#I might delay my self care or even neglect it

[somelonelybitch]

sometimes i feel like im depressed without the unhappiness

[hieisdarkdragonchick]

FOR AN ENFP-T WHO IS ALSO 2W1

Me trying to figure out what my therapist meant and that I, a 7 year old, was not the world's most selfish brat in existence?

One side of the gene pool is really out to get me and not in the understanding way....

"Growing up with a parent who has anger issues might make them hypersensitive to conflict and eager to please or appease others as a way to avoid confrontation. They may have developed a strong ability to read emotional cues as a means of navigating their parent’s temper."

" Experiencing a parent who was both an authority figure and often absent or emotionally unpredictable could leave them with complex feelings towards authority and independence. They might simultaneously desire approval from authority figures while also yearning for freedom and autonomy."

"Their upbringing might make them cautious about opening up and trusting others, FEARING ABANDONMENT or volatility in relationships."

"Their self-esteem might be closely tied to the feedback and appreciation they receive from others. A lack of acknowledgment or rejection could lead to significant emotional turmoil."

"Their already strong drive to help and support others could become even more pronounced, pushing them to go above and beyond to prove their worth through acts of kindness and support."

"They might overcommit themselves to causes and people, stretching themselves too thin in an attempt to be indispensable, which could lead to burnout or resentment if their efforts aren't reciprocated or acknowledged."

"Living with someone who lacks empathy might have forced them to become highly perceptive and adaptable, learning to read subtle cues to anticipate mood shifts or potentially harmful behavior."

"Constantly seeking approval from a narcissistic caregiver might result in them placing excessive value on external validation and struggling with self-esteem."

They might become overly attuned to the needs and moods of others, often at the expense of their own needs, driven by the desire to avoid criticism or neglect

Intense Desire to Help and Be Needed: Their background might intensify their ENFP-T and 2w1 tendencies to help and support others, possibly as a way to find value and purpose they felt was lacking in their upbringing.

Challenges in Personal Boundaries: They may struggle with establishing and maintaining healthy boundaries, having grown up in an environment where boundaries were likely disregarded or violated.

Early Maturity: Taking on a caretaker role so young would likely accelerate their maturity, making them more responsible and serious than their peers. They would have had to learn practical skills and emotional intelligence early on.

Nurturing: They would develop a deeply ingrained nurturing side, always looking out for the needs of others, sometimes even at the expense of their own.

Self-Sacrifice: Their identity might become closely tied to their role as a caretaker, valuing themselves primarily through their usefulness to others and their ability to provide care and stability.

Dependency Issues: There could be a risk of developing unhealthy dependency relationships, either by being overly needed or by needing to be overly needed. They might struggle with forming relationships where they are not in a caretaker role.

"Stress and Anxiety: The weight of such responsibilities from a young age can lead to chronic stress and anxiety. They might constantly worry about the wellbeing of their siblings and even the adults they care for.Delayed Personal Development: While they might mature early in some aspects, their personal development in other areas, like independence, personal interests, and social skills outside of their caretaker role, might be delayed or stunted."

Driven by Service to Others: Their life choices, career paths, and values might be heavily influenced by their early caretaker role, gravitating towards professions or causes that allow them to care for or help others.Search for Belonging and Purpose: They might be on a continuous search for belonging and purpose, driven by the early experience of being indispensable to their family's functioning but also burdened by it.Resilience and Adaptability: Despite the challenges, this upbringing could instill remarkable resilience and adaptability, enabling them to navigate life's hurdles more effectively than others.

God why did I spend so much time hating myself and thinking I was the one who messed everything up why can't I be angry at them without feeling guilty?

[missmentelle]

could you explain some of the differences between how adhd affects executive function and how depression or other illnesses do? i think i definitely struggle with executive dysfunction but i don’t have a diagnosis yet (hopefully once i can go back to my college campus in fall) and i’ve been told it can look kinda similar in this aspect

Untangling the relationship between ADHD, executive dysfunction and depression can be sort of like trying to figure out where a perfect circle starts and stops - these things often go together, and separating them is more challenging than you might think.

But let's stop for a minute and look at what ADHD and depression look like on their own.

ADHD is a neurological disorder that affects the brain's ability to regulate attention and impulses. It's a common misconception that ADHD is "a lack of attention span" or "a short attention span" - people with ADHD cannot regulate their attention spans properly. It is hard for them to stay focused on tasks they aren't interested in, but it's equally hard for them to tear themselves away from tasks they are very interested in. I have ADHD, and it's not unusual for me to work on something I'm very interested in for 10-12+ hours straight, without stopping to eat, shower or do other things that I'm supposed to do.

The most common symptoms of ADHD are:

hyperactivity - the person may be fidgety, restless, and struggle to sit still

poor impulse control - they may spend money they shouldn't on impulse purchases, drive too quickly, or otherwise make reckless decisions they wouldn't make if they were made to stop and think about it

prone to distractions or losing focus 

hyperfocus - this means focusing on an interesting task for hours, to the point that other important tasks or even basic self-care are neglected

poor concentration

inattentiveness - they may be prone to spacing out and daydreaming

difficulties with planning, time management and with being on time - deadlines tend to be difficult for them

a tendency to lose things - difficulties keeping track of belongings and important documents

difficulties with organization - living spaces, offices and desks are often a disaster

low frustration tolerance - they are easily frustrated and have a hard time coping with frustration in healthy ways

difficulty following directions - they may rush through instructions and make careless mistakes

difficulty waiting their turn - in adults, this often manifests as interrupting or talking over other people constantly

People who are diagnosed with ADHD will not have every symptom, and symptoms may change as you age. Men and boys, for instance, are more prone to having hyperactive and impulsive symptoms, which is one of the reasons why ADHD is more commonly diagnosed in males - those symptoms are quite visible. Women and girls, on the other hand, are more likely to have inattentive symptoms without hyperactivity, which often leads to them being labelled as "ditsy" or "spacey" without their ADHD being recognized.

Depression, on the other hand, is a mood disorder that can affect many different processes in the brain, including executive functioning. Some of the executive function issues that you can experience with depression include:

“brain fog” - an experience where your thinking feels slow, fuzzy or disorganized

difficulties concentrating 

forgetfulness, issues with short-term memory 

memory loss, issues recalling long-term memories

easily distracted

delayed mental processing, slow reaction times

difficulties with problem-solving and decision-making - often manifests as the person being indecisive and unable to make up their mind

The reason that it can be tough to detangle ADHD from depression, however, is that ADHD can often be a major contributor to depression - or at least, the social impact of living with ADHD can contribute to depression.  The world is simply not build for people with ADHD brains, and trying to exist in a world that’s not built for your brain is exhausting, especially when everyone around you seems to manage it so easily. When you struggle to be on time, meet deadlines and stay organized, you’re going to meet with a lot of failure in your life. The struggles often start in school - kids with ADHD have a hard time sitting still, paying attention and getting homework done, which leads to poorer grades and more school failure. College acceptance rates are lower for kids with ADHD (22% of kids with ADHD are accepted to college vs 77% of non-ADHD kids) and the college graduation rate is much lower (5% of adults with ADHD have graduated college, vs 35% of non-ADHD adults). And those struggles follow people into the workforce - 55% of adults with ADHD have been fired from a job, vs 23% of the general population. 

Living with ADHD can also cause problems with relationships. When you struggle with impulse control, are unreliable about answering messages and tend to show up late to dates, it can be more difficult for you to start and maintain friendships and romantic relationships. When you struggle with basic life skills or financial management (as many people with ADHD do) that can also be a major cause of frustration for long-term partners. The divorce rates for couples with an ADHD spouse may be as much as double the average divorce rate, and people with ADHD go through more sexual partners in their lifetime (the average for people with ADHD is 18.6 partners, vs 6.5 for the general population). 

It can be extremely discouraging to constantly feel like you aren’t living up to your potential and that you’re letting other people down. It can be very difficult to watch the people around you seem to effortlessly manage things that you struggle to do, no matter how hard you try. It can feel like you’re trying to climb out of a slippery well while someone has their boot on your forehead - no matter how hard you struggle, you just can’t seem to get ahead. All of these things can contribute to high rates of depression and anxiety among people with ADHD. It’s a vicious cycle - their executive function causes life circumstances that lead to depression, which leads to worse executive functioning, which leads to worse life circumstances, etc. 

The good news for those of us with ADHD is that proper treatment can significantly interrupt this vicious cycle. Many people with ADHD can improve their quality of life by receiving treatment for ADHD. Getting treatment for depression can also improve your quality of life and make it easier to manage ADHD. Making lifestyle adaptations (like finding a career with flexible hours, finding an understanding partner, having a cleaning service come in once in a while) can also make it easier to manage ADHD, and to succeed while living with it. ADHD and depression often go hand-in-hand, but it’s possible to overcome them and find ways to manage them.  Best of luck to you! MM

[snackhobi]

pairing: jimin x reader / word count: 8.8k / genre: smut, established relationship, driftracer!au

summary: Jimin’s been pretty busy recently and you’re starting to feel neglected. Guess you’ll just have to make him pay attention somehow.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), unsafe driving (back at it with the street racing), cursing, mild degradation, fingering, spanking, unprotected sex (it goes without saying but please use protection guys), creampie, controlled orgasm (delay), multiple orgasms (f receiving), dirty talk, pet names

THIS IS A FOLLOW UP TO ‘CATCH YOUR DRIFT’— please read the original first

a/n: to everyone who was asking about a cyd follow-up—here it is! it’s basically a pwp with the flimsiest of plots lmao. enjoy!! x

--

“Jimin's up to something.”

“Huh?” Jungkook looks away from where he’s been fiddling with something in the Pontiac’s engine. “What?”

“Jimin,” you repeat, slowly. “He’s up to something.”

Park Jimin. Breathtaking, captivating, gorgeous Park Jimin—unstoppable in his sleek black Nissan Skyline GTR, a master in his element, relentless, incredible. Your rival and main competitor on the track. The one person who challenges you, who you measure yourself against, who you always strive to beat.

Park Jimin. Your boyfriend.

“He’s been… weird lately,” you say, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

Jungkook looks a little baffled but also concerned, eyes darting over in the same direction as yours. Jimin’s already kissed you good luck, a soft, lingering touch of his lips against yours before returning to his own car, and you’ve been watching him get ready for tonight’s race. He lounges against his black Skyline and laughs at something that Yoongi and Taehyung are talking about, looking every inch the king that he is.

Jimin is as striking and dazzling as always, jacket covered in jewels that burst outwards like fireworks, the cut of his metallic shirt low enough to reveal his collarbones and smooth skin of his chest. The only understated part of his outfit is the pair of unadorned silver hoops in his ears, simple and elegant. A gift from you that he wears every time you race.

Jungkook’s eyebrows raise a little. “What do you mean he’s up to something?” 

Honestly, being with Jimin is a dream. At first you’d been concerned that your competitive natures would clash and that being opponents on the drifting circuit would cause friction in your relationship—but it actually works out really well. Jimin makes you strive to be a better person, the best you can be, both on and off the track. You’re both as invested in giving each as much attention as you do to winning races, and the truth is that a lot of the fierceness you show on the track melts away entirely when you’re alone together: it just highlights how multifaceted and incredible Jimin is.

He’s a ruthless competitor. He’s also sweet and caring and kind and he always makes time for you. 

Or at least, he normally does.

“He keeps saying he’s busy, and he seems to be distracted when we’re together,” you admit to Jungkook in a low hush. There’s no one within hearing distance of your Pontiac but you’re still cautious. Your relationship with Jimin is well known throughout the circuit now and you don’t want people overhearing intimate details about it. It’s none of their business. “I don’t know, Kookie, it’s… it’s concerning. I guess.”

You’re usually self-assured and confident but right now you sound unsure. Jungkook’s known you for years and years and is one of your closest friends, but even so, admitting this to him is difficult—and he knows it. 

Jungkook pulls the hood of your car down, shutting it with firm hands before he leans across the metal towards you. “Have you tried asking him about it?” 

“Of course.”

“What did he say?”

“We, uh, got distracted,” you say, and Jungkook makes a face at the implication.

“Maybe next time you’re trying to have a serious conversation you shouldn’t let yourself get ‘distracted’?” He raises his eyebrows as he lifts his hands to make air quotations at you and you pout.

“But his ass is just so perfect, can you blame me?”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m out,” Jungkook says while looking pained, and you can’t help but laugh.

Later, though, when you beat Jimin in the race, he lavishes attention on you like he always does—you’d barely inched out ahead of him tonight and so he takes his time when he works you up, touch light and teasing as he runs his hands over you. Your head tilts forward as you pant, bent over the hood of his car as he fingers you open, deep and slow. Just the way you like it, even if you’re hungry for more.

“Jimin, please.” Your voice is desperate as you beg and try to rock against his fingers, get him to move faster. “I need you inside me, god—”

Your words choke off when you feel a sharp smack against the bared skin of your ass, a small punishment for your impatience. You let out a gasp that turns into a quiet moan, turning to hide your face in your elbow to try and stifle the noise as Jimin’s hands immediately soothe over the touch, soft as he rubs over your heated skin.

“Patience, baby.” His voice is low. “You’ll get my cock when you’re nice and ready. Okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur, a little breathless. “I just want you so bad.”

You’re still turned away from him but you can hear the affection in Jimin’s answer as he leans forward to kiss the sensitive skin just behind your ear. “I know, sweet thing.”

Once he finally sinks his cock into you, it doesn’t take long for him to pull you over the edge, your nails scraping against the warm metal of his car as your body goes tense and you cum. Jimin follows soon after, spilling himself inside you as you shiver and clench around him, trying to draw him in as deep as possible; no matter how many times he fucks you open it never gets old, the way you can feel his body move against yours, the way he gasps and moans as he reaches his own edge, the way he holds you close as you both go lax against each other, warm and tender.

“Are you free on Saturday?” You’re perched on the hood of his Nissan afterwards, arms curled around his neck as you pull away to look up at him. “I thought you might want to come over for dinner and a film? You can choose which one we watch, I’m not picky.”

A quick expression flits across Jimin’s face, faster than you can identify, before it turns apologetic. “Sorry, baby. I’m busy this Saturday. How about next week?”

“Oh,” you say. “Okay. Um. Do you want to… grab a quick lunch instead? Or something? When you’re free?”

Jimin turns his face into your hair, nuzzling into your scalp before he kisses the crown of your head. “I think I’ll be busy all weekend, but I’ll let you know, okay?”

You pause and try to hide the surprising amount of pain and confusion that shoots through you at his subtle dismissal, schooling your features before Jimin pulls away to look at you. “Okay baby,” you say brightly. “I hope you have a good weekend, either way.”

Jimin cups your face gently as he smiles at you, all warmth and open affection before he dips down to softly kiss you on the lips. “I will.”

--

If you didn’t trust Jimin so much you’d think he was cheating on you.

You know that Jimin has his own life outside of you and you’re okay with that. You honestly are. It’s not that you want to monopolise his time, but he’s usually so willing to give it to you without you even asking—so now that it seems like he’s pulling away, it’s all the more pronounced when it happens, and you can’t help but wonder why. You’re trying not to be pushy and you haven’t outright demanded Jimin tell you what he’s so busy with; it must be important if he’s prioritising it over you and keeping it a secret, right?

Right?

You’re not needy or overbearing or clingy, but you are a tad possessive, and you can’t help but feel jealous of whatever it is that’s catching Jimin’s attention so much.

“Uh.” Taehyung’s eyes are wide. “Y/n, uh… your bra is? Kind of? Showing a little bit?”

“I know Tae, but thank you.” You take one last glance at yourself in your wing mirror before straightening up, content with how you look tonight. “I can assure you it’s entirely intentional.”

You usually opt for feminine outfits when you race, but they’re never normally this revealing; it’s borderline scandalous, really. Your bra is visible through the lace mesh of your shirt and your skirt is hiked so high it barely covers your ass, pleats fluttering each time you move. The thing that’s covering you the most is actually your pink leather jacket, but even that’s not enough to hide you from any eyes that are roving over you.

But the real kicker—the part of the outfit that would let anyone with discerning eyes know that you’re aiming for aesthetic over practicality—are your shoes. Your over-the-knee suede boots have a killer heel and they have got to be the worst things to drive with, the heels making it hard to shift your feet when you need to slam them onto the pedals, but you don’t care.

“I still think you should try talking to Jimin instead of doing… this,” Jungkook says, waving an arm at you.

“You just gestured to all of me.” You raise a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Not that you don’t always look good, of course, but tonight you’ve pulled out all the stops and it shows.

“That’s my point,” Jungkook groans. “If I nearly catch sight of your butt cheeks one more time I’m going to call the police. I’m feeling distinctly harassed.”

“You should be grateful.” You blow him a kiss and Jungkook makes a face.

“I’m going to call 911.”

“We’re not in America, Kookie,” Taehyung says. Jungkook just sighs.

Seokjin’s organised the meet at a car park in Gangnam tonight, and you watch as the lot starts to fill up, tweaked Supras and Skylines and Fairlady Zs whose engines rumble as their drivers descend into the underground level, filling the basement with noise. There are unfamiliar faces you don’t recognise, rich residents of Seoul’s most expensive neighbourhood rolling out to show off their money by way of their beautiful cars. 

You know a lot of these people won’t be racing tonight and they’re just here for the novelty of it all. Good for them. You have other things on your mind.

(If Jimin isn’t going to give you time when you want it, then you’re not going to let him take it when he wants it.  He hasn’t turned up yet but you know the second he sees you he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you—but tonight you’re not going to let him have you.)

You’re perched on the hood of your flame-red Pontiac as you wait for everyone to finish turning up, pretending to be absorbed in checking your nails as you cross your legs; you don’t have to look up to know that people are staring at you and your shameless behaviour. 

They can watch. You’re not doing this for them.

You glance up at the sound of a deep rumble, almost a purr, and your eyes widen at the sight of the next car that rolls into view. It must be the only time you’ve ever been caught off guard by an unfamiliar vehicle and you don’t even have to pretend to be overawed, breathless as you take in the gorgeous sight. 

She’s low and sleek and magnificent, stark black cut through with a thick ribbon of blood red that rises over the car's bonnet and roof, matching the crimson wheel trims and strip of colour that trails over the edge of its spoiler. The LED headlights glow white and red, crimson halo rings shimmering through the pristine and unmarked glass. She’s all smooth lines and curved edges, every contour a graceful stroke that builds up into a masterpiece, heavenly and bewitching all at once.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, and for the first time since you started racing, you approach someone’s car before you even know who they are.

