#there were no women between my great great grandmother and my mom because my great grandfather and my grandpa

[youremyonlyhope]

I just realized there is a very very real chance that if I ever get pregnant it'll be twins...

Yep. Solidifying I'm not having any kids.

[jujusjunk]

Have you ever been to Palestine ? and if so what was your favorite place that you visited there ?

I personally have never been inside Palestine but i have been at the border between Palestine and Jordan once for a protest like 2 years ago something like that. It was the last protest i went to near that border because IOF soldiers stood on the other side with rifles and after i left in about half an hour we heard that a bunch of people were shot. I remember we protesting because they shot up a school in the westbank and killed 13 kids. We were also rekindling a protest from a few years back where a judge was shot through the Jordanian-Palestinian border.

On the other hand, my grandfather from my dads side lived the first few years of his life in Palestine and he would tell us stories all the time and show us whatever picture he brought with him. My family was the owner of 2 Orange farms and quite a few acres of Olive trees. My grandfather showed me pictures of our house before it was stolen by the Jews. It was a literal mansion with 4 floors. My grandfather had ALOT of siblings and they lived in that house. He told me the first floor was for the guests, there was a kitchen, living room and a few bedrooms and of course an overly fancy Salon (if you’re arab yknow about the guest Salon no-one ever goes into and the little coffee cups we use once a year). On the second floor was the girls floor. All of mt grandfathers sisters had their rooms on this floor and they would bring all of their close friends over to sit in this floor. The 3rd one was the boys floor where my grandfathers and his brothers stayed. I remember he told me when my great grandfather (his dad) would take him out in the middle of the night after my grandfather had a fight with his mom. Hed take him to the backyard and talk to him about how a woman should be treated and he needs to treat women especially his mother and sisters right. Thats why my grandfather has always been a gentleman. Finally the last floor was for my great grandfather and my great grandmother and after a certain age the kids weren’t allowed on this floor unless it was an emergency. (This is in Nablus btw)

My other grandfather was born in lebanon (hes younger than my dads father) his father lived his whole life in palestine and he also owned an orange farm and i think if im not wrong he built quite a few school in Yafa (where he lived). I havent heard much about him because hes a sensitive topic for my grandfather but all i know is when my great grandmother would talk about him shed tear up and start praying for us to marry a man as kind as him. She told us how he would come home from work with bags filled with money and the first thing he would do is hug his children and take then to the supermarket. (These are my grandfathers older siblings) when israhell took over palestine, the kicked my great grandfather and grandmother out if the house, burned his orange farm and took his house. The house still exists and is currently inhabited by Jews and i really really want to visit it. I really hope i can live in those houses one day.

[luvly-writer]

“You are my sunshine”

Part 40: This love of ours

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Jason Todd x Latina! Reader

Social media Au

Status: Finished

Warnings: writing between pictures!

Author’s Note: AND A THIRD ONE!?!?!? We on a roll todayyyyyy!!!!! ENJOY!

Taglist: @lorosette @nanas-teatime @izukuisbaby @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @graywrites5567 @addictedtothefictionalworld @halleest @randobeetlehouse @prettyacademia00 @tamimemo @jasontodd-artemisgrace4life @mxtokko

Series Masterlist:

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a beach day was precisely what Jason and you needed after all the excitement of last week.

your trip had been going amazing and it was your last week here before going back to Gotham.

The first week you had spent it touring the island. Sometimes your mom would join you both, but it was mainly Jason and you. You wanted to show him all of the places you loved from your home. From beaches to plazas to San Juan and so forth, you showed everything you could to him and he adored it. Absolutely loved it. From the food, to the people, yo the music, Jason was at awe of your island. Spanish was rolling of his tongue easily and well let’s just say it was very hard to keep your hands off each other. The first week was amazing

The second, Jason met the rest of your family and boy did they love him. It is no secret that Jason is a sight for sore eyes. 6 foot tall, body that look like it was hand sculpted by Michelangelo himself to resemble a greek god, black hair with the white streak, dashing teal captivating eyes, straight white teeth, and now sporting a tan that made his skin glow, the Caribbean looked great on Jason. It’s no secret why sometimes you would wake up a little too late for things with you body a little too sore (wink wink). And because of that, the women in your family went wild. The second you brought this tank of a man home, you older cousins were left with their jaws dropped and your tias were already whispering with excitement. You had this one tia who was constantly competing with your mom for reasons you learned not to question long ago, who would constantly compare your achievements with one of your cousins, Sabrina, who was your same age to see who could one you the other and because of that your mother was busting with smugness. Her architect daughter who was a Wayne scholarship student and is a self made woman just brought home a man, that was not just attractive but the son of Bruce Wayne himself. You had warned Jason of this and seeing it himself, he was throughly amused. Oh his ego was through the ROOF. Your younger cousins were looking at him in awe, the girls with a small blush and the boys with admiration. Your tips were already smirking to themselves, thinking of which stories to share of their precious niece in order to welcome the new man into the family. And your grandmother, bless her heart, she clapped in happiness and rushed ti hug you both. “Ay mi niiiiiiña, desde cuando no te veo! Ay lo mucho q te e extrañado” she says as she hugs you tightly and you swear your heart fills with so much joy it will burst. She then turns to look at Jason and brings him for a tight hug and gushes over him, making him red in the face. “Ay pero que muchacho tan guapo! Dios te bendiga, espero q tengas hambre q hay mucho para comer” she said and Jason responded bashfuly, “Bendicion, dama, muchas gracias por recibirme en su casa”. Hearing the perfect spanish roll of him, big part of your family let out a sigh in relief. You smile at the exchange and once your abuelita leaves, you introduced him to the rest of your family. They adored him. The smaller kids would take turns on his shoulders, wanting to feel tall, the teens were all asking him questions. They boys thought he was the coolest thing to ever exist and the girls couldn’t stop telling you hot he was, making you laugh. Overall, it was such a nice night. At some point, you were too busy with everyone else, that you hadn’t notice Jason take you grandma and your mom outside for a sec.

You mom and your grandmother both stared up at him as he cleared his throat. “(your moms name) um (your grandmas name), las saque un momento por que quería pedirles su bendición para casarme con Yn, i know you have all been through so much and i admire your resilience, love, determination and strength, because of that, siento que son las personas indicadas para pedirles esto” he said and your mom brought her hands to her face, tears wanting to go down. You grandmother sniffed and took his hands smiling she said, “i never thought i’d live to see the day my darling granddaughter got married, thank you for making her so happy, tienes mi bendición”. With that she brought him to a hug, whipped her tears and left, leaving Jason alone with your mom.

Your mom smiled and whipped her tears, “Bueno, you are a good boy Jason, Yn has told me about everything, the whole fighting thing included” at that Jason opened his eyes but your mother shushed him before he could interrupt ,”don’t worry, cariño, confía que your secret is safe with me, plus im her mother coño, she can’t keep anything away from me. You are a good man, Jason. Sometimes we have to do immoral things to keep the one we love safe and that doesn’t make us bad. You and your family protect the city and the world i assume correct?” Jason nods and your mother continues, “then all i ask as i give you this blessing is to protect my little girl with the same passion and determination you put into your job. Esa niña es mi mundo, I got her out of the darkness, please keep her out.” She squeezes Jason’s hand and pulls him for a hug, Jason whispers in her ear, “I will protect her with everything that i have in this world, until my dying breath” and you mom pulls back whiles her tears and laughs. “Well, why don’t we go back to the party, i’m sure we will have even more reasons to celebrate soon” she says with a wink and both laugh. They walk back to the party where the celebrations continued.

After that party, everytime Jason and you were together, your mother and grandmother would send knowing excited looks to each other, waiting for you to make the announcement. The week carried on, with Jason and you enjoying time with your family. You went to the beach even more, visited el Junque, and went on road trips around the island. Your family adored him

Finally the third week arrived, and you both decided to stay the first two days in the hotel, it was at walking distance to a beach so you both had decided that on the second day you would go and have a picnic at the beach.

You had taken pictures, gotten in the water, laid down and read a book together, kissed, cuddled, ordered a pizza, the day couldn’t get any better.

You were busy trying to take pictures of the beach to send to the group chat you had with Nola, Barbara, Cass, and Steph, with your back to Jason.

“you know, some day, we should bring the whole Wayne Family here, they would love it! I mean now that you know my family, they will want to meet yours, and I just know Juan Pablo will want to show Damian all of the animals en la finca! Omg they would get along so well Jason! Although i would be a bit weary with Dick and his flirtatious tendencies with the girls, oh Lord they would be insoportable. What do you think?” you say as you start to laugh but stop quickly when you hear silence. “Jay” you say and turn around to find Jason standing there nervously, eyes watery, “oh my..baby qué pasó?” you say and Jason clears his throat.

“Yn, um you know, you flipped my life upside down the minute you came to it. I never thought I deserved good things. A poor kid from crime ally, who had the luck of getting adopted by a billionaire only to be killed a few years later by a maniac clown, and once I was resuscitated, i believed I deserved nothing. I believed that love was a myth, that love was a lie and that that lie would never ever deceive me. I have fought, I have killed, I have wronged and hurt people, and frankly, there were times I didn’t think i was a good man. Yes, my family has helped a lot, and i recognize their love for me, but you my dear, you were a breathe of fresh air in a world where i had been drowning for a long time. You were that light in the darkness, the calm in the storm. You are my sunshine in the midst of the darkness. You showed me i’m allowed to have good things and be loved. You helped with mending the bonds that had been broken with my family, you helped mend the heart that was broken by life, you helped bring life to the shell of a man i found myself being sometimes.” Jason sniffed, tears running down his face. You could feel your very own tears going down your cheeks, one of your hands was on you chest, above your heart, feeling the accelerated thumps of your heartbeat, and the other was covering your opened mouth. “Baby, mi niña bonita, mi princesa, mi sol, mi luna, mis estrellas, mi mundo, mi universo, you have bewitched me, body, soul, mind and heart, and I love you. I feel as if i’ve loved you from the moment we first talked and i wouldn’t be surprised if I did.” with that Jason got down to one knee, making you gasp and let out more tears, “Yn, will you do me the biggest honor and make me the happiest man alive in this whole fucking galaxy, and marry me?” You couldn’t form words and just smiled and nodded as more tears left your eyes. Jason stands up, picks you up, and kisses you, holding you as if you were going to disappear from his arms. He slips the ring to you finger and you laugh, “YES YES YES A MILLION TIMES YES!” you scream as you look at him in the eyes, happiness radiating of you both. “Te amo, Jason Peter Todd Wayne! Con todo mi ser!” you tell him and he nuzzles his nose to yours and responds, “y yo te amo a ti, Yn Ln soon to be Miss Yn Todd Wayne”. It turns out that this day could get better.

You laugh and quickly call your mom by facetime. Once she answers, you show her your ring and she screams of joy, showing your Aunt and grandmother, who both cheer. You laugh and thank them on their congratulations. Once you hang up, you take pictures and post it. Oh the batfam was going to flip! They had been leaving hints of you both getting married for the longest time and it seems their wishes were met.

Jason laughs as you both pick up your stuff and return to your room. You both shower and change for the fancy dinner being hosted by the hotel and laugh at the comments his siblings and Nola were leaving. That night, TRUST that both of you were left quite satisfied and fulfilled with your after engagement celebrations once you got to your room ;) ;)

<3

[totowlff]

extra — anger leaves a great void

➝ as a polish writer would say, “anger always leaves behind a great void, into which a flood of sadness immediately pours and flows like a great river, without beginning or end”.

➝ word count: 2,1k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author notes: happy holidays!

NOVEMBER, 2016

— Babcia, are you busy this Friday? Around seven?

— I don’t think so, Bene — Joanna asked, walking over to the wall calendar hanging in her kitchen. Her grandson called her just as she was finishing her dinner. She tucked her phone between her neck and her shoulder while she flipped the page over from October to November. It was about time, anyway. There was nothing scribbled in for Friday, the fourth. How was it November already? Where had the year gone? — It looks like I’m free. Why do you ask?

— Well, dad and Elisabeth are having a birthday dinner for me, because they’re both in Mexico right now. Dad didn’t want us to go out like we usually do because those reporters are still hanging around.

Joanna sighed. She hadn’t seen her son since the day after she’d had dinner with him and his girlfriend. She’d said some things to her that she had since come to regret. She was just trying to protect her son from having his heart broken, really. When he showed up with a girlfriend that she didn’t remember him ever having mentioned dating, she told the poor woman some very unkind things. 

Toto had come to Joanna’s apartment the next day and gave her an earful. She initially stood by what she said, but when Toto said he didn’t want to hear from her until he cooled off enough to talk to her again. She started thinking about it, ruminating on it, remembering the way that the anger crept up the back of her neck in little pinpricks as she spoke to the poor woman — Elisabeth was her name, Elisabeth Lauda. 

In retrospect, It made her feel awful. She knew next to nothing about the woman before writing her off wholesale, thinking she was just another in a long line of pretty, shallow women who were after the money and notoriety that being with her son would give them. It wasn’t as if he’d grown up wealthy. Far from it — his wealth was self-made, but that just meant that he didn’t grow up being able to judge the kind of intentions people had when forming relationships with him. 

That’s what Joanna thought. 

But Elisabeth didn’t need his money, or his notoriety. She had a successful career of her own, in addition to being the daughter of a national hero in Austria. She spent more time trying to avoid the spotlight than seeking it out, as it turned out.

What felt worse, though, was not hearing from her son in months, and knowing she deserved his silence. She had to find out about his comings and goings secondhand through her other child, Lili, or worse — through the tabloids. His relationship with Elisabeth had gone public, and according to Lili, it had not been easy on either of them. 

Every time Joanna looked at her phone, she had to fight the urge to call Toto, to see how he was doing, to apologize, to offer her support — after all, it seemed like Elisabeth was definitely serious about him. But, she learned her lesson, and respected Toto’s wishes. She would wait.

— I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Bene. I’d be happy to take you out for a birthday dinner this week if you’d like, just the two of…

— But — Benedict sounded equally hopeful and disappointed — I really wanted to do something with the entire family since we can’t go out together like usual. My mom is coming, too. Even Aunt Lili and Uncle Gerard are going to be there. Please, Babcia?

Joanna stared at the blank November 4th square on her calendar. She may not have always been the best mother to her children — she can admit that, now, but she always tried her damndest to make sure she was a good grandmother to her three grandchildren. It wouldn’t make up for her shortcomings as a mother, but she couldn’t change the past. Her relationship with her grandchildren was something she had control over.

— Okay. Yes. 7pm, correct? At your dad’s apartment?

The days between then and Friday flew by, in Joanna’s view. Time usually went faster before something one is nervous about, she found, and she certainly was nervous about Benedict’s party.

She wasn’t a woman who typically got nervous about things. She’d been through a lot of misfortune in the course of her lifetime — as such, it took a lot to rattle her, so she was surprised by how hesitant she felt about Benedict’s birthday party as she went about her week. She kept seeing Elisabeth’s face, kept hearing the ugly words she’d said to her, creeping in from the corners of her mind. She kept rehearsing the things she’d say to the woman, kept trying to figure out how she’d even begin to face her and apologize. 

Friday came. She got ready far too early. She’d already wrapped, unwrapped, and re-wrapped Benedict’s present, a Lego Technic set that, when assembled, would make a 48cm long model of a Porsche 911 GT3 RS. Lego sets had long been Joanna’s birthday gift of choice for Benedict, and thankfully, he hadn’t lost interest in them yet. The previous year’s Technic 24 Hours of LeMans car model was a hit.

Joanna’s anxiety was at a fever pitch when she pressed the button for Toto’s apartment. By the time she got to his door, she had almost turned around three times. 

“Where is the boldness I had when I had when I decided to talk to her like I did?”, she thought, when she finally was able to bring herself to press the button for the buzzer for Toto’s penthouse.

She waited for what felt like an eternity until the door buzzed and clicked, indicating that it was unlocked. Going up the elevator to the penthouse felt like yet another eternity. “Maybe this is what hell is like,” she thought. 

Toto answered the door a moment later.

— Mom… Hi — he said, like he didn’t believe that she would be standing in his doorway — Come in, come in.

Joanna walked in while Toto was telling her that dinner was almost ready. Her  eyes couldn’t help but lock onto Elisabeth’s as she was standing at the stove, looking at the contents of the pans over it, which made Joanna feel terrible near-immediately. Given the last conversation she’d had with Elisabeth, it probably made Joanna seem threatening. 

She followed her son into the living room. Lili and Gerard were there, along with Eloise, Joanna’s other granddaughter. 

— Babcia’s here! — Benedict called out, as all of her grandchildren ran up to Joanna to hug her. 

— Just a second — Joanna said. She handed over the gift that she’d wrapped for Benedict — Happy birthday, moj serce.

— Thank you, Babcia — the boy said, wrapping his grandmother into a hug. She wondered when he’d managed to get so tall, almost as tall as she was. “If he keeps growing like this, he’s going to be as tall as his father is,” she thought. 

Her memory flashed back to when Toto was still young, and how much Benedict looked like him. She shook her head as she sat on the sofa, sneaking a glance to the kitchen, where Elisabeth was talking to Toto. Toto had his hand settled onto the base of Elisabeth’s spine. 

“They do look nice together”, Joanna thought. She glanced around the penthouse for a few moments — it looked way different than the last time she’d been in here. It used to look like a serviced apartment, like it was used for long-term corporate housing, not like anyone actually lived there full-time. Or, even part-time, as was Toto’s situation since he’d taken over at Mercedes and bought a house in the UK. 

But now, there was color and life in the place — there were framed photos on the fireplace mantle, a vase full of fresh flowers on the coffee table, something that looked like Rosi had made in art class, books that looked like someone had actually read them, and a cheerful, colorful throw blanket hanging over the back of the sofa that Joanna was sitting on. It looked like a happy home instead of a cold temporary apartment. 

There was one photograph on the mantle that drew Joanna’s eye in particular — it was front-and-center, after all, as if it was meant to draw the eye. It was her son, next to Elisabeth. They were both drenched in champagne and had wide smiles on their faces. Her son was in the middle, looking so fondly at the dark-haired woman next to him, holding an enormous silver-toned trophy. Something about the way Toto was looking at her stung Joanna, but it wasn’t anger she’d felt. 

It was shame. 

Deeper shame than she felt the morning Toto surprised her with a trip to her apartment, and surprised her even more by shouting at her for how she’d acted. 

She defended herself, telling herself that she was acting in Toto’s best interests, and in the best interests of her grandchildren, trying to spare them the pain of having all of their hearts broken at their family torn apart again, but now, Joanna felt it so acutely. She thought she was trying to do what was best for her son, but she didn’t actually know what was, in fact, the best for him.

It didn't take long for Elisabeth to call everyone to the table, which was beautifully set with plates, cups and glasses, as well as a large platter of spaghetti alla bolognese. With a smile on her face, she insisted on serving Benedict, stating that the birthday boy deserved special treatment. Afterwards, she sat next to Toto, whispering something to him before serving the plate with some pasta.

Everyone ate quietly, praising Elisabeth's skills in the kitchen. She tried to downplay the merits, claiming that the recipe was Toto's, not hers, and that he had been a big contributor to dinner that night.

— Until I cut my finger, right, Liesl? — he chuckled, showing the bandage on his thumb.

— Why am I not surprised by this? — Stephanie said, making everyone at the table laugh. Toto's lack of skill in the kitchen was legendary, but even that Elisabeth had been able to work around. She made him bloom.

At the end of the meal, she got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a cake in her hands, decorated with white buttercream and topped with a few candles. Placing him in front of Benedict, she asked Toto to get the box of matches, while Rosi turned off the room lights. Then, with everything ready, the family sang happy birthday to the boy, who blew out the candles and smiled. In a corner, Elisabeth was smiling, taking pictures of Ben, who was surrounded by his sister and father.

“She really likes them”, Joanna thought, as she popped a last bite of the chocolate cake with Oreo cream into her mouth, completely lost in her thoughts as Elisabeth cleared away the dessert plates.

After handing her the plate with a smile, Joanna looked around the apartment. Lili, her daughter, was chatting happily with Stephanie, Toto’s ex-wife. Gerard and Toto were talking about something in rapid French. All of her grandchildren were playing happily together. Her family wasn’t torn apart, they were all here, celebrating Benedict’s birthday with all of the joy appropriate for the occasion, except for…

Joanna looked toward the kitchen, where Elisabeth was bent over the dishwasher, trying to figure out how to fit the pots and pans in. It was clear that she was the one who threw together such a nice dinner for Benedict — Toto was good at planning and good at detail, but not the kind you would need to host dinner parties. She’d done a wonderful job, and Joanna knew that it was because of Elisabeth that her family was all here, and gathered together. 

Almost without thinking, she rose from her spot on the couch and crept quietly toward the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise that would startle Elisabeth from being so focused on her task. 

— I think we’re going to have to buy a new dishwasher if we’re going to have dinner parties like this more often, my love — she said.

Joanna smiled a little. She must have heard her walking over and was expecting it to be Toto.

— Is there a problem, my love? — she said, as she stood up and locked eyes with Joanna. She startled a bit, not having expected her. 

Joanna swallowed before she responded, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.

— Well, I’m not Toto, but, I do believe I have a problem. Actually, we have a problem — she struggled to keep her voice even, void of emotion — Can we talk?

[amltdaily]

Before last weekend, I had no idea that Gary Mendez’s death and my mom’s had anything to do with each other.

(This is a TV story, I promise. Just stick with me.)

Last week, I had the honor of moderating some panels at ATX TV Festival in Austin, Texas. I love moderating, funneling a ton of preparation and research into what — if I do my job right — becomes a fun and illuminating conversation. One of my panels was titled “TV Screens for Cancer,” and it was sponsored by Hollywood, Health & Society. Despite what might at first glance seem like very grim subject matter, I was really looking forward to the opportunity to ask a bunch of TV writers about the cancer storylines they’d crafted over the years.  

I had a personal reason for wanting in on the discussion, too. My mother, Susan Roots, died in May 2021 from Stage IV breast cancer.

The fact of that sentence, by the way, is still as surreal to me as it was the week she passed. I don’t have much memory of when, in a fog of grief and distracted by funeral arrangements, I contacted ABC publicity to let them know I couldn’t make a prearranged phone interview with A Million Little Things creator/showrunner DJ Nash. I’d covered the show since its start; I vaguely recall being grateful, given the tight timelines related to broadcast finales, that our Season 3 finale call was moved to a time more convenient for me.

The conversation I eventually had with Nash, though, stands out in clear detail in my brain. I sat at my parents’ white kitchen table, wearing a shirt of my mother’s because I hadn’t brought enough clothes with me when I rushed home. I was about to launch into my questions when he gently interrupted.

“Tell me a story about your mom,” he said.

If you’ve had the experience of witnessing a loved one in the terminal phase of an illness, you know how tough it can be to think of any time when your shared lives didn’t revolve around the soul-grinding details, and how hard it is to think about anything else once the person has passed. When to administer morphine. Which hospice nurse is coming today. Which setting on the hospital bed brings the least discomfort. Nash’s kind, simple request delivered me from that for a moment.

I told him about a car ride I’d had as a kid with my mom, her mom and her aunt. The horn malfunctioned while we were on the highway, honking randomly, loudly and with abandon at the unsuspecting drivers all around us. My mom, grandmother and great aunt couldn’t stop laughing. My mom gasped for breath, wiping at her streaming eyes as she tried to hold it together so we didn’t run off the road. I cackled too, partly because the horn really was ridiculous, partly out of the novelty of seeing these three women lose themselves in such unhinged fashion.

Nash listened. He chuckled. When I was done, we went on with the interview as planned. I’ve been lucky to have a lot of great conversations with people who make TV over the years, but that one stands out — even more so now, for reasons I’ll get to in a minute.

For those unfamiliar with A Million Little Things, it was an hour-long drama that ran on ABC for five seasons. It followed a group of friends in Boston. At the end of the series, one of the friends — Gary Mendez (played by James Roday Rodriguez), whose experience as a breast cancer survivor was an integral part of the show — died of lung cancer.

As A Million Little Things’ boss and the arbiter of Gary’s fate, Nash was a great fit for the ATX panel last weekend. He was joined by fellow TV writers Erica Green Swafford (New Amsterdam), Adam Weissman (The Good Doctor) and Stephen Hootstein (Chicago Med), all of whom generously engaged with my questions about how to balance realistic portrayals of cancer and making good TV.

Remember how I said I like to be super-prepared for panels? Nash knocked all of that askew when, in front of the audience, he revealed something he hadn’t shared before.

“There’s a moment in the finale that was put in for you,” he said, referring to our conversation years before. “When Walter says to Rome, ‘Tell me a story about Gary.’”

ATX (which is owned by TVLine’s parent company, PMC) filmed the event, so you can see my surprise in the video at the top of this post. I was touched. I was flummoxed. I turned an even deeper shade of red than I normally do while public speaking. Reporters are taught to cover news, not make themselves the center of it. So while I was (and am!) flattered by Nash’s gesture, it was a little unsettling suddenly to find myself on the other side of things.

Most of all, though, I felt a deep gratitude that my mom’s existence was, in an indirect yet careful way, immortalized in a medium she adored.

When the panel was over, after making Nash swear to me yet again that he was telling the truth about the origin of Walter’s line, I confessed that I’d since stolen his story thing and used it when I didn’t know what to say to someone who was grieving. I recommend it.

So there you go: A brief moment of human connection in an industry that traffics in transactional conversations left us both with something meaningful. And somewhere, my primetime-drama-loving mom is absolutely overjoyed that she’s now a part — however far removed — of TV lore.

[b-lessings]

Tw: short mention of abuse

Tunisia's celebrating Tunisian women's day today and everyone on social media is posting about their moms and honoring their moms - which is beautiful to see - and for the first time of my life I am thinking of my paternal grandmother, or as they put it in Turkish - which I find so beautiful - " babaannem". I love how they call the maternal grandma " anneanne " which translates to mother-mother and the paternal one "babaanne", which translates to father-mother. Anyways, I am deviating from my point as usual. Babaannem benim 🥹🤍 Her name was Khadijah, but as in every Tunisian family they used go by " Douja" and I know very little of her, she passed a way several years before I came to life, same as my mother's mom, I never knew either of them. But my mother always talks about her mom, she would show me pictures, she would say I looked a lot like her when I was a baby, and she would tell me funny stories about her all the time, that later on when I became older and understood life better I came to understand that she is one important link in the generational trauma we carry in this family lol, and with all due respect granma, no offense but you didn't do such a great job, or any, in raising the woman that gave life to me - side note my mom was raised more by her widowed auntie - but anywaaaaaays that's besides the point! So my mom wouldn't tell me much about babaannem, and she would always transmit to me the feeling that she didn't like her - even though she was her uncle's wife so like family and whatnot - she gave me the feeling that babaannem sorta mistreated her or at least treated her differently from her own daughters, and the narrative that was going around is that she was a harsh woman. However, there is only like 2 or 3 pics to her that I have seen my whole life and very little stories. But I know baba adored his mom, and alhamdullillah he was "بار بها". And again, now that I am older, more self-aware and I can understand life and womanhood better, I am in awe of how strong babaannem must have been and everything she went through! An orphan who apparently grew up poor, got married off very young to a man she didn't love - no offense granpa I know it's not your fault, It was the culture in the 1920s - and she was apparently mistreated, abused in her own home, in her own bed, but she had to live, for her babies, and Allahuma barik she had seven I think so that's at least seven times she lied under her husband against her will, a husband that I also understood he was absent a lot, and she had to fend for her kids, it was times of war, there was the active French colonialism then, and WWII going on, imagine the amount of horror and agony she was going through.. I am so sorry I never got to meet her, she literally existed a whole century ago, that's crazy, I can't wrap my head around it, but I think she died in the 80s because my siblings got to live with her when they were kids.. , I wish she somehow knew about my existence, her youngest grandchild, born to her youngest and favorite son, sitting here cross-legged in her maiden bed on this random summer night and actually " seeing " her, her strength, her patience, her resilience, her pain, her power, her wisdom, her anxieties.. oh God... Now I understand where baba's anxiety, and therefore my anxiety comes from! Sübhanallah.. And she raised such close children, so caring and affectionate for each other and for her, despite the age gaps between them, so that can only prove that she nurtured them with love and affection 🥹 my heart is exploding with feelings for her right now! Ya Allah, encompass her with your mercy, expand her grave for her and make it a rawdha from Jannah, ameen 🤍

I love you Babaannem, Happy Tunisian women's day my queen! I am proud to be your granddaughter, I only hope I walk on your footsteps in motherhood one day and learn from you resilience. I pray we meet in Jannah in shaa Allah 🤍.

[zyrafowe-sny]

Thanks for the tag, @grey-automa!

EDIT: I think @violet-prism-creatively also tagged me in this a very long time ago (had to do some digging in my Tumblr notifications).

were you named/named yourself after anyone?

My middle name is my maternal grandmother's first name. All of her children (my uncle included) had her first name as their middle name, and a good chunk of her grandkids do too.

when was the last time you cried?

A few months back when I was visiting a place I knew I wouldn't return to again in a while - I was a combination of extremely overheated, hormonal, frustrated with people with me, nostalgic, and overcome by the passage of time. I don't think I cry all that often, but enough happened to stack at once that it came out as tears.

do you have kids?

I have roommates who are significantly shorter and younger than me.

do you use sarcasm a lot?

Never ever

what's the first thing you notice about people?

This feels like a question Spencer Tracy asked Katharine Hepburn in Desk Set.

Uhh... rough relative height/age? whether they are trying to actively engage with me or are just going about their day?

what's your eye colour?

dark brown

any special talents?

I can read non-technical English with solid comprehension faster than most people I've encountered (back in high school, I could read the same short story twice in the time we were given in class to read it once, and I always need to wait for my partner to catch up when we're reading the same thing).

scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings, I guess? Not a big fan of scary movies.

where were you born?

about an hour from where my parents lived because they were paranoid and wanted a bigger hospital (my mom was considered old for a first-time mom at *gasp* 30 and they had trouble getting pregnant)

what are your hobbies?

I got back into writing fanfic after a long hiatus (thanks to Thanks to Them). I also sing in a community choir. There was a stretch when I was a little more outdoorsy (though never hardcore), but that's scaled back substantially.

have any pets?

Don't feel up for the responsibility right now. Maybe someday - my living situation is more pet friendly than it used to be - but I'm already drowning in home stuff and don't think a pet would help.

I did have a dog as a kid, but he passed away fairly young when I was in middle school.

what sport do you play/have you played?

I did marching band all through high school, if that counts. I like to ski but it's expensive and a 3-5 hour drive in reasonable weather. I don't ice skate nearly as much as I probably could/should (not sure where my skates are). My partner and I took some sea kayaking lessons once upon a time and I'd like to try that again, but it's not cheap and would be hard to fit in our schedules.

how tall are you?

5'7"

favourite subject at school?

That all depends so much on the teacher and exact class. I really enjoyed my high school physics/AP Physics teacher and even considered a major in physics/astro along with a social science major (am a hopeless generalist), but really didn't like my professors or classmates in college. (I have any regrets that I didn't push through because I like the notion of more women in STEM, but oh well.)

My favorite class as an undergrad was probably anthro of food - it had interesting readings and I got to interview people for a research paper (probably my favorite college assignment).

In grad school, I took a great class on human rights that's colored how I see many policy issues.

dream job?

I wish I knew.

I like: being useful, asking questions, figuring out answers to questions/analyzing things, figuring out how to best communicate answers to things, switching between more quantitative and qualitative work, being able to be just the right amount of stimulated between the work itself and/or any background media, being able to body double (I do well with cubicles/shared offices and less well when I'm in a room by myself), working more on deliverables than project/people management and presenting, and getting several-hour blocks when I'm allowed to just focus and only be interrupted by the most urgent fires.

I might have burned out badly in a past job when also going through some other personal stuff.

I'll be job hunting for the first time in a while probably inside the next year, and am dreading it.

no pressure tagging: @abstract-moth @thegrimshapeofyoursmile @enigma-the-mysterious/@sir-ballister-boldheart @childlikegoblinqueen @sercezgazety

And of course anyone else who wants to.

I turned off reblogs because some of this information approaches personally identifying, but feel free to copy-paste the questions into your own post!

[hestiasroom]

the ballerinafarm instagram page is so fascinating to me specifically because of the way white christian women idolize it.

it makes it so very clear that perfect womanhood in their eyes is first and foremost WHITE, thin, blonde-hair and blue eyes, heterosexual & married, as many children as possible, and deeply religious. she will only ever be seen doing domestic tasks, at home, or if she leaves home, it's to do beauty pageants.

and you should see the men in her comment sections. they make it clear there is only one way to be, and it's her way. other women are clearly marked out as less than.

i want to make clear that i have zero issues with how hannah, the woman running the page, is choosing to live her life. she seems happy and if she likes it, i love it for her.

but to the audience, man oh man. they idolize this very narrow construct of womanhood, trash any woman who deviates even a little bit from it, and then wonder why women have become so alienated from it.

i'm fascinated by the way they love her brand of motherhood in particular. both of my great grandmothers had between 10-12 children each. they worked on farms because that's all they had known. like many african americans they were sharecroppers and subsistence farmers in the rural deep south. would their womanhood be as idolized and idealized as hannah's? would their children be seen as just as beautiful and worthy? would the white christian women fawning over hannah be just as proud to have a woman like my ancestors represent American womanhood? methinks not, and i think it's one of the reasons women like me in particular are so ambivalent about motherhood. i know my (theoretical) motherhood simply isn't as valued as they claim - that privilege belongs to white moms alone. it's hard to buy the lie when you've seen the truth of things up close and personal for years. "be fruitful and multiply" really only applies to making tons of perfect white babies.

[appareils-futiles]

My job as a mom is to love you unconditionally. Not to judge, deceive, hurt, sway or hate. You are your own being, with your own heart, soul, mind, dreams, hopes and ideas. Yes, you will need discipline and lessons, we all do. I still do. And that's okay.

My job is to make sure that you're prepared as best you can be for when the day comes you fly out of the nest.

To be happy, healthy, educated and responsible. To be able to care for yourself. Its not me, running your life or having you live your life for me. Or me vicariously through you. Its all you..

My grandmother was an improvement on my great grandmother, my mother on my grandmother and me on my mother. The mitochondrial DNA is strong, its permanent. You are a better version of us, the further this DNA goes, the better it becomes. You are an improvement of the blueprints that made me, I am the manifestation of what my mother didn't accomplish, as she was her mother's etc.

You are mine. But you do not belong to me. You belong to the universe, for you are made of stars.

You are the new hope.

