#early time-restricted feeding

[healthglorious]

Eat Early for Better Blood Sugar Control

Introduction For general health and well-being, it’s imperative to maintain healthy blood sugar levels. Low blood sugar levels can cause symptoms including weariness, dizziness, and disorientation, while high blood sugar levels can raise the chance of developing type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and other metabolic problems. Despite the fact that there are numerous elements that affect blood sugar…

[anipgarden]

Un-Actions, or Restriction of Activities

This is my first post in a series I’ll be making on how to increase biodiversity on a budget! I’m not an expert--just an enthusiast--but I hope something you find here helps! 

There’s a good handful of ways you can help increase biodiversity in your yard that don’t require buying things--in fact, these may actually help you save money in the long run! They may seem small and simple, but every bit counts! Whether you can do these in totality, or just limit how often you do these actions, it’ll make a difference.

Not Mowing, or Mowing Less Often

Turf grass lawns are considered a monoculture, meaning they don’t provide much opportunity for insects to find habitat--so few other creatures find them enjoyable either. An expanse of turf grass is, in many ways, a barren wasteland in the eyes of wildlife--too exposed to cross, with few to no opportunities for food or shelter, leaving them exposed to blazing hot sun, freezing cold, or any predators that may be lurking nearby. A place to be avoided. The simple act of letting your grass grow unbothered gives a chance for wildflowers to grow, and for your grass to grow taller--providing more habitat for insects, which then provides more habitat to birds and other creatures that feed on said insects. Wildlife want nothing more than to skirt by unnoticed, so even leaving the grass tall along the edges of a fence or yard can help a little. Even restricting mowing to every other week, or at a higher blade setting, can be a huge help. If HOAs or city ordinances are fussy about lawn length in the front yard, you can likely still keep grass higher in the backyard. Or, you can create a ‘feature’ where grass is allowed to grow long in a specific area. If it looks purposeful, people are more likely to accept it. Not mowing under trees or close to shrubs not only leaves space for wildflowers to grow, but also means you don’t have to deal with mowing over bumpy roots and other difficulties. Cutting different areas at different times can be an option for letting grass grow long in some areas while still having available places for play and entertainment. I’ve seen some people plant flower bulbs when pulling up weeds, so in the future they'll bloom in early spring before mowing is usually necessary. This could be another fun way of adding biodiversity to a lawn without--or before you--begin mowing in spring.

Not worrying about mowing, or doing it less often, saves you in time, money, and energy. You won’t have to buy as much gasoline for your mower, and Saturday afternoons can be free to be enjoyed in other ways aside from being sticky and sweaty and covered in grass stains. In addition, you’ll likely be lowering your own carbon emissions!

If you do have to mow your lawn, I’ve got ways you can use your grass clippings to boost biodiversity later in the post series!

Not using pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, etc.

One of the next-biggest non-actions you can do asides from not mowing is using fewer fewer to no herbicides, fungicides, and pesticides in your yard. This’ll easily allow for more biodiversity. Allowing more insects and a wide array of plants to thrive will feed back into the entire food chain in your area. In addition, these types of chemicals have been tied to algae blooms, death of beneficial insects, harm to birds, fish, and even humans. Soil is supposed to be full of fungi, especially fungal mycelium that essentially acts as a network for plants to communicate, share nutrients, and support each other--fungicide kills that, and typically makes all other lawn problems even worse in a negative feedback loop. It may take awhile to see the benefits of avoiding these chemicals, but once you see it, it really is astounding.

However! I can’t lie and say that there haven’t been points where I needed to use pesticides at some points in my gardening journey. In these cases, try to use products that are organic--like diatomaceous earth, neem oil, etc--and use them accurately, correctly, and sparingly. Follow instructions on how to apply them safely and responsibly--for example, on non-windy days and during times when bees and other pollinators aren’t likely to be out and about. With some pests (read: oleander aphids, in my experience), a simple jetstream of water is enough to force them off the plant where they’ll be too weak to get back. Eventually, you should have a balanced enough ecosystem that no one insect pest causes a major issue with the work you’re doing to boost biodiversity.

If you can bear to, try handling pests manually. Squishing pest bugs in your hand is a pretty foolproof way to get rid of some problems, or spraying them with a mix of soap and water can do the trick on some insects. Alternatively, picking them off your plants and into a bucket of soapy water is also a valid option. You’ve heard of baptism by fire, now get ready for… baptism by soap?

