#......That and my motivation struggling to survive...(As per usual)

[chaorappa]

YEAH, I LOVE SEXUALLY AMBIGUOUS MENTALLY ILL GINGERS!!! (The lil blue guy is me btw don't mind me there... 😇)

[vixstarria]

Intimacy

Hello friends, have some soft Act 2 Astarion.  

Astarion’s struggle with sex and intimacy. Connected with my other fics but is a standalone, per usual. 

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, soft Astarion 

Hurt/comfort, some fluff if you squint, love, angst, mutual pining, Act 2 spoilers, some fairly softcore smut 

Approximately 1,600 words. 

AO3

“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he told you. You’d replayed that conversation over and over countless times in your mind, since.  

You had no idea what you were doing either. Oh, navigating an ordinary relationship was simple enough, and you’d had your fair share of those – even if they’d all ended in disappointment at best, so far. Being with someone who’d just escaped 200 years of abuse, however... That was something new.  

“I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex.” 

Well that was a fuck-up. He was walking sex. ...Most likely due to sheer force of habit, so necessary for survival over all those years, but still.  

“I love you.” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...  

You were in over your head too. Completely. Hopelessly. In love with this catastrophe of a man.  

What were you to do with him now?  

Wait for him to take the lead in every physical interaction? It wasn’t in your nature to be so passive. He knew this. And you were sure he would love to be treated like spurned glass all of a sudden.  

Continue as you were? Even though now all you could think about was whether a touch might bring up a repulsive memory? Assume that you could singlehandedly overwrite centuries of disgust and loathing, overnight? How presumptuous and overbearing that would have been. 

Communicate? Ask? Listen? Sure. Absolutely. You did. Or tried, anyway. You were about as good at talking about these things as he was. And you didn’t really trust him to be completely honest at this point. Whether with you or his own self.  

And so you explored. Slowly, cautiously and attentively.

 

The most innocent touches seemed to bring him an inordinate amount of joy. You weren’t surprised.  

Passing him a vial of poison for his weapons and letting your fingers brush and caress one another’s, briefly. Wordlessly running a stray hand along his waist and planting a quick kiss under his ear while you walked past him as he stood talking with someone. Lingering with your foreheads or noses touching lightly after a kiss.

 

He leaped at any opportunity to massage your sore muscles or help you apply a salve, and you let him. It seemed he wanted to take care of you, and was working out all the ways how.  

He still pleasured you in different ways, at times.  

“You don’t have to...” 

“I want to,” he said. 

He just chose to keep his own pants on, now. You weren’t sure about his motivations. Could it be guilt? Or a misguided sense of self-worth? Did he still think this is all he was good for? Or, maybe you were completely overthinking it, and he was still just desperately horny, even if taking a step back. He was more present than before though, you could tell that much. 

You considered his reactions to other forms of touch, careful not to make your observation obvious. 

He hated being scratched. The entire area of his back covered in scars was off-limits for anything but embraces. He enjoyed playful bites, both giving and receiving. And more than anything, he loved holding you close, feeling as much of your body at once as possible, basking in its warmth.  

In turn, you were more than happy to wrap yourself around him when you could. 

“Why do you even like this?” he asked, apprehensive about it at first. “You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I can’t give you any warmth.” 

“I can give you mine,” you said, simply. “Besides, you obviously don’t remember what it’s like to lie in a puddle of sweat with someone who runs hot. This is a nice change.” you added after a moment of contemplation.  

You meant what you said, but you were dying to drag him into a hot bath, just to know what it would feel like for him to be warmed through. Maybe you’d get the chance once you got to Baldur’s Gate.

 

There happened to be a private room available at Last Light Inn that night. The group unanimously agreed that you and Astarion would take it, while the rest of your companions bunked in the common. 

“For Shar’s sake, piss off, none of us want to see or hear you two,” were the exact words of their blessing, delivered by Shadowheart. Karlach sanctified it by throwing a (deftly dodged) half-eaten apple at Astarion’s head.  

“Especially not hear!”

 

“I know this may come as a shock, but I’m actually not too fond of beds,” he said. 

“New memories, Astarion,” you shook your head. “Beds are non-negotiable. I wasn’t too fond of rutting in the dirt either.” 

“I’ll never grow tired of how poetic you are,” he smiled, unceremoniously throwing his gear on the floor. “New memories, you say?” 

A while later, you were straddling Astarion’s hips as he sat shirtless on the edge of the bed. 

“You know, you never did tell me what you like,” you sighed, your fingers in his hair as he kissed your neck.   

“Oh, what does anyone like? It’s all the same in the end,” he said, running his hands along your thighs. 

“That’s not true,” you murmured in his ear. “I can show you some things that are pretty unique to you right now,” you said and ran the tip of your tongue along the lower inner edge of his ear, making him shudder and let out a small moan.  

“You little devil, when did you figure that out?” he breathed.  

“When I happened to brush your ear a while back, like this,” you giggled, repeating the hand movement on his other ear, making him catch his breath slightly again, “and you just about started purring.” 

He just chuckled in response. 

“So what other secrets are you hiding?” you purred, kissing around his ear. “I might just need to kiss and caress every inch of your body to find out.” 

"Sounds like a terrible chore,” he said, falling back onto the bed and pulling you with him. “You don’t want to do that.” 

“Shut up and let me cherish you.” 

You kissed down along one side his neck, slowly, taking your time, pausing to lightly lick or nibble on any spot that made him hitch his breath. He was putty in your hands by the time you reached his collarbone. 

“Just don’t go any lower,” he said breathlessly. 

You hummed your agreement. You couldn’t handle going any lower yourself – you were completely intoxicated with the scent of his skin and the sound of his sighs of pleasure, if you went any lower, you would keep going, and you didn’t think it was a day for that yet.  

You continued up the other side of his neck instead.  

You hesitated for a moment before your lips reached the bite marks left by Cazador, but Astarion made no indication that he didn’t want you to keep going, and so you continued. He let out a soft whimper as your lips brushed the scars. 

“No?” you pulled back slightly, your hot breath still on his skin. He was lying with his eyes shut, head thrown back, neck completely exposed to you. 

“Yes...” he whispered, hoarsely. “Very yes... Softly...” 

You continued, lingering with your lips on the scars, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, snapping them against his own and grinding you against an unmistakable erection. 

“I want you to make those marks your own... Yours and no one else’s...” he rasped. 

This is probably a mistake, you thought, but you could barely help yourself as you moaned into his neck and ran your tongue over the scars, making him growl and grind you into himself harder. The friction, the knowledge that he wanted it too was driving you mad.  

“I’m going to come if you don’t stop that,” you begged. 

“Go ahead,” he groaned. 

“Not without you.” 

Something in the energy changed then, and you lifted yourself off him, sitting up. Astarion stayed on his back a moment longer, before exhaling and also raising himself into a sitting position. You were still on his lap, facing him.  

“Listen,” he took your face in both hands, looking into your eyes intensely. “I want you so fucking bad, it hurts. I want to tear your clothes off and ravage you until you’re speaking in tongues. I do.” His voice was hoarse. He paused, before continuing. “But even more than that, I want to remember this, remember you, and not have any of the dirt from my past mixed into it. It’s difficult enough to keep it at bay as it is.” His eyes teared up at that. “And right now, for now, this is the only way I know how to do that.”  

“I’m sorry.” Tears sprang from your eyes. 

“No, you sweet idiot, you haven’t done anything wrong. I love you.” He gathered you in his arms, kissing away your tears as his own started to roll down. He sighed. “Great, now no one is coming, and everyone is crying.” 

You both burst out laughing as soon as those words were out of his mouth.  

You held each other a while longer, him stroking your back, before you broke the silence. 

“So the bite scars are pretty erogenous then?” 

“Extremely. Use that knowledge at your own risk and peril, darling.” 

He lifted your chin for a kiss. 

“Shall we go piss everyone off for a while, maybe steal Lae’zel’s boots, then come back here for more ‘memories’?” he asked.  

“Sounds childish and dangerous. I’m in.” 

You needed to clear your head too.  

