

You don’t pay much mind to how long you’re there for, nor what’s happening around you. You don’t need to. You just need you right now, you and the music.

“I know right, she’s got the whole place looking!”

You hear above the bass; you don’t bother to listen more to Cindy’s voice or rather anything else except for the song. You’re lost in this safe little bubble, no one’s crowding you.

Wait— no one’s crowding you.

You open your eyes to see eyes staring back. Multiple, mesmerized by the way you’re moving those hips. Tipsy as you are— your face still flushes as you gaze back at them.

Your hips slow and then halt completely when the bony shoulder of a strawberry blonde bumps into your back.

“Hey, watch where you’re dancin— yeah?” A southern accent demands.

You frown at her, only seeing the back of her head as she storms past you. Christ, some night she’s having. She takes your place in the middle of the circle you created and attempts to move her hips. She looks— stiff. Like she’s trying to force the movement that should come fluidly in her hips.

Maybe you’re just drunk and critical as a former dancer. That must be it. You’ll leave her be, the room is too dizzy to care.

With a sigh, you bury yourself back into the crowd who have all turned their attention away from the circle. Whew, you’re feeling spun. Where Cindy, anyways?

Maybe it’s time for a water…

A record scratches, smirking mouth pressed up against the microphone as the DJ pulls it against his face.

“Alright alright— you guys havin’ a nice time tonight?” The crowd cheers, loud and rowdy as they look up at the record booth and lone, center stage. The DJ, he gets excited by the energy. As if he’s feeding from it.

“Alriiiiight, that’s what I like to hear. Now listen, rumor has it that right here, right now in this very moment— there’s a dancing queen among us. Oh yeah, I’m talkin’ full blown ABBA. I’ve seen her, I know you’ve seen her— light man...” He snaps his fingers, the singular luminescent glow from the ceiling lands upon him. He finishes, “Let’s find her in this crowd, shall we? Where is she?”

Your eyes scan over the crowd, curious to see just who they’re talking about.

God— she must be good for a personal shoutout in a place like this. You used all of the grocery money to get in here, it’s not like you’ve had much of an appetite, anyways…

Maybe it is the strawberry blonde with an attitude… no, no that would be absurd.

You squint as the light passes you quickly— but it soon snaps right back.

Your delicate palm softly lifts to shield it from your blinded eyes.

“There she is!” He announces, as if he’s found the first lick of gold in a deserted land of sand.

The crowd cheers, whistling and whooping as their hands pound together. You turn your head, looking each way for the dancing queen they speak of before you realize.

Oh…

It’s you.

You’re so drunk you can only giggle, covering your face with your palms as the DJ shakes his head,

“Oh no sweetheart, can’t get all shy now that you know everybody’s watching. We all saw the way you were moving those hips— we all saw it. Let me ask you muñequita, because I have a feeling. Do you know how to dance like a boricua? I saw the way you were moving, there is no chance in hell you’re an all white woman.”

He laughs at his own joke, and the crowd does too.

He’s right. Your father was a strong Puerto Rican man with intimidating eyes— he never smiled, nor did he come around often. But when he did come around? He taught you to dance. He loved to dance. You do too.

You snap yourself away from your thoughts, they’re waiting… they’re waiting and it feels so odd yet so right to have all those eyes on you.

The dancing queen…

Maybe this would’ve been your life had you not— well, tonight’s not the night to think about it. You’re far too buzzed and far too front and center to chicken out now.

You spread your fingers, eyes peeking out behind your palms. Maybe you shouldn’t but god— dancing just feels so good tonight. You nod, and the crowd cheers again.

“See, knew it. Knew it. I’m never wrong, I’m never wrong. So, chiquita bonita, how about you get up here and we give them a show— eh? What do you say?”

A show…

You can’t even deny or overthink it before the crowd starts chanting “do it, do it, do it,” in unison. Someone with cold hands pushes you forward and before you let better judgment stop you from swaying your hips center stage— you’re already up there. The lights follow you; they blind you.

“There we go! Alright, my beloved gringos and gringas can sit this one out— we’re gonna dance a little merengueeee.” He emphasizes the word in a way that makes all the girls swoon.

What are you doing? What are you doing? You don’t know. Daddy taught you merengue. You love merengue, but all these people…

Your mind flashes back to the week straight that you were wrapped like a mummy in your sheets. The tears, the loneliness, the dread. And now— here you are. They’re all looking at you like you’re a star.

…

Oh, fuck it.

The DJ spins a record again and soon enough a symphony of instruments and strings begin to flow throughout the speakers. Everyone cheers as he adjusts the needle and pulls his headphones off from his head.

Thank god, you’d just about melt if you had to dance this alone. He hurries over to you. He has kind, brown eyes and a mustache just above his contagious smile. His belly is soft, it protrudes just a bit.

“Peter.” He greets where only you can hear him. You peer up at him shyly, feeling the heat of the moment suffocate you. You haven’t had this many eyes on you since you were with Katerina. The very distant, sober part of you is tugging your hand. Begging you to get off stage.

Peter furrows his brows,

“Hey— don’t look at them. Look at me.”