With each generation of women, We breathe not just a new life, but a new hope, a new being, a new vision, a better design.

The tears we cry in each generation, water the dirt the next will grow from and bloom out of the murky waters of life and hardships that you, my dear will grow out of to emerge into your own womanhood.

I am your mother, but also your living ancestor. I hold the home within me that carried you all those months, that watched you go from microscopic to fully formed. I have these arms that will hold you when you need them, scared, happy and every emotion in between. I have these legs that will climb up the steepest mountains and down the darkest paths, I have this voice that for you my daughter, will boom so loud, it will bring those mountains to their knees. these brown eyes with a tint of gold so rare it cannot be true to see you become everything your heart desires. A smile that beams brighter than the full moon for a new life, for at some point, you were the only other person that could feel the sync of my heart beat along with yours.

So to you. I offer the universe, because my sweet girl. It is indeed, yours for the taking.

~LeniiNero

[tamerahardy]

Family Trauma, Self Consciousness and Child Molestation

We all have traumatic things that happen to us, sometimes we forgive and forget, sometimes we bury and carry it with us subconsciously. When I look back at my life as a child I had a GREAT childhood during the times we all lived with my grandmother before my mom moved out at 30. My grandmother on my mom’s side is an influential figure in my life, she taught and guided me when my mom was not around and she watched and looked out for us all.

I’m not really sure how close of a relationship my mom and grandma had or how my mom came up but I do know my grandmother watched us all when she didn’t even have to until my mom got back on her feet. It’s just like that with the women in my family. Spiteful…but they look out for you.

When we moved to our first house in Riverdale I was 5 years old, very young with not a care in the world. I loved my family very much and I enjoyed life. I remember the family trips to Disney/Florida, I remember the holidays and getting all the presents I wanted. I remember my aunty coming over to visit and my mom’s coworkers.

We lived a good life from my POV. My mom had it all, she was killing it at work, she had a lot of friends, we went on family trips everything was PERFECT until it wasn’t anymore. I remember one random day just playing video games with my brother, that was our thing we played games together and we were downstairs in my brother room on the computer. My cousin was there too and I was sitting on his lap. I randomly felt his hand go in my pants and he touched me.

I wasn’t really sure what he was doing or why…I didn’t even know it was wrong, but now at my age I understand and it is very traumatizing for me. I wish I could get this memory out of my head for good but this is why I’m talking now. I recall watching a movie called “creepers” about little boys getting locked up and raped in jail and even yearssss later after the incident after seeing that I understood that maybe what my cousin did was wrong and I told my mother one random night.

I am not really sure what or how my mother processed that she never showed me her emotions. I rarely even saw her cry but when I told her she kinda looped it in with me just being scared and hurt from the movie, but I do believe she talked to my cousin and my aunt because afterwards my cousin avoided me whenever we visited her. It was very awkward…I know what happened but I don’t think anyone believed me. Either way I said my peace about it but I have to kill that demon that still haunts me.

As I grew older my relationship with my mother went downhill. She was drinking heavily and we had moved quite a bit. I would go deep into her story but this isn’t about her. This is my story. We had already moved from our first house in riverdale. We would move back in forth from Decatur and Riverdale, that way if mom fell on hard times my grandma would take us. It had gotten to a point where me, my brothers and mom were in a one bedroom apt with my grandmother.

Over the years it was quite rough for me. My mom viewed me as a “slut” by the way I dressed and how I would be boy crazy. Our relationship wasn’t close anymore, but me and my grandma were. Me and my grandmother became very close as I got older. My mom wasn’t around much I’m assuming because she wanted a life and the pressure led her back to alcohol and going out with friends.

Between moving around all the time, and living with my grandmother, being poor for so long, being bullied, growing up in this world as a girl I began to disconnect from my family..mind you I have 3 brothers and me being the only girl it was not a cake walk. My brothers bullied and picked on me called me fat and all types of mean things. I experienced similar treatment in elementary school by 3rd - 5th grade. I became really self conscious about myself, I would steal my brothers XXL shirts to come my body up because I hated my thighs. I hated my body, and because I was a tomboy boys called me musty.

My first crush EVER this boy named Courtney, he stayed in my neighborhood and was in my graduating class. He dressed real fly and he was so cute to me. He had just moved to neighborhood actually and baby called dibs even with my tomboy reputation. I mean making friends in the neigh was easy like I said this was my moms first home she threw all the house parties, was crushing it at work, family trips, she was dating and drinking etc this was the highlight of her life, so initially we had the hottest house on the block I’m not lying everybody from all over would come over and stop by or they would come get me and we head out to play and that’s initially when I saw Courtney outside of school. He stayed down the block and we would play at his house sometimes. He knew i had a crush on him but because of my reputation and how carried myself why would he go for a girl like me? We never dated or did anything but I did enjoy being in his company whenever I went out, whenever I rode my bike past his house I would get IMMENSE butterflies. Sometimes I didn’t even want to ride pass I would be so scared. Courtney had an older brother he was fine to he was actually nicer to me than Courtney was. In most cases when I like someone I never say anything to them, I just get really nervous, communicating my feelings was very hard for me. Even if I felt a way about somebody I would write a lot. I would write about the boys I like. I recall writing a love letter to one of Courtney’s friends his name was Tyran Walker lol. I remember him specifically because he was one of the boys that picked on me and called me musty. Me one day just testing the waters I wrote a note to Tyran it included some spicy words like “aroused” and even though it was for jokes it made him uncomfortable. So uncomfortable he reported it and I was called to the guidance counselor office and she asked me about it she even made me read the definition of “aroused” out loud…it made me a bit uncomfortable too but at least I was aware then. Anywho I am not sure why but life went on I had a crush on Courtney, but nothing happened, I made friends and did curious kid shit, got myself into tons of trouble.

My mom would take me to get my hair done with her but initially I was very rough and liked running and playing outside earning that “Tom boy” title fr. There were times I would be musty in class and boys would make fun of me real bad. It was times where the pretty and popular girls in my class would get check out early together (because they were friends and their parents were friends) like some weird pretty popular girl cult and boys would get mad because it was only girls like me left in the class. The musty tomboy and the other geeky girls they didn’t like. I remember 5th year the graduation ceremony we were suppose to partner up and walk down the stairs to the stage with someone it was boy and girl not sure why maybe it was a sick joke played by the teachers but yea I was partnered up with a boy and during the graduation ceremony he didn’t even want to hold my hand it was so embarrassing because my mom was there and he was being mean. In elementary school I wasn’t popular at all and the boy I liked was not interested in me (it seems to be a pattern of this) I was not anyone’s top pick, I was picked on for being musty

and that’s when it began…..

[taiblogcomics]

All Movements End

Hey there, sentient weapons. Well, it's time to finish The Movement. All our movement has been spent. We will stop moving and become still. And other such jokes!

Here's the cover:

A neat poster-like look, showing our main cast. Weirdly, Burden's front-and-center, perhaps to signify his new acceptance of himself. But really, it should be Virtue in the middle. I also like seeing Vengeance Moth included, she's no less a team member just because she's a wheelchair user. Background's a little disappointing on this one, but I suppose that can be forgiven. It's a little weird to have "The Team Triumphant?" as a question for the last issue. That doesn't quite fill you with confidence~

So we open at the back of Jose's Taco Heaven, where Virtue is taking her 15-minute break. Captain Meers approaches her, having tracked her down with the info he dug up. He's surprisingly not here to arrest her, which she appreciates. Instead, he just wants to hear her whole story. Why the Movement? She says he'll laugh, but she basically wanted to just be the Justice League. She wanted to show people that compassion is not weakness, and all that. But the gods on Mt Olympus don't notice those down in the 'Tweens. And honestly, I don't remember the Justice League's roster changing during the whole New 52~

Meers tells her the world isn't her responsibility, and she disagrees. Her mother would disagree, anyway. She was six when she developed her emotion-reading powers, which turn out to be hereditary for the women in her family. A great-grandmother had such powers, tried to help poeple with 'em, and was burned as a witch for her troubles. And similarly, Virtue's powers were too strong for her, and she started having seizures. Her mom got scared, and said "You're moving with your auntie in Bel-Air Detroit." And on top of that, also told her pa that Virtue was dead.

So then we rewind back a day ago, where there's a small scene where James Cannon visits his wife's grave, then goes to visit a particular cop, who has agreed to his terms. Meanwhile, the Movement are helping Mouse try to lay off Tremor. It's gotten to the point that his refusal to stop hitting on her is annoying, so they're introducing him to someone else: Margaret, who works at the local pet shop and loves rats. She's even brought a wheel of stinky cheese as a gift. Mouse apologises to Tremor. He's in love with a girl named Margaret, you see. A bit adorable, all told~

Before they can get to work on Burden's relationships next, they're suddenly alerted by intruders in the tunnels. James Cannon has come a-calling, and there's a quick altercation between his female minions and the Movement before he tells everyone to knock it off. He confesses to the whole thing: his son is the Cornea Killer. And he wants their help to stop him before he lives up to his name and kills again. It cuts back to Virtue and Meers, revealing that these "24 hours ago" flashbacks are a story she's telling him.

So yeah, the Movement ends up believing him, on grounds that parents will do terrible things because they love their kids. As evidence, Virtue brings up the time she was ten and fancied a girl (which seems a bit young to be fancying anyone, in my experience) and her dad disagreed with the whole idea. She didn't know how to control her powers yet, and the red light of rage put dear old dad in the hospital. And that's when Mum tells Pa that she died in the altercation and sent her away. So yes, parents can do wonderful and terrible things.

Anyways, it's those very same powers that convince Virtue that Cannon is on the level. The Cornea Killer, Terry Cannon, meets his dad in the graveyard where their mom/wife (respectively) is buried. Terry doesn't like being reminded about it, and James simply wonders "Am I gonna have an 'accident' too someday, son?" Terry says of course not, pulling his dad into a hug, as the Movement show up. They tell him to come quietly, but he shoves his dad out of the way and prepares to attack. Virtue smirks. That's what she hoped he'd say, and they dive in.

See, they agreed not because they trust Cannon, exactly, but because they know he's desperate. Their big mistake, though, is forgetting how kill-happy the Cornea Killer is. I mean, it's right in the name! Mouse gets pretty badly stabbed, and even trails off like a death rattle, telling Burden to tell Margaret he liked her cheese. Burden hulks out into Big Red Devil mode in response. And that's when the other shoe drops: Cannon gets on the radio to that cop he mentioned. It's that asshole, Whitt, and he's got a snpier rifle.

Burden takes a big shot to the chest, causing him to drop Terry in the process. Katharsis likewise takes a glancing blow to the temple, and that's when they realise they're under fire. Terry calls his thunderstorm, and declares all lives are his. Virtue grabs Cannon, trying to get him to reveal that he called the Movement, and is thus as guilty. Whitt aims at Virtue, and Terry sees him and attempts to intercept him. Alas for him, Whitt's next shot goes right through Terry's brain, ending the conflict and the Cornea Killer in general.

Vengeance Moth uses her powers to grab Whitt, while Cannon sobs over his son. Virtue is able to get the full read of his emotions: he did want his son taken out, but he wanted a hero's death for him in the process. Credit him with taking out Coral City's "terrorists": the Movement. That's where the story ends, and in the present she asks again if Meers is here to arrest her. For what, getting shot at? Which is, in fact, his reply. Instead he invites her for a milkshake after her shift is over, and she's still hesitant. So he tells her a story himself.

Her father was running a bank. You remember? He didn't have a choice in shooting him, a weapon was raised against him. There was no way he could know that the gun wasn't loaded. Just a big tragedy all around, unlike the Cornea Killer's thing. The two have a heartfelt moment, with Virtue explaining why she was so crabby with Meers when they first met. After all, her father never got over her "death", and then he died for real, while Meers got a promotion. Meers confesses that he hardly sees his own daughter, so maybe he could look in on Virtue from time to time? And she agrees, and they hug.

They part, and he tells her that there's still no way that they're ever going to fit in with the Justice League. She knows this, but replies that sooner or later, people like the Justice League will realise they will have to fit in with the Movement. And we get one last shot of our team walking away from the graveyard, which is the best indicator we have that Mouse didn't die. Which is nice, because I like these characters. And the issue closes with an apology that there's no next issue, but a thank you for following The Movement.

So yeah! The Movement! It was pretty good, I think. Touched on some real world topics that are still relevant today. And as a bonus, I just want to mention how all the covers in this series were also great. Like, I don’t think there’s a dud cover in the bunch. Just a good comic to read, and a lot more relatable than its sister comic, The Green Team. It even got to finish all its plots and flesh out its characters, which is very nice.

Next time, a short little something to tie in to the current season, and a return to a long-time staple of this blog--sort of. You’ll see~

[jackrogersfrost]

Mother

Summary: When you're the girlfriend of the Guardian of Fun, both of you enjoy the time you spend together without knowing that someone so special knows about him and your relationship.

Pairing: Jack Frost (ROTG)x fem!reader.

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: If it's any gramatical mistake, my bad, i'm still learning. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Being the girlfriend of the winter spirit has many advantages as well as disadvantages, the biggest disadvantage and advantage it has,is that only you can see him; it's bad because you would want him to be visible to others, and good because then no girl would try to take him away from you, it sounds selfish but it was the truth.

Another advantage is that there is no other like Jack, he can be childish, sarcastic, tender, funny and very kinky. But that's how you loved him even if sometimes you have to hide some marks he leaves on your neck so as not to alert your mother.

Like every night at dinner, you would go down to the dining room and have dinner with your mother, while Jack was next to you sitting on another chair or standing on this one listening to the pleasant conversation you two were having. And today was no exception, your mother was talking about how she was doing at work while you were having dinner, Jack on the other hand was balancing on the back of the chair with his feet on it.

"I'd really like to quit my job sometimes, if it weren't for the fact that that's what we live on." Your mother said while eating the rest of the dinner on her plate.

"Don't worry mom, I'll be on vacation soon and I'll be able to help you in the bakery." You said softly to her.

The family business, a great bakery that according to all the small town where they lived, was the best bread you ever tasted. Business that started with your grandmother, continued with your mother and in the future would continue with you.

"I hope so darling, I could use some help." She smiled slightly and stared at you for a few moments, you didn't notice until you turned to look at her when you didn't hear another word.

"Is something wrong mom?" You ask a little bit confused by her looking.

"No, nothing, darling, don't worry." She stood up, smiling and taking her finished plate she walked to the dishwasher to leave it there and start washing it. You didn't trust his words too much but you kept eating your dinner.

"You know, you shouldn't leave such visible hickey marks on her, Jack."

You coughed a little, choking on your food in surprise at your mother's comment, as did Jack who fell out of his chair onto the floor even more surprised than you, while your mother cleaned the dishes with a quiet smile.

"Wh-what did you say?" You stammered, looking at her with a nervous expression.

"What, did you think I was never going to find out?" She said calmly, you and Jack looked at each other again not knowing what to say.

"Y-you can see me?" He said still in disbelief, receiving the older women's laughter in response.

"Oh honey, I know your story very well..."

"How did you know he was here?" You asked still in full shock.

"It wasn't very difficult, seeing frost in your room, hearing you say his name in your sleep and seeing that you love to go out in the snow, I didn't have to think much about it."

You were somewhere between blushing, surprised and scared.

"How long have you been able to see me?" Jack said.

"And why didn't you say anything?"

"Since you froze my kitchen, I still haven't forgotten about it, and I didn't say anything because I wanted to see how happy they were like that."

She smiled maternally at them, putting the dishes aside.

"So... Aren't you going to formally introduce me to your boyfriend?"

They both looked flushed and decided to approach her with embarrassment.

"Mom, this is Jack Frost, my boyfriend." You said a little shy.

"It's a pleasure, ma'am, I can't tell you how happy I am about this." He smiled sincerely and she did the same tenderly.

"Please, call me "Mom"." She said softly.

Jack was surprised but nodded with a smile, your mother gave him a hug that left him equally or worse surprised but he didn't hesitate to answer, while you watched everything with a smile.

It may not be visible to others, but at least the person most important to you sees it and that's more than enough.

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Tongue Tied (M)

Genre: SMUT, fluff, crack, demon au (sort of), idol verse, established relationship au, pwp with a side of minor relationship angst

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count:12k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex, orgasm denial, masturbation, squirting, sex toys, dirty talk, degradation, bladder desperation and brainwashing

A/N: So… this is porn. Apologies to everyone, especially Park Jimin. Blame my anons who goaded me into it. Love you all! Stay hydrated.

Jimin's tongue trails a warm circle around your erect nipple.

"Stop teasing," you groan, threading your fingers through his dark hair and tugging him closer to you.

Jimin obliges, spreading his tongue across the perky bud, sucking it into his mouth, massaging with his lips. Flames of arousal rush through you. His fingers move from your hip to your lower folds, dipping into you, checking how wet you are. He releases your breast and smirks, holding up his fingers to show you the translucent strings stretching between them. "So eager.”

He laves kisses across your throat. His tongue alternates between firm and soft, sucking just to the point of pain, then soothing it away. He moves downward, sliding you up the bed as he works his way toward your swollen center. Every place his tongue touches burns with desire.

Your core throbs as he draws closer and closer to it. Despite dating for six months, Jimin has never gone down on you. The place you most want his talented tongue is the one place it has never been. In the beginning of your relationship, you had assumed oral sex was something he had accidentally overlooked. But now it was starting to seem deliberate.