Maybe tomorrow would be the day one of you would get closer to knowing what it was you were doing, and tell the other. Until then, at least you were in it together. 

~~~~~ 

The “I love you” is not canon for Act 2, but it is my headcanon, damnit.  

Like what you just read? Huzzah, there’s more! - Series master list

Next in series - Communication

AO3

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of charmed serial killer Simon. (Part 1 is here.)

This part is heavily inspired by this particular Badjhur audio “Surviving the Slasher” from, like, a long time ago. Where he’s a killer. Easier to find than expected, thank you masterlist. It permanently has a room in my pea brain, no rent, utilities included.

You’re out with your little friends again. Simon scoffs to even call them that. You give them so much more than they even try to give you - support, encouragement, time, energy.

One of them has a shitty deadbeat boyfriend that’s throwing a flat party, so they’ve dragged you along per usual. You’re still swearing off alcohol after the last time you went out - when you got a ride home with him. So you’re totally sober when the rest of the idiots suggest “investigating” the abandoned hospital on the other end of the block.

You go with them as the only fully-sober one, but spend the whole, stumbling trip trying to convince them to go somewhere, anywhere, else.

Apparently the boyfriend fancies himself something of an urban explorer because he knows just how to get in, bragging that he’s going to start some stupid internet show looking for ghosts there. You end up getting knocked into a half dozen times just trying to keep your woozy friends from getting tetanus.

It doesn’t take long at all for someone to suggest hide and seek. You try adamantly to put your cute little foot down - reminding them that it’s dirty and structurally unstable and there could be people just trying to camp out in peace in here. You’re adamantly ignored and your friends scatter.

And Simon starts to hunt.

Oh, he wishes he could have seen your face when the screams first started. If you recognized the shriek of Addy, the one who yanked you away from a proper apology when you first bumped into him at the bar. Wonders if you felt anything when Simon stabbed her boyfriend in the stomach and sent him stumbling away to incite more terror.

Of course you did. His pretty little chatterbox, coming to the rescue as soon as you heard their cries.

You get yourself lost trying to find someone, anyone. He picks off your group one. By. One. He finds you trying to triage a nasty slice to Heather’s thigh. She was talking shit about you just two days ago to Addy.

And oh, how brave you are, trying to stick with her to the very end. All it takes is one well-placed throw and you’re scrambling back as Heather burbles blood.

He takes a single, loud step towards you - and you bolt. Such a smart thing, you don’t even glance back to see if he’s following. He’s not; there’s still trash to take care of.

You find one more friend - one he doesn’t mind so much, mostly because you just met tonight. She’s crying, making a fuss and you’re trying to soothe her while still focused on escape, letting her cling to your arm.

Simon starts herding you both towards an easy exit. A few well placed foot falls here, a jaunty whistle there. He loves watching your big eyes dart toward the noises, how you get low like a bunny hiding in brush. Always put yourself between your new friend and wherever you think he could come from.

Your friends’ blood is beginning to dry when he decides it’s time to wrap things up.

He appears in a doorway, and you shove at your fellow survivor, make her squeeze through the rusty door first. You’re just starting to follow when he snags you around the middle. You yelp, feet kicking at air, tugging at his soaked hoodie sleeve.

He shoves your back against a wall and presses close, the flat of his knife against your pretty cheek.

“What did we learn tonight, hm?” he mocks.

You’re flinching away, but know better than to struggle or scream. So clever.

“W-why are you doing this?” you ask.

How sweet, that you can’t understand the motivations of monsters like him. He indulges you.

“To teach you a lesson,” he answers. “Get better friends.”

You look furious, even as tears well in your eyes. He coos over them, tugs the bottom of his mask up enough to lick them as they fall down your cheek.

“S-Stop, that’s - that’s so gross,” you hiccup, pancaking yourself to the wall.

He snorts in amusement and tugs his mask down again.

“Now, I know you’re a good girl with good manners, so let’s see them.”

You blink at him, eyes soooo big. Don’t understand what he means.

He tuts. “Say: thank you, ghost, for teaching me a valuable lesson.”

You press your lips together in a tight, pouty line. He wants to bite them. Instead, taps the point of the knife against your jaw. A silent threat that’s he’s still debating if he means.

But you manage to get the sentence out, stuttering, voice breaking halfway through. Mm, he’s missed hearing your gratitude. It’s almost sweeter this way than all the times you said it in his car.

“You’re very welcome, sunshine. Now, off you go, before I decide to teach you something else.”

You don’t hesitate when he steps back. Peel yourself off the wall and wriggle out to freedom.

Simon chuckles. What a fun little playdate, he’s so glad he let you go that first time. He’ll have to arrange another one soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[blueiscoool]

Why are Hundreds of Climbers Heading into the ‘Death Zone’ on Mt Everest This Spring?

Thick murky clouds fill the sky, with freezing winds carrying snow faster than 100 miles per hour. With a frigid –30 degrees Fahrenheit temperature, life-threatening snowstorms and avalanches are frequent.

And these are typical conditions on the world’s highest mountain: Mount Everest.

The behemoth towers 29,032 feet (8,849 meters) between Nepal and Tibet in the Himalayas, with its peak surpassing most clouds in the sky.

An attempt to climb Everest requires months, sometimes years, of training and conditioning – even then, reaching the summit is far from guaranteed. In fact, more than 300 people are known to have died on the mountain.

And yet the mountain still draws hundreds of climbers who are determined to reach its peak every spring. Here’s what it takes to make the climb and what has motivated some climbers to summit the world’s highest peak.

‘I thought I was in pretty good shape’

Dr. Jacob Weasel, a trauma surgeon, successfully summited Everest last May after conditioning for nearly a year.

“I would put on a 50-pound backpack and do two hours on a stair stepper with no problem,” Weasel said. “So, I thought that I was in pretty good shape.” However, the surgeon said he was humbled after discovering that his fitness was no match for the lofty athleticism required by the mountain.

“I would take five steps and have to take 30 seconds to a minute to catch my breath,” Weasel recalled of his struggle with the lack of oxygen available while ascending Everest.

Climbers aiming for the summit usually practice an acclimatizing rotation to adjust their lungs to the thinning oxygen levels once they arrive on the mountain. This process involves mountaineers traveling upward to one of the four designated camps on Everest and spending one to four days there before traveling back down.

This routine is repeated at least two times to allow the body to adapt to declining oxygen levels. It increases a climber’s chances of survival and summiting.

“If you took somebody and just plopped them up at the high camp on Everest, not even on the (top), they would probably go into a coma within 10 to 15 minutes,” Weasel said.

“And they would be dead within an hour because their body is not adjusted to that low of oxygen levels.”

While Weasel has successfully summited dozens of mountains, including Kilimanjaro (19,341 ft), Chimborazo (20, 549 ft), Cotopaxi (19,347 ft), and most recently Aconcagua (22,837 ft) in January, he said none of them compares to the high-altitude of Mount Everest.

“Because no matter how well you are trained, once you get to the limits of what the human body can take, it’s just difficult,” he continued.

At its highest altitude, Everest is nearly incapable of sustaining human life and most mountaineers use supplementary oxygen above 23,000 feet. The lack of oxygen poses one of greatest threats to climbers who attempt to summit, with levels dropping to less than 40% when they reach the Everest “death zone.”

Tents of mountaineers are pictured at Everest base camp in the Mount Everest region of Solukhumbu district on April 18, 2024.

‘It’s difficult to survive up there’

The first target for mountaineers is Everest base camp at approximately 17,000 feet, which takes climbers about two weeks. Then they ascend to the three remaining camps stationed along the mountain.

Camp four, the final one before the summit, sits along the edge of the death zone at 26,000 feet, exposing climbers to an extremely thin layer of air, subzero temperatures, and high winds powerful enough to blow a person off the mountain.

“It’s difficult to survive up there,” Weasel said. He recalls passing bodies of climbers who died on the mountain – which isn’t uncommon. The bodies of the fallen mountaineers are well-preserved, exhibiting little to no decay due to the intense cold temperatures.

“I am probably more familiar with death and the loss of life than most people,” the surgeon said. “For me it was just a reminder of the gravity of the situation and the fragility of what life is… even more so motivation for appreciating the opportunity.”

High-altitude cerebral edema (HACE) is one of the most common illnesses climbers face while attempting to summit. “Your brain is starved of oxygen,” Weasel said.

HACE results in the brain swelling during its attempt to regain stable oxygen levels, causing drowsiness, trouble speaking and thinking. This confusion is often accompanied by blurred vision and sporadic episodes of delusion.

“I had auditory hallucinations where I was hearing voices [of friends] that I thought were coming from behind me,” Weasel recalled. “And I had visual hallucinations,” he added. “I was seeing the faces of my children and my wife coming out of the rocks.”

Weasel recalled crossing paths with a friend, Orianne Aymard, who was trapped on the mountain due to an injury. “I remember staring at her for like five minutes and just saying, ‘I’m so sorry,’” Weasel said.

“I’ve spent over a decade of my life training to help people as a surgeon, and being in a position where there’s somebody who requires your help and you are unable to offer any assistance… that feeling of helplessness was tough to deal with,” Weasel said.

Aymard survived. She was rescued and suffered from several broken bones in her foot, in addition to severe frostbite on her hands. Despite all her injuries, Aymard is considered one of the lucky ones.

Mountaineers climbing during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 7, 2021.

‘Their bodies will get frozen into the mountain’

Everest has long been a tomb for climbers who have succumbed to harsh conditions or accidents on its slopes.

When a loved one or fellow climber is severely injured or dies on the mountain, it’s routine to leave them behind if you’re unable to save them, according to Alan Arnette, a mountaineer coach who summited Everest in 2014.

“What most teams do out of respect for that climber, they will move the body out of sight,” he said. And that’s only if they can.

“Sometimes that’s just not practical because of the bad weather, or because their bodies will get frozen into the mountain,” Arnette said. “So, it’s very difficult to move them.”

Seeing a corpse on Everest is comparable to seeing a horrible car accident, according to the mountain coach. “You don’t turn around and go home,” Arnette said. “You respectfully slow down… or say a prayer for that person, and then you continue.”

It’s been 10 years since the single deadliest accident on the world’s highest mountain, after an avalanche killed 12 Sherpa guides. And 2023 was recorded as the deadliest year on Everest, with 18 fatalities on the mountain – including five people that are still unaccounted for.

The process of recovering bodies is extensive, sometimes impossible. Helicopter rescues and search missions are challenging due to the high altitude and frequently treacherous conditions, resulting in some rescuers dying in their attempt to save others.

Mountaineers as they climb during their ascend to summit Mount Everest on May 12, 2021.

‘Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet’

The 3,000 feet climb from camp four to the summit can take anywhere from 14 to 18 hours. Therefore, mountaineers typically leave the camp at night.

“That entire night was cold,” Weasel recalled. “It’s dark, it’s windy.” But it was proven to be worth it in the morning, he said.

“Watching the sunrise from 29,000 feet and having that pyramid of Everest’s shadow projected onto the valley below you…,” Weasel said. “It was probably one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life,” he continued.

“It’s weird standing up there and knowing that everything else on the planet is below where you’re standing.”

The size of the mountain is humbling, the surgeon said. “I’ve never felt so small,” he recalled. “That mixture of humility and connectedness with something bigger than yourself is the proper place from which we ought to approach our existence on this planet.”

Like Weasel, Arnette summited at sunrise, and experienced this same feeling of “smallness.” At the top there were “more mountains than you can count,” Arnette remembered. “It was a sense of enormous gratitude and at the same time I knew I had to get back down.”

After about 20 minutes to an hour, climbers typically start to descend back to the base of the mountain.

Jacob Weasel.

‘Bigger than yourself’

Before leaving for Nepal, Weasel was gifted an eagle’s feather as a beacon for his Native American heritage.

He was determined to plant the feather on top of Everest “as a symbol of our people and what we’ve endured for the past several hundred years,” Weasel said. “Showing that our spirit is not broken, but we’re able to rise above the things that have happened to us,” he added.

“I remember planting that eagle’s feather on the top of the world and the feeling of real privilege that I felt in representing our people.” And this is why he decided to summit Everest, to be an example that anything is possible for young Native children and his tribe.

“Knowing what it’s like up there, for me personally, the only real justification for going and putting your life, and other lives, at risk is if you’re climbing for a reason that is much bigger than you,” said Weasel.

Arnette attempted to climb Everest three times before he successfully summited.

“My first three tries, I wasn’t clear on my why,” Arnette said. When his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, he looked at his purpose for climbing differently.

“I wanted to do it to raise money for Alzheimer’s and honor my mother,” Arnette said.

There are approximately 300 people that have been issued a permit from the Nepal government to climb the mountain this year, according to Arnette. And he said the number is down from previous years.

“I think one of the reasons is because we had the 18 deaths last year, and people realize that Mount Everest is a dangerous mountain.”

However, he doesn’t believe that should deter climbers from attempting to summit. “I’m a big believer that when you go climb these mountains that you come home a better version of yourself,” Arnette said.

“Everest has become too commercialized with ‘you’re stepping over dead bodies’ and ‘it’s littered with trash,’” the mountain coach said. “The reality is that it is a very small degree all of that, but there’s a lot of joy that people get out of doing it,” he continued.

“And that’s the reason that we climb mountains.”

By Kara Nelson.

[ohraicodoll]

The Office Holiday Party

Dream of the Endless x Reader 1st POV/Explicit (18+ Minors DNI) 4.8k words (technically part of my Fragments series, but standalone) Summary: Dreamlords, work parties, and perhaps ulterior motives

The dark emerald dress was slightly itchy along one hard seam on the side and I struggled not to shift uncomfortably as I smiled over the rim of my champagne glass at Becky from Accounting as she made excuses to flutter back to the dessert table. She’d given a long, slow story about her latest cat adoption that I didn’t simply have enough alcohol to keep enduring. On most occasions, maybe, but not with the blaring holiday music and the itchy seam. While sweet, she had zero social interaction skills which made talking…awkward, if I were being polite. Anissa would have said ear gouging. Holiday work parties were droll on most occasions and usually avoided when able. Even more so when everyone around you was a drunken mess and you hardly had anyone to talk to. Anissa, my only friend and coworker, was across the room at the open bar with her most recent boyfriend at her side struggling to nod along to whatever our boss, Wallace, was saying to him. Wallace was ruddy and drunk and openly leering at most of the women in the room which meant I was staying clear from him if I didn’t want him to be plunged into the deepest nightmare for the remainder of the year. There was a one person limit per job for whom Morpheus was “allowed” to torment for hitting on me and we’d already hit that limit early on. While more deserving than poor Cameron, it would get harder to reign the dreamlord in. I refrained from toying with the obsidian dreamstone necklace hanging around my neck, tapping a finger against the glass of my drink. I had promised Anissa I’d stay for two hours and then I was free to bounce. Of course I wasn’t aware I’d be third wheeling when I agreed, but it was enough time to say I made an appearance and not get labeled stuck-up by the rest of the office. I’d make an appearance, grab takeout on the way home, and either go to bed early or wait and see if the dreamlord would show up before I went to the Dreaming. A good plan. Nissa had already peppered me with questions about where my own partner was. Why Morpheus (she had said his name with a lot more mockery despite my berating) hadn’t come along with me, but I’d said he had a family obligation. This was of course a lie. 