The driver is a man you don’t recognise. He’s stepped out of the car and is leaning against it casually, arms crossed and head tilted as he surveys the other motors lined up nearby, running a hand through his dyed brown hair to push it away from his forehead. He’s tall and handsome with his defined cupid’s bow and hooded eyes, and he’d almost look sleepy if he wasn’t watching you so intently, noticing your approach and keeping his eyes on you as you step forwards.

“Oh my god. A Dodge Viper?” You can’t begin to imagine the exportation costs for this thing and how much it must have cost to get the parts to modify it, let alone maintain it. (But Gangnam is an incredibly wealthy area, after all, so you’re not too surprised.)

“You like it?” The Viper’s owner tilts his head at you, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “I can take you for a drive later if you’d like, beautiful.”

“Trust me, if I was sitting in this car, I’d be behind the wheel,” you say. “I bet she drives like a dream. How did you get your hands on an SRT-10 ACR? In Seoul?”

His smirk grows wider. “Brought it with me from Chicago.” He shrugs carelessly, as if it can’t have cost him a small fortune. Like the money means nothing to him. Pocket change. Holy shit. “You wanna take that seat behind the wheel to see if it suits your fancy?”

It does. You run your hands over the leather seats and tilted wheel, pretending to hide a laugh behind your hand as the driver, Johnny, leans into the car to adjust the seat for you; you spread your legs so he can reach between them to pull the bar before he can move the chair, helping you hitch it forwards so you can reach the pedals with your feet, your legs shorter than his. It’s nothing lewd but it’s undeniably flirtatious, even if you’re more focused on drinking down the car’s beautiful interior than pandering to his attention on you.

Johnny holds a hand out to help you step out of the low car and back onto your feet, taking a second to steady yourself on your heels. You’ve been so focused on the Viper that you haven’t been paying attention to the other vehicles that now fill the parking lot, but over Johnny’s shoulder you notice a car that’s as familiar as your own by now—Jimin’s black Skyline.

Your hand is still lingering in Johnny’s as you take the sight in. Jimin looks surprisingly flashy today, jewel embellished bomber jacket catching the eye, Gucci shirt tucked into leather trousers that are cinched tight against his waist by his belt, highlighting his thick thighs and perfect ass. Still pink-haired and always gorgeous. Your beautiful, charming, wonderful boyfriend.

When you make eye contact with him for the first time that night, a hot shiver shoots through you, goosebumps rising over your skin. Jimin’s lips are a firm line and his eyes are dark through the soft touch of faint eyeshadow, and he looks almost impassive, cold; even when you’d first met, back when you’d been nothing more than opponents, he’d never looked like this. 

He’s furious.

He doesn’t come over to wish you good luck today and you don’t approach him either.  Even if this hadn’t been your aim to begin with, who can blame you? You’ll work with this. Maybe it’s passive aggressive, maybe it’s petty, but if Jimin isn’t going to give you the time of day you can’t be blamed if you’re feeling starved for attention, right?

Johnny might be watching, and others might be staring, but at the end of the day you’re only ever aware of one man—and Jimin knows that. 

You’ve been driving your Pontiac for long enough that adding heels to the mix doesn’t throw you off as much as people might expect (besides, you’ve been practicing). Even so, it wouldn’t matter if they did, because you’re not wearing them to help achieve a victory—for the first time ever, you don’t care if you beat Jimin today. Not on the track, anyway. You wanted him wound up and frustrated, desperate to touch you, and it seems like he is.

It shows in his driving. He’s always a sight to behold when he races, swaying his body into the motion of his car as they dance together, every motion practiced and sure. But tonight his actions are sharp and angry. Jimin curls his Skyline into each turn, hard and fast; the Nissan almost seems to float as he pulls the steering wheel and sets the wheels at the perfect angle to achieve his drift, swinging effortlessly around the crescents of safety cones of today’s course. 

He beats you. 

And yet you’re the one who’s smiling. You step out of your car and take in his frosty expression; your heart pounds in your chest but you pretend to be unaffected, disappearing into the throng of fans who are hollering in excitement for the after party now that all the races have finished. 

“Oh, hey, Y/n!” Hoseok seems unperturbed when you loop your arm through his, staying cheerful as you latch onto him. He’s still one of the few drivers who you actually like and trust to not be lecherous towards you, no matter what you’re wearing. “Wow, you’re a lot taller than normal. Where’s Jimin?”

“Don’t know,” you say. It’s true—he’d disappeared after the race and you have no idea where he’s gone, but you know you’ll find him eventually. Or he’ll find you. You always find each other in the end. “Where are the drinks? Is there anything non-alcoholic?”

Hoseok manages to find some cans of coke, much to your delight. He tilts his own can against yours in a cheers motion as you continue to cling to him, sipping your drink, eyes scanning the crowd for where your boyfriend might have disappeared to. 

By the time your can is empty and drained of liquid, Jimin has yet to appear. You frown. It’s not like him to be gone for so long, even if he’s angry right now. You unravel your arm from Hoseok’s and pat his cute cheek as a thank you for letting you hold onto him for so long before you slip away from the after party; you’re uninterested in keeping up the facade of having fun if Jimin isn’t around. 

The elevator is deserted when you step into it, pressing the button to take you to the roof, where you’d left your Pontiac after finishing the race earlier. It’s starting to get chilly and your sheer top does nothing to protect you from the nip in the air. You draw your leather jacket closer around you once the elevator doors open, stepping out onto the rooftop and towards your Solstice. 

There are no lights up here but you don’t need any. Gangnam never sleeps, lights from billboards and skyscrapers washing over each of the buildings, and the sky is clear tonight too—the moon is shining down, silver and bright. You spot a familiar silhouette, bathed in white light where he sits atop your Pontiac’s hood, leaning back on his palms in the way he always does.

Jimin’s the only person who's allowed to touch your car like that.

You let your jacket fall back open as you approach. Jimin’s eyes flicker over to you, his face remaining hard as he watches. A cold shiver runs down your spine but you hold your ground—you’re not about to bow down immediately in the face of his quiet frustration.

Jimin’s eyes slide over you, taking every inch of you in; each part of your revealing outfit, your flawless makeup, your boots, their unnecessary heel. Even though you know he’s angry right now you can tell he likes what he sees and you can’t help but feel pleased about it. 

“Come here, sweet thing,” he says. He spreads his knees apart so you can stand between his legs, because of course you immediately comply with him; he lifts one hand off the car’s bonnet to grasp your chin in his hands, tilting your face down towards him. He doesn’t let go. His grasp is firm. “Any reason why you’re so dolled up today?”

“Nope.” You pop your lips loudly around the p. “No reason at all. Why, do I need a reason to want to look pretty?”

Jimin’s grip tightens and his eyes narrow. Wrong answer. A small puff of air escapes you, knees weak—you’ve never seen Jimin so affected by anything and you feel weirdly powerful at this realisation. There’s something thrilling to know that only you can get under his skin like this.

“Of course not.” Jimin’s voice is deceptively smooth and low, something burning in his gaze. “Just seems to me like my baby wanted everyone’s eyes on her tonight, for one reason or another.”

You stay silent. You don’t want everyone’s eyes on you: you just want his.

Jimin crooks one of his eyebrows at you as you remain quiet. He takes his hand off your chin and lets it fall, dragging it over the lace of your top, through the valley of your breasts and down your stomach before slipping under the hem, splaying his hand over your belly. You can’t help but shiver, body singing under his touch when he draws his nails lightly over your skin. The sight of his hand against you, visible through the netting of your shirt, sets the blood to rising in your veins.

“Oh? Shy all of a sudden, baby?” His eyebrow is still raised as he watches your movements, the way you react to him so easily, always attuned to his touch. “Where was all that shyness earlier, hm? You seemed so bold behind the wheel of that little Viper.”

“I was just having a look,” you say, acting a little pettish. You hadn’t been planning on letting Jimin touch you, but—but you’re so weak for him, and besides, you don’t want him thinking that you’re shying away from his hands because you’d been talking to Johnny earlier.

Jimin rises, pulling his hand from under your shirt as he does. “And everyone was looking at you,” he says. You know he can be possessive and it’s fine, because you are too, and you have no eyes for anyone else but him; normally he likes it when people look at you, because they don’t have a chance and he knows it. “Do you like it when people watch you, sweet thing?”

He punctuates this question with a movement of his hands, one coming to rest at your collarbones, the other sliding between your legs with no warning, running his fingers over the material of your underwear. You jolt in surprise, sucking in a breath.

“You want me to take you right here, hm?” His fingers are rubbing small, tantalisingly light circles over your clit, your panties a maddening barrier between your skin and his. “Bend you over and fuck you on this rooftop where anyone could see?”

Your cunt clenches, entire body going tight at the idea, and Jimin’s eyes darken when he notices. He flips your positions, and your hand fly out to brace yourself against the hood of your car as Jimin shoves the material of your skirt upwards, bunching it around your waist, revealing the scalloped edges of your skimpy lace underwear and the two tiny bows that adorn the centre line of them.

“You want me to call everyone up here? Let them see how well you take my cock?” Jimin continues to run his palms over the flesh of your ass as he speaks. He digs his fingers into your skin and a moan slips out of your lips, the pain shooting through you and dulling into pleasure. “I bet you want them to touch you too, don’t you?”

“No,” you insist. “No, Jimin, only want you—”

“You expect me to believe that you’re not a hungry little cockslut, dressed the way you are tonight, hm?”

You’re blindsided by the arousal that floods through you. You know that Jimin doesn’t think that, not really, but the way he lets the degradation fall from his lips has your toes curling.

“I only want your cock,” you say, trembling. Any rush of power you felt earlier is gone. Jimin is entirely in control now and you both know it. “Wanted you to look at me—dressed pretty for you—”

“Oh, sweet thing,” Jimin hums, sounding indulgent. “You were just feeling needy, was that it?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, need you so much.”

God. You’re so weak and needy right now, and it’s crazy how much power Jimin has over you; you’ve never been so ready and willing to surrender yourself up before, your earlier planning and resolve slipping away almost as soon as Jimin had laid his hands on you. But what you have with Jimin is built on trust, and you trust him enough to be vulnerable in front of him, to let him see how hungry and desperate you are for his touch.

Then again, he’s always hungry for you, too.

He strokes his hands down your ass and thighs before he circles his hand around your throat to pull you up. He puts no pressure behind his fingertips but you feel helpless anyway, breathless as he pulls you flush against him, your back to his chest, head tilted upwards with how his hand is resting around your throat.

Jimin’s voice is pitched low and his breath is warm against your ear as he lets the words curl out of his mouth. “What does my baby need?”

Oh, he does so love to hear you beg. Your eyes flicker towards a sudden flash of light; there’s someone using the elevator, panel lighting up, letting you know they’re on the way to the rooftop.

“Jimin—”

He presses closer to you, trapping you against your car, helpless. “If you don’t tell me what you need you won’t get it,” he says, and you shudder.

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp out. “Need you to make me cum—need you to fill me up—want you so bad—”

“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

Jimin steps away just as the elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal a gaggle of people, fans crowding around a few drivers. The smile on Jimin’s face is wicked as you turn around, and you almost hate how nonchalant he looks while you’re so affected. You have no doubt the flimsy material of your underwear and the high hem of your skirt is doing nothing to hide how slick you are, so you’re grateful that the rooftop is only lit in dim light.

One of the drivers peels off from the group and you realise that it’s Johnny. He approaches you despite how Jimin wraps an arm around your waist, hand sliding under your jacket—you let yourself relax, leaning against Jimin’s familiar body, settling against him in a way you don’t even have to think about any more.

“Nice driving,” Johnny says. He hadn’t actually raced himself, but his Dodge is a powerful and vicious beast, so you’re not surprised he didn’t want to risk damaging her in the tight corners of the car park. She thrives on the open road, not indoors. “Want to put those skills to the test in my Viper?”

“She’s busy.” Jimin pulls you even closer. He has his usual mask on now, distant and aloof. You’re the only one who sees his softness, or his lust. (That’s only for you.)

“Wasn’t talking to you, man.” Johnny doesn’t even spare Jimin a glance, ignoring him despite how Jimin had beaten you earlier—he just stares at you. You can’t help but feel insulted on your boyfriend’s behalf. He’s a fantastic driver and he deserves every bit of attention that Johnny is lavishing on you.

“Thank you, but it’s true, I’m busy,” you say. Jimin’s thumb is slowly brushing up and down your side; just a small, tiny motion, but you’re hyperaware of it. You lift your hand to rest on Jimin’s chest, over the raised, glittering Roman numerals of his shirt. “Enjoy your Viper. She’s beautiful.”

Johnny stands there for a second and then shrugs. “Aight,” he says. “I will. Have a nice night, I guess.”

He wanders off and gets absorbed back into the group of people he’d appeared with. Jimin turns his head and kisses your cheek, and then your ear, dipping his head to mouth at your neck, and you grip the hand that’s resting on your waist.

“Jiminie,” you say. “We need to go.”

He laughs against the skin of your throat. He sounds smug, the desperation obvious in your tone. “Always so needy, sweet thing,” he murmurs. “Haven’t heard the saying all good things come to those who wait?”

Jimin’s making you pay for your earlier boldness and you know it. There’s an ache between your legs, one that needs to be satisfied, but he seems happy to wait, unruffled. You’re so riled up right now and he seems unmoved, even if the iciness around him has melted now.

“I’ve been waiting all night.” You squirm a little, tightening your thighs, trying to offer yourself some relief; Jimin can always turn you on so fast and you can feel a physical throb of arousal in your cunt, lips swollen, begging to just be touched.

He lets out a little sigh, as if he’s being put upon right now. You’re torn between wanting to kiss him or shove him away from your car.

“Fine,” you say, making your tone a petulant one as you turn your nose up. “I guess I’ll just go home and grab my vibrator—”

Jimin tugs you against him, his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes.  His voice is quiet but undeniable. “No, you won’t. I’m not done with you, sweet thing. You’re always so impatient.” He loosens his hold so he can pull his head away and then he’s smiling at you; there’s something behind that smirk, something in his eyes. “Come on, baby.”

He gives you no chance to question him. You drive beside him in your Solstice, trying to ignore how your skirt is hitched up and you can feel yourself dripping on the leather seat; the rumble and vibrations of your car provide the barest of reliefs, nowhere near what you really want. 

You know Jimin’s apartment will be deserted tonight, Yoongi staying with Taehyung, leaving you and Jimin alone, but he still teases you even as you step inside. You try to crowd up against Jimin, get him to touch you— you know that he wants to and he usually gives in once you’re this wound up and aching, but tonight he seems content not to. At one point you try to guide his hand under your shirt again and he grabs your wrist, giving you a look that makes your knees go weak, even if you scowl at him. He hasn’t even kissed you properly yet.

“Be patient,” he says. 

There’s a note of warning in his voice. Normally you’d be more willing and pliant, ready to listen, but this entire escapade started because you’re feeling neglected and ignored—this is just the icing on the cake.

“I have been! Come on,” you whine. “Don’t you want your reward for winning tonight?”

Jimin’s mouth is a hard line. “I’m going to claim my prize,” he says. “But it seems like you’re making this about you, aren’t you? Always so greedy, sweet thing. I guess I’ve been too lax with you, haven’t I?”

You pause. He has that look in his eye, one that you’ve started to recognise the more you see it, and you can feel your pussy throbbing when you realise that he’s starting to take complete control of the situation. You’re equals on the track, and equals in this relationship, but recently in the bedroom you’ve been giving up your position at the helm sometimes, letting Jimin control the pace.

Because you trust him.

“Maybe,” you answer, and Jimin smiles. “But you can’t blame me for that.”

“No, that’s true,” Jimin says. “That’s why I’ll only punish you for your earlier shameless behaviour, not your impatience. I’ll give you five.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on what he means. Five spanks. Barely anything, really. You scoff. “Five? Why even bother at that point?”

Jimin’s eyes darken. “Another five for answering back. That’s ten altogether. You want to keep going, baby?”

Do you? You’re not sure. Jimin’s helped you discover that you enjoy spanking, sure, but do you really want to waste time on more spanks when you could be getting something better?

You’ve clearly been quiet for long enough that Jimin finds it concerning. “What’s your colour, sweet thing?”

A warm flush of affection spreads through your chest, the reminder that no matter what happens, you have your safewords: that even though you feel like Jimin is controlling the direction of the night, you have the power to stop it if you need to. You decide that ten is enough. “Green,” you say. “I’m green, Jimin.” 

You watch as he smiles at you, pleased, before he pulls the rings off his right hand, dropping them to the coffee table and ignoring the clatter of metal against glass. Once his hand is free and unadorned he takes a seat in the middle of the sofa, patting his thighs. “Boots off, and then I want you over here, baby.”

You shrug your jacket off and let it fall to the floor before you pull the tie-string at the top of your boots, letting them sag open before you kick them aside. You try to ignore how slick your folds feel and how wet you are as you make your way over to him, draping yourself across his lap; his thighs feel so thick and firm under your stomach, shifting forwards so that your ass is tilted up towards him, settling over his knees. You glance over your shoulder to look at Jimin but he just tuts.

“Eyes forward.”

You bite your lip but obey, facing forwards again as you stretch your arms in front of you, staring at your hands. You can’t see what Jimin is doing but you focus on the sensation of each of his motions. How he pulls your skirt up like he had earlier, how the air of the room is cool on your skin. 

You choke in a gasp when he takes the material of your underwear and tugs it up, revealing the bare skin of your ass when he pulls them tight; the pressure against your clit feels so good but it’s still not enough, even when you try to roll your hips forwards into the sensation. He clicks his tongue and then pulls them down instead, letting them settle at your knees, nothing better than a flimsy restraint.

“I want you to count them for me,” Jimin murmurs. He’s rubbing his hands over your skin, your lower back and ass and thighs, getting you ready; he swats your skin lightly a few times to get you prepared, each quick slap a glancing touch that quickly fades. “One to ten. Okay?”

“Okay.” Your voice is shakier than you thought it would be, so wound up and desperate for any sort of relief. Even though the light hits that he’s raining down on your skin fade almost instantly you can feel the coil tightening inside you, the anticipation building up, ready to burst.

The first real smack has you jolting in his lap. The pain quickly fades into pleasure and you clench your hands as the sensation rolls through you. “One,” you count as Jimin rubs his palm over your skin, soothing it.