Jimin sucks a hard kiss onto your hip as he slips his finger back between your folds, spreading your arousal up to your clitoris. He draws a slow circle around the sensitive nub, laughing softly against your belly when you moan out loud.

The closer he gets, the more your desperation builds. You tighten your fingers in his hair to coax him farther down. He pushes your folds apart with his hand, bringing his face in close to inspect your swollen cunt, chuckling as it clenches. Your clit pulses as you wait for him to bring his mouth to it.

But then he's pulling away from you, sitting back on his heels. "I'm going to fuck you now.” He holds you open with one hand and strokes his dick with the other. You bite your lip to hide your disappointment and nod.

There's nothing disappointing about Jimin's dick though. He knows how to use it well. It's not until you're both sweaty, sated and lying in each other's arms that you remember your earlier disappointment.

"Jimin?" You trail a finger over his chest. "Can I ask you a question?"

He gives a soft murmur of assent as he presses a contented kiss to your forehead. His hand strokes lazily up and down your arm.

"Why do you never go down on me?"

His hand stops moving.

You press on. "I blow you all the time, but you never go down on me."

"I don't know.” He shifts underneath you, his eyes not meeting your gaze. "Just like other stuff better."

"Well, sure," you reply, kissing his chest. It had never been your favorite activity either, always making you a bit self-conscious. But it was quickly becoming the thing you most wanted, simply because he wouldn't let you have it. "But it's always fun to try new things."

He continues to duck your gaze as he unwraps his arm from you and scoots away from you over to his side of the bed.

Maybe he was insecure about this particular activity?  You slide in next to him and kiss his shoulder. "I bet you'd be really good at it.”

He shifts away from you again, frowning as you continue to chase him across the bed. "I just don't like it, okay?"

Your mouth falls open in shock. It’s such an un-Jimin-like reaction. He's always so generous with everything in your relationship.

"Why?" Did he have some terrible previous experience he didn't want to discuss? What kind of traumatic cunnilingus backstory would leave him this turned off?

"I don't know." He rolls over so his back is to you. "Can't you drop it?"

"No, I'm not going to drop it!" You sit up and nudge his shoulder. "Are you saying you'll never do it?"

He turns back over to face you, licking his lips. "Would you break up with me if I was?"

"What?"

"How big of a deal is it?"

"I don't know." It never occurred to you that you might face a relationship ultimatum over oral sex. You’re madly in love with Jimin. He’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. Surely that matters more than how much time he spends between your legs.  

"Is there something wrong with me?" you ask. Did you taste bad? Smell funky?

“No!" Jimin's eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, no, it’s just...” He sits up, sighing as he leans back against the headboard. "I was waiting to tell you this until we'd been together a bit longer." He runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts.  

What secret has your boyfriend been keeping from you all this time? Does he have some weird STD that is only spread through oral? Is he allergic to vagina?

"My tongue is cursed." He rubs the back of his neck, sighing as if relieved of some terrible burden.

You laugh out loud. Of all the explanations you had concocted, none were as ludicrous as this.

"Don't laugh." Jimin frowns, kicking the bed.

"Your tongue is cursed?" It's impossible to not laugh when you say it out loud. "Like by a witch?"

"No, not by a witch, don't be absurd." He squirms and pulls his knees up to his chest. "I'm part demon."

You snort in laughter again. But Jimin looks so hurt by the sound that you bite your tongue.

"My great-grandfather on my father's side was a demon,” Jimin elaborates, staring down at his hands.

“Wait, are you serious?” You arch an eyebrow, afraid of appearing to actually believe him just for him to tease you.

Jimin groans in frustration, twisting the bedsheets in his hands. "I didn't believe my mom when she told me either. But it's true. My grandmother swore it was true."

"Let me get this straight." You sit up a bit straighter, eyeing him skeptically. "The reason you won't go down on me is that you are one-eighth demon, and your tongue is cursed."

He bites his lip and nods.

"Jimin, that's ridiculous."

His shoulders slump as he curls in on himself. You're still waiting for the "gotcha!" you think is coming, but he looks sad and embarrassed.

"Fine," you sigh, willing to hear him out. "What kind of demon?"

He picks his head up and licks his lips. "An incubus."

"Your great-grandfather devoured the souls of women through sex?"

Jimin shifts back and forth, rubbing his hands up and down his legs. "Grandma said he was very handsome."

Your boyfriend is very handsome too. But that doesn't mean he's part demon.

"He didn't hurt anyone." Jimin tries to defend his clearly fictional demon great-grandfather. "He just, you know, hooked up with a lot of women."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. "So which parts of you are demon then?"

"Just my tongue."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious! Look!" He sticks his tongue out as far as it will go. It's very long, reaching all the way to his chin. And it's pointy. But it seems to be a perfectly normal tongue.

"It doesn't look cursed to me."

"It's so long though," he mumbles, having difficulty pronouncing the words with his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

"Yeah, but not like supernaturally long." You argue, leaning in closer to inspect the potentially cursed muscle. He wiggles it back and forth as if that will convince you there's something unusual about it. "What does that even mean, a cursed tongue?"

Jimin draws in a deep breath, as if about to reveal a deep, dark secret.

"Any girl that I get off with my tongue…“ He pauses for dramatic effect, narrowing his eyes, “can never come again."

His proclamation hangs in the air of your bedroom, as he waits for you to gasp in shock. You raise an eyebrow instead. "Ever?"

"Except!" He holds up a finger. "On my tongue."

You can't hold back the laughter this time. "So is there some horde of perpetually horny women out there, dying to experience your tongue again?"

He shakes his head and chews on his lower lip. "I've never done it with anyone before." He begins twisting the bedsheets in his hands again. "I didn't want to risk it being true. My mom was really serious when she explained it."

"That's an awkward conversation to have with your mother."

Jimin finally laughs. "Yes, yes it was."

His change in demeanor brings you some relief. But it can't be true. There's no such thing as demons.

"You sure you're not making up excuses to not reciprocate?"

"I'm not making it up!" Jimin smacks the bed in emphasis. "I'm dying to go down on you!"

"You are?" Your earlier arousal knocks between your legs again.

"Yes!" He pushes his hair off his forehead. "Every time I get down there, all I want to do is suck on your needy little clit." Your core clenches and you squirm on the bed next to him. He eyes you up and down and smirks. "To make you fall apart with my tongue." He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in close enough to whisper in your ear. "To be surrounded by you as you come on my face."

"Would it be so bad if we tried it?" you ask, squeezing your thighs together to cope with the tension building between them.

"You'd want that?" His eyes widen and he licks his lips in excitement. "Even if the curse is real?"

"Yes, I'd want that." He's so excited that you don't have the heart to tell him that there's no way the curse is real.

Jimin giggles with delight, gathering your hands into his. "You know I love you right?" He kisses each of your hands. "I love you so much."

"I love you too Jimin," you reply and he pulls you in for a long kiss. His reaction would make you think he'd asked you to marry him.

"We can't do it tonight though," he mutters, frowning. “I’m leaving tomorrow."

Shit. The boys are leaving for their world tour tomorrow. A fact that has slipped your mind in the whole your-boyfriend-might-be-a-demon discussion.

"What better way to say goodbye?" You whisper, leaning in and planting light kisses up and down his neck. You're not going to let some weird family legend stand in the way of your boyfriend getting you off one more time before he disappears for a month.

"You sure?" Jimin raises an eyebrow. "A month is a long time to go."

"I think I'll survive." You've dealt with Jimin's absences before. You don’t like them, but you can’t admit to him how much they bother you. And curses aren't real.

Jimin's whole attitude changes, a dangerous glimmer in his eye. "Yeah?" He kisses your neck as his hand sneaks down between your legs. You're still sensitive and wet and you flinch when he slips his fingers into you, your arms breaking out in goosebumps. "Is this where you want my tongue?" he teases as his index finger brushes against your clitoris.

"Jimin, please," you whine. He pulls his hand back, but you slide your hips forward, chasing after him. You've been waiting for months and all he wants to do is tease.  

"So needy..." The smirk on his lips and predatory gleam in his eyes have you almost believing he is a demon. "It's like you want to give me all your orgasms."

"Curses aren't real," you gasp as he sucks a long kiss into your neck.

"Maybe you don't care if it's real." He trails kisses downward. "Maybe you want me to claim all your pleasure for myself." It's embarrassing the way more arousal drips from you at the idea. "Maybe you want to be alone and desperate, unable to satisfy yourself without me."

It's probably your mind playing tricks on you, but his mouth feels hotter than usual. It burns everywhere he touches you. He pauses his trail downward to suck on your nipple and you arch your back to press into him further.

"I like that idea," he says, releasing your breast and continuing his burning trail downwards. "That no other man will ever be able to satisfy you." He slips his fingers back inside you and you moan. "No toy, no dick, not even your own fingers will be able to bring you relief." His tongue inches downward, interrupted by lingering kisses. Your core is so swollen with arousal, the ache inside you so desperate. He smiles as he curls two fingers upward, so slowly that your thighs begin to tremble. "Every single one of your orgasms will belong to me."

"Please, Jimin." You're going to lose your mind if he keeps teasing like this. You roll your hips against his hand, trying to get his fingers in deeper.

"Is that what you want?" he asks. His mouth is so close you can feel his warm breath on your sensitive swollen skin. "Do you want to give me all your orgasms?"

He looks so serious when he asks, it almost makes you believe. But curses and demons aren't real. It's just a game. A game you’re both enjoying.

"Yes," you whisper. "I want you to have them all, Jimin."

"Good girl." He closes his eyes and exhales, then finally - finally - brings his mouth to your clitoris.

The surge of heat on the swollen bud almost has you coming the moment he takes it into his mouth.

"Holy shit," you groan, rocking your hips upward.

"Easy..." Jimin soothes, placing a firm hand on your hips to hold you down. "I'll take care of you." Then he buries himself between your legs.

His tongue alternates hard and soft as it strokes your clit. Any reservations he had about this have disappeared with the way he relishes you. He slides his fingers inside you and pairs each stroke of his tongue with internal pressure from his fingers. You pulse with arousal inside and out. You wind your fingers through his soft hair and he groans a deep satisfied rumble.

"Please, please," you beg, tugging him against you as you get closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it." He pulls off one last time to catch his breath. "Let me have it." His thumb rolls slowly over your clit as he watches you from between your thighs. "Come for me. Be mine."

He dives back in, the pace of his fingers curling inside you matching the figure-eights his tongue weaves over your clitoris. Heat radiates from his tongue, burning and tingling, so pleasurable it's almost painful. Warmth spreads through you, flowing into you and flooding up your spine and down to your toes. You tug harder on his hair. The groan he releases sends vibrations throughout your core, pushing you over the edge.

"Fuck, Jimin, I'm coming," you gasp. Your muscles clench around his fingers and your hips rock against his face as waves of pleasure cascade through you. It lasts for an eternity as he keeps stroking you, perfectly in time to the rhythms inside you. He keeps at it until you finally whine and squirm away, everything becoming too much.

"That's my girl." He smiles as he places a soft kiss on your inner thigh and chuckles when your skin trembles in response.

Minutes pass as you recover your breath. Jimin's head is still between your legs, trailing soft kisses up and down your inner thigh. It tickles and you try to squirm away, but his grip on your hips is too tight.

"Jimin," you whine, wiggling beneath him.

He ignores you, trailing his wet fingers up and down your leg.

"You know," he says, resting his chin on your thigh. "If the curse is real..."

"The curse is not real, Jimin.”

"If the curse is real,” he talks over you, pinching your inner thigh and making you jump, “then that was your last orgasm for a month." He looks so pleased with himself, dark eyes full of mischief. Your skin tingles under his hungry gaze and you begin to heat up again. "Seems a shame to leave it at that."

"Jimin," you sigh. "I'm not sure I have another one in me tonight."

"Oh, come on." He dives back into you, bumping his nose into your clitoris and causing your whole body to jolt. "I can't leave you with just one." He nuzzles against you. "How will you manage?"

A slight pang of pain hits you that he’s going to be gone for so long. But you don’t want him to see it, so you play sarcastic. "I have a vibrator."

"You do?"

"How else do you think I deal with your touring schedule?"

"Dirty girl..." He nips playfully at your inner thigh. "Where is it?"

You blush. "Under the bed."

"What?" His eyes widen in surprise. He swings his head over the side of the bed, inspecting underneath it. "There's nothing but shoes down here," he says as he hangs upside-down searching for your vibrator.

"In the Adidas box." You hide your face behind your hands as he climbs off the bed.

"Look at you," he teases. "Hiding sex toys in shoeboxes. You are dirty." He laughs a delighted laugh when he opens the correct box and you curl in on yourself further. He climbs back on top of you, pulling your hands away from your face.

You laugh when you see him, a small bullet vibrator hanging by its cord from between his teeth.

"I want to see it," he says as he drops the vibrator into your hands. "Show me how you get yourself off, if I'm not around to do it."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Two is kind of my max. I don't know if I can."

"I believe in you, sweetheart." Jimin sits back on his heels to watch you, keeping his hand on the controller connected to the vibrator in your hand.

Your heart beats faster as he stares at you. His semi-erect dick dangles between his spread knees.

"Go on," he encourages, turning the vibrator on.

You move the vibrator down between your legs. It makes a spluttering sound as it encounters your wet folds.

"Listen to that." Jimin smiles and scoots forward on his knees, licking his lips. "Listen to how wet you are. I bet you can come again."

The vibrator does feel good against your sensitive skin and watching him watch you fills you with an arousing mix of embarrassment and confidence. The pleasure builds quickly, everything still wound up from your previous orgasm.

He increases the speed on the vibrator. "Are you getting close?" he asks, his own erection rising as he watches you.

You groan and nod, rolling the vibrator in circles across your palm, grinding it into your clitoris. The sounds of the vibrator, the sloppy wetness of your arousal, and your panting breaths fill the room as Jimin waits to watch you come.

But the closer the edge of your pleasure gets, the more distracted you become. He's just sitting there waiting, with that smug grin on his face. What if you can't come? What if he thinks this stupid curse is real? You just came, it's perfectly reasonable that you might not be able to come again right now.

The further you get into your own head, the further your climax drifts away.

"It's not working, is it?" He strokes his now fully erect cock and wiggles his eyebrows. "Need some assistance?" He turns up the vibrations to their maximum setting.

The drive to come surges back as you press harder against yourself with the vibrator and watch him stroke himself. He shuffles forward on his knees, until his dick is right next to your face.

"Suck my cock," he urges, nudging your cheek with his erection. "Do a good job and I'll let you come."

You want to roll your eyes at the suggestion that he has any control over whether or not you come, but his erection is too tempting. You sit up slightly and draw him into your mouth.

"That's a good girl," he groans. "My desperate little cockslut."

He's so hard on your tongue. You let go of the vibrator to angle yourself better. He moans when you sink down so far that your nose bumps into his pubic bone.

"Fuck," he exhales and his hands tremble as he caresses your cheek. "You take it so well." He picks the vibrator back up from where you dropped it onto the bedspread and positions it back between your legs. You jolt and moan, sending vibrations through his dick. He threads his fingers into the hair at the back of your neck, easing you up and down his cock.

You hover at the edge of coming, so debauched and needy and desperate to please him. He rolls the vibrator faster around your clitoris and you're so close. "Can you come for me?" he whispers, stroking your hair. "I want to see you come with my cock in your mouth."

You groan and rock your hips back and forth against his hand, chasing the edge as he guides you up and down his dick. But you can't quite get there. Every time you reach the tipping point, his cock bumps into the back of your throat and you gag.

"You can't do it, can you?" he teases, pace increasing as he gets more and more excited. The vibrator drops to the bed as he uses both hands to grip the back of your head. "You're mine now. All your orgasms are mine," he chokes out as he loses control of himself and comes down your throat, holding you to him and forcing you to swallow his whole release.

His thighs tremble as he sinks down onto the bed. "I love you," he says, kissing your cheek. He folds his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and sighing happily. Your core aches, but Jimin looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“Hey!” You poke him in the ribs. "You can't leave me like this."

He opens one eye and laughs. "You admitting that you need me?"

You pout, not wanting to admit anything, but really wanting to get off one last time before bed. He's leaving tomorrow. Just because you want him right now doesn't mean you're cursed.

"Please, Jimin." You nudge the vibrator back into his hand, core clenching again when he takes it from you. "Help me."

"Of course." He smiles and kisses you again, before scooting down the bed and positioning himself between your legs one last time.

"So wet and swollen," he teases, as he traces a finger up and down your labia, chuckling as it twitches.

"Quit teasing," you groan, smacking his hand in irritation.

"Yes, dear." He brings the buzzing vibrator back to your clitoris and your hips buck upward to meet him. You're so close to coming you cry out, reaching out for him and grabbing on to whatever you can reach. One hand grips his shoulder as the other tangles into his hair. "That's it," he murmurs. "Come for me."

His warm wet tongue slides in next to the vibrator and you shatter into a million pieces.

Your fragmented mind floats above you as you tense in pleasure, every muscle contracted as it all becomes too much. You sob as your third orgasm of the night is ripped from you. Jimin massages both the vibrator and his tongue against you, pulling every last drop of arousal from you.

You collapse into a pile of jelly. "Fuck," you breathe out. "That was amazing."

"Glad you enjoyed it." Jimin beams from between your legs, giving one small kiss to your pubic mound before sliding back up and cradling you in his arms. "Hope it was worth it," he mumbles, kissing your forehead as you close your eyes.

