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polarisjisung · 5 months

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MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN

synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

wc: 1.1k

pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)

notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️

you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.

you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.

just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.

your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.

the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you

there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.

there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.

jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.

"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead

"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile

"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"

"you know it sung"

his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you

"well I'm here now"

jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back

"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head

you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist

"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple

jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes

there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside

you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much

like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm

"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show

"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes

"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation

"you're my girl, of course I do"

this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips

"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you

"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes

"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear

"my boyfriend"

"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him

"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence

"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"

somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.

despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head

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bethanythebogwitch · 1 year

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It's big, it's strong, its scaly, it's this week's Wet Beast Wednesday topic! An arapaima, also known as a pirarucu or paiche, is any of four species of fish in the genus Arapaima in the order of bony-tongued fish. There is som ongoing debate about the classification of the species, so to keep thing simple, I'm going to use the most common species names of Arapaima gigas (the type species and most well known, and the one with the most confusion about its classification), Arapaima agassizii, Arapaima leptosoma, and Arapaima mapae. Because A. gigas is the most well-studied of the species, unless I say otherwise you can assume everything I say in this post applies to it.

(image: an arapaima)

Arapaimas are bony fish that retain several primitive traits, causing them to sometimes be identified as "living fossils". They are most notable for their size, with A. gigas being a contender for the largest freshwater fish in the world. The maximum recorded size for one was 3.7 meters (10 ft) and 200 kg (400 lbs), but most get to around 2 meters (6.6 ft) long and 200 kg (440 lbs). That average length is decreasing as overfishing of the largest individuals is resulting in a selective pressure for smaller sizes. In addition to their size, they are extremely strong and can move fast if needed. Arapaima are fully capable of leaping out of the water if disturbed or they feel their current pond in unsuitable. Because of their strength, specimens in captivity must be handled with care as they can easy break bones if they slap someone. They live in rivers and lakes in South America, where they are often the top predators.

(image: several anglers with an arapaima)

Arapaimas are obligate air-breathers and will drown if they can't get to the surface to breathe. This is accomplished with a specialized swim bladder. The swim bladder is filled with highly vascularized tissue, letting it act like a lung. This pseudo-lung opens into the mouth using a modified gill arch known as the labyrinth organ. Arapaima gills are too small to sustain them, but they can supplement their oxygen intake with the gills. Juveniles are born exclusively using their gills and transition into air-breathers shortly after hatching. Arapaimas can survive up to a full day out of the water. They typically surface to gulp in air every 15-20 minutes. Breathing makes a loud gulping sound that anglers use to target them.

(image: an arapaima at the surface)

Because of their ability to breathe air, arapaimas are top predators in low-oxygen environments. Non-air breathing fish are forced to slow down in water with low levels of dissolved oxygen as they can't get enough oxygen through their gills. Since Arapaimas breathe air, they can easily chase down lethargic smaller fish. They are especially potent predators during the low season, when water levels lower. A combination of rotting vegetation reducing oxygen levels and ponds getting cut off from rivers and losing a supply of oxygen lets the arapaima reign supreme. Arapaimas are primarily predators that feed on smaller fish, though they will hunt other types of animals and eat fruits and seeds. Even land animals aren't safe as arapaimas have been known to launch themselves out of the water to catch animals near the shore. A combination of sharp teeth and their bony tongues are used to debilitate prey.

(image: an arapaima with its mouth open)

Not content with powerleveling their attack stat, arapaimas also have excellent defense. Their scales have been compared to bullet proof vests. Each has a hard, mineralized outer layer over multiple layers of collagen fibers. These layers are all oriented at an angle to each other to provide extra strength. This orientation of layers is called a Bouligand-type arrangement and is similar to how plywood is assembled. The harder outer layers and flexible inner layers work together to allow for both strength and flexibility. These scales help provide protection form large predators such as caiman and small threats like biting piranha. They also like provide protection from other arapaima, as the fish are aggressive and will fight each other.

(image: a diagram showing the composition of arapaima scales. source)

You probably wouldn't expect a swimming tank of an animal to be a good parent, but you'd be wrong. Arapaimas work together in mated pairs to build nests for their eggs, then cooperate to guard the nest. Once the eggs hatch, the male will practice mouth brooding, keeping his young safe in his mouth. The female will also help by patrolling the area around the male to ward off predators. They secrete pheromones from their heads to ensure the young don't swim too far away. Eggs are laid either in in the low season or as water levels are starting to rise, ensuring that the young become independent during the high season.

(Image: baby arapaimas)

Arapaima are classified as "data deficient" by the IUCN. This means there isn't enough data to properly assess their conservation needs. They are known to be threatened by overfishing. Arapaima make up a large part of the diet of many South American populations. Habitat loss and pollution are also believed to threaten them. They have been introduced to many areas out of their native range and are an invasive species in placed like Florida, Malaysia, and India.

Does anyone else remember these cards? (image: the arapaima card from Weird n' Wild Creatures)

#wet beast wednesday #fishblr #fish #biology #zoology #ecology #animals #aquatic biology #animal facts #absolute unit #arapaima #pirarucu #paiche

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temis-de-leon · 4 months

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Day 17 - Jealous kiss

Characters: Solomon x gn!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: none, just fluff. Developing relationship.

Getting used to only seeing the moon, especially an unfamiliar one, was something that took more of MC’s time than they would like to admit. The darkness, loosing track of time and the drop in temperature were one thing, but it was the lack of vitamin D what proved to be a significant problem. Their body weakened and their mood plummeted to the point where even Lucifer panicked.

Fortunately for all of them, the solution was as simple as adding certain foods to their diet, mainly fish, and of course the brothers bought enough to feed an entire army. In the end, however, MC grew sick of it and resorted to consuming vitamin D supplement pills.

Then they had the dilemma of finishing the whole stack of seafood that filled the entire kitchen, including the fridge, the freezer and the cabinets. Not even Beel could force himself to gulp it down and soon Satan had the genius idea of feeding it to the stray cats.

They would get rid of the awful smell that roamed the house and other cats would visit in hopes of getting more gourmet treats, because where else would they find salmon or trout? At first, obviously, Lucifer refused in fear of any animal creeping inside the house while no one was looking, but once Asmo begged for the damn dead fish to get out, no one dared to complain.

So that’s where they were, the Avatar of Wrath almost crying in happiness while cats climbed all over his body, his younger brother beside him taking selfies with the cutest kittens and MC in a more secluded space giving all of their attention to a particular cat. It had greyish blue eyes and striking long white fur, stained with dirt, but beautiful nonetheless.

A certain sorcerer with similar features stared at them while they cooed at the cat, kissing its nose, scratching its ears and massaging its little paws.

“If I didn’t know you any better”, MC said with uncharacteristic pompousness “I’d think you were jealous”

“Me? Jealous?”

Solomon’s expression was mischievous, but a glint in his eyes betrayed him. He was definitely jealous.

“You must be imagining things, my dear MC”

The term of endearment made their heart flutter, still vulnerable to his teasing even after weeks of endless flirting. Those who weren’t close to them already thought they were dating and after the kiss they’d shared a few days ago during RAD’s latest festival, they might as well be.

It had been a nervous gesture, too short for both of their likings, but MC hadn’t stopped thinking about it. The taste of soda on both of their lips, his hands on their waist, gently keeping them close.

The memory made them feel like a love-struck schoolgirl.

“From the way I see it, you’re simply being too selfish with your affections”

They turned to the side to look at him with an incredulous smile, hugging the cat close to their chest and rubbing its belly. Solomon’s eyebrow twitched at the sight.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Isn’t it clear?”

“Enlighten me”

Solomon opened his mouth to speak, but his words got stuck in his throat when MC shimmied their way to his body, resting impossibly close to him and letting the cat smell his RAD uniform. He smiled with genuine care and scratched its chin, once again unknowingly increasing MC’s heartbeat.

“Look at him, how handsome he is” murmured MC, their head oriented towards the cat, but their eyes directly looking at the blushing sorcerer “His white hair, his grey eyes… I could kiss him over and over and over again…”

And so they did, hoisting it until their heads were at the same height and enthusiastically pressing loud kisses on the fur. It smelled bad, but they did it anyways.

“Are you being mean on purpose?”

MC laughed at his childish complaint, trying not to make too much fun of his pout and his crossed arms. He only looked at them again when they finally let the cat go and threw themselves at him, making Solomon gasp in surprise.

“You’re funny”

The whisper clashed against his lips and became inaudible to everyone but them.

This kiss was even shorter than the one they shared at the festival, but it eased Solomon’s frown and it made his small smile reappear. He hugged their waist before they could get too far and deepened the kiss, not letting them go until a delighted screech reached their ears.

