#I know which progressions sound good. I know what sounds trigger which emotions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wooliguns · 2 months ago

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He held his breath and closed his eyes. “Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he mumbled as he slipped the note into the mailbox, and then he was off to uni, just like everyone else.

i. and with words unspoken; a silent devotion

Venti scrubs furiously at the dried ketchup smeared on the base of his beloved fiddle, Diaochan, muttering complaints under his breath. He knew he shouldn’t have gone all-in on that burger. Sure, it was delicious, but the price he’s paying now—a ketchup massacre on his prized possession and his pristine white Converse—might not be worth it.

“Ugh, why?” he groans, glaring at the greasy stain like it personally betrayed him. The thought of scrubbing his shoes clean later makes him want to throw a tantrum, but instead, he sniffs and attacks the fiddle again with a wet wipe. Thank the archons he always carries these around. A hero’s weapon, really. Once the stain is vanquished, he tosses the used wipe at the trash can beside the bench. It misses.

Across from him, Xingqiu watches with his usual air of sophistication, wearing an outfit that screams trust fund kid—all crisp embroidery and fancy tailoring. Venti swears Xingqiu was born ready for a royal portrait. Judging by his expression, he’s either holding back laughter or mentally composing a tragic poem about Venti’s plight. Venti isn’t sure which.

“Diaochan deserves better,” he mutters as he tucks the fiddle back into its case with the reverence of a priest sealing a holy relic. He chucks the rest of his trash into the bin with a dramatic flourish, and this time, it lands. Progress.

Xingqiu finally sits beside him, harmonica in hand, fiddling with it absently. Probably stalling until Venti’s done wrangling his bag into submission.

“Venti?” Xingqiu’s voice is soft, almost hesitant, which is weird because Xingqiu is never hesitant. Or timid, for that matter.

“What?” Venti takes a sip of his plain milk tea. And yes, plain. No pearls, no weird jelly chunks—just tea and milk, as nature intended. Who even thought pearls were a good idea, seriously? Chewing something in the middle of drinking is just… wrong. But this is a rant for another day because Xingqiu looks like he’s building up to something, so Venti grudgingly tears his focus away from his Very Valid Opinions. Hmpf.

Xingqiu fidgets with the harmonica again, like he’s nervous about whatever he’s about to say. “Have you… ever been in love, Venti?”

And, there’s that. What?

Venti nearly chokes on his milk tea. “What?” he splutters, eyes wide as he sets the cup down before it becomes another casualty. “Love?” he echoes, blinking at his friend like the boy just asked if the sky is made of jelly. “Why are we having a feelings talk? Did I accidentally trigger a secret heart-to-heart button or something?”

Xingqiu sighs, patiently at least. “Fallen in love, Barbatos. You know, head over heels? Completely whipped? The kind of thing that makes you forget your own name because you’re too busy imagining their smile?”

Oh, archons. Venti feels his cheeks warm, making him smack them lightly with his palms, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory. “Uh… I guess? Maybe?” He doesn’t sound convincing, even to himself.

Xingqiu rests his chin on his hand, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Hmm. I’ve been feeling that way lately. Like my heart’s too big for my chest, and I’m half convinced it might explode. It’s… unsettling.”

“And potentially fatal,” Venti supplies, lips twitching upward. “So what, your crush is out here committing emotional manslaughter, is that it?”

Xingqiu actually laughs, snapping his fingers like Venti just cracked the code to the universe. “Exactly! That’s what it feels like!”

Hm. Venti folds his arms, leaning back on the bench as he raises an eyebrow. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who’s the poor soul that’s got Xingqiu the untouchable all lovestruck and ready to implode?”

The faintest blush creeps onto Xingqiu’s cheeks, and for a moment, Venti thinks he might literally combust before the confession even leaves his lips. “Well, they’re… special. When I see them, my whole day just flips around. Even if I’ve had the worst week, one smile from them makes everything okay again.”

Huh. That sounds a little too familiar. Venti shifts, awkwardly, trying to brush aside the memory of how his heart does stupid somersaults whenever a certain someone smiles at him. Nope. Not going there.

“Wow, you’ve got it bad, huh?” he teases, nudging Xingqiu with his elbow. “Just make sure you don’t explode all over them when you confess. That’d be messy.”

“Messy but memorable,” Xingqiu counters with a smirk.

Venti snorts, taking another sip of his tea. The mood lightens, but a part of him can’t help wondering what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of affection. The thought is a little terrifying—and yet… thrilling. He sets his cup down with a thunk, fixing his pal with a curious look. “But seriously, who’s got you all flustered? You’ve been rambling about this mystery person forever without actually saying who it is.”

Xingqiu stiffens, the tips of his ears turning a telling shade of red. He averts his gaze, staring at the ground as if it holds the answer to Venti’s question. And so he lets him stew for a moment, kicking at a pebble near his foot, and watching it bounce off the grass. Around them, the campus buzzes with end-of-day activity—students milling about, laughter and chatter drifting on the evening breeze. The sun dips lower, bathing the park in a golden glow.

Finally, Xingqiu clears his throat. “It’s someone I’ve known for a while. Since elementary, actually. We’ve been friends forever. Practically grew up together.”

“Oh? So… How come I’ve never met them?” Venti muses before fixing Xingqiu with a pointed look. “And you haven’t told them you’re in love with them?”

The boy shifts seemingly uncomfortably, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “Yeah, pretty much. And I don’t know, maybe you have met them. We all go to this college, after all.”

Venti grins, leaning forward, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Alright, describe them! Maybe I know who they are.”

Xingqiu snorts. “Please. You know everyone in this godforsaken school. ‘Few people’ is the understatement of the century.”

“Fair point,” Venti concedes, wagging a finger. “But that’s beside the point. Spill it!”

Xingqiu hesitates, clearly choosing his words carefully. “He’s… charming. Quiet. Sensible. Funny. Oh, and he’s got this pastel blue hair. His fashion sense is pretty cool too.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a catch,” Venti says, leaning back with a nod. “Why not just tell him? He’s kind too, right? Bet he’d understand—and who knows, maybe he likes you back!”

Xingqiu’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink. Venti fights the urge to cackle. Poor guy’s so whipped. Still, he decides to spare him further teasing. Just this once.

“Uh, I’m not sure about that last part,” Xingqiu mutters. “About him liking me back, I mean.”

Venti tilts his head, a little aghast. “What? Come on, Xingqiu, you’re… well, you’re you! If he doesn’t like you back, that’s his loss.”

Xingqiu smiles but doesn’t look persuaded. “He’s… the kind of person who focuses on other things. Academics, new hobbies, random interests—he’s always caught up in something. I just don’t think he has room for love. Especially not for me, his best friend.”

Venti tenses at that word: best friend. It’s hard not to empathize… since he knows the struggle all too well. But he shakes it off quickly—this isn’t about him. “How would you know if you haven’t even asked him?” he mumbles, kicking at another pebble.

“I suppose you’re right.” Xingqiu sighs. “What do you think I should do?”

Before Venti can answer (not that he has a clue, considering his own crush situation is a hot mess), a sudden flash of light makes him squint.

“Hi, Venti!”

He blinks and finds Ganyu standing there, beaming at him with a DSLR camera in hand. She’s rocking a light pink headband, a matching sweater, and denim pants that scream cozy vibes only. Beside her is Xiao, looking as stoic as ever in his dark green hoodie and jeans, his camera—his most cared for α7R III 35 mm full-frame camera with autofocus, as he’d once reiterated with a grumpy snit—hanging around his neck. The guy’s got his usual ‘don’t mess with me’ deportment, though it’s a tad offset by the black gym bag slung over one shoulder.

“Ganyu! Xiao!” Venti hops off the bench to give Ganyu a bear hug, catching a whiff of her sweet perfume. She giggles as they pull apart.

“Hey, Xingqiu,” Ganyu greets warmly.

“Hey,” Xingqiu replies with a small smile.

Venti waves at Xiao, who responds with a brief nod and a flick of his hand before crossing his arms again.

“You guys heading home?” Venti asks.

“Just about to!” Ganyu chirps. “We were supposed to, but Xiao-ge here insisted we—”

“Yu,” Xiao interrupts, clearing his throat.

Ganyu pauses, visibly stifling a laugh. “Alright, alright. Anyway, Venti, are you coming?”

Venti perks up, brushing off whatever Xiao just stopped Ganyu from saying. If it was important, surely someone would’ve spilled it by now. “Ah, yes! I’m done with today’s lecture too, so I’m good to go. And tired,” he grumbles, slumping his shoulders for effect.

Xiao huffs, rolling his eyes as he turns on his heel. Typical. But then he pauses, looking back over his shoulder at Xingqiu. “What about you? Taking the subway?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine. My chauffeur will be here any minute,” Xingqiu says with his usual air of nonchalance.

“Alright then, we’ll get going,” Xiao tells him, already heading off.

Ganyu waits for Venti to grab his bag and fiddle before the two of them turn to Xingqiu to bid him goodbye. Xingqiu smiles, politely, giving a small wave before standing up with his backpack and harmonica. Venti doesn’t miss how his friend ducks his head as he walks away, looking lost in thought.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what’s on his mind. Venti knows it’s about their earlier conversation—falling in love with his best friend. Not that Venti is one to judge, given his own situation. He makes a mental note to check in with Xingqiu again sometime. If he’s being honest, though, he’s probably the last person who should be giving advice. Handling emotions? Not exactly his strong suit. Sigh.

“Oh! What happened to your shoes, Venti?” Ganyu’s gasp snaps him out of his thoughts, and he glances down at his white Converse. The faint orange stains from the ketchup fiasco are still painfully visible.

He shrugs. “Burger incident. Ketchup everywhere. Some even got on Diaochan.”

“Poor Diaochan,” Ganyu coos, and Venti laughs, leaning over to poke her side. She yelps and bats his hand away.

“Klutz,” Xiao comments idly from a few steps ahead, his tone as flat as the campus pancakes Venti swears are made of pure rubber.

“Hey, I heard that!” Venti grouses, stomping his foot for emphasis.

Ganyu giggles at the exchange. She’s long since gotten used to their bickering, being Xiao’s younger sister and frequent witness to their antics. Whether Xiao is teasing Venti or Venti is mock-snapping back, she knows it’s all harmless. If anything, she finds it amusing how easily her brother gets under Venti’s skin.

“Good,” Xiao quips, calm and collected as always. He doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone.

Venti pouts, gravely, glaring at the back of Xiao’s head. He sulks in silence, already plotting his revenge. Someday, somehow, he’ll get even! Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

After a while, they reach the subway station. Xiao, ever efficient, pulls out his wallet and pays for their beep cards at the counter before Venti can attempt to dig through his bag.

“Hey, I can pay for myself—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Xiao says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Venti fiddles with the strings of his red hoodie, trying to will away the heat rising in his cheeks. It’s nothing, he tells himself firmly. Xiao’s just thoughtful like that. Always has been. No big deal.

They ride the subway in comfortable quiet, and when they reach their stop, Ganyu is the first to step off. Venti follows, hyper-aware of the light pressure of Xiao’s hand against the small of his back, just barely there, but enough to make his breath hitch. Xiao steps off last, his commonly unreadable facial expression in place.