But also! Try reconsidering what you consider a pest! Tomato hornworms are hated by gardeners, for devouring the foliage of beloved tomato, pepper, and potato plants. But killing the tomato and tobacco hornworm means getting rid of sphinx moths, also known as hummingbird or hawk moths! Hawk moths are vital to the survival of many native plants, and are sometimes even the only species that pollinates them. If you can bear to, consider sacrificing a few tomato plants, or growing a few extras, so we can continue having these beautiful moths for years to come. After all, they may not even do significant damage to the plants!

With that in mind, be friendly to your natural pest managers! Lacewings, ladybugs, praying mantises, wasps, birds, bats, and more will help manage pest populations in your environment! Encourage them by planting things they like, providing habitat, and leaving them be to do their work! Avoiding pesticides helps make your garden a livable environment for them, too!

Letting Weeds Grow

Many of the plants we know as 'weeds' are actually secondary succession species and native wildflowers. Milkweed was regarded as a noxious, annoying weed for a long time, and now people are actively trying to plant them after learning about the important role they play in our environments! Weeds are adapted to take over areas that have been cleared out of other plants after a disaster, so they're doing much of the initial work in making a habitat for other creatures. In fact, many of them will simply die back as the environment repairs itself.

An important thing to note is to please make sure that your ‘weeds’ are not invasive species. Work on learning how to identify native and invasive species in your area, and pull out what’s harmful to leave room for what’s good!

Don’t Rake (Or At Least Don’t Bag Your Leaves)

Many insects overwinter in piles of leaves that we often rake away and bag up in the fall and winter. By doing this, we are actively throwing away the biodiversity of our neighborhoods! If you can, leave the leaves where they fall! 

If you do need to rake, put the leaves in places wildlife can still access it instead of bagging it up. Move your leaves into garden beds to serve as mulch, or along the edge of fences to rest while keeping egg cases and hiding bugs intact and free to release come spring.

Leave Snags Where They Are

Snags are dead trees/dead branches on living trees. They provide an important wildlife habitat--many birds nest in them, or use them to seek cover from rain, and many insects will also live in snags (making them an additional food source for birds and other creatures). Tree cavities are used as nests by hundreds of bird species in the US, and many mammals use them as well, such as bats, squirrels, raccoons, and sometimes even bears. Some trees form cavities while they’re still alive, but in conifers they’re more likely to form after death. Crevices between the trunk of a dead tree and its peeling bark provide sun protection for bats and amphibians, and leafless branches make great perching areas for birds of prey to hunt from above. The decaying wood is home to insects and fungi, who then feed birds, mammals, amphibians, and reptiles.  Do check on the snags regularly to ensure they don’t serve a threat to any nearby structures, but whenever possible, leave them be! 

Keep Your Cat Inside

If you have an outdoor cat, consider making the adjustments to have it be an indoor cat. If you have an indoor cat, keep it as an indoor cat. Free ranging cats impact biodiversity through predation, fear effects, competition for resources, disease, and more. Keeping little Mittens inside does a lot more to help than it may seem from the outside.

That’s the end of this post! My next one’s gonna be on things you can add to your space that aren’t directly related to growing plants. For now, I hope this advice helps! Feel free to reply with any questions, success stories, or anything you think I may have forgotten to add in! 

[furiousgoldfish]

While growing up in an abusive family, a part of me strongly refused to grow up, in fact it's still resisting it. I thought at first, it was because I was taught that I am less and less valuable as I age, but it wasn't only that. It turns out, growing around mostly abusive people, can give you some horrifying notions of what it means to be an adult.

I am going to write down how I perceived adulthood, as an abused kid, because I need to work on it myself, and if there's somebody else feeling this, know that these are not your only option for a future:

All adults are stupid, unkind, boring, bitter, aggressive, obsessed with money, do not understand people around them at all.

All adults have to play specific roles assigned to them and don't step outside of these roles. For instance: mother, grandma, father, aunt, teacher, uncle, neighbour. All roles are restrictive and people can only do whatever is assigned to this role (cleaning, cooking, working a job, going to army, being married, etc)

Adults can't play, be curious, or have fun. Adults have to be focused on their role and stay grumpy, serious, bitter and busy. They don't laugh except when drunk.

Adults are having it tougher than children. They are unloved, uncared for, nobody considers them nice or pretty, nobody wants them around or gives them gifts. Adults are permanently unwanted and undesired everywhere.

Adults have good opinions only of people who are already dead. Everyone alive is constantly being humiliated, shamed and criticized. It's better to be dead.

Adults don't care about children, and only think the worst of children. Adults think children should only exist to work and to be yelled at. Adults are dangerous.