By the time they turned around, Asmodeus had already taken a picture.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation @owlisbuffering @chizukimp4 @ravenredwine @darkflowerav @craftysclown @mehkers

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me fluff #obey me writing #obey me drabble #25 kisses challenge

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whencyclopedia · 3 months

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Twilight Cities: Lost Capitals of the Mediterranean

"Twilight Cities: Lost Capitals of the Mediterranean" by Katherine Pangonis takes you through the long histories of five cities of the Mediterranean from their humble beginnings to the modern day. As a combination of personal experiences and historical narrative, the reader is left with an in-depth knowledge of the cities of Tyre, Carthage, Syracuse, Ravenna, and Antioch and the interconnectedness of these capitals throughout their histories.

Twilight Cities: Lost Capitals of the Mediterranean is Katherine Pangonis’s second book, with her first being Queens of Jerusalem: The Women Who Dared to Rule (2021). Twilight Cities is dedicated to the history of five prominent and "lost" cities from history: Tyre, Carthage, Syracuse, Ravenna, and Antioch. This book seamlessly blends Katherine’s personal experiences and travels through the modern areas and ancient remains of these once glittering jewels of the ancient and medieval world, and the sweeping histories of each of the cities from their inception to their decline and transition into modern spaces. Interwoven through the historical and archaeological evidence for these places are the myths and legends, most significantly their founding stories and legendary figures associated with them. Katherine’s sparking prose sweeps the reader along for the ride as if you were walking alongside her.

The book has been dedicated both to the people of the Mediterranean that Katherine came across on her travels, but also to those who lost their lives and livelihoods during the devastating earthquakes of 2023. This catastrophic event that rocked the city of Antakya (ancient Antioch) is often referred to through her own personal experience with the natural disaster and essentially becomes another layer in this long history of the city. It gives the reader a feeling both of sadness and heightened awareness of the ‘sameness’ of the ancient world and the modern.

The names of Tyre, Carthage, Syracuse, Ravenna and Antioch have endured, but the true reality of the ancient cities have been lost. These cities are not the same as they were, and their glory has dimmed. But a city only dies when the ideas it was built with fade, as much as when fires tear down its walls or earthquakes shatter them. The ideas of these cities have persisted. Their memories remain. Not always necessarily in the minds of the residents, but preserved in texts, and the stone monuments that still grasp the earth around the Mediterranean. The air in these cities hang heavy with legend. (254)

Each chapter, which is dedicated to a different city, begins with Katherine’s personal history of the city. This includes her first visit to the city (such as her first visit to Syracuse at the age of 21) and also gives the reader an insight into the city today and what you might expect to see if you were to visit. Then, each city is explored chronologically, starting with the founding of the city (both real or mythological), and then moving through time to the present day. By the end of a chapter, the reader is left with an intimate knowledge of the changes the city has gone through, its periods of strength and weakness, and all of the different groups of people who one called it home. This breadth of information is conveyed through the use of surviving texts with the archaeological remains of the cities.

The book is supplemented with a map at the beginning to orient the reader within the wider region, the geographical spread of the five cities of interest, and an insert of colour images depicted some of the key places and people explored in the book. Additionally, each chapter starts with a quote to set the scene, and a lovely illustration. If you listen to the audiobook (well-narrated by Katherine herself), a PDF is also supplied with these supporting graphics.

This book was beautifully written (and narrated), bringing these once glorious cities back into the limelight. Their long, and sometimes arduous histories, are recounted in a way that lets each city have its moment to shine, but also highlights its interconnectedness with the other cities featured in this book (as well as the wider Mediterranean world). Many figures pop up numerous times and some events are mentioned in multiple chapters which allows the reader to grasp how interlinked this part of the world is and has always been.

This review was first published at Kell-Read.

#History #Tyre #Syracuse #Carthage

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transform4u · 3 months

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I've lately seen all these dumb influencers selling testosterone or weird supplements to boost muscle. The thought is certainly appealing, but as a healthcare worker, I feel like this industry is a big scam being promoted by meatheads. Who'd be dumb enough to fall for stuff like this?

Your index finger hovers uncertainly over the glowing "Buy Now" button on Instagram, where the flashy ad for "Influencer supplements" promises miracles. Deep down, you know better. You have a medical degree, for crying out loud! This is likely just a scam, a waste of money. But as you debate, your finger slips. Before you can retract it, the deed is done — $500 down the drain for what's probably nothing more than sugar pills.

Cursing your impulsive moment, you're startled by a knock on the door. Who could it be? You open the door cautiously, only to find a small, oddly timely package from the very company you just ordered from. "That was fast," you mutter, puzzled by the efficiency that rivals Amazon.

You tear open the package and inside, nestled amidst packing peanuts, lies just a tiny blue pill. Against all your instincts and better judgment, you swallow it with a hurried gulp of water. Almost instantly, a strange sensation washes over you. It's as if your brain is turning into cotton candy — soft and fluffy, but melting away under scrutiny. Complex medical terms like "Antigen," "Fecundity," and "Dyspareunia" evaporate from your mind like morning mist.

Suddenly, you find yourself setting down your phone and hitting the record button. A loud, obnoxious laugh erupts from your lips, startlingly foreign to your usual composed self. "Hey, fam! Check this out!" you announce to the unseen audience, your voice unnervingly cheery. "I've got something wild to show you!"

As your mind grows dumber with each passing second, you stumble through an absurd performance, unaware of your own folly. The pill has robbed you of reason, turning you into a caricature of yourself. You dance clumsily, spouting nonsense and giggling uncontrollably. It's a spectacle of ignorance and blissful unawareness, captured for the amusement of strangers online.

As you stand there, the words slip out of your mouth awkwardly, "Yo, fam, it's about to get lit AF in here." Instantly, you cringe inwardly, feeling ridiculous trying to sound like a Gen Z boy. But strangely, instead of just embarrassment, you feel a peculiar sensation spreading through your mind — it's as if your IQ points are dropping off one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

With each passing moment, you sense yourself regressing, aging backward. Your thoughts become simpler, more carefree, almost like you're reliving your twenties. You glance at your reflection and notice something startling: your face is changing. Lines smooth out, your skin gains a youthful glow, and you look much younger than moments before. It's as if the years are melting away in reverse.

"This is for the Hashtag Straight as an Arrow dance challenge, fam!" you exclaim, feeling a strange compulsion to move. Out of nowhere, Sabrina Carpenter's "Espresso" starts playing, and you hear the music as if it's surrounding you. At first, the pop tune makes you cringe — it's not your usual taste. But then, in your altered state, you find yourself thinking about how hot Sabrina is. Wait, that doesn't make sense, you're gay.

"Naw, fam," your mind insists, contradicting your true orientation. "You're straight as an arrow now."

Confusion clouds your thoughts as you try to reconcile your identity with the absurdity of the situation. Yet, the beat of the music pulls you in. You begin to move, awkwardly at first, then with increasing enthusiasm. Your body responds to the rhythm, performing dance moves you never thought you knew. Without

As you continue to lip sync and dance to the infectious beat of Sabrina Carpenter's "Espresso," something incredible happens. You feel a surge of energy coursing through your body, and you notice changes happening rapidly. Your once flabby physique starts to transform right before your eyes. Abs begin to chisel out on your abdomen, biceps bulge with newfound strength, and your pecs swell into a defined chest. Even your quads feel stronger and more pronounced, filling out your lower body with muscle.

In awe, you peel off your boring medical scrubs, revealing a physique that would make any fitness model envious. Your wardrobe magically transforms, replacing the scrubs with baggy pants — whether it's wide-leg trousers or oversized joggers, you dominate the streetwear scene with your relaxed, trendy vibe. You pair them effortlessly with tight-fitting crop tops or baggy t-shirts, effortlessly blending comfort and style.

As you admire your reflection, you can't help but feel a surge of confidence. Your new body looks hot, and you revel in the attention it commands. Your ego swells as you envision yourself becoming a vapid Gen Z influencer, craving consistent likes, followers, and attention.

You've decided to create a brand that revolves around fitness and lifestyle. You'll share daily workout routines, healthy meal prep ideas, and motivational posts about body positivity and self-love. Your Instagram feed will be a curated mix of gym selfies, fashion-forward streetwear shots, and behind-the-scenes glimpses of your glamorous life.

You envision yourself hosting live workouts, collaborating with trendy brands, and attending exclusive influencer events. Your persona will exude confidence, charm, and a carefree attitude that resonates with your growing audience of adoring fans. It's all fake but who cares?

As you dance and lip-sync to Sabrina Carpenter's song, you marvel at the youthful energy coursing through you. Your movements are agile, your expression filled with a carefree joy that feels both foreign and oddly liberating.

As you revel in the glory of your newly transformed physique and burgeoning influencer persona, a text notification interrupts your euphoria. It's from your loving girlfriend, reminding you that today marks your anniversary. A pang of guilt and realization washes over you — amidst all the absurdity and self-involvement, you've completely forgotten this significant milestone in your relationship.

Quickly wrapping up the TikTok video with a dramatic spin and a peace sign, you chirp, "Alright fam, that's a wrap! Don't forget to smash that like button and hit subscribe for more lit content. Catch you on the flip side!" With a cheeky wink at the camera, you tap the stop recording button and let out a satisfied sigh.

As you headed out the door to meet your girlfriend for your anniversary celebration, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The thought of spending quality time with her, reminiscing about your past year together and reaffirming your love for each other, filled you with joy.