The next smack is on your other buttock, Jimin’s flat palm leaving a stinging sensation against your skin that tingles outwards and into your core. “T-two.”

You continue to count out each smack. Jimin varies the intensity and speed of them, alternating between caressing your skin or squeezing the flesh of your ass between each one; you can never anticipate how he’s going to move, each slap against your skin a sharp pain that instantly melts into pleasure, sensation dulling and spreading into a tingling sting that settles into you.

By the time you’re ready for the last hit you’re almost sobbing with pleasure, trying your best not to squirm in his lap, trying not to think about how much you’re dripping. Jimin dips his fingers lower, glancing over your sodden folds, and you gasp out loud at the teasing, desperate for more.

“One more.” Jimin’s voice is low. “You’re doing so, so well, baby. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you confirm, and then his hand is coming down against the swell of your ass for the final time. “Ten,” you gasp.

Jimin’s hands are all over you, stroking you, praising you with his words and touch. He turns your head towards him so he can crane forwards and kiss you. It’s an awkward position but you can’t help but lean into the kiss, the first time his lips have touched yours tonight, ample reward after the punishment you’d just taken.

“Did so well,” he praises. “How are you doing, baby?”

His hands are rubbing over your sore flesh. Your skin stings but the ache isn’t bad, although you can’t help but think that you’re not going to want to put any pressure on your ass any time soon. “I’m good,” you say. “So good. Thank you, Jiminie.”

He lets out a tinkling little laugh. “Thanking me for a punishment, sweet thing?”

You feel loose and relaxed, limp in Jimin’s lap, all the endorphins from the spanking running through your veins. “I deserved it,” you sigh.

Your head is turned to one side so you can glance at Jimin, though the angle still prevents you from seeing anything in any sort of detail—so you’re caught completely off guard when he pushes a finger into you, your lower lips parting so easily for him, and you let out a reedy cry when he presses another one in when he realises you can take it.

“You’re fucking dripping,” Jimin breathes, and you writhe as he presses in deeper, his pretty little fingers sinking so easily into your greedy cunt. You can’t spread your legs properly with how your underwear is hooked around your knees and you feel so tight around his fingers, especially when he presses a third one in, the slight burn fading so quickly into pleasure. “Oh, just look at you.”

The slick sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you is lewd. You’re so, so wet, only growing wetter as he continues to move his hand; he doesn’t touch your clit and when you try to rock against his thighs he uses his other hand to hold you still, splaying his fingers over the heated flesh of your ass. 

He knows how hard you find it to cum without any stimulation to your clit and doesn’t touch you where you’re desperate to be touched, focusing on turning you into a quivering, needy mess in his lap. Your skin feels overheated and your nipples are hard in the cups of your bra, almost painful, and you’re so, so hungry for your release.

“Jimin, please,” you sob. “Please, please—”

He pulls all of his fingers out of you all at once. Tears of frustration spring to your eyes and you kick your feet as you clench and unclench your hands, but then Jimin is guiding you off his lap, putting his hands around your waist to move you. His hands are quick and fast as they tug your skirt down your legs, though he’s still careful to ease the waistband over the curve of your hips and ass, avoiding the stinging skin. You feel the lace of your top rip as you both hastily pull it off, but you really don’t give a shit, fumbling for the clasp of your bra as soon as you can; you’re naked and needy in front of a fully-clothed Jimin, who’s looking at you with hooded eyes as he stands.

Normally you take the time to touch him, feel his soft skin under your hands and lips, tease him and work him up with his cock in your mouth, but tonight it seems like he’s too impatient to wait. When you reach out for him he takes hold of your wrists, his grasp gentle but firm, and he guides you into the position he wants— knees on the sofa, hands braced against the backrest, looking over your shoulder so you can drink him in as he gets undressed.

First, that beautiful embellished bomber of his, carelessly cast to one side. Next, the shirt, tugged out of the tight loop of his belt and pulled over his head, revealing his beautiful chest and stomach, the tattoos you’ve grown familiar with still beautiful as ever on his skin. The belt, unbuckled, leather trousers shoved down and kicked aside, and then he pulls his socks off and he’s finally, finally done. He looks so beautiful like this, naked save for the jewellery on his body— the chain around his neck, the bracelets at his wrists, the rings on his left hand, and of course, the simple, silver hoops in his ears.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” you breathe. 

Jimin’s expression is clouded with lust but you can see how his eyes go soft at your reverent tone, and he bends forwards to catch your mouth against his again; it’s deep and slow but messy, sloppy with the desperation you have for each other. “You’re gorgeous too,” he murmurs against your lips, and you smile, leaning into him. “My pretty baby.”

One of his hands settles at the curve of your waist, and the other grips his cock, ready to press into you. You’re almost shivering, so, so ready for him, entire body on edge; you choke in a gasp when you feel his cockhead brush against your folds, the slide so wet and easy. You feel how you part for him once he breaches you, your inner walls opening for his familiar hardness, pulling him in deeper and deeper until he bottoms out.

The skin of your ass stings where he’s pressed against it, but it’s just another sensation on top of the pleasure singing through you, settling in your lower belly and between your legs. Jimin wastes no time and starts to snap his hips forwards, one hand at your waist and the other at your shoulder to give him leverage to drive into you, curving your spine as you struggle to hold yourself up— the slap of his skin against yours and the wet sounds of his cock breaching your cunt is almost deafening, but then he leans forward to hook his arm around you, taking his fingers and rubbing tight, quick circles on your clit, fingers still wet from where they’d been sunk into you before.

The noise you make when you finally cum drowns out the other sounds that have been filling the room. You cum so hard your legs shake and you slump forwards, thighs trembling as you fold your weight into your arms, ripples of pleasure skating through you from your dripping cunt, still stuffed full of Jimin’s hot cock.

Jimin slows his thrusts, though he’s still pumping in and out of you, aftershocks trembling through your body from your orgasm. He puts a hand in your hair and tugs, pulling you against him, the skin of your back pressed against his chest. “Is my baby still feeling needy, hm?”

You nod your head, still grinding back against him, chasing the pleasure of his cock shifting inside you and the ache of your stinging skin dragging against his hipbones. “Yes,” you say, breathless. “Yes, need more.”

Jimin laughs, a triumphant little sound. You’re too far gone to even feel embarrassed at how shameless you’re being right now. “I knew it,” he says. “Greedy little cockslut, aren’t you?”

You clench around him, swallowing down a moan. “Only for you, Jiminie.”

“No one else is ever going to be good enough, are they?” He circles his hips and you shudder against him at the feeling, how his cock drags against your inner walls. “No one else knows how to please my baby like I do, do they?”

“No,” you agree. “No, no one else, only you— oh—”

Jimin stays inside you as he turns you around, hands firm around your waist as he sits down and pulls you with him, seating you in his lap. You lean back against him, rolling your hips and arching your spine when he cups your breasts in his hands, kissing down the length of your neck before sucking marks into your skin. Once it seems like he’s satisfied with how clearly he’s marked you as being taken, as being his, he starts to bounce you in his lap, thick thighs cushioning your fall each time you drive your hips back down.

“Can you cum again for me, baby?” His fingers are digging so firmly into your hips now that you wonder if it’ll bruise, but you can’t help but want it, want more reminders that you’re his. Reminders of his touch. “Can you give me one more?”

“Y-yes,” you hiccup, breath driven out of you with one particularly hard rock of Jimin’s hips. “Wanna come with you, Jimin.”

You can tell when Jimin’s close to his release. You don’t need to look over your shoulder to know—you can picture the sweat in his hair, the set of his brows and the curve of his mouth as he moans. You know the cadence of his gasps, how the motions of his hips start to speed and go off rhythm; you know exactly when to let your hand fall between your legs, rubbing at your clit so that you can cum with Jimin, your entire body wound up and ready to tumble off the edge with him. He puts his hand over yours, pressing the pads of your fingers down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves as your fingers grow slick with your wetness, and you’re gone.

You hit your peak with a breathless, wanton cry, throwing your head back against Jimin’s shoulder as your toes curl and you cum again. You’re swept up in the sensation of pleasure washing through your body when you feel how Jimin shudders underneath and inside you, how your cunt is still clenching as his cock twitches, as he empties himself into you. You’ve never cum the same time as someone before. It’s almost like you’re pulling the cum out of him, drawing it deeper inside you with each wave of sensation that ripples through your core, and you slump back against him, your chests heaving as you both ride out your highs; the tremors slowly subside as Jimin strokes his hands over your skin, and you twist your head so you can kiss each other slowly, lazily pressing your lips together as you catch your breaths, pleasure from your orgasms settling into every inch of your bodies.

“My pretty baby,” Jimin says, quiet and sweet against your mouth. You smile and rub your nose against his, pressing a swift kiss to the swell of his cupid’s bow.

“All yours,” you say, leaning into the tight embrace that Jimin wraps you in.

You feel blissful and fucked out, lying on your side on the sofa to save putting pressure on your still sore ass, watching Jimin as he moves around the room. He gathers up your clothes and you see how he pauses when he reaches your boots. It’s like you both remember all at once what lead you to this moment, and you see how Jimin turns his head to you with a question on his lips—he knows you well enough to know that everything you do is thought out and measured and that there would have been a reason that you were dressed so provocatively. You wouldn’t have done it on a whim, just because you felt like it.

“Y/n,” he says, and you look away from him, suddenly embarrassed. Every touch tonight has cemented the fact that Jimin cares about you and gives you time and attention, so now you just feel like some sort of dumb petulant child who was being greedy—you didn’t think you were monopolising Jimin’s time, but you obviously are. “Why—”

“You kept saying you were busy,” you interrupt, though you keep your eyes off him, staring up at the ceiling instead. “I was just—I was just feeling neglected and I wanted you to look at me. I wasn’t trying to get anyone else’s attention, I just wanted you to want to spend time with me, because you’ve been so busy recently and you won’t tell me why,” you finish, your voice quiet. You feel silly even as the final words come out.

“Oh, sweet thing.” Jimin’s voice is warm and gentle. You glance away from the ceiling to see him carefully setting all the clothes and mess to one side, heedless of the tangle of expensive clothing, and he crouches by the sofa to cup your face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you sigh, nuzzling into his lovely hands, into the now-familiar sensation of his fingers against your cheeks. “I was just being greedy.”

“No, you weren’t, you’re right.” His hair is mussed and his eyeshadow is smudged, as is yours, the two of you vulnerable with each other in ways you never are with anyone else. His eyes are soft and his face is open as he dips down to kiss your forehead, brushing the loose hair away from your face. “I have been very busy and I’ve been unfair by not telling you why.”

“You don’t have to,” you insist, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” he says. “Hold on.”

You watch him leave the room and pad down the hallway, past Yoongi’s bedroom and into his own, and you sit up when you see him reappear with a small collection of papers, print-outs that you try to catch a glimpse of before he spreads them on the coffee table for you to see.

“I’ve been going on apartment viewings,” he says. “I was trying to work out which place was best. What’s in our budget, where’s between my work and your garage—I’ve been trying to narrow it down.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He’s smiling at you in that way of his that you love so much, the one that squeezes his eyes and lets you see his crooked front tooth—the smile that drives home that Jimin is flawlessly flawed, perfect with his imperfections, overwhelming in his beauty.

“Jimin,” you breathe. “You want to move in with me?”

“More than anything,” he says. “I thought it would be nice if you didn’t have to worry about anything because I would have already done all the legwork. I wanted to surprise you.”

Your face crumples. You don’t mean to, but you can feel tears welling in your eyes; Jimin moves instantly, pulling you close to him as you try to swallow down the sudden rush of emotion, overwhelmed. You’re both still naked, your skin pressed against his as he holds you, but there’s no lust behind this touch—it’s all love and affection and you still can’t believe that Park Jimin is yours. You’ve never felt so lucky in all your life.

“You should have told me,” you sniffle. “Apartment viewings suck. I could have helped.”

Jimin laughs, a light giggle that ends up muffled against your scalp when he noses into your hair. “That would have defeated the purpose of the surprise, sweet thing,” he says. He pulls back so he can look at you, and just like when he’d seen you cry before, there’s no judgement on his face—just warm empathy and fondness. “They do suck, though. It’s taken so much longer than I thought. I never meant to make you feel neglected.”

“I was being stupid.” You huff out a breath into his face. “Like—okay, sure, maybe you weren’t spending as much time with me as you normally do, but you weren’t neglecting me. I just got so used to having you whenever I wanted you.”

Jimin smiles. He keeps hold of you, pulled close in his embrace, and you know then that you’re never going to let Park Jimin go. “When we move in, you will,” he says, and you shiver at the promise of future pleasure—not just sex, but closeness, intimacy, a promise to one another that this is going to become more.

But, like, also the sex, too.

God, Jimin is so gorgeous.

You let Jimin thumb your small tears away. You hate crying in front of anyone, hate feeling weak, but Jimin never judges you. He makes you feel safe, like you can be open with him, and you know he’ll never betray your trust. You press a kiss to his Adam’s apple before you peer at the printed sheets on the coffee table, wanting to see the fruits of his labour. “So are these the ones you’ve narrowed it down to?” Your eyes flicker over the pages. “Take me through them.”

You end up curled in his lap, looking through each of his choices together—and hey, if you get distracted by each other halfway through the selection, who can blame you?

---

TAGLIST: @beyoncesdragon​ 

[j-1z]

tomorrow x together aug 17th comeback reading

disclaimer: all of my readings are for entertainment purposes only and should be taken with a grain of salt, as these idols are strangers.

this reading was done on august 11th, 2021. i used the ‘tarot of a moon garden’ deck and caroline myss' 'archetype cards' deck for this reading. i also pulled up their birth charts as extra guidance.

There is a lot of disappointment and stagnant energy within this group right now; no one is quite sure what to do. I’m getting this impression that there was a falling out between two of the members that has led to the other three to attempt to fix things, not just for the sake of their careers, but also for the sake of the friendship that was there. There is certainly a rift within the group that has led to insecurities about this comeback.

SIGNIFIERS

SOOBIN: Knight. World REV As I’ve found in past readings, Soobin is very loyal and searches to create harmony. He’s very equal and just in any decision that he makes, especially regarding the group. The line between self-sacrifice and self-neglect is very thin in his case and he tends to people-please a lot. Currently, he’s feeling very disappointed and stagnant, there’s something missing; I don’t think he’s feeling like he’s living up to his title of leader and he feels a little lost at the moment. Although he’s the leader, Soobin needs to remember that he can’t please all of the people all of the time and that isn’t something that is his fault!

YEONJUN: Messiah REV. Knight of Pentacles REV There’s an air of self-importance surrounding Yeonjun at this point in time, almost cocky. I get this feeling that he feels like he’s the one carrying this comeback, he’s the glue holding the group together. A very narrow-minded outlook. There’s almost too much ambition and drive when it comes to work, bordering on obsession. He needs to relax, he’s starting to feel stuck in what he's doing and he needs to remember that he is currently part of a team; he needs to focus more on teamwork, rather than self-interest. He is already decent with self-love and needs to learn how to compromise and work with his team.

BEOMGYU: Servant. Ten of Swords Beomgyu is someone who is very nurturing and helps others for their benefit, but it’s gotten to the point where it’s causing him a lot of turmoil and has become too much. I think he has been the go-between during this situation, on top of simply managing his career and it’s starting to really hit him hard. Someone has taken advantage of his kindness and it feels like betrayal. There’s a sense of “poor me, what do I do” in this situation, but it’s really not as out of his control as it seems; as much as it might hurt, he really needs to enforce boundaries and take care of himself before he collapses.

TAEHYUN: Prostitute REV. Star REV, Three of Swords REV Very focused on money right now over anything else that might enrich him. I get this feeling that this isn’t something that Taehyun normally does so extremely, but he feels like it’s the best thing for him right now. He’s feeling very defeated and as if everything is turned against him. Alienated because of his own error. What sticks out is the conclusion of an unsatisfactory relationship. He’s tamping these feelings down so that he can simply focus on his career, but he’s another who needs to remember that he is a part of a team; if someone is out of balance, then others are likely to follow. Taehyun needs to address these feelings and talk them out with whoever it involves so not only he feels better, but so does the group.

HUENINGKAI: Angel. Hierophant, Two of Pentacles Kai is another person who is very loving and nurturing, he’s willing to help others without any expectation of it being returned. He’s very compassionate and a great listener. Currently, he is in the middle of something very difficult and he has withdrawn more than he ever has in order to not get involved anymore than he already is. There’s a timid energy here: it seems like he’s trying to gloss over this situation in order to keep things as they have always been. He’s already forgiven both parties easily (which seems to be his nature to begin with), but wants everyone else to for the sake of their group and have things go back to how they used to be. This feeling is very urgent because he feels like it can fall apart at any second, even if it actually won't and he’s trying his damnedest to hold everyone together with his angelesque ways.

As for the comeback itself, there is a lot of confusion among them, but I think ultimately it’s very possible that this album will be their most successful yet, to a point that it’s almost overwhelming, despite so much going on behind the scenes. People are going to love it, it’s a very personal and loving album, especially with the song dedicated to MOA. These boys will come out much stronger than they’ve ever been. It will be a catalyst for some kind of change - especially within the group itself - that will probably hurt, but is really needed. Additionally, with the release of the album, they are closer to getting rest that they are really craving.

Because of what’s going on within the group, they don’t necessarily feel ready to have their comeback, a lot of insecure energy and feeling like they won’t be giving it their all. (Sidenote, I get this feeling there might be some delay with the album that’ll come out of nowhere ie. the album not coming out on time?) They have been needing to relinquish this idea of always needing to be perfect and there is never any room to mess up. I think this is the album that will allow them to do so and give them that room to freely grow that they’ve been wanting to do.

TXT, as always, will give their all until the end and do what they need to, but at this point, the happiness that shows is a bit of a front and they aren’t feeling it as wholly as they used to. What sticks out is a fear of change and staying unhappy because of security. I don’t think this unhappiness is new, but it’s coming to a head. There’s a possibility of someone leaving, either indefinitely (hiatus) or definitely, because what was once giving joy is no longer doing so.

[burningrebelsworld]

Hey I hope I'm not too late for the fs exchange reading game! My sun sign is Gemini and my initials are M.K

Right off the bat I can tell your fs is a very mature and intelligent person and/or might be older or more mature than you, I got sooo many kings for this reading. My questions are the same as the ones below

First impression your fs has of you:

Your fs thinks of you as someone hard working, who doesn't waver and stands by their belief and a person who loves love in general

How will you recognise your fs:

You might find this person in the midst of a situation which isn't as harmonious as you want it to be or when you're really anxious and are overthinking something. This person is going to be stability amongst chaos and offer balance, probably financially between working to earn money and spending money on pleasurable objects and experiences

What do you need to know before you meet your fs:

Your fs might have had a failed relationship in the past, one or both of you will have to come out of your shell and explore new horizons, go out more, meet new people. A certain type of self imposed limit must be broken or a truth must come to light. I see recovery from a certain event that has transpired.