I’d told him I had a work thing and ghosted over what an office party was to him, knowing that playing a normal human mortal wasn’t the easiest for him (especially around Anissa who seemed to get under his skin very easily). Also surrounding him with a bunch of drunk humans in ugly Christmas sweaters might be his breaking point. It was probably safest for everyone. One hour to go. I could survive for one hour. I watched as a group of women from our department posed with props at the photobooth, wondering how people managed to socialize so easily. I’d never managed it. I could blame being in an abusive relationship for most of my adult life on dampening my functioning skills, but I think I was always an introvert and wasn’t the best at making friends. I found my escape in stories, not people. I was getting better, making friends with Hob and the citizens of the Dreaming though I wasn’t sure if they counted as they weren’t exactly people. Then again, if Merv didn’t like me he would have spilled ages ago. ��Ah, there’s our wallflower!” I kept myself from cringing as Wallace’s voice reached me and put on a tight smile instead. He was overhead most of our sector which meant he was much higher on the pay scale than I was, above my direct supervisor. I hadn’t noticed him peel away from Anissa and…Steve? (Or was it Scott?) and that he’d made his way over until he was at my side. The bells on his Christmas tree sweater jingled with every stop and I tried not to wince at the sound over the music playing. He was very noticeably drunk now. “I see you’ve been enjoying yourself,” I greeted him tightly, drawing into myself and finally giving into twisting the dreamstone around my fingers. The quiet hum of Dream’s power settled me, vibrating over my skin. He stepped closer, leaning against the wall beside me a little too close, and I clenched my teeth as I felt the way his eyes took in the exposed skin of my neckline, my hair swept to the side over one shoulder, and the way the green dress clung to any curves. There was a modest slit along the side and I’d chosen to wear knee high boots since I hated heels. It wasn’t anything super fancy, but nice enough from my usual outfit to work. Luckily any marks Dream had left along my neck had faded or else I would have worn a turtleneck. I didn’t need those comments. “You should be out there mingling!” Wallace laughed, nudging my hand that was holding the mostly empty drink, “Come on! We’ll get you another drink and maybe shake a leg out there. The missus couldn’t come so I need a dance partner for the night.” I would rather stab the glass into my eyeballs. I opened my mouth to make some sort of excuse, desperately trying to make eye contact with Anissa across the room in a bid for help, when long fingers skated along my waist and I was pulled sideways into someone’s side. I didn’t even have to turn to look to know Morpheus was there, feeling that vibration of his power running through me. “She is otherwise occupied,” his low voice carried an undercurrent of a threat and I could tell even without seeing him that his more human blue eyes had most likely darkened, “You are also occupied, Wallace Bradley. You will cease your unwanted advances on others and go find a quiet corner to ponder your choices. Immediately.” Wallace’s eyes glazed over, face slackening and going blank as Morpheus’ words seemed to sink into his skin, “Yes, of course. I’m very occupied.” I blinked and turned my head to look at the dreamlord, seeing the tight pull of his lips and feeling his fingers tighten on my waist. His gaze met mine briefly, the stars swirling in his irises, before turning back to my boss, “When you sober tomorrow, you will also consider giving her and her compatriots a raise in their pay. Now leave us.” Without another word, Wallace swiveled, drink spilling and walked through the crowd until disappearing down the hall completely. I quirked my brow, my mind still trying to catch up to the fact not only was Dream here but he had pulled some Endless powers on my employer. “One, did you just jedi-mind trick my boss?” I turned and looked up at him with raised brows, seeing his eyes lighten back up to sharp crystal blue, “Two, hi. I didn’t know you were coming.” He frowned, “Jedi?” I huffed, “Movie series introduced in the 70’s, has like a billion spin-offs now. You’ll probably have seen the references in dreams, we’ll watch it later.” He shook his head and waved off the comment. Hob and I were slowly catching him up on everything he missed in the last century while locked away and it wasn’t going well. But his lips turned up slightly and he bent, kissing the top of my head, “Hello, little dreamer. All Endless are capable of adjusting other’s perception through suggestion. I will admit Desire is the most adept at it, but it is not without use on occasion.” I chuckled and turned more fully into his arms, “Good to know. Now what are you doing here?” While Dream did appear usually unannounced, he’d never appeared somewhere outside designated locations unannounced. I had already told him I’d had plans and he had no reason to be watching me through Matthew. But this time he wasn’t dressed in his usual black peacoat and jeans, having actually changed appearance to a black suit jacket, black silken button up, and tailor slacks. A small raven tie pin was tacked onto a swirling dark gray tie. It all fit him very well, coming in to show off his thin waist and made him an imposing figure, especially amongst the sea of red and green outfits of the office. His hair stayed the usual bird's nest though, if slightly combed back. His thumb traced small circles into my waist, blue eyes following the slope of my neck in a way he was allowed that Wallace had not been, “Hob may have informed me on what exactly this occasion was and encouraged that I should make an appearance at your side.” I narrowed my eyes at him and cursed Hob in the back of my mind. “He told you Anissa would shit talk you if you didn’t come, didn’t he?” I dryly asked, already knowing the answer. The immortal had specifically asked me about that, knowing that Dream’s lack of appearance would only feed my best friend to talk less than favorably about him. And for some reason, the dreamlord seemed to care what Anissa thought if only to show her up in her face. They tolerated each other for my sake, but sometimes I wondered if he wished he could show her his true self if only to get her off his back. But knowing Nissa, that wasn’t likely. And now I also knew Hob was a fucking gossip. Dream frowned, brow furrowing as he opened his mouth to dispute the notion as he had a thousand times (“I am an Endless. I care not what she says of me.”) when said person walked up. “Oh hey, guess the rain cloud could make it after all!” Anissa’s voice greeted with false enthusiasm as she gave an overly cheerful smile. Poor Scott/Steve/(something with an S??) stood at her side looking like he was trying to memorize every name and person introduced and was failing, considerably underdressed in a sweater and jeans against Morpheus’ suit. I inwardly groaned. “Yup! Family obligations all taken care of,” I interjected before the dreamlord could answer though I could see by his look of confusion he had no clue what I meant, “His sister Del dropped by unexpectedly but she’s back home now so he could make it.” He was still frowning, trying to figure out when Delirium had stopped by, before catching on, “Yes, I apologize for the delay though I had hoped her friend would be keeping her company.” The tension escalated as said friend glared at him over her glass and I tried not to sigh audibly. Scott-Steve-person shifted his champagne and reached out to shake Dream’s hand, “Hi, I’m Anissa’s boyfriend, Sterling.” Fuck, that’s what his name was. Dream stared at the appendage as if whatever had persuaded him to date my friend would rub off on him if he touched it, not taking it, “I was not aware she had a new one. I am Morpheus.” I was going to murder him later. “Oh,” Sterling replied, awkwardly setting his hand down at his side, “That’s an interesting name.” Anissa almost grinned and I knew something snarky was coming next. Morpheus said nothing as if Sterling’s comment didn’t merit a reply and he was very done entertaining the man. It was awkward. “We’re gonna grab drinks!” I blurted and began to pull the Endless away, giving both my best friend and him another pointed glare just in case. Her boyfriend was wincing, looking extra awkward and put out. “That will not last,” Dream muttered under his breath once we were away and watched as I downed the rest of my champagne before grabbing a new one from the tray on the table, “He dreams of his former lover who bears a spitting image to Anissa. It will not be long before he calls her the wrong name and I fear she may murder him or eat his soul.” I glared at him this time, “Excuse you, she’s not a harpy…but good to know. I kept forgetting his name.” Dream watched as some of the other members of the department took photos, some playing an oversized game of Jenga not far away, and a lot more dancing drunkenly on a makeshift dance floor, “Is this what mortal holiday parties are? Ridiculous outfits and chaos?” Taking a drink and watching said chaos at his side, I slipped my hand back into his, “Mostly. It’s supposed to be about team bonding but usually it’s food, a lot of alcohol around people you can’t tolerate, lots of HR complaints, and at least one hook up in the janitor’s closet. And a partridge in a pear tree.” 

I smirked and watched as the Jenga tower fell over not that far into the game and very loudly. Not too far away, they’d made a tall Christmas tree out of books in the corner with all the book titles we had released this year, lights strung around it, and most of the decorations contemporary romance novel themed. Everything was on brand for working at a book publishing company as if to remind us of where we worked. It was cheesy but work parties always were. I sipped on my champagne and then almost cursed as Dream snatched it from my hand and set it down before beginning to tug me away unexpectedly, weaving through the crowd without turning a single head. He navigated with a singular focus even as I let out a noise of protest, the people parting almost out of instinct to get out of his way. A small part of me panicked as if he had seen something I hadn’t, heart thrumming in my chest. Soon enough we had left the main conference room to the smaller offices on the floor, the lights dimmed in these areas. He didn’t stop though but did seem to be searching the room, eyes quickly calculating and taking in the shut doors on our left. The panic eased as I took in his calm if intense concentration. “Dream!” I hissed, wondering what had set the monarch off and glanced around. The floor had pretty much been shut down to ward off guests, our footsteps echoing in the empty space. Without answering, he opened a door and yanked me abruptly inside before shutting us in the darkness. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong when his mouth connected with mine roughly and my back was slammed against the door. His hands were digging into my hips and he was pressed flush against me while my brain struggled to catch up. All I could process was his mouth and fingers and the way his power vibrated through us both like a circuit. Teeth bit softly at my lips and I gasped, giving him an opening to deepen it and catch my tongue with his. I was absolute putty in his hands, moaning as he seemed to savor every bit of my mouth and a hand delved into the locks of my hair at my neck. My own hands were scrambling to find purchase, grasping at his waist and the lapels of his suit jacket. I was burning so quickly and so hot, panting as he sucked on my tongue and he pressed ever so lightly on my throat with his fingers. Finally he pulled away to place slow, languid kisses along my shoulders, pushing a knee between my legs and stepping even closer. I groaned at the feel of him hard against my thigh, biting down on my lip in an effort to keep myself quiet. And in the darkness, it started to come back to me where exactly we were and what we were doing. Work party. Job. Not home. “Morpheus,” I panted, overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch and kisses while being absolutely blind, “What are you doing?” I wasn’t pushing him away, could probably never bring myself to to push him away and stop him. I moaned softly at his teeth bit down gently before speaking against my skin, my own hands moving upward to find the silken strands of his hair. His lips caused a shiver to course through me as he replied, “Partaking in your office ritual. You did say at least one occurrence of this nature. I thought I would ensure we reach that standard.” 

Of course that would be the part that caught his attention. The hand in my hair moved down my body, kneading my skin until finding the slit in my dress and the exposed thigh there. Long fingers explored there and slid before fully cupping my ass and pulling me against his own growing want. I was hot and already drenched, the lack of light heightening every sense I had even as my brain kept flashing warnings, “We can’t here. We’ll get caught- oh god- I can get in trouble.” It was very hard to concentrate. The soft click of a lock echoed behind me as if in answer and then he pulled me further into the darkness, swallowing my sound of surprise with his mouth. He guided me a few feet then spun me around, pressing me forward to lean over a surface that felt very much like a desk, “We can and you will not. I promise you though you will have to remain quiet.” His assurances melted into me with each pass of his lips on my neck, his erection pressing against my backside and sufficiently stopping me from protesting further. That anxiety lessened though it didn't fully go away, but I was finding I didn’t care. If anything, I was almost excited by the prospect. Work sex wasn’t exactly a thing that I had fantasized about, but I was seeing the attraction to it. He was pressed deliciously against me, dress hiked up a bit, and I tried to find his gaze in the darkness over my shoulder. Almost like a cat, the smallest amount of light reflected from his eyes as if the twin stars from the Dreaming were present. It felt like being in the sightline of a predator, hunted and pinned down while waiting for them to sink their teeth in. My skin was hot and when he pulled away from me, I almost protested the loss. It wasn’t long though before his fingers found the back of my thighs as he spread my stance open for him. My breath caught and I bit down on my lip to keep from moaning out loud, fingers slowly pushing up the hem of my dress as they trailed upward. I squirmed and braced my hands on the desk in front of me, feeling a smirk tilt his lips as he kissed the spot below my ear. The bottom of the dress was raised high enough my ass was exposed to the cool air. Half draped over the desk, it felt so different than other times. The fact that we were more or less in a public space adding to the almost sinful nature. A hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back with a small tug at the strands and a light bite of pain. My hips were pressed into the wood and my back arched and I couldn’t help the small mewl of pleasure that slipped through. “Little dreamer, do your best for me and be very quiet,” Morpheus purred into my neck, the darkness seeming to drink it and wrap his voice around me like velvet, “We would not want to attract attention.” My breath was a raspy shudder as fingers pulled aside the thin fabric of my underwear and found my aching center. It would have been embarrassing how wet I was already if it had been anyone but him. Dream knew what he could do to me though and I could feel his rumble of satisfaction as his finger slid through my folds, a gasp leaving me at the sensation. My nails scratched the wooden surface and neck stretched deliciously back in his tight hold as his lips bit and sucked at my neck all the while pushing into me. Only the barest semblance of thought reminded me to keep quiet but the task seemed almost impossible as he slid in and out, finger curling upward in the way he knew I liked. I was pushing my backside more into him, wanting and craving more and he smiled at the effort, “Patience, beauty.” I wanted to curse at him for even suggesting I should be patient when he’d half dragged me to the room at even the mere mention of this, but the words died in my throat as another finger slid and stretched me further. The friction of my underwear against my clit and the drag of his fingers paired with whatever delicious movement his mouth was doing along my neckline had me panting, wanting him to fill me even further with more than his fingers. He pumped in and out, a steady pace that had me dying for him to go harder and faster. “Morpheus,” I panted, rocking with the motion of his hands against the desk, one hand reaching down to dig into his slack covered thigh and the hard muscle there. I wasn’t above begging if I needed to. His breath was coming out faster now and even though I had to arch my back more to reach him, I pressed my ass fully against his hips. The movement sent a sound that could have been a growl through him and I knew for all his act of telling me patience, he hardly had any at this point. The dreamlord pulled away from my neck and his fingers left me, moving to grip my thighs tightly with my arousal smearing on my skin. I could hear him moving to unbuckle his pants and zipper and quickly shimmied my underwear down lest he rip these off as he had over a dozen of my previous ones. Even in the haze, I was clear headed enough to know I didn’t want to leave this party going commando. I could feel the hard tip of his erection against me as he leaned forward and moaned as he slid it along the wetness of my folds, coating himself. Those long fingers of his trailed softly over the skin of my bared legs and his voice was suddenly in my ear as if the shadows were whispering themselves, “Remember to keep quiet.” And then he was sliding into me and I knew that was going to be a very difficult task. I was at just the right height that he lined up perfectly and I couldn’t help but lean my forehead against the desk if only to ground myself as the sensation was overwhelming. Morpheus went slowly, pushing a torturous inch at a time until he was fully seated and stopped to give me time to catch my breath and keep himself in check. He gripped my hips tightly, guiding me against him as close as I could get. Then he began to slide in and out and it was like the darkness became the night sky around us. Lightning was dancing along every bit of my skin and I bit down on my own hand to keep the moan in that so desperately wanted to rip from my throat. The fabric of his slacks rubbed against my bare legs, creating this juxtaposition of skin and fabric that felt delicious. I could only hear our breath both panting, the sound of his skin meeting mine, and my nails scratching against the surface. In the back of my mind, the fact that only a few rooms away was a whole herd of people I worked with while the King of Dreams fucked me senseless had a wave of sinful pleasure rolling through me. I bit down harder on my knuckle, trying desperately to keep my mewling in. But Morpheus was snapping his hips hard into me and sinking in deep, one hand now trailing up the small of my back and the bunched up fabric of my dress to grip my waist and pull me into him. It was building into a crescendo of pleasure that I would happily drown in, his grunts and almost silent whispers of encouragement dragging me under the waves. His pace was becoming erratic and finally with a muffled moan I orgasmed and the stars exploded behind my eyes. The darkness was filled with bright lights and colors and fireworks as every nerve in my body drowned in pleasure as he kept thrusting, drawing out the ecstasy as wave after wave crashed roughly through me. Then he was tumbling after, warmth filling me and his fingers clenching into me painfully in a way that only amplified it all. 

The stars dimmed and the sound beyond the thrum of my heart returned, both of us draped over the desk and panting with his forehead against my back. My throat felt raw as if I had been screaming loudly and I could feel his touch reflexively soothing the skin he had held only seconds before. A silent apology, as if he needed to. Slowly, like it pained him to do so, he lifted his head and kissed the bare skin at the back of my neck. Once, twice, three times, a drag of his lips every time. His touch never fully lifted, sliding along my body as if he never wished to break contact even as he remained seated inside me. I sighed and lifted my head, skin still feeling tight and struggling to catch my breath, “Was I loud?” Dream chuckled and I could feel it vibrate inside of me, causing me to groan, “No, you did very good, little dreamer.” That comment had me almost tightening around him, unexpectedly shooting through me and straight down where we were joined, “Oh. Good.” Slowly he pulled out from me and I immediately felt less at the loss of him. I couldn’t see exactly where he had it stored, but he cleaned me up with a handkerchief, helping slide my underwear back up and right my dress though everything felt too sensitive. Going back out there with the rest of the crowd felt scandalous while my thighs ached and his scent draped over me like a cloak. His hand caught mine and then a small light turned on in the room on its own, the lamp in the far corner lighting us dimly. And I could have almost groaned. “Of all the rooms, you picked my boss’?” I turned to him with wide eyes. Dream looked around with little emotion as if the news was hardly a surprise or something that warranted a reaction, “Was I meant to know? I was not aware there was a specified room for these sorts of activities at an office.” I rolled my eyes, finally able to look at him after being kept in darkness so long. Oh, he looked thoroughly fucked. His lips, while usually pouty on their own, were pink and slightly swollen and his hair was even more of a mess than usual. His tie was half loosened and his shirt was wrinkled. If he looked like this, I could only imagine how I looked after having been fucked over a desk. A hand to the back of my head confirmed that my hair was probably in worse shape after having his hands pull it, the slight curls a bit tangled. “Oh god, I don’t think we can go back out there looking like this,” I whined and fell forward to hide my face in his chest. If Anissa spotted me at all, I would never hear the end of it. She would tease me mercilessly on and on about how Dream was tainting me from being a goody two-shoes and this was the sort of thing she did, not me. She was usually right, but I definitely didn’t need to give her more ammo against the dreamlord. Morpheus smiled slightly and kissed the top of my head, arms wrapping around me, “Shall we go the alternate route?” “Yes, please,” I grumbled, half muffled into his shirt and face beat red. And as sand slowly swirled against my skin and the world shifted around us, I wondered if this all hadn’t been his intention from the beginning. Not only did his albeit quick appearance mean Anissa couldn’t talk shit about him, but he got both of us to leave the holiday party early and had sex while doing so. I decided then as we entered the Dreaming not to warn him that we would be attending Hob’s party at the New Inn in a couple of days, if only to see how he would try to weasel out of that one. 