It’s a routine they’ve settled into—heading home together whenever their schedules align. Though they all attend the same university, they’re in different programs. Venti’s studying music, while Xiao and Ganyu, both in their second year, are taking photography.

And yes, in reference to Xingqiu’s earlier jab, Venti does know almost everyone on campus. Between his extroverted nature, his music recitals, and his love of socializing, he’s managed to befriend students, staff, and even some of the locals. Like Zhongli, who grades most of his performances, or Diluc, the owner of Angel’s Share, their go-to spot for unwinding after a particularly brutal week.

“Will you be having dinner with us, Ganyu?” Xiao asks as the three of them reach the dormitory. He’s already fishing out his keys to unlock the door he shares with Venti.

Ah, yes. Their shared dorm. It’s been three months since they decided to move in together, agreeing it was more cost-effective this way.

At first, Venti had been… uncertain. Because, hello? Gay crisis alert! Living with his best friend of nearly four years, who just so happens to be the subject of his ongoing ‘gay episode’? Was he really about to risk combusting into rainbow-colored flames every time they shared a space?

Apparently, yes. And honestly? Venti’s kind of shocked he hasn’t self-destructed yet.

Because, come on. Who wouldn’t fall for Xiao Alatus? The guy’s practically an angel in disguise: handsome, reserved, hardworking, passionate about everything he does. People don’t just admire Xiao—they pine. And by ‘people,’ Venti means nearly everyone in their college… including himself.

When did Venti’s feelings cross the line into full-blown infatuation, anyway? He can’t remember exactly. Maybe it was during one of their late-night study sessions, or when Xiao quietly stitched up a rip in his hoodie like it was nothing. Or maybe it was the time Xiao made him tea when he was sick, fussing over him with that rare, gentle concern that made Venti’s heart feel like it was learning to play hopscotch.

Not that any of it matters. Because as much as Venti would love to confess, he won’t. He can’t.

Confessing means jeopardizing everything: their friendship, their closeness, the easy course they’ve built over the years. No, it’s better this way—Venti keeping his feelings bottled up, Xiao blissfully unaware, and the two of them carrying on as if Venti isn’t secretly drowning in unrequited love.

So, here he is. Living in a dorm with the very person who makes his heart race and his thoughts spiral. It’s fine. This is fine. Everything’s fine.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll have dinner with my roommates!” Ganyu chirps, pulling Venti out of his reverie.

Xiao nods and unlocks the door, while Ganyu heads the opposite way. “Night, Venti!”

Venti hops forward to give Ganyu a quick peck on the cheek. “Night, Ganyu!”

“Just Venti?” Xiao muses, his tone light but teasing. “I’ve been nothing but a good brother to you, and you only say goodnight to this squirt?”

And, well, Xiao has a point… He’s probably both the best and the worst brother anyone could have. Best because he treats his sisters like they’re the moon and stars in his orbit; worst because he’s so overprotective he practically turns into a watchdog when it comes to them.

“That’s because she loves me more,” Venti shoots back, sticking his tongue out. That earns him a sharp pinch to his side, making him yelp. “Ack! Hey!”

Ganyu laughs as she heads inside her dorm, shutting the door behind her and leaving Venti and Xiao to their nonsense.

“You suck,” Venti grumbles, rubbing his side.

“I know,” Xiao replies, entirely unbothered.

“Ugh, a proud sucker, aren’t you?”

Before Xiao can retort, Venti slips under the arm Xiao had oh-so-conveniently used to block the doorway, darting into their dorm. Xiao clicks his tongue in annoyance but doesn’t stop him.

Straight to the fridge he goes, thinking of grabbing a carton of milk and pouring himself a glass instead of dawdling at the fact that this—sharing a space, having these easy, domestic moments—is the closest he’ll probably ever get to having Xiao.

And that’s fine. Totally fine. No one’s crying over spilled milk—or unspoken feelings—tonight.

The door slams shut from the foyer, and then he hears Xiao call, voice dry as sandpaper, “This is why you keep getting dirt on your stuff. You’re always so clumsy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s none of your business,” Venti retorts, but without a shred of actual bite, of course. Taking the piss out of Xiao is simply his second language.

So then, the guy follows him into the kitchen, gym bag already discarded somewhere. He stops in the doorway, one hand on his hip, watching Venti with the kind of mildly disappointed bearing that screams I told you so. It’s classic Xiao—repose, condescending, and clearly here to shame him. Ugh.

However, Venti ignores the look, hopping onto the kitchen counter and letting his legs dangle as he gulps down the milk he snagged. He finishes in one go, sighing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Ah, that’s good.”

Xiao wrinkles his nose like Venti just committed a mortal sin. ‘Gross,’ his face says it all.

“Listen… If you’re using the detergent bar for that mess of a shoe,” Xiao begins, voice clipped with faux authority, “put it back in its container when you’re done.”

This has Venti rolling his eyes. Because oh, Xiao and his obsession with cleanliness. The guy’s a walking catalog for Proper College Students Who Have Their Shit Together. Straight A’s, always smells like fresh cedarwood, folds his laundry into perfect squares, and somehow thought sharing a dorm with Venti—human chaos incarnate—was a good idea.

“Yeah, yeah,” Venti mutters. “What’s for dinner?”

“My sister’s not eating with us, so don’t expect me to cook for you, you big baby.” Xiao turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

Venti sighs. “K.” He hops off the counter and dumps his glass in the sink with a clatter before trudging toward his room.

On the way, he spots Xiao’s gym bag lying in the middle of the floor, which, whoa. Rare for Xiao to leave something out of place. Before Venti can think too much about it, the guy in question reemerges from his room—shirtless, save for his black boxers, the full sleeve tattoo on his arm twisting over his biceps and curling down to a sliver of his back. And—fuck.

Venti’s thoughts short-circuit as he stares—because, gosh, those abs? Those shoulders? That tattoo? The way the light hits his skin? His entire existence? It’s almost criminal, damn it.

Stupid brain, Venti scolds himself, backing up fast before Xiao notices his ogling. But no such luck. Xiao glances his way, smirking as he saunters over to pick up his gym bag.

“Is that saliva I see?” the guy teases, tipping Venti’s chin up with one finger.

Freezing, swallowing every ounce of mortification he feels crawling up his neck, Venti snaps, “Fuck off,” fighting the blush that threatens to betray him.

Xiao laughs—an infuriatingly smug laugh—as he walks off, gym bag slung over one shoulder. And of course, Venti’s traitorous eyes trail after the flex of Xiao’s back.

Seriously. Fuck Xiao and his stupid, stupid muscles!

Fuming, Venti storms into his room, slamming the door so hard the whole dormitory practically shakes.

They end up ordering Thai food for dinner, with Venti footing the bill this time. It’s not a big deal—just a couple of boxes—and he’s got enough savings to splurge a little.

They eat in companionable silence, both too drained from the day’s academic grind to bother with small talk. Each of them occupies their usual spot on the beaten brown sofa: Xiao at one end, hoodie-clad and cross-legged, and Venti at the other, sprawled like a content cat.

Xiao finishes first. Tossing his empty box into the kitchen trash, he announces, “I’m going downstairs to check the mail.”

Venti hums in acknowledgment, his eyes flicking to the TV where Alice in Borderland plays. He pauses mid-chew to absorb a particularly intense scene but waves Xiao off without looking.

A few minutes later, Xiao returns. The door clicks shut behind him, and he holds up an envelope. “You’ve got something in the mail,” he says.

That catches Venti’s attention. He whips his head around, an eyebrow raised. “Oh? What does it say? Open it.” His voice is muffled, mouth still half-full.

His roommate obliges, ripping the envelope open where he stands by the door. Venti pauses the show, turning his full attention to Xiao as he pulls out a slip of paper and starts reading.

“‘Dear Venti, I saw you today, and as always, you look pretty…’” Xiao pauses, lifting an eyebrow of his own before shooting Venti a look. “It’s a love letter.”

“Is it, now?” Venti perks up, grinning. He leans forward, resting his chin in his hands. “Who in this day and age sends a love letter? Ohh~” A giggle slips out of him, uncontrollable and silly.

Xiao, meanwhile, furrows his brows and scans the letter again. Just when Venti thinks he’ll read more aloud, the guy bursts into laughter. Full-blown, clutching-his-stomach laughter, and… what? Why?

Venti frowns. “What’s so funny? Give me that! At least someone likes me enough to write me a love letter!” He bolts upright, crossing the room to snatch the letter from Xiao’s hands.

Still laughing, Xiao straightens and wipes at nonexistent tears. “Nothing. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

“What’s so funny about it? I don’t get it!” Venti grumbles, clutching the paper like it’s suddenly become the most precious thing in his possession.

But Xiao doesn’t answer, already turning toward their bedrooms. Venti watches, seething, as Xiao walks away with a smirk.

“Prick…” he mutters under his breath.

Just then, Xiao pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder, shaking his head while opening his door, before stepping inside, and shutting it behind him.

Left alone, Venti sighs, the letter crumpling in his hand. He sniffs, half-stifling a sneeze as he flops back onto the sofa. “This day sucks.”

“Out of the way!” Venti hollers, though he can barely hear himself over the blaring classical music in his earbuds. He’s hurtling down the bridge on his roller skates, a disaster waiting to happen, as startled passersby leap out of his path.

This was such a brilliant idea, he thinks sarcastically. He’d told himself this morning it’d be fun to skate to uni—he hadn’t used them in ages, after all. Now, he’s barreling through crowds, dodging humps in the road, wobbling precariously as he balances Diaochan in one hand, a stuffed backpack on his shoulders, and his phone in his pocket, earbud wires flapping like tiny victory flags.

So far, he’s earned himself a colorful vocabulary of curses from people he’s nearly mowed down, but, oh well, he couldn’t care less. He merely giggles, breezing past their outrage as he flees their grabby hands.

Xiao and Ganyu left long before he woke up, so it’s just him today, skating through dust and pandemonium, praying he makes it to campus on time for once in his life, holy shit.

As the campus building comes into view, he braces to stop. Except—oops—he’s rusty after months of not using these skates. The next thing he knows, he slams full force into someone, and the two of them go crashing to the ground in a heap.

“Ow, what the actual fuck,” groans the girl he’s collided with.

Someone in the background bursts into hysterical laughter. Venti winces as he pushes himself up, his butt smarting from the impact. His earbuds have popped out, letting him hear the obnoxious cackling louder and clearer. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbles, sheepishly, adjusting his helmet to make sure it’s still secure.

“You asshole!” the girl—Mona, he realizes—shouts at the unseen laugher. “You think this is funny? How about giving us a hand?”

“Why would I? I’m not your slave. Besides, once is enough.”

Mona groans, glaring daggers in the direction of the voice. “Just as I fucking thought. You’re an insufferable nuisance.”

Meanwhile, Venti helps Mona to her feet, careful not to jostle Diaochan any more than the crash already did. “Sorry again,” he says with a grin, brushing dirt off his sleeves. He tries to help dust Mona off too, but she smacks his hand away with a scowl.