The journey:

Hardships have been overcome here in this relationship, you both will grow and learn lessons that make you stronger and more intelligent

Thank you

Hey there! I hope you're doing well! :)

Thank you so much for participating, I appreciate you. I apologize for the delay though. Here's your reading:

Your future spouse's first impression of you

Your FS is gonna see you as a wild child. I'm seeing a field of lavender, and a girl with a basket picking them up for a spell, perhaps?? Your FS is gonna see you as an optimistic person. Someone who is extremely happy-go-lucky, easygoing and has a zest for life. You're like a breath of fresh air to them. I heard 'sunshine'. They might call you sunshine hehe? They think you act first and think later. You put all your plans into action, and you take risks because you understand that's the only way you can be rewarded. You live in the present, and you do things that make you happy without having a care in the world. Very carefree, and untamed. They are overcome by lust the first time they see you. They perceive you as someone who is way too sexy and would probably have multiple suitors. I heard "vixen". They see that everyone wants a bite of you because you're so glamorous and confident, it turns them on. You could love socializing, or you could be socializing when they first meet you. They also see you as a hardworking person. You won't notice them when you both meet initially. They'll be checking you out from the corner of their eye.

How will you recognize your future spouse

You could be going through a rough patch where you've been lied and deceived and feel taken advantage of. I see you grieving some kind of an extremely toxic relationship. Emphasis on extremely, because I see that it will take strength to let this person go who's been manipulating you. {7 of swords, devil in reverse and magician in reverse} You'll recognize your FS based off how they treat you. When you start detaching from this toxic connection and feeling a sense of freedom, your vision will get clearer and you'll gradually overcome the brain fog. This is when you'll see how your FS has stuck through the thick and thin and been so caring and loving towards you while you continued to battle silently. They're going to be your wish fulfillment (freaking 10 of cups)

What do you need to know before meeting your FS

Your FS is extremely romantic, hopelessly romantic even. They love the sappy, the corny, and the sweet, soft things love birds do for each other. They could've grown up in a dysfunctional family and come from a broken home where their emotional needs weren't met and they were neglected as a child. Therefore, you might have to be a little patient with them as they let you in on the softer side of them. They are very caring and nurturing, they're a giver. They're very selfless in love. And their past has made them mentally strong.

The journey leading you to your FS

Spirit is not telling me enough about the journey because you will meet them at divine timing. Destiny is into play (if you believe in destiny at all). However, I'm seeing that you will meet this person when you transition from one phase of your life to another and undergo a major transformation as you heal and become a stronger and better version of yourself. It could be the relationship we earlier talked about. I see you moving or relocating (or simply transitioning even) say for example, graduating and taking up a job, relocating to a different country to pursue your passion etc. I have a feeling this person lives away from you physically. You'll bump into them when you're on the go.

I hope the reading resonates with you. If it does, please drop a feedback. I'll drop the feedback for my reading in your asks ✨✨✨

[elwingflight]

Coronavirus: Information & Guidelines

What you can do now, and what to prepare for

There seems to be a lack of what-to-do suggestions on tumblr beyond handwashing, so I thought I’d put something together. I’ve never actually encouraged people to reblog something of mine before, but this might be the time. To be clear: I am not personally a public health expert of any kind. Both my parents are (epidemiology/global health degrees, worked for CDC) and I’ve run this by them. My information is coming from disease researchers on twitter and official public health guidelines online. Sources at the end of the post. This is mostly directed at people in countries where COVID-19 has been reported (I’m in the U.S.), but is not *yet* widespread in the community. Written Mar. 1st 2020, last updated 3/9 (shorter, helpful twitter thread here, helpful NPR article here)

General Info

Firstly, a lot of politicians are *still* trying to sugarcoat things, but it should be clear by now that the new coronavirus is spreading widely and will continue to do so. Because of the incubation period, and in the U.S. at least the delay in testing, the number of cases is almost certainly going to increase rapidly in the near future no matter what we do now. Official government sources are helpful, but its also good to look at what experts on viral epidemics who aren’t directly government-affiliated are saying. Their agenda is purely informing the public in the most constructive way possible, without politics getting in the way.

Two key points- COVID-19 can have a long incubation period (the time from when you catch the virus to when you start showing symptoms) and most people don’t get severe symptoms. Some are entirely asymptomatic, but most people get typical flu-like symptoms. Specifically, the early symptoms to watch out for are a fever and dry cough (meaning, a stuffy nose is probably just a regular cold). Its possible but unlikely to transmit the virus while asymptomatic, most transmission happens when you have heavier symptoms.

The most vulnerable people are the elderly (~ over 60) and those with preexisting health conditions (i.e. cardiovascular disease, respiratory condition, diabetes), or a simultaneous infection with something else (NOT kids in particular!) So far the mortality rate has been about 1-2% (compared to 0.1% for the general winter flu - yes, this really is worse). However, that might be an overestimate, both because people with mild cases aren’t getting tested (the denominator should be bigger), and because the early situation in Wuhan, where a lot of our numbers come from, was especially bad in regards to availability of healthcare.

This is an emotional, difficult situation. Don’t panic. The world didn’t end in 1918, and its not going to end now. But it is very serious, and we need to be thinking about it rationally, not pretending everything is just going to be okay, or uselessly pointing blame. Take care of your mental health, and check in with each other. Epidemics test our generosity and selflessness. Those qualities are needed right now, but don’t neglect yourself either.

What You Can Do Now

There is stuff everyone can do both to prevent yourself from getting infected, and to prepare if you do. ***The big picture to keep in mind is that the biggest risk of epidemics is that they overwhelm our system, especially our healthcare system. What I mean by this is that our society is built to deal with a certain volume of things happening at once- people buying groceries, getting sick, etc. If we suddenly all rush to do something, we overburden these systems and they won’t be there for the people who need them most. Therefore our goal is to slow down the spread of disease, buying time and lowering the overall burden on these systems. This is called “flattening the curve”. It looks like this, and I cannot stress how important this is.***

A very helpful thread on preparedness

Staying Healthy

Like similar viruses (think colds and flu), COVID-19 is mostly transmitted from person to person, usually by close contact but sometimes from an infected surface. More here.

Wash your hands. Everyone has heard this one- 20 seconds, soap all over your hands, wash the soap off. If you can’t wash your hands use an alcohol-based hand sanitizer (at least 60% alcohol). But handwashing is absolutely better. Also- cough into your elbow/shoulder, not your hand, and avoid shaking hands- try elbow bumps or maybe a polite nod instead! If you’re handwashing so much that you’re hands are threatening to crack and bleed though, consider washing more strategically or using hand sanitizer instead.

In combination with hand-washing- stop touching your face, especially while out! This takes practice, everyone does it all the time without thinking. A good practice is to avoid touching your face while out, then wash your hands thoroughly as soon as you get home.

Similarly, avoid touching surfaces as much as possible! Particularly bad are door handles, elevator buttons, that kind of thing. The virus can probably (based on studies of related viruses) last a while on these. Regular gloves can help a bit. Use a tissue then throw it away, use your elbow, etc.

Do Not buy face masks! There’s mixed evidence on whether they’re at all helpful when used by the general public to prevent catching a virus, but actual medical professionals who need them are facing shortages (that’s probably part of why so many healthcare workers got sick in Wuhan), so our buying them up is really bad. The only times you should be wearing them is if you yourself are sick (they do help then!) or if you’re looking after a sick person. Seek instruction in that case in how to use them properly. (Thread on why buying those fancy masks is not good).

If COVID-19 is in your community, try to stay 6 feet from people, which basically means going places as little as possible. See below.

Planning Ahead

Its also a good idea to prepare in case you need to self-quarantine. Self-quarantine is necessary if you’ve potentially been exposed to COVID-19, or if you’re sick but not enough to need to go to the hospital. Follow local guidelines- if there’s lots of transmission in your area, nonessential workers will probably be advised to stay home as much as possible.

If you’re able, get medication now. Don’t go crazy and buy out the drug store, just a reasonable amount. Try to get at least a month’s worth of any prescription medications. This can be hard at least in the U.S. - your doctor may well be able to prescribe more, but insurance companies and drug stores can be terrible. I’ve found trying a different drugstore can sometimes help. Try your best. They may also be reluctant to prescribe more to avoid causing shortages. Idk what the right answer is here.

Don’t go crazy and buy out the store, but start getting a little extra shelf-stable or frozen food. Even some root vegetables that will last a few weeks. You want enough for 2 weeks in case of self-quarantine, but you do NOT want to empty out stores. Panic buying is definitely a stress on the system. Just add a few extra things each time you shop. Don’t forget about pets. You can always eat the food and replenish it over time.

Make a plan with your family/community. If someone gets sick or needs to self-quarantine, is there a corner of the house they can stay in? Who can take care of them? etc. I haven’t focused on plans for schools/religious communities/workplaces etc but those are very important too! This is one place where keeping an eye on local and national news is important. In the U.S., for example, school systems are planning ways to make food available to kids if they’re not going to school.

If COVID-19 is starting to spread in your community, think about how else you can be a good community member. Cancelling nonessential doctor’s appointments, surgeries etc may be very important, for example. If schools are closed, can you help out neighbors with childcare? Do you have a cleaner who may need to be payed in advance if there’s a quarantine?

If You Might Be Sick/Need to Quarantine

See likely symptoms above. Remember, normal colds still exist, and if you go to the doctor for every one of those you will overwhelm the system.

Don’t just go to a hospital! Call ahead to your doctor/clinic/hospital and get instructions on what to do. Getting healthcare workers sick is something we really want to avoid. That said, DO get tested as soon as possible, and act as if you are contagious. The health coverage situation is the U.S. is not yet clear (and ofc its not something the current admin is eager to clarify). Hopefully testing will be covered financially by the government, but I can’t promise that at this time.

In the meantime, stay home and quarantined if you show any symptoms of illness if you possibly, possibly can. This is especially difficult in the U.S. if you don’t have sick leave/childcare, but please. Do your utmost.

Look after yourself. Skype/google hangouts/etc is great for keeping connected. Have some chocolate/chicken broth/other sick foods ready.

The Big Picture

Coronavirus/COVID-19 has not been declared a pandemic yet, but it probably will be before long. This is almost certainly going to get worse before it gets better. We don’t yet know if warmer weather will slow its spread, and a vaccine will probably take about 1-1.5 years to be developed and tested. As I mentioned before, the best thing we can do to keep the world working, minimize mortality, etc is to slow the spread as much as we can, and minimize the strain on the system. Hospitals are going to be overwhelmed. There aren’t infinite unoccupied beds or ventilators, or people to operate them, and supply chains could get disrupted. Thinking about these things is scary, and it will take time to adjust to what’s happening. Start that process now, and help everyone you know reach the point where they’re able to act, not panic. Another reassuring thing- if we slow the spread of COVID-19, in addition to fewer total people getting sick, you will soon have people who are recovered and almost certainly immune. These people will be invaluable as helpers in their communities.

Now that the practical stuff is out of the way, I want to say from a U.S. perspective that yes, our lack of social welfare other countries take for granted is going to hurt us. Lack of access to childcare, no guaranteed paid sick leave, and of course expensive healthcare are massive problems that will make it much harder to limit disease transmission. Help each other in any way you can, and vote for candidates that support implementing these policies! And of course, watch out for propaganda of all kinds, whether its using the virus as an excuse for racism, calls to delay elections, etc. So far my biggest concern is a lack of willingness to admit how serious this is, but we can do this. Lets put extra pressure on politicians to be honest and change policies to actually help people. But, yes, lets also stay united. We need each other now (just, you know, 6 feet apart).

A few sources

In general, the Guardian is a great, free, reliable source of news. In the U.S., NPR (website as well as radio) is another great source. The Washington Post and Seattle Times have made their coronavirus-related coverage open access, not sure about other national newspapers.

twitter thread from World Health Organization (WHO)

U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) COVID-19 homepage (not being updated in some ways it should be, like total # of tests)

A reality check from some non-Governmental experts (basically, what governments don’t want to say yet, which is that this virus is going to spread, and the goal now is to infect as few people as possible, as slowly as possible. Read this.)

Why you should act now, not when things get bad in your area (we’re always operating on outdated information)

If you want the latest technical info, The Lancet (major medical journal group) has all of their content compiled here, open access.

I can do my best to answer questions (i.e. ask my dad) but those or other reliable, readily find-able sources should have you pretty well covered. Do let me know if anything on here is wrong or needs to be updated! Stay safe, stay positive, we can do this.

[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 10

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Though John would never consider time spent with Margaret wasted – nor would he ever regret a single second of it – it did make the subsequent days longer as he strove to find a solution to his financial problem. The debt owed to the bank was a few hundred pounds – a paltry amount compared to what was owed him for orders that his workers had rushed through. He hoped each day for a miracle, that he would receive sufficient outstanding payments to satisfy the bank loan and secure his workers’ payroll, but he waited in vain. The bank’s deadline drew ever nearer, his coffers dwindled, and no miracle loomed on the horizon.

Had he been foolish to refuse Watson’s proposed speculation? If it succeeded, the profit from the venture would clear his debt and secure payroll for months to come. If it failed, however, what little funds he had to pay his people would be lost, with no hope of recovery. He would have left his workers destitute, and he felt he owed them more than to gamble with their livelihoods.

But if it succeeded…

He’d never before understood the siren’s song of speculation, which had led his own father to his death. In the aftermath of the elder Thornton’s self-inflicted demise, John had been forced into a life of poverty and self-deprivation, leaving school to care for his mother and sister and sparing as much money as he could each week to pay his father’s creditors, long after they’d given up any hope of satisfaction.

He’d worked hard, and in the secret recesses of his heart, he’d judged his father harshly for throwing away their fortunes on what amounted to little more than a game of chance. He’d never spoken of his recrimination or his shame aloud, out of consideration for his remaining family’s feelings – though his mother had never been one to mince words when it came to her own judgment, and Fanny had been too young and lacked the sentimental disposition required to be overly protective of either her affection for or her memory of the father she’d lost.

Now, however, he understood the temptation that had lured his father to his ruin, though his own sense of honor and the duty he owed those in his charge had caused him to shy away from the risky venture, no matter how high the potential reward. His refusal had angered Fanny, who had sworn that reward was certain and promised to be considerable, but John knew better than most that speculation was merely that, and not even the wisest of men could guarantee a positive result.

And yet, if it succeeded…

If he’d gambled his mill’s future on the speculation and it turned a profit, his business would be clear of debt. His workers would be paid. He could continue to care for his mother in the manner he had for most of his adult life. He could provide Margaret with the life she deserved, if not the life she’d wanted. And nobody would ever have to know how bad things had been.

John shook his head, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration and despair. No, there was no use in thinking about what might have been. He’d rejected Watson’s offer. He’d refused to engage in speculation, not when the cost of one ill-judged gamble could ruin so many lives. If he’d thrown his hat into the ring and the speculation failed, he’d lose the mill. The house. His workers would be out of jobs and left to starve, if they were unable to find work elsewhere. His mother’s situation would fall to what it had once been, after many years spent in comfort and security. And his wife…

If he’d speculated with his workers’ livelihoods and lost, recklessly subjecting them possible starvation, to the poverty from which he’d once uplifted himself, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror without feeling shame. A man who could be so inattentive to his responsibility to others could never hope to deserve Margaret or the love he still wished in his heart might one day be his.

So he applied himself to work, each day seeming longer than the last. His beloved Margaret never chided him for his absence or his neglect, though she always seemed to anticipate the point at which reason was driven to the edge by exhaustion, as she would come to him on those evenings and silently draw him home with her, to sleep by her side. He could not fully confess his fears to her, but neither could he resist her, and his love for her sustained him every bit as much as her tender consideration brought him comfort.

But as the days passed, a nagging sense of doubt grew in his mind, a quiet whisper that warned that Margaret might not be as content as he would wish. Even as his financial apprehensions eclipsed other concerns vying for his attention, he noticed her increasingly troubled expression when she thought him unaware, though the worry lines smoothed from her countenance each time he turned her way. But she never spoke of her concerns, and he – weak, lovesick fool that he was – couldn’t summon the courage to ask, for fear that her preoccupation lay elsewhere. If her distress stemmed from regret, perhaps exacerbated by increasing concerns that he would fail to live up to his promise to provide her comfort and security, his heart would break anew.

Desiring to reassure her of the fidelity of his promise, John was determined to redouble the attention he paid his wife. To that end, he returned home one evening earlier than he typically had of late – the lure of Margaret’s company being far greater than that of the paperwork on his desk – to find her father in their drawing room, the other man having stopped by for a visit. Although slightly disappointed that his more amorous intentions would by necessity be delayed, John always enjoyed Richard Hale’s company and was pleased his calendar was free enough to appreciate it.

His pleasure was only heightened when he saw Margaret’s cheerfulness at the visit. “Mr Bell has invited Father to visit him in Oxford, and I’m encouraging him to go. Don’t you think it’s an excellent idea?” she explained, before turning her attention back to their guest. “It’s been so long since you’ve been to visit, and the weather’s turning warmer, so the roads will be a little easier.”

Mr Hale seemed encouraged by her enthusiasm. “I might go,” he acknowledged. Nodding, as much to himself as to her, he murmured, “Yes, yes. I think I might.”

With that decision seemingly fixed, their conversation turned to other matters for a while, until Richard stood to leave. “I think I will go to Oxford,” he declared, the idea clearly breaking him much joy. John and Margaret wished him well – the latter admonishing him to dress warmly, as there was still a chill in the air – and then he was on his way with their blessings.

Had John known it would be the last time Margaret would share his company, he would have begged the man to stay a while longer. Sadly, prescience was not among his accomplishments.

Although Margaret tried to find contentment in her present circumstances, the things left unsaid between husband and wife preyed upon her thoughts, seemingly increasing her anxiety by the hour. She loved John – more ardently than she ever would have ever supposed – and her silence on that score felt suffocating. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, but questions plagued her mind, sapping away both her contentment and her courage.