But as you stepped into the restaurant where you had planned to dine, something felt off. The atmosphere seemed charged with an undercurrent of tension that wasn't there before. As you both took your seats at a cozy corner table, your girlfriend looked at you expectantly - her eyes shining with hope and love.

"Happy anniversary," she said softly, placing a hand on top of yours across the table. "I can't believe it's been a year already." Her voice was sweet and innocent; she truly believed that this day would be special for you both…little did she know what was about to happen next!

Without warning or hesitation, you leaned forward aggressively until your face was mere inches from hers; your eyes narrowed menacingly as if preparing for battle while maintaining eye contact throughout this intense moment between you both – making sure not break it even once during this exchange! Then slowly but surely began speaking in hushed tones yet still loud enough so only those closest could hear: "You stupid blonde bitch!" your voice dripped venom as if every word were laced in poison meant solely for her ears alone."You think you can just sit there looking all cute & innocent? Well guess again because tonight…you belong TO ME SLUT!"

As you leaned in closer, your girlfriend's eyes widened in shock and confusion. But then something strange happened - she started to giggle nervously. It was as if the reality of your situation was too much for her to handle, and she had retreated into a state of denial.

Her hand reached out hesitantly towards your chest, tracing the lines of your abs with her fingertips. As she did so, both her hair seemed to lighten until it became a shimmering platinum blonde color that matched perfectly with your new personas as Gen Z influencers seeking nothing but instant gratification from one another's bodies.

"You look so hot tonight," you whispered huskily into her ear while gripping her hand tightly on top of yours across the tabletop surface between you."I can't wait any longer!" With those words ringing through the air like an ominous warning bell signaling impending doom for all who dared cross paths with you this evening – you stood up abruptly from your seats without further ado or explanation leaving behind an empty table strewn with half-eaten appetizers forgotten amidst chaos unleashed by two horny vapid Gen Zs looking only for quick fuck before moving onto next victim...

As you made your way out of the restaurant, your girlfriend had transformed into nothing more than a nameless slut in your eyes. The person you once loved and cared for was now just another notch on your belt, another conquest to brag about on social media.

You relished in this newfound freedom; no longer did you feel constrained by societal norms or expectations. You were free to be the fuckboy that you always wanted to be - unapologetic, hedonistic, and utterly without remorse.

With a smirk plastered across your face, you pulled out your latest iPhone and hit record on TikTok Live. "Hey everyone! It's your boy Enzo here," you began confidently as if addressing an audience of millions instead of just a few hundred followers who happened upon your feed at that moment."Check out these abs!" And with that declaration came an obligatory flex which showcased every ripple and contour of muscle beneath taut skin stretched tight across abdominal wall like canvas painted masterpiece depicting story life dedicated solely pursuit pleasure above all else regardless consequences entailed along journey towards ultimate goal: becoming most famous fuckboy world has ever seen!

#gay to straight #male tf #transformation #influencer tf #douchebag tf #nerd to jock tf

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ohgaylor · 9 months

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In 2006, the year Taylor Swift released her first single, a closeted country singer named Chely Wright, then 35, held a 9-millimeter pistol to her mouth. Queer identity was still taboo enough in mainstream America that speaking about her love for another woman would have spelled the end of a country music career. But in suppressing her identity, Ms. Wright had risked her life.

In 2010, she came out to the public, releasing a confessional memoir, “Like Me,” in which she wrote that country music was characterized by culturally enforced closeting, where queer stars would be seen as unworthy of investment unless they lied about their lives. “Country music,” she wrote, “is like the military — don’t ask, don’t tell.”

The culture in which Ms. Wright picked up that gun — the same one in which Ms. Swift first became a star — was stunningly different from today’s. It’s dizzying to think about the strides that have been made in Americans’ acceptance of the L.G.B.T.Q. community over the past decade: marriage equality, queer themes dominating teen entertainment, anti-discrimination laws in housing and, for now, in the workplace. But in recent years, a steady drip of now-out stars — Cara Delevingne, Colton Haynes, Elliot Page, Kristen Stewart, Raven-Symoné and Sam Smith among them — have disclosed that they had been encouraged to suppress their queerness in order to market projects or remain bankable.

The culture of country music hasn’t changed so much that homophobia is gone. Just this past summer, Adam Mac, an openly gay country artist, was shamed out of playing at a festival in his hometown because of his sexual orientation. In September, the singer Maren Morris stepped away from country music; she said she did so in part because of the industry’s lingering anti-queerness. If country music hasn’t changed enough, what’s to say that the larger entertainment industry — and, by extension, our broader culture — has?

Periodically, I return to a video, recorded by a shaky hand more than a decade ago, of Ms. Wright answering questions at a Borders bookstore about her coming out. She likens closeted stardom to a blender, an “insane” and “inhumane” heteronormative machine in which queer artists are chewed to bits.

“It’s going to keep going,” Ms. Wright says, “until someone who has something to lose stands up and just says ‘I’m gay.’ Somebody big.” She continues: “We need our heroes.”

What if someone had already tried, at least once, to change the culture by becoming such a hero? What if, because our culture had yet to come to terms with homophobia, it wasn’t ready for her?

What if that hero’s name was Taylor Alison Swift?

In the world of Taylor Swift, the start of a new “era” means the release of new art (an album and the paratexts — music videos, promotional ephemera, narratives — that supplement it) and a wholesale remaking of the aesthetics that will accompany its promotion, release and memorializing. In recent years, Ms. Swift has dominated pop culture to such a degree that these transformations often end up altering American culture in the process.

In 2019, she was set to release a new album, “Lover,” the first since she left Big Machine Records, her old Nashville-based label, which she has since said limited her creative freedom. The aesthetic of what would be known as the “Lover Era” emerged as rainbows, butterflies and pastel shades of blue, purple and pink, colors that subtly evoke the bisexual pride flag.

On April 26, Lesbian Visibility Day, Ms. Swift released the album’s lead single, “ME!,” in which she sings about self-love and self-acceptance. She co-directed a campy music video to accompany it, which she would later describe as depicting “everything that makes me, me.” It features Ms. Swift dancing at a pride parade, dripping in rainbow paint and turning down a man’s marriage proposal in exchange for a … pussy cat.

At the end of June, the L.G.B.T.Q. community would celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. On June 14, Ms. Swift released the video for her attempt at a pride anthem, “You Need to Calm Down,” in which she and an army of queer celebrities from across generations — the “Queer Eye” hosts, Ellen DeGeneres, Billy Porter, Hayley Kiyoko, to name a few — resist homophobia by living openly. Ms. Swift sings that outrage against queer visibility is a waste of time and energy: “Why are you mad, when you could be GLAAD?”

The video ends with a plea: “Let’s show our pride by demanding that, on a national level, our laws truly treat all of our citizens equally.” Many, in the press and otherwise, saw the video as, at best, a misguided attempt at allyship and, at worst, a straight woman co-opting queer aesthetics and narratives to promote a commercial product.

Then, Ms. Swift performed “Shake It Off” as a surprise for patrons at the Stonewall Inn. Rumors — that were, perhaps, little more than fantasies — swirled in the queerer corners of her fandom, stoked by a suggestive post by the fashion designer Christian Siriano. Would Ms. Swift attend New York City’s WorldPride march on June 30? Would she wear a dress spun from a rainbow? Would she give a speech? If she did, what would she declare about herself?

The Sunday of the march, those fantasies stopped. She announced that the music executive Scooter Braun, who she described as an “incessant, manipulative” bully, had purchased her masters, the lucrative original recordings of her work.

Ms. Swift’s “Lover” was the first record that she created with nearly unchecked creative freedom. Lacking her old label’s constraints, she specifically chose to feature activism for and the aesthetics of the L.G.B.T.Q. community in her confessional, self-expressive art. Even before the sale of her masters, she appeared to be stepping into a new identity — not just an aesthetic — that was distinct from that associated with her past six albums.

When looking back on the artifacts of the months before that album’s release, any close reader of Ms. Swift has a choice. We can consider the album’s aesthetics and activism as performative allyship, as they were largely considered to be at the time. Or we can ask a question, knowing full well that we may never learn the answer: What if the “Lover Era” was merely Ms. Swift’s attempt to douse her work — and herself — in rainbows, as so many baby queers feel compelled to do as they come out to the world?

There’s no way of knowing what could have happened if Ms. Swift’s masters hadn’t been sold. All we know is what happened next. In early August, Ms. Swift posted a rainbow-glazed photo of a series of friendship bracelets, one of which says “PROUD” with beads in the color of the bisexual pride flag. Queer people recognize that this word, deployed this way, typically means that someone is proud of their own identity. But the public did not widely view this as Ms. Swift’s coming out.

Then, Vogue released an interview with Ms. Swift that had been conducted in early June. When discussing her motivations for releasing “You Need to Calm Down,” Ms. Swift said, “Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male.” She continued: “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of.” That statement suggests that Ms. Swift did not, in early June, consider herself part of the L.G.B.T.Q. community; it does not illuminate whether that is because she was a straight, cis ally or because she was stuck in the shadowy, solitary recesses of the closet.