“And you, Barbatos!” she snaps. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I said I’m sorry,” Venti whines impishly. He adjusts his fiddle, relieved it doesn’t seem damaged.

“Hey, I know you,” muses the guy who’s been laughing at their expense.

Venti glances over, taking in the stranger’s outfit—a black band shirt, ripped jeans, and purple-and-black Vans—and the short, dark violet-blue hair that matches their sharp eyes. “Me?” he points at himself, startled.

“Yeah. You’re that guy from the music hall the other day. The one who got kicked out for showing up drunk.”

Venti feels his face flush. Oh, that. Right.

That was the day Diluc, bless his bartender’s soul, gave him a cider to calm his nerves before a recital. Things… went downhill. Zhongli had kicked him out—mercifully without expelling him. Venti still likes to think that’s proof the man has a soft spot for him. He chuckles, awkwardly, unbuckling his helmet. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“Cool,” the guy beams, nodding approvingly. “That was hilarious—and your voice was amazing, by the way.”

“Well, thank you,” Venti preens, flashing a bright smile.

“Glad we got that settled,” Mona cuts in, deadpanning.

“So how do you know this hag?” The boy flicks a thumb in Mona’s direction.

“E-excuse me?! Who are you calling a hag?” Mona gasps, incredulously, her eyes narrowing.

The guy shrugs, crossing his arms. “Well, I look young, and this guy”—he jerks his chin toward Venti—“looks like my fifteen-year-old cousin, so? Who else?”

“Heeey!” Venti protests, though he’s not truly offended. Still, he feels obligated to pout.

The boy just winks at him.

“You’re seriously a cunt,” Mona hisses, glaring daggers.

“Mhm. But where’s my thank you?”

Venti blinks. “Thank you? For what?”

Before anyone can clarify, Mona’s face turns bright red—not out of gratitude, but what seems like pure rage. She grabs Venti’s arm and yanks him away. “Whoa!” he stumbles, skates wobbling.

“Let’s go, Venti. We’re leaving this jerk far behind,” she growls, dragging him along.

“Eh? Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here!”

“Wait, Mona!” Venti tries to dig in his heels—well, wheels—but Mona’s resolve is ironclad. “I have class!”

“I know, but help me out here! I need to escape this moron!”

Venti ends up blowing a sigh, letting himself be pulled along. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Fine.” And that’s how they end up in a coffee shop two blocks from campus, with Mona treating Venti to a White Chocolate Mocha grande while she nurses a cold foam iced espresso. The girl insists she needs something strong to calm her nerves after dealing with that boy. “I swear to the gods,” she exclaims, fanning herself as if physically exhausted by the memory, “that punk has been following me around all week. And for what? To be a pest, of course!”

Venti has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. It’s rare to see Mona like this, actually—the customarily cool, self-possessed adult in their group, completely undone by some emo-looking kid.

Instead, he grins and soaks in the coffee shop’s cozy vibe, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air-conditioned space. His legs dangle under the table, his roller skates rasping softly against the floor. He hasn’t bothered to take off his elbow and knee pads, too lazy to deal with them just yet.

“So,” he starts, going for casual, “who was that anyway? Your secret admirer? Or…” He leans in, mischief taking over his system. “Your boyfriend?”

Mona’s head snaps around so fast it’s a wonder her coffee doesn’t spill. “Don’t even say that,” she hisses. “Venti, that’s disgusting. Have you completely lost your mind? Who would fall for a douchebag like that?”

Venti shrugs, pulling his yellow hat snugly onto his head. “I don’t know… you?”

Her groan is unadulterated agony as she sets her coffee down with a loud thunk. “Ugh! Okay, yeah, he might look like some Disney Channel reject—”

“Wow,” Venti mutters, snickering.

“—but hell to the no!” she presses on, ignoring him. “Over my dead body! Never. I’d rather eat dirt. Literal dirt.”

She feigns a gag for emphasis, and Venti can’t hold back his laughter this time. “Alright, alright,” he allows, grinning. “But seriously, how do you know him? And why’s he following you around?”

Mona takes a deep, long-suffering breath. “Fine. It all started last week. I had a bad week, okay? Stress piling up, professors breathing down my neck. So, I went out to a nightclub to blow off some steam.”

“And?”

“And I got drunk.”

“Obviously.”

She glares at him, and Venti raises his hands innocently.

“Anyway,” Mona continues, “I got way drunker than I planned and… passed out on the street next to the club.”

Venti shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Geez, Mona. And you’re judging me?”

She rolls her eyes but forges ahead. “So, this guy—the emo gremlin—found me. I vaguely remember telling him to go away, but apparently, he didn’t listen. Don’t ask me how, but he somehow dragged my useless, hammered body back to his place. And when I woke up…” She winces, her voice dropping. “…I was wearing his clothes.”

Venti’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. His clothes. And I was in his bed.”

“Oh-ho!” Venti leans forward, suddenly all ears. “Go on.”

Mona rubs her temples, her frustration visibly mounting. “I was so confused. I didn’t see him anywhere, but there were Polaroid photos on a table, and a mug of something steaming. He must’ve been around, but I wasn’t about to stick around to find out.”

“What’d you do?”

“I snuck out.”

“Oof.”

“Right?” She groans, slamming her hands on the table hard enough to make Venti jump. “Now he’s bugging me about it. And as if that’s not bad enough, he goes to our school!”

Venti smirks, taking a long sip of his mocha. “Well, I think it’s sweet. I mean, he did take your drunk ass home instead of leaving you on the sidewalk. Kind of thoughtful, don’t you think?”

“Ugh, shut up,” Mona scoffs, shaking her head and looking away.

Venti just grins wider, savoring both his drink and her flustered state.

After a while,

“Do I really look old, Venti?”

“Huh?” He blinks, startled at the sudden query.

Mona frowns, deeply, her lips wobbling. “He called me a hag just now.”

And, “Oh…” His mouth forms a small o. Venti sips his drink instead of answering, because honestly, what does one even say to that? If he didn’t know Mona better, he might think she was on the verge of tears. But no—this is Mona. She doesn’t cry over something as trivial as being called a hag.

Her eyes, however, are practically sparking with rampage, her ears threatening to blow steam. Venti watches, entertained, as her assertion grows darker by the second.

Before she can launch into a full tirade—or grab him by his jumper strap—the shop’s entrance dings open. Xiao strides in, his younger sister Ganyu trailing behind, chattering animatedly to him about something neither Venti nor Mona catches.

Ganyu’s eyes land on them first. “Oh, Venti’s here! And Mona, too!”

“Hiiii,” Venti drags out, beaming as he bolts upright from his seat. It’s a tactical escape from Mona’s piercing glare. Ganyu meets him halfway for a hug.

“You two act like you haven’t seen each other every day,” Xiao drones, dryly.

Venti finally acknowledges him and feels his heart do a series of flips. Xiao’s plain oversized white T-shirt shows hints of his tattoos, his Sony headphones hooked lazily around his neck, paired with black-and-gray cargo pants and pristine Adidas sneakers. He’s a snack, is what he is, and it’s just so… unfair.

“Yeah, well, that’s just how much we love each other. Sue us!” Venti snarks, glaring at Xiao for good measure.

Ganyu giggles. “Right,” she agrees, while Mona blows raspberries at the exchange.

Alas, Xiao narrows his eyes at him. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you say you had practice today?”

Venti stills, caught red-handed. “Ah, about that—”

Mona elbows him hard, cutting him off. “I dragged him here, Xiao. I’m being stalked by some creep.”

“A kind and gentlemanly creep, wouldn’t you say?”

The voice comes from behind them. Mona’s head whips around, her face already twisted into a snarl. “You—! How did you find us—”

“Instinct,” the emo boy from earlier ripostes smoothly, stepping forward and winking. Before Mona can retort, he turns to Xiao, grinning. “Hey, man!”

Xiao steps up, and the two swap a swift one-arm hug with a firm pat on the back. “Hey, Scara,” Xiao greets, his voice low and raspy, that familiar early-morning tone that never fails to send shivers down Venti’s spine, causing him to bite his lip unconsciously.

Okay, focus.

“Wait, so you two know each other?” he points between them, desperate for a distraction.

“Yeah, we’re block mates,” the other guy says easily. He thrusts a hand toward Venti. “Name’s Scaramouche. Didn’t get the chance to introduce myself earlier, thanks to a certain hag.”

That’s the final straw. Mona explodes. “I’m not a hag! I’m twenty-two, you dumbfuck!”

Scaramouche, unfazed, taps his chin thoughtfully. “Huh. I thought you were younger… but no, I was right. You are a hag.”

His words drag out like a slow-motion scene in a bad movie, each syllable a dagger to Mona’s ego.

Mona’s cheeks puff up, her fists balling at her sides. Her entire body seems to radiate fury. “I’m gonna kill you!” she roars, launching forward.

In a blur, Venti and Xiao step between them. Ganyu, wisely, backs away.

Venti struggles to hold Mona back, wincing when her claw-like nails dig into his arm. “Mona, calm down!” he pleads, all too aware of Xiao pressed against him, their proximity sending his heart racing for an entirely different reason. And…don’t even get him started on the perfume his best friend wears. It’s just—intoxicating, really.

“Hey, you,” Xiao murmurs, addressing him. Venti glances up, finding the guy checking his watch. “You should get back to campus,” he says softly.

“What? And leave you with these two?”

Xiao nods dismissively. “I’ll manage. Just go.”

Reluctantly, Venti yields. “Okay,” he utters. Carefully, he slips out of Mona’s grip, still wincing at the aches in his arm, and grabs his things.

Even as he steps out onto the bustling street, Mona’s shouts and Scaramouche’s laughter reverberate behind him, making him shake his head. “What a day,” he intones, skating off toward campus.

He bursts into the practice room, late as usual. The moment his foot crosses the threshold, Zhongli’s sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Where have you been?”

The professor stands near the piano, arms crossed and brows furrowed in the kind of disapproving look that could make a lesser student crumble.

Venti ducks his head as he scrambles to his spot, clutching Diaochan’s case to his chest. “Uh, I got caught up with something. Mona—you probably know her, from the Astrological Education department—was being stalked by someone, and they—”

“Never mind I asked,” Zhongli interrupts with a tired wave of his hand, as if deciding he’s too old to deal with the details of Venti’s perpetual havoc. “Just take out Diaochan and play your piece, if you would.”

“Yes! Of course!” Venti salutes, snapping into action.

He flips open his case, carefully lifting Diaochan as if she’s made of glass. His bow follows, and in moments he’s in position, movements precipitate and adept. Chin resting on the violin, he takes a steadying breath as he angles the instrument perfectly against his collarbone.

The room appeases once he begins his chosen piece, In the Palace - Lamentoso. The melancholy strains fill the concert hall, wrapping around the audience like a gentle embrace. Venti can feel the change in the room’s atmosphere, the mass of their attention pressing against him. Some sigh quietly, conceivably hugging themselves to the music.

He risks a peek, cracking one eye open mid-performance. Sure enough, his audience is enraptured. Even Zhongli, who never shows much outward emotion, seems lulled by the piece, swaying as if under a spell.

Venti smiles inwardly, letting their reactions fuel him.

Then his gaze catches on the double doors at the back of the concert hall, creaking open to reveal Xiao and Ganyu.

His bow falters for half a second as heat rushes to his cheeks. Seeing them weaving through the scattered audience like that, with Ganyu leading the way, her eager smile bright enough to light up the dim hall. Xiao, trailing behind, looks as composed as is, hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed ahead.

Zhongli clears his throat, jolting Venti back into pivot. Hastily, he corrects his rhythm and carries on, pouring his emotions into the piece until it crescendos to its final, haunting note.

The room erupts into applause.

Ganyu hops up and down at the front of the stage, grinning as widely as the moon. She flashes Venti a playful thumbs-up. Beside her, her brother stands still, arms folded across his chest, bowed a smidge with his eyes shut.

But it’s the barely-there smile playing at Xiao’s lips that catches Venti’s breath. Xiao doesn’t smile often, but Venti knows exactly what that one means. He’s proud of him.

Venti’s chest swells, warmth spreading through him at the notion.

“Well done,” Zhongli announces once the clapping fades. He gestures for Venti to run through a few more pieces, which Venti does without complaint, buoyed by the lingering energy of Xiao’s quiet approval.

At long last, practice concludes. Zhongli offers a rare, vague smile. “A fine performance, Barbatos. Though I would appreciate your punctuality next time.”

Venti scratches the back of his head, grinning. “I promise. Next time for sure!”

Zhongli hums, clearly unconvinced, but lets it slide as he leaves the hall.

Venti exhales in relief, slinging Diaochan’s case over his shoulder. He glances down at the siblings waiting near the stage, and he can’t help the little grin that creeps onto his face.

Late or not, today didn’t turn out so bad after all.

“Ah, I’m knackered, dead, exhausted—the lot,” Venti complains the minute they step into their dorm. He barely waits for Xiao to close the door before collapsing onto the sofa, sprawling across it like a tragic painting of a very tired, very melodramatic college student. Him.

Xiao toes off his sneakers by the door, neatly placing them on the rack. Venti watches out of the corner of his eye as Xiao also aligns them perfectly, contrasting sharply with Venti’s own loafers, which lie haphazardly by the carpet, their heels pointing in opposite directions.

He squeezes his eyes shut and groans against the couch cushions, kicking his legs petulantly. “I feel like I’ve been jetlagged, and we didn’t even travel by plane!”

“Quit it, you drama queen,” Xiao mutters, grabbing one of Venti’s legs mid-kick to stop the flailing.

Venti rolls onto his back to face Xiao, huffing indignantly. He tries to ignore the way his stomach flips at the casual touch. One hopeless sort, his brain berates him, and he agrees with it. “A lot happened to me today, okay? I’m allowed to be a little dramatic about it!”

“‘A little’ is an understatement.” Xiao cocks an eyebrow, then pulls a light green envelope from his pocket and waves it in Venti’s face. “Also, you’ve got another one.”

Venti perks up immediately, sitting upright as his eyes narrow on the letter. His name is written across it in looping cursive. “Oh.” His expression sours just as quickly, and he stands abruptly, walking toward the bathroom. “I don’t have time for that.”

“Really? Didn’t you just gush about getting one yesterday?”

“Yeah, and you just laughed at me, remember?”

Without waiting for a response, Venti shuts the bathroom door, cutting the conversation off. He strips, tossing his clothes onto the sink before stepping into the shower.

The warm spray hits his skin, and he exhales, planting one hand against the wall. Showers after a long day are pure bliss, a small slice of heaven he can cling to after surviving college and the disarray that is his life.

After a while, Xiao’s voice comes through the door. “What do I do with this letter, Venti?”

“I don’t know!” Venti calls back over the sound of water. “Read it, maybe?”

There’s no reply.

By the time he’s done showering, drying off with a towel slung around his neck, the dorm is quiet. He slips into his room to change, opting for a tie-dye shirt and red shorts before padding back into the living room.

Xiao is sitting on the sofa, focused on the letter.

“I wonder who the sender is,” Venti muses aloud, making the other glance up. For a moment, Xiao just stares, his brows creased slightly, amber eyes indistinct.

“What?” Venti asks, putting a hand on his hip.

Xiao looks like he’s about to say something, lips parting briefly—but then he closes them again, rising from the sofa. “I don’t know, Venti,” he mutters, sounding serious for some reason. “But whoever they are, they’re creepy as hell.”

He presses the letter against Venti’s chest—just a little too hard—and breezes past him.

“Hey!” Venti squawks, watching Xiao disappear toward his room. “What’s your problem?”

Xiao slams the door shut before Venti can catch up.

“Don’t you think the letters are sweet?” Venti bangs on the door, his voice muffled by indignation.

From the other side, Xiao’s voice comes back, withered and stony. “Nope. Two letters in two days? Knowing your exact address and room number? That’s creepy.”

“Well, yeah, but they’re an admirer! They’re supposed to know things about me!”

Xiao’s silence feels like judgment.

Venti grumbles and raises his fist to knock again, but the door swings open before he can.

And Xiao stands there, leaning against the doorframe, wearing nothing but his black boxers. His teal-highlighted hair is rumpled, eyes sharp and piercing. The proximity—his face so close that their noses are almost brushing—makes Venti’s breath catch.

The intensity of Xiao’s gaze is paralyzing. No words are exchanged, just the soft sound of their breathing filling the air between them.

What the fuck is happening?

Venti blinks, rapidly, stepping back to put some distance between them. His cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

Xiao breaks the silence, his voice low and rooted. “All I’m saying is you should be more careful.”

Desperate to defuse the tension, Venti forces a smirk. “Oh? Is that my best friend worrying about me?”

Xiao pauses, considering, then scoffs. “I’ve always cared about you, idiot.”

Venti’s heart does a little flip. His gaze softens without his permission, warmth spreading through him. “I—Xiao—”

“But look at you,” Xiao interrupts, gesturing vaguely in Venti’s direction. “You’re small and gullible. You’re an easy target for this kind of thing.”

And just like that, Venti’s fondness evaporates. His lips twitch into a snarl. “I was about to hug you for saying you care, but now I just want to take it back.”

Xiao chuckles at his wake, but Venti storms back into the living room, muttering under his breath.

Moments later, Xiao joins him on the couch, now wearing a gray sweater, and flops down beside him with a huff. Without warning, he reaches over and smacks the back of Venti’s head.

“Ow!” he yelps, rubbing the spot with a pout.

“Stop pouting, pufferfish,” Xiao growls, grabbing Venti’s face with one hand and squishing his cheeks, his grip firm but not painful.

“Mmph! Make me!” Venti hoots, his voice muffled as he tries to glare, but his scrunched-up face is anything but intimidating.

Xiao just smirks, daffodil eyes soft with amusement as he studies Venti’s exaggerated scowl. He doesn’t let go, and Venti sighs in defeat, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Fine, you win,” he mumbles, closing his eyes, resigned to his fate. “Do your worst.”

But instead of teasing him further, Xiao suddenly goes quiet.

Venti feels the shift instantly. Odd. He cracks one eye open, curious, and finds Xiao’s conveyance scrawled. His hand is still on Venti’s face, but his grip loosens, his thumb brushing…lightly against Venti’s cheek before pulling away altogether.

“Whatever,” Xiao mutters, disengaging curtly. His voice is low, almost distant. “I’m calling it a night.”

“What?” Venti blinks, sitting up straighter. His heart—it won’t stop pounding. “We… we haven’t even had supper!”

“Need to be up before sunrise. Lock up after yourself.”

And just like that, Xiao disappears into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Venti stares after him, his hand coming up to his cheek where Xiao’s touch had lingered just moments before.

“…What just happened?” he mutters under his breath, leaning back into the couch. He presses his palms to his face, groaning softly.

The crack in the ceiling catches his eye, and his gaze narrows on it as if it holds the answers to the sudden whirlwind in his chest. Did Xiao almost ki—no. That’s ridiculous.

…Isn’t it?

#lbwe 1 #xiaoven #venxiao #ao3 stuff

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mbti-notes · 1 year ago

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Anon wrote: Helloo there, I hope you had a nice new year!

I'm an INTP here, and I need some guidance on how I can handle cultivating more empathy and social skills. I've had a lack of empathy since I was young. I am not sure what triggered it or led to it. But It's hard for me to form proper connections with people as a result.

When I was younger, I was a silent kid because i had almost no interest in socializing. I've noticed an issue where i was extremely selfish or cruel. For example, around the age of 6 to 12, I would get a sort of gratification when I purposely made my friend sad, I would find tiny reason to break of the friendship, and feel no remorse to it. I treated people more like experiments than friends. The only major fear I had was towards authority figures such as teachers.

Another thing I've noticed is that I have no strong recollection of good/bad memories. I can not remember the times I have been emotionally hurt or happy memories. The only major emotions I show are annoyance, happiness, and sadness if something happened to me only and never for anyone else.

I also find it hard to remember any important details of conversations and how I talked with people. Leading to fights because they bring up something i did, which i can not recall. My conversations are dull, I can't seem to generate emotions naturally. It feels like I have to fake every expression at times, as friends have previously called me a robot, due to my monotone behaviour.

I also find it hard to speak without saying something awkward and unfit for the conversation. It seems like my thoughts are many degrees away from the original path of the conversation. While everyone else can talk smoothly and reply in a way that continues the conversations, my replies fall flat and end with an awkward laugh.

As you might be able to guess, my friendships are quite shallow and unfulfilling, too. I often find it a chore to maintain relationships, almost taking an extreme amount of energy to reply to a text. Even if the other person has a keen interest in me.

But I still so desire good friendships, I keep myself cheerful and smiley, so that people don't turn off from me at first glance.

I've noticed these traits so often and spiralled down into sadness, believing that I might be sociopathic and that I am intrinsically a bad person. (I am prone to victim mentality, which made it worse).

It's only after I reached college and got into a failed relationship that I've consciously tried to fix myself. I've realised what an unfulfilling and selfish life I've been living.

I've tried living in the moment, trying to feel peoples emotions, putting in effort, listening more, trying to converse more, approach people, and, in general, involve myself in the class. But all it takes is one bad mood for me to undo all my progress and turn silent again.

My feelings of insecurity and envy have been raised, too, as my ex is now dating someone who is empathetic, sensitive, and socially adept.

I want to know

How to get out of this constant rut of motivation and failure to change.

How to live in the moment and talk, getting over the fear that I will say something unfit.

How to be more empathetic in general.

How to be more secure inside so that i can focus more outside and on my friendships.

---------------------

Lack of empathy or empathy deficit is a complicated topic in psychology, so this might be a lot for you to process. Yes, empathy can be conceptualized as a skill to improve and build up through learning and practice. However, like any skill, some people will have more genetic aptitude with it than others, so some people struggle with it more than others.

It sounds like you've already done some research and tried a few techniques with meh results. Unfortunately, your way of working toward a solution is very slow because you still don't know the "why". It's hard to solve a problem when you don't know the root cause because then the only method available to you is trial-and-error. It can indeed become very discouraging when you get error after error or don't see any meaningful progress.

Empathy deficit can be thought of as a symptom, which means there are many possible psychological issues/disorders that can give rise to it. It might benefit you to get assessed by a mental health professional with expertise about empathy deficit. It's important to investigate what lies behind it in order to discover the right way to address it.

For example, both autism and narcissism can produce empathy deficit but the mechanisms that impede empathy development are very different when you compare the two, so the treatment plans would end up looking very different once you tailor them to each individual's needs. Some people lack empathy simply because they have never been loved by anyone due to growing up in an environment of extreme neglect. Having never felt love, they don't know what it is and of course don't know how to show it.

One reason empathy deficit is a thorny subject is because of social stigma, especially since it often gets associated with psychopathy or sociopathy as you mentioned. Many psychologists don't use these labels because of the stigma and because they are imprecise. When a psychological term is widely used by the general public, it starts to lose meaning or the meaning gets extremely fuzzy, which renders it less and less useful for diagnostic purposes. People think "psychopath" and they picture a serial killer, which isn't helpful.

Personally, I'm even wary of using the word "disorder" because it often leads people to believe they are somehow "broken"; the way they behave is "wrong" and has to be changed to the "right" way. While some psychological problems should be called a disorder, I personally don't believe that empathy deficit itself should be, unless it is accompanied by dysfunctional behavior that indicates the presence of a serious mental disorder.

My understanding of empathy deficit is that it's more like a "disability", similar to blindness or deafness. What's the advantage of approaching empathy deficit as a disability? A) It's not your fault that your brain has low aptitude for empathy, so shame is completely unwarranted. B) A disability is something you can come to comfortably accept as a part of you, but also something you need to learn to adapt to, in order to live a fuller life. Thus, the question isn't "what's wrong with me?" but rather "how can I adapt better to having this disability?"

Empathy isn't an on/off switch. There are degrees of empathy. Some people have minimal to no empathy. Some people have too much empathy. Most people fall somewhere in the middle of having empathy much of the time but still capable of acting like a selfish jerk some of the time.

The way INTPs approach the world tends to be conceptual and intellectual, so it might help you to approach empathy in more cognitive rather than emotional terms. The most basic way to explain empathy is the ability to conceptualize/visualize another person's mind and understand what's going on in there. There are many paths to reaching that understanding, so psychologists distinguish between different kinds of empathy:

Affective empathy or emotional empathy is about sharing someone else's feelings and emotions. For instance, people with normal empathy would feel sad upon seeing their friend feeling sad about their dog dying. By sharing feelings and emotions with someone, it can lessen their burden and help them feel better. Expressing empathy in this way is a common method of showing how much you care about someone's well-being. When people talk about empathy deficit, it is usually affective empathy they are referring to. Try as they might, some people just can't muster enough care or concern about others.

Another kind of empathy is cognitive empathy, which is basically about modeling someone else's mind. Ti+Ne might help you with this. You could take your own experience and try to extrapolate from it to understand someone else.

For example, do you feel anything when someone goes out of their way to do something nice for you, such as ask how you're doing, give you a gift, or answer a question for you online? People with normal empathy would feel warmth, appreciation, gratitude, closeness/intimacy, care, love, or a sense of mattering. If you feel good when someone does something nice for you, you can extrapolate from it and guess that someone else may also feel good when you do something nice for them. This is the rationale behind the common advice of treating others the way you would like to be treated.

Even if you aren't capable of feeling good when someone does something nice for you, you can still observe that it is a common phenomenon in the general population. Therefore, you can deduce, through empirical investigation of cause and effect, that people doing nice things for each other is an important aspect of maintaining good relations. This can then be turned into a good principle or practice to follow: "If you want to keep a friend, you have to occasionally do nice things for them (so that they can feel justified in continuing the friendship)." You don't have to use your own emotion to arrive at good principles of action; you can also use logic and common sense to get a similar result.

Empathy is also closely linked to compassion, which is about taking action in accordance with empathic feelings. For example, seeing a friend get injured on the street, it isn't enough to just stand there and feel for them, right? Feeling bad for them should also prompt you to take action to help or save them from further injury or death.

If you can't feel bad for people who are injured, you can still understand, intellectually, that it's not a great situation. Instead of acting on empathic feelings you don't have, you could act out of logic and common sense, knowing that, universally, nobody likes to lie there vulnerable and bleeding on the street. Once again, this could lead you to create a principle/practice to follow: "If you want to keep a friend, you should take action whenever they need help."

If you're not capable of affective empathy, you are still capable of cognitive empathy as long as you are of normal intelligence. Most people rely more on affective than cognitive empathy. However, since you suffer this "disability" of not being able to generate enough affective empathy, you could rely more on cognitive empathy as an adaptation.

Maybe it's impossible for you to become the beloved social butterfly wowing everyone with your charisma, but you can still form meaningful relationships with a handful of people. When you meet a good candidate for friendship, be open and honest about your challenges, then they will know to show you more empathy and patience. As long as you're willing to put out some effort for them, they will return it. Relationships require reciprocity.

This brings us to the last point of "effort", which relates to motivation. Motivation often arises from emotionality; people have a strong desire or feel strongly about something, so they take action. What happens when your feelings and emotions are too muted to motivate action?

Human beings are motivated by a great number of things. The motivation to connect with other people is but one of them. In many cases, empathy deficit doesn't mean a person is incapable of empathizing. It's more precise to say that they can empathize but the motivation is too easily overridden by other conflicting motivations.

To give you a simple example, maybe you just worked a long day on your feet and you're utterly exhausted. You get on the bus to go home and there's only one seat left that's reserved for the disabled or elderly. You take it because no one else wants it. Later, a very frail old man gets on the bus and eyes your seat. What do you do? Many people, out of empathy, would yield the seat. A low empathy person can still feel bad for the old man. The issue is that their empathy level isn't strong enough to override the more pressing motivation to rest.

Oftentimes in relationships, you are faced with a dilemma of having to choose between yourself and others. Instead of thinking of it in terms of "I only care about me and I don't care about them", you can think of it like this:

I have multiple motivations. 1) I want to do what I want to do. 2) But I also want to keep this person as my friend. Just because motivation 1 is always stronger than 2 doesn't mean I always have to choose that way.

Since my feelings and emotions are muted, I do not have the mental resources to satisfy all of my motivations all of the time. I must ensure that I am not too otherwise stressed/taxed when trying to socialize. And I must calculate which motivation is most worthwhile to follow based on the situation.

When faced with a social dilemma, I must analyze which motivation is going to lead me to a better outcome via weighing the pros and cons objectively. In some situations, I will get a better outcome by taking care of my own needs. In some situations, I will get a better outcome by taking action to keep my friend. In some situations, I can be super smooth and efficient and do something that will benefit both of us at the same time. Make the smartest choice given the circumstances.

Taking some extra time to think through possible outcomes helps you make better social decisions (and develop Ne properly). Just like a visually impaired person has to put out effort to read braille or a hearing impaired person has to put out effort to use sign language, you must put out some effort to learn adaptations that will help you participate better in relationships and social situations.

You don't have to overthink. You can learn about people through observation and asking them simple questions. You can follow some basic principles like: compliment people when they do something good; offer help on occasion; say please and thank you; etc. Perhaps read about social etiquette to learn some good rules of thumb. Perhaps study communication skills so that you can express yourself more effectively.

An important aspect of maintaining motivation is regularly getting good results along the way. As INTP, you should be good at analyzing past mistakes for lessons to learn, in a scientific or experimental way. Try something and it doesn't work, don't do it again. Something worked well, try it again. It only works some of the time? Isolate the relevant factors to predict which situations it's more likely to work. You've obviously made some progress since childhood because you now actually care about this issue enough to feel bad and reach out for guidance. When feeling down, people tend to fixate on failure and it's easy to lose sight of all the little improvements achieved. Make sure to review the things you've done well, no matter how small, as a way to keep your motivation up.

Although empathy is an important ingredient in relationships, there are still ways to proceed without it. As long as you have some motivation to socialize, no matter how small or muted, there is hope to build something more out of it. Use those feelings of loneliness, regret, or sadness you just told me about to enhance your motivation and your desire to live your life in a better way (as opposed to wallowing in negativity).

You don't have to be "noble" and take action for others purely because you care deeply about them. Maybe it's enough to do it as a thank you to them for sticking around to make your life more fulfilling. It's not a competition of "me vs them", so don't think of relationships as a "sacrifice". By making them happy, you also make yourself happy, because you get to have a friend. Fe teaches you that good relationships should be win-win, even when you care more about your win than theirs.

#intp #empathy #relationships #ask

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bloody-wonder · 8 months ago

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starting new series

in order to balance my reading i like to track the progress i'm making with old series vs how many new series i'm starting. my loose goal is usually to finish/catch up on at least five and start at least ten new series in a year - which turns out isn't as difficult as it sounds bc we're not even halfway through the year yet and i already hit the latter mark! here's an overview of what i read and my opinions :)

series that were so good i immediately read all the books available:

doctrine of labyrinths by sarah monette (book one: mélusine). okay so this was life-changing. not sarah monette inventing dark aroace romantasy in 2005! they hated her for her slay so much she had to start writing cozy fantasy under a pen name! this story is so weird and unique i honestly have no idea how to pitch it except to say that fans of books like the locked tomb, mdzs and captive prince will very likely enjoy it too. the fact that it's not a depraved booklr cult classic by now is a travesty. but we can still make it happen so if you fall into this particular reader category (and wouldn't be put off by the fact that someone may or may not want to fuck his brother a little bit) please do yourself a favor and read this series! check the trigger warnings first tho

the cemeteries of amalo by katherine addison (book one: the witness for the dead). i liked the goblin emperor, didn't love it, but after binging doctrine of labyrinths in less than a week i sorely needed a cure for my book hangover so i decided to pick up this spinoff series and wouldn't you know it - i binged it too lol. ig february was my monette/addison era. amalo felt like course correction after the goblin emperor and, while it's set in the same world and written in the same tone as that book, many of its aspects reminded me more of doctrine of labyrinths which is probably why i ended up liking it more - and was surprised by that too since i typically don't like this slow meditative writing style in fantasy but ig sarah monette just brings a certain je ne sais quoi to her books (emotional whump). the third book is coming out next march and i'm very excited to see what the saddest gay priest detective will do next👀

the stolen heir duology by holly black. to be completely honest i don't think these books are necessary. ig it was cool to return to elfhame several years post tfota and see some of my favorite ya fantasy characters from outsider pov but i found the main couple quite bland, especially in the second book where they are predictably overshadowed by jude & cardan in every respect. jude & cardan are simply The Power Couple, i love them and i appreciated the opportunity to revisit them in their 20s. madoc, everyone's favorite worst dad, has some nice scenes too but apart from that this installment was neither adventurous nor action-packed nor particularly romantic. it's clear now that holly black plans to continue writing in the elfhame universe and i sincerely hope she will try to shake things up by going full adult and/or changing the genre (i have this galaxybrain idea of a wwdits style mockumentary about madoc's exile in the human world which i'm trying to telepathically plant in holly black's brain as we speak)

evander mills by lev a. c. rosen (book one: lavender house). lavender house was the first book i read this year - i picked it up on a whim, honestly not expecting much, but ended up liking it a lot. in many respects it's a pretty basic closed circle murder mystery but with an all queer cast, whereas the second book has our gay detective investigating blackmail. the fact that the story takes place in the (homophobic) 50s and the queer victims are not protected by the law whatsoever adds an interesting spin to the whole idea of seeking and serving justice. i never thought i'm a serialized detective story type of person but ig if you make it queer enough i'll read anything lol so now i'm eagerly awaiting the next andy mills mystery which will come out in fall.

series i'm maybe going to continue reading later:

aubrey & maturin by patrick o'brian (book one: master and commander). seeing all the old man yaoi on a boat memes on tumblr rapidly propelled this series to the top of my tbr. now i have finally read the first book and,, liked it? lol idk the prose was very good, aubrey & maturin's friendship was sweet and the reading experience was cozy, with funny moments here and there, but overall i wasn't gripped by the plot nor did i particularly connect to the characters. i'm glad i read it but rn i'm not planning to continue this (extremely long) series any time soon. the book did have a delightful nautical atmosphere tho so there's a chance i might return to aubrey & maturin's adventures one day, if the mood strikes

page & sommers by cat sebastian (book one: hither, page). this one i didn't like at all tbh. i think cat sebastian just isn't the author for me and i should quit trying to read her books. however, i am both blessed and plagued by completionism and this series only has two books so i might read the second one this year just to appease my demons lol

series i'm not going to continue:

adam binder by david r. slayton (book one: white trash warlock). someone on tumblr recced this book to me ages ago and i wanted to read it ever since - purely bc of the title tbh😅 something i failed to consider tho is that urban fantasy is probably my least favorite subgenre of fantasy. and this book unfortunately didn't feature any memorable character moments or mind-blowing plot bits that could have broken through my unimpressedness with the urban fantasy setting🤷‍♀️

rook & rose by m. a. carrick (book one: the mask of mirrors). okay now we're entering the Dislike & Disappoint territory. i got interested in this series bc i heard it being compared to gentleman bastard but the similarities end at the renaissance venice setting and a conperson protagonist. the mask of mirrors completely lacks the rizz and swagger of scott lynch's writing and its characters just don't have the oomph of locke lamora and his team. so that was disappointing. on top of that the book is extremely long and convoluted with a worldbuilding that bothered me a lot and i couldn't put my finger on why until i read the themes section on its wiki page - ah yes, the us politics, again, using a foreign setting as a window dressing, again. listen, ik the us politics are important for the us authors to write about but when i pick up a book inspired by the italian renaissance what i want to get is themes and motifs representative of that time and place, even if we modernize them by (honestly lackluster) queernormativity and gender equality. i was mildly curious about the identity of the rook but now that it's been revealed i see no reason to continue this series.

the masquerade by seth dickinson (book one: the traitor baru cormorant). i intended to finish this book last year and leave it there but it was so unbelievably boring it put me into a reading slump for like two whole weeks and i ended up finishing it in january. i noticed that books about colonialism often try so hard to strike this solemn literary tone and say something profound that characters and plot just get bulldozed over by that dedication to conveying this very serious theme. admittedly, baru isn't as bad as that - i'm just biased bc she was pitched to me as a character in the same category as lymond and tyrion lannister so i was disappointed on that account seeing as it was the only reason i decided to give this book a try. i will say the general concept of the story and the plot twist at the end were indeed good but the overall reading experience was so aggressively meh that they just weren't worth it for me and so when the Big Thing happened i was still underwhelmed.

emily wilde by heather fawcett (book one: emily wilde’s encyclopaedia of faeries). i wrote a long ass goodreads review about why i disliked this book so much but let's see if i can be concise for once (ha, as if). i'm a big fan of olivia atwater's books so based on all the buzz around emily wilde i thought i was picking up a similar faerie story. turns out this was more like an "elevated" cozy fantasy version of ali hazelwood's books featuring howl in leather pants (tweed pants?). where atwater uses faerie tale tropes and fae lore to explore classism, neurodivergence and nuanced romantic and platonic connections, fawcett seems to write from a perspective that is decidedly normative. just like emily wilde, half a soul has a heroine who reads as neurodivergent but the narrative is always firmly on her side, whereas the moral in emily wilde seems to be that she has to smile and socialize more or smth. just like emily wilde, a thousand stitches features a faerie as a love interest but in this case he indeed reads like a whimsical magical being, so similar to humans and yet so different at the same time, whereas mr cheap howl knockoff reads like a quirky human man who is an asshole sometimes and can do magic. atwater's books are fairly popular but emily wilde is the book that has mass appeal and ig i shouldn't really be surprised bc when have the stories that question the status quo ever have been more popular than the ones that reinforce it? so i'm not really surprised but i am bitter. this book left a sour taste in my mouth and made me feel really bad about myself which was something i hadn't reckoned with when i picked up this cozy fantasy. tbh i initially was going to masochistically read the sequel out of morbid curiosity but then i remembered that i can read literally anything else instead lol the hater gods spared me just for once😅

2024 reading updates | goodreads

#book tag #2024 reading updates #might as well actually start blogging about the books i read lol #please ask me what aroace romantasy is😅#so i want to do these recaps partly bc i want to find patterns in what i like and dislike #and so far the pattern in the dislike section seems to be #this was recced to me with xyz comp titles but utterly failed to live up to those comparisons #i wonder what conclusions i can draw from this lol

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wilt3d-r0zes · 2 years ago

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Fic Name (and link): Feel Like I Could Die Today Series: Lab Rats Characters: Chase Davenport, Marcus Davenport Pairings: N/A Trigger Warnings: Sensory Overload, Autistic Meltdown, Vivid Descriptions of Self Harm Urges (things like ripping your skin off, acid, etc) Important Tags: Autistic Chase Davenport, Autistic Meltdown, Angst, Good Brother Marcus Davenport, Hurt/Comfort, Redeemed Marcus Davenport, Takes Place After Elite Force is Founded. Summary: Protip: Don't spend 12hrs working on code. I don't care if you're bionic, don't do it. Or, I watched Free Guy and was liike wow. Keys is literally so autistic. I wonder if there's any fanfiction of him being autistic and there WAS. Exactly one beautifully written meltdown fic and i was like imma do that imma write a fic inspired by this so i did. (It's linked as the inspiration o7) (title is from A Little Bit Off by Five Finger Death Punch)

Inspired By:

shaking hands

by Anonymous

Chase stared at the computer in his lap. At the screen of code he's been agonizing over for who knows how long. The program wasn't working. It definitely should be, he's gone over the code four times trying to find whatever error he missed but it's yielding nothing but increased frustration when he tests it and nothing happens.

The only option he really has is to restart. But this is hours of work-- hours of slaving over this stupid little laptop that he'd lose because of what's probably one line of code he missed and can't find. He hates restarting, loathes losing hours of progress on a 'first draft.'

A hand lands on his shoulder, one that's hard and identifiable as Marcus based purely on the fact it's made mostly out of metal. Despite this, his synthetic skin burns against Chase-- which, of course, isn't possible unless he developed a new bionic ability and decided to turn on him-- again-- but chances are pretty low that that's happened.

(Again.)

Still, he shrugs off the hand, turning back to look at the android with wide eyes. Marcus stares back at him with a blank expression, one he wears more often than not now that he's stopped putting up a facade of human emotional responses. "When's the last time he slept?"

Chase just turns back around. He doesn't need this right now, he needs to finish this project. He said he could finish it in a few hours, and it's already well beyond that mark. This program could help take a massive load off Adam, Leo and Marcus until other locations are finished and more mission overseers can be promoted. Hell, it'll even help after that happens.

He scrolls back to the top of the project, trying to scan the code- just one more time- but finds himself squinting beyond diagrams, theories, digital post-it notes and warnings on his information hud. He can barely read any of the letters, numbers and symbols that were supposed to create something helpful but sit there like a useless pile of junk.

Chase swings the mouse over to the New Project button near the top, the sound of plastic on the countertop a grating swoosh of agony that's so much louder than it ever had any right to be.

(Why didn't Douglas give him an on/off switch for his bionics?)

He ground his teeth, a habit that he'd been doing since before he started highschool and one day is going to cost him his teeth. "Dude," Marcus starts, his voice like a freight train in Chase's ear-- it's enough to make him flinch, so the next thing Marcus says he, evidently, turns the volume down so low you wouldn't be able to hear it unless you took his voice box out and put your ear right up next to it, "How long have you been out here?"

Chase continues to glare at the code, another thing popping up on his HUD. The time. 2:32. He'd been working on this for nearly twelve hours.

(Teach him to think "Oh, one more hour can't hurt." Really, he should've learned that six years ago. Probably longer.)

His hands falter, and he pulls them away from the computer enough to notice how much he's shaking, the trembling through his entire body that feels like low-blood sugar and a panic attack had a baby.

(Ew.)

Without the mouse in his hand and the keyboard underneath his fingers, grounding him to the real world and giving him something to focus on, he's overcome with the sudden urge to bang his head on the counter he's working on. Again, this would yield little no results other than pain, and he's overwhelmed enough as it is.

Instead, he reaches his shaking hands up to run through his hair, only to catch the strands in his hand and yank. His scalp burns where he pulls hairs out completely, but he can't bring himself to stop, slowly dragging his still-gripped mess of semi-gelled hair until his slimy hands cover his eyes and he wants nothing more than to be drowned in a vat of acid to get rid of the feeling.

But there are no vats of acid for him to drown himself in, so instead he finds himself standing from the desk with little more than the thought of getting away from the danger of his own senses. Then, he’s standing in the medbay.

The lights are off, and with Douglas gone to the Elite Force and nobody actively injured, it’s empty. Marcus has evidently followed him, something he didn’t notice in the walk in his panic to get out.

His shoes squeak when he tries to rock onto the balls of his feet, a screaming sound that genuinely brings up warning on his HUD. His hands find their way to his arms, too-long nails digging into them. Without the focus of his computer or the code in front of him, all he wants to do is scream and hit things– anything, something to distract from the sensory overload that makes his very skin feel horrible.

Marcus grabs him when his hand first makes contact with his shoulder, solid arms wrapped around him and burying his face in unscented clothes. He squirms, and eventually he finds himself sinking to the floor with Marcus still wrapped around him. His throat burns and his hands hurt, and he doesn’t have the foggiest idea why.

His face is wet, and a sound he can’t identify with his bionics working overtime makes him drag his throbbing hands to his ears. His throat burns, like he got rugburn on his vocal cords. His head hits solid metal, but it doesn’t make the feelings go away. Abruptly, he realizes he’s screaming. The realization makes him snap his mouth shut, carelessly clacking his teeth together so his brain rattles and his jaw aches. A whimper follows and his squirming reignites until Marcus tightens the arms wrapped around him.

He slumps, a broken sob raking along his strained throat. The fight suddenly leaking out of him so he’s just laying against his brother, crying. He feels pathetic, suddenly. Useless– freaking out over a program that would take only a few hours to rewrite.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but all that comes out is a breath of hot air. Above him, he hears things whirr when Marcus activates his voice box and fan, “It’s alright.”

His volume is still low, though it doesn’t grate any more than it would’ve three hours ago. The fan whirring to life makes his chest rumble slightly, a layer of surprisingly calming sensory input that makes Chase wish he hadn’t already slumped so he could simply melt away the tension still writhing in his muscles.

“I know how it is, don’t worry about it,” Marcus continues, chest mimicking the way it’s supposed to move when a human talks, “We can stay here as long as you need.”

One good thing about Marcus being an android: he doesn’t really get bored easily. He really could sit here with Chase for the next few hours with plenty to entertain him, having full access to the internet. He once told them that he could bring up games on his HUD– something Chase is forever jealous about.

However long they lay there, with Marcus positively compressing his brother, it’s long enough for Chase to doze off into a dreamless sleep, where Marcus picks him up and deposits him on the couch in the mentors quarters and settles in on the chair to watch tv until he wakes up.

#lab rats #lab rats elite force #marcus davenport #chase davenport #lref #lr:ef #autism #autistic chase davenport #meltdown #sensory overload #autistic meltdown #fanfiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #wilt3d-libr4ry

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missr3n3 · 7 months ago

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Usually I ask silly questions but not this time. These questions are for the crossover fic and are important for the story line.

1.) Does Joshua have heightened senses (scent, hearing and sight are the main ones that I want to focus on.)

2.) Neither Joshua nor Isaac can cook, but Madeline and Leah can?

3.) Joshua has triggers that consume his subconscious, what are the main ones?

4.) If Sarah and Peter ever stumble across each other (the Terrortwins/Isaac and Joshua had decided to talk with one another about their experiences and learn how to cope in various ways), what would be their emotional reaction?

5.) Would Peter and Joshua bond (kinda?) over for their therapeutic gardening experiences, give each other tips and advice?

I ask some of these because it'll help me make chapters and give more details. That, and knowledge. It'll also help the story progress since I'm kinda stuck on chapter 1 and I need the info for Joshua's senses to help the chapter proceed. Thank you have have a good night!!

i've mentioned in the latest chapter that joshua has rly good night vision, and i think in general his eyesight is a little better. his hearing and sense of smell are normal tho. the only other odd thing about his senses are his ability to detect supernatural entities w/ his horns (usually described as him feeling his scalp prickle or itch)

isaac actually can cook a lil bit! unfortunately the main thing he knows is grilling, which. can't really do that in a studio apartment lol. madeline is like... she's not great, but she can manage simple things like pasta or stir fry. leah is the best of the bunch, having done very well in her home economics classes in high school!

some of his triggers off the top of my head: scissors going near his head, hearing any song off of radiohead's the bends album, the sound of chains rattling, the Nightmare Sand Pit sand's particular shade of red, being referred to with dehumanizing language

they'd both be very nervous around each other, but in different ways. sarah has no trust for peter, so she's constantly expecting him to try and take control back. peter, meanwhile, feels like his only options are "reconcile with sarah in some capacity" or "be tortured to death by the Peace Cult," so he's absolutely terrified of upsetting her in any way

probably a little bit! they're both very introverted people though, and with peter's fears about hurting those around him, i think his nervousness would weird joshua out a lil bit. likewise, joshua's "i don't give a fuck" attitude might come off a lil rude or even threatening to peter lol

hope these answers helped a bit!

#ask the skeleton #cdta #ct rotten roots #joshua atkin #isaac hawthorne #madeline wells #leah milton

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rickgrimesdoingrickthings · 1 year ago

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//2. does your muse find it easier to sleep in a warmer room or a cooler room? //3. is your muse typical about where they sleep or can they fall asleep just about anywhere? //11. what type of blanket does your muse prefer (standard blanket, quilt, comforter, weighted blanket, etc)? //18. does your muse have insomnia? have they ever experienced insomnia? to what degree of severity? //27. what does your muse typically like to wear to bed? does it depend on the season/weather outside?

1- Whatever is closer to 25 °C Celsius. If he had to choose, I think he would choose a slightly colder place, because to survival, he knows getting dehydrated can be deadly and warmer places have more mosquitos. He can't get cooler in warmer places but he can warm up in colder places by litting a fire, having something hot to drink, rubbing his chest, or even sleeping close to other survivors. Since Rick is thin, he probably would freeze way more than the others, but nothing an Abraham hug or Daryl hug wouldn't solve to keep him from shaking all night. His gang, they would drag the shaky Rick close to warm him up.

2- Rick can fall asleep anywhere, he had to adapt. Of course he prefers a comfy bed.

3- I don't know why but I have the impression those standard fluffy / fur like blankets would make him sneeze. Quilt he would use to protect his bed from dust. Comforter? Yesss I can see my man hugging a soft comforter and rolling in it after a warm shower yes, spot on. I think heavy weighed blankets would make him feel a bit suffocated, I don't know, last thing wants is to feel like he's stuck on a net when he sleeps. Light ones would be fine. When it's warm, he would use just a sheet.

4- Yes Rick has anxiety insomnia, had limited schizoid episodes in the prison which refrained him from sleeping well and faced some PTSD for quite some time, specially after Negan. By season 7-8, he says he hasn't been sleeping, thinking about his friends. I can also picture that sometimes Rick SEES Abraham and Glenn with their heads smashed "looking" at him or following him around, like he used to see Lori when she died, but he seems "used" to such ilusions by then. It's not explicit to the viewer, but there are references that hint Rick STILL sees allucinations when he's too stressed or sleep deprived (which is more common than people think). And he seems to have some rather agitated sleep or superficial sleep.

In Alexandria people mentioned it was like he was staring things they couldn't see. When he was near death, he had very vivid lucid dreams, unable to tell dream from reality many times. When he saw the CRM helicopter, he didn't treat it as if it were true, he ignored it as if he were seeing things AGAIN, meaning it's something that happens often when he's mentally and emotionally struggling. And Rick's case is serious because the unreal things he experiences aren't JUST VISUAL. He can FEEL the illusions and HEAR them too (the unreal phone calls at the prison, him thinking he's touching Lori after she's gone). And all of those also were followed by a great deal of paranoia and delirium.

Not permanent, depends of how ruined and broken Rick is but to think someone as intelligent as him who has a very good insight still struggles so much with that problem, he really needs help, emotional support specially so he doesn't trigger those periods of crisis and in a normal world, would need psychiatric help for meds like humor stabilizers and anti psychotics, at least until he leaves the crisis periods, plus therapy.

The health problem he has is more serious than most people assume. I wouldn't say it's schizophrenia because the progression doesn't match and the episodes of crisis are short but it is a squizoid mental health problem. When Rick sleeps (in periods of distress) he doesn't actually sleep, he faints due to exhaustion or takes short naps. Severe insomnia.

5- What he likes to wear to sleep depends. If he's comfy at a community, safe and sound with privacy, he might as well as sleep naked or wearing just his boxers. Even if it's a bit cold I can picture him leaving a warm shower, drying himself and falling on bed, getting under the covers and sleeping like that. If he's somewhere safe but has no proper privacy, he might wear a at shirt and more comfy pants. If he's somewhere he might need to act anytime, he's sleeping with his normal clothes, jeans and shirt. If it's cold, he fully closes his murder jacket's zipper and curls under then fluffy fabric. If combat is expected but he has to sleep, he might not even remove his belt. If he's sleeping with a lover he probably wants to sleep wearing nothing at all and just nuzzle / cuddle as much as he can.

Just let him sleep and be happy.

#wexarethewalkingxdead #rick grimes #character analysis #the walking dead #rick twd #twd #twd rick #sleep #sleep problems #mental health

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mystery-salad · 9 months ago

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1, 7, 13 for Kai

9, 10 for Roibird

4 as Alvvae Tax

Hi Oz, thank youuuuuuuuuu~ And Alvvae tax! :0

KAI

What parts of their childhood trigger them?

Pretty much all of it! Kai grew up being groomed for leadership within the legions, every single step of her upbringing leaned to that and molded her into the perfect unfeeling, cold, calculating soldier who could "evaluate and make the hard calls quickly". Even now that her bounty's been removed, she finds that she can't go back to the citadel where she was raised without starting to slip back into that old mindset which scares her. She also can't visit many of the locations in Ascalon that she and her warband patrolled. She just...avoids her old home entirely at this point. Better to make new memories.

7. What emotions or situations do they try to avoid? Why?

She's starting to learn that getting into fights all the time is a bad way to handle things. And talking it out can lead to a much faster resolution. She leans heavily on her team and Caithe for this, all of them knowing the signs from Kai when she's about to escalate things past the point of no return. Kai also avoids entirely being alone in a room with any legion charr or she's gonna end up biting someone's head off.

13. What is their relationship with their family like?

Nonexistent! Her parents wrote her off as dead the moment she became a gladium with a bounty on her life. She doesn't see this as any loss herself, she never knew them past monthly evaluations to oversee her progress.

ROIBIRD

9. What are their insecurities?

He's very aware of his physical limitations and what that means for him as Commander, upholding an image that others put on him while also minding his bad physical days. While he knows he's good enough and capable enough for the job, he's very aware of how others might view his mobility aids.

10. What are their emotional triggers?

That's a hard one I haven't thought about before! His emotional triggers would be dismissal, infantilization, and general snobbery. Experiencing any of these will send him right into his own spiral of snarkiness and a stubborn streak.

ALVVAE

4. How do they punish themselves when they make mistakes?

Down in Rata Solum, Alvvae's job basically facilitated a need for perfection. Making sure tunnels were structurally sound and ready for buildings meant ensuring no chance of cave-ins or wall breaches, any of which could result in lives ending. Her default reaction to any mistakes is to immediately assess what went wrong and how to ensure a 0% chance of repeats. Emotions turn off and calculations turn on, she needs to stay strong when lives are on the line!

#dasozelotvonnebenan #nyokkai #roibird #alvvae

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self-loving-vampire · 2 years ago

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So the Kuudere Moments you've been having recently might be an artifact of Self Necromancy/Past You's bleed-over influence?

I'm glad she seems to be making progress toward self-actualization, but that does sound somewhat disconcerting.

On the upside, it's good you realize a potential cause at least. I know you said the actual loss of feeling didn't bother you so much but the trigger being uncertain was initially troubling etc.

To be clear, I have been having those episodes since before I started this. It usually happens in response to stress but over time I learned to just keep acting as I always do even when that is going on under the assumption that it typically lasts less than a day.

What is new is really just an increase in frequency, combined with Past Me being prone to emotionally detaching from others for a variety of reasons (not all of which are healthy).

It does feel kind of strange to have one's emotions hijacked by another force, but that feeling is actually not new to me either. It's basically what happens when one has an emotional flashback.

If anything can give you experience in having your emotions replaced by those of a past version of yourself, emotional flashbacks are it.