You nuzzle into his warm, muscular chest. It certainly seems worth it right now. But curses aren't real. It's the last thing you think before you fall into a deep satisfied sleep. Curses aren't real.

______

You roll over the next morning to find Jimin’s side of the bed empty. Running water in the bathroom tells you he’s already up and getting ready to leave.

There’s a tingle between your legs, an echo of the night before. Your legs and crotch are slick with a mix of saliva, arousal and sweat. It should be disgusting, but it makes you smile mischievously. Memories of last night replay in your mind as you slide your hand down between your legs and contemplate how you got so messy.

The bathroom door is closed. You wiggle over to Jimin’s side of the bed and pick up his phone. It’s 5:30 am. Do you have enough time to talk him into coming back to bed? Your core pulses and you run a teasing finger around it. It’s so sore that it almost hurts to touch it. Almost, but not quite enough to stop you. You miss the heat of his mouth, the possessive way he talked, his groans of pleasure as he consumed you.

“Jimin,” you call out, unable to wait for him any longer.

The running water stops. “Yeah?” he calls out, not opening the door.

“Are you almost done in there?”

“One second.” The water switches back on briefly before he shuts it off and opens the door.

Jimin is shirtless, patting his face dry with a towel. You lick your lips at the sight of him, the tingle between your legs escalating to full ache.  He’s dressed in only black slacks, hair wet and tousled from his shower. Your core pulses as you watch a drop of water from his hair drop onto his chest and trail down the muscular planes of his stomach.

His eyes rake over you, making you feel naked despite the covers. You pull your hand away from yourself, embarrassed. Your possibly demonic boyfriend smirks.

“Last night not enough for you?” He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, looking all too pleased with himself. “Greedy girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but your pussy clenches traitorously instead. His dark eyes burn even hotter, as if he knows.

He chuckles. “I’d offer to help you out, but I just washed my face.”

You roll your eyes and squirm under the covers. “There are other ways to help me.” You don’t need his tongue. His fingers or his cock would do just as nicely.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow as he walks over to his nightstand and picks up his phone. “I’ve only got ten minutes before the car arrives though.”

The pang of distress at his leaving returns. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“I thought you could use the rest.” He laughs and kisses you on the forehead. “I didn’t want to wake you earlier than I had to.”

It feels especially hard to say goodbye today. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I bet you will,” he replies, striding across the room to fish a white button-down shirt from the closet, still smirking. “A month is a long time to go.”

“I like more about you than just the sex.” You cross your arms and pout. “Won’t you miss me?”

Jimin laughs brightly as he buttons up his shirt. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Of course, I’ll miss you.” He takes your hands in his, squeezing gently. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” It doesn’t feel like enough to convey how much you’re going to miss him. But you don’t want to be that needy girl who begs her boyfriend to stay.

He smiles and picks up your hands, lifting them to his lips and kissing the back of each. Then he pauses and sniffs. He can smell the arousal on your hand and you are mortified. His eyes flick back up to your blushing face and he cocks an eyebrow, pleased smirk on his lips. "You sure you don't want my assistance one last time?"

You clench your thighs together and squirm under his heated gaze. "I wouldn't want you to be late." You can always get yourself off after he leaves.

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at his watch. "I should get going." He cups your cheek in his palm, tilting your chin up to give him a kiss goodbye.

You pour all your unspoken longing into your last kiss. His mouth is warm, his lips soft, and when his tongue enters your mouth, your whole body breaks out in droplets of sweat. You thread your fingers into his damp hair, pulling him closer as you moan against his lips.

He laughs as he pulls away from you. "So needy," he teases, wiping his lips with his thumb. "I like it." You want to scoff at how patronizing he sounds, but then he places a soft kiss on your forehead. "Be good for me," he whispers and you can't help the whine you emit as he lets go of you.

What is the matter with you? You've always prided yourself on being a mature adult who was respectful of his schedule, not some hormonal teenager who can't live without her boyfriend. You must be horny. As soon as he leaves, you can solve that problem and go about your day as usual.

You watch Jimin leave, admiring the way the tight black pants show off his best assets. "Hurry back!” you call after him. He blows you a kiss, and then he's gone.

The moment he's gone, you feel colder and emptier. You slide back down under the covers, drawing them up over your shoulders, and sighing broken-heartedly. It's dramatic, but no one is around to see you, so you let yourself wallow for a moment.

The tingle between your legs recaptures your attention. You glance over to the nightstand where your vibrator waits. Your pelvic muscles twitch in excitement. You scoop the vibrator up and sneak it under the bed covers.

You take your time easing into your arousal. You're still sore and sensitive from last night, so you don't go straight for the maximum setting. You tease yourself slowly, like Jimin would. His kiss lingers on your lips. Your fingers miss his soft hair. The vibrator echoes the burning, tingling pleasure of his tongue.

Just as you reach your plateau, cranking the vibrator to the highest setting and settling in for the home stretch, your phone buzzes.

Today 10:35 am

Jimin: What are you doing?

You: Nothing...

Jimin: Nothing? You sure about that? You sure you're not fingering that needy clit right now?

You: I am doing no such thing.

Jimin: You've got the vibrator out then.

You: Fuck. How do you know that?

Jimin: You seemed pretty needy when I left. ;)

You: Where are you?

Jimin: Pulling into the airport.

You groan out loud. The idea of him texting you filth while surrounded by his members made you flush with heat. You ignore him for a moment as you ride the wave of pleasure that surges through you at the thought.

Jimin: You going to answer me?

You: I have the vibrator.

Jimin: Dirty girl... Did you cum?

You: No, not yet

Jimin: Can't get it done without me huh?

You: just taking my sweet time. thank you very much. curses aren't real

Jimin: prove me wrong then. cum for me

Your clitoris throbs as you lower the vibrator back to it, buzzing excitedly. The edge of your orgasm hangs just out of reach. You read back Jimin's command and press the vibrator harder against yourself, rocking your pelvis up and down. It's right there. You ride the edge for a moment, then breathe out and let yourself tip over.

Your whole body goes numb. All feeling disappears, as if you are floating in mid-air, all sense of time and place gone and you feel nothing. Your pelvic muscles contract rhythmically, as if you’re having an orgasm, but you can’t feel it. You feel nothing.

Blinding pain rips through you. The vibrator is a curling iron pressed to your clit. The sheets burn everywhere they touch you. You cry out in shock and fling the source of pain away from you. You tear the bedcovers off as the vibrator clatters into the dresser on the far side of the room.

What the fuck just happened? The pain disappears as quickly as it appeared and you are the same, cunt still pulsing with arousal. You lie in a pool of sweat, panting.

You look over at Jimin's message. Should you tell him what just happened? What if he thinks it's the curse?

You shake your head. No. Curses aren't real. It must all be in your head.

Today 10:42 am

You: did it

Jimin: really?

You feel a slight twinge of guilt as you lie to him.

You: really

Jimin: oh...

Is he disappointed? Did he want you to have an ancient demonic curse? He told you to come for him. You watch typing bubbles appear and disappear several times, but no messages come through. You feel overheated and overwhelmed. You get up out of the bed, ignoring the ache between your legs, deciding to have a cold shower instead.

Jimin: getting on the plane now

You: okay, have a safe flight! I love you! Call me when you land!

Jimin: yup, will do

No "I love you too"? Was he mad at you? Upset? You frown as you stand in your bathroom and watch his flight take off on the flight tracker app on your phone.

_____

It’s a long eleven hours as Jimin flies to Los Angeles. Every time you think about him, the slight tingle between your legs returns. You make the shower ten degrees colder to try to calm yourself down, but it provides only temporary relief. You are on edge and restless all day, but too afraid of the strange thing that happened this morning to try masturbating again.

By the time midnight rolls around, you are very tired and very frustrated. You should go to bed and talk to Jimin in the morning. But as you watch the plane get closer and closer to landing, you can’t fall asleep.

His plane lands and you wait for him to text you. Five minutes go by, then ten, with no message. You can’t take it anymore.

Today 12:18 am

You: Did you arrive safely?

Jimin: Just landed

You: Can you talk?

He’s only been gone half a day, but it already feels too long. You’re annoyed with yourself for feeling this needy.

Jimin: Not right now. Maybe in a couple of hours

You: I have to go to bed…

Jimin: You should go to bed then

You frown. Usually he would plead with you to wait a little longer, or ask if he could wake you up when he was free. You’ve had many whispered conversations at 4 am because it was the only time he could talk.

You can’t let on how much you already miss him though. You don’t want to be one of those girls who becomes a burden. This was the trade-off to dating an idol.

You: Okay, good night then

Jimin: good night

You frown at your phone again, before finally giving up and setting it down on the nightstand.

You stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom wishing he was here with you, instead of halfway around the world. You roll over and hug the pillow next to you. It smells like him. It triggers a deep knock of the same arousal that’s been haunting you all day. Maybe it would help you sleep if you got some relief.

You slip your fingers down into your underwear and find yourself already wet. You trail your fingers through the sticky wetness curiously. You are not usually this wound up so quickly. It’s ridiculous that the smell of him alone can get you this excited.

You bury your face in his pillow and inhale again, amazed as you feel another burst of wetness gush from you. God, you miss him. How do you miss him this much when he’s been gone less than a day? His arms, his hands, his tongue, his lips are all you can think about.

You sigh softly as you trail a damp finger up around your eager clitoris. You close your eyes and imagine the hand belongs to Jimin instead. He’s here with you. His lips on yours, his hand curled into your hair, whispering how you belong to him.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he whispers in your head. “Make yourself wet and desperate for me.” You groan as you pick up the pace of your hand. “Good girl, you’re doing so good.”

“Jimin, please,” you plead into the silence of your empty bedroom.

The Jimin in your head laughs. “You know it’s hopeless right?” he teases, smirking at you in that self-satisfied way where he knows he has you exactly where he wants you. “Every one of your orgasms belongs to me.”

You feel the edge of pleasure begin to slip away. You speed up your hand and chase after it, but it’s no use. The pleasure fades aways and you are left numb, empty and wet.

“Told you I was cursed,” imaginary Jimin teases. You huff in frustration, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, and roll over away from the pillow that smells like him. You shut your eyes tight. Curses aren’t real.

_______

Your dreams are full of Jimin. Jimin’s hands, Jimin’s chest, Jimin’s tongue. Over and over, he teases you toward your climax in your sleep. Always pausing, always stopping before you get to your end. By the time you wake up in the morning, you are swollen and dripping with need.

Your alarm sounds. It’s Monday. Work starts in an hour. You reach down and confirm how wet you are, more wet than you have ever been before. Your thighs slide past each other, slick with arousal. You can’t go to work like this.

It’s time to break out the big guns.

You lean over the side of your bed and fish out the other shoebox. The one you couldn’t tell Jimin about. The one that contains your dildo. Sometimes the vibrator alone wasn’t enough. Sometimes you needed a bit more. Sometimes you needed to be filled.

“Won’t do any good,” imaginary Jimin whispers in your head. You ignore him.

You slide the toy through your folds, slicking it up with your excessive wetness. The sides of your entrance tingle with heat as you stroke over them.

“Imagine it’s me,” Jimin teases. The fake cock heats up in your hands and you can almost believe it's his.

“Please, fuck me, Jimin” you beg, even though Jimin is thousands of miles away.

“Would if I could, sweetheart,” he answers. You picture him running his tongue over his plush lower lip. “But that’s not what you really want.”

“No such thing as curses,” you urge as you slide the dildo into you. “Fuck…”

Being finally filled again scratches an itch you hadn’t been able to before. It’s a pleasure and a relief all at once. The toy slides in easily with how soaking wet you are.

You pull up some porn on your phone and prop it against a pillow before grabbing the vibrator. You’re done fucking around. You need to get off right now and then go to work.

The porn isn’t very interesting though. The only thing you want to think about is Jimin. You close your eyes, listening to the audio but picturing your boyfriend. It doesn’t take long before you feel the pleasure crescendo. You let out a sob. It’s happening, it’s finally happening. You aren’t cursed.

The phone rings.

“Fuck!” You throw the vibrator down in frustration.

It’s Jimin. If it were anyone else, you would let it go to voicemail. But you really want to hear his voice. You turn the vibrator off so he won’t hear it, but keep sliding the silicone cock in and out of you.

“Hey babe,” Jimin’s voice is a little raspy. “I thought I could catch you before work. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you lie, sliding the dildo further inside yourself and biting your lip to conceal a groan.

He chuckles. “Nothing?”

“Nothing. Getting ready for work.” You refuse to give him the satisfaction of admitting that you’re actually naked in bed, dripping for him. “What are you doing?”

“Finally made it to the hotel,” he groans. You can picture him stretching his arms over his head as he spreads himself across his big empty bed. “Was thinking about you. Thought you might be thinking of me.”

Does he know? How could he know? Does he have magical “knows when his girlfriend is horny” demon powers”?

Shit. No. Jimin is not a demon. There are no such things as demons.

“Did you just call for phone sex?” You want to sound irritated, but your pelvic muscles clench traitorously around the dildo.

“Can’t stop thinking about yesterday.” His voice gets lower and you can hear the slick sounds of his hand moving over his dick in the background. “You were so needy for me. I liked it.”

A sharp blade of anger slices through your fog of lust.

“Jimin.” You pull the dildo out of you, setting it to the side. “You can’t ignore me all day yesterday and then expect me to talk you off like nothing happened.”

“Aww, come on, we were so busy. I called you as soon as I got here,” he whines. “I’ll make sure you get off too.”

You aren’t sure he can. Not with his voice alone. You need him here with you. But you’re not going to admit that.

“I have to go to work.” You are rapidly running out of time.

“Don’t you miss me?” he asks. You can practically hear his pout through the phone.

“Do you miss me?” You want to know why he hadn’t called earlier, but you don’t want to seem too needy.

“Of course, I do, baby. I love you.”

The tension in you eases slightly. Maybe you had been making things up.

“Miss you so much,” he continues and you can hear the sounds of his jerking off pick up speed. “Miss that sweet little cunt.”

It’s just about sex. He doesn’t miss you, he just wants to get off. “I have to go Jimin.”

“What? No! Don’t go.”

“I’m going to be late for work.” You hang up on him, feeling a vindictive victory. Your core is still wet and aching, but your anger powers you long enough to get you up and into the shower.

______

One cold shower and a hot cup of coffee later and you are on your way to work.

The commute sucks. Your lingering arousal refuses to abate. Your mind dwells on Jimin. Sitting down on the subway has you springing to your feet as the train starts moving, vibrations from the rails threatening to have you soaking through your underwear. Memories of Jimin commanding you to orgasm echo through you as you fight to calm your breathing.

You haven’t heard from real Jimin since you hung up on him. He probably fell asleep.

At work, you shift uncomfortably at your desk. You try to answer some emails, but every few seconds your core pulses, forcing you to reposition yourself. Your clothes itch. Everything is too hot. You shrug off the cardigan that you usually need to cope with the building’s air conditioning system. But then you rush to put it back on when you notice how hard your nipples are, poking through your bra and shirt.

The only thing that can distract from the tingling all over you is the buzz of your phone.

Today 10:22 am

Jimin: I’m sorry :(

You: Go on…

Jimin: I’m sorry I ignored you. This whole thing has me a bit thrown off.

You: How so?

Jimin: I was just so sure that the curse was a real thing, you know? I felt pretty stupid that it wasn’t.

You bite your lip and shift uncomfortably in your seat, pressing your legs together. Should you tell him? No… curses aren’t real. You’re just missing your boyfriend. That’s okay.

You: It’s okay, Jimin. Thank you.

Jimin: Is it bad that I kind of wanted it to be real?

You: You did?

Jimin: Well, it’s pretty sexy right?

Sweat trails from your hairline down your neck.

You: I have to be able to live my life Jimin. Can’t be sitting around waiting for you.

Jimin: I’m sorry we’re gone so much.

Shit. Now you’ve made him feel bad for his work schedule, something you swore you’d never do.

You: It’s okay. I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real. I’ll be okay. Curses aren’t real.  

You repeat the mantra under your breath until you make it to the end of the work day.

_______

The rest of the work week passes in much the same way, days of jaw clenching and sweating until you can rush home and lie in bed with the vibrator. You edge over and over, afraid of the pain you experienced last time, until you pass out exhausted.

You manage to make it to Friday. There’s a big meeting at nine. Your whole office, crammed into one conference room. At least this way you have an excuse to linger at the edge of the meeting, rather than sit leaking all over an office chair. It’s the first time you’ve had to be around this many other people at once.

“Do you think they can tell?” demon Jimin whispers in your head. “Do they know how wet and desperate you are right now?”  

You teter at the edge of the room. You clench in horror as a drop of something begins running down the inside of your leg. You’re too far gone to tell if it is arousal or sweat.

A colleague next to you leans over to ask you a follow-up question on something your boss just said, but you cannot hear them over the buzzing in your head.  They look at you in confusion. “Are you alright?”

No, you are not alright. You’re becoming dumber with each passing moment. Sweat beads up on the back of your neck. You mutter something about not feeling well and run for the restroom.

You slam the door to the stall behind you, ripping off your cardigan and undoing several buttons of the blouse underneath. You can’t breathe. You need air. You need relief. You slip your hand underneath your skirt. Your fingers are cool against your burning core. It’s a relief to touch yourself again.

“God, you’re a mess.” Jimin whispers in your head. You want to cry from how humiliating this is. “Can you imagine if they knew what you were doing in here?”

“Jimin…” you plead, unable to stop yourself.