On Aug. 22, Ms. Swift publicly committed herself to the as-of-then-unproven project of rerecording and rereleasing her first six albums. The next day, she finally released “Lover,” which raises more questions than it answers. Why does she have to keep secrets just to keep her muse, as all her fans still sing-scream on “Cruel Summer”? About what are the “hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you,” in her chronicle of self-doubt, “The Archer,” if not her identity? And what could the album’s closing words, which come at the conclusion of “Daylight,” a song about stepping out of a 20-year darkness and choosing to “let it go,” possibly signal?

I want to be defined by the things that I love,

Not the things I hate,

Not the things that I’m afraid of, I’m afraid of,

Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night,

I just think that,

You are what you love.

The first time I viewed “Lover” through the prism of queerness, I felt delirious, almost insane. I kept wondering whether what I was perceiving in her work was truly there or if it was merely a mirage, born of earnest projection.

My longtime reading of Ms. Swift’s celebrity — like that of a majority of her fan base — had been stuck in the lingering assumptions left by a period that began more than a decade and a half ago, when a girl with an overexaggerated twang, Shirley Temple curls and Georgia stars in her eyes became famous. Then, she presented as all that was to be expected of a young starlet: attractive yet virginal, knowing yet naïve, not talented enough to be formidable, not commanding enough to be threatening, confessional, eager to please. Her songs earnestly depicted the fantasies of a girl raised in a traditional culture: high school crushes and backwoods drives, princelings and wedding rings, declarations of love that climax only in a kiss — ideally in the pouring rain.

When Ms. Swift was trying to sell albums in that late-2000s media environment, her songwriting didn’t match the image of a sex object, the usual role reserved for female celebrities in our culture. Instead, the story the public told about her was that she laundered her affection to a litter of promising grown men, in exchange for songwriting inspiration. A young Ms. Swift contributed to this narrative by hiding easy-to-decode clues in liner notes that suggested a certain someone was her songs’ inspiration (“SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM,” “ADAM,” “TAY”) or calling out an ex-boyfriend on the “Ellen” show and “Saturday Night Live.” Despite the expansive storytelling in Ms. Swift’s early records, her public image often cast a man’s interest as her greatest ambition.

As Ms. Swift’s career progressed, she began to remake that image: changing her style and presentation, leaving country music for pop and moving from Nashville to New York. By 2019, her celebrity no longer reflected traditional culture; it had instead become a girlboss-y mirror for another dominant culture — that of white, cosmopolitan, neoliberal America.

But in every incarnation, the public has largely seen those songs — especially those for which she doesn’t directly state her inspiration — as cantos about her most recent heterosexual love, whether that idea is substantiated by evidence or not. A large portion of her base still relishes debating what might have happened with the gentleman caller who supposedly inspired her latest album. Feverish discussions of her escapades with the latest yassified London Boy or mustachioed Mr. Americana fuel the tabloid press — and, embarrassingly, much of traditional media — that courts fan engagement by relentlessly, unquestioningly chronicling Ms. Swift’s love life.

Even in 2023, public discussion about the romantic entanglements of Ms. Swift, 34, presumes that the right man will “finally” mean the end of her persistent husbandlessness and childlessness. Whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s extracurricular activities involving a certain football star (romance for the ages? strategic brand partnership? performance art for entertainment’s sake?), the public’s obsession with the relationship has been attention-grabbing, if not lucrative, for all parties, while reinforcing a story that America has long loved to tell about Ms. Swift, and by extension, itself.

Because Ms. Swift hasn’t undeniably subverted our culture’s traditional expectations, she has managed, in an increasingly fractured cultural environment, to simultaneously capture two dominant cultures — traditional and cosmopolitan. To maintain the stranglehold she has on pop culture, Ms. Swift must continue to tell a story that those audiences expect to consume; she falls in love with a man or she gets revenge. As a result, her confessional songs languish in a place of presumed stasis; even as their meaning has grown deeper and their craft more intricate, a substantial portion of her audience’s understanding of them remains wedded to the same old narratives.

But if interpretations of Ms. Swift’s art often languish in stasis, so do the millions upon millions of people who love to play with the dollhouse she has constructed for them. Her dominance in pop culture and the success of her business have given her the rare ability to influence not only her industry but also the worldview of a substantial portion of America. How might her industry, our culture and we, ourselves, change if we made space for Ms. Swift to burn that dollhouse to the ground?

Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

During the Eras Tour, Ms. Swift traps her past selves — including those from her “Lover” era — in glass closets.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.

While Ms. Swift’s songs, largely written from her own perspective, cannot always conform to the idea of a woman our culture expects, her celebrity can. That separation, between Swift the songwriter and Swift the star, allows Ms. Swift to press against the golden birdcage in which she has found herself. She can write about women’s complexity in her confessional songs, but if ever she chooses not to publicly comply with the dominant culture’s fantasy, she will remain uncategorizable, and therefore, unsellable.

Her star — as bright as it is now — would surely dim.

Whether she is conscious of it or not, Ms. Swift signals to queer people — in the language we use to communicate with one another — that she has some affinity for queer identity. There are some queer people who would say that through this sort of signaling, she has already come out, at least to us. But what about coming out in a language the rest of the public will understand?

The difference between any person coming out and a celebrity doing so is the difference between a toy mallet and a sledgehammer. It’s reasonable for celebrities to be reticent; by coming out, they potentially invite death threats, a dogged tabloid press that will track their lovers instead of their beards, the excavation of their past lives, a torrent of public criticism and the implosion of their careers. In a culture of compulsory heterosexuality, to stop lying — by omission or otherwise — is to risk everything.

American culture still expects that stars are cis and straight until they confess themselves guilty. So, when our culture imagines a celebrity’s coming out, it expects an Ellen-style announcement that will submerge the past life in phoenix fire and rebirth the celebrity in a new image. In an ideal culture, wearing a bracelet that says “PROUD,” waving a pride flag onstage, placing a rainbow in album artwork or suggestively answering fan questions on Instagram would be enough. But our current reality expects a supernova.

Because of that expectation, stars end up trapped behind glass, which is reinforced by the tabloid press’s subtle social control. That press shapes the public’s expectations of others’ identities, even when those identities are chasms away from reality. Celebrities who master this press environment — Ms. Swift included — can bolster their business, but in doing so, they reinforce a heteronormative culture that obsesses over pregnancy, women’s bodies and their relationships with men.

That environment is at odds with the American movement for L.G.B.T.Q. equality, which still has fights to win — most pressingly, enshrining trans rights and squashing nonsensical culture wars. But lately I’ve heard many of my young queer contemporaries — and the occasional star — wonder whether the movement has come far enough to dispense with the often messy, often uncomfortable process of coming out, over and over again.

That questioning speaks to an earnest conundrum that queer people confront regularly: Do we live in this world, or the world to which we ought to aspire?

Living in aspiration means ignoring the convention of coming out in favor of just … existing. This is easier for those who can pass as cis and straight if need be, those who are so wealthy or white that the burden of hiding falls to others and those who live in accepting urban enclaves. This is a queer life without friction; coming out in a way straight people can see is no longer a prerequisite for acceptance, fulfillment and equality.

This aspiration is tremendous, but in our current culture, it is available only to a privileged few. Should such an inequality of access to aspiration become the accepted state of affairs, it would leave those who can’t hide to face society’s cruelest actors without the backing of a vocal, activated community. So every queer person who takes issue with the idea that we must come out ought to ask a simple question — what do we owe one another?

If coming out is primarily supposed to be an act of self-actualization, to form our own identities, then we owe one another nothing. This posture recognizes that the act of coming out implicitly reinforces straight and cis identities as default, which is not worth the rewards of outness.

But if coming out is supposed to be a radical act of resistance that seeks to change the way our society imagines people to be, then undeniable visibility is essential to make space for those without power. In this posture, queer people who can live in aspiration owe those who cannot a real world in which our expansive views of love and gender aren’t merely tolerated but celebrated. We have no choice but to actively, vocally press against the world we’re in, until no one is stuck in it.

And so just for a little while longer, we need our heroes.

But if queer people spend all of our time holding out for a guiding light, we might forgo a more pressing question that if answered, just might inch all of us a bit closer to aspiration. The next time heroes appear, are we ready to receive them?

It takes neither a genius nor a radical to see queerness implied by Ms. Swift’s work. But figuring out how to talk about it before the star labels herself is another matter. Right now, those who do so must inject our perceptions with caveats and doubt or pretend we cannot see it (a lie!) — implicitly acquiescing to convention’s constraints in the name of solidarity.

Lying is familiar to queer people; we teach ourselves to do it from an early age, shrouding our identities from others, and ourselves. It’s not without good reason. To maintain the safety (and sometimes the comfort) of the closet, we lie to others, and, most crucially, we allow others to believe lies about us, seeing us as something other than ourselves. Lying is doubly familiar to those of us who are women. To reduce friction, so many of us still shrink life to its barest version in the name of honor or safety, rendering our lives incomplete, our minds lobotomized and our identities unexplored.

