voice of the unheard

September 26th is National Voter Registration Day.

For many states, it’s the last day you can register to vote on the upcoming November local ballots.

Voting local is voting for issues that impact you directly—quality of roads and public transportation, education for the next generation of voters, parks, public safety, minimum wage laws, local healthcare access, and so very much more.

Don’t let this deadline slip by. Millions of Americans were unregistered for last year’s presidential election. Millions of voices went unheard. We can’t let that happen again.

Missed it last year? Register. Changed your name or moved in the past year? Update your registration. Completely prepared and feeling good? Great. Now tell a friend to register.

This is how we take care of each other, Tumblr. This is how we start to change what needs to be changed. Get ready to vote.



0. THE FOOL | blank slate, beginning, innocence
®* | reckless, negligence, unaware of consequences
1. THE MAGICIAN | willpower, manifestation of desires
® | trickery, illusions, lies, out of touch w/ truth
2. THE HIGH PRIESTESS | intuition, inner voice
® | repressed/unheard inner voice
3. THE EMPRESS | mother figure, nurture, earth/nature
® | smothering, dependence, needing to let go
4. THE EMPEROR | authority, structure, control, father figure
® | tyranny, too much control
5. THE HIEROPHANT | tradition, conformity, morality
® | rebellion, subversiveness, divergence
6. THE LOVERS | union, duality, choice, harmony
® | disharmony, loss of balance
7. THE CHARIOT | self-control & willpower leading to victory
® | loss of control, lack of direction
8. STRENGTH | bravery, inner understanding that radiates power
® | self-doubt, insecurity, weakness
9. THE HERMIT | solitude, contemplation, seeking inner truth
® | loneliness, isolation, disconnect w/ fellow humans
10. WHEEL OF FORTUNE | change, cycles, inevitability
® | bad luck, helplessness, series of bad events
11. JUSTICE | cause & effect, karmic retribution
® | unpunished misbehavior, unfair, turning a blind eye
12. THE HANGED MAN | willing sacrifice, release of control
® | stalling, needless sacrifice, waiting to no avail
13. DEATH | end, cyclical closure, metamorphosis
® | fear of change, stagnation, limbo, holding on
14. TEMPERANCE | moderation, balance, middle path
® | extremes, excess, lack of balance
15. THE DEVIL | materialism, destructive patterns, excess
® | freedom, release, restoring control
16. THE TOWER | sudden disaster, upheaval, collapse
® | delaying inevitable disaster, avoiding suffering that could lead to growth
17. THE STAR | hope, faith, guidance
® | faithlessness, lack of guidance, negative thoughts
18. THE MOON | unconscious, intuition, illusions, dreams
® | confusion, misinterpretation
19. THE SUN | success, clarity, positivity, conscious
® | negativity, depression, sadness, pessimism
20. JUDGEMENT | reckoning, honest evaluation of oneself
® | lack of self-awareness, self-loathing
21. THE WORLD | completion, wholeness, fulfillment
® | incompletion, no closure, nearing end of journey but something is missing

*® = reverse card meaning*® = reverse card meaning

Tarot Cheat Sheet #1 - Major Arcana

Tarot Cheat Sheet #2 - Wands

Tarot Cheat Sheet #3 - Cups

Tarot Cheat Sheet #4 - Swords

Tarot Cheat Sheet #5 - Pentacles

“Freed in the Rain” - Miraculous Ladybug Soulmates AU Fanfic

Guys, I wrote my very first solo ML fanfic!  I usually only do the drawings for fanfic collaborations but this time I wanted to try doing both!  I wrote it for @chocoluckchipz‘s birthday!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCKY!!!  @maerynn-blog, @kryallaorchid, @midnightstarlightwrites and myself wrote oneshots all with a Soulmates AU theme.  Here it is on Ao3 (I wrote Chapter 4)  

Author’s Notes:  Everyone knew that if you had a soulmate, you would know them by the first time you touched.  Skin-to-skin contact would show you all of your soulmate’s memories, and would result in an immediate bond and passionate fidelity.

“I’ve never been to school before.  I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of new to me.”  Adrien shrugged sheepishly and turned back towards Marinette.

He smiled, holding his umbrella out to her.

An olive branch, she realized. An invitation to start over.  Marinette thought back of how quickly and harshly she misjudged him; he was but another victim of her tendency to act first and act questions later.

He hadn’t deserved such treatment and here he was, taking the initiative to make things right. Her stomach fluttered, and had she not been so tongue-tied she would have apologized, but nothing came out.

A crash of thunder brought her back from her reverie and she blinked.

She hesitantly lifted her hand, wavered for a moment, then their hands brushed together as the umbrella was exchanged.

Thousands of words and feelings came rushing towards them at once, so sudden and overwhelming that they fell helpless to its current, a tumultuous river of events and places. They could not tear their eyes away from each other, the realization of what was occurring rooting them to the spot, otherwise they might have collapsed right then and there from the shock.

The world ceased to be, and all that existed was a boy and a girl.  A cacophony of voices and emotions surrounded them, unheard to anyone else, accompanied by the quiet spattering of early autumn rain.

Adrien felt warmth. The smell of butter and sugar, the taste of hot chocolate and cinnamon. Lingering embraces, playful pats on the head, a mother’s love and comfort. Strong arms and tight hugs, excited hollers, mashing buttons on videogame controllers. A homey, comfortable bedroom, a haven from the world. Pinpricks on fingertips, the act of plunging into an artistic frenzy, and the satisfaction from when a creation turned out just right. Tripping, slipping, stumbling here and there, always seeming to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Numerous insecurities, the bullying and mocking from a sneering face he knew very well. Overwhelming self doubt as a certain pair of earrings was hidden away in a drawer. Gentle hands on her shoulders, encouraging words, and a reassuring smile from a black clad teammate. The surge of newfound confidence as she purified corruption and evil in the form of a black butterfly.

Marinette felt cold. Countless faceless figures staring, prodding, scrutinizing, empty praises, blinding flashes and camera shutters. A stunning woman with golden hair and emerald eyes, once a source of comfort, gone. The constant feeling of loneliness, abandonment and despair. The infrequent acknowledgement from the one man he wanted to please the most. His large, empty bedroom, a glass prison meticulously outfitted just for him and his boundless solitude. The feeling of the crisp air in his lungs and the burning in his legs from the very first time he sprinted and jumped across Parisian rooftops to see how fast he could go. The thrill of watching the girl in red who was meant to be his other half, brilliant and beautiful, rescuing his childhood friend from certain death, formulating ingenious strategies, and defeating a magical giant made of stone.  Sheer pride at seeing her succeed against her fears and become not just a hero, but a symbol of goodness. The love brimming within his heart, spilling over into what used to be emptiness. How can such a broken heart still house such great love and kindness?  Her eyesight became blurred by tears, unbidden and unstoppable.

It lasted merely an instant but it felt like a lifetime, and the teens pulled away from each other as if they’d been shocked by electricity.   Neither made a move but continued to stare, the tears kept flowing, and Adrien choked back a sob.  

They had found each other.  Partners, yes, but also something more.  

The light to his darkness.

The calm to her chaos.

Something rare and wonderful had been gifted to them and fate had allowed them to meet and become complete.  

Marinette jolted forward, wrapping her arms around Adrien’s waist as tightly as she was able, wanting to offer whatever solace she could, the comfort and love he so desperately needed, fiercely determined to try to make up for all those years of neglect and loneliness.

He clung to her as if she would disappear at any moment, almost convinced that this was too good to be true, too wonderful, too miraculous.

Feelings of protectiveness and devotion consumed him, not understanding how he could harbor such intense love for someone he didn’t know.  But he did know her, and she knew him.

More than anyone else in the world ever did.

The umbrella lay forgotten on the pavement as the two teens embraced in the rain, not noticing or caring that they were getting drenched, for the love that was shared between them was more than enough to keep them warm.