[whatthisfemsheplikes]

Per your size-shifting ramble, do you think your thoughts on which size you’d want to be go into how you write or feel about Tori and Wesley? Do you relate to one more than the other? Could be relating to their size or just personality

I feel like Tori and Wesley kind of embody my feelings about which size I'd rather be in certain moments, at least in my head while I'm writing them. There are a lot of scenes where I could be thinking that I'd prefer to be in Wesley's position as a tiny, but I could potentially think about that same scene the next day and prefer to be in Tori's position as the "giant" (or human to a tiny in that case). I go both ways all the time about who I relate to in terms of just their size.

As far as relating to their personalities, I feel like each of them is made up of three parts: one-third is how I tend to act/feel in real life, another third is how I wish I was, and the last third is just their own stuff that doesn't really have anything to do with me. A lot of that last third is backstory stuff that I feel shapes plenty of their personalities and motivations. For instance, I didn't grow up in a super-rich family and, while I do have a brother, he's actually younger than me and acts nothing like Carter. I think Tori's own past with aspects like that shape how she views what she has in life and how she trusts other people in ways that I haven't experienced in my own life. Obviously, for Wesley, I've never had to worry about the same potential life dangers that a borrower has to worry about, and that fuels a lot of his fear that I don't relate to.

In other ways, I relate to them quite a bit. Tori can sometimes be a people-pleaser, Wesley too to a greater extent, and that's something that I tend to be a lot, even though I don't really want to be one. It's something I'm working on but it's kind of been ingrained in my brain since I was a kid, so it's a lot to work through. In some ways, Tori calling out the bullshit of others is kind of how my own inner voice sounds much of the time. I just don't say it out loud like she would.

Then, there's Wesley who's going through a lot of trauma and who gets really emotional in his struggles. I don't really cry as often as he does, but that anxiety that he almost constantly feels is how I am a lot of the time, hence why I feel tiny when I wish to be comforted. I've got a lot of my own trauma from surviving cancer and other events that have given me PTSD that I'm trying to work through, so that desire to have someone in your corner to just say "it's gonna be okay" like Wesley and Tori have is something I wish for a lot. I've got friends and family who support me, but they don't really understand a lot of what I'm going through so sometimes that comfort doesn't really feel very helpful. It's not their fault, but a lot of times I feel like I wish I had someone who was kind of the Tori to my Wesley in a way where they might not fully understand but they'll stay by your side while you're going through a hard time without feeling like they're pitying you.

Other than that, the parts of them that I wish I had more of would be confidence and patience. When I'm writing Tori, I often think that I wish I had her confidence, even in just everyday interactions. I've got bad social anxiety, so even just going out to talk to someone at a store or restaurant isn't the easiest thing for me. I think both she and Wesley tend to be very patient too, especially with each other. In some cases, I'm super patient, even when others around me might not be, like if my parents get impatient while we're waiting in a line while I tend to feel like I could stand there all day with no rush. It's usually patience relating to myself that I struggle with, like if I feel that I'm not as good as I should be at doing certain tasks. It gets tough but it's something that I feel like writing See Me has helped me with sometimes.

Sorry for the long post. Just fell down a rabbit hole with this question I guess. Thanks for asking!

[funkymbtifiction]

The 629/926 tritype and people-pleasing

I read your old post about the Enneagram & people-pleasing (https://funkymbtifiction.tumblr.com/post/184965682165/can-someone-with-primary-or-auxiliary-fi-be-a) and had to laugh at myself about how ALL the numbers in my 926 tritype are motivated to people-please. A triple-whammy of being uncomfortable with conflict, caring a bit too much sometimes about other people’s opinions, and struggling to express one’s own needs. Do you have any tips for dealing with the anxiety/stress this kind of combination can bring, as I remember you’ve mentioned you also share this tritype in a different order? Conversely, do you think there are any strengths/assets to having this tritype? (so I can console myself after all the anxiety 😂). Thank you so much for helping me find my tritype :)

Yeah, it is. I talk about it in depth here.

I think probably the biggest asset for me is – I don’t and never have struggled with holding grudges. I can just forgive people (once I understand what motivated it, per my 6) and move on without harboring any deep resentments. A lot of the people around me struggle to forgive and forget and my anger just kind of … dissipates and goes away, sometimes immediately and other times over a few days or weeks. And believe me, that is an incredible asset, since there’s nothing worse or harder than fighting against being angry or wanting revenge all the time. Cinderella has this tritype and it’s always a wonderful moment for me in the live action film where she forgives her stepmother as she’s going out the door, because – she’s going into a brighter future, why would she carry the burden of past grievances with her?

The negative flip side of this, of course, is that this tritype is self-berating a lot, because it has a continuous desire to be a better person. All the fixes want to be more selfless and generous and strive for something more for themselves, and be kinder to people out of a 2-6 notion of what true goodness is like (less so with an 8 fix on the 9, but if they are 9w1 in particular – there’s all that sense of “moral right” slipping in). All 269 combos can beat themselves up for their mistakes or failures or how they failed a relationship (and it’s their fault) and be wondering why it happened or what went wrong and how they could have fixed it… long after they have forgiven and forgotten the other person’s sins, because they assume relationships are theirs to preserve, treasure, and fix (2). I would say this is the hardest thing to overcome, no matter what the order of your fixes are – this “taking the world onto my shoulders and making it my problem” aspect of relational habits. 269s have to learn that relationships can just fail, it’s not their fault, they don’t have to fix every single one, they don’t need some people in their life, they need to realize and accept that some people are toxic or wrong for them or cannot be fixed or drain their energy, and it doesn’t make them a bad person to walk away from that guilt-free.

This usually is a good-natured tritype that wants to be happy – but unlike the 279 isn’t in denial about the bad things, just doesn’t want to over-think about them. 2 and 9 together are always wanting to see the beauty of life, and focus on pleasant things, but 6 is also cautious and fearful. Altogether, it makes for probably the most pleasant (for other people) tritype to be around, because of the universally forgiving, generous, and sweet disposition – but to put it bluntly, we can be too nice, too forgiving, and too willing to help. How you start to unpack your type is by starting with the fixes. For you, 6 and 2 are lower, which means you can learn to consider them “optional.” In other words, it’ll be easy for you to notice 6 projections and anxieties and talk yourself out of them. For 2, you can ask yourself whether it’s really your place or duty to “help” this person, or if they can do it for themselves. 2 fixers can learn to let people be independent and take care of themselves, rather than rushing to do it for them. You can also work through the uncomfortably self-exposing 2 questions of “am I doing this just so they will like me?” Or “Am I angry at them because they don’t ‘do unto me’ the way I do unto them? Because I expect some payback in kind for my efforts?” I realized I was 2 fixed the day I was mad at my best friend for not being supportive of me in the way I needed, but also realized I had never specifically told her what I wanted her to do, I had just been “doing” that for her, hoping she would pay me back in kind. And then I 2w1ishly beat myself up about it. (You shouldn’t WANT or NEED things from your friends! You SHOULD be selfless and loving with no return!) Meh.

Regarding people-pleasing, you should seize your autonomy and realize that for most things, it is optional and you can say no without causing too much strife. I still want to people-please some, but over time people start taking advantage of you and that causes resentment in being used, and at some point, you start getting sick of it and start laying down more boundaries. I had one friend who would always appeal to me to spend time with her, even though I was busy and had other projects going – and I would guilt-trip myself into saying yes out of a 2ish self-talk (she needs you, she’s lonely, she has no other friends who live here, you can take time off to be with her) … but I realized over time (and over the pandemic) that… she has actually managed to survive without me, she has gone weeks at a time without seeing me and not curled up and died of neglect, she can wait to see me until I am my best self, not a tired version of myself who has dragged myself to see her out of guilt rather than a desire to connect. Before I started telling this person, “I can’t, I’m busy this week” she knew she could lean on me, be a little whiny about feeling lonely, and I would squeeze her in – now she knows when I say I am busy, she has to wait. And that’s good for us both.

People deserve your best self, not your guilt-tripped self – and don’t let them whine or plead or infer or guilt-trip you into things you don’t want to do. Say no and mean it. That’s the best advice for this trype or any type with 9 as a central focus – stand firm, set out a boundary, and defend it. If you are busy, say you are busy. Don’t give excuses, or over-explain, just say you cannot do it. If people push you, reaffirm “I’m sorry, I know, but I can’t.” Sooner or later, they quit because they know they can’t bully you into doing something for them.

Whatever your core is, is going to be the hardest thing to get under control. If it is 2, it’s going to be image-seeking, attention-grabbing, and invasive ‘helping’ whether that is to do physical things for people or offer unsolicited advice to help them cure their life problems. If it is 9, it is going to be numbing yourself out to conflict, refusing to assert your own wants and needs, and letting things go when you should address them (getting in touch with your anger). If it’s 6, it’s going to be over-thinking, being fearful-avoidant of attachments and sending people mixed signals, and projecting (”I’m anxious about not being wanted, so I KNOW they are going to reject me and are sending me negative signals!”). I fight the latter all the time and it’s HARD, so I won’t pretend getting over your core is a picnic, and anyone who says they have “aced it” and are now “a healthy version of their type” is either mistyped or a liar. We’re all wallowing in ourselves.

It’s funny, I can sense when someone else or even a fictional character has this tritype, because I see a lot of myself in them – not in a Fi way, but in a tritype way. They say you understand best people who share your struggles and what you want to be per your tritype’s focus and needs and it’s true. I can sniff out a 269 anywhere.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

like. here’s a breakdown of Echo’s narrative roles / story arcs per season as I saw them

season 2: introduced to be a sympathetic, human face to the grounders that the audience can sympathize with and relate to so that they can fully feel the horrors done to the grounders by Mount Weather because until that point the grounders have mostly been villains/antagonists with one exception (Lincoln.) ALSO introduced so that Bellamy personally can learn to relate with and sympathize with the grounders and change his opinion of them. Basically, Echo is the human face of the imprisoned grounders.

season 3: Echo returns but in a more complicated sense, because one of the main conflicts of the season is Grounder/Skaikru politics. despite previously being introduced as sympathetic, Echo is now involved with the antagonists because the whole grounder/skaikru politics thing is messy and complicated and Echo is just one piece of it. we don’t know what grounders to trust. even people we previously liked might be enemies. Also, she serves as one more motivation for Bellamy turning so strongly against the grounders (all grounders), because he previously trusted her and now feels personally betrayed by her. Echo is a way to lead Bellamy on his own main s3 story.

season 4: the point of this season is continued complicated Grounder/Skaikru politics and the fact that there is no true antagonist here, but a bunch of different groups all trying to survive and save their people. Again, Echo serves as a continuation of this idea. A grounder character with a complicated past with the characters is further fleshed out. We focus more on her motivations, her desires to help her people, and she serves as kind of a mirror for our protagonists - the same as them but from an opposing side. She also gets her first real “character arc” this season as she personally struggles between her loyalty for her people and her personal affection for Bellamy. She and Bellamy are foils who both go through a story of struggling with the idea of wanting to protect your people and wanting to avoid war. Not an arc in the sense that Echo goes from point A to point B, but she does have a main internal conflict to struggle through this season.

season 5: again, no real point A to point B / “learned a lesson” story arc for Echo this season, more just the writing exploring how Echo functions as part of Spacekru rather than part of Azgeda. If anything, Echo’s story just kind of wraps into the overall main Wonkru vs. Eligius vs. Spacekru story this season and her storyline is less about her individually and more about Spacekru.

season 6: ....I don’t remember season 6. As far as I can remember she kind of functions in the story the same as she did in s5 - less about Echo going on a personal character journey and more about her being part of a group vs a bunch of other groups.

season 7: I also don’t really know s7, but as far as I can tell, Echo does have a main character storyline this season about loyalty and choosing who she is loyal to and finding who she is outside of her relationship with Bellamy. Probably the strongest individual character storyline (or as people would say “character arc”) she has and ironically probably the time she was most criticized for....having a character arc

basically my point is that Echo doesn’t have an overarching simple character arc and definitely doesn’t have a “redemption arc” and usually functions in the narrative in other ways that tie into the main point / storyline of the season because that’s usually what characters do

[marginsofmarga]

You are a Survivor: A Reminder to my Future Self

Dear Survivor,

On the 12th day of January 2000, a bouncing baby girl was born and was destined to meet the world. She was innocently ecstatic, bursting into tears as a newborn, and her parents couldn’t be more grateful to have her as their daughter. As she turned eighth months, her parents were in disbelief for she had to deal with a serious medical condition called intussusception — a form of bowel obstruction in which one segment of the intestine telescopes inside of another. She was in a 50-50 situation during that time and the doctors did not provide any assurance for her to live when she had to undergo a surgical operation. 

The baby girl was you.

Yes, you. Luckily, here you are. You made it. Your life started after such a tragic incident. In an early age like that, you are already a survivor.  What a precious privilege it is for you to be alive. You have a purpose and it is yet to be discovered. 

But brace yourself because it’s going to be one heck of a roller coaster ride.

Anxiety and the ‘new normal’

Growing up, you are this girl who is full of fears. You are afraid of anything that might put you in danger and you are terrified of the uncertainty. Diving deeper, your big fear is not knowing what the future holds. And I‘m sure a lot of people can relate.

This fear was especially present when the COVID-19 pandemic began. The world seems to have ground to a halt because of the virus. As a fearful person, this is such a big deal. In retrospect, conditions created by the pandemic were taking a psychological toll. You were full of anxieties that you even experience panic attacks. Remember how difficult it was when you couldn’t sleep? And how overthinking consumed you for months? You were drowning in pain and fright and you never knew when it will be over. You were stressed about so many things: your health if ever you and your loved ones catch the virus, the mental agony it creates, your education when setbacks and transitions happened, the stress of what this year would be like, the postponed travels, and all the uncertainty. Anxiety bugged you for too long. It took all your strength.

Think about where you were earlier last year. You were in your second year in college. Just before the world slowed down, you were just a typical college student who tries her best to go through the day of university life. Back then, you were kilometers away from home which required you to rent a dormitory. On weekdays, you basically had a routine – waking up as the sun rises, getting ready for school, wearing your neatly ironed uniform and taking a short commute when going to school. Having meaningful lessons, small talks during the breaks with your friends, exchanging information with your professors, and learning day by day made the regular jiffs worth it. Later on, the pandemic took place. It felt as if the world stopped. Everything changed in a split second. Over the past few months, you’ve experienced an unprecedented shift in your way of life due to COVID-19. Coping up with the transition from face-to-face to online classes wasn’t easy. 

The journey you’ve been through was on a rugged terrain and so full of ups and downs. You were stuck at home juggling chores, classes and your side hustle, content creation. It seemed so difficult to adjust; there was a change in the situation of class’ atmosphere, you struggled with time-management and self-motivation along the way, workload is way larger than regular classes, barriers occur such as bad internet service, power interruptions and so on. Not to mention creating content when you are not at your best. All these left you in a crucial spot.