By maintaining a culture of lying about what we, uniquely, have the knowledge and experience to see, we commit ourselves to a vow of silence. That vow may protect someone’s safety, but when it is applied to works of culture, it stymies our ability to receive art that has the potential to change or disrupt us. As those with queer identity amass the power of commonplaceness, it’s worth questioning whether the purpose of one of the last great taboos that constrains us befits its cost.

In every case, is the best form of solidarity still silence?

I know that discussing the potential of a star’s queerness before a formal declaration of identity feels, to some, too salacious and gossip-fueled to be worthy of discussion. They might point to the viciousness of the discourse around “queerbaiting” (in which I have participated); to the harm caused by the tabloid press’s dalliances with outing; and, most crucially, to the real material sacrifices that queer stars make to come out, again and again, as reasons to stay silent.

I share many of these reservations. But the stories that dominate our collective imagination shape what our culture permits artists and their audiences to say and be. Every time an artist signals queerness and that transmission falls on deaf ears, that signal dies. Recognizing the possibility of queerness — while being conscious of the difference between possibility and certainty — keeps that signal alive.

So, whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s sexual orientation or gender identity (something that is knowable, perhaps, only to her) or the exact identity of her muses (something better left a mystery), choosing to acknowledge the Sapphic possibility of her work has the potential to cut an audience that is too often constrained by history, expectation and capital loose from the burdens of our culture.

To start, consider what Ms. Swift wrote in the liner notes of her 2017 album, “reputation”: “When this album comes out, gossip blogs will scour the lyrics for the men they can attribute to each song, as if the inspiration for music is as simple and basic as a paternity test.”

Listen to her. At the very least, resist the urge to assume that when Ms. Swift calls the object of her affection “you” in a song, she’s talking about a man with whom she’s been photographed. Just that simple choice opens up a world of Swiftian wordplay. She often plays with pronouns, trading “you” and “him” so that only someone looking for a distinction between two characters might find one. Turns of phrase often contain double or even triple meanings. Her work is a feast laid specifically for the close listener.

Choosing to read closely can also train the mind to resist the image of an unmarried woman that compulsory heterosexuality expects. And even if it is only her audience who points at rainbows, reading Ms. Swift’s work as queer is still worthwhile, for it undermines the assumption that queer identity impedes pop superstardom, paving the way for an out artist to have the success Ms. Swift has.

After all, would it truly be better to wait to talk about any of this for 50, 60, 70 years, until Ms. Swift whispers her life story to a biographer? Or for a century or more, when Ms. Swift’s grandniece donates her diaries to some academic library, for scholars to pore over? To ensure that mea culpas come only when Ms. Swift’s bones have turned to dust and fragments of her songs float away on memory’s summer breeze?

I think not. And so, I must say, as loudly as I can, “I can see you,” even if I risk foolishness for doing so.

I remember the first time I knew I had seen Taylor Alison Swift break free from the trap of stardom. I wasn’t sitting in a crowded stadium in the pouring rain or cuddled up in a movie theater with a bag of popcorn. I was watching a grainy, crackling livestream of the Eras Tour, captured on a fan’s phone.

It’s late at night, the beginning of her acoustic set of surprise songs, this time performed in a yellow dress. She begins playing “Hits Different.” It’s a new song, full of puns, double entendres and wordplay, that toys with the glittering identities in which Ms. Swift indulges.

She’s rushing, as if stopping, even for a second, will cause her to lose her nerve. She stumbles at the bridge, pauses and starts again; the queen of bridges will not mess this up, not tonight.

There it is, at the bridge’s end: “Bet I could still melt your world; argumentative, antithetical dream girl.” An undeniable declaration of love to a woman. As soon as those words leave her lips, she lets out a whoop, pacing around the stage with a grin that cannot be contained.

For a moment, Ms. Swift was out of the woods she had created for herself as a teenager, floating above the trees. The future was within reach; she would, and will, soon take back the rest of her words, her reputation, her name. Maybe the world would see her, maybe it wouldn’t.

But on that stage, she found herself. I was there. Through a fuzzy fancam, I saw it.

And somehow, that was everything.

#ooooh my word this was BREATHTAKING and so well-said #because coming out is in fact a very delicate thing #full article here for the tumblr crowd!#taylor swift #articles #new york times #gaylor swift #gaylor #lover #chely wright

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fredwkong · 1 year

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Ballmaster

My roomie and I were bros from the moment we met at freshman orientation. We’d stuck together through thick and thin, from my flunking sophomore calculus to him getting on stage at his first bodybuilding show. All our friends joked that we were basically married, even though we both regularly had chicks over. Just because we never dated long-term didn’t mean we were, like, monks.

When he picked up a new supplement, I didn’t really think much of it. I made fun of him, obviously. What product manager comes up with the product name “BALLMASTER” and goes with it? My roommate never really explained what it was supposed to do, but he mixed the powder with water twice a day, just like the package said.

After a week or so, I started noticing a distinct funk floating around my roomie. It was pungent and sharp, with a bit of an earthy flavour that stuck in the back of my mouth as it intensified over the next few weeks. At first, I would just smell it when he was sitting next to me playing video games, but about a month in, I could smell that he was in our apartment as soon as I opened the door. I don't know how, but I'd learned how to tell when his scent was fresh and when it was stale.

When I asked him about it, he chuckled at me and said, “That’s the BALLMASTER working, bro.”

I didn’t really know what he meant. Maybe part of the product’s effect intensified body odour? But this smell was distinct from his usual man musk. Not that I was, like, sniffing his armpits, but he was a bodybuilder, and he liked to work out in the living room. I’d gotten a whiff or two of his ripe body before. Plus, under the increasingly overpowering musk, I could still smell his deodorant.

It was around this time that he started wearing sweats all the time. Loose, baggy sweats with lots of room in the crotch. His walk totally changed, too, going from the usual bodybuilder’s quad-dodging swagger to a much more exaggerated waddle. When I asked if his, uh, bait and tackle were bugging him, he told me, “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good.”

So I stopped worrying about it.

The final realisation came on me slowly, and the day I just suddenly stopped worrying about my roommates dick and balls was when it really hit me. As the smell my roommate carried with him permeated my life, I found myself unable to say no to him. Ever. When he told me to clean the living room, I started doing it almost without realising it.

One day when we were tidying up he handed me an old algebra textbook and said, jokingly, “Enjoy it.” That night, even though I knew it was a literal textbook full of explanations and practice questions, I found myself riveted as I read every page. The whole time, my roommate’s smell was filling my nostrils, making me sniff hard, taking the scent deep into myself.

This time, I knew I had to really confront him. So I sat down on the couch the next morning and waited for him to wake up. When he came out of his bedroom, he saw me waiting and waddled over to stand next to me. As he did, I felt a wave of humidity wash over me, carrying the thick, rich smell, so intense my eyes started to water.

He looked down at me, with an infuriatingly superior smirk on his face. “Yeah, dude,” he said, “you’re ready.” He dropped his sweats, letting his balls flop out.

He was going commando. He must have been for weeks at that point, because there was no way his balls could have been contained in any underwear. They were fucking enormous, each one almost the size of my fist and hanging low in his drooping sac.

The smell, radiating from what I now knew to be its source, hit me like a physical blow. I slid off the couch onto the floor.

My roommate took my place, easing himself down and gently lifting his balls with his hands so they lay between his spread thighs. His cock, still a normal size, looked tiny resting on top of his distended sac. A bead of sweat formed at the peak of the right ball and rolled into the dark, wrinkled skin below. I was transfixed by its progress.

“You wanna taste, little guy?” my roommate asked, holding his hand out toward my face, still slick with his ballsweat from moving them into position.

Without even thinking, I leaned forward and licked his palm. It tasted like salty, stale sweat, mixed with BO, dried cum, and just a little bit of stale piss. My roommate obviously hadn’t been washing it properly. It tasted like heaven, like the taste of something I’d been waiting for my whole life without knowing it.

Without a thought left in my head, I dove between his legs, burying my face in my roommate’s balls. I huffed the scent that had been slowly infiltrating my mind for months, feeling it break down the last of my resistance with its salty tang. As my roommate started to moan in his deep, sexy voice, I licked his balls, bringing in my hands to manipulate them and really get to know my new masters.

“Yeah,” my roommate groaned, jacking his cock as I slobbered between his enormous balls. “That’s a good ballslut. You’re just what I wanted, bro. I’m your Ballmaster, right?”

I nodded, burying my face deeper in my new favourite place, deep in my roommate’s huge, sweaty balls.

#male transformation #mental change #dumber tf #musk tf #male tf #balls tf #sub tf #metabod tf #all fwkong

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hazeltongzhi · 2 months

Note

Is the misconception that TCM is studied/practiced just like chiropractics and homeopathy due to the language barrier?