She had no illusions that John had come to trust her before taking her hand in marriage. Did he still doubt her integrity? Did he question her faithfulness? Would his opinion of her, once tarnished in his mind, forever carry a shadow of his distrust, even once the truth was known?

Even if she were to put her fears behind her, she couldn’t find the words to share her confession. It seemed impossible to do so without broaching the subject of the scene he had witnessed on the train platform, which had caused him such disgust and brought her so much pain. With so much weighing on his heart already, was it fair of her to upset whatever peace he’d managed to find thus far in their marital harmony?

What if he didn’t believe her? What if he was hurt she hadn’t spoken up before? His anger gave her no cause for alarm, but she couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting additional pain upon him. She would never wish to exact injury upon anyone, him least of all. Not her husband. Not the man she loved. And certainly not now, when his troubles were otherwise so great.

As the weeks passed immediately following her self-revelation, Margaret often found herself on the brink of confessing all to her husband. On each occasion, fear and inconvenient timing silenced her tongue. When the time was right, she promised herself that she would broach the topic of his suspicion and determine whether the trust she so needed to find true happiness in marriage had been regained. If so, she would tell him the truth. And confess to him her love.

In the meantime, she strove to provide him with such contentment, peace, and comfort as was within her power to give. She gave such assistance at the mill as she was able during the day and let her love wash over him at night, her body betraying the secrets of her heart, even if her lips could not. She felt his overwhelming weariness when they made love, pressing her mouth against the deep lines in his brow and offered him her strength when he sagged against her, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. In the aftermath of their coupling, he would fall asleep in her arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic beat of his heart soothing her own cares.

They had been married long enough for Margaret to grow accustomed to the idea but not long enough to overcome the full measure of her shyness – engrained in her from the time she was a child – at her husband viewing her nakedness when she awoke early one morning to see John standing before the fire, preparing his ablutions for the day ahead. He was stripped to the waist, his skin gleaming in the faint light. The fire in the grate was newly lit, its illumination weak and almost begrudging, but it was bright enough for her to see the ripple of muscles beneath his skin as he bent to splash cold water upon his face. She found herself entranced by the solid cord of muscle in his stomach and arms, the play of light and shadow against his upon his bare skin.

Though she doubted he would consider it a compliment, looking at him like this, she could only think how beautiful he was to her. How cherished. He stole her heart and took her breath away.

The sight of him drew her out of bed, the floor cold beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room, resting her hand gently upon his lower back as he straightened. He turned to face her, beads of moisture trailing down his face, and she placed her hand over his, gently tugging the towel from his grasp. He watched in silence as she tossed it aside and didn’t protest when she pressed her free hand against his chest and gave it a firm push, leading him into a nearby chair.

John didn’t say a word as he lowered himself into the seat, but his gaze missed nothing as she cast a critical eye upon the implements he’d laid out beside his washbowl. The shaving razor was open, its blade gleaming, already sharpened upon the strop in preparation for the task at hand. His soap had also already been prepared, the applicator brush resting nearby.

Margaret picking up the brush and mug of shaving soap, working up a lather as she turned back to her husband. His gaze had fallen to her hips, and she realized with a start that, standing before the fire as she was, the outline of her body would be visible through the thin fabric of her nightgown. The thought made her flush, but she feigned ignorance of the view she presented, even as she showed her body off to its best advantage, bending over him to lather his cheeks and chin.

John reached for her, bracing her hips in his palms. His hands were still damp from his morning wash, moistening the fabric of her dress. She shivered, biting back a soft moan of longing, when he pulled her forward until she straddled his chair, her thighs brushing the coarse fabric of his trousers. Unwilling to allow him to distract her from her purpose, she forced her attention to the task at hand, casting a critical eye upon his face to ensure the lather was sufficiently distributed. Then she reached for the razor, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to his cheek.

What had seemed like a good idea when she’d started was much more daunting now, when she held the sharpened razor in her hand and prepared to apply it to his bare skin. What if she made a mistake? What if she slipped and injured him? She hesitated, preparing to draw away, but he reached up and wrapped his hand around her own. His eyes were trusting, his gaze warm, as he drew the razor toward his cheek, adjusting the exact angle of the blade before pressing it gently against his skin. Then he dropped his hand, putting his fate entirely in her hands.

Margaret sucked in a sharp breath and narrowed her eyes, focusing the entirety of her attention upon the blade as she scraped it gently against his skin, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief when she managed her first pass without causing injury. Feeling more confident, she applied the blade again, her motions slow and cautious. As she worked, the back of her neck grew damp from the warmth of her fire, and the caress of John’s breath fanned her face as she leaned forward, intent upon her task. She could feel his gaze upon her, but it wasn’t distrust in his eyes. It was desire. Her answering need nearly overwhelmed her, and she required a moment to recollect her composure before she could continue.

With one side completed, John adjusted the angle of his head so  that she could complete the job. Her heart pounded when she felt his hands slide under the hem of her nightdress, teasing the soft, sensitive skin of her thighs, and she sucked in an unsteady breath.

As she pulled the razor away, he slipped his fingers inside her, stroking her gently. Her head fell back with a moan, but she strove to gather her wits and regain control. Bracing her free hand on his shoulder, she cast an accusatory glance at his face, only to receive an unrepentant smile in return. However, the consciousness of his own well-being  was such that he returned his hands to her hip when she wiped the lather off the blade, lifting it to continue her task.

Margaret’s heart pounded as she slid the razor along the curve of his jaw, and he tilted his head back to allow her greater access to his neck. Her efforts were perhaps not as clean as his would have been, but he didn’t seem to mind. When she finished her last pass, she grabbed a damp towel to wipe away the rest of the lather, but John gently tugged the blade from her hand, letting it fall to the floor. Then his mouth was upon her, teasing the bare flesh above the neck of her nightgown.

She opened her mouth to sigh his name, but the sound was captured by his lips as he pulled her firmly against him, pressing her against his hardness. Grabbing the bottom of her nightgown, he lifted it over her head and tossed it aside, and even in the increasing warmth of the room, she shuddered as she was bared before him. John didn’t seem to find anything amiss, however, as his attention was captivated by her smooth perfection.

Lifting his hand to cup her breast, Margaret found herself enthralled as she always was by his caress. The calluses on his palms were rough against her sensitive skin, but his touch was far from unpleasant. Her head fell back, exposing the curve of her neck, as he brushed a thumb against her aureole until her nipple beaded under his palm.

Her hands had fallen on his shoulders, and she gave in to the temptation to trail her fingertips down his chest, tracing the curve of muscle and bone. She felt first the rapid beat of his heart, then the muscles of his stomach shudder as he sucked in a sharp breath, and knew he wasn’t unaffected by her touch. In the light cast by the fire and the soft sunrise, his eyes were dark and filled with need. She wove her fingers into his hair, pressing him to her, as he bowed his head and sucked her breast into his mouth, teasing her with his tongue. She could feel the strength in his hands when he grasped her hips, guiding her motions as she rocked against him.

Only one layer of fabric separated their bodies, causing Margaret no end of frustration. Pressing her hands against his chest, she lifted off him far enough to reach for the buttons of his trousers. In her haste and her desire, her fingers were clumsy and awkward. Their hands tangled together when he attempted to assist her, causing her to laugh, the sound soft and strained.

She had only just managed to pull him free when he grabbed her thighs and pulled her into his lap once more, pausing only long enough to carefully guide himself inside of her. Margaret gasped as she sank onto him, her response inspired as much by the ominous creaking of the chair beneath them as the sudden fullness of his thrust. Anxious about the unsteadiness of their perch, she tightened her thighs around him and wrapped her arms around his neck, slowly rolling her hips against his.

John tucked his head against the curve of her neck, tickling her with the faint traces of stubble she’d overlooked in her earlier ministrations. His mouth scraped against her skin, eliciting a soft moan, while his hands explored her body, lingering in every spot which had previously brought her pleasure. He kissed the curve of her ear, her cheek, her chin, and Margaret rewarded his efforts with another slow roll of her hips.

Once again, she wrestled with the temptation to speak of her feelings, but this was hardly the time to do so. Her confession – or, rather, confessions, as she believed she had identified a multitude that must be made by now – deserved more consideration than a rashly uttered declaration in the midst of lovemaking. They also required more deliberation than to be hastily blurted over breakfast, or on the way out the door to attend to more pressing concerns and outstanding appointments.

Still, her secret feelings nearly overwhelmed her, swelling within her breast until she couldn't speak for love of him. Leaning back slightly, she wrapped one hand behind his neck to hold him in place as her gaze swept over the face that had engraved itself upon her heart. Their eyes met, and she found she couldn’t tear her gaze away, entranced as she was by the play of emotions upon his face and in his eyes…

Once again, she marveled that she ever could have thought him to be cold and cruel, that she ever could have mistaken his hardness for lack of feeling. Though his features were under his command, frequently schooled into either an impassive mask or a glower of disdain, his eyes betrayed him. Even when he had accused her of impropriety, when he’d told her his passion for her had ended, the chill of his words hadn’t wounded her half so much as that which lay behind those blue eyes, which revealed much, but also saw more than she wished.

Margaret was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fear at what he might comprehend of her own feelings. In an act of self-preservation, she tore her gaze away, pressing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder as he lifted his hips, plunging inside her.

As she met each powerful thrust with a roll of her hips, Margaret clung to her husband, wishing for nothing more than to prolong this interlude. She felt the muscles beneath her tense and knew he was nearing completion, so she increased the rhythm of her hips, pressing her mouth against his neck to taste the saltiness of his skin as his muscles grew taut and he poured himself inside her. The momentarily respite didn’t last long, however, as he cupped one hand behind her head, holding her against him as he slid the other between her legs, stroking her deftly until wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her and she found her own release.

She collapsed against him, spent and unwilling to let him go, although she knew she couldn’t hold him in this moment forever. The harsh rasp of their breathing filled her ears, but as their hearts slowed and breathing steadied, the room grew quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fire in the grate. When she could put off the inevitable no longer, she lifted her head off John’s shoulder, though she wasn’t yet able to meet his eyes, still uncertain of what her own would reveal.

“Margaret?” His voice was soft and uncertain, and her heart wrenched at the aching vulnerability it betrayed. She was unequal to the task of giving voice to her inner turmoil, so she stared at his lips as she stroked her fingers along the side of his face. Cupped his cheeks in her palms, pressed her mouth against his, drawing his tongue inside her parted lips. In unspoken reassurance, she deepened the embrace until she felt his lingering tension ebb away. When the kiss ended, she drew back to meet his eyes, confident that her own would no longer divulge her secrets.

Climbing off his lap, Margaret rushed to retrieve her nightgown from the floor, quickly pulling it on before turning her attention back to her husband. In the early morning light, Margaret was forced to acknowledge that she made for an imperfect barber, more than one small patch of stubble having escaped her blade, but John issued no complaint. Instead, he used a towel to wipe away what remnants of shaving soap remained, though Margaret noticed that a fair amount had transferred to her person.

Once he had dried his face with a towel, he began to toss it beside the bowl when Margaret grabbed his hand, staying his motion. There, on the bright white fabric, was a small red stain, a sign she had not been as careful with the razor as she had wished. Stretching onto her toes, she examined his skin and noticed the tiniest nick just below his right ear.

“I’m sorry,” she said, speaking as much for her continued silence as the injury she had inflicted upon him.

Touching a finger to the wound, he shook his head. “It’s not deep. It’ll heal soon enough.” He cast a glance at the window, and Margaret knew his mind was turning toward the mill, to the work left undone and the hours that lay ahead of him. Longing to steal just a few more precious moments with him, she helped him to dress, asserting the privilege of such intimacy that only a wife could claim.

The hour was growing late, and Margaret knew her husband was eager to begin his day, but still he hesitated, brushing a lock of hair off her cheek once she had finished straightening his cravat. “Margaret—” he began, a line of worry creasing the skin between his brows, “Forgive me for pressing, but you seem troubled. If something is bothering you, you can confide in me.”

Her heart twisted at the understanding that he had seen more than she’d wished, recognizing the fact of her preoccupation, although he did not yet understand the cause. Pulling him to her, she pressed a kiss against that telltale evidence of his concern. “It’s nothing,” she attempted, though she didn’t need to see his face to anticipate his answering skepticism. Taking his hands in hers, she remarked, “It’s getting late, and work is more important. I don’t want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

John wasn’t willing to be so easily deterred, tightening his hold on her hands. “My work may be necessary, but there is nothing in the world more important to me than you.”

His words gave her hope, and she smiled at him with all the sweetness she felt in her heart. “Very well, but it’s not – I’m not troubled, precisely, but – do you think we could steal some time alone together this evening? There are some matters we should discuss.”

With obvious reluctance at the delay, he agreed, capturing her lips in one more kiss before heading out the door. Little did either of them know that a visit from Mr Bell later that same day would bring news that would drive all other concerns from her mind. For a while, at least.

[mercurytrinemoon]

Hi💕 can you explain saturn + moon ( in gemini) and Jupiter + north node ( in cancer ) all in the 7th house . How do these placements effect my life ?

Hiii!

Oh what a combo. Both Saturn and Moon in Gemini are intellectual placements. You’re probably a very curious person but you might look at everything with scepticism. Lots of mental activity. Air placements, especially Gemini, are prone to anxiety due to overthinking and I feel like having Saturn in the same sign might deepen that even more? And if not, you may be someone who likes to carefully analyze every situation and be a bit reserved at first (especially that it’s in the 7th house). Lots of patience. But then if you open up and let others “see” your Moon, you’re very charming, funny, lively. Moon in the 7th makes for a very caring person, you should feel comfortable when you’re with other people. You may also get easily attached to others. Especially when you find someone who gives you security.

Jupiter in Cancer is exalted. I feel like you may love helping others, you’re full of optimism and you’re a “people person”. Very generous. With north node in the 7th, you just need to learn to balance your own needs with the needs of others. Having a 7th house stellium may make you focus on others too much and as a result neglect your own self, if you know what I mean. Especially that having Jupiter in the 7th may make you feel like your luck comes from others. It probably does, you may feel lucky in partnerhips or literally gain recognition, but just remember you’re good on your own as well. 

Overall having Moon and Jupiter in the 7th is great, Saturn may bring some hardships and delays (actually, Jupiter is known for delaying things as well, because it’s expanding with time). Also, Moon and Saturn represent parental figures so there might be this dynamic in your commited relationships of taking care of each other/providing for one another/one person may be a material support for the other or something along those lines. And it’s the 7th so roles can sometimes be reversed. 

Hope that helped :)

[beansiewritesstuff]

Zagreus vs The Mortal Coil

Lmao okay so let me explain! So maybe five or so months ago I got really into the game Hades, and I did that thing I do where I immediately create like five thousand OCs and a new plotline for it because I love it so much. This is an idea that spawned from my thoughts on what shenanigans might find Zagreus once he starts exploring more of the surface in the time he has there. I also wanted to explore how he might interact with mortals, and what he thinks of them considering he’s only got what others tell him to go on. I decided a baby would be an interesting dynamic for him, and an opportunity for him to grow further beyond what the events of the game allow. Still debating whether to write the baby as a reader insert or a character of my own? Also I wanted to test out writing using 1st person so consider this an experiment. Next part will be from Zag’s PoV again, but I think I’ll write from the human’s PoV once I age them up a little more.

So with all that said, I just wanted to go ahead and tag @heckpuppyy because we’ve been talking recently and I like you. This isn’t quite the Aconite piece I have planned for you, but it is Hades so I hoped that you would still enjoy it! Happy reading everybody!

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Suppose this whole situation may be entirely my fault.

It’d been a good while since I last died on an attempt. Long enough that I started to get bored. Making it to the surface had become commonplace for me, and so I began exploring for the brief time I’m able to exist up there. I’d just pick a direction and walk. Which is how I stumbled into this. Perhaps father was right when he said my casual curiosity would get the better of me someday. I always sort of agreed with him; though I never expected something like this. Then again, who but the Fates would?

Mortal behaviour has always been strange, at least to me. Or foreign, I guess. Talking to willing Shades and reading stories of them does little to help expand my understanding. Still, as I think most Gods are, I can’t help but to be intrigued by them. There’s almost a bizarre beauty in their existence, short though it may be. Yet there are also things about them that confuse me to bitterness. Things that strike too close to my father’s behaviour for my liking. Such as, for instance, leaving children out in the mountains to succumb to Demeter’s Winter.

I really hadn’t been walking long before I heard the cries. At first, I thought it might have been an animal in pain. Though I’d heard as many instances of that as I had human infants crying, at the time. It was very odd, this immediate tug in my chest at the noise. Mother later called it “maternal instinct”, though I’m fairly sure that term only applies to mothers. Nevertheless, that feeling was what led me to the clearing in which the squalling creature lay. For a moment, I’ll admit, I was stupefied. Why would a mortal so helpless be so far out here? I thought to myself. And where are its caretakers? Surely it didn’t transport its self all the way up here from the human village. It took a particularly loud hiccupping cry from the child to snap me out of my frozen state, and I found my legs working of their own accord to move the rest of me closer to the small lump of cloth and reddened, tear-stained cheeks. It stared back up at me when I leaned over it, its next wail caught in its throat momentarily at the sight of me. I worry for a moment that I might be scaring it, before my chest tightens in a strange emotion when it whimpers pitifully and reaches out to me. Its chubby little fingers make grabbing motions, and the muscles in my arms flex with the temptation to pick it up. A searching glance around confirmed that no other humans were around, which meant it would be up to me to guide this infant to whatever fate had been written for it.

Perhaps that was too prideful of me? After all, had I thought a bit more thoroughly, I may have reminded myself of my considerable lack of child-rearing experience. This is addition to the predicament of surface dwellers being unable to survive in the Underworld, and me being unable to live on the surface for more than an hour or so.

Alas, thanks to my haste in accepting the self-ascribed responsibility, I gave only just enough thought to this fact to move the child to a small hollow near the doors to father’s realm. It had belonged to an animal at some point, but now laid barren and slightly unkempt. I had just enough time to check it the unpleasant eight-legged surface creatures I’ve heard tell of being poisonous, and to stash my new ward away safely from the elements, before the Styx took me back home. It was only upon emerging from the Pool that it struck me the weight of my decision. A baby. A human baby. One that would have simply died had I not intervened. One that now requires me to fight my way back up to ensure it’s survival. One that will need food and shelter and attention. One that… Now belongs to me.