Challenges as the virus came closer

It was in the month of March when you found out that your grandmother, 72 years old, tested positive for COVID-19. Much to your disbelief, you were scared to death. It felt as if a thorn got pricked in your heart. Your grandma means so much to you. She is such a remarkable woman. A heart like hers would give so unselfishly. She’s a combination of love and laughter. The thought of losing her is painful to handle.

Fortunately, she was asymptomatic. But we never knew what might happen in a snap.

The pandemic is impacting everyone. And your family wasn’t an exception. It meant making big changes in everyday routines and raised anxiety in every household member. The alarming numbers gave you a picture of how deadly the virus is. It’s killing people on a large scale. So much about the virus is out of your control. Not just the virus itself but all other aspects of life.

Time often makes you play the waiting game. It quickly passes by when you want it to stay still, but doesn’t seem to tick at all when you want it to hurry up. At this point, you are deeply hoping that the pandemic comes to an end.

Disastrous encounters

In the early morning of November 1, 2020, Super Typhoon Rolly (International name, Goni), made its first landfall in the Philippines in Bicol – with catastrophic winds of up to 280 kilometers per hour and torrential rainfall. Reading about the weather update, you began to ponder how tormenting it is to deal with such predicament: super typhoon in time of pandemic.   That’s two disasters in a row.

Can you recall waking up to howling winds and heavy-pouring rains? Of course you could. It was almost seven o’clock in the morning. Windows were intensely rattling in the wind. Some were even shattering. You were in your room full of worries, wondering when the catastrophe will end as your door started to tremble caused by the blustery weather. You immediately got up and went to your parents’ room. Your little brothers were still asleep. Your mom was securing some of your belongings and your dad wasn’t there so you looked for him outside through peeking by the window. You spotted him taking his good ‘ole motorcycles out of the garage and transferring those in the front gate. As you saw that the flood started to rise, you ran into your room and packed all of your things in plastic bags. As you finish, you prepared for breakfast. There were drizzles from the kitchen windows due to the gushing rain. Picking up new door mats was your idea but just then, the flood water began to enter. You tried to mop it out at first until it became too much too handle. It was not just a wet floor anymore. You continued to put everything on high places of the house. You weren’t sure whether the flood is going to reach above the ankle as usual but as several minutes or so passed, the water started to reach the knees and outside the house, the water reached the thighs of an average person.

It was a great relief that you were living in a two-storey house, but the second floor was usually untouched and unoccupied, and at that exceptional moment, it was your only safe refuge.  That isolated part of the house had to be cleaned first so you and your brothers had to wait sitting on the stairs for the meantime. Almost everything was a bit slippery and taking a few steps to the stairs, your mom accidentally slid and fell on her buttocks, leaving her semi-injured with a small wound on the heel. Aching in pain, there she was as your anxiety began to escalate with everything that was happening.

It was past 12 o’clock during noon as the rain lie low and the strong winds stopped. Meanwhile, flood water kept entering the house. It even reached your bed. The unprecedented intensity of the calamity made the water rise so high. Other appliances were soaked in flood water. You all tried to secure everything in the house, but the sight of flood-affected area was horrible. 

It seemed such a cruel irony that while battling the pandemic, a disaster as strong as Rolly made repercussions to your family and other families. It was such a struggle to recover from the losses. Some appliances were broken and your dad’s piggery was devastated. The agricultural damage it also brought to the small rice field your dad was handling affected your finances. The calamity knocked out mobile phone services, uprooted trees and destroyed critical infrastructures. The neighboring towns, particularly those which are near Mayon Volcano were engulfed in floodwater and volcanic mudflows. How awful! It was a twofold challenge on your concern. You badly want to help but you’re still a jobless student. 

Just days after the onslaught of Typhoon Rolly, Typhoon Ulysses roughly crossed the same track and made landfall on November 11. Disaster after disaster. Destruction after destruction – in the midst of a pandemic. It was unbelievable, it was beyond imagination, and all at the same time, dreadful. 

Multiple factors contributed to this turnabout. Most of the time, caused by circumstances beyond anybody’s control. 

The rise after the fall

When you were in despair, you prayed everyday and kept your faith intact hoping and believing that everything’s going to be all right. You stayed strong when you are at your weakest and you let God move in His mysterious ways. Tomorrow awaits. There is hope. The anxieties were no longer haunting you. You realized that you are doing the best you can, you are letting go of the things you cannot control and you start to focus on things that actually matter. You learned to embrace the uncertainty by accompanying it with faith. Your greatest fears especially the consequences of this pandemic took all your strength but there was redemption. It may be chaotic as it seems but you managed to make it through. The girl who was full of fears is now full of strength.

You survived your online classes, finished the whole semester alongside content creation with new projects coming in, and you adapted to a new reality. The monstrous and unimaginable situation brought by the virus was difficult to deal with but you still took control of what you can actually muster. You learned to manage your time wisely. You created a workspace and followed a study schedule. You made learning a joy. You made content creation a passion. You tried your best in keeping your spirits up  for the sake of surpassing all of the hardships.

One afternoon, while you were running errands with your mom, a notification popped. You were informed by a block mate that you are a dean’s lister. Wow. It made your parents proud. You were bursting in bliss. It was totally fulfilling. Memories suddenly flashed back. You remember all the challenges you faced, the hardwork you made and the efforts you poured bore an academic achievement in the midst of the pandemic. It all paid off.

Look at your grandmother. She’s doing well, healthy and is now back to her normal routine. You also get to spend more time with her now. A new tradition for the family was made. Every month, there is a “family day” where joyful memories are created. Being with your family is a blessing, take note of that. Don’t be so busy watching out for what’s ahead of you but rather, enjoy where you are.  Never miss any opportunity to spend time with your loved ones.

When two super typhoons as powerful as Rolly and Ulysses both left trails of destruction in your region, it terribly affected many families and your family wasn’t an exception.  It struck as the Philippines continues to battle the pandemic. Despite it all, your family recovered.  After the previous crops have been ravaged by the merciless storms, the succeeding harvest was a bounty. 

Seeing how the super typhoons affected millions of people in eight regions, it made your heart shatter. There was something in you that wanted to lend a helping hand not only to your family but to the community as well. Good thing, an opportunity came. You were asked to be the chairperson in your town for a relief operation called Barya Ni Juan, a movement made by Discover MNL in collaboration with Bicol Bloggers and other Bicolano brands, which provided aid for 1,000 families in 10 Bicolano communities that were gravely affected by Typhoon Rolly and Ulysses. Of course, you accepted the offer without thinking twice. With the help of your friends, you managed to accomplish the mission by distributing 500 peso-worth each relief pack to 100 homes. It may be a small act of kindness but you saw smiles on many faces. It felt gratifying. The greater your storm, the brighter your rainbow.

What a life! You’ve learned that things don’t always turn out the way you planned or the way you think they should. You’ve learned that you can turn pain into power and you can overcome anything that was meant to destroy you. You’ve become patient with yourself and your growth, knowing that good things take time. You fell so many times but you were able to get back up. 

Be proud of how far you’ve come – the silent battles you fought, the adversities you faced, the moments you had to wipe your own tears and pat yourself on the back. You’ve gone through the dark side of life but you have gained strength, courage and confidence like no other.

Always remind yourself these:

“I surpassed many challenges.” “I am capable of everything I set my mind into.” “I take every setback and use it to my advantage.”

One day, you’ll look back and you’ll tell yourself you are indeed a survivor.

With love and light, A stronger version of yourself

_______________________________________________________________________

This story is an entry to ComCo Southeast Asia’s “Write to Ignite Blogging Project Season 2: Dear Survivor”. The initiative continues to respond to the need of our times, as every story comes a long way during this period of crisis.  The initiative aims to pull and collate powerful stories from the Philippine blogging communities to inspire the nation to rise and move forward amidst the difficult situation. The “Write to Ignite Blogging Project” Season 2 is made possible by ComCo Southeast Asia, with Eastern Communications and Jobstreet as co-presenters, with AirAsia and Xiaomi as major sponsors, and with Teleperformance as sponsor.

[admdmrtn]

WHATS YOUR FAVOURITE THING ABOUT AIMEE

“Not her hopeless cooking skills,” Edith comments too readily, earning a dirty look thrown her way. “Or her dining etiquette. Or—”

“—choose your next words wisely.”

Edith watches in awe as Aimee takes a huge bite into the burrito she’d prepared a few moments prior.

So used to her best friend’s rambunctious personality, Edith barely questioned it when Aimee stormed into her apartment about half an hour ago – using the spare key that she had specifically said to use for emergencies only – demanding for some food to compensate the loss of her braincells after having had a long and dreadful meeting with Mayor Friedman. She chuckles at the thought; to be fair, anyone who survives the droning of that braggart deserves to be commended and awarded, which, as it happens, is one of Aimee’s own personal motivations after she’d nominated herself to ‘take one for the team’ or so she’d said.

A loud burp comes from her small frame, and Edith can do nothing else but wince. “Well, definitely not the way she lets one loose so carelessly,” she sighs.

“It’s au naturale,” Aimee replies before taking another bite, this time bigger than the previous one.

“I get what you mean, but that’s not exactly how the phrase is used. Close, but no,” Edith points out.

Aimee makes a face, shrugging. “You going to sit there and drag me all day, or will you actually answer the question sometime soon?”

Chuckling, Edith considers what to say. She spares another glance towards her friend, smiling a little bit before speaking. “Where I lack in people skills, Aimee makes up for it.”

She hears a tut from across the kitchen island. “Come on,” Aimee groans. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“I mean,” Edith continues, “it’s true – she’s got this special kind of charm that’ll change even the most unwavering of minds.”

“Not Adam’s though,” Aimee chimes, her words muffled from having her mouth so full.

“Adam’s got 900 years of suppression, I wouldn’t take it to heart,” Edith remarks without missing a beat.

Guffaws burst from where Aimee’s sat, followed abruptly by coughs when she choked a bit.

“Anyway,” Edith stretches the word out as if to wave away her canny remark. She fails to fight back a smile as she sees Aimee struggle between laughing and coughing lightly. “You good?”

Aimee raises a hand, signalling a go-ahead.

“What was I even saying?” Edith asks herself, trying to find again her train of thoughts. “Right, okay – one time in the Academy,” she starts again, “I made a pretty big mistake.”

“Not big, per se,” she corrects herself. “But a serious one - serious enough that there was talk about kicking me off the program.”

Edith sees Aimee slowing down in her chewing, half-eaten burrito mid-air, her usually sharp stare softening at the memory.

“But our amazing People-person here,” Edith continues, her lips stretching into a smile. “She miraculously convinced the higher-ups otherwise.”

Aimee moves to open her mouth to say something but Edith leans forward to grab a few fries off her plate and shoves it into her friend’s mouth. “I owe my career to her.” She says, grinning innocently as Aimee chews open-mouthed across from her.

“And not only that, she also stuck by me ever since then – though I didn’t have much of a choice really since we were forced to share a dorm.” Edith chuckles as Aimee pokes her tongue out, flipping a bird in jest. The two share a quiet laugh, no doubt thinking back to the crazy shenanigans they’ve experienced together while at the Academy.

When Aimee plops the final piece of the burrito into her mouth, Edith concludes. “Aimee’s my best friend. She accepts me for who I am, and I,” she pauses before breathing out the next words in a gush, “I love her for that.”

“Aw, fuck’s sake, mate,” Aimee says, clutching her heart. “You said you love me- I,” she exaggerates a pout, “I love you too.”

In a blink, Aimee’s out of her seat and rushing over to Edith’s side of the kitchen island, throwing her arms over her friend’s shoulder. “I love you!” She screams quite literally into Edith’s ear before pulling away slightly. “Say it again – say you love me.”

“No.”

“Say it,” Aimee insists.

“No.”

“But I love you.”

“I know—”

“Then say it back!” She pulls out her phone from her back pocket, fiddles with it for a second before shoving it into Edith’s face. “At least say it one more time so I’ve got a verbal reminder. Loud and clear, let’s go.”

Edith looks down and notices the phone already recording their exchange. “This is exactly why I don’t say it.”

[uk-news-talking-politics]

The hidden shame of Priti Patel's asylum policy

By Tim Farron

I got a letter from Priti Patel the other day, in which she expressed her satisfaction that some of the most vulnerable people in the UK today are living on less than £40 a week.

This group of people are finding this a time of intense struggle, yet most of us don't even notice they exist and they are recognised only grudgingly by the authorities. These are individuals and families who have fled to the UK from dangers faced in their home countries, seeking safety and sanctuary on our shores. They have applied to the government for asylum and are awaiting a decision from the Home Office. If they are destitute or about to become destitute, they are provided with accommodation – usually a house share, outside London and the south east.

The decision-making process is supposed to take about six months, but Home Office figures from March 2020 show that nearly 60% of people have been waiting for more than six months, in a limbo-like existence.

These asylum seekers are not entitled to work while they are waiting. Neither are they entitled to claim benefits such as Universal Credit. Instead they are given asylum support allowance. In June the government decided to raise this allowance by £1.85 per week, to the princely sum of £39.60 per person per week. From this – less than £6 per day for each individual – they are expected to meet all their costs apart from accommodation.

To put this in context, the chancellor raised the basic level of Universal Credit by £20 per week. The basic element for a single claimant over 25 is now just under £95 per week. This was back in March. And twelve weeks later, as an afterthought, we see this almost laughable increase for asylum support.

Before you come back at me with the argument that these are not British citizens and do not deserve support from the UK government, let us remember that under the UN Convention on Refugees they are permitted to be here while their asylum applications are being considered.  They are here because they are unable to live safely in their home countries and in many cases are victims of torture, trafficking, sexual abuse and trauma that many of us cannot even imagine.

There was a time when we treated our asylum seekers better than we do now.  Asylum support levels never used to fall below 70% of mainstream welfare benefits. But this recent increase means asylum support is now just 42% of the basic Universal Credit payment.

The home secretary's response to my concerns was that "this increase is substantially more than general inflation year-on-year", so she was "satisfied that the increase will ensure that asylum seekers are able to meet their essential living needs". She is correct that they will receive accommodation, healthcare and education for their children in addition to this amount. But my point still stands. The amount they receive to feed themselves and their families, and to look after their basic needs, is pitiful. It sends a powerful message about the way we treat those seeking sanctuary on our shores.

Why does the government regard this group of people with such resentment? Years of opposition to immigration by populist organisations and from within the Tory party means that ministers find it almost anathema to treat anyone arriving at our borders with dignity. It's not considered good politics.

In normal times, refugee families have managed to survive by depending on support from local churches and community organisations, which have provided food, clothes and toys. But lockdown meant this support was greatly reduced. Libraries closed, so it was harder to access wifi to maintain communication with family, or enable their children to do home schooling. We have to expect that this situation will continue on and off for at least the next year as local lockdowns take place.

For all these reasons, costs are increasing for these families. But because they have no official status yet in this country, they are deemed to have fewer needs and to be able to survive on far less than a person on Universal Credit.

I feel ashamed by this.  At a time when we are defining what Britain outside of the EU will be, don't we want to have an identity that we can be proud of? Shouldn't we want to be able to point to a legacy of providing sanctuary that will inspire and motivate generations that follow us? Do we really want this grubby small-mindedness to paint the picture of who we are?

The covid emergency has brought out the best and the worst in us.  Some go shopping for their neighbours in need, some go shopping their neighbours to the police. Acts of selflessness and selfishness can pour from the same heart – mine included, which is why we need constantly to consider our motives and be ready to self-rebuke.

Does being a good neighbour stretch beyond our street and the people who look like us? Are our communities able to be welcoming to those who are not currently 'one of us'? Can we find it within us to imagine how we would want to be treated if it was our family seeking sanctuary and offered only dregs?

Many of these families are from black or minority ethnic communities. Treating them decently shows we understand that Black Lives Matter, that we've learned the lessons of the Windrush scandal. The government should consider carefully how it treats everyone living in our society.

We can show the world the kind of Britain we want to be. This is the Britain I want to be part of: one that recognises neighbours in need, cares for them and welcomes them.

[distant-rose]

Villains That Live in My Head (1/4)

Notes: I made a promise back in June to @effulgentcolors a story about dealing with intimacy and PTSD and I’m like two months late. Lyubi, I’m truthfully sorry for how late this is but admittedly, I’ve been struggling with this subject material because it’s not just PTSD, it’s violent PTSD episodes so we’re straddling a very thin line which could constitute as domestic violence, which naturally makes me  uneasy. However, I think it’s important to stress that the violence depicted in this story is not due to any sort of maliciousness but due to a violent PTSD episode and this story is about exploring how to deal with trauma and intimacy issues and get past such issues as a couple. This is some hard, heavy and upsetting stuff, but I’m trying to be as sensitive and tentative to the material as I can. I can’t stress enough that this isn’t going to be for everyone and to approach with caution because this is a story about violent PTSD and accidentally hurting your partner, and please read at your own risk. A special thank you to @initiala and @shireness-says for helping me struggle bus through this story. Summary: The wounds made when we're young tend to linger. It’s something Killian and Emma learn a little too well when a well meaning surprise goes terribly wrong.  Word Count: 3,300+ Rating: M

--

The truth is that Emma Swan has never had a real boyfriend, so to speak.

Sure, she was with Neal during her teenage years, but their relationship wasn’t necessarily conventional. Born out of loneliness and camaraderie, theirs was based mainly on survival, and survival doesn’t mean dinner dates in fancy restaurants or going to the movies. The most romantic thing he ever did for her was steal a family pack of pop tarts and some boxed wine when she turned sixteen and she thought it was the sweetest thing to ever happen. That had been the pinnacle of romance for her until “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing” and “ you traded your ship for me?”

She’s so out of her depth when it comes to being in a real relationship, but so far, it seems to be going great. Killian is attentive and generous with affection, which comes in a variety of forms from bringing her coffee every morning to playing with her hair. He listens to her when she de-stresses after work, plying her with alcohol and... not sympathy, necessarily, but empathy and an understanding that everyone else seems to lack. Everyone views her as the Savior, including her parents, but it’s nice to have someone who just sees her as Emma. 

And then there’s the sex. Which is another story altogether. 

It’s good, don’t get her wrong. He’s surprisingly sweet and very generous, with soft eyes and even softer touches. However, it’s also intimidating, because while Emma is the one-night-stand wonder, she wouldn’t call herself particularly knowledgable when it comes to sex. It’s mainly been insert Tab A into Slot B, repeat until satisfaction (and more often than not, no satisfaction - but that’s another story altogether). Such relationships didn’t necessarily lead to a lot of exploration or discovery. Quite simply, you don’t ask a complete stranger to help you discover your kinks unless you’re a serial killer or preternaturally uncomfortable in your own skin. Emma was neither of those things. So, her experience, while lengthy partner-wise, didn’t necessarily extend beyond what was considered relatively standard.

Killian, on the other hand seemed to have a fountain of knowledge and experience.

He didn’t necessarily brag about it to her per say -- aside from his rather outrageous innuendos -- but there was a certain sureness and innate knowledge that wasn’t something you could necessarily fake, and could only come from wealth of experience. While there had been some fumbling in the beginning (usually on her end), he was nowhere near as clueless as others had been on how to touch her. It had been more like watching someone relearn a path rather than discovering it for the first time. And while it’s been great to be with someone who didn’t need a road map to her clitoris, it was also a bit disconcerting to be someone who was, quite frankly, a lot more experienced than you. 

And even more mortifyingly, teaching you things about sex despite getting your v-card swiped more than a decade ago.

It makes her feel like she’s being trained a bit. And honestly, she kinda hates that.

She doesn’t like the fact that he seems to be leading her around a training ring like she’s some skittish horse and he’s some absurdly patient seasoned equestrian. It makes her feel foolish and, even worse, she can’t help but feel like she’s boring him. And the last thing she wants to bore him.

(Boring means getting left behind.)

She knows it’s irrational to think so, but there’s nothing Emma is more terrified of than being left alone again. Sure, she has her family, and her boyfriend literally gave up his home and his entire way of life to be with her, but that fear runs deep. No matter how many justifications her parents, Neal, or anyone else give her, that pain doesn’t just disappear.  

(In the spirit of Jake Peralta: cool motive, still abandonment.)

She isn’t sure that she’s in love with him. Considering the fact that her parents are the Olympic gold medalists of True Love, she’s more than a little gun shy when it comes to even broaching that subject. However, she knows she doesn’t want him to leave. She wants more than anything for him to stay.

And that’s how she reaches the decision to “spice” things up.

(And naturally, as it is with all situations where someone tries to perfect an already good thing, it blows up in her face. Spectacularly.)

She doesn’t remember how she settled on the idea of bondage, but it’s something she’s the most familiar with, and all kinky things considered, it seems pretty low level; exciting, but not as far out there as some of the other things she’s come across when perusing for ideas. She’s not looking to do anything Fifty Shades, but she thinks it might be fun to tie him up and make him the focal point for once. Killian always focuses on her, and it might benefit their relationship for things to be a little less one-sided when it comes to the bedroom.

Besides, Killian is a pretty adventurous guy, and a pirate to boot. She’s pretty certain he’s had more than a few nights of debauchery, featuring far more lewd acts than a little light bondage play. Hell, she wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he’s been involved in an orgy or two. He’ll probably find her plans as vanilla as everything else they’ve been doing.

(You know what they say when you assume. It makes an ass of you and me.) 

She doesn’t tell him her plans, mainly because she can’t imagine he would object and also because she wants to surprise him. After letting him take the lead in this aspect of their relationship, she wants to show him that what she lacks in experience, she can make up for with a willingness to explore new things. She wants to be on his level, not someone he needs to teach.

So, she doesn’t tell him. She just brings a box of condoms, a pair of cuffs and a smile.

It starts the way it always does - with a kiss that has them both swaying side-to-side until they teeter awkwardly backwards into his room. She chucks her bag on the nightstand, only to have it smack the table lamp and send both items to the floor. She can’t bring herself to care when she has Killian splayed out on the bed below her, pupils blown wide, lips bruised and noticeable tenting in his incredibly tight pants.

(Seriously, is he capable of wearing anything else? She might have to buy him a more relaxed fit, if only to help her sanity. While he doesn’t have much of an ass, they highlight the muscles in his thighs and make her eyes jump to places that aren’t necessarily appropriate for the public.)

And then there’s the hair.

She loves his hair and the way it’s starting to get a little longer and curl over his ears. She loves tugging on it and the noises he makes when she does. She leans forward, unable to resist threading her fingers through the dark strands as she tilts his head up for another kiss. He accepts it enthusiastically, a low pleased grumble emitting from the back of his throat as she gives his hair a playful tug. He pulls her into his lap, hips rolling upwards with impatience.

Clothes are shed gracelessly. It takes more than a few tries for her to unbutton his vest, cursing him for choosing such finicky clothing. It’s just so typical for him to pick style over functionality. He laughs at her impatience, eyes twinkling with amusement. She wants to rip the bloody thing off.

(Holy fuck, she’s starting to sound like him.)

“Why so impatient, love? We have all night,” he asks, chuckling as she finally manages to undo his buttons. 

She doesn’t respond immediately, more focused removing his hook from its brace and placing it on the nightstand. More articles of clothing have fallen victim to that hook than she cares to count, and she has such a limited wardrobe as is.

“Maybe I have plans,” she responds with what she hopes is a coy smile. 

Both of his eyebrows rise at this, a smirk spreading across his lips as he settles back on his elbows.  

“Plans?”

“Yes,” she says, running her fingers along the length of his collarbone. “Plans. Fun plans. And if you’re good, you might even find out what they are.” 

“I’m not sure I’m capable of being good,” he responds, leaning up and placing all too brief kisses along her jaw and neck. “But I promise you, you’ll certainly like it when I’m bad.” 

“We’ll have to see about that.”

She pulls him into another fierce kiss, using it to distract him as she reaches back to riffle through her bag for her cuffs. It gets a bit awkward, the angle not quite right, but Killian does his best to make it work. When she finally gets her prize, she makes a noise of triumph against his lips before pushing him back against the bed and reaching for his wrists. 

“Swan!” 

Killian’s eyes go wide with shock, growing even larger as he catches sight of the handcuffs. Emma expects it, but it doesn’t last long. His face contorts into a new expression, one that’s far from the enthusiasm. 

She doesn’t get much time to process it, however because the world turns suddenly on its axis. 

One minute she’s straddling his thighs, trying to handcuff him, and the next thing she knows, she’s on her back with Killian looming above her with his only hand pressed to her throat, and not in a way that’s remotely friendly. His fingers dig painfully as they press into her windpipe, cutting off her oxygen. Every muscle in his body is tensed and his chest keeps heaving as if he’s struggling to breathe. His eyes aren’t shocked; they’re panicked. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Emma still stunned by the turn of events while Killian looks more like a frightened animal than a person. Her lungs burn painfully and she chokes a bit as she tries to breathe. He jumps at the sound, his face changing from frightened to horrified. He pushes himself away from her forcefully, propelling his body until he’s precariously close to falling off the bed. He pulls himself into a sitting position and turns his back to her, fingers gripping the side of the bed as if holding on for dear life. Emma lays there, mind reeling, still stunned by the sudden turn of events. Her fingers move to touch where she can still feel the hard press of his palm. 

A million questions buzz in her head, each too fleeting for her to truly grasp but each more panicked and disturbed than the next. She doesn’t know what the hell just happened, but her pulse is thundering loudly in her ears and she has the same feeling of ice water in her veins that she did in the Clocktower when Gold was about to crush his heart.

Killian still has his back to her and while she can’t see his face, his shoulders are shaking, and she can still hear the harshness of his breath even over the chaotic orchestra her insides are playing.

“I…” The vowel sounds hoarse leaving his mouth. “I…I’m sorry…I…” 

He reaches for his clothes, pulling Emma away from the hornet’s nest in her head. She sits up, on instinct reaching out to him. He flinches and inches further away from her hand, which somehow hurts more than when he tried to choke her. A wounded noise emits from the back of her throat. He doesn’t acknowledge it. He picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head one-handed. It’s on backwards but he doesn’t seem to care.

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“I need to go,” he says shortly, not looking at her.

She opens her mouth to speak, but her words fall short. Emma doesn’t know what she wants to say. She knows she should say something, but what exactly, she doesn’t know. She still hasn’t processed what exactly happened.

Emma can still feel his hand on her throat.

(What the hell just happened?)

She’s still trying to answer that question, while Killian’s haphazardly pulling on his boots. She raises her hand again, but pulls it back. She wants to touch him, to do something, but she doesn’t know what to do and she can’t bear the sight of him pulling away from her again, like she’s something vile. 

Before she can even come to a course of action, the door slams shut. And she’s alone.

(Again.

She’s alone again.)

The thought leaves her feeling frozen, like she’s back in the ice prison again except this time she’s not surrounded by ice. It’s inside of her spreading over each and every one of her organs. She wraps her arms around herself in attempt at...warmth? Comfort? She isn’t sure anymore.

She isn’t sure of anything.

(What the hell just happened?)

One minute they were fine and about to have a good time, and the next thing he’s attacking her and then suddenly he can’t even look at her. All of it happened so fast that she’s still not quite sure what caused all of it. What the hell did she do?

She gets up, pins and needles shooting through her legs. They’re completely unhappy with her after sitting on the bed for so long. She doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she knows she needs to do something. Walking into the ensuite and turns on the light, she winces at the harsh intensity of the fluorescent bulb; sucking in a breath when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

There’s an angry red ring around her throat.

She touches it again, this time more tentatively. The flesh is tender and a small hiss leaves her without her permission. Killian is long gone, but the phantom pain of his hand is still there. It had only been a few seconds but the feeling and the fear refuses to leave. 

Fear.

The realization hits her like whiplash. She had been afraid of him. He could have hurt her.

He did hurt her.

(Why?)

She doesn’t have any answers. She doesn’t know what she did for Killian to act like this, but he’s left her and she’s pretty certain he isn’t coming back. 

She hates the fact that hurts her more than the potential bruises.

Angry tears form at the corner of her eyes and she splashes water on her face to keep herself from seeing them. She glances at the clock, not necessarily because she’s interested in the time so much as she doesn’t want to see herself reflected in the mirror.

2:00.

Fuck.

She should leave. She hadn’t been planning on going back to the loft, but she knows she can’t stay here even if Killian doesn’t plan on coming back. She needs to get out of here and sleep somewhere else, where the imprint of his hand can’t follow her.

She pulls her hair into a messy, half-assed ponytail, not bothering it to smooth out the awkward bumps. Her limbs feel as heavy as lead as she puts on her clothes. She wants nothing more than to sleep, but she can’t. Not here.

The streets of Storybrooke are deathly silent as she walks back to the loft. It’s a cool night and the chill highlights the unnatural warmth pulsating from her neck. She pulls her jacket tighter around her. It has always been her shield from the world, but it’s protection was futile. What she needed protecting from had already gotten past her walls.

She can’t stop thinking about it, her brain like an old scratched DVD, playing the same scene over and over again in her mind. She can’t help but relive that moment when he was above her and she couldn’t breathe. She still remembers the look on his face; eyes wide, nostrils flaring and cheeks white. It hadn’t been anger on his face.

It had been fear.

What the hell did he have to be afraid of? He wasn’t the one with the hand on his throat.

Why did he do that?

Why did he leave?

The questions swirl around in her mind as she attempts to unlock the front door of their building. It takes her an embarrassing three tries to open it, but when she finally did, a sense of relief came over her. She’s home and she can sleep.

She’s so tired.

The door to the loft groans as she opens it, sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night. The noise wakes the baby, his wails as ear-piercing as thunder. She can hear her parents waking up behind their curtain. 

She can’t face them. 

Not right now. 

Not after everything that happened with Killian.

She races across the room instead, making her way up the stairs. Her hands tremble as she clings to the bannister like it’s a life line, each ascending step feeling heavier and more precarious than the last.

It’s a relief when she finally reaches her bed and crawls underneath her covers, pulling them over her head in an attempt to cocoon herself away from the world. She wants to escape, to find some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Little Neal doesn’t seem to want adhere that desire. His screams keep getting louder and louder.

“That’s a mood if I ever heard one,” she mumbles, burying her face in her pillow.

Her mother’s soothing voice sounds throughout the apartment as she attempts to lull Neal back to sleep. Slowly, the cries quiet down and the growing silence echoes inside of her. It’s then that the anger gives away to immeasurable sadness, tears dribbling at the corners of her eyes and leaking down her cheeks.

Once again, she’s alone and no one wants her. Not her parents. Not her brother. And especially not her pirate boyfriend, if he’s even her boyfriend anymore. She’s not so sure.  

(What the hell happened?)

It’s frustrating to be in this position again, hurt and confused as to why. She should have known it wasn’t going to work. She’s never been in a healthy and real relationship before and it was silly of her to think otherwise. She should have known it would blow up in her face.

(But why?)

(Why?)

(Why?)

It’s the question on her mind keeps playing over and over in her mind as she falls into a fitful slumber, hoping against hope that sleep will bring some clarity.

It doesn’t.

[cptsdstudyblr]

How I organize my studies with mental health issues

Hi :) I’m just here trying to survive a computer science degree with CPTSD, depression, anxiety, and some physical health issues. However, I’ve figured out a system that really (!!!) helps me keep organized and actually learn things despite all the challenges I face! So, I want to share it with you in case it helps just one person! This post is pretty long, but I promise it’s got tons and tons of amazingly helpful information in it!

I’m lucky enough to have a tablet to help me with my studies, but anything I show today can easily be done on a laptop or even on a phone, so don’t stress!

Initial Note Taking

I prefer to handwrite my initial notes if possible. Sometimes, my professors just go too fast and I have to type them, but if I have the option, I choose to handwrite them. I find that handwriting my notes helps keep my mind focused on the task at hand. 

First of all, I’m a very tactile learner, so the act of writing helps me learn the material. However, I’ve found that there are tons of other benefits to writing notes by hand. 

If you’re dissociating/anxious/etc., doodling is a good way to center yourself and help yourself calm down.

Handwritten notes are easier (at least in my non-professional opinion) to make neat and pretty, which can be a huge motivator.

Many classes have diagrams, and it’s super helpful to draw these out so that you’re more likely to remember them and so you have easy access to them.