Partially, but there's several other factors which I think play a larger role. The most common of these is, of course, racism/sinophobia though not necessarily entirely the outright form where people dismiss it because it's Chinese or Asian or whatever (even though that does happen). Instead, I'm referring to eastern mysticism or just orientalism. Unlike in the PRC, where TCM is used as a tool to supplement western medicine and thus is subject to rigorous study, in the west, TCM is lumped in with all the other "traditional medicines" and because these forms are rarely if ever regulated or studied, it is tainted in association (that and its practicioners do not practice it in a scientific manner). This plays into the second factor that also feeds the misconceptions with TCM which is that western medical journals focus significantly more on laboratory pharmaceuticals rather than traditional medicines. This makes sense for them to do since large corporations control the vast majority of pharmaceutical output, thus if you want research money, you have to appeal to the profit motive. The lack of western literature leaves a gap that allows opportunists to swoop in and fill it with quackery. This quickly becomes a feedback loop where traditional medicines like TCM are studied less due to the association and lack of scientific investment which lets more opportunists come in to tarnish it further. When you read western journals on TCM or other herbal remedies (that actually work, mind you!), you'll often see them end with a borderline lament about how these old forms of treatment are too overlooked and understudied.

#hazel thought

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greenwitchcrafts · 1 year

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Lavender

Lavandula officinalis

Known as: Elf leaf, nard, nardus & spike

Related plants: A member of the mint family Lamiaceae, there are genus of 47 known species of lavender. It includes well known plants such basil, mint, rosemary, sage, savory, marjoram, oregano, hyssop, thyme, lavender, and perilla, as well as catnip, salvia, bee balm, wild dagga & oriental motherwort.

Parts used: Flowers

Habitat and cultivation: This flowering plant is native to the the Mediterranean

Plant type: Perennial

Region: Most are hardy from Zones 5 to 9 | Spanish Lavender (L. stoechas) is only hardy in Zones 7 to 9.

Harvest: You can harvest all the budding spikes or flowers on your plant during the growing season but avoid cutting into woody growth. Don't want to take more than 1/3 of the plant at this time & limiting your harvest to flowers and buds should keep you within recommended limits. As first frost approaches, snip off woody, leafy stems & branching. You can safely take up to 2/3 of the plant at this time. Harvesting too early can stimulate more growth which you don't want since the lavender is moving into winter dormancy.

Growing tips: To grow lavender successfully it needs well-drained soil, full sun & may be a good idea to check the PH beforehand because soil too acidic may kill off your plants. It survives well in dry conditions, so you'll only have to water when the top 2 inches of soil are dry. Plant lavender in spring, once all chances of frost have passed. This beautiful, fragrant herb is a great addition to raised beds, in-ground gardens, and growing in containers spacing plants 12 to 18 inches apart.

Medicinal information: Taking lavender products by mouth, including teas and a specific oil supplement or inhaling lavender oil as aromatherapy, seem to reduce symptoms of depression & anxiety. Lavender oil is believed to have antiseptic and anti-inflammatory properties, which can help to heal & burns & bug bites. Some studies suggest that consuming lavender as a tea can help digestive issues such as vomiting, nausea, intestinal gas, upset stomach, & abdominal swelling. A study published in the Journal of Medical Microbiology found that lavender oil could be effective in combating antifungal-resistant infections. Using it as aromatherapy can also reduce colic symptoms & menstrual cramp pain.

Cautions: Lavender essential oil is possibly safe when inhaled as aromatherapy, but applying products that contain lavender oil to the skin is possibly unsafe for young cis males who haven't reached puberty. The oil seems to have hormone-like effects that could disrupt normal hormones & in some cases, this has resulted in breast growth.

Lavender might cause sleepiness and slowed breathing. Taking lavender with sedative medications might cause breathing problems and/or too much sleepiness.

Lavender might slow down the central nervous system. If used with anesthesia and other medications given during and after surgery, it might slow down the central nervous system too much. Stop using lavender at least 2 weeks before a scheduled surgery.

Magickal properties

Gender: Masculine

Planet: Mercury

Element: Air

Deities: Aradia, Elves, Faeries, Hecate & Saturn

Magickal uses:

• Place in sleep pillows to encourage peaceful sleep

• Wear as a perfume to attract a new love

• Rub on paper when writing love spells or notes for added power

• Add with rosemary to a satchet for preserve chastity

• Scatter around your home to invite protection & purifying energies

• Use in a ritual bath to lighten feelings of depression or sadness

• Wear or use in an amulet to discourage cruelty from a spouse

• Drink lavender tea before bed to aid in astral travel or dream magick

• Burn as an incense for meditation or spirit work

• Use in spells to strengthen friendships

• Purify your ritual candles & tools with a drop of oil to release any negative energies contained within them

• Hang above your door protect against evil spirits , for home blessings & to cleanse all who enter

• Rub the oil on to the base of the skull or temples to help cure the nervous exhaustion that sometimes happens after intensive magickal workings

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mixelation · 8 months

Text

oh yeah i also wrote some of the fall out of the chunin exams from minato's pov

the [...] marks an unwritten scene or two lmao

***

Minato looked at the genin’s report first thing in the morning, opening it even before his assistant brought him coffee.

He was surprised it was in Tori’s handwriting and not Itachi’s. Itachi had always been picky about reports (and everything else anyone might do), and Minato often found his notes even on subordinates’ individual reports. Surely Itachi hadn’t told Tori to do the report. But the alternative also seemed strange. Who could convince Itachi not to at least write his own notes?

The format was also non-standard, but Minato didn’t mind it. Tori had somehow condensed the entire mission into a single page, front and back, with important events succinctly outlined in a logical, easy-to-read flow. To this page she’d stapled twenty-seven pages of what seemed to be notes on the conversation they’d had to produce this report, which were more detailed but not in an order that was easy for an outsider to follow.

The contents of the report turned out to be insane.

Minato had talked in length with Kushina about her version of events. He knew the details of the actual exam, their plan and Iwa’s eventual attack. He knew that, somehow, Itachi would end up rescuing Kushina alone while Tori and Deidara had gone after Morino. He knew what Itachi had deemed important for him to know immediately, which was that Tori had elected to make several decisions to manipulate Konoha’s international relations.

He had assumed the way they’d accomplished these things would be wild. He’d somehow underestimated how wild.

For one thing, apparently Deidara had fought the Tsuchikage. This was stated very matter-of-factly in the middle of a paragraph with no particular fanfare, and made Minato choke on his coffee.

There weren’t even any supplementary notes about this fact. Deidara had barged into the Tsuchikage’s box, screamed to a bunch of foreign dignitaries about Iwa kidnapping his sensei while everyone was distracted by the tournament, and then he’d fought the Tsuchikage. That was it. No further comment.

Deidara had also done this with enough skill to then leave the battle site in sufficient chaos that no one had been able to immediately follow him. This at least had detail; Deidara had simply broken enough of the building that the Tsuchikage’s guard he hadn’t killed needed all hands on deck to save their important foreign visitors from its imminent collapse.

Jiraiya had linked Deidara to a lot of destroyed structures– and buildings which were only partially destroyed in very sophisticated, calculated ways– but what the fuck. Deidara was eleven. A team of Iwa demolition experts couldn’t pull that off nearly as cleanly.

Part of Minato’s assumptions had been that Tori and Deidara had stayed together. Tori was extremely clever, and probably much more talented in fuuinjutsu than she let on, but she was very demonstrably not well-skilled in combat, and she’d shut down her own chakra in a last-ditch effort to stave off her own poisoning. That she would stick to a more combat-oriented person in a support role had been her MO as long as Minato had known her.

This, it turned out, was an incorrect assumption to the degree that Minato wasn’t even really sure how Tori had accomplished what she had. She had… simply walked into Iwa T&I, if he was reading this correctly. The report simply said she’d “infiltrated it through the back door.” Her supplemental notes clarified she’d done this via “the super secret jutsu of being twelve and unintimidating.” Then she’d called on a random T&I employee that she described as “looking slightly confused about his job (you know the type)” and convinced him they were meant to be relocating prisoners to help her move Morino.

These… these were not normal infiltration tactics. Minato had no idea what she was talking about.

At least with Itachi, Minato knew he was one of Konoha’s best and brightest. Minato would never order him to infiltrate a place by himself, but he understood how he’d done it with ample abuse of genjutsu and murder. He didn’t understand how Itachi had known where Kushina would be, and this was never commented on, but this question was extremely low priority.

Minato called back in his assistant and asked for a second coffee, and for her to schedule an all-day meeting the next day with Team 4 and some of Konoha’s leadership.

He probably wouldn’t keep everyone there all day. But he wanted everyone available.

The rest of his day was spent in more meetings on the Iwa fiasco. Morino was stable and talking, which pleased him. Tori’s report was copied and passed around to various offices for record-keeping and analysis, to see if anyone could divine Iwa’s motives and goals from their actions.

Shikaku sauntered into his debriefing with Minato with a copy in his hand.

“What the fuck is this?” he said, waving it.

“Team 4 is… resilient under stress?” Minato tried.

“More like Team Disaster,” Shikaku snorted, then dropped into a chair across from Minato.