 “Blood and darkness!” Stygius slips slightly from my grip as it catches inside the Wretched Lout I just impaled. I readjust my hold and heave it out of the sickly yellow flesh, waving it slightly to flick some of the congealing black blood from it. I have no time to stop this run. I’ve boxed myself into such a situation I barely had time to check in with everybody before leaving. I neglected to share my secret just yet, both for a loss as to how exactly to do so, as well as the worry that they would try to talk me out of it. Forgetting this whole thing seems the logical thing to do, and part of me wishes I would. And yet there is another part, small but overwhelming, that screams You must hurry. You must return to it. You must protect it! And it would seem to be the part that’s winning.

The sound of a Boon echoes through the small chamber, though when I look to it, it’s one I’ve never seen before. A deeper blue than from Poseidon, with some kind of feather symbol. When I reach out to it, the sound of a baby’s laughter reverberates through my entire body it seems. “In the name of Hades, uhh… Hello?” The glowing orb expands and bursts in a cloud of feathers to reveal the visage of a beautiful woman. She dons the same colour of chiton as her blessing, with rich green and gold patterning. Her green eyes remind me of mother and Demeter. Mother… “Lady Hera. It’s… An honour.” The stoic looking woman extends her hand without speaking, three blue feathers appearing in front of me. These are different from the regular gifts I receive. It weighs on my mind that my decision will factor heavily into my care for the infant. Hera is the Goddess of childbirth and motherhood, now may be my opportunity to get the best advice possible. It does occur to me that she doesn’t seem the most talkative. But I don’t have much choice, I need to get the most out of this encounter, considering how out of my element caring for another being is. “Lady Hera, I apologise for my boldness, but I must beseech your assistance in the matter of- “

“I sense your predicament, young Prince. I ask you not request more of me than I volunteer, though I can say I am here to help. For now, choose a gift to help you with your ward, and be on your way.” Seems that would be our conversation over. I straighten my stance and properly look over the feathers, now adorned with golden etching in the shape of familiar yet foreign words. “Mother’s Intuition” “Fruits of Labor” “Calming Touch” All seem useful, but if Hera is truly planning to stick around to help me, I suppose my decision now doesn’t hold as much weight as my initial assumption. “Calming Touch” seems it would be the most useful to me as of now. As my fingers brush the barbs of the feather, the “eye” blinks at me, and the other two disappear in small clouds of bubbles. More childlike laughter sounds from them as they pop, and that feeling is back in my chest as I clutch the feather to my chest. The illusion of Hera nods her approval before it too dissipates in a bright flash that has me blinking away the spots in my vision as I stumble toward the next door. I fasten the feather to my tunic and continue on.

 Tartarus passes in a whirlwind, my haste extending to Stygius, as if the infernal blade can sense the situation. Soon the river Phlegethon bubbles and hisses around me, the sulfur stinging my eyes. I leap over a steaming break in the land and carry the momentum through another Slamdancer. More Bloodless spawn behind me and I can only muster a sigh in response. Seems this repetition is starting to wear on my mind. Or perhaps it’s my impatience. Whatever it is, it continues to plague my mind with chilling images of the little creature I have stashed away, the hovel barely big enough to fit it. The idea of what might happen should I delay spurs me forward, not even paying attention to the Boon I accept. The orange-y glow makes me think Hermes, until a deep, rough voice booms above me. Acting on impulse I flinch back and bring Stygius in front of me. The man peering down at me with one eye under his brow scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. Feeling only a little silly, I clear my throat and lower the blade. “Apologies, Lord. I’m distracted by the heat of this place; I meant no offense.” This seems enough for the God and the jaded look to his eyes falls away to leave a particular type of exhaustion. He nods in understanding and lifts a large hand towards me. I notice something clenched in his scarred grip, and when his fingers uncurl to reveal parchment not unlike the House Contractor’s, with similar projects marked on it, a realization dawns on me. I take the paper, my eyes drawn to the blueprint labelled “Sturdy Cottage”. It seems my fears for the infant’s safety are unnecessary, seeing as I happen to have the four diamonds needed to purchase the construct. “I think this will be of much use, Lord Hephaestus. I greatly appreciate your generous assistance.” The God seems mildly taken aback by my thanks but retrieves the ledger and diamonds with a nod at my decision. Sparks fly as Hephaestus leaves, hopefully straight for the surface to begin building the cottage. It feels as if a deep shadow has been cleared from my mind, and my thoughts of the mortal are considerably lighter than before.

 Elysium provides, as always, the most resistance to my journey up. The Exalted are ferocious in their desperation for battle, charging at me with no hesitation upon spawning. I’ve already taken several hits from those blasted Flamewheels by the time I reach the next chamber with something new. At first, I fretfully believe it to be a Trial of the Gods, but upon a closer look, it seems to be a joint blessing of some kind. I recognize the wheat symbol for a Boon of Demeter, but it overlaps a peacock feather. Are the Goddesses aware of this? I hesitantly accept, and the orb expands as any other. In an icy flash filled with children’s laughter, the likenesses two Goddesses stand before me. Demeter smiles down at me, and I might be tempted to call it warm. Whereas Hera stands tall and proud as she did on our first meeting. “Zagreus, I believe you’ve already met my sister. She’s come to me with an interesting proposition; one I believe you should be made privy to.” Demeter summons a true stalk of wheat, golden and shining, and allows me to take it. I twist the stalk between my fingers, watching the little barbs blur together as they spin. “Bury this where you wish. The snow and ice will melt from that place, and your child will be safe from the elements. I know not why you would waste pity on such a creature, but perhaps it will be of future use to you. Good luck, grandson.” I hold the wheat tightly to me as they leave, my heart pounding at the idea of bending the very rules Demeter herself has put in place for this one mortal infant. A very small part of my mind wonders if this is even worth it, but like all my doubts, it gets swept away at the prospect of knowing this creature will be safe. I pin the wheat next to the feather and wonder what my next gift may be as the door clunks shut behind me.

 I’ve almost made it. Just need to get past father and I can get to work. He’s not making it easy, though he never does, and it’s especially frustrating this time. I almost lose my footing on the snow as I dodge another swing. Father scoffs and begins powering up for his stupid laser move. I thank the stone stump for the umpteenth time as I crouch behind it. On the bright side, father only needs a few more hits before the Styx overwhelms him. “You seem especially antsy this attempt, boy. What mischief are you plotting? What could possibly be so important up here?”

“Far be it for me to allow you to ruin my fun, father.” I smirk as Stygius makes contact and slices a deep black gash under the Underworld Lord’s second rib. Father grunts and smacks me away with the blunt end of his spear. The throb is dull and adds no more stress to my body. This may be one of our best fights, on my end anyway. “Come now father, surely you have more important paperwork than this?” I pause to charge up another Bloodstone, distantly registering the hiss of the disturbed snow under my feet. “Watch that tongue of yours, boy. You’ll still have to deal with the consequences when you inevitably return to my House!” My cast lands a hit square on his chest as he finishes his threat, and he falls to his knee. “Until then, father.” I’m not sure if he heard me over the rush of the Styx, but my hope that he did is tinged in bitterness. Turning away, I hurry to collect my Bloodstones and cross the threshold into Greece.

 The mountain seems to be caught in a storm of some kind. The cruel winds howl and whistle past my ears, the sheets of snow all but completely ELEPHANT my vision. I hurry along the treeline, thankful the entrance hollow is facing the direction the wind is blowing. I wonder if Demeter chose this direction intentionally, or if she may have been attempting to wipe out the infant before I had the chance to truly commit to my task. I decide she isn’t that heartless, not now anyway, and kneel beside the hollow. The crying of the infant is still going strong, so I at least can be sure it’s alive. I adjust my tunic so that I can tuck the child close to my body and reach to scoop it up. As I hold it close, my eye catches on the glint of silver around its neck. A chain, specifically one of a necklace. The charm is familiar, but I can’t quite place its origin. A sphere overlapped at each side by two crescent moon shapes. Whatever it is, I’m fairly sure it has something to do with father. Why else would the infant be left so close to his realm? The mortal whimpers quietly, curling in on itself. I need to get it out of this storm. My fingers wrap around the wheat as I stand. Surely Hephaestus would have built the cottage close by, for his own convenience at the very least. I decide to move back closer to the doors, so I can at least avoid the worst of the storm. I must hurry if I’m to find the cottage before my time is up.

The trees seem to fall away off to the right, as the land dips toward a river that’s frozen over. Perhaps I can at least clear this spot for now with Demeter’s gift. The banks flatten out before rising high at the sides, shielding the small valley from the wind. If I look closely, I can see the water rushing underneath the ice layer. I’m just starting to reach for the wheat when I notice a dark shape looming from the opposite side of the river. The cottage! Well, less of a cottage and more of a large house. Praising Hephaestus, I stumble over the frozen river, eyeing the places where the ice sizzles. The hill proves easy to scale, even with the protesting infant at my breast, and the door to the building gives easily to my push, the wind whooshing through the doorway to paint the inner floor white. It’s considerably harder to fight the wind to get the door closed again, but once it is, I’m free to sit against it and bask in the slightly warmer temperature. Even my infantile ward seems more pleased with the new surroundings, though it still hiccups and whines unhappily at me. “Come now, surely a little gratitude’s been earned here?” The mortal cries in response and I can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes me. Suppose it’s entitled to its opinion, considering the state it’s in. It spurs me to stand again, scanning the room for a place to rest the mortal until I get back. Hephaestus did quite the good job with the construct. Sturdy walls, a strong roof, and windows sealed shut with thick glass to keep out the chill. The room we’re in now is spacious, with an open doorway leading to what reminds me of the House kitchens, and an arched entrance with a step up to a section that might be a lounge? I can see other closed doors that I’ll have to explore later, but for now I move into the kitchen and readjust the infant’s swaddle so that it can lay comfortably. It watches me in what I think is curiosity, though it’s kind of hard to tell with the tears in its eyes. I need to figure out what it needs next. Food? Let’s go with food. What do humans eat? What do human babies eat? Perhaps Hera will have answers. The pull of the Styx is stronger now, and I know I don’t have much longer. I shouldn’t let it see this. I lean over the cocoon of snot and tears and cheeks. The cries quieten as two big brown eyes stare mournfully up at me. “Abahaa!” It babbles and tries to reach for me. I meet its little hand in-between us with a finger. It’s fingers barely wrap around mine. It’s an overwhelming feeling; how small this creature is. Small and helpless and fragile and mine. I carefully remove the infant’s hand and tuck it back in its wrappings so I can leave. I’m able to securely close the door behind me and take but a few steps forward before the Styx arrives. Crawling out of the river is getting easier with my new motivation.

“Don’t worry, little thing. I’ll be back soon.”

[writing-fanics]

Billy Batson x Fem!Reader

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Fandom: Shazam!

Pairing: Billy Batson x Fem!Reader

Warning: mentions of abuse, angst with fluff ending, neglect, mentions of depression, and language. Billy might be ofc.

A/n: if any of you suffer from anything like this, it’s not your fault there are just bad people in the world. Just tell a person or talk about it to someone.

Don’t Read if it’s too much

Also video game reference: comment if you know what game it is no looking it up

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I laid there in my bed, looking at my phone. My parents never cared about me, nor did my older brother and sister. So I basically had to do everything myself.

Feed myself, and buy clothes for myself, and find a way to school. Which means I always had to leave early in the morning just to get to school on time.

But some days I’m late, and one week I was an hour late. And I got in trouble, I tried to explain but they said, “I should’ve left early” which I did. But the subway was delayed.

They of course called my parents, and when I got home I got a hard slap across the face. And it bruised.

I had to go to school with it, and when Freddy and Billy asked about it, I said, “oh, I fell. I’m really clumsy” I said, and they looked at me with a concerned look.

But I smiled reassuring them, I then looked back down at my lunch tray. I was unable to eat and just sat there looking at it.

___—___

I was walking home when I saw my brother and his girlfriend, I looked down and kept walking past him when he shoved me to the ground. Causing me to drop my homework notebooks.

I whimpered, and picked them up. And stood up to get back to the house. I looked at my hand and saw a scratch.

I flopped onto the bed, and hugged my stuffed animal close to my chest. “Your the only one that understands me, mr.midnight ” I said, and I him close.

Tears brimmed my eyes, as I began to think about my terrible life. I was shy, too shy to even tell Billy I had a crush on him.

And he probably wouldn’t even like me back. I then walked over to my drawers and took out a container of ramen noodle, and heated them up.

When it was heated up, I began to eat. After I ate I heard a scratch at my door and opened it, seeing it was my cat. I picked him up, and closed the door.

“Why don’t they like me Mr.Midnight” I asked, and he just meowed. And I smiled, “Yeah, at least you love me” I said, and I curled up into bed.

Tears running down my face.

•••••

When I woke up, there was a loud alarm going off. I realized it was the fire alarm, and I began to cough. Smelling the smoke, I covered my hand over my nose, and got up from my bed.

I walked toward my door and opened it, only to see fire. I quickly closed it and ran toward my window.

“Shit! I forgot my crazy parents decided to put iron bars on my window. As if I’m Harry Potter” i said, I began to cough.

Meow

I looked down and saw Mr.Midnight and I picked him up, and held him close. I began to scream for help, I looked out the window and saw my family.

And when I saw my mothers face, she was smiling, I could barley see it but I knew she was.

I coughed, and felt the back of my throat begin to burn as the smoke entered from the bottom of my door.

“Please someone help!” I shouted, my throat beginning to burn even more.

If this was how I was going to die, i wish I got to do this.

I wish I got to tell Billy my feelings towards him.

I coughed, and held Mr.Midnight closer, crying. “Please I don’t want to die” I cried, looking out the window.

Then my door burst opened, and the fire spread, I then began to feel dizzy. My vision began to blur, and I fell to my knees.

And I blacked out.

|Billy Batson POV|

I was talking to Freddy about Y/n, while sitting on the couch with the tv on.

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with her she just seems more quiet then usually” I said, to him shaking. He’s the only one who knew about my crush on Y/n.

Ever since Freddy introduced me to her I liked her ever since. I then looked towards the TV. And saw a familiar looking house on fire.

“Wait is that, y/n’s house?” I said, and I quickly stood up out off the couch.

‘A teenager is still stuck inside’ the news reporter said.

“Holy Shit it is” Freddy exclaimed, I looked at the tv, my heart sank. I was hoping nothing happened to her.

I then looked at Freddy, “we have to go save her” I said, and he nodded.

And we left the house.

Once we arrived, we went into an alleyway and shouted Shazam.

We then flew up to Y/n’s bedroom window and I was shocked to see, iron bars on her window.

“Freddy has these always been on her window” I asked, and he just shook his head. He had the same amount of shock on his face as I did.

I pulled them off, and I looked into the window and saw Y/n. I then broke through the window, and quickly scooped up Y/n.

Freddy got her cat, and we took her to the ground. Then ambulance waiting.

“Thank you for saving my daughter” y/n’s mother said, she was crying. She then went into the ambulance with y/n.

And Freddy handed the cat to her mother.

And I didn’t know why I had a bad feeling.

Y/n’s POV

When I opened my eyes, it was so bright. But when the visions finally cleared I looked around. Finding no one in the room.

But then I heated the door opens and comibg In was my mom, “ugh, your awake” she said, and I looked at her knowing what she was going to say.

“You should’ve died, in that fire. If only if it wasn’t for those good for nothin’ super hero’s” she said, and I looked down.

“This bill is going too be expensive and you are paying for it little lady” she said, and I looked down.

“All that money your saving up for college is going for this hospital fund” she said, and I began to cry. My dream was to go to (Dream College) but all that was falling apart.

I was never going to escape my family, I wanted to just run away to a better family. A family that would welcome me with open arms. Tell me they love me, make me happy, and wanna spend time with me.

But that was all make-believe and it was never going to happen.

“Ahh your going to cry,” she said, and then she showed me a mirror.

“Look at your a total freak, kids at school are going to bully you” she said, and I saw the burns.

The right side of my face, was burned. And it was all red. I began to cry even more, knowing she was right.

“Leave her alone!” I heard a familiar voice shout, and then I looked up and realized it was Billy. And next to him was Freddy.

I smiled softly, “w-what are you guys doing here” I asked, Billy walked over to be and looked at my mother with anger in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t talk to your daughter that way” he said, and she looked at him with anger.

“Young man, you don’t talk to an adult that way” she said, her eyes piercing with anger.

“I can if your telling your own daughter that she’s a freak. And not to mention you started the fire as a way to kill your daughter” he said, and I gasped looking at my mom.

“I-is that true you tried to kill me” I asked, tears brimming my eyes again. “Hmpfh, you were such a terrible daughter an ugly one too. Your father and I were so upset when we had you” She said, and I began to sniffle.

But Freddy came over and began to comfort me, that’s when I looked out at the window and saw Mary, who was like a sister to me recording the entire thing.

•time skip(lazy)•

After that my mom, brother, and father were taken into custody. And a few weeks later I was realesed from the hospital.

I was nervous to start school again, but I knew my friends were there with me. I moved in with my aunt and uncle, and the are actually nice .

____________

It was late at night and I had just left, a kids house I was babysitting and was about to take the subway when I was suddenly pulled into an alleyway.

“Get off me” I shouted, trying to kick the person but, “y/n it’s me Billy” I then opened my eyes. And looked at him, “jeez billy you had to scare me like that” I asked, and he shrugged his shoulders and laughed a bit.

“What is it?” I asked, and he looked at me with a nervous look.

“Okay, I have something to tell you.” He said, and I looked at him. Waiting, since I had a train to catch.

“Okay, so” he began, but couldn’t think of something to say. “Shit, this is harder than I thought” he said, and I began to get annoyed.

“Billy I’m going to miss my train, whatever it is can you tell me by phone” I asked. He looked at me I then sighed, and began to walk away until.

“Shazam!” I heard, then a giant boom. I jumped, and turned around and looked where Billy was. And what I saw was the superhero I see on tv.

“Ah, Billy is that you?” I asked, and i looked at him. Nodded, and I laughed in amazement.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed, I got closer and looked at him. He was much taller than me. I wanted to get a closer look at the lighting bolt on his chest.

I stood on my tippy toes, and brought my fingers to get. And smiled, feeling the electricity. Gently tickle my finger tips.

I then looked up at him, “wow, so my best friend is a super hero” I said, and he looked down at me with a smile.

“Okay, Billy. I have something to give to you and I need you to turn back into a fourteen year old.” I said, and he nodded. And I backed away, “Shazam!” He said, and I watched as he turned back into his normal self.