Hidden Sides of MBTI Types
  • ESFJ: While they are usually kind-hearted and well-intended, they're often not warm and fuzzy. This is because they often try to love people before they learn to like them. They are the biggest nerds out of all the ESxx types, often gravitating towards Enlightenment Era ideals. They also make great pranksters, because they are clever and love to get reactions from people.
  • ISFJ: They're a lot more laid back than most profiles will have you believe (because ALL SJs MUST HAVE THEIR NOSES TO THE GRINDSTONE 24/7 pssh yeah right). Yes, they take what they do very seriously, but they need an awful lot of downtime because they are highly sensitive to sensory and social input. They may have a tendency to give up on things they should persist on, and persist in things they should give up. They are more open-minded than they seem - while they are extremely cautious with strangers, they are usually willing to learn to understand others as they get to know them, regardless of their differences. They are also the most fantasy-prone of any Sensing type, with a love for lore and literary analysis - it is a way for them to keep in touch with traditions.
  • ESTJ: Most of them aren't actually self-righteous. If they are, it's only toward their family members - this is mostly out of insecurity rather than a firm belief that they have made all the right choices. When faced with someone close to them making different choices than they did, they worry that perhaps they themselves should have taken a different route in life. Out of the SJ types, they are probably the worst at teamwork.
  • ISTJ: Sillier, softer, and stranger than any profile would dare to mention, and often more so than they themselves are aware of. They become so firmly set in their habits that they often fail to realize how idiosyncratic some of them are. They are quite vulnerable and can become depressed and anxious when they are faced with a difficult decision, more so than other types. This is because of their strong sense of accountability. They can also have a knack for puns and poignant descriptions, though most would never peg this type as "poetic."
  • ENTP: The main reason they appear "non-committal" is because they are often, in actuality, extremely committed to someone or something that prevents them from pursuing new possibilities far enough or for long enough to gain anything from them. Imagine a fish that struggles to swim off in a variety of directions only to be reeled back in again and again, not even realizing that it's attached to a hook. They are probably the least self-aware of all iNtuitive types. Contrary to popular belief, they are not reckless. They may participate in reckless activities, but they are extremely cautious while doing so.
  • INTP: They care a great deal about what other people think of them and theirs - the "socially awkward" stereotype comes from over-thinking the situation, rather than under-thinking it. They are not wishy-washy, they are just extremely skilled at picking their battles. They can argue a lot for its own sake, but it wears them out more than they let on. Out of all the NTs, they are probably the best team players. They may pretend not to care about gossip or "sap", but they often secretly find these things irresistible.
  • ENTJ: They are usually not Machiavellian. Their strong sense of individualism often extends to others (which makes them respectful of others' uniqueness), and they use their brave and outspoken nature to amplify others' voices who may be going unheard. They are often the "bully's bully" - if they see someone picking on someone who's in no place to fight back, you can bet they will not hesitate to put that person in their place. They may seem tireless and unsinkable, but when they fail to meet their own standards, they often need to temporarily withdraw from their endeavor in order to regroup.
  • INTJ: They value free will fiercely, but they aren't stubborn. If they learn the value of something they previously resisted, they can do a complete 180. Because of their tendency to analyze things for extended periods of time, this is something that can happen quite often. They are more aesthetically oriented than other Thinking types, and they are often quite whimsical (though they may not always express it). While they can appear cold, they can usually be quickly defrosted by a cause or by something they relate to. They tend to be quite compassionate towards people and things that are misunderstood, urging others to look beyond their biases and at the facts and circumstances. While they are very independent in their thoughts, they usually don't mind (and can sometimes prefer) to assist and be assisted, due to their keen sense of where they and others fall short.
  • ENFJ: They tend to suffer from a poorer self-image than most ExxJs. While their perpetual concern for others may look like the picture of responsibility, it can also be a means for them to avoid dealing with their own problems. This hyper-altruistic tendency coupled with a weaker Sensing function can lead to an ENFJ's life falling into severe disarray, and because of their Fe image-focus, they tend to be very good at hiding it. They are quite prone to vices - contrary to the Goody Two Shoes picture painted of them by most MBTI profiles.
  • INFJ: While their NF righteousness usually compels them to be open and honest, they can be surprisingly artful and manipulative due to their knack for knowing what people want (and don't want) to hear. They are masters at keeping their friends close and their enemies closer. While many INFJs are spiritual people, their aptitude for coming to conclusions with little to no evidence does not come from any sort of mystical source, but rather their constant unconscious analysis of small details that most others don't notice at all and which they themselves have difficulty pinning down specifically. They are the most cerebral of all the Feeling types.
  • ENFP: They may be extraverts, but they are often not outgoing because their Fi compels them not to over-extend themselves emotionally. Their extraversion manifests more in exploration of various interests and gathering information from outside the self, interpreting it in terms of the connections between different pieces of information. While they almost always have unconventional senses of humor, they are not necessarily "goofballs" - they take their moral causes, values, and social relationships very seriously and one can readily observe this intensity any time these topics are brought to the ENFP's attention.
  • INFP: Often regarded as frivolous daydreamers, they can be shockingly practical, readily seeing the value of using time and resources wisely. They often have no time for things they see as irrelevant to their causes, projects, or values. In a society where ExxJ behavior is seen as the norm, this might look like someone acting "too cool for school". In reality, the INFP is as busy as they are. The only difference is that the source of motivation is intrinsic, and the projects are usually personal. They are also not as pleasant as most sites paint them as. Many INFPs are harshly judgmental towards people and things they see as transgressing against their values. Though they may not always speak up about it, they will frequently shun those who don't meet their standards without a second thought or a closer examination.
  • ESTP: Contrary to popular belief, they do value book-smarts and often enjoy conversing with Rational types. They may not grasp the concepts as easily (nor apply them as responsibly), but they find philosophical topics stimulating - another piece of equipment on life's big playground. While they are naturally persuasive people, they are often disinterested in the corporate and political spheres where they could potentially thrive - ladder-climbing within organizations doesn't appeal to them (in fact, many ESTPs cringe at the very idea). Because of this, they often do not pursue these career tracks despite their high level of potential for success in them.
  • ISTP: They are usually much more caring than most profiles give them credit for. They have a deeply fraternal nature about them and they often use their trouble-shooting skills and practicality to give advice and assistance to their friends. While typically independent and solitary in the pursuit of their hobbies, they are usually not aloof in social situations and they have a knack for observational humor.
  • ESFP: Out of all the Feeling types, ESFPs often have the most difficulty dealing with emotions, whether their own or those of others. They are not good at giving advice or confronting their own emotional issues - this is because of their tendency to minimize problems. Their Feeling side manifests more in their genuineness. You typically won't find them deliberately playing games with others' feelings or pretending to be someone they're not in order to be liked - their natural confidence is usually enough for them to win friends and influence people.
  • ISFP: They're not snobs or hipsters. Well, not necessarily. They know what they like, full stop. Whether their tastes are considered refined or eclectic by the rest of the world varies from ISFP to ISFP. They're not that shy - many an ISFP is possessed of an SP-typical brazen sense of humor and they love to talk at length about their interests. They are also not as prone to spring at new opportunities or experiences as other SP types - "I don't know, it doesn't sound like something I'd like" is a phrase commonly uttered by ISFPs.

“garnet was so violent and ooc in mirror gem it was scary” dude what?? she wanted to protect steven from whatever she thought was in the mirror and he literally slapped her across the face ofc shed be mad. its not like she was running after him wit the intention of beating the shit out of him

Oh, sleepovers. Nothing is better than spending a night with your bestfriends overdosing on junk food, laying around in your most comfortable and embarrassing pajamas and watching five movies in a row. Sleepovers can either be extremely relaxing or hard to recover from, but they are so funny and irreplaceable that I personally think there should be an international Sleepover Night. 

Movies, obviously, are a must-be according to the Sleepover Bible (made up by me right now), but sometimes it can be hard to choose what to watch. I guess one of the best ways to decide is having a marathon or establishing a theme: you can watch the whole Harry Potter/Pirates of the Caribbean/Star Wars saga, go for a tv series like Friends or Grey’s Anatomy or follow a fil rouge that links together a few films.

What I’m proposing you today is one of my favourite themes: teen movies from 1990 to 2000. Beside being extremely funny and unmissable if you are a movie amateur, they definitely left a mark in the filmmaking history, defining a generation not so far in time from ours. They can also teach you something about style or pop culture, so you have no excuses left not to watch them!


People worshipped them and cursed them, but everybody wanted to be them .

In Jawbreaker you have all the ingredients for a classic teen movie: a high school, a popular and mean clique of Queen Bees, a kind-hearted girl loved by everyone, a prom, hot guys - with the only exception that this is not a classic teen movie.

Jawbreaker is a dark comedy and (surprise!) it involves a kidnapping, a death and police investigations. Written and directed by David Stein, the movie revolves around the “Flawless Four” of Reagan High School, Los Angeles:  Courtney Shayne, Marcie Fox, Julie Freeman and Elizabeth Purr. They all rule the school with a terror regime, except for Liz. She is not as mean as her friends and makes no differences in relating with others - her beauty and honesty, then, make her the most loved and admired girl. 

Obviously, this generates jealousy in Courtney, Marcie and Julie, who decide to prank their friend on seventeenth birthday, by performing a fake kidnapping. They take her off guard early in the morning, binding her with ropes and pushing a jawbreaker candy into her mouth. The girls lock Elizabeth in the trunk of a car and drive towards the mall to celebrate their friend’s brithday with breakfast. However, once they open the trunk, the sight is definitely not what they expected it to be…

Jawbreaker is worth watching not only for the twisted, surprising plot and the iconic (and definitely realistic) language used by the girls, but also because it explores the dynamics of a group of girls with the voice of an outsider, Fern Mayo, who finds herself involved in the events against her will. This movie is gonna make you laugh, startle and maybe regret not living in 1999.

Cruel Intentions (1999)

In the game of seduction there’s only one rule: never fall in love.

Drugs, sex, a hot step-brother, games of seduction, classy and total black outfits, rich mansions. If you like this list, Cruel Intentions is the perfect movie for you. Beside having an incredibly attractive cast, a young Reese Witherspoon included, its plot twists the usual “mean clique” dynamics.

Set in a wealthy Manhattan, the film is about an oddly assorted couple: Sebastian Valmont and his step-sister Kathryn Merteuil. He’s well known for his countless sexual conquers and seductive manners, which perfectly match Kathryn’s inner wickedness and malice - but they always both manage to get away with it thanks to their fascinating looks and charming attitudes. 

The tight relationship between the two not only sees them accomplices in many misdeeds, but also gives rise to explicit sexual innuendos, as Sebastian’s not-so-secret fantasy is to sleep with Kathryn. Despite wishing the same, the girl likes to play it hard to get, so she decides to set up a bet: if Sebastian will be able to seduce Annette Hargrove, Kathryn will have sex with him - otherwise, she’ll get his vintage Jaguar. It’s not as easy as it seems: Annette is the daughter of their school’s headmaster and has recently written an article on saving her virginity for marriage.

As the time goes by and the relationship with Annette develops, Sebastian will find his controversial morals hardly tested. He’ll also have to manage the seduction of the young and naive Cecile, the new girlfriend of Kathryn’s ex, and he’ll be soon torn between his usual lifestyle and a wager maybe too hard to win, even for his unbeaten ego.

Cruel Intentions is weird, explicit, somehow shocking. It points out the differences between boys and girls as it comes to sex, providing a few interesting reflections under a chic, witty and dark atmosphere. Kathryn’s outfits are ICONIC and the movie will make you want more - and you’re lucky, because there are a prequel and a sequel.

Clueless (1995)

Dear diary, I’m more fabulous than five minutes ago.

I don’t even know how to start with this and if you’ve never seen Clueless before… oh my gosh, you can’t imagine what you’ve missed. This movie is p-e-r-f-e-c-t! 

Yes, we have a Queen Bee, Cher, with her sidekick Dionne. And yes, she’s vain and superficial. But she is funny, gorgeous, good natured, harmless and extremely relatable. You could easily make any quote from her character yours, really. She’s crazy wealthy and lives in a mansion in Beverly Hills, obviously being the most popular girl at school.

The movie explores Cher’s life and her attempts at making “good deeds”, showing how her attitude is more innocent than biased. She decides to give Tai Frasier, a “tragically unhip” girl, a makeover aimed at initiating her into the popular universe of their high school; she tries to act as cupid and match two professors (also to raise her grades); all of this, just for the sake of “giving back to the community”.

Cher’s hilarious adventures continue as she finds herself facing a new, attractive boy at school, her annoying stepbrother, the driving license exam and other teenage things we’ve all been through. I loved this movie because she’s fierce and self confident in a positive way, for once - and I won’t even mention the outfits of almost every character, which I’ve seen more than once reinterpreted in the latest collections of many fashion brands. And let me add that Alicia Silverstone’s facial expressions are the best thing in the world… In a few words: watch it. You won’t absolutely regret it.

The Craft (1996)

“You girls watch out for those weirdos” - “We are the weirdos, mister”

Everyone loves a bit of magic. Candles, chanting odd words, summoning the supernatural, meeting in the middle of the night - all things you probably don’t do but that still sound fascinating and attractive, especially if you are a young girl with a mysterious past in a new school where you know no one.