Minato liked Shikaku. He’d call them work friends, maybe, as much as a Kage and his subordinate could be work friends. Shikaku was several years older and had usually been stationed in different parts of the war from Minato, but their sons were the same age, and Shikaku was always open for commiseration about the joys and challenges of fatherhood. Minato didn’t really get invited to afterwork events, but sometimes when they were both working late, Shikaku would show up with a couple beers and a few moments of friendly chat.

Today Shikaku’s friendly observation was, “Do you think they’re lying?”

Minato stared at him, nonplussed. “About what?”

Shikaku slapped the papers he was holding with the back of his free hand. “All of it. Some of it. It’s pretty unbelievable. A team of our best Jounin couldn’t pull this off.”

Minato frowned down at the original report, laid out on his desk. It did… well, it had occurred to him that some of Tori and Deidara’s parts, which neither Kushina nor Itachi had witnessed personally, might be exaggerated.

“Itachi was with them when Tori wrote the report,” Minato said finally. “He wouldn’t put up with a story he didn’t find believable.”

“He’s a genius, but he’s still only thirteen,” Shikaku said. “I’m not saying it’s likely. I’m saying it’s possible. Both Inoichi and I agree you didn’t do enough to vet those two.”

Minato sighed and leaned back in his seat. They’d been over this. He, too, would have liked to vet Tori and Deidara more and give them a longer probation period, but he’d also needed them for this mission.

“Let’s assume it’s a true and fair report of events for today,” Minato said at length. “I’ll let you and Inoichi grill them to your hearts’ content tomorrow.”

Sikaku raised his eyebrows. “And grill them I will,” he promised. “Fighting the Tsuchikage and his guard in close combat? Being twelve no jutsu? C’mon.”

They moved onto what Minato actually wanted Shikaku to talk about. It was unclear what Iwa’s motive was, or what their plan had been, if any, and for how long they’d been planning it. Their many, many analyses of Iwa’s movements and communications leading up to the chunin exam had borne no major red flags.

Tori’s report had made the astute observation that the window for synthesizing and then implementing the chakra poison before it broke down was quite narrow. Iwa would have had to produce it all during the week prior to the tournament, which meant there was some advanced planning, but they theoretically could have made these plans after Team 4 had arrived.

“They would have had to arrange all the equipment and ingredients too,” Shikaku pointed out. “That would have taken months.”

“Unless they already had it for other reasons,” Minato said. This idea, unfortunately, raised a bunch of other questions about why.

“True,” Shikaku replied. “But they’ve never used it before, and we have no intel on what they might need it for that they couldn’t get some other, less convoluted way.”

Shikaku had also gone through the reports on the exam itself, both the half-page Tori had dedicated to it and Kushina’s sprawling initial report she’d penned while babbling to Minato about how she was okay, she promised.

“There’s at least four places I believe an assassination was attempted,” Shikaku concluded. “Your Team Disaster just… didn’t notice, somehow.”

“Oh,” Minato said. He… also hadn’t noticed.

“The first is during the second phase of the chunin exam,” Shikaku said. “Kushina-san states that Tori was attacked by six other participants.”

“Oh,” Minato repeated, now seeing the problem. This had really been a blip on his radar too; Kushina had not expended an ounce of concern for her weakest student. This detail had only made it into the report as an example of Tori making friends immediately with a Kiri-nin in line for the Seven Swordsmen.

But no, actually, they had split up the Konoha genin and sent them off with inadequate weapons. This would have seemed immediately suspicious and unfair, if only it had slowed any of the genin down remotely.

“If I’m right that they were assassination attempts, the earlier attempts are sloppy,” Shikaku observed. “They might have been less well planned. A rushed decision, maybe.”

“Why?” Minato asked.

Shikaku stared at him meaningfully. “You waltzed one of their pet project kids right in there and said he was yours.”

Well.

“That reason doesn’t explain the poison synthesis,” Minato said finally.

“True,” Shikaku agreed. “It’s not the best theory. But we don’t have a best theory yet.”

The last item they discussed was the one that gave Minato the most anxiety.

“The reason they chose chakra poisoning…” he started. The main reason villages had started trying to stock it during the war was that it was one of the very few ways to reliably take down a jinchuriki.

Shikaku let out a long, tired breath.

“We’ve had no known intelligence breeches on Kushina-san,” he said finally. “My current theory is that because she’s a wildcard and all they really knew was that she has high chakra reserves, they wanted something guaranteed to work. But I have no way to verify this.”

“I get Jiraiya on it,” Minato decided.

The Tsuchikage’s communication on the matter arrived by hawk late in the evening, which was about the fastest turnaround time Minato could have expected.

Minato was, at least, in a decent mood when he received it. Kushina had brought Naruto and a home cooked meal up to the office for dinner, and he’d had a good forty-five minutes of laughter and a good-bye kiss from his wife. Shikaku hadn’t come by with a beer, but Akimichi Chouza’s wife had sent a tin of sweet sticky rice treats up to the other two thirds of Shika-Ino-Cho, also working late on this, and a couple of them had ended up on Minato’s desk.

The Tsuchikage’s letter was brief. He did not mention Kushina at all, offering no apology, explanation, or even acknowledgement his village had done anything to her. Instead, he wrote condolences for Minato’s out of control team and forgiveness for their incredible feats of property damage.

As an act of good faith, we will not request monetary compensation for said damages, only that your team be appropriately disciplined, the Tsuchikage’s secretary had written. We do request an international statement from you, disavowing the heinous and untruthful lies your genin chose to shout at our guests in what we could only assume was a poorly considered prank.

Damages listed all but outright admitted that Deidara had indeed personally attacked the Tsuchikage and then sauntered off largely unharmed. Minato couldn’t help it. He laughed.

What the fuck?

xXx

[...]

xXx

Two things of note happened the following week.

One, the Mizukage sent him a letter, penned by her own hand.

I have heard a terrible rumor, which if true, we in Kiri find most sympathetic, the letter started. Further down the page, she continued, Of course, Kiri must discourage any unnecessary retaliation, especially given… [here, Terumi Mei listed a non-exhaustive list of six different post-war treaties] …but know that should this escalate, Kiri is ready to honor its alliance, if we find this rumor to be true.

Terumi Mei then requested Konoha’s official statement in a tone that Minato would venture to call gossipy, and hinted that she wanted to know if he wanted her to contact the Tsuchikage or not. She’d left a lipstick print next to the Mizukage seal, which… Minato was not going to unpack.

Their alliance with Kiri wasn’t especially strong. Kiri had switched their allegiance from the Konoha-Suna side to Iwa-Kumo midway through the war; they’d only negotiated from a peace agreement up to something more like an “alliance” when Terumi Mei had taken over. Their shinobi still regularly clashed along the border, and all their alliance meant was that Minato and Mei just sort of politely looked away and didn’t escalate. On top of that, one of the post-war agreements, as insisted upon by the leader of Ame who’d strong-armed his way into negotiations last moment, was that no shinobi village could enter into an alliance which would require them to join another village’s declaration of war. In other words, an “alliance” didn’t mean Kiri would fight with them, or even lift a finger for them, should the need come.

But it was probably the most positive letter he’d ever gotten from another Kage.

Kiri’s support was also, notably, not something Oonoki seemed to believe Konoha had achieved in his communications. This was a definite win for them.

Nice job, Tori, Minato thought.

Then he buried his face in his hands at the thought. No. Tori could never find out that had worked the way she’d thought it would, or else she would interpret this as carte blanche to do whatever she wanted.

The second thing that happened threw their entire intelligence department for a loop.

He received a letter, not by hawk, but in the form of an animated, flying paper crane. It landed on his desk and then just sat there while his entire ANBU guard descended upon it. Minato was shuffled out of his office while a total of ten experts verified it was safe to touch.

Eventually, someone unfolded the paper to discover it was a letter.

Ame has uncovered some information you might find interesting, a feminine hand had written. We invite you to visit to talk it over. Attach one of your Hiraishin to this paper and come by whenever you wish.

Under it she’d written:

You may bring whoever you like. Your Team 4 seems interesting, for example.

“There’s no way that’s not a trap,” Shikaku said when Minato read it outloud. “Definitely don’t do that.”

Shikaku was right. No one in their right mind would invite Minato to send in a Hiraishin marker. Still, Minato pouted about it to Kushina in bed.

“No one ever invites me,” he complained. Hiruzen had visited other villages plenty of times. Other Kage regularly got to go show up for Chunin Exams, at the very least. But nooo, everyone politely suggested he just send a representative, because he was the scary guy who’d just plant markers to break in again whenever he wanted and kill everyone or whatever they thought would happen.

“I wouldn’t plant a Hiraishin marker on an ally,” Minato said.

Kushina looked up from her second attempt to get through the most recent Icha Icha.

“Yes, you would,” she said bluntly.

Minato pouted some more.