“Shhh… ” he chuckles. “Don’t let them hear you.”  

You bang your head back into the stall door in frustration. If you could just come, if you could just get five minutes of relief. Maybe the pain would be better, at least it would be a different sensation. You speed up your hand, chasing any form of relief.

“Such a dirty girl. Getting yourself off in the bathroom to the mere memory of me. What are we going to do with you?”  

Your fingers slurp through the slick leaking from you. The noises fill the small office bathroom. It’s disgusting and debauched and you can’t stop yourself.

“Listen to that.” Jimin whispers. “You’re so hopeless.”

Your orgasm dances tantalizingly near, but your hand is starting to cramp up.

“Don’t stop now.” Jimin urges. “Keep rubbing. That’s it. The more desperate you are, the more control I have.”

“Fuck…” you curse.

The bathroom door opens, noises of chatter and typing pouring in from the larger office. “Everything okay in there?”

Your face burns with humiliation and your back drips with sweat. “I’m okay!” you call out, even though you aren’t, not even a little.

You’ll never get relief here. It takes all your strength to pull your fingers away from your swollen cunt. Especially with Jimin whispering in your ear to keep touching yourself.

You adjust your skirt and rebutton your blouse as best you can.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you emerge from the stall, not looking at the colleague who has come to check on you. “Stomach bug.” You hope your excessive sweating sells the idea that you are actually ill.

“Go home!” your colleague insists, waving their hands at you. “Don’t be spreading your norovirus around here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think that is a good idea.” You nod, rinsing off your hands and patting a damp cloth on your face.

Imaginary Jimin grins, his dark eyes burning in your mind’s eye at the idea of having you all to himself again. “I think that’s a good idea too.”  

_______

The first thing you do when you get back to your apartment is strip out of your clothes, leaving a trail of sweat-soaked clothing from your front door to the bedroom. You climb back into bed and grab the vibrator, hissing in relief as it clicks on, feeling like you can breathe for a moment.

“You know, you’re only going to make it worse.” Demon Jimin continues to taunt you. “The more you touch yourself, the more you’ll want me.”

“Please, Jimin, please,” you beg, even though there’s nothing your imaginary boyfriend can do for you.

“What will we do with you?” the demon smirks, tutting in mock disapproval. “Can’t even work a full day. How will you keep a job? I’ll have to take you everywhere with me, never too far away. My personal slut.”

“No, Jimin, please…” Everything hurts. Your folds are red and irritated. Your hand cramps from pressing the vibrator into you. But you can’t stop.

“It’s okay, my love. Keep rubbing yourself. Melt your brain away. Be mine. There’s nothing else you need to do. That’s my good girl.”

All conscious thought begins to slip from you. There is only aching burning need. Jimin’s voice echoes in your head, drowning out all your attempts to fight him.

“What an embarrassment you are. So wet and needy. Filthy girl. I won’t be able to take you anywhere. You’ll have to wait around my hotel room, begging me to take pity on you. My own horny little pet.”

Waves of desire roll through you, washing away any other aspirations. Just to be his. To be only his.

“Won’t that be easier? Nothing to worry about. No work, no chores. Your only job will be to stay wet and ready for me. And you’ll be so good at it. I’ll use you when I feel like it and only let you come once I’m satisfied. Every single orgasm will be mine.”

A groan rips from your throat, more animal than human. Tremors run up and down your spine.

“I’ll have to be careful not to let you come too often though,” Jimin teases. “I like you like this. All needy and desperate for me. Want to keep you like this. My brainless little fucktoy.”

You sob. He’s right. It’s all you’re good for now. Nothing but a shivering pile of desperation.

The only thing that saves you from drifting under the demon’s spell is the ring of your phone. Jimin is calling you. Real Jimin. Your only lifeline.

“Hello?” Your voice is raspy and parched. You click off the vibrator so he can’t hear it. But that only makes the need worse, so you replace it with your hand.

“Hello?” Jimin answers. “Are you sleeping?”

“No…” Should you be asleep? You have no idea what time it is.

“You sound weird.”

You switch the phone to speaker and rest it next to your head on the bed so he can’t hear your heavy breathing.  “I’m fine.”

“Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you all week.” He sounds a bit upset, and very far away.

You have no answer. No, things were not okay, but there was nothing he could do about it when he’s thousands of miles away.

“Beg him,” demon Jimin whispers. “Go on, beg him to let you come. It will be funny.”

“I can’t,” you mutter under your breath, groaning in frustration.

“What?” Jimin’s voice calls from the phone. “I can’t hear you. Are you still there?”

“I… I can’t do this right now Jimin.”

“Are you still at work?” His tone has shifted from upset to confused.

“No, no, I went home.”

“Are you sick?” Jimin asks through the phone. “Hello?”

A small sob bubbles its way up out of your throat.

“This conversation is boring,” the Jimin in your head insists. “Turn the vibrator back on.”

“I don’t have time for this right now, Jimin.”

“What are you doing?” Real Jimin sounds worried. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Go on,” the demon whispers. “Tell him you can’t come without him. Tell him you belong to him now. Tell him his pathetic excuse for a girlfriend can’t live without him.”

“Jimin please!” you cry out. “I can’t do it anymore, please!” Tears are rolling down your cheeks. “Please let me come.”

“What? Are you playing with yourself right now?” he asks, incredulous.

Somehow the vibrator has turned back on and you rock against it, even as you wish you could stop. “I can’t help it,” you sob. “I can’t stop Jimin. I can’t stop.” You’re useless and pathetic. He’s going to leave you and you’ll never get relief again. “I’m sorry. Please let me come.”

“You can come! You can come!” he shouts through the phone, but of course, that does nothing to help you.

“I can’t come without you!” you sob. “You were right. The curse is real.”

“Huh? But, but... at the airport, you said you did.”

You groan, still chasing relief that isn’t coming. “I lied, Jimin, I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “Why would you lie to me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know. But it’s real and I can’t… I can’t do anything without you. You have to come back.”

“I can’t come back. We have a show tomorrow.”

“ He’s not going to help you.” The demon is still there, waiting for you.

“Please, Jimin, please come home.” you beg. “I need you.”

“This is my job. I can’t leave.”

“What about my job, Jimin? What about my life? You can’t leave me like this!”

“It’s only been a week! Can’t you deal with it for a little longer?”

“Fuck you Park Jimin! You did this to me!”

“You said it wasn’t real!”

“He’s useless,” demon Jimin begins to drown out your boyfriend. “Come back to me. Be mine.”

“I have to go Jimin.”

“No, don’t hang up. We can figure this out.”

“You can’t help me.” You hang up the phone and toss it back onto your nightstand.

“Good girl.” The demon hisses in satisfaction. “Let it all go. Let your mind go.” You cry, still rocking against the vibrator, searching for relief that isn’t coming.

______

Your mind slowly leaves you over the next few days. You can get a few minutes of clarity if you’re willing to push yourself all the way over the edge, the searing pain providing you with enough mental clearness to call in sick to work or order food. But every time you do, it leaves you with even less with even less mental clarity.

At some point, you stop keeping track of the days. You stop sleeping. You stop eating. Eventually, even getting out of bed becomes too much work.

The bed sheets are wet, a mixture of sweat and vaginal secretions. You need to pee.

“God, you’re disgusting.” Demon Jimin laughs in your head. “He’s never going to want you now. Wet yourself like the animal you are and be done with it.”

You whine, hiding your face beneath your pillow and trying to distract yourself with the vibrator from the growing need to urinate.

The phone rings. Jimin is calling. He’s been calling for days, but you can’t answer him. You can’t let him know what you’ve become. He’ll never want you again.

There’s a loud banging on your front door. Who could that be? You haven’t ordered any food in a while, not really sure how long.

“Ignore it,” the demon instructs. “Lie here in this bed and piss yourself.”  

You wrap the pillow around your head, unsure if you are trying to drown out the pounding on the door or the demon whispering in your ear.

“Open the door!” A loud, frantic voice carries through the door and you curl in on yourself. You don’t know who they are, but you can’t let them see. You can’t let them know. The pounding stops, followed by a loud thud that rattles the door on its hinges. “Goddamn it!” The voice shouts. Then, a softer voice calls through the door. “Baby, please open the door. Please, let me in.” It’s Jimin. Real Jimin. He’s here.

The overwhelming drive for him is the only thing that could propel you up and out of the bed. You’re shaky on your feet, a bit dizzy. The world is not entirely stable. But you manage to make it to the door and unlatch the lock before collapsing in a heap next to the entry.

For a second, there’s nothing. The door stays shut and you are worried that you hallucinated the whole thing. Of course he’s not here. He has more important things to be doing than dealing with his pathetic girlfriend.

But then the door bursts open.

“Babe?” Jimin calls for you as he steps into the apartment, kicking off his shoes. He’s wearing the same white dress shirt and black slacks that he left you in. Maybe he’s a figment of your imagination.

“Jimin…” You reach out for him, unable to believe he’s actually here, needing to feel whether or not he is solid.

“Shit.” His eyes widen as he finds you crumpled up and naked on the floor. “Are you okay?” He drops his overnight bag on the threshold and kneels in front of you, cupping your face in his hands. “Tell me what’s happening.”

You don’t know how to answer him. You don’t know what’s happening. But his fingertips are cool against your feverish, sweaty skin. He brushes the hair out of your face so he can look you in the eyes. You only know you need him.

“Jimin, I need you, please.” Your hands reach for him, searching for more of his skin to cool yourself against. You’re untucking his shirt from his pants and trying to undo his belt buckle, but he bats your hands away.

“Woah...” He grabs your hands to stop you as you battle him for his belt. “Babe, slow down, talk to me.”

He doesn’t want you. He’s repulsed by you. The demon was right. He’ll never touch you again. You’re worthless. You’re repulsive. You burst into tears. “Please, Jimin, please, I can’t,” you sob, nearly incomprehensible.

“Shh, shh...” He runs his hands over your shoulders. “Shh… it’s going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.” He scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the hall, back toward your room. “I was so worried,” he says as he cradles you against him.

You can only respond by nuzzling your face into his chest, the cool cotton of his white shirt absorbing the heat from your skin.

“Your work called and said you haven’t been in since last week.” He kisses the top of your head and inhales the smell of your hair. “Why haven’t you been answering the phone?”

You ought to feel bad, but it was hard to feel too bad when you had what you finally wanted, Jimin back here with you.  

“I thought something terrible had happened to you.” He pauses at the door to the bathroom, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s the curse,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I’m cursed. You cursed me.”

“I’m so sorry.” He set you down on the toilet, before turning on the shower. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead and turns to leave the bathroom.

You panic. Where is he going? He can’t leave you like this. “Jimin, no, don’t leave.” You chase him out of the bathroom, catching him around the middle and clinging to his waist. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m not leaving,” he chuckles, trying to unfasten your arms from around him, but you refuse to let go. “I was just getting undressed.” He sighs, picking you up once again and carrying you back to the bathroom. He tries to set you down again, but you whine, clinging to his neck.

Giving up, he steps directly into the shower, still dressed, cradling you in his arms. The white dress shirt turns translucent as the water hits it, clinging to his skin. The water runs down his torso and thighs and you groan with need. The water is warm, but it feels cool compared to how hot your skin is.

“Jimin, please.” You’re begging again. “I need you.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here,” he answers. Your legs tremble underneath you as he puts you back on your feet.  He grabs the bottle of body wash and squirts out a generous dollop, lathering it up in his hands.  “I’m gonna take care of you.”

It’s all you can do to stay standing as he caresses you. He removes the shower head from its hook so he can follow each soapy caress with water to wash you clean.

He starts with your neck, then your breasts, then your stomach, gentle hands massaging over you. It only makes the ache for him worse.  He reaches the puffy and swollen labia and you gasp, legs trembling.

“Please, Jimin, please,” your endless chant of pleading begins again.

“Shh…. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He runs the showerhead over your aching core to rinse off the soap and your legs give out entirely. You collapse against the wall behind you, unable to support yourself.  Still dressed in his soaking wet clothes, he kneels in front of you. He spreads your legs, investigating your swollen folds with his soapy hands. Your clitoris throbs, hard and angry and red. You shiver as he runs the water stream over again. “Does it hurt?” he asks, watching your face as he strokes over your tender core with his fingertips.

“No, no,” you shake your head emphatically. “Not anymore.” The only pain now is the distance between you. “Please, please, please…”

He slides closer to you, brushing his dark wet hair back off his forehead and licking his lips. He picks up one of your legs and wraps it over his shoulder, then the other, carrying you on his shoulders as he buries his face in your core. You are so on edge, have been on edge for so long, that you’re already at the peak of your arousal the moment his tongue touches you.

Something monstrous is building inside you. A sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before moves through you as he moves his tongue in slow broad strokes over your clit. Flames of heat lick at your extremities, beginning in your fingertips and toes and spreading upward. Rising warmth builds in your belly as you ride his face, hips undulating in time with the bobbing of his head. Fear floods you as the memory of the searing pain returns from those moments you’ve gotten this close in the past. You tense up, gripping his shoulders tightly, afraid to let yourself tip over.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispers, pausing for a second to admire you from between your thighs. “It’s okay to let go.” His warm wet tongue slides over your aching clit as his fingers penetrate you. A massive tremor rolls through you as all the pent of tension releases at once and you’re coming. Every muscle in your body seizes over and over as you grind against his face.

Rhythmic muscle contractions seize you as a rush of fluid shoots out of you, spraying Jimin right in the face. You’re screaming, but not from pain. There is no pain, only release, only relief.

“Woah.” Jimin gapes at you, your release dripping down his face and off his chin. Then he breaks into a huge smile. “That was amazing.”

You laugh out loud, relief washing over you. Your whole body turns to jello and you collapse into his lap.

“Thank goodness we were already in the shower,” he says, wiping his face with his hand and chuckling.

The two of you sit, holding on to each other under the stream of water, laughing. Finally, the mental fog begins to lift from your thoughts.

“How did you get here?” you ask, yawning as you do so.

“On a plane.” He laughs, nuzzling against your neck, arms wrapped around you.

You hit playfully on his chest, still covered in his soaking wet dress shirt. “You know what I mean, what about the tour?” You yawn again.

He mirrors your yawn, stretching his arms and groaning. “I have to go back in the morning. They managed to get me out of the press junkets for today by claiming I was sick, but I have to be back for the concert.”

“Do they know?” Your eyes are already closing as you lean against his warm firm torso.

“About the curse?” Jimin asks. “No…” he laughs. “No, I don’t think they’d let me leave if I told them it was because my girlfriend really needed to ride my face. I told them I had a family emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Jimin.”

He shakes his head. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” He turns your face toward him and kisses you. “It’s my fault. I never should have left you.”

You sigh, head resting on his shoulder. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.” He squeezes your hand where it is entwined with his in your lap. “But we’ll figure something out.” He sighs, leaning back against the wall, finger stroking your arm. “But right now we should get some sleep.”

He turns off the shower, stripping off his wet clothes and leaving them behind before scooping you up. Your head is floaty as he wraps you in a warm towel. You lean against the counter as he strips the sheets from the bed and replaces them with fresh ones, then comes back to lead you back to the bed. The two of you collapse into bed together and sleep overtakes you almost instantly.

______

Your dreams are full of Jimin again. Not teasing demon Jimin, but your warm loving boyfriend, stroking your hair and holding your hand.

You are surprised to wake up and find him watching you.

“I have a solution!” He chirps excitedly.

“You do?”

“Yes! Apparently the curse is in my saliva. So here!” He thrusts the bottle of lube from your nightstand into your hands. You look at it in confusion. “I spit in it!” he proudly declares.

“Um…” You hold the bottle at arm’s length. “Thank you?”

“This way, if I’ve been gone too long, you have a way to get off without me.”

“How do you know it will work?”

He laughs sheepishly. “I, uh, called my mom.”

“Ugh, no…” You hide your head under the covers in embarrassment. “What did you tell her?”

“It was an awkward conversation.” He laughs again. “But I couldn’t let you go through that again. She swears this will work.” He glances down at his watch. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time to test it out with you.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Think you can get it done before I get on my plane?”

“I suppose there’s one way to find out…”

Jimin disappears under the bed and returns with both your vibrator and dildo. “Better get going then,” he teases, before giving you one last kiss. “I’ll text you when I land. I love you.”

You stare at the assortment of sex toys and lube now spread out on your bed. “You’re just going to leave? I don’t have to go with you?”

“Do you want to go with me? I thought you had work.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I do, but… I thought you were going to make me your personal sex slave.”

“Um, I wasn’t planning on it.” He laughs, then a more mischievous smirk spreads over his face. “Unless you want me to.”

You laugh in relief even as a lick of heat curls in your belly. “Perhaps that’s a game best left for when you are in town.”

He winks. “Looking forward to it.”

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Surprises

Surprises of all kinds, found after a shopping trip goes wrong. Content warning for coarse language, sexuality, threats of violence, mentions of suicide and incest, and copious amounts of headcanons.

As always, there is more in my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag, and send me a message if you liked it, I crave positive feedback.

~*~*~*~

TXT: where the fuck are you guys it's already quarter past

After a few minutes, you got a ding.

M: idia doenst want t leave something about a person see you aftr he needs freind

Oh goddammit, it's so fucking hard to get him out and about. At least Mal was with him.

You looked to Grim at your feet. "Looks like it's just us, buddy."

~*~*~*~

It was just you and Grim browsing through the dollar store, when a boy in a ratty shop apron came up to you. "Ma'am?"