I walked back towards him and looked him in the eyes, it was quick. But I kissed him on the lips, but it was a peck. “That’s for saving my life.” I said, with a smile. And giggled at his shocked face.

“And~” I began, I then gave him a longing kiss on the lips. I then felt arms wrap around my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck.

We then both reluctantly pulled apart, “that’s for sticking up for me.” I said, and I smiled. He looked at me, his face red. And I chuckled, “well since this made me miss my train. You owe me” I said, and he sighed.

“Ugh, fine” he said, and “Shazam!” He said, and I smiled. As he picked me up bridal style. Taking me to my aunt and uncles house.

A/n: sorry that it sucks.

The cats name, Mr.Midnight is from Fran Bow

[abyssmail]

Caerul’s Mentors: Gracie & Terrence

The Black Whistle who said she would teach her, and the Moon Whistle who actually did.

I ended up writing a lot about stuff people don’t necessarily care about again while overhauling Caerul’s backstory (these characters are both [probably] dead and I wrote a whole damn essay about them asfksaglksda), so under the cut, for anyone who wants to read it:

Gracie

Status: MISSING/PRESUMED DEAD

Gracie was a powerful Black Whistle whose bubbly personality sharply contrasted with her brutal methods.  She was the kind of person who would see a cute fluffy creature (and in one notable case, a pair of children), ask “Is anyone going to adopt this?”, and not wait for an answer.  She was also, purportedly, the kind of person who would slice an enemy delver’s chest open with a shallow incision, reach inside, and snap his ribs individually by hand while his heart still beat in retaliation for attacking one of her squadmates.  The duality of man.  So long as you were not heinously irredeemable or her hapless first apprentice, though, she was kind and gentle to most.  

Confident and capable, Gracie was not only an expert delver, but an exceptional leader, and led a group that specialized in countermeasures against hostile foreign delving squads.  When a team from Orth was sent to retrieve a high-grade artifact, they would either follow behind the group and defend the rear, or forge on ahead on the offensive, discretely rooting out opposition before it could reach the main group.  While even a single White Whistle could do the same task far more efficiently, some diplomatic situations required a greater degree of subtlety, with less recognizable players whose identities would not implicate the small island nation in the brutal dispatch of more powerful countries’ citizens.  Even in the name of protecting its borders, Orth needed to tread carefully in such international disputes, which was where Gracie’s group came into play.  

After their foolhardy antics got them kicked out of Red Whistle training at the orphanage, Caerul and Roseus approached Gracie when she and Terrence, her younger brother and former apprentice, were in town preparing for their next expedition.  Enamored by their enthusiasm, Gracie happily agreed to teach them, and adopted them with the intent to begin their training after she returned from her next dive to the Fifth Layer

Gracie: “We’re keeping them.”

Terrence: “Fuck no, absolutely not—”

Gracie: “Too late lol, my kids now :D”  

However, she never did, and their education instead fell to Terrence, who had stayed behind to watch them.

While Terrence described Gracie as a slave driver of a master, his account should be taken with a grain of salt given his own temperament and relationship with her.  Though she aggressively imposed her own ambitions on her unwilling brother and definitely bullied him into following her path, Gracie likely would have been a much more beloved mentor to apprentices who matched her own relentless drive.  Not soft, per se, but the kind of teacher who could bring such unruly brats to heel by positively redirecting their wild excess of energy and honing their eagerness into something useful.  Unfortunately, she never got that chance, and Caerul, Roseus, and Terrence got stuck with each other.

Gracie’s squad was obliterated, but her body was never found.

Terrence

Status: DEAD

The hapless Moon Whistle who was strong-armed into taking Caerul and Roseus as his students, Terrence was the younger brother and previous apprentice of Gracie, the Black Whistle who’d actually agreed to train them.  Initially only supposed to babysit the twins and give them very basic instruction when Gracie was called down to the Fifth Layer on a retrieval mission, Terrence got stuck with the notorious pair of troublemakers after her return was “delayed”.  Reluctant though he was, persistent guilt-tripping and pestering eventually wrangled some practical teaching out of the jaded Moon Whistle, and he was an effective mentor if and when he was bothered enough. He often required a lot of bothering.

Despite being a highly competent delver, Terrence had little motivation to progress in rank or achievement, and deliberately avoided the Black Whistle exam out of complete disinterest in going any deeper than the Fourth Layer (or indeed, the First, if he had his way).  Once he had thirsted for knowledge of the Abyss’s secrets, but an intense and bloody early career left him burned out and cynical at a young age.  By the time Caerul and Roseus met him, he claimed he was quite happy to never set foot in “that blasted hole” ever again… although somehow he always found himself back in the pit regardless.

Although abyssal warfare wasn’t his area of interest, Terrence became a regular, even crucial member of his sister’s squad as their main strategist.  Blessed with a sharp mind and near-photographic memory, Terrence’s tactical prowess - particular under pressure, especially when dealing with rival delvers - was remarkable, and he greatly improved the group’s kill to casualty ratio when he joined as Gracie’s apprentice.  Terrence technically graduated from his apprenticeship when he achieved the rank of Moon Whistle, but he was a terrible pushover, and Gracie easily coerced him into whatever exploits she pleased.  He remained with the squad until he was needed to watch Gracie’s new apprentices in the upper layers when they were sent to the Fifth, which he had thought would be a much-needed vacation.

Babysitting Caerul and Roseus was anything but restful.  From the minute they woke up (at dawn, daily, without fail), the twins were raring to go, and seemingly determined to get themselves killed by hurling themselves into the Abyss.  If Terrence didn’t come up with something suitably interesting with which to occupy them, they would run off and cause all kinds of trouble.  It was no wonder they were expelled from training at the orphanage.  At best, they were a liability to themselves and anyone around them; without careful direct supervision, an outright danger.  In the large groups Red Whistles typically worked in, it would have been impossible to keep an eye on them all the time without neglecting other children.

As it was, Terrence had his hands full with just the two of them.  Hyperactive though they were, Caerul and Roseus were remarkably bright, and burned through the loose curriculum Gracie had left behind for them—expedition supply management, equipment maintenance, standard and variant delving sign languages and ciphers, basic rope work, etc.—in the first month.  At that point, Terrence felt he’d done his job, and that the brats could wait for their actual master to return, but like ravenous corpse weeper chicks, the twins constantly demanded more from him.  He didn’t initially give it, but as he’d fallen to Gracie’s demands all his life, so too did he give in to the relentless Red Whistles’ constant badgering.

When Gracie’s group missed their projected return date, Terrence wasn’t worried; such a deadline was an extremely rough estimate at best, what with expeditions being unpredictable and time itself being inconsistent at lower depths.  When news of their extinction finally reached him a year later, though, he was distraught.  Caerul and Roseus had only known them briefly, but for Terrence, the loss was his entire life—his friends, his family, his purpose.  He blamed himself for not getting his Black Whistle; if he had been able to go to the Fifth Layer, he would have at least been able to die with them.  He blamed Caerul and Roseus for keeping him on the Surface; if not for them, he could have at least gone as far as the Fourth Layer.  He blamed Gracie for leaving him behind with them in the first place.

Terrence sank into a deep depression, during which Caerul and Roseus were largely left to their own devices - never a good thing.  After getting bored of causing problems on purpose in town, they began wandering deeper and deeper into the Abyss alone.  By this point, the twins were at least proficient enough that the First Layer wasn’t too much of an issue, though there were certainly several near misses.  It was when they decided to stray into the Second when things went wrong.

In frustration at their mentor’s neglect, one fateful day, Caerul and Roseus left a brief note on the kitchen table, as Roseus insisted they did each day “as a record of their progress”.  It read:

“Checking out the corpse weeper nesting grounds to observe chick rearing habits.  Be back for dinner.”

Contrary to what the children believed, Terrence did actually read the notes, and when he found this one, he was horrified.  Horrified enough that he extricated himself from his angst-ridden blanket burrito.  Horrified enough that he went tearing after them faster than he had ever traveled.  Horrified that he might lose the last family he had left.

Fortunately, they never quite made it to the corpse weeper nesting grounds.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to save both idiot Red Whistles.  Terrence caught up with them just in time to see Roseus, captivated by a flower he had never seen before, wander up a clearly unstable cliff, stumble on a loose outcropping, and trigger an avalanche that stranded both children on a precarious ledge teetering over the edge.  Terrence was forced to hastily rig a self-belay line to the only standing outcropping nearby - a spindly thing that could hardly be trusted more than the original traitorous cliff - and repel down to retrieve them one at a time.  He managed to recover Caerul and deposit her on solid footing.  Roseus was not so lucky; the first avalanche triggered a series of smaller ones elsewhere, which eventually triggered another at their location.  What remained of the cliff was destroyed again.  And as skilled as Terrence was at orchestrating the deaths of foreign delvers, protecting two inexperienced children from their own stupidity proved too much for him, and he and Roseus both fell in that cliff collapse.

Caerul avoids reliving the incident as much as possible, but she’s pretty sure Terrence’s last words were “For fuck’s sake.”

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Beatrice and Merula for the character asks

Two of my favorites! This is going to be fun! 

(Merula)

Luca:

I’ve never met another human being who has given me quite as many headaches as Merula Snyde, and somehow I wouldn’t give up a single one of them. In the early days, she insisted on competing with me and even trying to hurt me and my friends. Her insecurity was pretty transparent, so it wasn’t like I didn’t understand...still, I kept finding myself asking the question of why, if she refused to be my friend, did she still insist on talking to me all the time? It was a bit more complicated than that, of course. Her feelings for me are...complex, and the same is true on my end. It doesn’t help that she’s weirdly good-looking, in a way that takes a while to notice...my journey with Merula probably says a lot about who I am, because I went from ignoring her, to caring pretty strongly about her....to tackling Rakepick for what she did in the Underground Vault. I haven’t told anyone this but Merula’s suffering has changed my boggart ever since that night. I know she’s aggressive and self-centered, I know her problems...but I don’t care. She’s not the first person I’ve met who show-boats and lashes out to hide that they’re hurting...and I never gave up on Jacob either. My friends don’t understand why I spend so much time with her, or else they think it has to do with the Vaults. But lately I tend to see Merula as part of my group of friends. It’s a slow thing but I think she’s starting to become a true member of the gang ,and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Weasley-Adoptee: 

Merula is an interesting character but I don’t really have much to say about her, like she’s okay I guess? But still, I-(cue my bag falling and all my old posts spilling out) Oh geez, that’s nothing, I-(trips over all the “bae!” posts I’ve made) Um look I can explain-(my MC/Merula, enemies to lovers posts start falling from the sky.) UGH OKAY I ADMIT IT. I’m total trash for this character. Yes, I am in that part of the fandom. So if you’re a Merula-Anti you are entirely welcome on my blog but be forewarned, my posts might frustrate you. But Merula is easily one of my favorite characters. She’s complex and interesting and I cannot help but feel for her. She has an adorable design and her integration into the story and side-quests is always fun to watch. And hey, you don’t have to be an MC/Merula shipper, but their dynamic is just too precious for words. Like Luca, I’m a total rescuer at heart, so how could I not want to rescue this lonely cat? In the beginning, the only thing I really had to say about Merula was “No, she’s clearly not a discount Draco, why does everyone keep saying that?” Cause like...it may have taken a while for her to be developed beyond just being a rival, but right from the start we knew her parents were in Azkaban. Basically the polar opposite of Draco’s privileged upbringing. Draco genuinely thought he was hot shit, Merula simply tried very hard to pretend that was true, but it was clear that she didn’t really believe it. By the time we got the first Christmas TLSQ and that incredible song-book scene (Be still my heart) I was a major fan. Then we had lines like Merula saying that she enjoys sparring with MC during the Celestial Ball and I just can’t even. I will never stop stanning the best witch at hogwarts.

(Beatrice) 

Luca: 

“You know how sometimes you’re aware that a person exists well before you know them, and you get this idea in your head of what they’re like? But then you meet them and they’re entirely different? Well, Beatrice is kind of like that but on a delay. I was expecting Tiny-Penny, and I was not wrong. But that’s kind of on me as well, and knowing how much people expect me to be just like Jacob...I can understand why that perception might be frustrating for her now. Look, I don’t care if she’s doing a whole goth style now. I don’t care if she wants to hang out with Ismelda...I mean, she’s basically harmless anyway. But Beatrice can’t start neglecting her makeup exams or putting herself in dangerous situations...I realize what a hypocrite I am for saying that, but I don’t especially care. Penny is family to me, and that means Beatrice is family to. And while I’m not planning to let the Vaults claim my life...I would die before I let something happen to her. Not that I don’t get where she’s coming from because I do, but she can work through her pain without putting herself in a position to deal with more. I don’t think either Beatrice or her sister realize what the other went through and I don’t know how to help both of them see it.”

Weasley-Adoptee:

Considering that there’s a very common tag on my blog that goes “Beatrice Haywood Defense Squad” I think you can safely guess where I fall on this character. I have a number of strong feelings about Bea’s struggle and how it reflects her character, other characters, and the Potterverse as a whole. I’ve already rambled quite a lot but you’ve got to understand - I will never find her annoying or blame her for the way she treats Penny and anyone else. She lost a year of her life to that Portrait World and we still don’t know what it was like for her because no one fucking asks. Sorry, that’s just....that still drives me crazy. But I honestly do like the deconstruction of not only how trauma can work, complete with loved ones who don’t get it and think the problem is just over after you’re physically safe...to the deconstruction of what people have been saying for years - the Potterverse adults are horridly incompetent. Sure, obviously we all love McGonagall and Flitwick but....D u m b l e d o r e ....sorry, this isn’t about him. I genuinely like how Beatrice reacts to all this and she absolutely does have a point. After losing a year of her life to the Vaults, why shouldn’t she be allowed to investigate? It’s not like children don’t do all the work in these stories anyway. She’s older than MC was when they started poking around. I totally understand why Penny is worried about her and she has every right to be...but she just doesn’t know how to get through to Beatrice right now. Otherwise, a lot of little things make me adore her - from her friendship with Ismelda which makes perfect sense, to her adorable crush on Jae, to her freaking awesome re-design (Seriously Jam City, we better get a second chance to get that outfit) to the fact that she’s apparently just as tall as MC.

Send a HPHM character to my ask box and get both my and my muse’s feelings on that character!

[mcubernthal]

Frank Castle NSFW Alphabet

You can find this on my AO3 along with all my other fics (link in bio), or search #raewroteit.

A = Aftercare Aftercare and post-coital cuddling are very important to Frank. To him, they’re a part of the sexual act; he would never neglect or ignore someone after sex, no matter the context. He’s touch starved, so he’s going to take every moment of that tired bliss and use it to be as close to his partner as humanly possible, making sure they’re comfortable and feeling okay physically and mentally.

B = Body part Frank has never really thought about the parts of himself that he likes. Everything about his body reminds him of how dangerous he can be -- his hands and arms and chest. He’s all boxy and brute strength. Maybe his thighs are okay. He likes the way they ache after leg day and the way his partner loves getting themself off by rutting against the strong muscle.

As for his partner, there’s not a single part of their body that Frank isn’t totally enamored with. The swoop of their neck is the perfect place to bite, leaving marks that they’ll try to hide in the morning to no avail; their jaw is sharp and always ready for the kisses that Frank never fails to pepper across it; their chest is Frank’s favorite pillow; their hips were made for him to hold on to; their legs are soft and what’s between them is even better. Frank is completely obsessed with his partner’s body and making sure they feel as beautiful as they are.

C = Cum Frank isn’t typically one to be very fascinated with cum, so he doesn’t have a particular preference. It would really be up to his partner. He wouldn’t have any qualms with cumming inside them or in their mouth, but if their partner wanted it somewhere less vanilla, like on their chest or ass, Frank might need some convincing. He’s usually a pretty clean person, so this might gross him out a little. It would take some getting used to, but if Frank knows that his partner enjoys something, it’ll excite him too. Their pleasure turns him on more than anything.

D = Dirty Secret Frank has always wanted to have outdoor sex with his partner, but he’s too nervous to ask. It seems so outlandish to him -- so nasty and simply not his style, but he can’t push the idea of fucking his partner against a tree out of his head. He loves the outdoors and he loves his partner. Having them both at the same time would be heaven to him.

E = Experience To be honest, Frank isn’t the most experienced when it comes to sex. He lost his virginity in high school to his only serious girlfriend. Then there was Maria. Then that one night with Beth. And now his current partner. Sure, he’s had sex plenty of times, and he knows what he likes, but he hasn’t been with many people, so first experiences are often awkward and trying. But once he gets to know his partner, what they like and how they fit together, everything would be smooth between them.

F = Favourite Position Contrary to popular belief, Frank is the Softest man in the world and also a Bottom. His favorite positions are whichever ones allow maximum skin on skin. He wants to hold hands, kiss lips, squeeze thighs, and caress hips. He loves to have his partner on top and in control of their own pleasure.

G = Goofy For the most part, Frank is serious. But with someone he loves, he allows himself to be more vulnerable and simply enjoy the moment. Sex can be awkward, and Frank has no problem with laughing it off and moving on. He likes when his partner throws out jokes spoken through moans. They laugh out of breath, they smile into kisses. It’s love. It’s safe for him to be himself here.

H = Hair He’s a military man. Frank keeps himself well groomed, trimmed but never shaved.

I = Intimacy There is no one on this earth who values intimacy more than Frank Castle. Sex is really important to him — he’s in it for love and his partner’s gratification, not his own selfishness. Sex is intimacy in his book. He wants every time to be something special because he wants his partner to be able to feel exactly how much he loves them.

J = Jack Off Frank is used to long periods of time away from his significant other, so he (as most are) is well versed in the art of self stimulation. He’s not a huge fan, though. For the most part, Frank only jerks himself off when he’s stressed or in need of release. Of course, there are nights when his significant other is on his mind and he’s in no position to see them any time soon. On those occasions, he’s got plenty of mental images (and maybe some physical ones, too) of his partner to get him through the night.

K = Kink Listen. That’s just not who he is. It’s been said before: Frank gets off on satisfying his partner. If there’s something that they like or really want to try, Frank would love to do it for them. Anything that would make his partner happy will make him happy.

L = Location He’s an old fashioned kind of guy. Nothing screams romance like Frank picking up his partner bridal style and getting them to the bedroom. He likes the couch and sometimes even the kitchen table when things are more light. It doesn’t really matter to Frank where he is as long as it’s somewhere comfortable for his partner and they can be in private.