#reborn au #idk sometimes i write characters processing events before i actually write out what happens because. like.#it helps me categorize what i need to make happen and how it could happen #so the actual details might change and the scene might get cut for redundancy but here u go #also i legit forgot danzo is still around being a nuisance so pretend one of the missing scenes is him showing up to undercut minato #while minato goes: AAAAAAAAAH

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mysticheathenn · 7 months

Text

Intuitive Messages and Oracle Cards Reading

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages that oracle cards have for you and what intuitive messages come through for you without tarot cards.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

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Pile l:

Song: Wishes by Diplo ft Trippie Redd (Intuitive Play) Tea Tree Oracle Cards: Family Wishes Come True, A Marriage will take place either romantic or business, Short Journey, PArting ways in either romance or business, Recognition reward for merit, Announcement, Keep your life in Balance.

Messages: Everything is a Reflection Hold Up the Energetic Mirror & Trust Your Faith. Dive into the Unfolding Journey.

Intuitive Messages: There are several Messages, take what resonates and leave what does not. What are you placing on hold pile l. What has been calling for your soul to do that you have yet to take action whether due to procrastination or out of fear. Why aren't you doing it? Look inside yourself and ask where does this fear come from and why am I allowing it to dictate the life that I am living when I know I deserve more. Are you so comfortable with living a life you hate that going after your dreams is more uncomfortable than living without the things you want and deserve? Ask yourself these questions and trust things will work out. Others of you why are you all work and no play? Why are you afraid to take a break as if you get off the grinding train you will fall immediately down to the bottom? Why do you believe this is true for you? Go outside and play, pick up a video game, or read a book for several hours, what is yours will never bypass you, trust. You will get to where you want to be in no time. But you can't reach that goal if you aren't taking care of yourself and running off on E. Lastly, What trauma have you been avoiding that you need to be healing? You are tired of people with the same personality just different meat suit coming into your life but you are not healing the wounds that are causing these people to trigger you. Heal, baby. You deserve to live a life without always feeling triggered or even better a life filled with people who want to give you genuine love and for you to trust they want to only love you without anything in return. So now I ask you what do you need to get rid of in order to invite this new energy of love in and are you willing to do it?

Pile ll:

Song: Christmas Kids by ROAR (Remix: Slō, Twilight, Tizzy-Spotify Shuffle)

Tea Tree Oracle Cards: Temporary Situation, New Creative Ideas New Ventures A Fresh Start, Pleasure from a close friend, Someone will try to make you do something against your will, climbing towards success, Happiness, A goal-oriented person, opportunity or windfall.

Messages: Express yourself creatively. Start something new. & You are the image maker. What you focus on manifests.

Intuitive Messages: Several messages like Pile l take what resonates and leave what does not. Some of you are in a situation that isn't healthy, safe, or possible while not toxic is draining you mentally, emotionally, and maybe even physically. You may or may not believe in the law of attraction but if you are spiritual and believe in such things ask yourself how can I change this situation? How can I manifest a better ending for myself? Pray to your spirit team if you are unsure they want to help you but you need to be willing and open to help. See the light at the end of the tunnel as your oracle cad says this situation is temporary but you need to buckle your shoe straps and be prepared to be optimistic see the light and go full speed running towards it instead of letting the darkness take over your life. You are a ray of sunshine and whatever situation you may be in sees that and wants to keep you hidden just like your chosen song from Spotify about a couple who are in a toxic chaotic relationship. Others of you go for a walk. When I say walk I mean don't have anything on your mind just be present during your walk. Look at the trees notice the small things around you that you may not have noticed before and let whatever ideas and downloads come to you, come to you, and act on those ideas. There is something that is meant to find you that is an idea that will bring you a rainfall of abundance and change your life around for the better but you must act and be open to receiving this idea and not judge yourself. Release imposter syndrome. Remember that if you weren't capable of doing the idea or whatever this is you wouldn't have received the opportunity. Lastly, why are you listening to sheep who follow other sheep and not from if not yourself from those who lead their own path and walk their talk. "I'll be damned if I listen to facts up out the mouth of a man with an unwashed ass" is what I am hearing." You are not meant to be a follower but a leader. Stop following or listening to people who lead their own lives off of cliffs with no parachutes or care as to how and if they will land.

Pile lll:

Song: Gone or Staying by Sleep Theory (Spotify Shuffle)

Tea Tree Oracle Messages: You will receive a gift, Reconciliation, Beware of great pride, Hard work ahead, Unsuccessful outcome to a problem, Increase your efforts if you want to achieve your goals, Spiritual guidance and protection from harm, Happiness, An emotionally secure loving family is important to you, & unsuccessful plans.

Message: Your Purpose is personal expansion.

Intuitive Messages: This is my love pile that again has several messages so take what resonates and leave what does not. Some of you are single but go back and forth between wanting a relationship and "I'm an independent person and I don't need no person" and I want to laugh a bit because I am also in that stage but deep down I know I want that can't eat can't sleep kind of love. The reassuring love, the love where I know I don't have to worry about my partner even entertaining other people, and better my love being reciprocated x10 and until then anybody can stay away. I get it but sometimes you have to be honest with yourself and do the work to invite this kind of energy in. It can be scary but it's definitely worth it. The number of times I have seen a person glowing not just physically but in their personal life as well is just unreal sometimes to me that I know it's truly worth it. Now for others who are in the talking stages or even in a relationship, it's okay to let your partner help you. It's okay to lean on others and when I mean it's okay I mean people you truly can trust. If you aren't sure about that then you may not have anyone in your life that you trust but if you do there are signs such as do they throw information or things they do for you back in your face, when you call them are they there, if you had to give any of your friends keys could you trust them to not use it for personal gains if the answer is no to all of them find a better community but if you answered yes to these trust that you are in good hands. Stop being Hercules all the time and give people at least some form of entry into your life instead of always hovering over them waiting for them to fuck up and going see I knew it, out the door. Stop..stop it. People can't show you they mean well if you don't allow them to show up. Lastly for those who are in a relationship, someone is coming back into your life but I need you to ask yourself the important questions before you allow them back in again. Are they coming back into your life to see if you are still stupid for allowing them back in or is this a relationship that is healthy overall but has their issues and that person has worked on themselves to help better the relationship? If you don't know this answer ask yourself did this person make you feel loved not have good memories that were occasional but did you feel loved, did they shower you with compliments, gifts, their time, and reciprocate the energy you gave them...if the answer is no please continue staying single. They are coming back to see if you are still stupid enough to let them in again. Release your codependency from this person and find someone who values you, your efforts, and your time. For others of you while things will go great this time around it isn't without hard work from both ends.

Pile lV:

Song: Moscow Mule by Bad Bunny (Spotify Shuffle) / The Kings Affirmation by Iniko (Intuitive Play)

Tee Tree Oracle Messages: May, September, Family wishes come true, Major challenges to overcome, Advice from a friend, Work achievement success, wish will not be granted, celebration fun enjoyment, take care or there will be a loss of material wealth, someone is working against you behind your back, you should accept valid criticism, a goal-oriented person, dealings with or relationship with a woman, Things will not always be this way a change is coming, Someone will try and make you do something against your will.

Message: Eliminate Distractions. Stop shining a light on things you are not. & Don't run from the darkness. Embrace your shadow side.

Intuitive Messages: l Why are you self-sabotaging? Why do you not want to accept great things can happen to you in this lifetime? What is causing you to be afraid that you are willing to throw away everything you are working on or have worked on to settle for less than? Are you okay with mediocrity if so stop what you are doing and continue down the path of self-sabotage? You are meant for greatness, allow it to happen for you? Stop allowing distractions to stray you from the path. It's okay to have enjoyment but if that enjoyment is causing you to have thoughts that are not your own or even cause you to waste time putting off things that you are supposed to be doing remember that instant gratification is great until you realize 10 years from now you are still getting fake dopamine off of instant gratification of scrolling or seeking things that are quick get rich schemes that never work. Be mindful of what you give your mind to. Be careful of the things you watch on television, the music you listen to, and even the people you follow. These are all things that you somehow correlate with. If they are not somehow speaking positive energy into your life or at least giving you joy or motivation release it. This goes for people as well in your life. Others of you are running away from your problems. As soon as you feel that things are getting tough you stop and then talk yourself into negative talk about how that wasn't meant for you or whatever it is that you tell yourself when things get too hard. Stop. You are extraordinary. You know this, I know this, your loved ones know this even your potential haters know this. Stop being afraid of the person you can become and are. Embrace the hard things. Embrace everything that feels uncomfortable. How are you going to grow as a person if you keep running away from things that are meant to help elevate you as a person? You may be the type of person who watches YouTube videos where the person gets up at 5am, the gym, journals, etc etc and you keep going through the cycle of restarting your life and quitting when you miss a day or two and then go well there is always next year...why next year pile lV, why not now. Now is the time. Not 2025. not 2026, but now. If you are wanting to lose weight or whatever it is imagine it being September you could have already lost 30lbs by then instead of finally getting the nerve to do it in September. Dwayne Johnson aka The Rock says it best "You have two options either day on or one day." "Everything you want to do is going to be hard you just have to choose your hard. Staying in your situation that is hard or achieving what you want that is going to be hard. Choose your hard" You can't sit in a victim mentality when you are your own villain.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay Safe and Be Blessed

#spirituality #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #witchblr #pick a card #tarot cards #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a picture #pick an image #pick a photo

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