You turned to him, and he coughed. "Uh, Miss. You're not supposed to have pets in the store."

Grim bristled at him. "I'm not a pet!"

Poor kid, he looked so startled. And you decided to make it worse, because yanno, why not. "How dare you refer to my son as a pet! Does he look like a pet to you?"

He looked between your face and Grim's, confusion growing. "Wh-"

"I know the resemblance isn't the strongest, but honestly! How could you say such mean things about him!"

Grim, bless him, actually caught on and decided to play along for the chaos of it. "Why are you being so mean to me? My mom works hard to keep me happy! She said I could pick out a toy today!"

The confusion had turned to anger. "That's not your kid! You're too young and he's an animal!"

Grim looked up at you, mock tears in his eyes. "I'm your kid, right? I'm not adopted like the boys at school say?" He started sniffling. "I'm not adopted, right?"

You clapped your hands over Grim's ears and glared at the now horrified shopboy. "Look what you've done! I hadn't told him yet!"

He just fled in horror, and it was all you could do to keep from laughing.

~*~*~*~

The village on the island wasn't the worst appointed. Being equidistant between two prestigious magic schools, it had a few places worth going, and after hitting up your personal favourite, you went to a small park, settled down on a bench, and started unwrapping your prizes.

You have a love for gashapon machines that bordered on a serious problem. In your biweekly trips to buy snacks and supplies to stock up your miserable, beautiful dorm, you easily fed 3000 madol (which you think was about thirty-five dollars or so at home, but couldn't be sure) into the long rows of machines in the drug store, coming out with tiny keychains, figures, and various useless but wonderful little totchkes that you kept lined up in rows in your bedroom. The joys of tiny presents! And the containers were useful too; for a creature who heavily insisted he wasn't a cat, Grim lost his shit like one every time your rolled a ball with a bell inside across the floor.

You were marveling over a tiny, perfectly realistic jellyfish on a phone strap as someone sat down heavily beside you. "Is that," they pointed to Grim poking his way around the cattails by an ornamental pond, "yours?"

"... Yes?" You turned to examine your seatmate. Charmingly strange looking, they sat impeccably robed in forest green velvet and squinted at you from behind perfectly round sunglasses. Flat-faced and thin-lipped, they reminded you of a toad, with their roundness and severe expression.

"Ah, then you are the one I am looking for. You're the pet of the prince."

"I'm a friend of his. Is that a problem?" You decided to keep opening your prizes, and pulled out a heavy ball from the bottom of your bag.

"His Highness does not have human friends."

"And yet, I am." This one, unwrapped, was the chase in the set: a tiny cauldron the size of a thimble that seemed to be actual cast iron. The chill of it was pleasant in your hand, and instead of returning it to your bag, you left it in your lap.

This presumptive stranger leaned in. "You're a diversion. A distraction from what he should be learning. Instead he plays with mortals and lets them forget their place."

"If it was so important that he didn't play with mortals, then why was he allowed to attend here?" You got a cheap set of rings on a goldtone chain in this one. Boo. You'd wanted the miniature necklace of the set for your doll. "He's very happy with the company of us all."

"Too happy. He forgets his place." The toady eyed the glittering paste gems before looking away. "Above you. Instead he crawls into your lap and serves you like a dog."

You froze. "Now, where did you get that idea?"

"We have sources." They leaned in further, smiling. A barely perceptible line of triangular teeth, sparsely placed and translucent in tone. "Foul things happen to the unwanted lovers of heirs, don't you know?"

"I am a wanted friend." 

"You're a parasite who should flee."

You realized something, and turned to face your strange benchmate. "Why are you threatened by me?"

They scoffed. "Why would we be threatened by you?"

"If you weren't," you said, dropping your voice as your leaned in, "then you wouldn't be here trying to put the fear into me." They leaned back, glasses slipping off their nose. The eyes in their face were exquisite, shining gold and black speckles with a ring of gold around an oval pupil. You could help but laugh. "Pretty eyes. You really are a toad. Who sent you? The Thorn Witch? Can't be, I'm not worth her time and if I was, she'd've sent a fucking letter."

"We're a concerned party, preventing our future king from making the mistake of dealing with filth." 

Well, that one pissed you off. You grabbed their wrist, feeling bumps and warts on their skin through the fabric, and pressed the tiny cauldron to the back on their hand as they started screeching.

"You," you looked them dead in their impossibly lovely eyes, "You go back where you came from, tell them I'm not a threat to whatever stupid bullshit they're worried about, and never bother us again. Or I will make you swallow this and you'll beg the precious prince you're so damned worried about to burn you alive to stop the pain."

You'd never seen anyone run so fast in your life when you let them go.

"Hey, Grim! We gotta go."

~*~*~*~

TXT: MAL SOMEONE SENT ME A TOADY SAYING I CAN'T BE AROUND YOU ANYMORE

TXT: MIGHTA BEEN YOUR GMA BUT I DON'T THINK SO

~*~*~*~

"I'm gonna kill that fucker."

"Killing them might start an international incident. If one hasn't happened already. You burnt them with iron, Yuu."

"I should have done worse! Whoever the fuck they were, that's two friends they've tried to threaten to stay away from you! That we know of!"

It turns out that the mystery toady had been the person to scare the piss out of Idia the night before. Not that they'd gotten far into their leave-the-prince-alone spiel, Idia had simply kicked them square in the stomach and fled, assuming another kidnapping attempt.

"It wouldn't have been my grandmother. In the last letter I got from her, she said it was very nice that I was making friends. She said to keep making them, even."

"She'd probably care if she knew you were sleeping with said friends." Idia was curled into the corner of his bed, and from the looks of it hadn't slept since his own encounter.

"No she wouldn't."

"You sure about that?"

You'd said that that was only going to happen once. Everyone agreed. But when all three of you settled in to play a game or watch a movie, hands moved and bodies flushed and you all seemed to find yourself tangled and gasping. And it didn't seem to require all three of you - you no longer had the strength to say no to Mal's obvious advances, and you'd walked in on your boys more than once. At least you were still friends? Really, really close friends?

"She wouldn't."

"Could they be worried about heirs?" That seemed logical. Even if no accidents were happening, they might not know that.

"That's not possible."

You raised an eyebrow. Everything worked right, and you all knew it.

Mal looked back at you. "Yuu, I hatched from an egg. I could have you both five times a day for a decade and all there would be to show for it is you couldn't walk. I cannot have children with either of you without magical intervention."

Idia made a truly impressive death rattle before mumbling something about the end of his bloodline, and you just nodded. "Makes sense."

"It's quite interesting, really, it requires numerous spells and potions, that if not kept up on, the babe will-" Malleus placed his hands together, back to back, and mimed the motion of tearing something open.

You flinched. "That's awful, goddamn."

"I have a direct ancestor who took a great deal of human women as breeding stock and simply let them be eaten from the inside out. That's what started one of the earlier human/faerie wars." 

"... Wow."

"I am not proud of her."

"Can we please talk about anything else?" Idia looked ready to be sick. "I don't want to think about any of this."

"Sure, let's grab one of your doujins."

~*~*~*~

"So you're already engaged?"

"As soon as it was clear I would survive to adulthood, yes. Idia, what is this series?"

"Nyan Neko Sugar Girls. It's not that great storywise, but it has great gags." He reached over and grabbed the next one in his pile. "It's not that unusual. My mother wanted Ortho to marry my cousin Alecto when they grew up, before..."

"Before he made a lifestyle change?" That seemed the politest way to put it.

"Before she went to the criminal ward."

You shut your book with a soft thump. "What?"

"I remember the trial." Mal sighed. "Strychnine in the sugar bowl at Sunday dinner. I made sure to get the newspapers sent to the palace."

"Mother was heartbroken over it, until she realized that the wealth of that entire Shroud branch defaulted back to us." Idia shrugged. "It's sad. She was just eleven. I still send her emails."

"Idia."

"Mm?"

"Why the fuck would an eleven year old poison someone?"

"My uncle said she couldn't get a puppy until her grades went up."

"What the fuck." You'd lie down if you weren't already doing so.

"It's the curse." He sighed. "We thought she might've been from an affair? But that proved it."

"My dearest Shroud, you can't guarantee it was from the curse." Malleus turned a page. "It might have been trauma from her mother's death."

You could see more bad history incoming. "Oh no."

"Alecto was from Uncle Jo's first marriage, to my dad's cousin Alita. She had a sister, but when her mother drowned herself, she only took-"

"Is this normal for your family? Or is that just some exceptional bad luck?"

He leaned in, lamplight eyes flashing. "Out of all the Shrouds of my generation that are still capable of inheriting, I'm the most mentally sound."

Both you and Mal had to stop and really consider the implications of that.

"So, Mal. Yours isn't that closely related?"

"Fifth cousins at most when they're finally born."

You sat up. "What?"

"I'm supposed to marry the third grandchild of the Hollyoak Baron. They're a well-respected family, and of snake fae descent so little aid will be needed for conception. His eldest child is in..." He had to think about what words to use. " I believe the term is 'middle school'?"

"They really planned it that far ahead?"

Mal shrugged, the movement rolling down his whole body. "I cannot complain. It gives me a very long time to learn how to be a husband before I have to be one."

"But what if you don't like them?"

"Marriage is chiefly a contract to produce heirs. I'll learn to like them, and ideally love them."

"And if you don't?"

"I'll still treat them as kindly as I can."

"And I suppose you'd take a lover."

"Maybe. They can too, as long as all the children are mine. For legal reasons," he added.

Idia, snapping out of his thoughts, tapped Mal's shoulder. "Does the Hollyoak Baron have any friends who are toad faeries?"

It was Mal's turn to sit up. "That... He could be worried that if I have favourites at school, I'll resent my betrothed for not being either of you. Or that I would attempt to break it off entirely."

"That still doesn't tell us how he found out about..." You gestured around the room.

Idia rolled his eyes. "All that would have to happen is any one student from the Valley of Thorns writing a letter home."

"But -"

"Malleus, you're not shy in your affections. At all."

"Yes I am," he bristled.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Mmph?"

"You have to put me down. I have class."

He made a slightly different mmph and shook his head.

You tried to pat his head, but your arms were securely pinned to your sides. "I know they're fantastic, but you have to stop."

He still refused to remove his face from your chest, making a noise that could have been purring if it cane from anyone who was a proper mammal.

"Mal, we're blocking traffic."

He still wasn't putting you down, instead swaying slightly in place.

A familiar long-fingered hand with dark nails reached from behind you and tugged at Mal's lapel. "Malleus, please stop, it's ten AM and everyone is staring."

Mal finally put you down - only to switch targets, wrapping his arms around Idia's waist and pulling him flush, fixing him with such a look of besotted fondness that you immediately felt like you were intruding.

"You look beautiful today."

Idia immediately burst into a ball of pink flame.

~*~*~*~

"... Perhaps I am a bit obvious."

Idia stared up at his ceiling. "You'd be at home in my otome games."

You chimed in. "What would be obvious, in your mind?"

"Very easy. I finish the paperwork declaring you Lord and Lady of the Bedchamber and have you officially ensconced as Court of Thorns royalty, ensuring you're both taken care of for the rest of your days."

"... Finish?"

"It seemed the easiest thing to do if either of you chose to visit my homeland."

You swatted his leg. "And you didn't think to ask us first?"

Mal was starting to clue in that he had once again overreached himself. "... Surprise?"

"I'm okay with it."

You glared over at Idia. "That's not the point."

"Look, if I ever get disinherited, I have a place to go. He won't make me go outside if I don't want to. I'll bring Ortho. It'll be great."

"They don't even have dial-up over there, Idia. Lilia told me he had to get all this stuff installed to play his MMOs."

Idia pointed at Mal, easy smile turned to outrage. "How dare you try and trap me!"

It honestly seemed like Mal and Idia had switched expressions, the look of worry on his face so strange. "It's a protective measure! If you're titled, people will get in trouble if they try and remove you!"

"That's still... wait." The gears were turning in your head. "If you finish that paperwork, whoever sent Mixter Toad is going to get in so much more trouble."

Everyone went silent as they considered this.

"... As soon as I get the official permission from my grandmother. She won't like it very much, but if I explain..."

Idia turned to Mal. "You were going to make your human fucktoys official members of the Court of Thorns without telling your grandmother, the queen. Who has a notable and often justified dislike of humans."

"No?"

"Mal."

"I simply prepared ahead."

"Mal."

"I - "

"Malleus." You leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're so goddamned stupid. Love you."

He didn't say it back with words, but you got the message loud and clear.

[passivenovember]

Stolas.

--

Birds were a motif throughout his childhood, the cyclical narrators to never-ending summer nights. They provided shadow and structure and healing from the Tancred yellow sun above when his days were full of fantasy and lemon-pineapple ice pops, and Billy grew up knowing not to be afraid.

His grandmother said crows were guides and protectors, ancestors and benevolent spirits. Every kind person in his life turning into a winged beast as they slept, astral projecting so that they may always watch over each other in a loop of kindness that had no beginning and no end.

His grandmother said a lot of things that Billy never understood but, sitting by her side as she created potions and elixirs that made his tummy feel bright and warm, Billy knew she was right. He should feel safe far below the spread of their wings because they were the keepers of knowledge, the bridges between worlds. If Billy played his cards right, ate his vegetables and learned his starter spells, and bled kindness around all who knew him; the birds would help him in his greatest hour of need

That's how he met Stolas.

The first time, and then so many after. On windy afternoons when the breeze whipped red welts into the skin under his t-shirt. When Billy road his bike to get away, pumping his tiny little legs down back hills, feet lifting off the pedals as the road sloped dangerously beneath him. It's a wonder his shoelaces didn't get caught any other day but that one.

It might have been fate. Billy's grandmother believed so strongly in that.

Or it might have meant nothing. Wrapped in a flurry of coincidence, as Billy was too young to understand that there are no accidents, even where actual accidents were involved. When the wheel jerked out from underneath him and Billy fell headfirst onto the road. He slid ten feet across the asphalt without a sound, scraping and planting rocks into the plush, pink skin that stretched itself over his bones.

When Billy finally stopped moving, the sky was cloudless. Bright blue, the line of the trees tussling in the wind reminding Billy that he was alive.

Alive and bleeding, clutching his shin in two hands.

That's when a dark black shadow fell to the ground beside him and a million things ran through his mind at once, each fighting for their moment in the speaker's chair.

The first was that Billy had no protection.

No charms or warding candles, which he doubted would be of much use in his clumsy, inexperienced hands. The second was that his grandmother often knew when trouble had caught up with him and would teleport in to make sure that he was alright. That he wasn't too shaken up to hop on his bike and ride home, before it got too dark to see the road.

The third was what her face might look like, and what her lips might say, when she saw the demon. The little shapeshifter staring at Billy with two beady, sharp eyes. Windows travelling between Billy's tear streaked face and the pool of red dripping to the ground beneath him.

The moment felt cosmic, with energy sparking in the air.

Billy felt like he had been running for a hundred miles. "What do you want, demon?" He asked. With a loud and clear voice, as grandmother had always instructed him.

The bird let out a gentle, soft laugh. "I am not demon." It said.

Billy tugged his blood soaked knee closer to his chest. "You're the color of a demon." He prayed to the goddess for protection, flinching away as the bird hopped a few inches closer. "You're shadowy. And you're speaking inside my mind. And my tummy feels like stone cold soup, sloshing around--"

"Have you ever seen a demon, child?"

Billy shook his head. "My grandmother conjures and binds them. She helps the people in town without them knowing, only I'm not allowed to go into the attic when she does her rituals because--"

The bird hummed. "So you've never actually seen a demon?"

"No, but I help gather the materials. Salt and elixirs. My mommy makes potions to ward--"

"Ah." he bird muttered slyly. "So you are a witch."

That sent a chill down Billy's freckled spine. "How could you tell?"

"Smell like one." The bird pecked at a passing leaf on the ground. "Sharp and smoky like a budding Forrest fire. Are you alone in the world, child?"

Billy thought of his mother and his mother's mother. Generations of women who had come before. "I have a family, but I'm the only boy."

"But you're a witch."

"A conjurer. Yeah." Billy shrugged. "My mom says we're warlocks. That's what boys are called. Warlocks, because we get out magicks from the maternal goddess, and--"

"How do you know you didn't conjure me?"

Just the thought made Billy feel like a bag of mixed beans, the kind that grow into magic bean stocks. "I couldn't do that."  Billy tried to stop his cheeks from getting warm. "I don't even know how to cast a ring of protection yet."

"Salt. Four candles to represent the four great winds. Boreas, Notus, Eurus, and Zephyrus." The bird concluded.

Billy didn't understand. "How do you--"

"Salt protects from malevolencies and so do familiars." The bird hopped closer.

Billy let him, fingers twitching against his split knee to stop from reaching out. The air felt heavier, in that moment. Not like a weight but like a blanket, warm and safe, as the little creature landed on Billy's shoe and pecked at his laces.

The bird's wings felt like fairy kisses. "Would you like a familiar, child?" The bird asked.

Billy had heard of such a thing before. His grandmother had several in her collection; spiders, because they were clever, and cats, because they were cunning.

Clever and Cunning, a potion meant to better serve their masters.

Billy wasn't sure he believed in all that, for he had always thought that to have a familiar was to have a best friend. Someone to share your life with.

Billy wasn't sure he'd ever get to share his life with anybody.