Adults don't care about friendships, loyalty, kindness, courage, bonds, closeness, care, or love. Adults friendships are drinking and smoking in the same room while talking badly about every other person in their life. They don't play, laugh or share things. It's a big game of pretense that the other has it better.

Adults lie and fake everything. They lie about their home life, about what they know, about money. They lie about, and to their children. They tell lies confidently. They make things up if they don't know and then tell those lies as if they're truths. They don't feel guilt if caught lying and instead double down on it.

Adults have money but they can't spend it. They have to keep paying bills and they never have enough money for bills and food. They will buy alcohol and cigarettes though, but they're always stressed about bills. They consider it children's fault.

Adults are endlessly stressed about having to 'feed a family'. This is so bad that they actually end up hating their families. They wish all of their children were dead so they wouldn't have to feed them. They can't seem to stop having children but also hate feeding them. It's like they're forced into it.

Adults have to work constantly. They work their jobs and have to do endless chores when they get home. They have to get up early to do chores and do them late at night. They have to do everything alone, unless they can get a child to do it for them. They can't select not to do it, they have to shift it to someone else to avoid it. Adults have no free time, or hobbies. They have to work at all times and always know what needs to be done.

 Adults have bodies that work less and less. They can't run, climb or jump. They're always having surgeries and can barely walk. Their backs and hips hurt and they complain about the pain every time they need to do anything. They blame the work for this but can't stop working. They're still somehow stronger than children when they want to hurt children, and then they're fully mobile. But at all other times they appear sickly and need stuff done for them.

Adults never get over anything that ever happened to them. They're always victimized by everything that ever happened to them. We the children have to get over things instantly, but they are angry and bitter about the past forever. They hold grudges against family members forever. They freely take things out on other family members. They never forgive or forget or calm down.

Adults are not passionate about anything. Their main priority is looking good in front of others and convincing everyone they're better than they are.

Adults selectively care when someone is crying. If it's someone they don't know, they'll act nice about it. If they know the person they will tell them to shut up and stop annoying them. It's like they fall for strangers tears but see through anyone else's as pretense. I don't understand.

Adults die and then other adults get drunk at their funerals. They say you need to cry but they're only serious for the public part and then go and have parties where they just laugh with everyone. Adults don't care about the dead people but say you're not supposed to say anything bad about them now they're dead. They pretend they cared while the person was alive but they didn't. They obsessively clean and decorate graves just for others not to think they 'didn't care'.

Adults will betray anyone's secrets. Adults will tell other adults whatever you told them in confidence. Adults cannot be trusted with information.

Adults judge and badmouth anyone who doesn't act the way they think people are supposed to act. They will impose their own rules and morals on others and shame anyone who doesn't agree. They insist that everyone needs to follow their assigned family role even though they complain about hating their own. They use the most horrid slurs for people they consider 'bad at their role' and write these people off as parasites and worthless people

Adults all agree children should be obedient, quiet and never want anything or disturb them. They want children only to present them with achievements and work for the rest of time.

Adults have sex but nobody is supposed to say anything about it. It's unclear whether they want to be doing it. If it's a part of a role it doesn't seem like they can say no.

Adults can't be cared for or pampered like children can. Adults do not get candy or chocolate. Adults say it's because children are cute and they're not. Adults are jealous of children. Adults complain about not being cared for.

Adults don't understand how hard children have it and always say being a child is the easiest and best time of life. They seem jealous and tell children to be grateful because it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine surviving worse. They claim their childhood was better than anything they deal with now because food was free and they didn't have to have a job.

Adults have no freedom. They have to stay with family and play their role. They can't survive otherwise. They leech off of each other and hate everyone. They live by imposed rules that force everyone to stay together even if they hate each other. They hate everyone around them. They feel loyal to no one. They bring misery to themselves and people around them and don't feel shame or responsibility for anyone they've hurt or ruined.

Adults don't see others as people with their own inner world. They insist that everyone except them is stupid, shallow, mindless and worthless.

Adults are all cowards who will submit to anyone who is stronger and louder. They'll only fight those who are weaker. They don't care about justice and will happily punish victims in unfair fights. They themselves are bitter and upset if they don't get the justice.

Adults only ever look out for themselves. They don't care about other people. They want money and others to admire them and to serve them. If that is not happening they are angry and bitter at the entire world.

Adults don't see good in other people. They don't see what someone else needs or deserves. They don't care about adventures or magic. They don't have wonder or awe inside of themselves. They don't even look at beautiful things in front of them. They don't care about nature, animals or trees. They don't care about books or knowledge, or reading. They don't care about stories or legends. They don't care about people who suffer so badly they want to die. They judge people for suicide.

They don't care about creating or making something unless it can be sold for money. They don't even tolerate others doing it.

They love no one. Everything they do is a drag and a pain to them and they want to push their work on someone else all the time. They don't care about anything except money and how to get more attention and keep pretenses. They have no true friends or care for anyone. All they have is work, rules and roles they need to act. Their lives are meaningless. Even though they have money they cannot travel or use it for fun or joy. They don't think anyone should be free to do as they want. They have no dignity or honor but pretend they do when in company. They yell but pretend they're victims for 'having to yell'.

They don't care if someone wants to die because of their actions. They don't care for anyone who wants to live differently. People who live differently are worthless and stupid to them. They think they're the only ones who are always right even when they're always wrong.

Adults are convinced that when I grow up this will all make sense and I will grow up to be exactly like them

If you felt as a child, or still do, that these are the truths of adulthood, and something you'll end up becoming, it's not true, and it's mostly just abusers who live their lives in this manner. If this is the only thing you've ever known and seen as a child, adulthood would be terrifying and feel like you'd have to lose your soul in order to become like this.

I'll write another follow-up debunking these and writing what I feel adulthood is right now. It's just definitely not that. And living around people who act like this is normal, is traumatic.

[cannabiscomrade]

It's Gastroparesis Awareness Month

Hi! I have gastroparesis and I'm an insufferable know-it-all so let's talk about it!

Gastroparesis, or a paralyzed stomach, is a condition that causes delayed gastric emptying.

This can cause a range of symptoms and complications:

nausea

vomiting

early satiety/fullness

upper gastric pain

heartburn

malabsorption

dehydration

malnutrition

Gastroparesis can be treated by a gastroenterologist, but often needs to be managed by a motility specialist due to a lot of misconceptions about the condition. Providers, especially in the emergency department, will commonly misdiagnose gastroparesis as cannabis-hyperemesis syndome, cyclic vomiting syndrome, gastritis, food poisoning, etc.

There are several commonly known causes of gastroparesis like vagus nerve damage from diabetes, injury to the stomach, and stomach surgery like hernia repair or bariatric surgery. There are also idiopathic cases with no known cause. Other causes of gastroparesis are:

Connective tissue disorders like HSD and EDS (commonly hEDS and cEDS)

Post-viral (like COVID, viral gastritis, mononucleosis/Epstein-Barr)

Restrictive eating disorders

Autoimmune diseases like Systemic sclerosis (scleroderma), Lupus, Hashimoto's

Central nervous system disorders

Gastroparesis also has common comorbidities with conditions like:

POTS and other forms of dysautonomia (POTS, EDS, and gastroparesis are a common triad of diagnoses)

MCAS

SMAS (which can also present with similar symptoms to GP)

Intestinal dysmotility and esophageal dysmotility disorders (known as global dysmotility)

PCOS with insulin resistance

Endometriosis

SIBO/SIFO

Chronic intestinal pseudo-obstruction

Migraines

Certain medications like Ozempic and other drugs in that class act on the digestive system to delay gastric emptying, which has caused people to be diagnosed with gastroparesis. Some people report that their cases have not gone away since stopping the medication, others report feeling better after stopping. Other drugs like opiates and narcotics can cause delayed gastric and intestinal motility as well, but these are commonly known side effects of those painkiller classes.

Gastroparesis is classed based on severity and graded based on how you respond to treatment.

Severity of delay ranges from mild to very severe, and this is based on your actual stomach retention calculated at 4 hours into a gastric emptying study.

The grading scale ranges from one to three, one being mild and three being gastric failure.

There is no consistent single treatment that is proven to work for gastroparesis, and there is no cure. Treatments can consist of:

Diet changes (3 Step Gastroparesis Diet, liquid diet, oral sole source nutrition)

Prokinetic (motility stimulating) drugs

Anti-nausea medications

Proton-pump inhibitors

Gastric stimulator/gastric pacemaker

Pyloric botox and dilation

G-POEM/pyloroplasty

Post-pyloric tube feeding

Gastric venting/draining

Parenteral nutrition

IV fluids

Other surgical interventions like gastrectomy or rarely, transplant

Gastroparesis is a terrible disease and I hope that if any of these symptoms resonate with you that you can get checked out. I was misdiagnosed for a long time before getting a proper gastroparesis diagnosis, and all it took was a gastric emptying study. This is ESPECIALLY true if you're having post-COVID gastrointestinal problems that are not improving. I almost died from starvation ketoacidosis because of how serious my GP got in a short period of time post-COVID (I had GP before COVID), and now I'm tube reliant for all my nutrition and hydration.

Stay safe friends!

[streamingcolors-gvf]

Skin Deep - Part 9 1/2

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka

Word count: 6.3K

A/N: If you missed my post, I’m breaking this chapter up into 2 parts instead of waiting to do one long chapter because it’s been taking me so long to update. I am planning on posting the other half at the end of this week. (Also I apologize for any editing mistakes)

I’m feeding my Jake girls with this one!

As always, I appreciate all the love, support and feedback y’all give me ❤️

Warnings: cursing, tobacco use, sexually explicit content- 18+ MINORS DNI! (Unprotected penetrative sex)

Masterpost, Chapter 8

You’re awoken by the rumbling of distant thunder and the patter of heavy raindrops hitting his bedroom window. You stretch an arm over the soft ripples of his cotton sheets expecting to feel Josh lying beside you. There’s emptiness where he should be —  only the residual warmth from his body left beneath your searching fingers. 

Thinking he might be in the bathroom, you blindly take a pillow to hug close to your chest and fall back into your slumber. When you realize he hasn’t returned in some time, you finally decide to open your sleepy eyes. You rub them until your vision clears, seeing the gloomy blue haze casting the bedroom in darkness. 

It could be early morning or close to noon with how the weather is making it difficult to tell what time it is. Looking around for your phone, you note that his is missing from the bedside table. You also notice the cracked window behind his dresser that’s allowing the sounds and smells of the morning storm to trickle in.

You find your phone tucked beneath your pillow, instantly squinting from the brightness assaulting your sensitive eyeballs. There is a message notification from Josh across your Home Screen from 4:29 am, and you quickly swipe to read and respond to it.

Your heart sinks, and disappointment settles in the pit of your stomach. The spot next to you feels colder now knowing he won’t be back. You were looking forward to waking up and spending time with him this morning. Accepting his shift in priorities, you put on a brave face and type another message back. 

There’s a grin plastered across your face so wide it stretches from ear to ear while that bubbly, giddy feeling flutters wildly in your chest. But it’s barely past 5 a.m., and you need your rest.  

Although falling back asleep is not as easy as you anticipated. You cocoon yourself in the pillowy duvet, only to toss and turn around in the large bed despite the peaceful lull of rain. To your dismay, it does little to calm your racing thoughts. 

Your restlessness wins over your determination, so you decide to make the trip into the kitchen for a glass of water. It’s still early morning, and with the overcast, the hallway outside of their bedroom remains dark. Expecting silence, you’re shocked to hear the muffled sounds of the television coming from the living room. 

You tiptoe quietly across the hardwood floors hoping to sneak by undetected. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Jake and you’re unsure how to approach him, especially with how things were left on questionable terms. Once you reach the threshold, you peer around the corner of the wall to see him stretched along on the couch. Your stomach flips and twists until you realize that he’s asleep curled up with a quilted throw while a cooking show drones on in the background. 

He’s positioned on his side and nestled into a large pillow that you can only assume was taken from his bed. You pause, questioning to yourself how he ended up here, fast asleep on the couch instead of in the comfort of his massive bed. Everything from the day you met him has felt controlled and restricted — showing you only what he wanted you to see. 

Yet, at this very moment, he seems so fragile. You take in the sight of him, that innocence that’s rarely revealed. His long hair is swept back from his face, revealing a pierced ear that’s usually hidden by the dark tresses. With the blanket tucked beneath his chin, soft snores leave his parted mouth. 

Taking the chance, you pad over to their kitchen and pull a clean glass from one of the cabinets. After filling it and making it halfway through the living room, you do a final check on Jake before walking back to Josh’s room. 

You’re met with open eyes staring back at you. 

You freeze in place with bare feet glued to the floor as if you’ve been caught red-handed. Guilt washes over and you brace for his anger, the surge of hostility that Josh once showed to you in his weakest moment. You wait for those harsh words thinking that he might not have as much patience for you, but there are none. The look he’s giving you is not a glare of resentment. It’s not even one of distaste or apathy. It’s vulnerable, perhaps one of defeat. Sadness tips his dark brows and pulls them together as his eyes take in your presence.  You stand like this, imagining the thoughts behind those sullen irises, locked in his gaze with only the sounds of the television filling the space between you. 

Without a single word spoken, he raises his arm to open the blanket. It’s a simple gesture, one to beckon you over to him. It’s like he’s hooked you with an invisible tether, drawing you in step by cautious step. You fall victim to him, placing your glass of water on the coffee table while he shimmies against the back of the couch to give you more room. You carefully crawl onto the cushion and slide in with your back against him. The second your bodies meet, the heaviness weighing between you dissipates. 

When you finally settle into place, he drapes his arm across your stomach and pulls you in close, cocooning you in the heat from his body trapped beneath the quilt. He breathes in your scent and molds himself to you by slotting his leg between yours. The softness doesn’t end there. The comfortable jersey knit of his ratty t-shirt brushes against your skin as he hugs you. 

These touches are different somehow. They’re affectionate as if he’s holding you this tight for desperate reassurance. You lay silent and perfectly still under his arm, feeling the tiny puffs of breath leaving his lips with the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back. 

Thoughts race faster than they should, processing the fact you’re now cuddling with him. You have a million things you want to say, but none of them make the journey to your tongue. 

“What are you watching?” You ask softly, your voice just barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of rain.  

He hums with his face completely buried in your hair, “I dunno.” Sleep crackles in his low voice, “Jacques Pepin I think. He was making a lamb roast last time I checked.”

You focus on the famous French chef, admiring the nostalgic quality of the aged recordings. “Looks like chicken to me.”

Instead of responding, he shifts his body to change the position, moving you to your back so he can rest his head against your chest. He nestles into the crook of your neck and relaxes instantly, letting any anxiety he might have felt dissolve into your embrace.

 “Why were you sleeping on the couch?” 

He doesn’t even bother to lift his head. “Hmm?”

You clear your throat to repeat yourself, “Why are you out here and not in your bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles, muffling the words into your shirt. “You know… I’ll never get tired of seeing you in my shirts.”

“Funny. I got this out of Josh’s dresser.”

“This is a high school soccer shirt. Only one of us played soccer, Dove.”

What other secrets do you have? You wonder, imagining a younger version of him — one without the tattoos running around on a field wearing this shirt. 

Your fingers develop a mind of their own and start to explore the planes of his covered back. At first, he reacts to your curious touches as they become more deliberate. The faint brushes of your fingertips transform into light scratches of your nails. You draw changing patterns over valleys and ridges of his back until you make your way to his neck. 

The cooking show becomes nothing more than background noise, voices lost in the calming sprays of heavy rain washing the back patio. You fall into that peaceful corner of your mind as you play with his hair, twirling those delicate strands of his chestnut locks. It’s when you lightly scratch his scalp that you hear those faint snores again. 

You smile to yourself before taking the opportunity to feel across the underappreciated details. He doesn’t stir as you trace along the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbone to the shell of his ear, or even when you tuck the fallen hair behind it. After confirming that he’s fully asleep, you let them wander along his jawline and down the expanse of his neck. 

Minutes go by, possibly an hour, interlocked like this until he makes another noise. Nearly drifting away yourself, you barely catch it. It’s not coherent, making you think he might be talking in his sleep. He hums again, but the gravelly sound stays trapped inside his throat. 

You then feel the heavy throb of his cock against your thigh. It’s slow, but steady, growing with the sluggish pace of his resting heartbeat. You’ve been more than content ditching anything sexual with him this morning, but it’s becoming obvious how much you both needed each other like this. 

You try your best to ignore it, but as it becomes harder with each passing minute, it drives away any innocent thoughts farther from your mind. And with that presence, a familiar ache begins to build in your core, causing you to squirm against him. 

He responds by clutching you tighter around the waist. You pause thinking he’s now awake, but the rumbling of his snoring continues. “Jake,” you whisper with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. The only answer you get in return is a drowsy groan that vibrates against your skin beneath his chest. He remains quite stubborn even with his erection beckoning him from his dream state. 

Before you can repeat his name, he rocks his hips into you. The lazy movement doesn’t follow a set rhythm, only serving the purpose of finding friction. You question whether he realizes that he’s driving his covered cock against your inner thigh. “Jake.” 

The thin fabric of your cotton briefs and his sweatpants doesn’t provide much of a barrier between you. His breathing starts to change, sleepy sighs evolve into steamy pants. Their heat is tacky on your chest, making your t-shirt cling to your skin beneath his mouth. 

The feeling of his hard cock pressing against you saturates your senses — persuading you. In an act of shameless need, you rake your nails across his back and grind yourself against him, whining loud enough for him to hear, “Jake!”

“Shh,” he shushes as he slides his hand from under your back and brings it to your hip. His thumb massages the path of skin above the band of your panties before his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt. You writhe from the contrast of the cool air and the warmth of his fingertips dancing up your body. 

They circle your breast, ghosting over your already hardening nipple. Even in his current state, he can’t resist teasing you. You wish that you could reach between his legs and return the favor, but the couch does nothing but restrict you, causing your impatience to take over. “Let’s go to your room.”

He shakes his head, dragging the tip of his nose across your chest with the rasp of his voice following, “No.” 

While his answer surprises you, he doesn’t deny you. A familiar path is taken from your breasts up along your neck by his mouth, feeling as though he’s everywhere, yet nowhere. You give yourself to him as the heat of his weighted breaths wrap around your flesh once he passes the collar of your shirt. The prickle of his stubble grazes your throat with every sweep of his lips. You swallow harshly, anticipating those playful nips of his, only to be gifted with teasing flicks of his tongue.

Needing that hungry kiss on your lips, you search for his mouth that’s been busy spoiling your jawline. You hold his face, cheeks grasped firmly between your palms to tug him close. The contact is as electric as the flashes of lightning of the summer storm, causing desire to rumble in your chest like the distant thunder as his tongue slips effortlessly past your bottom lip. What was once a fading memory over the passing week, consumes your conscience within seconds. You can’t escape how forbidden he still feels — a temptation you thought you had become strong enough to abstain from. 

You’re tossing your sobriety out the window, to be lost and beaten underneath the heavy shower of raindrops. There’s something new this time — a neediness within the warmth. It’s almost as if he’s relinquished all control to you. There’s a tortured romanticism as you breathe in his scent, catching the lingering musk of his cologne in his sleep-tousled hair from the night before, the hints of the last cigarette he smoked, to the strong aroma of coffee that he must’ve sipped on hours ago. 

He moves to be fully on top of you, allowing you to hitch both of your legs around his slender waist. It drives his covered cock harder against your core, making him groan into your parted mouth, “I need to have you now.”  

With his weight balanced on his other arm, his hand leaves your breast and rushes down your side. You can’t see the clumsy movements, but you can feel him dive into his sweatpants without bothering to remove them. After finally freeing himself through a few deliberate strokes, he brushes over the soaked fabric covering your pussy to feel you shudder beneath him before hooking his fingers around your underwear and pulling it to the side. 

“Jake,” you whine, thinking he might use this perfect opportunity to taunt you. But he’s as impatient as you and brings the head of his cock to your entrance. You’re already aching with need, and can’t help but lift your hips to guide him in. 

In a barely controlled roll of his hips, he slips inside with ease. The sudden stretch of him makes you gasp in unison while his head falls into the crook of your neck. Breathy curses skitter across your flesh as he nudges himself against your cervix. 

He’s only been inside you for mere seconds, but you wonder if you might lose yourself right here and now. You’re already writhing on top of the cushions, feeling and grabbing for any free part of him you can find. 

A primal moan erupts in your throat while you crane your neck against the arm of the couch. He hears this, and lifts his head to bring his calloused fingertips to hold your chin as he instructs in a silken tone, “Look at me.” 

Your attention snaps back enough to focus on his face hovering inches above you until your eyes meet those burnt-umber irises. The lust-blown pupils cast behind heavy lids admire you, floating down your features to linger on your lips before making their way back. The intensity of his gaze feels so intimate you’re pressured to look away. He licks his lips, asking, “Feel good?”

You nod, giving him a whimper as your only answer. A playful smirk forms on his face as time passes in silence while still buried deep inside you. “Good.” 

The eye contact he has with you is unwavering, making you realize that this is the first time you’ve experienced this with him. There’s no smoke and mirrors this time — no makeup or fancy clothes or even late-night drunken implications to mask whatever this is. Even in the throes of your desires, that recurring guilt tries to resurface from the memory of those text messages with Josh exchanged barely an hour ago. Before your mind has the chance to pollute those thoughts, he sweeps his thumb across your bottom lip, tugging at it gently before continuing, “Listen to me, dove.” He pauses, flicking his eyes back and forth between yours. “I want you to think about me and only me right now. Can you do that for me, baby girl?”

“Mhm,” you whine as your brows furrow and your mouth drops. He’s barely moved aside from the slight rocking of his hips with just enough leverage to push your limit, causing you to flutter around him. 

“I was beginning to worry that I would never feel you again,” he coos affectionately, sweeping the hair from your cheek to tuck behind your ear. 

The small confession is disguised so well that you almost don’t catch it. You want to ask him what he meant by it, even to reassure him in some way, but the words fail to form. 