For people who are nonlinear thinkers (NOT me at all, but I know some people are nonlinear thinkers), you can write your notes in any way you see fit - a circle, a mind map, a graph, even a dodecahedron if you so desire.

And there are tons of others I don’t have time to thoroughly explain!

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with typing notes if you feel that that works better for you. I have to do that for some classes (Geology, I’m looking at you), and I don’t prefer to type my notes, but some people find that they prefer it, and that’s totally okay! There are a few quick things to keep in mind if you choose to take typed notes, however:

I find it very helpful to keep a notepad near me so that I can doodle (again for dissociation/anxiety/etc.) and so that I can draw diagrams if necessary. I’m not talented enough to create computer diagrams quickly, so I usually draw them by hand even if I’m typing my actual notes.

Put in the effort to make sure you aren’t distracted by other things on your laptop! Typing notes can be a great thing, but technology is very quick to distract people. One method I find good for me is to make my notes full screen so that it’s harder to find things to get distracted by, but there are many methods for this.

Try to keep your typed notes tidy and organized. For me, this includes having consistent tab distances, changing font colors/styles (by styles I mean bold/italic/etc.) as necessary, and most of all splitting up my notes into documents by days or topics. I use Evernote, so it’s pretty straightforward to split them up, but even if you use another system, it’s wise to figure out a way to do so. Having one long document for the entire semester is not wise because it gets very overwhelming very quickly and is just plain hard to use.

The biggest help for me, however, is after I’ve taken my notes. I use Evernote to digitize my notes. It’s super easy to do (just take a picture in the app and it scans them like a PDF), and I find that having them digital is a huge help. It means a few things for me:

I don’t have to have every notebook with me to study - just the ones I need to take notes in. This is far more related to physical health for me because I just can’t carry that many notebooks without a lot of pain, but it’s also great for people who are forgetful due to mental health issues. All you have to remember is your laptop or tablet (or really, even your phone), so it’s much easier to make sure you have everything.

I can write all over them when I’m studying without ruining the original notes. I am a big fan of scribbling all over notes (writing mnemonics, drawing diagrams, marking what I know and don’t know, etc.), but I dislike damaging my original notes. This allows me to study as messily as I want without ruining anything.

I can make multiple copies of them if I need to - one for the class I took the notes in and one for my exam revision session. This is very helpful for people who aren’t feeling well enough to rewrite or retype everything into another place when revising for an exam.

Here’s what some of my digitized notes from my operating systems class look like (please forgive my very messy drawing - OS is hard to draw sometimes):

General Studying

This section refers to studying, but not for exams. This includes things such as doing assignments, reading for classes, and other such things. The most important thing for my studying is Google Tasks! I keep all my important due dates in there, even down to the time. Here’s an example of what my Google Tasks looks like:

Apologies for the blacked-out spot - that reveals where I go to school! I use this for every single thing that has a hard due date. This makes sure that I never miss a due date no matter how forgetful I am because my list of due dates is on my cell phone! I also find it extremely rewarding to tick the box when I finish an assignment, and even something as simple as that is such a huge motivator for me.

However, this isn’t where I plan how to study for the week. I do that - you guessed it - on paper. I have a journal (which you’ll get to see in another post) where I keep a lot of important stuff - including weekly study plan spreads! That sounds super overwhelming, but they’re incredibly easy to make and very simple to maintain. I’ll show you (artful pen to hide my school name)!

Let me break this down for you really quickly:

I have my pages divided into four (one quadrant per day plus one for notes), which works pretty well for me - I never run out of space. This setup takes me less than five minutes to make each week, and I find it works very well for me.

I like to write what classes I have each day at the top of the day just so I don’t get too confused (and I highlight it if I have an exam), then underneath that, I list everything I have to do study-wise. 

I make sure to break each big task (e.g. “Study for Geology Exam) into smaller, more manageable chunks (e.g. “Make Geology flashcards,” “Revise Ch. 6 Notes,” etc.) all on different days of the week. This helps make each task seem way less overwhelming and makes me feel better about starting each task.

As you can see, my due dates are NOT on this sheet - this is more of a Study To-Do List than a list of my due dates. I do make sure to keep this updated so that I don’t miss any due dates, however.

You’ll also notice that I don’t have all that much listed for each day. It’s incredibly hard to stay ahead of things with mental health issues (I get that - I really do), but I find that staying ahead genuinely helps my mental health. If I have something to do every day, I feel productive and thus more motivated. It also gives me more leeway if I have a day where I can’t do any more than the bare minimum - I’m already ahead of schedule so I don’t need to panic. My best method for staying ahead is just to buckle down and do it. It’s not a great tip, but it’s all I’ve got (I’m allowed to struggle too - I don’t have everything together perfectly!).

Now, let’s talk about how to tackle each thing on this list.

Readings! When I have to do readings, my preferred method of note-taking is simply writing down definitions of keywords. Most of what I cover in the reading will be covered in the lecture, so I’m not too worried about jotting down every detail. However, making sure to note key words helps keep my brain engaged so I am less likely to zone out/dissociate/etc. Additionally, I can go back to those keywords to make flashcards later on.

Assignments! There’s not a whole lot to say about this one - every assignment is so different that I can’t say much beyond “do your assignments thoroughly.” However, a tip I find helps me a lot is to fully read the assignment and create a game plan before I dive in. This makes the assignment way less overwhelming and gives you concrete stopping points if you need a break.

Studying! will have its own section right below this, do not fear.

Studying

Watch this quick video (which is at the bottom of the text for some unknown reason?) of me scrolling through a study session, then I’ll explain how I study and why it works for me!

Let me just list my Studying Steps (TM) for you and break them down:

About a week before: Write all the information in a clear, consistent way.

By this I mean: Go through your notes/the slides/the textbook/anything with information and write it down freshly. I prefer (like usual) to handwrite this, but it can certainly be typed.

This is good because it requires you to reread and rewrite every piece of information, so you’re that much more likely to remember it. It also gives you all the information consolidated in one place. I like to split this up by topic (for me, each topic takes about 30 minutes to do) so that it’s more manageable. 

This seems like a lot, and it is. But, you have to study and there’s no way around that, unfortunately. Try motivating yourself with small rewards (like food, stickers, or something fun) when you finish a topic.

When you finish that: Make charts and graphs for anything that requires charts and graphs.

The diagrams part is pretty self-explanatory. If you have diagrams, redraw them on their own sheet. This makes them less cluttered and you can write things like mnemonics on them without messing up anything else. Redrawing them is also great for muscle memory!

I also like to make charts of things that I need to memorize (this is a good tool, but isn’t always right for every subject). For example, if I need to know a lot of types of rocks, I’ll make charts listing each rock and its characteristics. This way it’s easier to find the information and (once again) muscle memory will help you out.

This can be done pretty quickly, and it’s a pretty brainless activity. It’s not hard to do, so you can do it while watching Netflix if you want to. I honestly enjoy this part, though, because I find drawing charts and graphs very satisfying. 

About 3 days before: Make flashcards and study them consistently.

This is very important!

I like to use paper flashcards (just so I have to write the information once again), but digital ones work fairly well too.

Memorization is actually a fantastic tool to help with studying with mental health issues. Sometimes brain fogginess makes it hard to think of things that you know, but couldn’t recite. However, if you have it fully memorized, it’s generally much easier to pull out of the depths of your mind.

Once again, this is pretty easy to do (not quick though, sorry), and can be done while you’re doing something else more fun.

The day before: Go through your notes, annotate what you don’t know, and rewrite it until you know it.

This is the most important part of studying for me. 

The evening before the exam, I go through every bit of my notes, charts, graphs, etc. and highlight what I 100% know.

Then, I take more paper (or often a digital piece of paper) and write out what I know, trying to focus my energy on finding ways to remember the information such as mnemonics, word associations, or the like.

I do this as many times as I need to until I feel good about how much information I have highlighted - I try to get to 85-90%, but that can vary by subject.

This is kind of tedious, but I find it easier to motivate myself since it is the final stretch. I’m also usually kind of stressed out about the exam by this point, so that works as a good motivator too.

[eldritchsurveys]

911.

5k Survey XXXIV

1751. Do you think that it is okay for a homosexual or a woman to become a priest? >> Of course. I’m sure some sects think they’re justified in barring certain kinds of people from being priests, but I think it’s kind of fucked up to deny someone that kind of religious stature based on nothing but some arbitrary fact of birth or design. 1752. Which would you rather give up forever, religion or sex? >> Why can’t you love god in your bed? said Steve Vai and he was fucking right, god dammit. Give me both at the same time. 1753. What comes to mind when you think of these places: Canada? Moose. UK? Those red double-decker buses. I’ve seen way too many pictures of London and not enough of the rest of the UK. USA? The White House. Australia? The movie The Nightingale. Germany? Beer. Italy? The canals in Venice. 1754. What does your favorite bumper sticker say? >> Oh fuck, I’ve forgotten! I saw one a while ago that just slayed me but I’ve forgotten what it said by now. Unfortunate. 1755. Have you ever taken a shower with another person? >> Yes.

1756. What bath toys do you have, if any? >> I don’t have any bath toys. 1757. Would you rather propose to someone you love or would you rather be proposed to by someone you love? >> Does it matter? 1758. How can you reject someone nicely? >> By being tactfully honest about the fact that you’re not interested in what they’re offering.

1759. What kinds of diary names make you interested enough to check out the diary? >> --- 1760. What do you think are three common passwords people use to secure their diaries? >> --- 1761. Pick an object in the room. Give that object a name. >> I’m cheating and picking a plushie. Its name is Marshmellow and it’s a white dog with pink accents. 1762. What is the quickest way to make you blush? >> --- 1763. Do you usually feel that you deserve it when other people compliment you? >> I don’t always feel like I deserve it, but I try to accept it gracefully anyway. It’s a kind gesture to give a compliment and I'd hate to alienate the giver by denying it. 1764. If you were to start your own business what kind of business do you think it might be? >> I don’t want to do that. 1765. What is one of your pet peeves? >> When I’m taking a walk and have to dodge into the fucking street to avoid lawn sprinklers. 1766. What question do you get asked too frequently? >> I used to get asked constantly if my septum ring hurt. Luckily I haven’t heard that question in a while.

1767. You notice a ring is priced $40.00, but the cashier only charges you $10.00. Do you mention this to the cashier? >> Yeah. Back in the day, I wouldn’t have, because an extra $30 in my pocket would have been beyond lucky. But I don’t have to worry about that so much anymore, so I can indulge the luxury of uprightness. 1768. Could a kiss on the ___ be considered cheating? Cheek?  Lips? Nose? Hand? Ear? Neck? 1769. Would it bother you if your lover occasionally flirted with others? >> Of course not. That person’d better flirt back too, she’s a catch.  1770. How long has it been since you last played truth or dare? >> I don’t play that. 1771. Should people who are living now be obligated to do things that will make the world better for people who will live 100 years from now? >> I don’t know. I mean, we’re struggling trying to make the world better for ourselves, let alone hypothetical people who don’t even exist yet. 1772. Imagine you have a dream in which someone you care for acts mean to you. Is it possible you will still be angry with this person when you wake up? >> I know it’s possible for some people because I’ve heard this kind of story before. It’s not possible for me, I don’t think of the people in my dreams as actual avatars of real-life people. Dream folks are just wearing faces they’ve pulled from my memory. 1773. Have you ever left someone a note with a picture in it? If yes, how do you do it? >> Er, no, I don’t think so. 1774. What do you fear more, death or pain? >> Pain, definitely pain. When I think of the various things I fear about death, they all come down to being afraid of some kind of pain (physical, mental, psychic). 1775. Are the questions still interesting this far into the survey? >> Some of them are, like the previous one. And then there are whole sections that have just annoyed me, lol. 1776. Do you like the cartoon Inspector Gadget? >> I’ve never seen it. 1777. You know how Gadget wears the same outfit all the time, and his closet is full of outfits that are exactly identical to the one he wears? If your closet was full of just one outfit that you had to wear everyday what would it be like? >> Sweatpants (or shorts, in summer) and a band t-shirt. And a hoodie, in chilly weather. 1778. Would you rather time travel to the future or the past? >> No. 1779. Would you rather know how the world began or how it will end? >> I think we’ve learned a lot about how the world began, right? Or at the very least, we have sound theories about it. Now, how the universe began... that’s the kind of shit I’m into. 1780. Would you rather meet your ancient ancestors or your great great great great great great grandchildren? >> --- 1781. Out of these 4 which is most important (1=most, 2= second most, 3 = 3rd most, 4 = least)? Curing diseases such as aids, cancer:  Preserving wildlife areas:  Ending terrorism:  Building colonies in space: 1782. In your opinion should every child be entitled to a good education? >> Sure. I mean, why not, right? 1783. What news item are you tired of hearing about? >> The presidential election. 1784. Speaking of 9/11 the anniversary is coming up. What will you be doing? >> Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything to me, I wasn’t there and neither was anyone I know. 1785. If this were a recipe for you, how would it go? >> --- 1786. Which of the following would YOU be more likely to survive: A fall from a 3 story building Driving a car into the water >> A fall from a 3-storey building. I can’t swim, so I’m definitely not surviving the second one. 1787. What philosophy was manifested in the communist manifesto? >> Was it not Communism? Or is that not a philosophy, per se... hmm. 1788. Who is your exact opposite? >> No one is my exact opposite. That just doesn’t make any sense. 1789. Would you rather have serenity or insanity? >> --- 1790. What do these phrases mean? Moulin Rouge:  Le voyage sur le bateau:  Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir: something about would you like to sleep with me tonight, idk. I just remember it from that one song. 1791. What is the longest distance you have ever walked? >> I have no idea. Miles and miles. 1792. The ancient Greek philosopher Plato believes that beauty truth and justice all basically mean the same thing. What are your feelings about this? >> I don’t understand what Plato was trying to say here, I need the context. 1793. How did you first begin to assert yourself as independent from your parents? >> I mean, that... happens in childhood, right? The development of the self as a separate entity from one’s caregivers? 1794. If you had a magic bracelet, would you use it to gain luck, money, health, creativity or love? >> No. 1795. What would you do if every time you used your magic bracelet something bad would happen to someone else? >> I wouldn’t have used the bracelet in the first place, because all shit like that has some kind of equivalent-exchange side effect. I know my magic devices, okay. 1796. This is a story about a girl. While at the funeral of her own mother, she met a guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy she believed him to be that she fell in love with him then and there, although she didn’t even see him after the funeral ended. A few days later, the girl killed her own sister. What is her motive for killing her sister? >> Oh, I’ve heard this one before. It’s some kind of crack “test” to see if you’re a psychopath. The supposed “psychopath answer” is that she was hoping that the guy would appear at her sister’s funeral. 1797. Have you ever intentionally hurt someone’s feelings? >> Sure. 1798. What do you think of Franz Ferdinand? >> As far as the band is concerned, I like that Take Me Out song, but I don’t know any of their others. Alas, I don’t know anything about the Archduke except that he was assassinated, so I can’t say I have an opinion on him. 1799. What do you think of the band Modest Mouse? >> I liked Float On, but I don’t know any of their other songs. 1800. What do you think of Morrissey? >> I like Morrissey. Well, his music, anyway.

[madamhatter]

bigcasinc inquired: ✎- Jade Send in “ ✎ “  to put our muses in this generator and write a starter (OR) drabble based off the prompt we get! | accepting | @bigcasinc​​

PROMPT: Jade and Sophie sleeping on top of each other (in the bed, couch, where ever you prefer) when Sophie flops down on the floor. 

Per the headmaster’s directive, and given the timing, Simeon was to live or at least associate with the Ramshackle dormitory. To better strengthen the fabricated identity was his reason for such arrangements. Yet, the leading corvid had other motives that didn’t go unnoticed. 

‘Kind,’ as he advertised himself to be, the headmaster still had his own curiosities and suspicions regarding the human that needed answering. And, what better way to gain answers than to assign a staff member to such a task? He wasn’t attentive over the whole ordeal, to begin with. To assess and report to their superior, Simeon took another burden. It was one that they should’ve refused. Yet, their fidelity made it nay possible to ignore. 

Retiring to the dormitory wasn’t entirely necessary for Simeon. The rooms were bigger than the cramped-unit they originally and currently live in. However, they preferred their ghosts haunting their minds and not shaking their bed. And, they believed that anyone would prefer some privacy whilst changing their bandages and treating their burns.

One night, Simeon recalls. I’m so kind that you don’t need to stay there for the entire semester. Just please, keep an eye on our new student for one night and see how they’re adjusting. They’re our guest, after all. Our very new and interesting guest.

Out of the generosity of their heart, and the gratitude they held towards the headmaster, they decided to spend a week. And how that week practically spent them-- 

Simeon’s memories were already clouded,  yet it hadn’t occurred to them that their mind would’ve gone adrift while attending to the Monstro’s Longue. The last they recalled was...

Ankles crossed, the student was shifting and sorting through contracts, reading through the fine print and agreements. Their main business was cross-checking with one of Mister Ashengrotto’s trusted footmen, the emotionally maintained but mentally scarring Jade Leech. 

These contracts happened to ones that weren’t using the dorm leader’s unique magic, as most of the signers hadn’t any outstanding ability to remove. If the conditions of the contract weren’t met, well, the Leech twins were more than capable of handling it.

“This stack has Savanaclaw students have who’ve decided to contract but failed to meet to the agreements,” the young student gestured their hand to their left-hand side. “Your brother is already handling a personal order from Mister Ashengrotto,” they nodded, “this is most likely going to be easier than what he’s currently assigned.” 

Composure fixed onto his face through a polite smile, Jade folds his hand over his chest, accepting the compliment. No complaints, no backtalk, but he was as capable of creeping underneath their skin when he felt particularly poised and interested in doing so. Olive and golden irises followed not their hand gestured, but remained on their face -- Simeon had already picked up on this but, they voted to ignore it. 

Several passive comments were made when Simeon first arrived, inquiring about the maintenance of the human body and the cycles required by the body to follow. What an interesting way not to directly comment about my eyes, the human thought and they shrugged it off. 

While they continued to maneuver and manage the conversation, it wouldn’t hide the fact their eyes were sullen and dark bags marred underneath their otherwise sharp eyes. “Now, ---” The light of their mind flickered, and they heeded no attention to it. Though, the disregard also included their words slurring and their conscious blanking and their body slowly teetering...

And all came to a stop.

Restlessness must’ve been a requirement for whoever lived in the Ramshackle dormitory. Long since abandoned and grim, it was until the arrivals of the mirror-hopper and the azure, hot-tongued cat that life returned to the unfortunate remains of a once-great dormitory. How the pair ever managed themselves in this wretched and abysmal lodging was beyond Simeon’s understanding.

Admittedly, the ‘third-year’ curbed any possible interactions with the other-worlder and the feline. In both their best interest and protection, they maintained themselves as an observer, as opposed to an entrant. Imposing their presence into the newcomer’s strained schedule wasn’t a thought Simeon enjoyed. Alas, the truth of the matter was simple: they wanted nothing to do with the duo.

All these thoughts subsided in the vast blankness of Simeon’s mind -- and Simeon occupied the space as a mere creation of Sophie Hatter. The epicenter of the experiences and memories gathered by Myrtle and Simeon, but most of Sophie’s were severed and covered with an inescapable fog. 

Succumbing to the darkness, Sophie urged herself to question what is going on. Her physical body, it must’ve reacted to something and crashed while holding itself by a hair. Flashes of consciousness tried to break through, yet the entirety of her body was numb. Nothing was responding and all she could conceive at that moment was that she was alive--.

It is a death-like sleep, she reasons. Perhaps something happened to my soul? Was I cast out of my body by a fae or unsightly creature that had I long dreaded exist in my forgotten life? Or, has my time concluded on this plane... The curse stealing away my mortality, what an irony.

However, she found herself floating on nothingness and staring at a blackened sky. Not all was lost, that should’ve been the upside. Tranquility found in the nothingness isn’t ever soothing. It immobilizes and allows it to come...

Bright, blinding, it was all that Sophie could connect to her past. Black is disrupted by the faint slit of needle-thin red peering only steps away from where she laid. All the air she imagines herself to breathe is running short -- her mouth tightly shuts, refusing to scream. Though, all the air in that space -- it rapidly dissipates as it looms closer. 

Razor red claws reach forward, silhouette engulfed in flames, wild orange licking out in curls unspeakable in its mass. No recognizable features of a body existed. All that survived was its approaching form, touch reaching out and closing it on Sophie’s throat. 

Squirming little form underneath the flame, she was a moth caught in the fire. Tears began growing in the corner of her eyes. Writhing comes from panic, urging herself to live and run.

Please no, no, no --

Hot, blistering pain overwhelms the back of Sophie's left arm. Clothes burning off and the skin revealing its patchy, scarred self down her back-- 

THUD.

Struggling breath, sharp pain, painful light glare -- her body slowly raises, black gloved hands struggling to grip anything around her. A terrified gasp leaves her, yet her expression was blank and emotionless with a glaze over her eyes.

Dream, a dream --- 

A trembling Simeon awakens back to the world. Aquatic walls greet their eyes as they blink rapidly. Bountiful underwater views of coral reefs were before them, faint glow of purple hanging on the walls. A large octopus metal insignia hung over the glass paneling as there were lilac, transparent curtains drawn away. 

Dor..mitory....

Turning their head slowly, Simeon spotted two sharp shoes -- dual-toned black and white. Eyes slowly trail up to find gray slacks and white-gloved hands resting on a humanoid’s lap--.Their eyes slowly trail up and upon spotting a fixed white bowtie and fixed purple shirt, it was simply,

Jade.

Unbeknownst to Simeon, the eel easily carried their body and escorted them out of the Monstro’s Longue. Not wanting to distress and disturb the upcoming busy hours, as Azul would’ve despised a hiccup in their business, the vice-head had taken them to the Octavinelle dormitory’s common area.

He was seated on the large curved gray couch, one that could’ve seated almost a dozen students. Though, his gaze was distinctively hinting that any other individuals should’ve steered clear away and not disturb. If that didn’t help, a simple flash of his razor-sharp teeth signaled to the freshmen to leave their second-in-command alone with the Ramshackle student. 

Their motionless body had been adjusted to lay across the couch, head resting against Jade’s leg. Short silver locks grazed against the fabric of his pants. And the most interesting detail he observed was the warped expression and range of emotions Simeon carried besides their usual ones. He expected humans were meant to sleep beautifully and peacefully, that much he read and heard from the non-merfolk and in their books. 

But, Simeon looked troubled.

A forceful breath finally left the human, shaking body now relaxing and their hands about to push themselves off the ground. Yet, their legs were still weakened and it was a pathetic attempt to regain their footing. 

They finally choked out something to say, 

“Mister Leech, I must’ve had a fainting spell. I deeply apologize for that. I hope I wasn’t a nuisance to you and your busy schedule--” Simeon spoke, true to how the persona was. Yet, a softer voice left, a peek to how they truly sounded as Sophie. It was soft, ashamed, and almost inaudible. “I’m so sorry.” 

If Simeon wasn’t careful, they’d fall.

[storytime-hoe]

Tough Love Ch.13

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x O/C

Summary: Story picks up during season three as the group goes into Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie from the Governor. However, they pick up another prisoner of Woodbury, Emma (O/C). She is a thief who fears friendships after her hard losses. She stays on the move, studying communities from afar and then robbing them blind. She has stayed alive this way for a while until the Governor catches her in the act. Now she finds herself with the group from the prison in a mission to kill the Governor for what he has done to her. She plans on stealing supplies from the prison group after the Governor is killed, but she might be growing a little too close to the groups members, especially one man in particular: Daryl Dixon.

Warnings: Slow burn, language, usual twd violence, mentions of abuse/rape

Authors Note: Woah. I did not expect to be away for this long but if you do care about my excuse this time it was that I was going through some shit. I moved to college extremely far from home and it was a lot for me to take in. It’s a new environment and I don’t have any friends as of right now so I was in a dark state of mind. I still am struggling, but I am trying to force myself to get into routine again and to be a normal human being who knows how to smile and act like an adult. It’s rough.

Anyway, I am so sorry to leave that last chapter off on a cliffhanger like that. I am going to have the next few chapters up within the week (probably three days apart from one another) so do not worry about me disappearing again. But I live in a different time zone so it’ll be a little different from when I usually post, just a heads up.

That all being said, this chapter is a hot mess per usual, and I am sorry if some of it is contradictory or a confusing. I wrote it very rushed and I am not proud of that but please stay with me it’ll all get good soon. 

Previously: Ch.1       Ch.2       Ch.3       Ch.4     Ch.5      Ch.6     Ch.7       Ch.8       Ch.9       Ch.10          Ch.11        Ch.12

Tears had started to rim the edges of my eyes. The dead were clawing at the balcony's supports, but I couldn't do anything about it, despite Sasha and Glenn screaming at me to get inside the building and off of the collapsing platform. Their words were muffled out by the screams of the dead. 

I stared out in front of me like a statue, my world crashing down around me much like the first half of the balcony went crashing down.

My feet flew out from under me from the collision, but I was able to grasp the windowsill and clutch onto the building before the rest of the balcony went down on top on the Walkers. My chest heaved with the grief that was swirling around inside of me. With my mind a jumbled mess and motivation to live now out the door, my arms were quick to start aching as I held on to the window. They wouldn't be able to hold my dangling body forever and it didn't look like there was any other option except down into the filthy hands that would tear me limb from limb.

I wanted to open up the window, but it only opened from inside so I would have to shatter it, which is a lot harder than they make it look in the movies. A window is one tough bitch. No amount of pounding on it with the butt of my gun was breaking it; it didn't even leave a scratch.

With every swing I took at the window I felt my hopes dwindling away. I gasped out a desperate cry and the tears came flowing. This was the end. I not only made it my end, but Daryl's too, and possibly Sasha's and Glenn's if they couldn't get out of this mess.

A dark sadness washed over me. My arms were giving out. I felt my fingers sliding down the windowsill, the hungry cries of the Walkers getting louder, lulling me to them like sirens of the sea. It wouldn't be the peaceful death that I dreamed for at night. I didn't earn a peaceful death. I deserved to be ripped apart, just like Daryl had been, just like my brother had been.

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath, readying myself to let go of the window and have the fate that everyone I loved always ended with. This was it. My time had come. After all the shit I went through; after surviving months at Woodbury. This was how I went down. I really was pathetic.

Before my fingers could slip from the ledge, a hand shot out from the window and grabbed my wrist so tightly that I yelped at the pain. When the collar of my shirt started to be pulled on, my first instinct was to fight whoever this was. My eyes shot open, and I writhed in the grasp of whoever had me. I figured it couldn't be anyone good, considering I thought my group mates were either dead or no where near me to be of any help, but I froze when I was yanked up high enough to lock eyes with a pair of squinted blue ones.

"C'mon! Le's go!" Daryl gravelly yelled at me, trying to shake me from my shocked state, his glare on me was the same one that he’d given me ever since our last argument. "Stop fuckin' aroun'," he growled at me while clutching at my form still half dangling out the window.

In any other circumstance I would have rolled my eyes. Stop fucking around? Really? Like I wanted to be in this situation for the shits and giggles? However, I refrained from saying anything, I was honestly too relieved to see him alive to form sentences. My brain was turning to putty at the sight of him and all human functions were shutting down in me.

Daryl yanked me the rest of the way inside the building with much effort, considering I wasn't being much help. I looked like an idiot gawking at him from the floor as he wrapped his arms around me to lift me to my feet. I held onto his arms like a lifeline, trying desperately to swallow down all the emotions that were itching to burst out of me.

I couldn't fucking believe he was back. He was here, in front of me, breathing and alive. I was so undoubtedly joyful to see him here again that I wanted to hug onto him and never let go, despite how mean and pushy he had been towards me the past few days. 

I ran my hands up his arms to his shoulders and eventually down his chest, trying to convince myself that he was actually here and not some sick dream or hallucination.

"Emma," he started, trying to get my attention, but my eyes darted wildly to every part of him. "Em," he said more urgently, grabbing my hands in his with a rough shake and forcing me to look into his eyes again. He was still a little cold towards me, but his eyes held a much softer look now as he spoke. "I'm 'ere, it's me. Okay? We gotta get outta 'ere."

I stared at him with watery eyes. He was right. I needed to get my shit together before I did get us killed, but my mind was just so cloudy that I couldn't think straight if I tried.

Daryl obviously didn't have time for me to snap back to reality as he gripped my wrist in his coarse hand  and pulled me down a flight of stairs and out the back door.

I wasn't the type of person to freeze up in situations, but right now I was acting like a fucking child. My mind was in a haze; panic about Sasha and Glenn and Daryl and me hit me like a brick wall and it was all too much. I couldn't think to help Daryl figure out how the hell we were going to get out of this. I couldn't force myself to be the strong leader that I always tried being. It was like I was turning into a complete fucking different person all because I was spooked by Daryl's short disappearance.

Damn, did I have it bad for him or what?

"Get on." Daryl tugged on my arm roughly and pushed me to get on his motorcycle that he had hidden under some brush. Once I was seated on the bike he took my hands and placed them on the handlebars. "Listen," he commanded, making my eyes shoot to his at the urgency in his voice. If I couldn’t form my own thoughts right now then I would gladly do whatever he wanted me to do. "Ya gotta lead half of 'em that a'way. I gotta get Sasha and Glenn out, can't take em all at once."

My eyes widened as his words registered in my head. He expected me to ride this thing by myself? And with a hoard of Walkers on my tail at that?

 "I don't know how to fucking ride this thing," I shouted at him, feeling a part of my usual stubborn self returning.

He rolled his eyes and started it up for me. "Of course you fucking don't," he grumbled to himself. "This is the break. This makes it go."

I furrowed my brow at his condescending tone.

"Em, you'll be fine. It's like riding a bicycle with less work. I'll meet ya at the main road where we left the car. Loose 'em 'fore then."

Before I could even argue that there was no way in hell this was going to be as easy as riding a bicycle, he was running off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with a herd charging at me.

How did he have so much confidence that I could succeed in this? He saw how I was right now, I could barely make my own two feet work let alone drive a fucking vehicle. Maybe he just didn’t care if I got overwhelmed by the Walkers, because either way it would be the distraction he needed.  

My grip tightened on the handles and I gulped as the Walkers were nearing me. I was going to do this because everyone was depending on me. And I was going to live out of spite, because Daryl fucking Dixon was not getting rid of me that easily.

Sure, Daryl might be trying to hate my guts after our last screaming match at the prison, but we both knew he can’t stay that way forever. Most of the time, Daryl and I can't fucking stand each other, even before the night that he declared he was going to stop giving a shit about me, but we are attracted like magnets and there was nothing we could do to fix that. I would always come back to him, no matter how shitty he might make me feel after an argument. And I had a feeling it was the same for him.

Ever since I met him we were arguing and fighting against the intimate tension we have around each other. I think that might be why we are always disagreeing, because we just don't want to be on the same page. It scared me, that was for sure, knowing that there was someone that I was so compatible with. I have been pushing all the feelings that I had away and was in such denial that there was any kind of spark between us. But after thinking that I had lost Daryl forever? There could be no denying it anymore. I was falling hard for the stupid redneck. And I was done denying that, whether he was or not. 

I had been driving the motorcycle shakily for a while as I thought out everything. My hands were so sweaty on the bars that I would have to wipe them on my jeans every now and again. My heart rate was sky high the entire time I was on the damn bike, my legs shaking. I couldn't wait to get off of the fucking thing, so I lead my half of the herd away rather quickly and ditched them in no time.

Coming down the road in a zigzag because I could barely driving the fucking motorcycle, I caught sight of Daryl sitting on the side of the road with Glenn and Sash by his side. I praised whatever God would hear me. This nightmare was coming to an end and we could go back to the prison all in one piece.

Daryl stood up as I shakily drove the motorcycle up to him and hopped off of it. I more like fell off the bike, but Daryl's hands were there supporting me in a second. Seeing him alive made me so happy that I could have kissed him right then and there. But me being me I did the opposite.

I pulled my arm out of his steadying hold and reeled it back. I swung my fist at him, coming in solid contact with his arm. Hard.

He was startled and confused, taking a step back from me while he rubbed at his arm. I saw him getting ready to open his mouth and rip me a new one for hitting him, but I didn't give him the chance to speak. 

"Don't you ever tell me to drive that fucking deathtrap again," I yelled.

He blinked at me before realizing that I was talking about his motorcycle, then the biggest fucking grin slowly spread across his face. 

I wanted to stay mad, but if I’m honest I was just glad to see him with an expression that wasn’t full of hate for me. And maybe finally he had moved passed being angry at me and even if he didn’t like me the way that I liked him, we could at least go back to being normal fucking friend again. 

Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad. 

***

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