This is how it goes for Sarah Bailey once she arrives to the catholic academy of St. Benedict, Los Angeles. A group of outcasts, with difficult, gloomy lives and rumored to be practicing witchcraft, notices that Sarah is not as normal as she seems, thus luring her into joining their coven. The powers of the four girls reach a whole new level as they try to fix their messy lives and make up for any wrong that had been unfairly done to them.

However, nothing is easy when it comes to unearthly powers - the group will face difficult personal struggles and they will soon understand that everything comes with a price. 

This thriller will open your eyes on the hard life of social rejects in a surreal way, making you think twice before exposing someone not as lucky as you - you never know what may be their revenge. I loved The Craft because it explores a different side of the world depicted in the movies listed above - it gives voice to the unheard and shows things from a different point of view.

10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close.

Sisters can be so different. Take Bianca and Kat Stratford, for example. One is popular, beautiful, admired and elegant, the other is a smart, casual, ironic bookworm. Cameron James (and adorable Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is head over heels for Bianca as soon as he sees her, but he’s warned by a friend that the girl’s father doesn’t allow her to date anyone. This doesn’t only upset Cameron, but Bianca as well - that’s why before the prom she quarrels with her dad until he agrees on letting her go at one condition: Kat has to find a boyfriend and go to the prom, too, causing Bianca to become furious since her sister will never want to be with someone.

Cameron finds out about the new rule and decides to find a boy who will date Kat, so then he’ll be able to go out with Bianca. The mission seems impossible, but of course we have Heath Ledger, in the role of Patrick Verona, who once again becomes the hero and (obviously with a heavy salary) agrees on trying.

Will the mission stay professional? Will Kat resist to Patrick’s charm or will she be trapped by the good-looking outcast as bitter as she is? Will Bianca go to prom with Cameron? You need to watch the movie to find out. This is one of my favourite ones, I’ve seen it at least three times and it’s just great - I always like watching the development of a romantic relationship, because each one is different from the other. And the singing scene on the bleachers? Iconic.

Romeo + Juliet (1996) - trailer

If love be rough with you, be rough with love.

Do I even have to say something?? I mean, Leo DiCaprio, Shakespeare’s most known masterpiece, love and death, Baz Luhrmann. This is enough, isn’t it?

Romeo + Juliet is the modernized and adapted version of the famous, tragic love story. It’s visionary, surreal, heartbreaking and it should be seen at least once a week because it’s just too much. It is set in a imaginary Verona Beach, where the adventures and deeds of two families in war intertwine with the forbidden love affair of a young boy and girl. The plot follows Shakespeare’s script, but you won’t find swords or horses. Guns and sportscars, gas stations and a swimming pool are just a few of the innovative twists Luhrmann has used in this dreamy and loud film.

What about you? What are your favourite 90ies/sleepover movies? Let us know by commenting this post, the Facebook page or sending an ask! x

The Whispering Door’, Clonmacnoise, Co Offaly, Ireland. It dates from the 15th century. According to tradition if two people stand at each side of the door and whisper to the stone, their voices will carry to each other around the curve of the door, remaining unheard by anyone else.

Stay After Class

Kim Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 2.038

Warnings: Taehyung giving it to you good( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)(lol sorry)


I’m really sorry but I couldn’t find the link to whoever’s gif this is so credit to the owner:)

Great. Another day to endure, sitting in front of Mr.Kim. You weren’t sure you could endure any longer. Like really, just looking him made you feel some type of way. His blonde hair always framed his face perfectly and when he styled it so that his eyebrows showed, there was nothing but heat. Everyone knew that he was attractive yes, but you barely said anything about it. Today was the day though. When you came in, you saw him at the board, wearing all black. Dammit, he must’ve done this on purpose. Your eyes trailed all over him, your thoughts filled with how good he looked. How sexy he looked.

You broke out of your trance and made your way to your seat only to find your friend drooling over the same person you were staring at just moments before.

Keep reading

What I like/dislike about the types I’ve known well

if you’re not on the list, relax. I just don’t get around much.



like: your soft, loving energy. It enfolds everyone and grabs attention when you walk into a room. You’re aware of people in a way no one would think to be. You fill up the awkward spaces I don’t know what to do with. Generally very studious and well learned.

dislike: your passive aggressiveness. Your fear of facing yourself and other internal/external conflicts. Pushing people’s buttons for coy amusement. Can be a gossip, or want to be in the know about everyone to feel “connected”. Can be entitled and whiney.


like: your depth of understanding. Your engaging conversation and mild spirit. You’re always thinking, and therefore have plenty to say if given the opportunity. You create a sense of privacy, safety, and intimacy. Your genuine and sincere spirit brings out the truth in people you reach for. You have a true power to heal.

dislike: can be easily offended. Sometimes can’t get over yourself/your issues. Your hesitation and/or resistance. Gravitation to be in or even create drama despite yourself. Perfectionism. Thinking you always know best. Self sabotage. Tendency to play victim. Tendency to be self righteous. Fe goes a little nuts under pressure. Melodramatic.


like: Brutal honesty. Your drive and determination to improve yourself and everything/everyone around you. The way you hold back nothing good. Jumping in whenever your skills are needed. You give back what you receive. You make things move. Engaging conversations, always. Willingness to communicate. You give a louder voice to those ignored or unheard.

dislike: over simplifying and over categorizing people and things in your life. Getting in your own way. Your pride. An inability to accept input longterm. Can undermine or show disrespect, to your detriment. Your impatience for expected results. Being unable to adapt or accept. Tendency to blame others. Knowing, but not understanding.


like: reliability. Surprising amount of patience. Consistency. Stability. You rise to the occasion. Can be as engaging as you are silly. Sharp wit and sarcastic humor. Great debater. Clear way of teaching, planning, and voicing thoughts. Ridiculous gaming skills. Set by example. Your constructive criticism. That rapid blink and glare combo of confusion/judgement when someone says something stupid.

dislike: your almost naive sense of morality. Overlooking/underestimating the human condition. Holding everyone, including yourself, to impossible standards. Your stubbornness. Your impulse for vengeance. Your self justification. Inability to accept help or advice. A puffed ego which is frequently bruised.


like: you’re the underdog’s advocate. You have a fiery spirit. An appreciation of the true human condition. Generally good taste in music/art. All about self discovery. Always see the big picture. Cuts down to the core of a person. You inspire change everywhere. You see potential everywhere. You bring out the imperfect, and reassure and acknowledge its existence.

dislike: emotional unpredictability/instability. Can be needy/clingy and codependent. Intense emotional outbursts. Takes criticism personally. Tendency to blame/judge others over a biased viewpoint. Often doesn’t see or accept the reality of a situation or relationship. Often doesn’t listen to reason. Will not let you forget big mistakes or embarrassing moments.


like: your loyalty. Your fun loving, daring, childlike spirit. Your love for food, adventure, and life. Your awkward jokes. Your ninja skills™. Your hidden compassion. A general ability to remain unbiased. Your emotional confusion, but generally good intentions. Your adaptability and approachableness. You know how to fix or resolve just about anything. Fiercely protective.

dislike: inconsistency. Unpredictability. Often unreliable. Can be emotionally constipated. Moody, and tendency to brood. Fickle, yet absolute judgements. Non-communicative.​ Always sleeping/sleepy, wtf. Either see you every other day or not for weeks. A passiveness for your own well-being.


like: easy going. Fun loving. Usually ready for anything. Understanding. A deep, often unspoken or unknown, love for your friends and family. You lighten the mood and find a way to make/keep everyone happy by just being you. Comedically clumsy.

dislike: getting stuck on one emotion for a long time. Can be oblivious. Can be obnoxious. Forgets goals and aspirations, to your detriment. Easily distracted. Short sighted.


like: practical wisdom. Maturity. Knows a little about a lot. Laid back. Loves to joke and tease (extremely sassy). Affection by action. Kinesthetic intelligence. Honors limitations. One of the deepest Thinkers I know. Has no problem with long discussions. Quietly passionate about some personal cause. Thinks outloud and sometimes doesn’t realize.

dislike: predictable. Prone to anger issues. Prone to extreme guilt and self loathing. Limited to their own perspective. Pass judgment with little context if a value is violated - will not change their mind. Traditionalists. Operates by a certain norm, basically forever. Can be all or nothing. Sometimes crude. Holds grudges.

Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa

“The King in Yellow”  Act 1, Scene 2

Un collage realizado a partir de diferentes grabados de William Blake, que representa al Rey de Amarillo, creado por Robert W. Chambers

A collage made from different engravings by William Blake, which portrays the King in Yellow, created by Robert W. Chambers

Parental Instinct

Jiyong lifts your daughter, pulling her up to rest on his hip, her eyes scanning the shelf of candy in front of her.

‘Which ones do you want, princess?’ He asks her, swaying her backwards and forwards.  

‘How many can I have?’ She casts her round, almond eyes at him, blinking her butterfly eyelashes.

‘As many as you want.’ He chuckles, his lips dusting her forehead.

‘No, Ji…,’ You warn him sternly, your hand coming to rest gently on his bicep. ‘She will make you buy the whole shelf.’ He shrugs ambivalently at you, a single eyebrow dancing upwards.

‘Yeobo, let me spoil her, huh? I haven’t spent time with her in two weeks…’ You shake your head, knowing that not matter what you said, your daughter would get what she wanted from her father. Her four year old self was the apple of his eye.

‘I want that one.’ Your daughter points to a coffee chocolate bar, and Jiyong reaches for it, slightly taken aback.

‘You picked this one? Do you know what it is, Jaeeun?’ His asks curiously as his hand wraps around it, bringing it closer to her face.

‘Yes. It’s coffee and chocolate together.’ She replies with confidence. Jiyong’s eyes furrow in confusion.

‘But Jaeeun, you don’t eat coffee, huh?’ The bar hovers in front of her.

‘I know. But I thought about Mummy. You didn’t say you would buy her one, and I wanted to get her that one because it is her favourite.’ She blinks at him as if her decision was the most obvious thing in the world. Your husband nods in knowing, a pleased smile spreading on his face, mimicking the pleasant feeling inside your heart.

‘Ahhh, my daughter.’ He sighs contently, pressing his lips against her cheek. ‘You have such a kind heart.’ She squiggles against his kiss.

‘Not you. You forgot Mum.’ If there was one thing your daughter had inherited from your husband, it was his confidence. She was never one to let her voice go unheard.

‘I didn’t forget.,’ Jiyong states calmly. ‘I was helping you pick first.’

‘But Mummy needs help too, and sometimes you don’t help her… like when she asks you to wash the dishes.’

‘Jaeeun, pick some candy, huh? We’re going to be late to see Uncle Youngbae.’ You press her into a decision, and she picks another candy bar, wrapped delicately in a pink wrapper. Jiyong reaches for it, clutching it in his hand.

‘That one is for Uncle Bae. He likes strawberries. And Dad, you can have… the same one as me.’ She pauses, contemplating the choices, before pointing to Jiyong’s favourite - a mint chocolate bar. He adds two of them quickly to his now stretched fist.

‘Good choice, Jaeeun!’ He nods in pleasure, before dropping her slowly down from his hip, handing her two of the candy bars to carry. She toddles straight to the counter, her balance perfect as her hands wave the candy bars excitedly. Jiyong had picked her outfit today - black skinny jeans tucked into her miniature doc marten boots and a blue and white striped t shirt peeking out from under a green army coat. The coat waggled after her, and you noted the content look on your husbands face, satisfied with his wardrobe decision. You both followed her to the counter, Jiyong taking it upon himself to lift her up so she was able to place the chocolate on top of it. He adds his two, smiling at the old woman behind the counter.

‘How many are there?’ He asks her, his English twinged thickly with an accent. Despite his lack of complete fluency, Jiyong made every effort to immerse your daughter in English. It was something you were both trying to do - talk to her in English, so she became bilingual quickly. Her Korean had inexplicably developed far more rapidly than you’d expected, and she was sometimes still mixing her words when she spoke in English. As your parents only spoke English, it was important to you that she became fluent in your native language as well. Her face furrowed in concentration as she counted.

‘One, two, three… sa!’ She giggled in glee, knowing the annoyance the Korean would bring to her father.

‘Yah, Jaeeun… Am I speaking Korean?’ He presses gently, tickling her in a non-aggressive fashion.

‘Dad, I want to give the lady the money…’ She switches back to Korean, holding her hand open, palm flat for Jiyong to place money in. He reached into his back pocket, balancing your daughter carefully on his hip.

‘Okay, Okay. Wait a minute, huh, princess.’

‘Oh, wow. Your Korean is very good!’ The woman behind the counter comments happily as she begins scanning the items, the smile on her face crinkling her eyes. You can see Jiyong’s body tense instinctively, his movement for his wallet pausing in a split second.

‘Of course it is.,’ Your daughter comments confidently. ‘I’m Korean.’ Her statement is one of fact. Jiyong continues to withdraw his wallet, his movement strained slightly.

‘No you aren’t.’ The woman replies, her tone equally as confident. Jiyong’s head, which had been tilted slightly towards your daughter, snaps forward to look at the woman. If there is one thing he was sensitive about, it was the perception other Koreans had about his daughters race.

‘I am… I’m Korean.,’ Your daughters brow furrows slightly, confusion flooding her face. ‘My daddy always says…’

‘Look at your Mum. Look at you… You can’t be Korean.’ Despite her pleasant tone, her voice was becoming more forceful. Your daughters eyes begin to fill with tears, her face turning as they pooled in her wide set eyes.

‘Dad, am I Korean?’ She questions, her voice unsteady.

‘Of course you are, Jaeeun. This woman doesn’t know what she is talking about.’ He cuts in sharply.

‘Ji, let’s just go, huh? Youngbae is going to be waiting for us…’ You knew what was coming. The tension leaching from Jiyong’s body was becoming palpable. Your hands reach for your daughter, and Jiyong passes her to you willingly. Her face burrows into your scarf as you pull her into a hug, her wet tears mixing into the wool.

‘My daughter’s Korean isn’t good - it’s great, because its her first language.,’ His voice has become louder and more blusterous with anger, and your daughter retreats further into you, her tiny arms climbing inside your coat. You cradle her, turning away from Jiyong and the woman. ‘You, though, have an extremely narrow minded view of the world. Of course my daughter is Korean. She has lived here her entire life and has only left the country twice.’

‘But…’ The woman, taken aback by Jiyong’s confrontation, opens her mouth in an attempted rebuttal.

‘No buts. She is Korean. Who the hell are you to say she isn’t and upset her?,’ He opens his wallet, removing a few bills of cash. You catch them out of the corner of your eye, a handful of hundred thousand weon notes. ‘Keep the change. Use it to buy some damn empathy, huh?’ He flicks the notes onto the counter roughly, his fist in an easy swoop, before turning to stalk out of the store. You follow him, your daughter still clinging to you, her face not showing. You coo gently in an attempt to encourage her out.

‘Jaeeun? Are you okay?’ You switch to Korean in an effort to console her, your voice nervously stumbling over the syllables you could usually pronounce without effort. Her head shakes a negative response. Jiyong continues his rapid pace, his long, thin legs carrying him quicker than you could keep step with. He stops abruptly, his body coming to a halt just in front of you. You pause, approaching him. ‘Ji, slow down, huh? I can’t keep up.’ He turns, his head shaking is disbelief, collecting a deep breath.

‘Sorry, I’m just…,’ He huffs, unable to articulate his words correctly. Your head nods down to your daughter, to draw his attention to her distress. His eyes close, his face crinkling to draw inner strength.

‘Jaeeun-ah.,’ He steps forward, his voice low in comfort. ‘Daddy’s not mad at you, huh? You know that right?’ Her small head peaks out from the grooves of your scarf, eyeing Jiyong suspiciously.

‘I don’t know.,’ She replies honestly. ‘I’m confused.’ Jiyong lets out a lengthy sigh, before offering his arms to your daughter. She twists, shifting her weight into him so he was able to swing her onto the ground, allowing her to come to a standing position. She turns to face him, and he bends on his knees to crouch down to her level. His hands clutch her shoulders gently.

‘I’m not angry with you at all. I’m angry at that woman. You did nothing wrong, okay?,’ His hands smooth down her arms, coming to clutch her tiny hands. ‘She was being very rude to you, and when someone is rude to you that makes me angry. No one should be allowed to make you feel bad by being rude to you. Ever. Do you understand that?’ Your daughter blinks her wet lashes at her father, a small nod coming from her head.

‘Why did she say that I’m not Korean? You always told me that I am Korean.’ Her brows furrow, confusion threaded over her face. You can’t bare to look at her, so your eyes flick to Jiyong. To his credit, his face remains staunchly calm.

‘Some people think that if your Mum or Dad is from a different country, you can’t be Korean.,’ He responds. ‘But those people are just stupid. When they say that you aren’t Korean, you have to tell them they’re stupid, okay? In your biggest, loudest voice.’ His fingers reach up to nip her cheek in a pinch, and she giggles excitedly.

‘I can call them stupid?’ Both her eyebrows arch in surprise.

‘You can. I’m going to let you say that to them, but only them okay? I don’t want to hear you calling anyone else stupid.’ She nods her head in understanding, her little secret agreement between her father and her bringing a widening grin to her face.

‘I won’t. I promise. But she was stupid!’ She shakes her hands, unable to calm her physical excitement at saying the world. A deep chuckle rumbles from Jiyong’s throat.

‘Who loves you?’ Jiyong asks, kissing his palm and balling his hand, holding his clenched fist out for Jaeeun. She leans forward, and he opens his palm, pressing it into her exposed, plump cheek. His fingers burst into movement, dancing down her neck to tickle her. It was their secret greeting. You’d had no idea where it had originated from, but they both adored it.

‘You do.’ She giggles happily, her shoulders shrugging up to avoid his fingers.

‘I do.,’ He pauses, looking at her, his hand cradling her face. ‘Come give me a hug, my Korean princess.’ She moves quickly into him, slotting easily between his crouched knees as her hands reached up to wrap around his neck. He pulls her close, lifting her feet slightly off the ground with the power of his hug. He holds her, longer than usual, the emotion he was feeling seeping through him. He settles her down again, his arms still holding her, but loosening slightly to allow her to step back.

‘Are you sad, Daddy?’ She questions as she studies his face.

‘A little bit.,’ He answers truthfully. ‘I don’t like it when people make you upset or when you cry.’ Her hands reach up to his face, squishing his cheeks to purse his lips. She leans forward, mushing her lips into his happily, planting a loving kiss on them.

‘I’m not sad anymore, Dad.,’ She says simply. ‘That lady was just stupid.’ She pushes his cheeks once more, before letting him go.

‘Ahh, my smart Jaeeun.’ He replies with a smile. She wiggles out of his arms, taking his hand.

‘Uncle Bae is waiting for us. Let’s hurry.’ She chugs him into motion, her legs thundering on the path as they break into a run. Jiyong stalls, his eyes flicking back to you to ensure you were following, hand reaching out to clasp yours excitedly, and you take it, running after them both.

A heavy sigh leaves his lips as he removes his t shirt, discarding it neatly into the wicker washing basket at the end of the bed. His head folds down, his hands running through his hair, haphazardly spraying the black strands in multiple directions. Despite his resolve in front of Jaeeun, it was obvious his mind was still lingering on the incident earlier in the day. You place your kindle on the beside table, peeking at him over the rim of your reading glasses. Jiyong had put Jaeeun to sleep hours ago. You’d watched him lay her onto the bed, the new stuffed unicorn from Youngbae taking up most of the space. He’d kissed her goodnight and told her she was beautiful, staying to let her hug his arm until she’d fallen asleep. He’d disappeared into the study shortly after and you hadn’t seen him since.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ You press lightly, eyes scanning him. His frame sinks lower, head bobbing further still.

‘No.,’ His answer is short and simple. He stands, deep in contemplation, and you throw back the covers, swinging your feed over the edge of the high bed frame. You pad your way to him, your silk sleep dress swishing against you lightly. You approach Jiyong, your arms wrapping warmly around his sunken body, your head coming to lay on his wide shoulder blades across the top of his back. ‘Do you think I scared her? I mean, she has never really seen me angry before.’

‘You didn’t scare her at all, Ji. She was just a bit confused. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ You murmur the words into his back, a kiss pressing against the bare skin of his tattooed neck, your lips tracing the lines of ink. Another sigh leaves him, and he sinks into your embrace. Throughout your relationship, you’d learned very early that Jiyong was much more sensitive than he let on. It was one of the most endearing traits about him. However, you understood how hard it was for him to grapple with the copious amounts of empathy he felt for others. He’d often wear their struggles longer than they would. ‘You saw her with Youngbae… She was over the moon. I doubt she is even going to remember it tomorrow.’

‘I know she seemed okay… I just got so angry about it I couldn’t control myself. I can’t stop thinking about how easily that woman shot her down. I want her to have confidence and we’ve both worked so hard to surround her with positive influences. It’s upsetting that in one second someone can say something so casually and it can have such a big impact on her. How could she say that to our child?’ You cradle him, rocking gently back and forward, your head resting on him.

‘We can’t protect her forever.’ Your response seems simple, and he chuckles slightly at your words.

‘You mean I can’t lock her in a tower away from the rest of the world?,’ He shifts your arms gently, his palms pressing to open your hands. He turns, coming to face you, his arms connecting around your body. He meets your eyes, carefully considering your face. ‘It’s not that I want to do that. It’s just I know people are going to see her as less of a person because she’s only half Korean. I know what the lady meant when she was saying she wasn’t Korean. She was saying she wasn’t good enough to be Korean. It made me upset… It made me really, really angry that someone could say that to my daughter. If people say things like that to her, she is going to start doubting herself.’ Your hand reaches up to cup his face, drawing it close to you for a sweet, lingering kiss. The amount of love Jiyong had for your daughter was boundless, and it was something you found intensely attractive.

‘I know, Ji. I know it’s hard. I didn’t know what to say when it happened because I was angry too. It’s difficult, and her life will be difficult. I can’t deny that. But we’re teaching Jaeeun to be a strong, thoughtful, caring person. That’s all we can do. Maybe she won’t get angry about this kind of stuff, but simply feel sorry for people who were taught such a narrow minded view.,’ You kiss his lips again, the fluffy cushion pressing against you with more vigour. ‘I know she has an amazing father that is going to fight for her whenever she needs it. I know she is going to be just as sympathetic and have the same amount of empathy as he does. I can already see it in her, Ji. We don’t have to worry about her.’

‘You’re right.,’ He nods, his gaze shifting off you. ‘You’re totally right. I just hate seeing her upset.’ He shakes his head to snap out of his daze.

‘You wouldn’t be a good father if you didn’t, and it’s one of the reasons she loves you and trusts you as much as she does.,’ Your hand reaches to his face, cupping his cheek to stroke your thumb across it. ‘And one of the reasons I love you as much as I do, too.’ He leans forward, enveloping you in a long, drawn out kiss. His lips rub softly against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands slip low over your hips, coming to cradle the rounded cheeks of your bum. His kiss continues, building in passion.

‘Daddy… Mummy…’ Your daughters voice shatters the moment, calling from behind the closed door. Jiyong breaks apart, his shoulders sagging in disappointment.

‘Damn it… that was going somewhere.,’ He let’s out a low sigh, breaking from your hug. ‘Yes, princess?’ He calls.

‘Daddy?’ She calls again. Jiyong walks quickly to the door, peeling it open.

‘What is it, Jaeeun? You’re meant to be sleeping…’ His voice trails off when he sees her, her own face quivering as their eyes meet, her wet cheeks flooding with more tears.

‘I… I had… I had… a dream… and the… unicorn… died.’ Jiyong sweeps her up in his arms, her wet cheeks burying against his skin.

‘It’s alright, Jaeeun. It’s still there in your bed, huh?’ He coos to comfort her.

‘Daddy… I’m scared.’ She manages to splutter out. Jiyong bumps her gently up and down, shifting to the bed as he attempted to ease her worry.

‘That’s okay, princess. You can sleep here with us.’ You couldn’t fault his suggestion. Your daughter was rarely scared, and for the most part slept through the night. For her to be this upset was unusual. With his free hand, he threw back the covers, before gently laying her down between the crisp whiteness of the Egyptian cotton sheets. She let out a groan, holding her arms out to desperately to Jiyong as he let her go.

‘Daddy, no… You have to stay.’

‘I know, Princess. I’m just getting into bed.,’ He climbs next to her, snuggling himself up to her, and she accepts his hug gratefully. ‘Do you want Mummy to join us too?’ He suggested, his fingers sweeping over Jaeeun’s face to wipe the tears off her eyes. Your daughter nods eagerly, sitting up slightly to encourage you into the bed.

‘Come on, Mummy.’ Her voice is still croaky from her tears. You oblige her request, walking to the other side of the bed. You adjust the covers over both your daughter and husband, pulling them up to their necks, before peeling back the corner of your own side of the bed. It was spacious enough, and Jaeeun was small enough, that her presence made no difference to your comfort. However, you found Jiyong shifting closer to you and sandwiching your daughter between you. She rotates slightly, her sleepy head curling into your shoulder while her arm reaches back to touch her father. Her face is full of innocence and you again can’t help but think how a complete stranger could have been so forceful with her today.

‘Good night, Princess.’ You whisper to her. She leans forward, her lips pressing into yours in a goodnight kiss.

‘Goodnight, Mummy. I love you.’ 

The contradiction of Leo is that while they can be some of the bravest people ever, standing up for the unheard voices and being extraordinarily generous in their bravery, they also can be some of the most cowardly people. Cowardly in the sense that they may avoid confrontation or refuse to take responsibility for their mistakes in an effort to protect their pride.

The Devil’s Plaything

Word Count: 4,607

Warnings: More smut than plot, inappropriate usage of elevators, alarm clock anarchy, boring old people, disobedient & bratty choices.

Please oh please let me know what you think, it makes me SO happy and almost cures me of resting bitchface. Happy sinning! x

The haze of sleep over your mind shuddered and then shattered as your own moaning roused you awake.

Each sense came to you lazily: the whisper of the sheets against your cheek, the morning light dimly greeting your eyes as they opened, the sound of your tiny gasps, the warm waves radiating through you and the hairs that stood on end in their wake.

Disoriented, you inhaled sharply as Tommy hummed to acknowledge your wakefulness, his lips against you. Your hip bones sat on his palms, your ass in the air as he held you, propped up on his elbows with his face between your legs.

“Tommy-” you whined, voice cracking with sleep.

“Good morning, love.”

More humming vibrations shot through your clit and up your spine, Tommy’s mumbling lips on your nerves stealing your words from your mouth.

Running his tongue up and down your pussy, Tommy continued to tease you awake. Gasps increasing, you breathed heavily into your pillow as your hips began to roll in Tommy’s grip.

The sun that had just managed to spill over the trees and into your bedroom did nothing to shrink your blown pupils, your breath hitching as Tommy took your clit into his mouth, sucking lightly before grazing it with his teeth.

Half-moons of your nails dug into your palms, sheets curled in your fingers. Your back arched, Tommy pushing your hips up further so he could thrust his tongue inside you, playing with your entrance. You couldn’t breath fast enough, your body trying to keep pace with Tommy’s wake-up call and losing.

Something coiled inside of your stomach and you curled your toes, Tommy’s name on your lips as you started to lose your grip on the ledge of your orgasm.

But then the rich waves of heat turned into an ache, your orgasm knotting inside you when it failed to escape. Tommy set your hips down gently and kissed his way up your spine, crawling above you until he reached the nape of your neck.

Your head swam with the last trails of slumber, the confusion of an orgasm lost, and the scent of Tommy’s skin.

“Not yet,” Tommy said, nipping at your earlobe.

“Tommy,” you mumbled, “don’t tease.”

Chuckling knowingly, he continued to plant kisses across your back. “But you’re so easy to tease, little one.”

“I know,” you groaned, a grimace turning to a squealing smile as Tommy forcibly smushed kisses across your face until you laughed.

“Now up with you,” he said, “we’re going to be late.”

“And whose fault is that?” you complained, ignoring him and sliding your hands underneath you, finding your wet and aching clit.

“Oh no,” Tommy chided, taking your wrists and sliding them up to the sides of your pillow, intertwining his fingers in yours and pressing down. “None of that. Would you like to cum at any point today?”

Turning slightly so you could look at him, you nodded meekly.

“Then I suggest you leave it to me to decide when you do.”

Tommy slipped a finger in your mouth and held your face still as he pressed his lips to your cheek once more. Then he was gone, a smack to your ass and a bounce of the mattress announcing his departure.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling blankly, not even bothering to shame the aches of lust that came from Tommy’s teasing - his favorite game was quickly becoming yours as well. The shower turned on and you braced yourself for more, hoping he would be forgiving today.

“Are you coming?” The rasp of Tommy’s voice echoed deeply, rolling out like the steam beginning to spill from the cracked bathroom door

“Probably not anytime soon,” you willingly admitted to yourself with a grumble, clambering your naked body out of bed to join him in the shower, which was where he kept you until your jaw ached and the hot water ran out.


Sipping your champagne idly, you wondered if you were imagining the taste of Tommy’s cum, or if it was still lingering on your tongue. Clit pulsing faintly, you decided you didn’t care which answer was correct, as long as the taste remained.

Tommy laughed his best fake laugh next to you, his hand innocently rubbing circles on your back through your dress as you two made small talk with a couple that looked exactly like the last three couples you’d run into in the racetrack’s ballroom.

Being an owner had its advantages: private boxes, as much champagne as you wanted, plates of food that would make the Queen purr; they were things that you and the rest of the Blinders used to only dream about, but the novelty had quickly worn off. With breaking the law no longer a factor, races had turned into boring business for the boys, and competitions of who could get drunk the fastest between Ada, Esme, and yourself. Ada usually won.

Races had also, unsurprisingly, started to become Tommy’s favorite days to toy with you. Finding the toffs and the business they conducted to be unbearable, Tommy had turned to other sources of entertainment.

The most recent pair of insufferable toffs retreated after lengthy goodbyes, but dread settled where relief should have been as Tommy “accidentally” dropped his lighter and bent to the floor. It came as no surprise when you felt his hand brush your ankle, stealthy as he straightened back up, his hand suddenly stroking your inner thigh beneath your dress like it had been there the entire time.

“I knew you wanted to stand over here for a reason,” you whispered to him, fidgeting under his tantalizing touch.

“Oh, I love dark corners,” Tommy smirked with a wink, snapping the strap of your garter against your ass, the sound unheard below the clamor of voices, clinking glasses, and crackling jazz music.

More often than not, if Tommy wanted to stand in a corner with you it wasn’t because he had a secret to tell, just one to commit.

Praying your blush was only in your head, you gratefully took another champagne from John and stood helplessly as you listened to the brothers squabble, Tommy tracing lines over you with his finger that made you want to sink your teeth into your lip.

While you were in the middle of explaining your job in the Shelby company to an older man that was seemingly never able to remember your name correctly, Tommy pushed your underwear to the side and slid a finger inside of you in one smooth motion, your voice catching in a squeak. Clearing your throat weakly, you continued on innocently.

Tommy’s smirk somehow managed to be palpable and invisible at the same time as he slowly stroked you, agonizing as he avoided your sweetest spot - at least until you were done speaking. Keeping it together when he was touching you there was not one of your better talents, and he was feeling gracious enough to spare you the embarrassment of coming undone.

As the morning wore on the knot inside you continued to tighten, Tommy’s glances tame in their hunger as he taunted you under your dress. Mood sadistic, he whispered his plans for you into your ear whenever he had a second to, daring your eyes to roll back at his words as he held you on the edge, right where he wanted you.

The worst times were when he stopped his stroking altogether, holding his finger unmoving inside of you: if you wanted pleasure, you would have to make it happen yourself, in a room full of people.

All you could do was stand still and smile.

Eventually, Tommy was forced to check his pocket watch, looking at it boredly and answering his aunt’s question lazily as if he wasn’t rubbing your clit in soft circles under the table. Hips rolling, you tightened in effort as Tommy brought you close to orgasm - again - playing with your nerves as you soaked through your lingerie.

“Come with me, I have to go check on the horses,” he said suddenly, snapping your lingerie back into place before he stood, offering his hand gallantly to help you out of your chair like he hadn’t just took the life of your orgasm from you.

“These shoes weren’t exactly meant for a barn, Thomas,” you said, keeping your voice straight as you shakily took his hand, pointing to the beaded heels daintily poking out from under your dress. “I’ll stay up here.”

“No,” Tommy whispered, pressing an innocent-looking kiss to your temple, “you won’t.”

“And why not?” You grazed your lips subtly against his jaw, his pulse infuriatingly steady compared to yours.

“I don’t trust you to stay away from yourself,” Tommy replied with a wink, holding his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?”

Wisely resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you took Tommy’s offered arm and glared at the calmly close-lipped smirk on his face.

Holding your dress so you wouldn’t trip, you tried to keep up with Tommy’s pace as he dragged you through the winding corridors of the racetrack. By the time you reached the small elevator that connected to the stables below, the hallways were nearly empty, bodies having rushed off to fill their boxes or the stands.

“Going down, sir?” The lift’s operator asked, a boy no more than fifteen, looking uncomfortable in his boxy uniform.

“We’ll take it from here actually,” Tommy replied, slipping a bank note into the boy’s jacket pocket and pushing him past the elevator’s gate before sliding it closed.

“Sir!” The boy sputtered weakly, no match for either of you, but trying anyway. “You can’t-”

“Thank you!” You smiled toothily, sliding the inner accordion of the golden grate shut in his face and pushing the elevator’s lever towards one of its two options, the metal box moving downwards smoothly on its cables.

“That’s my girl,” Tommy growled, picking you up easily and pressing you into the wall, reaching over to yank the elevator to a stop between floors, nothing but a brick wall between the diamonds of its gate.

Sighing into his open mouth you kissed him, locking your ankles behind his back and gripping his sides, the taut muscles of Tommy’s stomach flexing as he pressed his hips into you.

“Should I fuck you like this?” He murmured, his cock solid as he rubbed against you. The layers of clothing between you slid over each other, the head of Tommy’s size heating you with friction as it moved up and down your pussy in a long line.

“Yes,” you whispered absently, your eyes shut as your clit began to throb with need. Tommy yanked your dress past your thighs to your waist, gathering it and stuffing it into your mouth.

“Don’t drop it,” he hissed, squeezing your face for emphasis.

Nodding, you moaned into the fabric as Tommy’s palm began to smack sharply against your ass, first one cheek and then the other. He slipped his hand under your dress and beneath your bra, rolling your already hardened nipples in his fingers.

Pushing your hips up and down, you ground against his cock, knowing that if you riled him enough he would take you. But his willpower was strong with the thrill of leaving you wanting, and he pushed your legs off of him before turning you around, his hand large on your face as he held your head against the wall.

Delivering two more hard strokes to your ass for punctuation, your yelps made Tommy smirk as he shushed you gently, “What, you don’t like it? I think you do.”

Curling his hand around your lingerie, he pulled it down to your thighs. You could feel how wet you were, the cool air on your pussy making you whimper. Tommy pressed harder on your face, his lips a breath from your ear.

“Take them off.”

Reaching back, your hands didn’t make it to the ribbons before Tommy took both your wrists in his free hand, holding them to your lower back.

“No, no hands.”

Whining earned you nothing but a spank harder than the last, his hand stinging sharply on the now-bare skin, raw from his last smacks. Rushing to avoid another stroke, you wiggled your hips to work your underwear down to your knees. Tommy slid his fingers underneath your garter strap and played with it as he watched you put on his favorite show, smoldering eyes half-lidded.

“All the way off.”

Complying, you wiggled until you could carefully lift each shoe out, freeing yourself. Tommy guided your legs into place as you set them back down, open for him as he liked.

“Good girl,” he hummed, releasing your face so the blood rushed back to your skin. Flexing your jaw, still sore from Tommy’s ravaging this morning, you didn’t dare move as his hands left you to retrieve your discarded lingerie.

Wrapping his hand around your throat, Tommy pulled you away from the wall and held your back to the rippling muscles of his chest. Removing your dress from between your teeth, he pressed the soaking lace over your mouth and your nose, smothering you, “Now, you tell me: do you think these belong to a girl who doesn’t like to be teased?”

Swaying in his grip, your eyes rolled back as he slid a finger inside of you and walked you forward until your face met the gilded elevator wall once more. You breathed in your own desire and moaned.

A smack fell on your ass and you shook your head quickly, mumbling your dissent into your lingerie before Tommy had to ask again.

“I didn’t think so,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the thin skin below your ear. Removing his finger from you to press it to your clit, he rubbed softly until you arched up on your toes, a muffled gasp your only sound.

Tommy pushed the elevator’s lever back in with his foot and it continued its drop, his fingers still playing with you as your ride came to an end.

“Tommy, please-” you begged, gasping in air that wasn’t laced with lust when Tommy removed your underwear from your face, ignoring you as he slid it inside his jacket pocket.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said matter-of-factly, straightening his tie in the reflection of the gaudy elevator wall. “Your shoes are very nice, and I like them. No stables for you.”

Catching your breath, you didn’t fight the exasperated laugh that broke out of your chest, shoving him gently before you stood by his side, fixing your reflection’s hair before turning to Tommy to fix his tie yourself.

The elevator grated to a halt and you clung to his arm, looking up at him with widened eyes and a pout to match, purring, “Are you sure I can’t come with you? I don’t mind getting my knees dirty.”

Tommy pressed a kiss to your lips and pinched your nipple through your dress, making you squeal into his mouth. “I know you don’t, little one. Go back upstairs-” he squeezed your cheeks in his hand, eyebrows raised in warning as his nose brushed yours, “-and don’t even think about touching yourself. Remember that you’re a terrible liar when it comes to such things, aren’t you?”

Tommy didn’t wait for an answer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before turning on his heel and disappearing towards the horses, leaving you behind with nothing but heaving breaths and a mess dripping down your thighs.

Finding your way back upstairs, you blended in with what you hoped was flawlessness, gladly accepting more champagne and smiling at the people who required smiles. All the while your tryst was on repeat in your mind - you could still feel Tommy’s hands on you. Eventually Ada linked her arm with yours and dragged you both to the safety of the Shelby’s private box, settling in with more champagne - and more than enough cheese - to keep you happy. For now.

An hour had passed and Tommy hadn’t returned. In days past you would have been fearful of the possible reasons why, but days like that were long gone, and you knew he was safe. Not only was he safe, but you were sure he was enjoying himself wherever he was, knowing all too well that you were a mess.

Ignored orgasms turned into pointed irritations as time continued to pass, the horses beginning to appear on the track and warm up in neat formations. Your lust had grown to a gnawing need, your clit pulsing in stubborn refusal to let you forget about Tommy’s deft touch. No distraction was enough to overrun the memories of his lips waking you up this morning, either.

“You alright?” Ada asked, drunkenly lolling her head in a nod at your combination of an empty glass and a blushing face.

Running with her assumption, you feigned wooziness as you stood - although you quickly realized you didn’t have to fake most of it. “I need a break I think, too much smoke and too much champagne.”

“You want me to come?”

“No, I’ll be alright, I might try and find Tommy.”

Squeezing Ada’s shoulder in goodbye, you ducked out of the room and into the hallway, grateful for the empty corridor and the fresh air.

The defiant side of you flourished with champagne thoughts, and you found yourself walking to the bathroom in the far wing that no one ever visited - usually the place you and Tommy chose to fuck when you were here.

Although disobeying Tommy usually didn’t tempt you, today it did, coaxing you into rebellion with the promise of an orgasm at long last. The sun was far past its halfway point in the sky and you had been aching since before it grazed the horizon this morning.

He won’t know.

Ducking into the powder room, goosebumps of anticipation flushed your skin as you picked a stall and locked it, sighing to yourself as you pushed the thoughts of getting caught - in a lie by Tommy, not in a stall by strangers - out of your mind.

The guilt of disobedience made it feel all the more sinful, and you moaned softly as you rubbed your clit, the feeling of sating your hunger warming you from the inside out. Your back arched and you pressed the flat of your shoe against the wall to hold yourself steady.

It didn’t take long to bring yourself to the edge, your own touch as deft as Tommy’s in knowing what you liked. Trying to keep your moans quiet, you stifled one into a whimper that was cut short when the bathroom door swung open with a creak, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance with gritted teeth.

But annoyance quickly sank into fearful regret as heavy and expensive-sounding footsteps crossed the marble bathroom, the sound of a walk you knew well.

You wanted to smile at Tommy’s intuition - it was something to be admired - but when it was at your expense, it was difficult to revel in.

Tommy knew exactly which gilded stall you were in, obnoxiously managing to be sarcastic without saying a word as he skipped over your door to open the rest first, checking as if he didn’t know. He moved tediously to torture you, pushing open each door slowly before finally coming to stand before your own.

“Are we having fun?” he asked after a moment, the clipped sharpness of his voice making you shudder slightly as it echoed off the walls loudly.

Tommy was not pleased.

“I don’t feel well,” you said lamely, stubbornly continuing to dig yourself deeper into the grave you created, laying the possibility of orgasm to rest.

“Don’t lie to me,” you heard Tommy suck his teeth in impatience and you knew he was running a hand over his face, staring at the door with a clenched jaw. Trying the knob, he found it locked and chuckled, amused in a way that did not make you want to smile.

The time it took Tommy to break the doorknob off, enter, and find you with your fingers on your clit - which you had been too paralyzed to remove -  was barely a second. Eyes darkening as he ran them over you, he growled before stalking off, leaving you with furrowed brows of confusion.

Sticking your head out, you saw him at the entrance to the powder room, scratching something onto a napkin and sticking it onto the door with a penknife.

“It’s out of order, isn’t that unfortunate?” he asked, striding towards you and loosening his tie as the door shut behind him.

The sharp anger that had been in his voice was gone, and the hedonistic victory in his icy eyes told you that this is what he had wanted after all: you in a bathroom stall, helpless to your own need, succumbing to the trap he spent all day laying for you.

Tommy was quick in his own anticipation and had you up against the marble counter before you could blink. Working his tie easily around your wrists, you felt the fabric cut into your flesh as he fastened you tightly to the golden spout of the sink.

Ignoring your breathy pleas, Tommy pushed your dress up your back and bent your knee as he lifted one of your legs onto the cold stone of the sink. Holding by your hair, he gripped you tight as he pushed two fingers into you, not bothering to take his time.

Remaining silent, he fucked you ruthlessly with his fingers, stopping only to smack your ass painfully hard when he felt like doing so. Judging by the glint in his eyes as he watched your pussy tighten around him, you were dripping from his fingers and onto the floor. The thought only made you more lascivious, and soon you could hear how wet you were; a blush of wantonness spilled into your cheeks hotly as your lashes fluttered.

“Tommy, please-” you begged, your orgasm coming for you through the harsh force of his fingers. You knew better than to ask to cum, or for mercy, so what you were begging for you didn’t know, mind and body senseless as Tommy despoiled you.

Tommy laughed darkly. Sliding his hand from your hair to your jaw, he leaned closer to your face and looked down at you, a single eyebrow arching upwards as he mercilessly ordered, “Look at yourself.”

Reluctantly, you dragged your eyes to your own reflection. Tied to the sink, red-faced and panting, you whimpered at the lust-ruined sight of yourself and Tommy smiled devilishly.

Gripping your face with his lips to your ear, Tommy whispered things that would make a whore blush as he gazed at you possessively - watching you watch yourself. Bringing you to the edge over and over, he adamantly refused to let you cum until sweat beaded between your breasts and your mascara threatened to run down your cheeks.

Frustration wracked your body until it ached. Pinned to the sink, you watched: watched as Tommy pushed the hard length of his cock into you, watched yourself gasp for air as he squeezed your throat off-and-on, watched yourself beg for release and repeatedly be denied.

Hair mussed, Tommy’s teeth marks on your neck, pussy dripping, you gripped the faucet you were tied to and tried not to cum as Tommy fucked you, his hard and even strokes leaving your brows knit in effort and your lower lip trembling.

Tommy cared not for your struggle, watching his cock slide in and out of you, swearing in a carnal blend of Romani and English as he neared his own end, slightly parted lips twitching upwards as he listened to your begging.

Pulling you backwards, Tommy wrapped his arm around your neck so your throat laid in the crook of his elbow. Pace not slowing, the size of his cock stretched you over and over as he drove into you relentlessly.

Voice in your ear, he rasped, “You are not to cum, do you understand?”

You nodded weakly, only hoping you would be able to obey. Wrapping his other arm around you, Tommy crushed you in his grip as he thrusted into you, moaning into your neck as he came deep in your pussy, the heat of it spreading deliciously inside of you in demand that you surrender.

Biting your cheek, you moaned into it, your orgasm palpable as you white-knuckled the faucet, a crying sound leaving your chest as you felt Tommy pull out, cum running onto your thighs.

Gazing at Tommy in the mirror, you searched for signs that his release had made him sympathetic, but his face was a shade of blank as he tucked himself back into his pants, his eyes never leaving your face.

Stepping closer to you, he dipped his fingers inside you to soak them before sliding them into your mouth, his cum hot on your tongue. You moaned, the taste of him intoxicating.

Smirking, he slid his fingers over your lips, watching them glisten in the mirror as you waited for more, open-mouthed.

“Do you think you deserve to cum?”

You met his eyes in the mirror, pausing as you considered honesty versus dishonesty.

“Hm?” he pressed, brushing his knuckles against your cheekbone gently as he slid his other hand between your legs. Rubbing circles over your clit, he kept his touch light as he waited for your answer.

“No,” you whimpered.

“Good girl. Have we learned how to be honest now?”


“Good. Would you like to cum?”

Two fingers reached inside of you to your most sensitive spot and you gasped, cum dripping to the floor as your eyes rolled. Whether or not he was trying to tease you still - you weren’t sure you could last through another ten seconds of Tommy’s skilled touch without falling apart.

“I-I don’t know-”

“Yes, love, you do.”

He nodded at you in the mirror, his eyes greedy as he watched your mouth fall open around your words.

“Yes, I want to cum.”

“Of course you do,” Tommy cooed, sliding his hand up to squeeze your cheeks in his hand, gazing at you half-lidded in the mirror. “Watch yourself.”

Dragging your eyes from your lover’s face to your own, you obeyed.

“Cum for me.”

The stars in your eyes blinded you from your reflection and you rippled in Tommy’s grip as he held you tight, your orgasm tearing through you viciously after a day of Tommy’s dark side. He didn’t try to stifle your moans. 

When your eyes came back into focus, you found yourself still writhing, a mess. Tommy’s smirk-shaped lips pressed to your neck as he slowed his pace on your clit, dragging out the last trails of your spasms.

Still holding you tight, Tommy tilted your head towards him to kiss you deeply, untying your wrists and rubbing each of them briefly to ease the pain of the blood rushing back into your hands.

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning back to watch your pussy unconsciously contract and relax as you came down. “Let’s go, we’ll be missed.”

Tommy helped you off the counter, kissing you once more as he walked you both out.

“What about my underwear?” you asked as you left, taking back the penknife Tommy had used to declare the bathroom out of order, folding it neatly and offering it to him with a coy smile.

“Oh no,” Tommy scoffed in mocking, trailing a finger under your chin “you don’t get those back yet.”

The debate was over before it began, your ass remaining bare under your dress with the reminder that you were a lucky girl for being allowed to cum at all.

As of recent, we came by upon a few mbti posts that boldly claimed INFPs as ‘mediocre’ and basically with zero talents...

“Unless they are surrounded by other supposedly ‘mediocre’ INFPs and xSFJs.”

       MBTI is a medium invented by Isabelle Briggs Myers and Carl Jung for the sake of improving the social lives of people. Its presence must be valued and respected in order for its usefulness and intricacy to be maximized. Individuals who are well-versed in the field of theoretical psychology often use this quality framework as a tool of understanding and benefiting society effectively.

A lot of harmful claims that were being spread by the callous portion of the community are highly emotionally charged, vaguely based on nothing but subjective experiences, twisted, illogical or just completely inaccurate. Just because some insulting opinions are immeasurably popular doesn’t mean it applies to the types. Having 16 personality types, plenty enneagram and social variants means that we are diverse as human beings, confining us to biased/twisted claims is damaging towards humanity as a whole. None of it is effective in any plausible way.
Pandering towards false claims makes you immature, repulsive, unhealthy and unworthy of people’s trust as a whole.

        ~ Miss INTP

       In the mbti community, it cannot be denied that INFPs and ISFJs are two of the most types likely to be bullied by other types because they are believed to be stereotypically weak, passive, dreamy (this is not supposed to be a bad thing,) and ‘irrational.’

In this case, being called mediocre when there are countless intelligent, hard-working and gifted INFPs and ISFJs out there and their voices being unheard is another way of being put down, looked down and underestimated by the whole mbti community.

This atrocious behavior will continue whether we like it or not and so we (INTP and ENFP mods) would like to send encouragement to you INFPs and xSFJs out there that if you are to encounter these dreadful posts, do not take it to heart or personally.
If you put your mind to it, you can succeed and excel. 

Successful xSFJs in the entertainment field: 

Rachel McAdams

Originally posted by natforprez

Margot Robbie

Originally posted by angiecarojas

Successful INFPs in the entertainment field:

Eva Green

Originally posted by mirkokosmos

Felicity Jones

Originally posted by jyn-and-tonic

Tim Burton

Originally posted by hermione9891

And this is only in the entertainment business field.
There are plenty of successful INFPs and xSFJs in the medical field and so on.

Put your inventive and innovative Ne, your efficient and ambitious hidden Te, and your idealistic Fi to work.
Put your friendly and sociable Fe and your analytical Ti to use. 
You can achieve greatness.

      ~Miss ENFP

Thoughts Full (Part 2)

Hi guys :P So you may or may not have seen already but I’ve changed my username! It used to be Lance-is-the-key and is now jayilave! Love y’all

Part 1 || 2

“Take a deep breath,” Coran ordered and Lance did as told. Inhale, control.


Lance exhaled as he tried to grasp at the strings of his mentor’s mind. The very fabric of Coran. It felt wrong at first, to try and control his friend but Coran assured him that it was a necessary part of his training.

The strings, Lance could feel- no, see them- he could see them. He couldn’t feel them, it was as though they were separated from him by a thin veil of glass. Lance was unable to get to them.

It was as if it was daunting him with the fact that he could get them, but he wasn’t allowed. Lance reached, growing more and more frustrated with every minute he was repelled.

“Arg!” Lance yelled in frustration, making Coran jump in fright. “Are you sure I can even do this?!”

“Yes, he’s sure, Lance” Allura walked into the room and Lance jumped. “Blayatz- the former blue paladin- could. Although I was told it was through Phoebs of training.”

“I don’t have Phoebs.” Lance whined and flopped down on the floor.

“None of us do.” Allura stated and smiled down at Lance. “It’d be a huge leg up from where we currently are but don’t put too much stress on yourself. Mental training is much more strenuous than physical training”

“But!” Coran interrupted. “Lance has been making significant progress!” Coran added. “He can already do telekinesis with small objects!”

“Thats great!” Allura exclaimed. “The others will be coming in soon, so get ready for training, Lance.”

“Sure thing princess,” Lance said easily.

“Lance is a work of god,” Coran’s voice said robotically and Lance slumped over, a quiet whoop of celebration made it’s way out of his mouth. Sweat lined his brows and Lance groaned at the headache forming in his brain.

Coran stared at Lance in shock and cheered happily. “You did it!”

“I did, huh” Lance stared up at the ceiling. “I DID IT?!”

Lance jumped up and looked at Coran excitedly. They paused while the looked at each other for a moment before bolting out of the room together.

“Princess!” Coran yelled as they found her in the controls room.

“Yes Coran?” Allura turned and looked at the panting pair.

“I did it,” Lance said and laughed. “I controlled Coran.”

‘…” Allura stared in shocked silence before a sound of surprise made it’s way out of her mouth. “You….”

Lance nodded furiously. “Yeah,”

“Amazing!” Allura bellowed and looked at Coran for explanation. He just shrugged.

“Aren’t I?” Lance smirked and laughed once again.

The guard dropped to the floor after Lance shot him down and he smirked at Pidge who simply rolled her eyes. They crept into the control room and Lance knocked out the sentry with a swift kick, the sentry banged against the controls before slumping to the floor. Pidge plugged in her computer and began downloading the data.

This was a fairly easy mission.

Lance still stayed on his guard however. He scanned the surroundings and jolted in shock when a black blur passed through his vision, Lance’s eyes followed it uneasily and once they adjusted Lance was faced with a black cat baring strange markings in its fur. The cat had an eerie aura around it that set all of Lance’s alarms off, he was unsettled.

“Pidge… there’s a cat..” Lance whispered in legitimate concern and Pidge almost scoffed out a laugh.

“So what?” Pidge said and continued working on her computer.

“….” Lance didn’t say anything but he easily thinned the walls between his conscience and the world, opening himself to the unheard voices residing in the universe. Pidge’s voice blared loudly but Lance quickly shut her voice out. Once he tuned in, a continuous whisper sounded within his mind, as if chanting a spell and Lance shivered.

“Pidge someone else is here.”

“Can you take care of them by yourself?” Pidge asked and Lance sighed.

“Maybe, I don’t know who they are.” Lance said and raised his gun. Readying himself for an attack. The chanting’s in his mind grew stronger and Lance flinched as if ice was dumped on him as the voice directed her thoughts towards him.

‘I don’t know who you are…. but get out of my head.’

Lance froze, a blinding pain was sent through him and Lance tried not to cry out in pain. Who ever it was had Lance in a bind, in a deathly hold that he couldn’t escape.

After a moment the pain eased and Lance took a deep, shuddering breath.


The whispers were silenced.

Lance shivered once more as the chills ran up his spine.

As soon as they got back to the ship Lance demanded everyone to come to the hangars. They slowly came in and Lance frantically explained what had happened. Feeling chills crawl up his spine the whole time.

“So what you’re saying is that on this mission someone communicated with you through your mind?” Hunk summarised and Lance looked at him with a crazy look in his eyes.

“Yes!” Lance shouted and shivered. “It felt bad. There was a black cat and everything.”

“Any clue who it was?” Shiro directed at the Altaens.

“There are quite a few species with telekinesis abilities…” Allura stated. “It’s not uncommon, you probably ran into one of them.”

“….Okay,” Lance didn’t want to let it go, but he had to. There was nothing they could do about it now. He rubbed at his temple where a resounding headache had resided since the mental attack.

“Pidge, did you get the data?” Hunk asked and Pidge nodded, they- along with Coran- left to do some technical things with the encrypted data.

The others trickled out slowly after some more discussion. They left to do their own things but Lance stayed behind, needing to recuperate after the attack to his brain.

”Just breath,” Lance whispered to himself as he wove his shaking hands into his hair. “Breath.”

“Paladin?” Lance jumped and glanced around wildly in search of the unfamiliar voice. “Up here Paladin.”

Lance tilted his head back and upwards at the Blue Lion sat proudly over him. ”….Blue?” Lance asked hesitantly.

“Yes, my Paladin.” Blue spoke and Lance gasped.

“You can talk?”

“Yes, my Paladin, but this is not what I wish to talk about. Soon, an unavoidable event will happen, you will no longer pilot me.”

“What do you mean Blue? I’ll always be your Paladin?” Lance posed as a question more than a statement, he was Blue’s Paladin. That’s all he was.

“That is true, and know that even when you are not my pilot you will always be my Paladin. But, when you aren’t my pilot I need you to stay safe and away from the person who mentally linked you.”

“Why? Blue, I need to know what you’re talking about-” Lance’s heart fluttered with anxious palpitations “-Please” Lance stressed and walked up to blue. He gave her a small, tender pat on the paw.

“I cannot say, Paladin.” Blue spoke. “But stay safe, and please do not mention this to the others,”

And with that Blue was gone. Lance blinked in silent shock and sat down next to her paw. He leant against it in a slack position and thumped his head backwards.

What did Blue mean? What unavoidable event was going to happen? Was someone going to be hurt, was Lance going to die? Lance’s thoughts grew even more ominous as time passed but eventually it landed on one.

Should he tell the others?

Lance knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t betray his lion’s trust like that but what Blue had told him had seemed important. The others might need to know, it could be vital and they were in the midst of a war, not some high school rumour ring.

His running mind soon wondered away from the questions to the worries. He worried about the fact that something big- big enough to stop him from piloting blue- was going to happen.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want anything to change. Well, he did want the war to be over and to be home. But he didn’t want any of his teammates hurt.

He just wanted everyone to be safe.

After mulling it over of a few minutes Lance decided against telling anyone. A decision made against his logical side that had told him the others needed to know. But he trusted Blue. He just needed to trust Blue and(he prayed) that everything would turn out alright.

He hoped.

That when they dust is stirred it’ll settle easily.

But, sometimes hoping wasn’t enough. The unavoidable event will still happen, Lance will still stop piloting Blue. Hoping could never stop things set in stone.

It was inevitable, and Lance didn’t like the unknown future hanging over him like an ominous cloud.

It was unnerving.


The fact that this is not trending worldwide shows just how much western feminists don’t give a rat’s ass about women in muslim countries. According to sharia law, a woman cannot leave the house/country without a male’s permission (husband/father/guardian). This woman has done so and is now being victimized and you’re all silent. Please stand up for the unheard voices.

Tim is sitting on the kitchen counter.
He knows full well he is not supposed to- Alfred has explicitly mentioned that butts are not made for sitting on counters, and counters were not made for butts to sit on.

But it’s midnight, and Jason hasn’t been home for three days. Longer since they’ve seen him, but three days since he’s been gone. It shouldn’t leave Tim as flustered as he is. Jason can be gone for up to weeks at a time. It’s not uncommon. It’s not something to be particularly worried about. Sure, it pisses Bruce off- for Christ’s sake, the kid is only 16, he should be at home- but by Jason standards, three days is practically no time at all.

But something feels different this time.

So Tim is sitting on the counter. He knows that the kitchen will be the first place Jason checks in after a mission. Tim knows that, any minute now, Jason will come gliding through the swinging door, graceful as ever, already half out of costume, and on the hunt for one or two or seven of Alfred’s amazing gingersnaps. The ones he makes specially for Jason.

If Tim could just stay awake long enough, he would be the first to see his big brother return. And when he does, Jason will ruffle his hair, throw his cape across Tim’s shoulders, and playfully scold him for being out of bed so late.

But it’s past one o'clock now, and little Timmy can’t keep his eyes open. He hops down from the counter, stumbles across to the kitchen table, clambers up, and dozes off. He’ll still be the first to greet Jason, he’s sure of it.

It’s one-thirty now, and Tim wakes to the sound of dragging feet and big yawns. He pretends to sleep, determined to give Jason a surprise when he walks through the door.

But it’s not Jason. It’s Dick, wrapped in a blanket and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What are you doing in the kitchen?”

He knows Tim isn’t asleep. There’s no fooling Dick.

“I’m waiting.”


But Dick has that knowing look in his eyes, the inescapably knowing big brother look that he has mastered over the years. He doesn’t even know when he’s using it.

Dick climbs up onto the table and pulls Tim into his side.

“Do you think he’ll come soon?”

“I don’t know.” But his voice breaks. Dick knows, he just won’t say.
“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

But Tim won’t go. He’s promised himself he’ll see Jason, and there’s no way he’s going to bed now.
So Dick pulls his blanket across Tim and they curl up together on the table. Soon enough, they both doze off.

Dick won’t admit it, but he had come down to the kitchen to investigate the sounds of snoring and shuffling. He had hoped it was Jason.

It’s three-twelve when the sound of tiny footsteps wakes Dick. Tim is still fast asleep, curled into Dick’s side. And Dick knows that sound. It’s tiny little Damian, out of bed and wandering the mansion. He does so when he can sense the tension in the house. He does so when he knows something is wrong, although he can’t communicate that yet.

When tiny Damian pushes open the big swinging door, staring open-mouthed at his brothers on the kitchen table, eyes glassy with exhaustion, Dick wordlessly scoops him up and tucks him into his other side, a brother under each arm. It warm, it’s comfortable, but it’s not enough. There is supposed to be a third brother, one to hold onto Tim’s empty side. He isn’t here. Tim scoots closer to Dick, and Dick’s heart breaks.

It’s seven-thirty when Alfred enters the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of tangled limbs and mops of black hair sprawled across the breakfast table. As much as he would like to believe it is due to the shock at finding three of his grandsons sleeping in the kitchen, it is truly due to disappointment. He had hoped it was the fourth grandson he had heard fumbling around in the night.

It is eight-thirty when Bruce finally steps into the kitchen. And he stops. And he stares. Dick, his eldest, is sitting on the edge of the counter, an arm around each of his youngest brothers. The three of them have their heads bowed, and they do not stir upon hearing Bruce enter. Their tangles of black hair and rumpled pjs flow from one into the next, and Bruce swears his boys could be a single living entity in this moment, living, breathing, worrying together as one.

Alfred is sitting in a wooden chair in the corner, shoulders slumped, staring blankly into space. He hasn’t made breakfast, he hasn’t even put clothes on. He’s sitting in his robe, an empty look painted on his face, wiping all emotion from his features.

Bruce can’t blame them. He didn’t sleep a wink last night. He could swear he heard Jason shuffling around in the kitchen.

Without wasting his breath on “good morning"s that will go unheard through the breaks in his voice, Bruce simply pulls open the fridge and begins to pull out edible arrangements leftover from the funeral.

“Dear Wayne family,” reads one, “Our condolences. He will be missed.
Signed, the GCPD.”

“Dear Bruce,” reads another, “I’m so sorry for the loss of your son.
C. Kent .”

“Dear Bruce,
We will all miss Jason. He was something special.
Well wishes, S. Kyle.”

Puerto Ricans protest on May Day as debt deadline nears
Thousands of protesters blocked roads and marched in Puerto Rico’s capital Monday to vent their anger over a decade-long economic crisis and looming austerity measures.

Please support them! Don’t just stand there and say “they didn’t help me, so why should I?” because they probably did! You never know anyone’s background unless you ask them, especially here in the U.S.!! They deserve better than this! Don’t let their voices be unheard like many others! stand along side those in need for they would help you when you need them!