He’s awfully kind, and he’s right. If you play pretend, this moment could feel euphoric. You nod, forgetting all your worries as the long intro finally comes to an end.

“Bajo una noche estrellada, de luna llena…”

See, the thing about dancers is that no matter how loud the mind screams, the body won’t stop moving. Yours is no different.

His palms are warm as they press against your own. You clasp your fingers against his and keep his warm brown eyes centered as the only thing in sight.

The dancer you are, your hips start to sway.

“Ahi está.” He praises, one hand falling to rest against your hip, following each effortless motion and figure eight they make in unison with the beat. Something about him, it’s safe. It’s gentle. It’s— a really good merengue dancer.

Christ…

You giggle as he moves his hips, leading your mesmerizing motions. He’s putting you on display, twirling your sparkling dress under the spot lights for the whistling crowd to see. He spins you once, twice, thrice, then he stops you— your back to him.

“You okay with this?” He whispers in your ear, you nod— grateful he asked for a yes. The first man tonight who has, unfortunately…

Your hips move back against him, his leg— at least that’s what you think it is. You’re too drunk to know any better.

You both move in unison, and although he’s the only thing that exists in your mind right now aside from the music— you can feel the crowd. In your bones and chest, vibrating louder than the sound that leads you and the hands that guide you. Feel their eyes and excitement as you do as he said and give them a show.

“You’re bringing me lots of business tonight, dancing queen.”

Your cheeks are pink from the buzz, and you laugh as he twirls you again— back into the first position. You both sway your hips, the trumpet of the song a euphoric sound. He reaches a hand out, pushing it in an upward motion to signal the crowd to get louder.

God- they do.

They do as you twirl again, as you move your body for them to see.

A dazzling starlet.

You’re lost, so lost in the moment that you feel like finally, you’ve reached it. That peak, just at the top of the mountain where no one and nothing else exists. Nothing plagues you, no. Just this moment.

Your curls are wild and free, no longer tamed by your straightener and ribbons, they dance on their own, too.

You could stay here forever.

Peter steps back, holding your intertwined hands up in the air— only moving his hips softly as he puts you front and center. In this moment, you no longer feel like a ballerina in a box. No, you’re the ballerina who leaped outside of that stupid wooden box. That stupid office. Stupid dance room.

Stupid boss.

Stupid Katerina.

Stupid Miguel.

Hey… that guys kinda looks like—

Peter twirls you swiftly back into his arms and continues moving. You’re still facing front, the rhythm controlling your body like it’s got strings sewn into your limbs.

But that guy…

The crowd is slowly fading back as the lights get a bit dimmer. You squint behind the hundreds of gazes on you so you can see— and Christ, do you see it.

Him.

Miguel fucking O’Hara.

And his eyes? Those intimidating eyes…

They’re glued on to you. Nothing else but you, as if you’re the only breathing creature besides himself that exists in this room. It must be him, you can’t delude yourself into believing or seeing otherwise. He’s seated beside a smiling Jessica.

Your gazes lock.

Woah….

The air leaves you, and you’re certain you turn entirely red against your silver. You stumble, and Peter catches you.

“You okay?”

You turn to meet his warm brown orbs.

You need to leave— now.

You’re drunk, and nauseous.

“No no I- m’ sorry I have to go.” Like Cinderella in the night. Only you’re running from the monster, not to it.

The crowd “awws” in unison as you part from Peter’s hands and softly make your way to the stairs. You leave him confused as he grabs the vacant mic.

He takes the attention off of you and quickly puts it back onto himself, likely seeing the panic in your eyes. You’d suffocate if the crowd watched you crumble.

“The dancing queen everybody, leaving me quicker than my first wife.”

The stairs make you dizzy, you grip tightly onto the rail as you descend them. Oh, the room is spinning. It’s smaller. Are you panicking again? No no, you can’t. Not while drunk.

Why is Katerina coming to the forefront of your mind?

Oh god, you are.

“That was awesome!” Cindy calls, gently grabbing your arm.

All of it, it’s all echoing.

“I have to go…” you breathe out as you push past her. Merengue makes people move, so so much. It’s hard to weave through. You’re gonna vomit. You are so gonna vomit right now.

You huff,

“Excuse me, please…”

They don’t listen or make it easy, but you’re slender enough to push through for the most part. The trumpets still play in the background, chasing you out and the crowd is laughing at something Peter is doing on stage. You don’t pay it any mind.

You need to go, you need air— distance.

“Oh!” Another bump against your shoulder from the strawberry blonde, harsher this time and you fall against a brick wall. Er- that’s what it feels like.

Your hands immediately lift to steady yourself against the firm stranger’s torso as your body straightens up. You’re so, so dizzy— and you’re certain that you’re drunk now because your speech is slurred.

The tequila.

“M’ so sorry I-”

Your mouth goes slack once you’re able to lift the soft curve of your chin from where it once stared at leather shoes.

It’s then that the scent of firewood and espresso all floats back— slamming against your senses like a crashing wave to shore. So suddenly. Looking down at you under the sparkling lights, in the sea of joyous people…

Dark eyes, tense jaw, long hair…

It’s him…

Mr. O’Hara…

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @tabalittlelong @iitangerine | chap 8 song 🎧: