#LET ME SAY: there’s no ‘age’ at which you HAVE to have accumulated a certain amount of something to be

[queerdiazs]

35 days since 911 season 7 concluded and people are arguing over the maturity of buck’s loft

[mywitchyblog]

hey! i just wanted to say I love your posts, they have been really insightful. now, I don't really know if you answer these, but I will try anyways: do you have any advice for an "older" shifter? i haven't shifted yet and every single shifter I see is either a teenager or just above the age of 18. i know it's silly, but i can't help but wonder if maybe I'm too old for this, or maybe it's harder for me because I'm older. I'm currently in my mid-20s and i'd really love to experience other realities, but my age makes me really self-conscious.

Hey! First off, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m really glad that my posts have been insightful for you, and I appreciate you reaching out.

Now, to your question—I think this is an incredibly important topic, so I’m glad you brought it up. Honestly, you’re not alone in feeling this way. A lot of older shifters or those who are just starting out later in life express similar concerns, so let's break it down:

"Maybe I'm too old for this."

Absolutely not! You are never too old to shift, and it’s never too late to begin your journey. Shifting is not something bound by age. Whether you're in your mid-20s, 30s, or beyond, the ability to explore other realities doesn’t diminish with time. If anything, life experience and maturity can make your shifting journey richer. It’s a misconception—often perpetuated by younger communities like Shiftok—that shifting is somehow reserved for teens or young adults. But that’s simply not true. Shifting is a deeply personal and timeless practice, and you deserve to explore it fully, without limiting yourself based on age.

"Maybe it's harder for me because I'm older."

It's important to understand that shifting is not intrinsically harder because of your age. However, it can feel more challenging due to the mental and emotional conditioning we've picked up over the years. As we age, we tend to accumulate more doubts, limiting beliefs, and external pressures. These things can sometimes cloud our ability to let go and embrace the shifting process. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible or inherently more difficult—just that it may take some extra work to unlearn those blocks. Shifting is as hard or easy as you allow it to be; don’t let societal or internalized pressures convince you otherwise.

"I'd really love to experience other realities."

Then do it! That desire to explore other realities is valid and worth pursuing, no matter your age. Whether it's to experience new dimensions, timelines, or alternative versions of yourself, your curiosity is a driving force that will help you in the process. Pop off and dive into it with excitement! There’s no age restriction on exploring the multiverse—your potential to shift is as boundless as your imagination.

"But my age makes me really self-conscious."

This is a completely understandable feeling, and it’s something I’ve heard from others too. There’s a certain pressure in the shifting community, especially online, where younger shifters dominate the space, and that can make older individuals feel out of place. But trust me, age should not make you feel self-conscious about shifting. If anything, your age gives you unique perspectives and strengths in the shifting process that younger people might not have.

Now, here's something I feel really strongly about: stick to your age range. And here’s why—if you saw my storytime, "My Hatred of Shiftok," you know I talked about how toxic and hypocritical some teenage shifters can be. Many of them uphold nonsensical double standards and promote an environment where older shifters might feel out of place or judged for being “too old.” There’s this idea that shifting is only for younger people, which is completely false. A lot of these younger shifters are inexperienced and push harmful narratives, making it difficult for older shifters to feel welcome. That's why I strongly recommend staying true to your age and experience level.

There’s no reason to follow the misguided standards set by people who are still figuring out their own shifting journey. You have wisdom and maturity on your side, and that can be a huge asset. I’ve also written extensively about shifting and age, so I’d recommend checking out my posts on the topic. They reflect my personal beliefs, knowledge, and experience, all backed by solid arguments that show why age isn’t, and shouldn’t be, a barrier.

If you're interested in aging yourself down to experience another side of life, that’s also a valid option to explore through shifting. But don’t feel pressured to change your age just because you’re self-conscious about it. You’re not wrong to feel that way, but I want to emphasize that you don’t need to shift your age just to fit in.

In short, don’t let your age hold you back or make you doubt your ability to shift. Your self-consciousness is a valid feeling, but it doesn’t define your journey. Shifting is about exploring your consciousness, your potential, and your desires. You deserve to experience it fully, no matter how old (or young) you are.

At the end of the day, shifting is a personal practice meant to enhance your life and help you grow. Your age doesn’t limit that; only your mindset does.

[gldrushsblog]

SUGAR AND SIN | JK

🧁✧ ˚. TITLE: Sugar and Sin

🧁✧ ˚. PAIRING: Mafia boss! Jungkook x female oc

🧁✧ ˚. WARNINGS: Mentions of threatening behavior and emotional distress.

🧁✧ ˚. BLURB: The suited stranger keeps his promises, and Aurora isn't sure if that is supposed to be a good thing.

🧁✧ ˚. GENRE: Mafia au, grumpy x sunshine, forced proximity, slow burn, dark romance, crime/thriller.

🧁✧ ˚. TAGS: jk being a jerk part 21726 but he calls her sweetheart (derogatory), oc going through it part 56372

🧁✧ ˚. A/N: hey!! Hello! Hope you didn't forget me or this story cause I just posted part 10 on wattpad after years of being unproductive!! Who cheered 🤭🤭

🧁✧ ˚. TAG LIST: @scuzmunkie

CHAPTER 6: AURORA

Aurora wasn’t a prophet, but for the past few days, she had this unsettling hunch that the organ pumping in her chest would be the thing to take her down—maybe not by a heart attack, but something close enough.

Grim fact: Her family had no history of heart issues.

Normally, she didn't let anything or anyone burrow deep enough into her thoughts to keep her awake at 2 a.m., contemplating her life choices. Especially not with a knife stashed under her pillow, just in case those choices went south. Well, except maybe that one time when she decided to move away from home and open her own bakery. Her friends loved to call her reckless—more than she'd like to admit. It was probably the same reason her dad hovered over her, always a little too protective.

She'd be lying if she said her reckless streak hadn't played a starring role in the chaos of her life.

Now, even as the day in the bakery stretched onto a busy one- the kind she thrived on- she couldn't help thinking about the sudden absence of a certain man who carried bad mojo with him like a handbag and the letter she received days ago and safe to say, there wasn't much doubt about the sender. She should be glad, of course, that he isn't here to remind her how grateful she should be that there's not a bullet in her brain, but she was rather anxious after the envelope she received which was honestly a childish trick to pull on her neurons in her opinion.

And then there was her demand that was a further invitation for him to dwell more in her life, and she hadn't been able to think of that in the moment. So that only left her waiting and.. questioning.

Would he really help her out with the Mr Choi situation? Or was she the most naive person to think he was being genuine in his amusement and not sarcastic?

She sighed heavily like a old aged woman who had been through both wars before trying to ground herself back in the normalcy of the action of rearranging the trays of pastries that didn't sell and was gonna go up for donation in the display case, while lia checked the stock back in the kitchen.

It was a simple monotonous moment until it was not. The bell above the door chimed, causing Aurora to wonder since not many people visited in the closing hours. Yet the words came out almost automatically. "Welcome to Sunrise sweets!" Her figure still crouched down as she worked on the display.

The usual sounds of greetings and orders didn’t follow. Instead, there was a heavy, palpable silence with an energy that felt weirdly familiar. The kind that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

As she slowly straightened up to attend the odd customer, the sight in front of her had her wanting to hide back again because there stood her newest nightmare manifested in a tailored pinstripe suit that accumulated his broad and tall figure in a way that left her wondering how dild he even got through the door.

The words in that letter flashed the next thing in her mind. She should have known for him not to be the one who spewed empty threats...or promises.

For a moment, she forgot the basics to breathe as his gaze collided with hers.

He had been here before, yet that time had been a chilling dark night but now as the different colors of orange blending with blue from the sun going down the horizon illuminated the space and him, she realized how out of place he looked. She had that realization when he was sprawled across her couch, too. Just now, she had another one that it didn't matter what kind of room he was standing in. His presence will get anyone and everyone present in it to cower.

As if sensing the tension filling the air, lia peeked from the back, catching his attention for a millisecond, but that was enough to take her aback as well.

Aurora could feel her friend's confused eyes on her once she gauged how shrunken the brunette looked.

"Can we help you with something?" She asked as she appeared beside her friend, her voice steady and cautious. Clearly, she was surprised as well to see a figure like him walk up here but not horrified as her best friend who had seen him with a gun.

"No." He gave her a balant reply with a balant stare before turning his attention back to Aurora.

"We have business to discuss, Ms Beckett." She wasn't surprised to hear him say her name she never told yet the way he said he had buisness with her like he was mocking her was enough to send a chill down her spine. "Alone." He added, sparing lia another glance.

"Buisness? What is he talking about, Aurora?" Lia spoke, turning to her with confusion evident in her tone. Of course, she would be confused, surprised even. It was not every day a man in an Armani suit and tie that cost more than the space they were standing in, walked in to talk buisness.

Aurora's eyes peeked back at her friend with an uncertainty of their own. "I-uh.." Her gaze moved back and forth between her best friend and the man that seemed to look at her with an intention to bore a hole in her head.

Taking a deep breath and collecting her thoughts, she turned her back and made lia do the same, her voice intended for only her. "This.. is what I meant when I said I was exploring some options." Lia gave her a look of disbelief. "But - But you don't need to worry. He's a trusted ally even though he doesn't look like it. Everything's gonna be fine. You just need to let me have a talk with him." She hoped the blanched expression only crossed her face mentally when she said the words trusted ally and him in the same sentence.

"I'm not leaving you alone to speak to him, Aurora." She deadpanned, her voice intentionally loud enough for him to hear across the counter.

A deep exhale came from his side. Lia opened her mouth to protest further, but Aurora quickly placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it gently.

"It's fine, Lia. Really." She forced a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just give us a minute, okay?"

Lia looked unconvinced, her gaze flicking between Aurora and the man she was skeptical about, but after a tense moment, she sighed and nodded. "I'll be in the back," she said, her tone making it clear she wasn't going far.

As Lia disappeared behind the kitchen door, Aurora turned back to him, her nerves getting on edge again as she locked eyes with his.

"What buisness?" The sound was somewhat of whisper yell as if she was afraid of the walls listening but was still trying to make her point across at the same time.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drift around the bakery, taking in every detail with that calculating look that unnerved her so much. “This place—” he gestured vaguely at the bakery, “—is mine now.”

She blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “Yours?” she echoed, incredulous. “What do you mean, yours?”

"I brought it." He said - matter of fact - as if it was the most normal thing.

But to her, the words felt foreign, like they belonged in someone else’s nightmare, not hers. "You… bought it?”

"Choi is no longer your problem. Consider this… payment for your silence.” He spoke, his voice turning bitter at the latter.

Her mind raced, struggling to keep up with the situation. She should have felt relief—after all, wasn’t a resolution to her problem what she had asked for? Instead, a dread seeped into her bones.

It hit her then, like a slap she should have seen coming but didn’t. This wasn’t help. This was control. This was him sinking his claws into her world, and worse — it was her fault for letting him.

The words slipped out before she could stop it. “I didn’t ask for this.”

His expression was a puzzled one. "You asked for my help. This.." He stepped closer to the counter and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded document. He placed it on the surface. "Is how I help."

Help? This was ridiculous. It wasn't a solution. Of course, Mr Choi was a nuisance, but this man was something worse than that. She didn't want something dear to her tied down to him.

But the weight of his words pressed down on her, the realization of what this meant sinking in.

"There must be a catch! Is all this really just for me to keep my mouth shut?" Her brows knitted together as she spoke.

His expression remained unreadable as he spoke, “Nothing more than what we agreed upon. And just your cooperation that I should add."

The nonchalance in his words didn't fool her. "Cooperation?"

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—dangerous, perhaps. "Keep your end of the bargain so I'll not be provoked to keep the end of my promise." She guessed what he was hinting at, and it took her everything not to choke him with a loaf down his throat.

The threat lingered in the air, a dark cloud settling over her. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. She had asked for help even if foolishly so, not for him to take over her life.

Aurora bit her lip,“You think you can just come in here, throw your money around, and claim whatever you want?”

He didn't respond, Instead fumbled a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket to lit it before he was holding it between his gloved fingers and parted lips.

She frowned deeper at the audacity of this man. "And you can't smoke here either!"

He straightened up to look at her with a detached look. Taking a whiff out of the cancer stick, he spoke."I own this place, sweetheart. I can do whatever the fuck I want. You can either accept it or fight it and see consequences you and this place won't like."

She glared at him, hating the truth in his words. Hating that she had somehow ended up in this mess. Yet all fight seemed to drain out of her. What choice did she have? She could actually act upon her urges to shove a loaf down his constantly threat spewing mouth but that wouldn’t change the fact that he did owned her bakery. And, by extension, a piece of her life.

"This-" She was cut off with brutal ignorance as he added. "You should be grateful, Ms Beckett." his eyes briefly scanning the bakery one last time before he turned to leave. "You're in better hands now."

The bell above the door chimed as he walked out, leaving her standing there with her world tilted off its axis and a stack of papers that confirmed just how deep she was in over in her head.

୨ৎ

"What was he on about?" Lia asked as she emerged from the kitchen that was in the back.

Aurora's response was a sigh before she spoke. "Do you wanna go for a drink?"

To be continued..

→Previous chapter.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

Years Of Imitating Mastery, Have Only Made Me A Better Thief

Summary: There was a look in his eyes, a sorrowful longing that he was more familiar with than he would like to be. He didn’t look like Nimloth, not really. Or Elrond and Celeborn angst for Day 3: Extended Family @tolkienfamilyweek

Celeborn had avoided him thus far; nothing obvious or malicious, he was always perfectly civil, but over time it was hard to ignore that when they brushed past each other their eyes never met, that he always seemed to filter out of a room when the others present grew too thin to act as buffers between them, that he didn’t seem fully at ease when Elrond’s gaze rested on him on the rare occasions they did exchange pleasantries.

It didn’t bother him. It didn’t. He had dealt with far worse rejection than the polite avoidance of some distant relative he’d never known. It wasn’t as if Celeborn seemed to distrust him, he had never seemed wary when Elrond was to lead beside him in battle (which was more than he could say for certain Sindar). Occasionally disapproving to be sure but that could easily fall into the category of people who questioned the ethics of letting someone his age fight at all, which he did not mind on principle considering those people were probably right.

On one occasion he could have sworn he saw him flinch momentarily at the eight pointed star on the hilt of his sword when Elrond had been sharpening it over his knee; he had a right to that of course, they all did. It was no one’s fault, not really, it just was.

He rifled through his journal, leather dyed forest green with thick swathes of creamy paper, different shades, textures and scents betraying the way he’d been clipping things into it once the original piece had run out some 30 years previously. He’d have started using a new one, he could certainly afford to, but this had been the first thing he’d been given for no ostensible reason other than that he may like it (he’d gone with Maglor to gather some supplies and he’d assumed it was a ledger for official matters yet he’d come home to find it resting on his pillow. It had been seven silver coins, he remembered that still). He liked to have some reason to carry it around with him so he could remind himself that for reasons beyond his understanding he had been loved by those who were not meant to be capable of it.

At present he was searching for a particular section, the notes he had accumulated over a few particular Avari dialects, as if the few minutes before he needed to be the picture of composure and a fountain of diplomatic knowledge by the High King’s side would give him anymore conversational skill in some of the only languages he had never heard spoken. Still he could not take his page of verb conjugations into the banquet so best try while he could.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting?’ Elrond stifled a sigh and shut the journal on his desk, resigned to his fate of not understanding everything said in discussions for the first time since he came into Gil Galad’s service.

He turned to meet the gaze of his visitor ‘Not at all, was there something you needed Lord Celeborn?’

Rather than an answer he got another question, he should have been used to it after living with elves so long but it still grated at his edainic sensibilities. ‘Are you content in Lindon?’

Well what was he to make of that? Could it be political somehow, Celeborn and Galadriel had seemed pleased enough with Gil Galad’s position but who could begin to parse the web of complexities of their manoeuvrings? ‘Very, my lord. Gil Galad has been exceedingly welcoming and there is no one more worthy of my loyalty.’ Perhaps a little on the defensive side but not nearly as confrontational as he had the slight reputation for being at times.

He did not seem to take offence, smiling, ever so slightly unsure, and pausing before speaking again in a tone almost too gentle to be heard, ‘I’m glad to hear it. You remind me greatly of your grandmother, you know.’

There was a look in his eyes, a sorrowful longing that he was more familiar with than he would like to be. He didn’t look like Nimloth, not really. He’d seen paintings of her, talked to others who had met her, never had any similarity been apparent or commented on. Everyone always said the same thing, Luthien dominated leaving only the barest trace of anything else to be found by those who saw only what they wished to see. Elrond decided to be kind and turned to compose himself by fixing the braids bound above his head, hair black as a void, thick and wavy, as far as you could get from the smooth curtain of silver depicted on the statues of Celeborn’s long lost cousin.

He was interrupted out of his musings by Celeborn hesitantly moving forward to stand in front of him. ‘I- thought that you might like to have this. I guessed that you might not have many things from Doriath.’ In his outstretched hand was a hair clasp, beautiful in its elegance, emerald green coloured glass shaping interlocking leaves and blossoms.

He spoke, only confirming what Elrond already knew, ‘It was her’s.’ This was all he had of her and he was giving it away to someone he barely knew, someone who had never met the elleth he was clearly mourning deeply.

‘Really, lord Celeborn, I cannot accept-’

He placed it into his hand and gently closed Elrond’s fingers around it as if they were delicate, more delicate than the glass itself, liable to be snapped if handled too roughly. Celeborn had seen him rip an orc’s arm out of it’s socket once. He got the feeling that he had tried to forget that, it would complicate matters, make it harder to pretend he was that pale silver haired girl laughing among the trees and muddying her dresses by playing in the riverbanks trying to drag him along with her with childish pleading. Elrond wished once again that images and snatches did not cross from others to him so naturally. Without the confirmation he could have pretended as well.

‘Please. It is yours by right.’ They stood there for a moment, both uncertain but Celeborn hiding it a great deal better.

‘Would you like me to show you how to use it?’ Celeborn smiled at him. It was a nice smile, fond and soft, one you would give a favoured nephew of about ten, not an estranged cousin raised by your worst enemies and trained in all manner of brutal warfare. One he might have given an Elrond raised in the Havens of Sirion, a sweet and naive youth who had never come into being. Is that who Celeborn was choosing to see before him? The perfect Sindarin prince who had died many times since the siege of Sirion, who had perhaps never existed in the first place but who could know now?

Elrond nodded slowly and sank down in front of his mirror obediently; Celeborn gently pulled out the gold pins holding his hair in tight braids about his head and found the brush to slowly smooth out the kinks. Did he breathe easier when the Noldorin patterns were no longer visible or was it just Elrond’s imagination prescribing motives to kindness because that at least was familiar to him. He thought he could feel some satisfaction as the last one unwound; the mark of his ‘captors’ gone from an ellyn Celeborn wished to see as one of his own people.

He found himself wishing for one terrible moment that he could be who Celeborn so clearly wanted, that the complexities could be so easily brushed away with fond and comforting strokes. That maybe if he was Celeborn would stay for a few moments longer; he was gathering his hair in his hands and plaiting pieces of it back from his face patiently, genuinely trying to show him how so he could replicate it. He remembered hearing somewhere that Celeborn and Galadriel had a young daughter and thought fancifully if this was how he was with her. He’d had many families already and it seemed unfair to ache for another when all that he touched burned away in his palm. He wanted nonetheless.

It had been long since he’d felt someone smoothing his hair so gently and the warmth of the gesture made him ache and want to claw desperately and seize at this warmth that seemed so close to genuine affection until he looked up at Celeborn’s face and something in his eyes made the hopeful smile growing on his face falter. He had that far off gaze again, the melancholy one he’d known earlier that told him he was not truly here. He was in Doriath or in Sirion, with Nimloth, Luthien, Elwing or perhaps with a son that belonged to Elrond’s mother and no other.

As a solitary tear slipped past Celeborn’s cheek and was quickly brushed away he decided with a growing weariness that Celeborn needed this more than he did. Elrond was kind above all, a conscious decision for kindness’s sake and a selfish, childish impulse that still believed that if he was more obliging, more helpful, more sweet, more loveable they would stop leaving. One day. When Celeborn was visiting he wore his hair like he’d shown him and dressed in flowing silver, grey and white, certain brooches, necklaces, circlets and weapons left pointedly in his chambers.

He spoke Sindarin perfectly of course, when he sung in it there was no trace of who had taught him to do so. Maglor Feanorian was, rather ironically, entirely forgotten when he sang, no one questioned where he might have learned to manipulate the nature and possibly, some murmured, people around him despite how obvious it should have been that there was one particular bard infamous for using those exact techniques. After all with his ebony waves down to his knees, bright eyes and distinct otherness that could only be Maiarin why should his skill at Song be worth commenting on?

He still smiled brightly when Celeborn kissed his forehead in greeting or complimented and offered advice (generally very good when not affiliated with the Kazhad in any way) on his diplomatic endeavours. The snatches of that girl were never far from Celeborn’s mind when Elrond smiled. Was this all he was, a poor substitute for a thousand different people, a corrupted reflection from a mirror of other people’s regrets? Was it even right to resent it when as Celeborn’s hands had started running through his hair for one moment he’d closed his eyes and wished them to be those of a kinslayer? Even as the warmth he craved lingered in his chest it was replaced with a gnawing emptiness, even greater than before. But Elrond was kind so he smiled as if nothing was amiss.

[distortedsense]

Art I made for my fantasy book The Day My Dream Died about a young woman who lives in a world where some people can access a dream realm called the undermind which reflects humanity’s perception of reality. The undermind also breeds dark creatures called fiends which feed on the thoughts and emotions of people. The people who can access the undermind are known as dwellers, and are often relied upon by the people around them to protect, defend and heal those touched by fiends the way a healer wards off disease and helps close wounds. Some societies are more or less proactive in upholding a practice of this tendency, and the view of what it means to have access to the undermind can be starkly different from one culture to another.

Our protagonist, a young woman named Lise, is pursuing her sister who has fled home under the influence of fiends. The problem is, her sister’s fiends seem to have become contagious and spread in the towns she has passed through. Lise finds herself overwhelmed with the number of people dead and dying in her sister’s wake and struggles to catch up in the midst of the terrible chaos. The fiends are devouring people at a rate unseen in recent history. Lise wants to do more than merely survive but even her survival is starting to seem dubious in the face of the fiends’ new developments.

The world this story takes place on is known by many of its peoples as Komalle. It is a planet whose life may seem a little surreal, owing to the fact that a single, full day/night cycle takes longer to finish than 400 of our days and nights. They count days like we count years. Broken into 4 quadrants of 10 weeks of 10 cycles of 10 hours of 100 minutes of 100 seconds. Lise is 18 nights old at the beginning of her journey, the rough equivalent of 23 years old in our world.

Something darker, a spot of perfect darkness, resides behind the mind of Lise. An inherited illness her mother had which she knows only as NON beckons her into a stasis near death. Something deeper than comatose, an undeath, which had plagued her mother throughout her life. For much of Lise’s childhood her mother lay in a cool, near death state. It happened upon Lise herself in her adolescence and she fears how a part of her yearns to return to it and remain in it forever.

tip of the iceberg for u my little tiny captains 🦔 🫡 welcome to a new world

I want the writing and art to be accessible for free on the internet but if you like the story/art and want to support me you can check out the posters I have available below. If you like a piece I haven’t put up there send me a message or leave a comment somewhere letting me know and I’ll add it.

Art Prints

I will end up reinvesting most of whatever I make into the art because that’s basically all I want to do in life anyway. Trying to do a lot with a little here, of course, and I’ll always seek to do more with whatever I have within my grasp. I have pretty severe chronic pain so I’m well accustomed to trying to accomplish a lot within certain limits. I think this project is pretty ambitious for a one person show but when the material is accumulated for everyone to see and all is said and done I think this will really be a great fantasy epic for the ages. It’s got my flair for the distorted and surreal but ultimately wondrous. It is epic adventure and horror and mental anguish and beautiful cursed trees and death and life and other assorted especially cool and radical fantasy psychicologicalphilosophickeries as they say. Please check the story out for free and let me know what you liked or loved. I share new chapters every couple weeks sort of staggered out as I have few readers latching on yet/caught up to what’s already out. Anyway, enjoy!

ART, FOOL! ART!

[yisony07]

Daddy's new masked husband

A/N: The moment I publish this is January 2nd, my birthday (🎉🎂) and to celebrate with you I want to bring you this story. It's a little silly, but anyway, I hope you like it. 

This is the sequel of:

Armand Stewart couldn't believe the circumstances he found himself in, and neither could Thomas Westwood, the man lying naked next to him. Among them was a mask, and on the table some wedding rings.

Let's rewind a few weeks back.

Armand had made the most of his powers with the mask going from bar to bar, until one day he met a man, more or less his age with whom he had been in awe.

Masked Armand came up to him, during the joy of the party, and took him home with him. Armand tasted of his cock and fed the man his own milk; the couple performed the act several times and Masked Armand, marveling at the man, thought for a while what he could do to keep track of him.

"ARE YOU SINGLE, BABY?" Armand asked as he penetrated the man Thomas, doggystyle. "'CAUSE MY HEART WANTS TO FOLLOW YA EVER".

"Ah… Fu… Fu… Yeah… I'm… A… Single…" Thomas replied, his mind drifting.

"WELL, I CAN SEE THE FUTURE" Thomas watched as a crystal ball appeared in front of him. "AND I SEE US TOGETHER AND HAPPY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?!" And two rings appeared where the ball used to be.

One of the strangest sensations that Thomas could feel in his life was sexual pleasure mixed with laughter at a joke. His breathing was ragged, and high-pitched moans came from his lips, both his laughter and his moans struggling to escape his lips. "Are… Ah-fu-haha… you… crazy?" managed to formulate Thomas, who already felt quite a lot of cum accumulating in him. "We… Fuck yeah… barely know… Uff… each other… fuck!"

"OH MAN, EVERYTHING ABOUT ME IS CRAZY, BABY!!" Masked Armand increased the pace of his thrust. "C-CUMMING!!" And a stream of cum shot out of Armand's penis, so much so that the masked man was shot backwards propelled by his penis, hitting the wall, not getting hurt. "FIU… THAT'S THE BEST SEX I EVER HAVE, BABE, WHADDYA SAY?!" And then he kind of passed out a little bit, with some birds circling over his head.

Thomas cummed too, and his cum stained the rings. Between gasps he watched the prone body of the masked man. To tell the truth, and despite the 'carnal' circumstances, it was the greatest physical-emotional connection he had ever had with anyone. He smiled and put on one of the rings and went and put the other on the man. As he did so, the rings emitted a green glow. Thomas lifted the body of the masked man and placed it on the bed.

"I'll see you someday, my husband" And Thomas, after cleaning himself, left, leaving the body sleeping.

(...)

"I can't believe I married a complete stranger!" Armando thought with some surprise, unable to understand the circumstances. "Stupid mask!" He was lamenting. Since that busy night, of which he did not remember much since he was pretty tired when hd transformed (the mask hit his head when he was about to sleep), he had noticed a strange change in his documents: they said that he had married a certain Thomas Westwood, whom he did not know and did not seem to have any social media. To top it off, he was wearing a green wedding ring with gold details, indicating that he had been under the effect of the mask.

Armand was in his car on his way to camp to pick up his son, Jack. A notorious blush was on his cheeks as he recalled the strange things he had done during those two months. "I hope Jack never finds out…".

He arrived at the camp and at the door he saw his son with full suitcases. The first thing he did was hug him, and then, after carrying the bags to the car, father and son made their way home. Jack would go on and on about what he did at camp, about the crafts he did, kayaking, camping outside around a wood fire eating marshmallows… So many activities the kid had done, to which Armand would give some comment of genuine interest, even though his mind wanted to wander over his situation.

"Dad… what's that ring?" Jack asked watching him. "I had never seen anything like it."

"I found it while you were gone… it has an unusual design so I decided to keep it" he lied, and Jack believed him.

"And did you remember to buy the school supplies?"

"No…" Armand whispered, astonished that he had forgotten.

"Yes! Let's go to the supermarket!"

Father and son, when they got to the city they took a little detour and went to the supermarket, where they bought the school supplies for Jack; lucky for Armand that they were on sale, because Jack asked for a lot of things, and he doubted how necessary they would be for school. Then they went back to his house, and while they were putting away the purchases, Jack remembered something.

"Dad, what happened to the mask from that time?"

"I threw it away" Armand lied again, and he felt worse. "We won't have to hear from it."

He actually had it in a drawer in his room, inaccessible to Jack, but he didn't want to know, less imagine what would happen in that case.

Father and son enjoyed the vacation time they had together, and Armand had no time to think about his supposed current husband...

In the blink of an eye the start of the school year had come and Armand, like the responsible father that he was, had taken his son to school and then returned home, where he was alone without doing much. His father, Don Stewart, had left him a fortune when she died and he realized that it was not necessary for him to work to raise his son, so he was bored, and his mind took the opportunity to ruminate. about his situation.

"Maybe if I put on the mask… No! I don't want to do another crazy thing…" he told himself. "What would Thomas think of this… And if I did run into him… What would Jack think of him?"

When you're concentrating on an idea, you can spend hours on it without noticing the passage of time, and that was what had happened to Armand when he realized he had to look for Jack. He went to school in his car and the boy got in.

"Dad, the teacher I got is amazing and funny!" said the boy.

"Really? That's weird, you're not the type to like teachers" the father joked and the boy snorted.

"But this one is different… It makes learning interesting! Just like the camp!" he said quickly. At that moment Armand started the car. "And he had a ring just like yours!"

"What?!" Armand turned suddenly in shock and they both felt a great jolt. "Sorry, son, I was… surprised…"

"Wow…" Jack took a few seconds to get settled. "But yeah, he had a ring very similar to yours. He passed the list and it came to my name and he seemed interested. At the end of class he asked about you, and I told him your name, that you didn't have much to do and that you were very lonely".

"Jack!" Armand chided, and the boy laughed. "You can't say things like that to your teacher…".

"Very late" answered the boy. "Do you want to know his name? He seemed interested in you…"

"What is?" Armando asked, feeling his chest tighten, and he feared for his son's next words.

"Thomas Westwood"

"Shit" thought the father, and they arrived at his house.

Being the first day, Jack hadn't been given homework, so he went to play immediately. Armand, more concerned, went to his room and lay down on his bed while he looked at the drawer where he had kept the mask.

"Magically married to my son's teacher… Fucking mask."

From that day on, Armand tried to bring and pick up his son early. It was such a strange situation and he didn't know how to handle it, so he avoided it. Thomas, as his son's teacher, used any excuse to call him and talk, but Armand dodged him, but Armand couldn't help it for long, and the moment came when, after Jack's first exams, where the grades from the first term, Thomas was forced to attend the Stewart house for a parent-teacher conference, since Armand failed to show up at school, something Jack had reported to his father.

And Armand was there, nervous, not knowing how to deal with the moment. Jack was there too, unaware of his father's thoughts. At Friday sunset, the doorbell rang and Jack opened the door. There was his teacher, whom he invited in. When he arrived in the room, Armand saw him and was fascinated. Not only because of the hot daddy who was in front of him, but because of the memories of that night that made him undress Thomas with his mind.

"Not now, Armand" he told himself as he felt his bulge. "Not in front of your son…" And he was relieved that it wasn't noticeable.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stewart" Thomas greeted, extending his hand. Armand saw the ring, just like his own, just as his son had described it. Armand returned the greeting immediately. "You've been ignoring my attempts to contact him, but since we're face to face, we have a lot to talk about." Thomas emphasized 'a lot'.

"Yes, come on, make yourself comfortable here" Armand said pointing to a seat in the living room. The two men and the boy sat down and Thomas began to talk about Jack's behavior in class.

"I must confess that at first I didn't think he would do so well… he tends to move a lot and interrupt from time to time, but generally he is a good boy" explained the teacher. "Look at his grades, he has done excellent."

"That's my boy!" commented Armando smiling proudly, and Jack smiled as well.

The men continued their chatter, and Armand could see that Thomas was quite friendly, the kind of person who took the time and patience to help each boy individually. After the school conference was over, Thomas was about to say goodbye, but Armand stopped him.

"Don't you want… It dunno… stay here for dinner? We ordered pizza, in case you want to join us" said Armand. "And we could… talk, you know."

"Talk about what, dad? I thought this was just about school" Jack said confused.

"Adults have private business to attend to, Jack," Thomas explained. "I don't really have much to do so I could stay for dinner, although it would be unprofessional…" Armand gently removed Thomas' tie and laid it on the seat. Some attraction-affection was burning.

"The three of us could play the Wii together!" said the boy excitedly. "After dinner pizza, sure, please say yes, Mr. Westwood…"

The two adults laughed at the boy's witticisms and then looked at each other, a little dazed, and looked away blushing. Thomas, Armand, and Jack ate pizza that night while the adults chatted, knowing each other better (of course, censoring themselves in front of the kid) and making their circumstances clear. Anyone who saw them would say it was a good family atmosphere. After eating, the three of them began to play. The laughter of the adults at the orders of Jack, who was frustrated when a pitiful Armand and a little experienced Thomas constantly lost the New Super Mario Bros Wii. They spent hours playing before Jack yawned, a sign that he should sleep, and it was Thomas who read the story to make the boy snore.

Once they were sure that the boy was asleep, they closed the door and the pair of men went to Armand's room, where he witnessed the events that brought them together.

"Okay… could you show me the mask?" Thomas asked. Armand thought after explaining the whole thing that he, Thomas, would be upset, disgusted, or surprised, but he seemed rather intrigued. "The next day I was amazed to see that all my documents said that he was married to you since that night and it was really crazy…"

"Uh…" Armand wasn't sure what to say. "Yes, here it is…" Armand went to the drawer and took out the object.

"Wow," Thomas said, mask in hand.

"And what do you make of the fact that we're… you know… married to the law?"

Thomas looked deeply into Armand's eyes before answering. "It doesn't really change much about my life, although maybe I was alone so long that I got desperate" he paused to laugh bitterly "so I really don't care that much, I mean, if you want to try" And at that moment he settled on the bed.

Armand blushed and felt the hard bulge of him. "Of course… my dear"

Thomas stretched and yawned. "I'm sorry, but working with children is difficult; your son will be a good student, but all the boys together… A disaster"

Armand laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I imagine, and Jack on his account can be exhausting, but now we will share his presence, so I don't feel alone." Thomas and Armand laughed together again. "Excuse me a bit, I'll go pee…" Armand warned.

"Okay" Thomas said and watched as Armand went to the bathroom in the room, leaving him alone with the mask. "What strange things happen to one in life, right?" And he stared at the back of the mask. "So you put us in this situation, could you help us then?" And he laughed again. "Supposedly speaking to a mask…".

Thomas hadn't realized that the mask was emitting a green glow, much less that it was very close to him. The mask seemed to want to get his attention and, at the most unexpected moment, the mask took on a more rubbery texture, came to life and jumped onto his face.

"What the…?!" Thomas yelled, and this alerted Armand, who quickly rushed out of the bathroom to a scene that made him feel things. The mask slowly extended tentacles that advanced across Thomas's face.

(Thanks to @kermit43 for this edited pic)

Armand felt the urge to massage his own nipples. The grunts Thomas made, the way the mask took control of his head, the way his eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets, and the way Thomas's body writhed under its influence was a sight that aroused feelings in him, similar as if he was watching a porn movie, so when Thomas yelled for help (a yell that turned into moans), Armand did nothing, letting the mask encircle his head.

"Fuck…" both men moaned at the same time. Thomas felt electrical pulses running through his body. It was painful, but he was enjoying it too and he didn't hide the moans from him. His body was changing little by little, it creaked every second and it was a difficult sensation to process. His arms, his legs, his abdomen. He felt like he was going to explode, and that magical feeling increased as he massaged his new formed pecs. Magic was taking over him, and it fed on his desires. A green gas billowed from the mask and covered Thomas's body, and when it dissipated, Armand had to stop himself from cumming at that moment.

The first thing the figure did was touch his ring, which caused a current to emerge from Armand's ring that affected his entire body and made him moan. Armand was salivating; the figure approached him with his smile and placed its greenish, full lips on those of Armand, who immediately reciprocated. They didn't care much how his saliva mixed and escaped from his mouth; their only interest was to be able to feel the other's lips on his. Masked Thomas's hands passed over Armand's body and, in no time at all, they were undressed. Without stopping kissing, and groping their bodies, feeling each other's warmth and with kisses that meant more than words, they stayed in bed. Armand had the perfect view of Thomas's body.

"YOUR SON HAS BEEN AN EXCELLENT STUDENT, BUT IT SEEMS TO ME THAT THE FATHER STILL REQUIRES...SPECIFIC ATTENTION" Masked Thomas said of Armand. "NOW IT'S MY TURN TO GIVE YOU A SPECIAL TOOL" his huge cock with a green glans was there, waiting to make that hole his own.

"But what about Jack…" Armand asked, staring into those hypnotic red eyes.

Masked Thomas drew a sign representing blocked sound and placed it above the door. "DONE, SO NOTHING WILL BE HEARD… WE CAN SCREAM AS MUCH AS WE WANT, SWEETHEART! AND BE THE HUSBAND AND HUSBAND WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE…" And the couple gave free rein to their desires.

[sunstranded]

INTJ: Identity Crisis

I have asked myself numerous times if I truly am an INTJ. I always sound and tend to assert myself as someone so sure; I am not, nothing ever is.

In commemoration to redoing my layout fully (along with other personal reasons), I shall disclose a curious discourse today.

A four-narrative about being an INTJ, non-INTJs, MBTI is a tool, and the self. Let's get started.

One: Being an INTJ, Rarity

I can go so far to also say I am enneagram 5w6 and an INTJ female. If we are talking statistics, that is really rare. The enneagram type is rare already; the INTJ is also rare, but even more if it is associated to a female. Anyone would want to feel special enough and claim such a title. Not me. No.

Sometimes I wish I was simpler, more relatable, not so easily ostracized. INTJs are described to not care for the norm and others but that is only because of the trickster Fe function. The norm, other people's likes and dislikes— alludes us, deceives us. That manifests in not caring enough to fit in which is a more accurate thing to say. INTJs is a personality type associated to how a person ticks. So the human person in question still has the innate need to belong.

I sometimes wonder, in my search for belongingness, must I let the world shape me? I would rather not. I like being who I am, detached from the titles, the statistics, the stereotypes. I like being a human person, even if numerous times I am not deemed so.

With all these, I feel the necessity of proof and reference, so let me just disclose that mere statistics of INTJ females and 5w6s mean nothing to me. I feel rare. I feel alone. I have been told too many times that I am rare; from how I think, present myself, all of that accumulate to justify that I am in fact alone. I am not so preposterous to say I am alone at the top; I feel as though I am on level ground with everyone else but I am alone anyway. Too frequently people had called me mature for my age or even when I was younger; it just begs the question: am I such an novel anomaly to people that it is deemed mature?

It hurts to feel lonely in supposed compliments. It makes me sound even more of a jackass for suffering in supposed success.

Do not be mistaken, I take pride in who I am but not how other people perceive me.

Two: Non-INTJs, the certain uncertainty

I fear, sometimes, that I may be wrong. That I am not at all an INTJ 5w6. Surely, I am physiologically female but whenever I hear INTJ memes, stereotypes, and numerous people asserting them as such, I then ask, why do I still feel like I do not belong?

There are people well versed in the Jungian Theory that they can tell apart the non-INTJs so adamant to be one and the real ones. I don't really have a purposeful use or need to be certain I am one but I know it would feel quite reassuring.

Especially since I have learned early on that acting in my default settings is so alien and frowned upon that I often times wear masks. I like to believe my behavior, the mask, is to be merely be appropriate and proper— it is my cognition and of my design, so I am still who I think I am. If I were to act as I think, I will be subjected to being that asshole of a person so detached from human emotion that I cannot possibly have a sliver of consideration for others. Hence, when the masks is to protect myself, the inevitability of hurt makes it all the more painful.

Enough of this dramatic masquerade of words, the point is I got lost in my masks. Who am I, in the barest reality? Who is this person I take pride in so much?

I want to answer that more than being an INTJ, paradoxically, I fear that I may not even be an INTJ— that it was one of the many masks.

Three: MBTI not AS a tool but IS a tool

The personality typing like enneagram or the MBTI to me started as a means to be a better communicator, a better person all-round. Of course, for a job you would need tools and I chose the personality system of Carl Jung's 8 Cognitive functions to help serve my purpose.

It works. It works so well that my tool became synonymous to my being. I became the hammer and nail to my own coffin. I have buried myself deep into relying the system that I sound so silly now, fearing if I am even an INTJ.

The lesson I learned in all these was behaving certain ways in certain situations is similar to wearing the appropriate attire to the occasion. It is normal— it is not deceitful. Moreover, I remember the start of this all, silly of me to forget. Knowing I am an INTJ is the tool I use to navigate the world as a person. To make my meaning known and to understand others better.

Four: The Self

This feels like a personal essay; I did try my best to keep it lesson-like and emotive but at the same time impersonal and unrecognizable. I hope this breaks stereotypes? I find the memes amusing but dangerous. I find the descriptions much the same. People need to be more weary and cautious of those descriptions that illicit the barnum effect. I am too lazy to explain it here, but let us just say there are descriptions that we all want to be and believe we are. Such as: wanting genuine friends.

This is so common that I fear people leave digital footsteps towards a misguided understanding of who they are. That really takes away the utility of having a system to comprehend yourself and make yourself comprehensible. Which, in reality, is the whole point of giving our personalities, our cognition, a name— to be known.

I am too lazy to properly tag, I don't really care. Oh, and as I have said, this is to commemorate my full layout change along with. The masterlist is on the works and yes, you may ask if you want.

I doubt, with how this app works nowadays, that people will and that people will even find me anyway... since I don't like properly tagging as well.

Also, I hate to break it to people, I don't talk like this because of the masks but this is how I think. There are cases where I forget to mask and filter how I speak and people that hear me are left confused.

[unovanhunny]

Hello. I just quit Twitter because you know why but I followed you on it before and let me just say your Blankshipping AUs are lovely. My favorites are Stolen Divinity, Selkie! Ingo and Kitsune! Ingo. Funnily enough just before I left Twitter I saw your Kitsune! Ingo pic and that immediate became another fave! May I please ask about what is exactly the Kitsune! Ingo AU and some fanart of it please? Thanks! ❤️🦊

I'm glad you were able to find me from Twitter!!! And I'm so happy you like my AUs! A lot of my AUs are actually joint AUs with @tombstone-pisa, including Stolen Divinity and the one with Kitsune!Ingo.

Under a cut because I dunno how to shut up-

There is a text-based porn game called Corruption of Champions where the story is you play as a person from the town of Ingham, a town that is very near this portal that leads to a world of Corruption and Sin called Mareth. Every year a champion is chosen to go through and guard the portal to prevent any of the residents from crossing back through to Mareth. Mareth is a world overrun by sex crazed demons and their influence has turned most of the population sex-crazed as well. As you play, you can collect items and foods that will transform your character with various traits of animals and monsters and they accumulate the more you consume. One such item can turn you into a kitsune which comes with their mischievous nature and their strong magical abilities.

We have a number of AUs in the CoC universe and they all mostly start the same. Ingo and Emmet were residents of Ingham, twins in a secret illicit relationship, in love and intimate. They got caught by someone and when exposed, Ingo decided to save Emmet from scrutiny and say it was all his fault, he had been the one to force the relationship, to groom Emmet into being his parter. Emmet wanted so badly to dispute it, but with all the hate immediately directed at Ingo, if he said Anything, then Ingo's sacrifice would all be in vain. Ingo was chosen to be the Champion that year, to separate him from his poor abused twin. The night before he was to be forced to enter the portal, Emmet snuck his way to him, Ingo being isolated and Emmet being guarded because of what an Atrocious thing Ingo had supposedly done. Emmet gives Ingo an engagement ring, telling him that he will follow the next year and to wait for him. They would have to make their future together in Mareth.

In this particular AU, there is something neither twin knows. That while a year may pass for the people of Ingham, a century passes for the people of Mareth. Ingo is heartbroken when Emmet doesn't keep his promise, Emmet never breaks promises. Ingo can only hope that Emmet is alright. And as time passes, Ingo becomes certain that Emmet must have had his own life. He never stops loving his younger twin, but he makes the most of his life in Mareth, building up a town around the portal, gaining abilities and becoming the most powerful kitsune to protect it, an immortal now. He never takes a partner, whatever sexual encounters he has have always been for the sake of others and not because he wants to. He will never want anyone but his twin. And at some point he thinks Emmet must be dead, so much timr has passed, he hopes he had a good life even if they never met again.

In 100 years to the day since Ingo first arrived, there's a bit of a commotion as someone has passed through the portal. Ingo is immediately on alert and goes to face the invader personally. But it isn't an invader. The one who stands there is Emmet, the same as when he had last seen him. Ingo is apprehensive, but seeing Emmet brings him a kind of joy he hadn't known for 100 years. Emmet is ecstatic at seeing his twin again, but Ingo had visibly aged and changed and that puts him a little on edge. Ingo takes him to his home so they can talk. And Emmet has a sinking feeling he has some idea what's going on. Ingo confirms that time has passed differently. And when he tells Emmet how long, Emmet has a breakdown. The idea of having left Ingo alone for 100 years, how if he hadn't found immortality, he would have gotten here and Ingo would have been dead, how Ingo must have felt being abandoned for so long. He is remorseful and filled with regret. He should have gone with him back then, he should have left that town much sooner than he did, hating it as much as he had for sending Ingo away, for treating him as a poor vicitim, for spouting hateful nonsense about Ingo at him in hopes to make him feel better about a situation that wasn't even true.

But now he is here, they are together, Ingo had enchanted the engagement ring to never age and wore it his entire time in Mareth. They can have their futures together as they always wanted.

But Ingo has changed in more ways than is immediately obvious. Ingo has become far more comfortable and confident in sex, he is no longer a prude. In fact, he is a bit of a dom, much different from the shy, prudish, nervous person he used to be. Dom Bottom Ingo 🙏

Ingo is very protective of Emmet and won't let anything happen to him, he will learn about Mareth in a safe way. Except Emmet wants to go out and experience this place himself. Ingo is so worried and is reluctant, but he lets Emmet go out in a journey across Mareth to see it for himself. When Emmet returns, he seems perfectly fine, but he certainly understands Ingo's concerns now. He is determined to find a way to become strong and protect Ingo too.

Dragons are very powerful, and immortal. He would never want to leave Ingo behind again, so that makes it a perfect transformative candidate as he does his research. A mix of dragon and salamander traits would give him the most strength as well as some very fun characteristics he can use on Ingo. A 4ft long tongue has many uses, after all~

For the record, Ingo has 9 tails, but he can have as many out as he pleases at any time.

[janhavi-21]

Places To Invest In Your 20s and 3Os!

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Understanding the fundamental principles of finance can result in considerable profits, making it critical to grasp these fundamental concepts. Unfortunately, millennials and Generation Z frequently struggle to accumulate wealth, blaming it on a lack of financial awareness. Let's take a deep breath and confront reality: we've all pushed the YOLO phenomenon too far. Don't get me wrong: the concept of "You Only Live Once" is something we can all get behind, but let's not forget that every breath we take is an opportunity to fully live, and death only comes knocking once. As Dwight Schrute famously said, "We live every day and die once." So, let us make every day count! We need strong returns on our investments in order to have a bright and comfortable future.

STOCKS:

Let's be honest: stocks are more exciting than government bonds and regular cash. However, it is totally safe to say that stocks will surely increase your wealth, finances in the long haul. Dividend stocks are ideal if you want to play it safe with your investments. Why, you might ask? Dividend stocks, on the other hand, provide payouts at regular intervals, which greatly decreases the risk of loss. High-growth equities, on the other hand, are volatile and must be constantly monitored. As a result, if you're a beginner investor, investing in dividend stocks is a great place to start. Groww, 5paisa, and ICICI are some applications you can use to invest in stocks.

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Investing can be a difficult undertaking, but fear not, because a Systematic Investment Plan (SIP) can assist you. It increases dependability and reduces risk! In contrast to traditional approaches, with a SIP in place, all you have to do is set away a certain amount at regular periods. The cherry on top is that SIPs ensure the safety net of your investment - it's a win-win situation! So, the next time you consider Mutual Funds, consider SIP instead. With SIP in hand, you can say goodbye to market timing- phew!

RESIDENTIAL ESTATE:

Finally, real estate is one of the best investments for people in their mid-20s and 30s. There are numerous advantages to investing in real estate at a young age.

The risk in residential real estate is extremely steady following covid. And the ROI, or Return on Investment, is modest to high.

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Converting the home you purchase into a co-living space will allow you to earn higher returns over time.

When you are young, in your 20s or 30s, your CIBIL score is greater. This makes purchasing a home quite simple.

The benefits discussed above emphasized the benefits of purchasing real estate. If you want higher returns and a higher ROI, we kindly encourage you to transform your home into a thriving co-living environment that will earn you a lot of money in the long run.

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[andswarwrites]

Day 17

I'm a mom who has a mom, and isn't it true that there are certain aspects of motherhood and daughterhood that give you insight so you can have empathy both for your mother and your daughter?  Let me explain.

When I was a kid my mom would repeatedly tell me: "You'll understand when you have your own kids."  I remember balking when she would say that.  I would fantasize about the kind of mother I would be, and how I would let my kids do this and that, eat this and that, and I would play with them.  There are of course differences between my parenting style and my mom's, but I understand what she meant.  As a parent, you are juggling so many tasks, decisions, cares; your child doesn't understand why you have to say no to what  to them seems like a very reasonable request, but for you it is just too much to add right now.

I sometimes say "no" or "let me think about it" or "maybe some other time," not because I can't comply with what N- is asking, but because I simply do not have the mental energy to make another decision right now.  By the end of the day, I have made so many mini choices, from the order in which I'm going to go about my work for the day, to what I'm going to feed myself and my daughter, to how I'm going to respond to messages and texts, to how I should word a certain phrase, so any additional question feels like the drop that overflowed the bucket.

On the other hand I remember how disappointing it was when I was little and it seemed like my mom was always busy, so I tend to, if she wants to play together, suggest Lego; I used to build multicolor houses with her with her Duplo, but now she's moved on to Lego at her age.  Her dad paints miniatures, and he enjoys painting with her.  N- used to try to get me to play with her MLP or her LPS figurines, but she has a friend who enjoys doing that a lot more than I do, so now I'm off the hook.

I want to create pleasant memories for my daughter, the way my mother did for me.  What I remember the most is when my mother and I would chat in the evening, when both of us were relaxed, and she would get me talking by asking me questions.  I do my best to replicate that.  I honestly think the best gift a parent can give is time.  Time and peace.  And to have a peaceful home environment you need inner peace yourself, which means keeping stress at bay, which can be easier said than done.

I'm generally pretty calm, but I do let certain feelings and emotions build up until they are released in a short, sharp burst of harsh words.  When that happens, I apologize as soon as I can.  And you know how amazing N- is?  She is so forgiving.  She does not hold onto a grudge.  She sees the best in people, and when she forgives, she forgets.  The only time this proves a challenge for her is when someone she loves is wronged.  To me that proves her loyalty.

Many people considered my parents strict.  The way I would describe my upbringing is that they had standards and requirements, but they also encouraged me to learn and take on responsibility.  At times I felt like I wasn't given sufficient freedom, but I think my mom especially was very protective.  I think N- is far less sheltered than I was, because her childhood has been vastly different from mine.  And since she is so creative, I do give her a lot of breathing room.  I encourage her to draw in her sketchbooks and on the computer, to animate, to compose music, and to write stories.

I used to feel guilty that I seem incapable of providing N- with the same structure I grew up with, but I realize now that S- and I are not bad parents just because we let N- have a messy room, which I was never allowed.  I don't really command N- to do things, I remind her and I make suggestions, but I don't enforce.  Of course there are rules that she has to follow, and she has responsibilities, and she's going to accumulate more as she matures.  I wouldn't call us lenient, I would call us relaxed.  And N- is far from rebellious, and she likes to take initiative.  The other day she completely cleaned her room, from the floor to her bed to her desk, without being told.

You know the saying "When I say "Jump" you ask "How high?"?  I've never liked it.  I feel like if our children feel they can communicate freely, and ask the reason for certain rules and regulations, it will make it easier for them to follow direction.  I think the reason N- went ahead and impulsively cleaned her room is that she agrees with me, and a living space that is neat and clean is good for mental health.  I don't need my home to be pristine, I just like a certain amount of order, and I like pretty things all around, from the pile of books on the end table to the scented candle and teacup on the table.

I think the most important quality I can cultivate as a mother is empathy.  And I need empathy as a daughter as well.  Those regular chats I used to have with Mom?  I still have them, just over the phone.  Today she called me and poured out her heart about something that had upset her.  All she needed was a listening ear and some comforting words and I was happy to provide those.  Every human has a unique perspective, and I think it enriches everyone when that perspective is shared, and it enlightens us to one another's point of view.  Within reason of course, there are some disagreements that are unavoidable

I sometimes wonder how close N- and I will be after she leaves our home.  Will she call me every day like I call my mom?  Will she live nearby enough that I will be able to invite her over for dinner regularly?  She's turning thirteen soon, which means she'll have Instagram.  I can't wait to tag her in posts and send her memes.  I remind myself every day to treasure the time I get to spend both with my daughter and my mom, because life is fleeting, and change is inevitable, so from tears to laughter, just being together is precious.  All of it.

[kspp]

FINANCIAL INDEPENDENCE FOR SOCIAL UPLIFTMENT

Everyone should have equal access to opportunities in life. While it is true that not all are blessed with the same capabilities or assets, I am certain that no compassionate person believes that anyone should be precluded from opportunity just because they cannot afford to seize it. In fact, I am willing to go so far as to say that there exists a moral obligation for each one of us who has been able to achieve something substantial–be it financial success or not–to ensure that others have a chance at achieving their dreams too.

I am a firm believer in the philosophy of ‘financial independence for social upliftment’. Some people call it ‘giving back’, although I think that sounds too altruistic. I’m not simply looking to donate or volunteer my time for the sake of good karma, I am pursuing financial independence in order to provide opportunities for others.

Becoming a millionaire needs a lot more time than a person may have to allocate towards investing. To become financially independent takes even more. So why do so many people still struggle? Let me address this question by discussing the following topics: the concept of financial freedom; its relationship to social mobility; how many people actually achieve social mobility through employment; and what can be done to increase social mobility.

Financial Freedom is a term that describes the moment one becomes free from financial obligations or burdens. In order to have this freedom, there must be some money saved towards retirement as well as some extra cash on-hand for emergencies. This emergency fund can vary anywhere between three months’ worth of expenses up to as much as one year’s worth of expenses, depending upon who you ask. The point is that after one has accumulated enough savings for either emergencies or retirement, he/she may decide how much more income he/she wishes to put into investments in order to achieve social upliftment through wealth accumulation.

What is Social Mobility? This term generally refers to a change in status in society. This change can be financial, social, or both. For example, let’s say that a single parent has two children who are also single parents living together in an apartment. If one of the children were to get themselves out of debt and financially independent by renting a house, then they would have achieved some form of social mobility through financial independence because there is no longer any shared income to support their daily expenses. Social mobility could also take place if one child were to go back to school while the other kept working at their current job – this may result in one having a more stable income than the other does for a while – but eventually both will come out with equal levels of education which should pave the way for both achieving success.

Social mobility is an important factor in an opportunistic economy, which refers to opportunities being more widely available for those who have certain means of access. Some examples include transportation, education, and money. Having these things make it easier to get by; without them, one may not be able to find work (if he/she cannot afford a car), go to school (which costs tuition and fees as well as textbooks), or buy anything (income must exist first before any kind of transaction can take place).

But what does this all mean for social mobility? There are many factors that contribute towards someone achieving it: savings and debt levels; their age and life stage; where they live; their career prospects; and even the education level of their parents.

If you are young with few commitments–or even if you are older with many–I urge you to start learning about long term wealth creation and the power of compounding. Do not let others decide how much money you need.

Becoming financially independent is just the first step! Once you have the time and resources to pursue your dreams, you will find that others want to help you succeed. I can definitely relate–I’ve found my network growing exponentially since starting on this journey. The most fulfilling aspect of achieving my goals is helping others achieve theirs too. You’ll find out soon enough that it’s not about money; it’s about giving back(and having fun doing it).

References:

> Financial Freedom vs. Financial Independence: How They’re Different, And How You Can Get There > GDP and Standard of Living

[writing-for-life]

First of all: I doubt it’s written better than yours, it’s just written by me. I would read yours a million times over, even if the message were exactly the same, because you’re far less rambly than me—I generally have a lot of what we call “Billy Connolly moments” over here (saying something, going off on a tangent for ages until everyone near forgets what you were initially talking about, to then finally arrive at the initial point again). You are always so to the point. I’m… not always 😂

With that out of the road: I so agree with what you wrote about tragedies affecting us viscerally, and that being the reason why they stick. If something makes you feel so deeply, how can you not think about it? How can you not think about consequences and wanting to do things differently? How can it not make you reflect?

And most of all: How can you not find meaning personal to you (I love that you stated that so clearly)?

The Sandman stayed with me all these years because it’s personal to me. Because it sort of matured with me (or rather: I with it)—on every reread, I find something new, and I also feel differently about certain things/events. The 16 year old who first read it loved it but didn’t understand so much (arguably, I was a fairly mature teenager, but honestly, you don’t get a lot of stuff until you experience deep loss for the first time, which is of course only tangentially related to age. So you focus on things that seem important back then, but far less now. But the thing is: They were important back then. And I related to them, like I now relate to different things). The woman in her 20s still read things very differently from the woman in her 40s I am today. My life gives it new meaning as I move through it, and I honestly think there are very few works of fiction that have literally lived with me like The Sandman did/does (and I read a lot).

I love what you write about Dream gathering names for himself, and I think about this often. He denies himself personhood yet craves it so deeply. But his sense of personhood is fragmented for a long time, and as you say, loaded with responsibility, but not stepping back and actually letting himself truly feel and understand it. You can’t separate the friend from the lover from the father from the… It’s all you. It affects you in your entirety.

I mean, he isn’t just the only Endless who accumulates names. He is also the only Endless who populates his realm with people/beings/dreams who sort of live/are sentient. He hates being alone, yet he won’t admit it. Humans are a social species, they need community (even if we sometimes deny we do). He always had that in him. He always was human in the metaphorical sense, somewhere deep down. And yes, how could he not if he holds the entire collective unconscious—he is us.

He is as multi-layered as us. As horrible, wonderful, cruel, kind. He is the mirror. And I think that’s why many of us react so viscerally to his flaws, be that with disgust or with a sense of, “But you didn’t need to die because you have learned, and that’s why we forgive you.” But we only forgive him because he owned his mistakes, and as you say: Considering who he was (as a PERSON), acting the way he acted at the end was the only logical consequence. Everything else would have been out of character.

I often think of Dream Hunters in this context, and the lessons he learned (he stays silent on it of course). If we read that story at any point before the main arc, we would read it very differently. But we don’t. It came after. And it makes the story very heavy. There’s something in it about “trying to escape your fate will come at a cost to others”, and it would be easy to see it as very pessimistic (“no matter which way you turn it, the outcome will always be the same”). But that’s not quite the truth, because while the outcome might look the same on the surface (“the monk is always dead in the end”), the reasons are very different, and one ending makes you sort of feel at peace while the other wouldn’t. And I always thought that each and every of the three main characters in Dream Hunters was Dream in a way (but that’s just my personal head-canon, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me if I just read the story completely out of context).

And here I am, going off on a tangent again 😂

To Be Human Means to Die (Even for Morpheus)

I know one of the biggest points of contention in the Sandman fandom (especially between show-only and graphic novel fans) is the end:

On the regular, we all hear the wish that the ending should have been more hopeful, that Morpheus dying is soul-crushing and devastating and sends the wrong message. And while I agree that it is incredibly sad upon first read (I actually cried my eyes out many moons ago when I first read World’s End, because that’s when I knew, without a doubt, what was going to happen), I would like to expand a bit on why I think we are actually getting the most hopeful message of them all…

It’s a Tragedy: Yes, but That’s Also Simplifying It

Let me briefly talk about tragedies first, because many people, myself included, often bring up the purpose of a tragedy first when we are talking about why realistically, there can be no other ending to The Sandman than the one we already have. That purpose is that we, as the audience/reader, are supposed to do better, and that we are supposed to learn from our hero’s fatal flaw(s).

And while all of this is true, it is also too simple.

Yes, Morpheus has fatal flaws, his inherent rigidity being the most prominent of them (on that rigidity, everything else hinges: his occasional cruelty, his sense of responsibility even if it destroys him, his inability to hold down relationships because he won’t communicate and compromise…).

But it would be too easy to say: “This is what we are supposed to learn from it, let’s not do that and instead be capable of change. Lesson learned, the end”.

For me, the most important personal truth of The Sandman goes far beyond that, and it is connected to the through-line:

Gods Can Die and Humans Can Be Immortal

When we first meet Morpheus, he is Endless in the truest sense of the word—although captured, it is very clear that he is not mortal, not human, and one step further: That he also doesn’t always understand what it means to be human. We get to know him as aloof, arrogant, proud, often devoid of empathy, and even cruel. And we all know that this changes throughout his arc. That the being who always asserted he is incapable of change finally has to admit, to himself and others, that he has changed, most poignantly in The Kindly Ones (e.g. when he tells Nuala that he lied to Ishtar when he denied he had changed).

And that change was initially a slow one--perhaps that is why he denied it for so long. But by the time we arrive at the end of Brief Lives, his change and, yes, his humanity, are already so clear to the reader that most of us probably went: “You really are slow on the uptake sometimes.”

Even Frank McConnell writes in his intro to The Kindly Ones: “And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.” And Nuala is right when she asks him: “You want them to punish you, don’t you? You want them to punish you for Orpheus’ death.” Guilt, regret, and a choice. And his reply is silence, and it’s deafening.

On Becoming Human

By the end of The Kindly Ones, Morpheus basically is human in (maybe even more than) the metaphorical sense: He feels like a human, and even his body (or at least his relationship to his body) has changed. The most important indication for the latter is when we put in contrast that the Corinthian stabbing him in Collectors doesn’t draw a single drop of blood, but the scorpion whip of the Fates in The Kindly Ones does, and that scar remains. We can of course argue about who can hurt him and who can’t, but in either case, we see a Morpheus now who is more flesh and blood than he has ever been, and he feels a sense of mortality not only mentally/emotionally, but also physically.

(I have to throw in here that the change they made in the show at this point greatly confused me, and I think it is significant, as are a lot of other changes that have been made. And I personally hope they only use them to hint at a more human side to him from the outset to make us relate more, but not as a change to the whole arc. I will admit that I would have preferred if he didn’t bleed at this point because to me, it would have had more impact when we finally do see him bleed at the end. And we got foreshadowing for the scar in the show, when the earthquakes crack one of the windows and he looks through it for the second time. Yeah, I’m really that obsessive when I rewatch it, it’s embarrassing).

To Be Human Means to Die

And before we all collectively go into our evolutionarily ingrained wish to pretend that’s not true (because most of us fear death):

It is our mortality that gives our lives meaning. Without an end, life has no meaning bar feeling empty responsibility (or endless hedonism that gets boring at some point). And after 10 billion years, maybe the burden of that responsibility simply becomes too heavy (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” he says to Death in #69. And that he is “very tired”). It can’t make up for what truly makes our lives worth living:

The Impermanence of it.

Destruction got it right when he said that the illusion of permanence basically depends on our vantage point. That we can pretend if we so wish, and that there is comfort to be found in that, but that things simply don’t last. And that the Endless are truly no exception to that rule (“…even our existences are brief and bounded. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe.”)

And yet, we look at Morpheus choosing death and think: ”But that’s it then, he can't go back on that, but he deserved happiness because he has changed, he deserved (insert preference/head-canon of choice) and will never get a chance to have it now.”

And I get it. Psychologically speaking, we often fight the idea of death tooth and nail. We fear our own, and we have to deal with the loss of loved ones. So the denial is real—it’s not one of the stages of grief for nothing. But staying in that stage of denial is stagnation—the very antithesis of change. Death and change are linked—in the Sandman, they are not truly presented as alternatives, even if we might think so. They are two sides to the same coin. Death says to her mortal form in The High Cost of Living that the fact that life ends is what gives it meaning. That’s why it always ends. And that message has already been given to us in The Wake: “(Death) gives you peace. She gives you meaning. And she bids her brother goodbye.”

It’s Not Just About Dying, It’s Also About Coping With Grief

It tells us something about our own mortality, but also about mourning our loved ones. That’s why The Sandman doesn’t end with Morpheus’ death/The Kindly Ones, but we get a whole story arc after he is gone/The Wake. Because mortality isn’t just about us. It is also about the ones we love, the ones we need to let go while keeping on living, but we also hold on to them in certain ways (“humans can be immortal” because we make them so). All the mourners are us, and in the case of grieving Morpheus, many of us are probably a bit like Matthew:

In the throes of grief, we don’t care that there might be someone else who might even be more kind and loving (poor Daniel)—we don’t want a “replacement”, we want back what we have lost. And we are not ready to move on, until we somehow are/do. And that path is painful and long, as everyone who ever lost a loved one will be able to attest to. The pain never truly goes away, but it changes, from something so raw and painful that it knocks the air out of your lungs, to something that shows up here and there unexpectedly, still painful, but a little less so. Until it only hurts around the edges of memories that make us smile, miss and love someone, all at once. That love is permanent, even if life is not. It doesn’t really die with us either, because we can pass it on.

And it is somewhat fitting that the idea of “to be human means to die”, and that death is what gives life meaning, also extends to storytelling:

Without an end, a story has no true meaning. Our lives are stories, and every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Morpheus’ story is meaningful because it has an end (I already wrote about this before in “Why the order of the last three issues of The Sandman matters” and have attached a long reblog chain)—not because it plods on endlessly (no pun intended). And that end is exactly what makes it last, what makes people feel, reflect, understand, learn, pass it on.

We, a whole fandom. continuously talk about how upset we are that he died, what we learned from it, what we would do differently (be that in our own lives or in a retelling of the story), and I’ll just leave it at that, because it drives the message home so much more than any further exploration could….

[astrolavas]

Here's an ask for you to talk about any Hunter thing you want to talk about

THIS IS A PERFECT ASK THANK U LMAO i'm gonna use it up now..

been thinking abt all the instances where hunter's shown almost crying but never actually lets himself cry

just. growing up in the emperor's oven and being raised by belos and, in general, going through everything that he went through, he HAD to learn how to completely hide and mask his negative emotions. and it's not sth u can just.. UNLEARN at once.

showing vulnerability in the emperor's coven...... was definitely not sth you could just do, and definitely not a good idea. like, especially in belos' presence, hunter had to learn how to school his emotions and very carefully choose how he presented himself, for his own safety.

and even the coven members themselves; i can't imagine most scouts would react positively if any saw him cry. or even if USUALLY someone crying wouldn't be such a big deal, hunter definitely wouldn't have let himself do that. growing up powerless, he already had to struggle with being seen as less just for not having magic and he had to work twice as hard to be even a little respected. and, as we see in asias, he still isn't treated seriously by most covenheads; part of it COULD be his age but his lack of magic definitely played a big role in how he's perceived as well. in his situation he just.. couldn't afford to let himself appear as vulnerable, at all; even if others had that luxury. he'd rather mask that with anger than show sadness.

just, he was always kept to an impossibly high standard by belos and by his own need to be as helpful as he could, making himself appear as perfectly capable, a-okay, confident and just doing GREAT. which.... we all know he usually isn't doing as well as he likes to pretend he is.

but even if he didn't try to appear as such anymore and wanted to fully open up, after years of having to endure lots and lots of stuff, he just... most likely got used to a lot of it as well. after YEARS of the same bad things happening to you, you just become numb to some of it. dealing with belos, being the golden guard, working at the emperor's coven, having no support or friends, and every other thing he had to go through everyday throughout his entire life; after dealing with so much stuff for so long, you have to cope with it somehow.

numbness/being more resistant to certain things happening and just generally.. having a hard time acknowledging that you're not doing okay, not crying easily, not wanting ppl to pity you, the tendency to avoid confronting your feelings....... all of that can be seen as hunter's trauma response as well as a self-defense mechanism. and now that he's NOT in the emperor's coven anymore, even though he technically SHOULD be able to open up as he realizes he's safe around his friends, it's not gonna come easily to him.

because deep down he feels a LOT, many things constantly, but he's learnt how to deal with that in his own ways and he's been living in this state of having to act like nothing's wrong for Years; so those small moments in which he willingly opens up.. are a lot for him for sure

i can say with full certainty that he DID cry after hollow mind, once he got to hexside and let himself feel everything he felt and process everything he found out. he COULD because he ran away, hid, and was safely stored away from everyone's prying eyes. he cried it all out and THEN he could buuuury all those negative emotions deep down and pretend everything's fine once again, and appear totally "fine" (not fooling anyone though) when he stumbled across gus.

nevertheless, there were SO many moments in which his eyes teared up and he definitely wanted to cry, but he didn't. he's locked all those sad feelings away and it just makes me wonder whether the dam is eventually going to break, and once it all accumulates, once something becomes his last straw and EVERYTHING he's kept hidden for so long finally spills out of him, and the tears come again but this time don't get stopped in time. this would be a BIG moment for him; a sad one but also.. quite cathartic, in a way.

just............ thinking, y'know

[meichenxi]

Beginners’ Gaelic resources

My mother’s family are native Gaelic speakers (Scottish Gaelic, not Irish), and the family that lives on the Western Isles still speaks Gaelic with their children. Many of my cousins are native bilingual speakers, but I grew up in England and was divorced from all of that. I tried to learn Gaelic as a child, but my grandparents actively discouraged it and eventually I stopped. 

A while ago it occurred to me: how is it I am learning Chinese when I can’t even speak their language? Or Welsh, or any of the languages of the UK? How can I think about language endangerment in other countries when I can’t speak Gaelic, as someone with half of their family from the islands? It seems bizarre when you frame it in those terms. 

Throughout the last few months Gaelic has been a casual on-again off-again project for rainy days, when Chinese gets too onerous. I’m keeping it light and fun, because I know I’ll be here for the long ride. Here are some of the resources I’ve been using:

1) Learn Gaelic with Jason: https://gaelicwithjason.thinkific.com - Jason is an American who developed an interest in Gaelic from a young age, with a degree from Sabhal Mòr Ostaig on Skye. This course is paid, but it’s one of the best things I’ve found - not just for Gaelic, but for *any* language. It’s a series of complete immersive videos about 20-30 minutes long requiring no prior knowledge, building on each other. Jason really understands the idea of comprehensible input, and I could learn a lot from him as a teacher. He also hosts the lessons in a yurt, is a terrible drawer, and wears a torque. Cool guy. 

You can check out his videos for free here: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVX7RajLZmm8i7LEuli05tw

Jason also has an intermediate course where he teaches Gaelic through folk tales from Scotland and Ireland which I will definitely use once I get there. It’s a wonderful way into stories I heard as a kid and have partly forgotten. 

2) Jason’s graded readers: Yes I love this man. He is a god. I’m not going to link to Amazon, but he has two graded readers and working on more. This is my favourite method of learning: of just opening a book and going ‘That..looks like...a verb?’ Very repetitive language, very high frequency, with an absolutely excellent glossary at the back - plus you get to read some lovely folk-tales. I’ve learnt so much from the one I have. 

3) https://learngaelic.scot : this is one of the best websites there is. It is a modern, well-designed accumulation of Stuff - it has flashcards, links to the old BBC Alba video series (highly recommended), grammar explanations, audio, more flashcards. And also tips for each level. They also have a YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqZrsYGwxA0g1KA3nKB6Y_A

4) Speaking Our Language: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AxeyZABaHeI&list=PLX1DGbPK9r2HHyLN062V_ASbIh3xXpyvb - This is a great playlist, very nicely old-fashioned, of Gaelic spoken in context for beginners. 

5) Learn Gaelic dictionary: https://learngaelic.scot/dictionary/index.jsp - This has sound, which is crucial

6) Beag air Bheag podcast on Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/34wGOU9sDTE7Vzg0qMexfv?si=2dF4YuqNQy6vdEL_smON4g&dl_branch=1 - Look. I understand none of this. But it’s an amazing podcast for intermediate learners, and I enjoy getting the occasional ‘agus’, ‘sin ceart’ and ‘ooooooo thaaaaaaaaa’. It’s nice to hear different accents and other learners too. 

7) GLOSSIKA!!!!!! I know what you’re thinking but - and it’s a big but - Glossika is free for certain small languages, and Gaelic is one of them!!! I’d really really recommend it, but best probably after the first 200 or so words to get the most from it. Basically it’s spaced repetition listening, and spoken importantly at a normal pace. Use glossika. 

(Also, for other languages, the free PDFs with standard IPA is available, uhh....quite easily...if you look..)

If anyone has any other resources you’d recommend for beginner level, let me know!! At the moment I’m more than preoccupied with Jason’s course and book, and Wiki as ever has all the grammar I need. For vocabulary, I’m not using Anki or anything specific yet, just memorising as I go along. It’s all very chill, and we’ll see how it goes. 

I...don’t know how to say 加油 in Gaelic. But. You get the picture.

- meichenxi out.

[marwankenzarisgaylittleearring]

“I’d like to end up as a tree”

Marwan kenzari (31) won a gold calf last year for his role in the movie Wolf. As of next week he is to be seen in Bloedlink (/reckless), opening’s act of the Dutch film festival. “It’s not my place to say I’m good.”

Bloedlink

“Acting offers the chance to become well acquainted with the complexities of being human. The Moroccan kick-boxer Majid in the movie Wolf had a fascinating interior life. His character was even easier to understand when he said nothing at all - I don’t think I’ve ever had as little lines in a movie. Rico in Bloedlink is completely different. He accidentally finds himself swept up in criminal business, but he’s actually just someone who’s had a whole slew of bad luck. In the movie his character undergoes a few very surprising U-turns. In my portrayal of him, I interpret all those different sides as honest, I find that interesting. In the movie, Rico does some paradoxical things, but he means all of them. Of course that’s simply not possible. That’s what makes him fascinating and tragic.”

Journey

“If I’m a good actor? That’s not my place to say. Sometimes you do the most interesting things you think are worthless in the moment. A movie is a collaborative journey, which, in the case of Wolf, I underwent with director Jim Taihuttu among others. Although I secretly did think during shooting: this will be fun. Wolf is an honest movie. The kick-boxing, the hits to the body, very little of that is pretend. Not that everything should be real in a movie, but this story required that. At a certain point I felt: this could be something really fresh in Dutch cinema. And it was.”

Peanut Butter

“Ever since that role, which I trained for quite extensively, I’ve found it increasingly important to stay in shape. It wasn’t a complete transformation; even beforehand I would exercise six times a week. But now I’m slightly addicted, yeah. It makes you mentally stronger, too. If I’ve been training on a Sunday at 7 am and then at 8 am I’m outside again, showered, refreshed and in shape while the rest of the city’s asleep, I’m 1-0 ahead. Scratch that: 10-0. I pay attention to my nutrition as well. Bread for example gives false energy. But I’m not always so strict. I get plenty of enjoyment from a good, white slice of bread with calvé peanut butter. And then fold it over, don’t cut it! You shouldn’t cut a sandwich, everyone knows that. Then you miss the first bite.”

Toneelgroep Amsterdam

“After the acting academy in Maastricht I was immediately invited to Toneelgroep Amsterdam. I was with them for three years, but found my attentions pulled towards film during that period. When the actors from TGA are - rightfully - expected to be fully available. We “broke up”, though that sounds too serious, with full, mutual agreement. I see the company as family and will be playing in Angels in America at the end of the month, in New York. Director Ivo van Hove has been very important for my development. I admire his knowing exactly what he wants, but also his ability to be unsure and searching, and to be able to be vulnerable about that. But I have to be fair to myself. I’m 31 now, and these are my most important years in film. While I hope to be an even better stage-actor when I’m fifty. I’m slightly further ahead in film than on stage. That development is tougher, needs more time and possibly total dedication. Stage is the motor in the actor’s car; film is a different muscle. But if Ivo calls me in two, or ten or forty years, he’ll be the first stage director I’ll say yes to.”

Pierre Bokma

“As the son of Tunisian parents in the Hague painters-quarter I didn’t come into automatic contact with theatre. As a kid I was mostly interested in football, the emotion you see on a player’s face when he scores - fantastic. At a certain point I realised that movies can affect you the same way, even though you know it’s fake. That’s the magic of acting. Through contacts I ended up with De Nieuwe Amsterdam, an in-between theatre course for teens for whom the leap to theatre school was perhaps a bit too big. I learned everything there: playwrights, Dutch actors, repertoire. You’re also taught which acting schools exist. And I thought: where did Pierre Bokma go to school? And Fedja van Huêt? That was Maastricht. It also appealed to me that they implemented Bijltjesdag: you might still be sent away halfway through the first year. I decided: if I’m going for this uncertain profession, maybe the best trial by fire will be going to a school where you aren’t sure if you’ll be allowed to stay. I was allowed, in the end. At the theatre academy I came into contact with art, philosophy, poetry. All of that was new. But it didn’t feel as if I was behind, I only saw it as a fantastic source of riches; as if I could try on all sorts of new glasses.”

Huntersfamily

“I never thought that this path wasn’t laid out for me, I just always let myself be lead by my passion and my dreams. My parents are happy for me; I have a good connection with both. My father is an amazing person - an accumulation of beautiful ingredients. He’s honest with himself, doesn’t spare himself and laughs a lot, that’s important to me. He might be made out of simple components, he’s from a huntersfamily, but for me these are the components that build a strong character. My dad can tell beautiful stories, about his life in Tunisia, about his old friends who aren’t with us anymore. Every year death takes someone new, and in that way a beautiful group of people slowly disappears, the protagonists of a generation. One lives close to the elements there, I find that fascinating. It’s so different to our life here. I’ll also never interrupt my dad when he starts on a story like that. Even if I’ve heard it before.”

Vampire

“I’ve always said: I want to play a woman, a vampire, a Moroccan kick-boxer. I’ve succeeded in doing the last one. A vampire is a wonderful character. The beauty of their faces, the sensuality, the tragedy of never going outside during the day, and of course their never ageing; never dying, in fact. I’d like to never die. When I was a kid, I suffered a lot of nightmares. About falling and never landing. I had a hard time in the dream world, I wasn’t a big fan of night. It was, I think, a sort of inexplicable fear of dying. At a certain moment I grew familiar with those dreams, figured out how to influence them. I could for all intents and purposes check-out whenever it became scary. I became the director of my own dream world. When I was twelve, I fell in love, and then I was over it. I still have nightmares, like everyone else, but now I find them fascinating instead of threatening. Beautiful how your mind can make a story out of all sorts of ingredients. Sometimes I call my mother to talk about what a dream might mean. For example, I recently dreamt about my grandmother. ‘She thinks about you and loves you,’ my mother says.”

Tree

“I still know fear and uncertainty, but they don’t hinder me anymore. They’re two trusted companions now, who walk with me. They keep me sharp and hungry, and in a good way, they keep me on my toes. As long as they don’t hold me back, they can be here. Fear of dying is now simply fear of no longer living. If a way to live until you’re 377 is discovered tomorrow, I’ll be the first to sign up. I’d like to end up as a tree. Then you only need to have a care for wind, rain and sun.”

[bostongirl13]

Mentally tired

A/N: The story is based on my personal experiences from a few days ago. Even though I didn't have a person like Chris in my fanfiction, I still have a lovely friend who helped me. Please do not let anyone ever bring you to this state, because no matter what others say or do, YOU are the most important, YOUR mental and physical health is the most important and it is not subject to discussion. So remember that if something disturbs your well-being, cut yourself off from it if possible. Health is very important and nothing can replace it.

Summary: You always considered yourself a mentally strong person, but suddenly someone managed to break you in a way you didn't think you could. For the first time in your life you felt so many things at once and you were powerless, there was nothing you could do. Fortunately, there was someone in your life who, although only hugged you, made you feel that you had a place in this world.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: AGE GAP, angst, anxiety, depression state, fluff and happy end, mistakes

 Masterlist

There's a kind of tired that needs a good night's sleep, and another that needs so much more. It’s like a certain level of tiredness that equates to insanity. You always considered yourself a mentally strong person. Hardly anything upset you, made you cry from a feeling of helplessness or simply mental exhaustion. However, on that one day, in which very little happened, your strong psyche was broken. For the first time in your life, you felt that you were powerless and mentally exhausted. 

You finished work late and tired as usual. All day on high brats, in a constant run and only half an hour to eat breakfast. A job that required so much of you was not the height of your dreams, but the fact that you needed money did not give you much choice. You had to accept what you had.

The air was sweet, the weather was fine even if there were clouds in the sky and you could feel the wind on your skin. You got in your car and turned on the radio. You should be on your way home, but suddenly someone flips a button in your head. You burst into desperate crying without knowing where you had so many accumulated emotions that led you to such a state. Tears ran down your cheeks, your hands clenched on the steering wheel until the knuckles on your palms turned white. Your lungs were running out of air, and your open mouth let out a silent scream that you wanted someone to hear, come and take what you felt.

You took your phone out of your purse and, with shaking hands, eyes still blurry with tears, you wrote a short message to the only person who knew he would be able to help you, or at least you hoped so.

"I can call?"

After a while, you received an answer: "Of course, Princess"

You pressed the button and after a few chimps, you heard Chris's voice.

"What's up? Everything's okay?"

You were silent for a moment and tried to control yourself, but it didn't help you, because the moment you opened your mouth to say something, another wave of tears flooded your mouth.

"I can't anymore, I don't want to work here. It's the first time I'm so mentally tired ... I ... I ..." you didn't even know if your gibberish and cry made Chris understand anything. “I…I'm so tired"

"Hey, take it easy. What's wrong, Y / N?" Chris immediately started to panic, he wanted to be next to you and beat everyone who made you cry so hard.

"Work. I can't work here anymore. Still, someone wants something, they move me from place to place, they treat me like a parasite, and the worst thing is that because of the number of fucked up rules, I have a headache" you cried all the time, unable to calm down "I eat breakfast on the run or not at all. Everybody expects me to do my 100% as if I've been working there for years. Nobody takes into account that I'm learning everything and I'm new here” you were crying on the phone.

"I know it probably won't work, but try to calm down. And tell me where you are, I'll come to get you."

"I'm trying, but I can't" you sniffed trying to breathe evenly and stop crying "You don't have to. I'm in the car and ...."

"Then take a few deep breaths and come to my place. I live closer and I won't let you be alone today. Not like that." he says firmly. You knew that a discussion with him would be useless because he was able to come to you, pack you and bring you to his home.

"Ok"

"Ok?"

"Yes, I'll be there in 20 minutes," you said and after a few words of comfort you hung up.

Even though you tried to stop crying, you couldn't. Salty drops ran down your cheeks whole way to Chris's house.

When you got there Chris was waiting for you with Dodger. You felt embarrassed showing yourself in this state and uncomfortable, but you still needed someone by your side.

"Oh my god, Y / N" Chris immediately hugged you to him, and you burst into a hysterical cry again.

"Please calm down. Everything will be fine. I promise." You knew Chris was trying to comfort you, but it was not successful. The tears kept rolling down your cheeks and soaking his T-shirt.

After a few minutes, you went inside where Chris gave you his hoodie and told you to go take a warm bath or shower. At first, you didn't want to cause him trouble, after all, you were just friends with a big age difference, and you didn't feel comfortable roaming his house like that. He, however, didn't mind and practically pushed you into the bathroom and went to order some take-out.

As soon as you got in the shower, you sat down on the floor and let the water wash off you all day. You didn't even know how long you've been sitting in the bathroom until Chris knocked to ask if you were okay.

"Yes" you yelled to him and grabbed a bottle of shampoo and shower gel to get a quick wash, then put on Chris clothes and went to the living room.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I ordered pizzas and Korean food. I remember how you used to say it was your favorite, but if you wanted something less spicy ..."

"You didn't have to" you interrupted him seeing how embarrassed he was because of such tinsel as eating. "Thank you", you smiled and kissed his cheek, and then you sat down next to him.

Chris froze at your gesture and it took him a few moments to get back to reality. He looked at you in his clothes, you looked cute in his oversized hoodie.

You ate practically in silence, except for the TV's on and the Dodger's soft snoring. You were no longer crying, but still feeling mentally tired. You didn't have the strength to go home or to work tomorrow. You wanted to run away somewhere where no one would find you. And so far that place has been Chris's house and the Korean food you chose.

"I don't know how you can eat something like this!" you burst out laughing as Chris drank a glass of water in one breath, "This is fucking hot"

"Not for me," you said, taking a piece of hot chicken to your mouth.

After you finished your meal, you sat down comfortably on the couch and played a movie. You covered yourself with a blanket and slumped slightly on the couch, pulling your knees up. You saw Chris want to ask you something, but he doesn't know how to do it.

"Bosses are assholes, and the amount of work you have to do in a short time is impossible to get done. Besides, there are no human conditions to eat a meal and the constant noise and crowds ..." you paused for a moment to wipe the tear flowing down your cheek "I can't explain it, just a red lamp lights up in my head and someone screams run, but I can't because I don't know where the exit is. I feel, I know I'm trapped and .. . "you started crying again.

You felt strong arms press you against the hard chest of the body to which they belong. You immediately hugged Chris and closed your eyes. And how by a magic wand you started to calm down. He stroked your hair holding his cheek against your head. When you got up and looked at Chris's blue irises, you felt very calm and safe. You didn't know what it is about him that makes your body relax when he touches you.

Chris placed his hands on your cheeks and wiped away your tears. You felt as if you were enchanted, but at the same time, they were doing what your heart and mind told you as if you still had full control over your actions. You bet your lower lip as your gaze traveled from Chris's to his lips and back to his eyes. And then you felt his lips on yours.

In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. His kiss is not at all the same as those you had before, but one steeped in a passion that ignites. It is the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lives in us all. You threw your arms around his neck and dragged him along. Chris didn't protest. He propped himself up on one elbow so as not to crush you with the weight of his body, and he rested his other hand on your cheek. In that moment of the kiss, you were in each other’s protective cocoon.

You felt his tongue gently move over your lip, subtly pleading for entry. You parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He took his time, slowly revealing every nook and cranny of your lips and letting your tongues dance at an unhurried beat. Your hands moved you from his neck to his hair, tangling your fingers in brown curls. Chris growled and moved his hand to your thigh, throwing your leg over his hip, then carefully placed his body on yours.

The feeling that accompanied it all was incomparable to anything else. It felt like you were just getting to know the world as a little child.

When you pulled away from each other to catch your breath, you couldn't take your eyes off you. Each of you has been examining the face of the other, trying to read feelings and thoughts.

Chris touched your swollen lips with his thumb and smiled slightly at which you smiled back.

"You are so beautiful when you smile. I don't want that smile to fade from your face. Never," he whispered.

Your cheeks turned red, you could tell by the warmth you felt on your face. But even so, you found enough confidence to answer him unequivocally.

"So don't let me be sad"

After these words, Chris's lips were on yours again.

tags:   @patzammit @ivettt​ @mostannoyingbillioner @speechlessxx​ @angrybirdcr​ @ozarkthedog​​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ @sweetflowerdreams​ @worksby-d