The little bird cocked its head to the side and Billy had to know, "What if I can't trust you?" He looked away, toward the trees. "My grandmother said that demons try and take things from you but they want to be let in first."

"I told you, child, I'm not a demon."

"Billy." He said. "My name's Billy. I'm eight years old." The bird would be smiling, Billy thought, if he could. "Do you have a name, little guy?"

The creature didn't answer.

It, instead, hopped to the ground, kicking rocks away with its charcoal talons. Stretching its toes in the late afternoon sunlight.

"You did summon me, you know." The creature said after a while. "Not with your power so much as your need."

Billy didn't understand. "How did you know I--"

"I'll tell you what." Billy listened, leaning forward as the bird flapped its wings. "I'll tell you my name. One of the easiest and most sure fire ways to banish a demon is to call it by its name, so. If I were a demon you'd have all the power, here."

The bird stopped to peer at him, its beady eyes filled with wonder. "Isn't that what you want, child? Power?"

Well. Yes.

And no.

Billy shrugged. "What I really want is a friend."

The bird considered him for a while before finally, finally, chuckling. "Well, in that case you can call me Stolas."

"Stolas." Billy repeated, trying not to feel discouraged by the way his mouth tripped over the word. He grinned anyway. "I think we're going to be great friends."

[okay-victoria]

Random Personal Rant

For anyone somehow here not from the original thread, this started off me getting asked what finishing school is and me getting shit off my chest that is only mildly relevant about how I could both be of the social class that gets sent to finishing school and grows up on welfare.

With an understanding that in many parts of the world it wouldn't qualify as so, as far as the US goes, my dad is from what counts as a very old money family from Baltimore & Philadelphia. Both his siblings went to college and one now owns a major hedge fund, and his sister is married to a C-level executive at a huge conglomerate. His parents went to college. His grandparents went to college. All eight of his great grandparents went to college. My dad...did not go to college. He was not about that life, and while I don't mean it as an insult, when I say his primary occupation until I was ~5 was a drummer in a mediocre band I mean that he opened for a lot of great acts, and if you lived in the Boston to Atlanta area in the 80s you may have heard him play, but he was never a huge national name. But he wasn't an amateur band playing for free at some random local gig either.

My mom grew up on a chicken farm in a Mennonite family in Pennsylvania but also completely rejected her heritage and became a model, sort of like my father, of mediocre status. Not Giselle Bundchen, but had national contracts and if you have a Graco ad/box from 1990-1993 you might see both me and her on it. They met because my mom's friends placed bets, one each, on who could sleep with a member of their favorite local band first and my mom picked my dad and...my mom was actually supposed to go be a model in Tokyo and found out she was pregnant with me and couldn't go 😂

So, after my parents had two kids back to back with a third on the way and determined they needed lifestyles more in line with having three children, they became much poorer than they originally were because my mom stopped working and my dad, with a barely-passed-high-school education but needing a true "day job" worked day labor in construction. My dad's father was too proud to give us money/help if my dad didn't beg for it; despite having eventually four young children my dad never did so we ended up on all the state assistance programs one could imagine. My grandma jokes that dinners at my parents house were BYOC - bring your own chair, because we didn't own any.

My mother and paternal grandmother had no such pride issues and I live in eternal gratitude that my welfare childhood was not as crappy as it should have been because my grandmother would have my mom accompany her on grocery runs and buy us food without my father or grandfather knowing, and every Christmas and birthday my grandparents/godparents could give us the one big ticket gift all the kids wanted that year. But, on the other side, I once got stung by a bee inside my mouth because my brother threw a hairbrush through a cracked window at me and broke it and we couldn't afford to fix it for about two years and a hornet got in one day and rested himself in my coke can (my parents were the very American type that fed me coca-cola in baby bottles at age 8 when I was jealous of my younger siblings lol).

It is hard not to believe in "toxic masculinity" when two men warring over dumbass pride issues would rather their children/grandchildren go without food than suck it up and decide 'help' isn't the worst word in the English language, and you know you've only been saved by two women who came from totally different backgrounds and entirely disapproved of each other but reached out the hand to shake when it came down to toddlers getting the short end of the don't-bend-the-knee stick. It wasn't that either of the men were bad people, I loved them both and got along great with both, but on a societal level I feel they were socialized in a very fucked up way if that was the end result, as both claimed "male pride" in these instances [my dad took multiple thousands of dollars I'd saved from working during college from me during the 2008-2010 financial crisis and didn't tell me and that was the reason I was given for why I hadn't been informed/asked, because it would be too emotionally difficult for an adult man to ask a young woman. My graduation present was them repaying me 1/3 of the money they'd taken from me without asking because I'd like, trusted them when it had been in a joint account that was a holdover from when I was <18 and couldn't have my own bank account].

While in some ways my parents on the surface achieved the American dream of going from nothing to a bunch of money, the real factor in play was that my dad's father was the bank. My parents had no credit and couldn't get real loans. My dad worked construction and during the two major periods that flipping houses was very lucrative, he never had to get an actual loan or pay actual interest, he just had to ask his father to pay out cash and then repay him at a flat 2% interest rate that didn't even accrue over time, just...whenever you are ready, repay the value of the loan + 2%. Because my father was doing something productive, in these instances, my grandfather was happy to pay, because it wasn't giving away money, it was loaning it. I had a very weird situation of mostly being poor but like also getting taken to the "big donors" events at the Kennedy Center and my grandparents regularly buying me a dress as a child worth more than my mom's wedding dress and also needing to pretend I fit in with these people.

And look. When I say "these people"...honestly, by and large, most wealthy people, whether inherited or not, are not the assholes you want to imagine. Most of them are extremely nice. Most of them are generous when it comes to the less fortunate who are in their personal sphere of being. Most of them are just really out of touch. The 100% kindest of all of them that I know once relayed to me that she thought people would be happier if once a year they did what she did...go to the airport with a purse packed full of absolute necessities, buy a one way ticket to the most appealing destination on the flight board, buy your clothes and book your accommodations after you'd arrived, and come back after you felt you'd 'centered' yourself. She didn't understand why there were so many unhappy people who weren't taking this very obvious route to being happier. I didn't quite know how to explain that saying "most" people couldn't afford to do that either financially or from a job/career angle didn't even cover it, as "most" sounds like 70% instead of 99.7%.

I was both my parents eldest son and eldest daughter in the worst combination possible. I was the eldest son because I was the most stereotypically male of all my siblings, in everything from desire to physically fight the battles I was given to dislike of shopping/fashion to lack of emotional connection to my relationships, so I can now fix your average household plumbing/drywall/electrical issue better than most "city" guys I interact with and remain less clingy to them in the process. I was also very much the oldest daughter from a responsibility perspective, I managed our household and from age 10 - 24 managed the finances of our family business, my mom almost died giving birth to my youngest brother after a ruptured uterus that should never have happened in the first place if we had adequate insurance to get her a non-emergency C-section (I was just past 9 years old at the time) and I was informally withdrawn from school for two years to take care of the family when she couldn't because there is no paid parental leave in the US and we got double-fucked by the medical industry because she got a bad "mesh" put in and then had to have a further surgery to repair that which we also had to pay for and didn't have the money to win a lawsuit over.

I don't know quite how to put this, but in the deepest fuck you of the universe, my rich-immigrant-ggggg grandfather's money led to him owning banks, insurance companies, etc, and the family cashed out in a big way when their ownership was bought by and merged with what is now Cigna, one of the biggest US healthcare insurers, and my nuclear family specifically got screwed by the American health insurance industry, but anyway, we were the people selected for that karmic comeuppance so if you want to feel schadenfreude at my expense, I'll allow it without begrudging the sentiment, my family might have fucked up your family’s life too, not just their own.

I got up twice a night to feed my brother because my dad had to sleep unmolested in my room to get to work and my mom was too weak to carry my brother or even hold him against her while she nursed so I had to hold him up to her. Adjusting to living in a city and hearing lots of random noises all the time was not easy when I'd had mom sound instincts from age 9.

I learned to drive the fall my youngest bro was born because my mom couldn't and I had to get my middle brother to preschool and go the grocery store on my own. While I hold absolutely no ill will towards my father or grandfather for this and given that about 1/3 of my paternal family either has an autism diagnosis or should, I fully feel the struggles they both went through to be communicated with, my father wouldn't ask for help, and my grandmother that lived 20 minutes away couldn't give enough help because my grandfather refused to do a single dish on his own as that was outside their "marriage contract" type agreement and she couldn't ever stay with us overnight when there wasn't a clearly-communicated need, so they let the burden fall on a 9 - 11 year old child and that really shaped a lot of my life in both good and bad ways. My youngest brother is 22, and we have only just climbed out of the medical debt his birth left us with between my dad's life insurance and my oldest brother and I paying for the extra cost of out-of-state college tuition.

The irony of all of this is that because my father died before his father, when my grandmother dies, my siblings and I will all inherit enough money (as a non-blood relative my mom, despite keeping her vows to part at death and not having remarried in eight years, is cut out entirely) to make this a non-issue, but my grandfather couldn't conscience spotting his unluckiest child some money in the end of days to pay for my youngest two brothers' education and take that worry off my father as he was dying. The day before he died I had to hold him down in bed to keep him from trying to climb in his truck to go to work because he was so anxious about trying to provide for us in spite of his father having fuck you money, because his father didn't think it was fair to the other siblings (who, at the time, still owned a major hedge fund and were married to a C-level executive of a huge conglomerate). A day and a half later I went back to my job because at the time I was then the sole provider for the family and didn't want to risk asking for the standard week's bereavement leave when I knew I was capable of showing up at work the next day and was fresh out of college so hadn't built up a reputation yet.

My father worked the day each of us was born, so I suppose it is only fair and he smiled at the choice. In spite of what it may seem, I gave a baller and very heartfelt speech at his funeral to all his rich friends that over and above everything, he'd taught us how to be happy with our own lives no matter what, and multiple of them emailed my mom in the aftermath to say they'd reassessed their relationship with their children in light of it, although...tbh I kind of doubt that lasted and they probably changed nothing 😅. The last good talk I had with him, two weeks before he died [his liver was going and it sent toxins to his brain that de-personed him after that and he no longer recognized me as his daughter, but as his sister], I reassured him that though we would all be sad he'd gone, we'd live on just fine without him because that's how he'd raised us, and according to my mom that was what gave him the final bit of peace he needed. Although honestly, I don't think I will ever see the strength in another human again that it took my grandmother to sit next to him and stroke his hand and tell him to close his eyes and imagine he was happy on a beach and die, for God's sake, because he was unaware and in pain and just prolonging it for our sake by then.

That type of obsession my grandfather had with assessing his children and grandchildren on the basis of economic productivity and a very black and white idea of "fair" is one you don't easily forget, I promise you. My hedge fund uncle is currently positioning himself to screw us out of our inheritance because of janky writing in the will and I'm doing my fuck all best to gain the wherewithal to go toe-to-toe with this cold motherfucker in court as the oldest and representative member of my happily much nicer and softer younger brothers who I want to remain that way not because I even care that much about the money, I know what bills affect your credit first and what you can put off paying and all of us have good enough career prospects to do our own thing, but just because I want to give the middle finger to a man that was a multi-millionaire and drew lines on his milk and orange juice bottles when I came over so he knew if I drank what my parents couldn't afford when I was approximately six. Anyway, ask me why I support major reforms in wealth taxation. I don't care who it goes to, just not that guy, you feel?

Having expendable income was very exciting for a bit after I started working but once I got to the hateable point of assessing my annual bonus and internally complaining that I'd spent the money I should have spent on a Sauternes cellar to drop five digits on bedset materials (to be fair they are drop dead gorgeous, very comfy and the factory pays a living wage for people to handmake the sheets/duvets/pillows to people in San Francisco, which is not cheap, so maybe I did more good than harm with that), I two seconds later nodded to myself and went "the government needs to confiscate more money from me". The narrative is always that the "undeserving" will use it for dumb things they don't need like iPhones or refrigerators...?...but like...I could also have gone to Bed Bath and Beyond and bought a very nice sheet/comforter set for at most a tenth of what I paid so am I really spending it responsibly either....?....who is going to get more joy out of this misspent money....?....not me, that is for sure, I probably would have had more fun going to BBB and laying on all the demo beds and buying something there.

My lifelong dream, which may become possible if/when I do have something of an inheritance, is to provide food security for one of the many towns in the US were most residents don't have it. It's the thing I remember the most distinctly over the years. I never could quite believe it when I got to the point that I could just...pay to eat at a restaurant. One of the most disappointed my mother has ever been in me is when I was twenty five and confessed I actually had no idea how much a gallon of milk cost in a city grocery store besides that it was probably between $1 and $5, because I didn't have to know. For now I make a weekly drop off of my excess produce to a mom group I met under somewhat weird circumstances but I was walking through the cut-through that went through the low-income housing back to my apartment at like 2 AM on a Saturday and these moms were out there partying and smoking weed with their kids all strapped in strollers around or the older ones watched by a rotating member of the group and I felt very safe and like these moms had a very good vibe of both living their own lives [seriously for mental health parents but in most cases specifically mothers need to be able to keep up relationships with people their age] but keeping their children safe and accounted for while doing so and trying their fuckin' best against all the odds to figure out how to make that happen when life had dealt them a shit hand.

...anyway, looping way back to the original question of what finishing school is, when I was almost done with middle school my dad had built a legit construction business that then very quickly took off because we lived in a commutable zip code to the now-rich-in-their-own-right people he went to high school with who trusted him to redo their homes. We eventually moved to that zip code but I stayed and commuted back to my old high school. But, i was a pretty wild kid which my father appreciated for a long while because I would follow him around on jobs and enjoy doing physical labor, but once I was mid-puberty and also he had to maybe show me to his high school friends that did not fly.

I snapped - not broke, snapped - my left thumb and my parents had to trap me like a wild animal to get me to go the hospital. Then I got a deep cut that partially injured a tendon in my leg and at eleven I tried to beat the shit out of my dad to prevent him from picking me up to strap me in the car and go to the hopsital. Next I got a deep splinter due to my eternal-barefoot tendencies and it wouldn't come out so got infected and I refused to go to the doctor [another weird back story but I was minorly sexually assaulted [[to be clear, not raped or anything big traumatic]] when I was eight and had to stay in hospital for a week and my parents couldn't be with me all the time so I have a permanent heebie-jeebie about going to the hospital, not true anxiety, I will go if I know I need to and I don't breathe heavy or anything, and I'm actually not permanently weirded out by sex or anything, just doctors in hospitals specifically I kind of unconsciously try to justify not needing to the extent I can rationalize it] and my dad was tired of my antics so he was like "fine if you don't go I will slice your foot in half with a Swiss Army knife to get it out" and I called his bluff and laid down on the floor, stuck my foot on his lap, and he didn't really know what to do when a barely fourteen year old girl called his bluff so my brothers watched in fascinated but horrified awe as I got my foot sliced open spectacularly so that the infection/splinter could come out and I didn't even make a sound out of spite despite it being quite painful to my recollection almost twenty years later.

They saw me cry from pain exactly one time when while trying to break up a fight between all three of them (it was over ice cream) I got pushed and my ankle got dislocated and what actually made me cry was snapping it back in place and they realized it was not a joke. These dumb assholes that I love have ragged on me for "skipping" chores the day after I was in the hospital because the day before that I had to spend 18 hours running Thanksgiving as a good sub-hostess like I didn't have a serious infection that needed treating and couldn't rest because none of them were up to any task beyond peeling potatoes.

After the Swiss Army knife incident, my dad's discussion of sending me to finishing school became real, which I knew when my mom made me take a walk with her and talked about it. Finishing school is like...etiquette school....? In ye olden day when finishing high school was not the norm for anyone, wealthy men finished high school and wealthy women often went to "finishing" school to have a combined education on being a proper lady but also being able to hold a decent conversation with your presumably-educated husband, so it wasn't entirely etiquette non-academic. It was more just like "what a rich man wants in a wife" school, which was sort of household management and knowing enough about cleaning/cooking to correct the staff if they fucked up, how to be a polite hostess, and how to not entirely bore him when you were alone together and had done your five minutes of sex or whatever so actually had to have a conversation. In modern times it has obviously expanded to be less bleak.

I said miss me with that, I can be a girl on my own, so I went full throttle into the girliest sport they offer in high school and ever since have gained the inestimable advantage of knowing how to also use femininity to my advantage, which I am very grateful to my parents for making me learn. It would be great if we lived in a world where that didn't count, but it did/still does, and they really set me up to operate in all the worlds.

It is weird for me to tell the story to Internet strangers because it's one of those things that makes your parents sound terrible and abusive in the general tone of the Internet nowadays, and while I support gender nonconforming children I don't remember my childhood or parents that way. But, I feel like the bits and pieces of my life I've given don't always make a ton of sense together without the context, so here it is, and in the end, I think a number of parts of it are areas where you can probably understand where it makes me have the opinions I do when I write.

Anyhoo, this makes my life sound far worse than it is, I actually have a great life and I am not unhappy with it at all and feel I was on the whole blessed with many more turns of luck than unluck, so, please, do not take this as a depressed artist rant, it is more like a rant of a very energetic person who rants about a lot of things all the time and didn’t need to come out but just did because the question was asked and the time was right with my life being in a bit of flux to think about how I got where I am and where I want to go and why.

Always remember no matter what problems it seems like I have, if I didn’t solve them on my 2 year round the world traveling hiatus I took from working, it’s my own fault, I definitely had the time and money to solve them and just chose not to.