#self-necromancy

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flowers-for-hobi · 2 months ago

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I've had the worst nightmare i had in a while. Very long rant

Trigger warning emotional/physical abuse

In the dream I'm trying to convince my family to stop going down this path of delusion flat earth and other religious hotep stuff connected to us being black people and having Jewish ancestry (I'll save the stupid details)

(which is happening in real life and has been a slow progression into madness for years now) my sister just told me about the flat earth stuff that just got added into the mix recently which just sent me over the edge emotionally. And I guess I've been grappling with that not really knowing it. And also I started listening to a therapy podcast called second hand therapy which has been making me think. Which is a good thing in the grand scheme of things. But i also haven't seen my therapist in a couple months due to the debt I've been trying to pay off with her and just the nature of how my therapy relationship has evolved I don't need go see her every week. I've just been doing every couple months and doing ok with that.

The past couple months I've just been trying to cope and kinda push everything to the side with my work routine. But they podcast just opened a can of worms I wasn't trying to feel. Ouchy!!

In the dream I'm begging trying to tell my mom to stop this saying all the things that have been in my heart for years since a falling out happened 2/3 years ago. It's not working. after I while I remember crying in the dream walking away from my mother saying I'm so sorry I forgot you're like a dog loyal to my father and you would let him hurt me.

I go out from the room and my dad's asking what's going on. I tell him what I feel and start questioning his beliefs and proving his delusions wrong. Everytime he paused or has a shook on his facing trying to prove me wrong I yell *buzzer sound* wrong answer and explain why he's wrong. After the third time he charges at me cornering me trying to choke me (which he did to my sister during the Big falling out in real life)

I'm saying is it worth it hurting your family and please stop and then I Wake up.

It shook me so much I couldn't cry for a while. I ended up googling how to deal with nightmares. And kinda checking in with myself remembering what my therapist explained to me about anxiety and where I feel it in my body (which i usually feel it in my neck like choking)

For some reason while I was reading the article the quote from the article

"Our bodies are much more resilient than we think, so trust yourself that you’re going to be okay even if you didn’t sleep well last night"

After reading that I just start bawling. Just allowing myself to feel everything the fear the sadness.

My dreams/nightmares most of the time are very cathartic and try to tell me something. And I've had dreams/nightmares similar to this but it's been a long time i forgot how much they shake me. I think it"s reality setting in that I don't think me and my dad's relationship is salvageable cause he's not willing to listen to me or apologize to me (something he's been able to do with my sister) since the Big falling out) cause I know I won't ever bring it up. I'm tired of always being the one to try and fix it and have the big convos. So I'm leaving it up to him. And he keeps insisting my sister tell him how I feel about him and my sister like the freaking boss she is tells him that's between (me) and him. But i know he'll never ask me cause I already told him years ago how I feel. And I've been finally able to go over to their house and have moments of family again hug my dad and hang out again. But i also don't trust them anymore and I know it won't be the same. Cause without true communication there can't be any peace. And I won't be the one to reach out and have that conversation and i know my father won't so i just pretend like everything is ok just like he wants. But i know he feels the distance and it not being the same I lowkey enjoy knowing he's internally wiggling with that feeling. I'm just doing what we've always done in that house. Not talking about it just like he wants it.

#trigger warning #tw abuse #truama #nightmare #tw emotional abuse #rant #sceaming into the void #private

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lavendertowerarchives · 4 months ago

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Am I plural? Am I poly? How many is enough, how many is too many? How may I ignore my biases and social constraints so that I may gain any amount of insight into either?

Hell if I know, man. To begin, I want to clarify, I am highly doubtful that I am plural. I am highly confident that I am polyamorous. I've just been kicking both ideas around in my head for a nonzero amount of days and they've been getting on my fucking nerves with how repetitive the thought strains are.

As for plurality, it's one of the more persistent nagging doubts in the realm of "do I have this certain mental wackness." Seeing as I own a computer with internet access, it makes sense that I would come into contact with the concept of DID and multiple personalities in general, sometimes reading stories of those who have been diagnosed with/found out about/suspect they have something of the sort.

In my first engagement with the idea (because I almost always run through the checklist of "do I have this" for every condition I see), my response was no. Of course not. I think I'd know if I had two+ personalities. Later, in my second consideration, I noticed that yeah, my memory loss problem is really... a problem. More than a character trait. Now, many conditions involve memory loss (especially ADHD, which is a major pain in my ass every day), but upon closer inspection, more of the (admittedly common) symptoms lined up.

Given my intimate relationship with depression, anxiety, (frequent risk of) substance abuse, memory loss, and su1c1d@l tendencies, I'm sure there's something amiss. This is just the main package for anyone neurodivergent these days. This served as validation for my theoretical exploration of self-diagnosis (I want to reiterate, I really don't think I have it, but detailing my search and process will help me stop fucking thinking about it).

I've known for a while how I change when I'm around people vs alone. I won't describe every single emotional switch, but I will note how I'm generically happier, more optimistic, less foggy in the brain, more inclined to create, mostly not rejection sensitive, and less stressed by conventionally unstressful things when not alone. As for the other half... It's just that shit in reverse. I sit. I do nothing. I barely eat. I don't talk. I hate myself and work out ways to reliably end myself. That shit sucks, man.

The black and white nature of the switch made me reluctant in previous years to analyze exactly what made the change. In my mind, it was clear: I'm just not depressed when I have people with me (bar some exceptions). Now that I'm coming at it from another angle, I can see the polarizations which occur outside the "good/bad" binary.

I routinely get mad at myself. This, alone, isn't much cause for concern. However, knowing me, it is insanely difficult for me to get mad at another... thing. It takes a lot of "clearly" "unfair" punishment done explicitly to me to make me hate something, and it has to be done in such a way as to not become perverse sadism instead (to be dissected later). Anger is just not something I understand as an emotion, partially because it's just never... out. I hate myself a lot, yes, but it comes out more as disappointment in my inability to do normal tasks.

I can't feed myself today? Oh well. I'll just starve.

I forgot JH's birthday? Damn, my memory is awful.

I missed the third clutch button press in Celeste for the thirtieth time in a row? Well, resets take four seconds. I'm making progress.

When the switch is hit, and the personality shifts, the above reactions are replaced with "you fucken asshole. You dipshit. Fuck you, Lavender, you can't do shit without breaking down." This is a complete switch. I seem to be the only thing I can get truly mad at. Everything else is just learning. Again, this is only when that specific trigger is hit, when I'm alone for too long, and I have no contact with people.

Lastly, I just can't see myself as part of myself. I know that sounds silly, but I don't have the correct terminology to describe a permanent feeling of disassociation without actually disassociating. My limbs don't feel like my own. There is a continuous static between "Lavender, move your arms" and the arms moving. My muscle memory is my single greatest and most reliable trait I have, and it's my fascination with encoding movements to a single reflex that has kept me in decent shape for so long. Yeah, I know my mind is connected to the flesh I see in front of me and vice versa. It just never feels like it.

The only time I can distract myself from this piloting sensation is when that switch isn't hit. It's part of the reason I'm so good (read: decent) at video games. I can play any given character in SSBU for ten minutes and memorize their whole kit. I never transition "into" the character because I never transitioned out of myself. So what if another bitch hitched a ride in my head? I wouldn't know, I say I would know how to switch if I really did have two people living in my head, but I never really tried now, did I? When playing games, the transition is physical, discrete, and automatic. I just pick up the controller or put my hands on the keyboard. I wouldn't know if there was such a trigger for changing personalities.

All of this is evidence for me being plural, having more than one fucker in this skull, having two personalities, etc. It doesn't convince me. I don't think it's plausible. I'm sure I'd feel much different than I currently do if it was the case. Then again, how would "I" know? I already can't easily remember things which aren't right the fuck in front of me.

As for the polyamorous conviction, I've taken much more time to deliberate. I believe I am. I believe I can love multiple people at once with no interference between them. It took me a while to realize that I'd been doing it my whole life. Society's focus on monogamy and singular, permanent relationships has screwed over my discovery's pace and consequences.

I crush on so many people. It used to be horrid in high school. Any cute chick who gave me more than five minutes of her time was instantly in my head every hour of the day. To be clear, I thought most girls were cute/pretty/hot/sexy/whatever in high school; it didn't take much looking at a female form for me to find something I liked. I haven't really changed much. I don't like being attracted to so many people against my will, but oh well. Can't really stop that.

Regardless, the linchpin in this conundrum was that each new addition to my roster of infatuations did not impact the rest of the list (outside very few complications). I didn't have a ranking system. I didn't have a system outside of "I like this one most. Wait, but I also really like this one." I felt awful at the time (still do) about making contingency plans for each romantic endeavor, telling myself "Oh, well if girl A doesn't work out, I've got girl J on my radar still."

Fast forwarding to today, I have since admitted to myself that I had generated (without my consent) numerous genuine crushes on people during the time I've been with my partner, each one never causing my love for them to waver. I'm not saying it didn't, but I am saying it was never because of another person's hold on me. It will happen again. It's happening right the fuck now. I cannot get JH out of my head. Idk if I really "love" her or not but I guarantee she is much more than just a friend to me, even if she hasn't responded to me in days. I fucking hate it. Why can't I just leave her behind? Why do I obsess over her?

Self-loathing aside, I simply just... do love multiple people, and am more than capable of it. I will never get enough love, and I will never run dry of my own supply for others. I've ran out of patience for others' company. I've never stopped loving someone for any reason other than them literally forcefully abandoning me, and even then, that's got a shoddy hit rate.

So, why have I combined these two opposite conundrums of outward love and inward hatred? I can't be sure of either of them. My own internal biases keep me from confirming either. No one wants to get close to me, so I can't pursue anyone romantically. I want to regale you, the poor reader I'm probably keeping hostage, with tales of the literal hours a night I pine away for a chance to get closer to someone. I need it. I need it more than anything. I can't even start to think of it or else risk ruining my night simply because it's such an overwhelming hunger I have. I can't try to explore the depths because once I realize how hungry I am, I can't live with the fact that there's so much food for everyone else and I'm just... starving. No one wants to love me except my partner. It's not nothing. It's amazing. It's delicious food. I'm just still hungrier than every single friend I have, combined. That, I will stake my life on.

Contrasting this to the persona I desperately want to separate from my own, I can't say that it's a real separation I can make. I hate him. I keep referring to myself in the third person simply because I don't want to be associated with him. I don't want to be associated with me. I want out. Out of life, out of my body, out of my mind, out of this fucking house. This fucking life I'm "living" is garbage and I instinctually blame myself. I want to drag the fucked up mess of parts out from my own self and make it into a strawman scapegoat for me to slit the wrists of and choke with my own bare hands. I can't do it to myself, after all. Not because of a lack of willpower; I am fully committed. I just need a guarantee I won't get caught alive.

It's pure emotion. Both problems, both diagnoses, are only theoretical and not real because I do not have the mental capacity and emotional strength to withstand my own needs.

#lavender town #lavender tower #mental health #therapy #college #diary #diary entry #social anxiety #relationship #open relationship #plurality #plural #poly #polyamorous

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