M = Motivation His partner. The way they smile and the way they pout when they’re not getting what they want and the way they don’t put up with any of his bullshit. Once Frank falls in love, he falls hard. That man is someone brand new when he’s with someone who makes him happy. It’s not hard to get Frank excited. Anytime his significant other does something that tugs at his heartstrings (literally every twelve minutes), he can be ready for action.

N = NO Obviously, if it’s not something that his significant other wants, he’s not gonna touch it with a ten foot pole. But for himself, Frank isn’t a fan of painful punishments for his partner or degradation in any form. It feels too similar to the things he did when Agent Orange had his team torturing and killing innocents. He doesn’t ever want to bring violence home to his lover.

O = Oral Everyone likes getting sucked off, but Frank’s kink for his partner’s satisfaction makes him prefer giving head. The way their hips arch up off the bed and he has to hold them down to keep his angle right, the soft sounds they make just as they near their climax, the way they wrap their thighs around his head to keep him there (as if he was going anywhere). He loves everything about it.

P = Pace While Frank is never too rough with his lover, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t he doesn’t know how to pace himself. He’s an expert in the art of the deep stroke and will never cease to remind his partner of it. Maybe he’s more vanilla and less adventurous in the bedroom, but he’s got his partner memorized to a T and will do everything that they’ll love every time.

Q = Quickie Frank doesn’t always have a lot of time on his hands. Between his partner’s fairly normal life and his own rather turbulent one, he doesn’t always have the time or energy to take them to bed as often as he would like. So a nice quickie before his partner goes to work in the morning or in the shower before he goes out for the night is good for the soul.

R = Risk Experimentation is one thing, but risks are another. Frank would try lots of things (albeit hesitantly) if his partner was intrigued by the idea. Risks, though, aren’t for Frank — not here. He wouldn’t touch them in public or risk getting caught by their friends. The most obvious reason for that is his being a wanted criminal, but more than that, he respects the dignity of his partner too much for it. Also, he’s a jealous son of a bitch and would shoot someone in the face if they were looking at his partner in a way that is designated for his eyes only.

S = Stamina Let’s be honest — Frank has acquired a lot of injuries throughout his adult life. These as well as his age and basically constant state of exhaustion all play a part in his stamina not being the most spectacular. He can last an average amount of time, but his partner shouldn’t expect multiple rounds in one sitting. Two times in one day has happened, but it was hours apart.

T = Toy Frank isn’t a huge toy enthusiast during his sexual encounters with his lover, but he does encourage them to have toys of their own for when he’s not around. Frank knows that he’s gone more often than not, and he wants to make sure that his significant other is being taken care of no matter what.

U = Unfair Although it’s not very often, when Frank teases, it’s not in an unfair way, but a playful one. Even so, he learned how to delay orgasms when he realized how much Maria liked it, so it’s something he’s comfortable with and pretty good at. He doesn’t see that as teasing, though — that’s a different thing entirely.

V = Volume Frank is not a particularly loud person — he doesn’t moan, exactly, he talks. He may not know much, but one thing he’s sure of is that his voice is sexy. The occasional grunt and growl would be punctuated with phrases of encouragement and pleasure. (Take it. Just like that. Fuck, you’re so good. Take me so good. Don’t even deserve you. Fuck, I love you.)

W = Wild Card Frank Castle is a goddamn teddy bear. After sex, he’s wrapped like a koala around his lover. He’s heavy and his grip is tight and he’s emitting so much body heat, but his partner doesn’t have it in their heart to tell him to move. This is Frank at his most vulnerable. It’s when he’s in this position that he’ll talk about anything — Maria and the kids, his own childhood, war stories. Anything that’s on his mind. Anything that his partner asks about. He feels so safe here.

X = X-Ray Everything about Frank Castle is big. His dick is no exception. He’s about average length but thick. And he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning His sex drive isn’t too crazy — he’s getting older and he’s never been any kind of sex addict. But he can pretty much always find it in him to want it. Nine times out of ten, if his partner wants him, he feels the same way. If Frank’s at home all week, then they’re probably going three or four times.

Z = ZZZ There’s horror behind his eyes. Sleep never comes easy for Frank, and after sex is no exception. Exhausted as he may be, he finds it hard to rest. He’d rather hold his partner and talk with them until they fall asleep. Maybe he’ll be able to rest his eyes for a couple of hours.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

vi. Beauty and Her Beast

@bubblesthemonsterartist​ Re: “maybe it’s time for them to run off and elope” - I’m dying, this made me laugh so hard

@claudeng80 you took my metaphor of needle vs. blade and took it to another level, love love loved your analysis!

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Parallel scene: The Wandering Knight from the main arc of The Beast with the Beautiful Face.

Kiki might have spoken then.

Her acute awareness, coupled with nerves honed to detect the harbingers of danger, all warned her that her friends were teetering on a ledge, trembling a step from disaster.

Like the precious seconds that determine the outcome of a battle, or the destiny of a kingdom, the critical moment had arrived. 

As the whisper of a butterfly’s wings stirred the winds to change the tempest’s course, a word from Kiki might tip the balance towards a brighter future. She might speak into being a happy ending, something like what Zen would have wanted for them all. 

For a moment, she held the strings of fate.

Then she slipped.

...

It wasn’t unlike Kiki to pause and reassess when an unforeseen turn of events altered the circumstances. Her innate caution would not have been complete without the ability to reorient and redirect her energies when alerted to a new development.

When a third presence broke in on them, introducing an unpredictable factor into the delicate balance of danger and tragedy, it was only natural that she hesitated.

By delaying, postponing the moment of intervention, she might have secured herself the opportunity to recalibrate and reconsider how best to respond.

Instead she saw him--and forgot everything else.

 ...

The newcomer was both unexpected and inevitable, a long absent yet permanent presence, the other half of her whole: Mitsuhide.

... 

Like a rampart, he overshadowed them; like a drum, his voice resounded their names.

The war had left him unscathed in body. He could still hold a sword, stand straight, offer a deep bow of courtesy to his lady knight and the intended second princess.

From the outside, nothing ailed Mitsuhide.

On the inside, something fatal had taken hold.

...

If he stood like fortifications, they had crumbled; if he spoke like a drum, it was cracked. His face bore a ravaged weathering as if ten years had overtaken him in a day. His movements had slowed; the bow lacked its military crispness.

In his eyes, the light was extinguished.

From a warrior guided by an unfaltering purpose, Zen’s passing had reduced him to a vagabond, wandering in darkness.

He had lost his way.

...

The change in Mitsuhide was not hidden from Shirayuki. She had felt it from a distance: As surely as the warm browns of his uniform had deadened to bleak mourning, so a lifeless cold like frost or blight had crept over his demeanor.

She had wondered whether she knew him anymore, felt more alone at seeing him from afar than in the empty spaces where she stole away for a private surrender to her feelings.

Zen’s loyal knight and faithful companion, so gentle and unthreatening that one forgot his strength until it was needed--this comfort and bulwark had turned unapproachable.

...

Now he was here. He stood alongside Kiki, both of them near enough to touch.

The proximity tempted Shirayuki with the hope of a reprieve. Despite the changes in them both, there continued something solid in their closeness, something tangible in their presence, particularly when joined together.

Drawn once more by the illusion of a safe harbor, Shirayuki made the instinctive gesture peculiar to her: a reaching hand, grasping for something to anchor it.

...

Mitsuhide caught her extended fingers, trapping them gently against his palm. He transformed the spasmodic movement into a pleasantry: kissing the extreme tips of her fingers as he bent in another courtly half-bow.

It was the homage befitting a princess, bestowed in a manner worthy of a knight.

It was an estrangement between friends.

...

“Please forgive the interruption…” He chose each word with care, as if speaking cost him an effort. The words sounded wooden, the familiar, warm, friendly feeling hollowed out.

Shirayuki blinked at him.

Kiki glared. 

...

Mitsuhide had disappointed her deeply since Zen’s death. From the moment she had risen from her sickbed to seek him out, cries of mourning ringing in her ears, he had failed her expectations of him as a man, a warrior, and a friend.

It was not that she begrudged him his grief--she was not unfeeling or unreasonable.

She did resent his sufferings when they were self-imposed, however.

Silent companionship or a listening ear, unmeasured sympathy or impartial advice, distraction or commiseration--she had offered him all of these. There was not a knight in Clarines who had not thought of him, sought to solace him, or at least grieve alongside him. Even the first prince had paid him the honor of a personal commendation for his services to the crown.

He had turned aside from her, refused to hold counsel, neglected the first prince’s summons, shunned all company since returning to Wistal.

He was not confused and seeking direction; he was hurrying himself deeper into the wilderness.

She had lost patience with him.

...

Rather than face Kiki’s disapproval, Mitsuhide shrank.

She stood like a child beside him, but he hunched his shoulders and ducked his head until Kiki seemed to dwarf him.

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

...

Shirayuki looked blank. She sensed something was amiss, but she was slow to respond, slower still to accept another disappointment.

Her eyes shifted to Kiki, seeking guidance, but the emotion emanating from Kiki was so foreign to her that she could not account for it.

“The procession awaits you, Shirayuki,” Mitsuhide explained in a tone of apology. “Will you come?”

...

Shirayuki’s face tightened, threatening to crumple.

She didn’t want the reminder. She had done everything she could to avoid it, without ever admitting to her thoughts the clear conception of shirking her duties.

She knew Clarines required the utmost from its heads of state, allowing no reservation, eschewing no sacrifice. 

The Clarinese notion of duty deployed the royal family with mechanical precision, as a master craftsman selects a tool from his workbench and exercises it to the extreme of its limitations.

She had known the demanding nature of nobility, felt some of it second hand in her early friendship with Zen, grown in awareness the longer she lived in his land, experienced it herself the more their lives had come to intertwine. 

She had never imagined this: facing the abyss before a sea of onlookers, surrounded but isolated from her strength and support. 

When she had thought of serving Clarines alongside Zen, she had imagined submitting to any trial, any hardship, anything but this--this suffering in public, alone yet exposed, private grief displayed on a stage.

Once more the future beckons her, and this time she is tempted to turn back.

...

Then she rallies.

There is that something about Mitsuhide’s presence, altered as it is, that recalls her to times now past. She recognizes companionship and trust in the outlines of his summons, even if it has lost its substance.

After long and lonely days, she finds herself once more in the joint company of the two friends she has missed most while understanding the least. They had come back to her; they called to her.

She straightens her shoulders, lifting her chin. Once upon a time, she had begun life anew in a foreign land, turned aside all challengers, then bowed her head to the mantle of royalty when the man she loved asked it of her.

She isn’t that woman anymore.

But she remembers her.

“I will!” she declares. There is no doubting her.

[missmentelle]

In short term 12, Grace shows Jaden her self-harm scars and discloses her past with abuse and self-harm. Is that something that happens and is okay (to share that kind of history with these kids) or is it another example of a lack of personal boundaries?

It’s… complicated, but I would say that the scene in the movie crosses the line into “poor boundaries” territory. That doesn’t mean that conversations like that don’t happen in these settings, it’s that that specific scene was not necessarily the preferred way to deal with that situation.

For those of you who haven’t seen the movie [spoiler and content warnings in effect] there is a scene where a deeply troubled girl has been placed in a sort of “cool down” room after a meltdown, and she begins attempting to self-harm by digging her thumbnails into the flesh of her hand. Her counselor, Grace - who has been struggling to connect with the hostile girl since she arrived - sees this as an opportunity to finally find some common ground with the girl, pulls up the leg of her pants to show her own self-harm scars, and discloses her own history of abuse. 

Whenever a mental health worker tells a client personal information about themselves, we call it “self-disclosure”, and it’s not inherently a bad thing. Used properly, it can help you to establish trust and rapport with a client. When you work in mental health, clients will often assume that you can’t possibly understand where they are coming from, and that don’t have anything in common with them. This is especially true if you work with highly marginalized clients like the ones in the movie - they will often assume that your life is perfect and that you’ve never faced anything like the obstacles they have. Self-disclosing that you have had similar experiences can help you establish rapport and make the clients feel that you are talking to them as a peer who has been there, rather than a counselor talking down to them about things they’ve never experienced. 

When it comes to self-harm, sometimes it can be better for a counselor who has visible scars to address that head-on, rather than trying to dodge the issue; many people who work in mental health have visible scars, and it can be an important opportunity to normalize having these scars and show that recovery is possible for people who have them. One of the best counselors I have ever known has a very obvious row of scars on his arm, and when kids asked him about it, he was honest about how he got them and what that recovery process was like for him, rather than trying to brush off the question. I certainly don’t think it’s inappropriate for mental health workers to have visible scars, or to answer honestly when asked how they got them. 

When it comes to self-disclosure in general, though, there are a couple of big possible pitfalls, some of which Grace stumbles into in the movie. Self-disclosing to a client is always a risk, because:

It could make you look like an asshole. If you tell your counselor that you’re suicidal because your long-term partner just left you for the person they were cheating with and you think you lost the love of your life, and they respond with “yeah, I know how you feel, sometimes I feel like my husband doesn’t care about me because he never remembers to buy my favourite type of ice cream”, that’s not going to make you feel more connected to the counselor. It’s going to make you feel like the counselor is a self-centered asshole who isn’t taking you seriously and doesn’t understand what you’re going through at all. Self-disclosing when you don’t actually have any experiences that are similar to a client’s just makes you seem clueless and out-of-touch, especially if you have had a much more privileged upbringing than the client. New counselors make this mistake a lot. As someone from a relatively privileged upbringing, your parents’ divorce might genuinely be the worst thing that ever happened to you; trying to use it to connect with a kid who has been in neglectful and abusive foster care homes since age 2, however, just makes you sound like a rich jerk whining about having to have two Christmases. 

It could be used against you. Counselors don’t always know their clients as well as they think they do. Sometimes, disclosing immensely personal information can be a mistake, because the client may share that information with other people, or try to use it as leverage against you. If you disclosed to a client that you were also a victim of sexual assault, they may cruelly throw that information in your face the next time they are upset with you, or they may share that information with your other clients without your consent. I currently work in a residential facility; anything that is told to one client usually spreads throughout the entire building, and staff are well aware that it’s only safe to disclose information that they are comfortable with every single client knowing. Even very casual information like “Oh, sorry I’m late, the 6 train was delayed today” can be dangerous - if you have a client who hates you (or likes you way, way too much), that’s information that they can use to track you down outside of work. 

It can create an inappropriately personal relationship with the client. A counselor can have an amazing and close relationship with a client, but it’s important to remember that it’s still a client-counselor relationship. You are not friends, and in the case of teenage clients, you are not parent and child. If you’re going to be able to confide your darkest and most embarrassing secrets to a counselor and trust the advice they give you, there has to be a little bit of professional distance there. Otherwise, it’s impossible for the counselor to be impartial. A therapy session is a safe space for you to work through serious trauma and dysfunction, and learn healthier coping skills; it should not feel like a casual gossip session with your bestie. Therapists can definitely have a relaxed, fun, casual persona, but if the two of you are spending half your time together analyzing each other’s Tinder matches and swapping stories about drunk things you did in college, that’s a sign that professional boundaries are starting to break down. Counselors who over-disclose can cause their clients to start believing that the relationship is a genuine friendship, which sets the client up for shock and pain the first time the counselor tries to enforce boundaries. This is especially true of abused teens like the girl in the movie; they are often desperate for intimacy, and very quick to try to form inappropriately close or dependent relationships with their counselors.

It can make the counseling session all about you. Think about the last time you were having a mental health crisis - a panic attack, anxiety attack, depression wave, PTSD flashback, etc. In that moment, were you in a good place to listen to someone else’s darkest, most horrible experiences? Probably not. Self-disclosing your trauma or mental health issues - especially ones that are still ongoing - puts the client in a position where they suddenly have to comfort YOU, instead of the other way around. That’s not something that most people are prepared to take on when they are in the middle of a breakdown, and it can both damage the relationship between client and counselor, and leave the client feeling even more stressed-out than they were before. Many people who have experienced trauma need to be in a good headspace with advance notice to prepare themselves before they engage with potentially traumatic content - that’s why many people appreciate the inclusion of content warnings on media. For those people, having your mental health worker throw their own trauma in your lap when they are struggling to cope with their own is the stuff of nightmares. 

That last one is the main error that Grace made in the movie, and it’s the biggest reason why I think this particular scene crossed boundaries. For one thing, she chose a pretty risky moment to have that kind of disclosure - not only was the girl in a bad place, she was actively self-harming. That girl was not in a place where she could even process her own emotions, and asking her to suddenly process someone else’s severe trauma - trauma that closely resembled her own - is too much. Perhaps when the girl was a little calmer, finding out that her counselor had been through similar experiences might have been helpful, but in the moment, it’s hard to see how that kind of disclosure would do anything but make the girl panic about the fact that she lives in a world rife with child abuse and self-harm. The description that Grace gives of the abuse she endured is quite explicit and quite graphic, and that girl already had enough horribly damaging images in her head at the time - it probably was not a good thing for Grace to add more. If anything, since Grace’s self-harm scars are much more prominent and numerous than the girl’s, the message that comes across is “I went through much worse than you did, why are you whining?”, even if that is not her intent. 

Secondly, I think that Grace crossed the line because she was sharing abuse that she herself had neither worked through or resolved. The reason my counselor friend with the scars was helpful when he self-disclosed was because he was able to share a story of recovery - he would gloss over the bad things in his life that happened to cause the self-harm, and focused the narrative on the fact that he had successfully gotten help and that this kind of pain was no longer a part of his life. The message he was sending was “you can get better, and it’s possible to get to a place where you don’t feel the urge to do this anymore”. The trauma Grace is sharing, on the other hand, is unresolved. It is still very much affecting her life, and that is clear when she discusses it with the girl. Instead of presenting a message of hope or understanding, the narrative she inadvertently creates is “yeah, all this stuff is probably going to suck forever and you’re still going to be in pain as an adult”. It also really puts the teen in that counselling role - it’s clear that Grace is still very much in pain from her childhood experiences, and most people’s instinct would be to try to comfort her, which is the opposite of what should be happening here. 

I do think that there are strong benefits to self-disclosure in mental health, but I don’t necessarily love how it was done here. This is reinforced by the fact that Grace later goes way too far in trying to personally take revenge on the girl’s father, something that points to some seriously blurry boundaries between the two women. In real life, that kind of breach of boundaries could get you fired and permanently barred from the profession, if not actually criminally charged if someone found out about it. A counselor who crosses boundaries like this is ultimately doing a disservice to their clients, and there are better ways to handle these kinds of situations.