He finally starts to move with purpose, finding a steady pace of deep and shallow strokes. Unlike before, there’s little power behind his thrusts. He’s not fucking you so hard you can’t think or remember your own name. Right now he wants you to think — predict his languid, gliding movements that are meant for you to feel. Feel how much you’ve soaked his cock within minutes, feel him brush against that not-so-hidden spot, feel how full he makes you. As tightly as you clutch onto him, you can’t bother to hold back the pitchy mewls and staggered breaths that break free.

He hums through his own sounds as he creates a trail of kisses toward your ear, whispering in a saccharine-sweet voice, “You love it when my cock worships you, don’t you?”  

“Yes,” You admit in your cry, turning your cheek to him hoping to meet his lips. He stills with the heat of your shared breath providing a stark contrast to the crisp, chill air floating through the screen of the open sliding glass door.

“Did you miss me?” He mumbles against your lips as he withdraws himself to the very tip before sliding himself back in. You gasp, holding him close by the back of the neck.

He licks into your mouth with faint flicks of his tongue — soft and sweet. You kiss him back and squeeze your legs around his back, forcing him to stay deep inside. He responds by taking your hand, lifting it to rest against your head, and slotting his fingers between yours. “You know I want to spoil you, right?”

While your mind reels, he doesn’t wait for your answer before squeezing his fingers around yours. “I’m going to keep my promise,” he whispers, his mouth abandoning your lips in the search for the shell of your ear. “No one else will compare to me.” 

It’s no surprise how he’s making you feel. He’s done it before, getting you drunk off his cock. He knows it given that little smirk pressing against your cheek. You lay here panting yearning for that divine release. It’s powerful enough to make you squirm and pull your hand away from his. He releases it without protest, watching as you bring your fingertips to your lips. 

After glazing them with a coating of your own spit, you drop them between your legs. His eyes fall with your hand, mesmerized as you circle your swollen clit. “That’s it. Touch yourself for me, dove.”

He repositions and quickly finds a rhythm that matches yours. Even though your underwear hinders your movements a bit, you’re so close it doesn’t matter. As you near the cliff’s edge, your focus blurs. You try to watch him anyway, determined to study the changing expressions on his face, how he’s lifting his shirt enough for you to see the patch of hair leading to his navel or the way his sweatpants rest on his tattooed thighs. 

He’s having a hard time choosing where to look, ultimately settling on your fingers and himself as he fucks you. Now that it’s threatening to pull you under, you’re desperate to savor the feeling of him. It’s something you won’t be able to replicate on your own no matter how many expensive toys you purchase. It’s him. The intoxicating warmth of his body, and luxury-velvet touch of his cock, the heavy pulse of his heartbeat, the grasp of his calloused fingers around the back of your legs. It doesn’t take him long to notice that you’ve slowed and lifted your fingers. He tells you in a shuddered breath, “Go ahead. Make yourself cum around my cock.” 

Hearing him say the words is all it takes to convince you. Looking directly at him, you touch your clit again, making yourself jolt at the feeling. He smiles, praising you, “You’re doing so good for me.” 

The roll of his hips slows, giving you full control of your orgasm for the first time. He wants you to be the one to take the plunge into your release. “I’m s-so close,” you whimper.

“I know, baby. I can feel you,” he rushes out, giving away that he’s there alongside you. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Facing him, staring right into the depths of his eyes is an entirely different experience. A closeness, an intensity to an unmatched level. It scares you but excites you in the best way. Another facet of pushing you out of your comfort zone without you even realizing it. 

You come undone within seconds, clenching around his cock so tight he stops moving altogether. A violent cry leaves your strained lungs, making you thankful the rain drowns out your sound. He falls forward, keeping your legs hooked around his hips. 

“You make me lose my fucking mind,” he whispers into your hair, so faint you question if you were supposed to hear it at all. His thrusts become weak and shaky as if he’s edging his own release. 

You slip your fingers into his tangled mane, holding the back of his neck. “Please. I need it.”

“Say it again.”

“Jake, baby. Please,” you plea against his exposed ear, voice scratchy with unabashed desperation. It sounds innocent, so delicate, like the fluttering wings of a songbird.  

You swear you hear him whimper, but you doubt yourself and think you imagined it. He quickly nips at your skin before sinking his cock to the hilt inside you. Incoherent curses leave his mouth, showering your skin like tender kisses. You hold him tight as his cum fills you with every spasm. 

He doesn’t move for several minutes, but you don’t argue. You keep him close, letting him soften while his release starts to drip from you. It’s comforting to have him lay with you, like a weighted blanket. You want him to say something, but a part of you believes he needs the silence. You feel across his back, realizing how sweaty he’s become now that his shirt clings to his skin. 

He eventually with you, causing your underwear to slide back into place. He’s careful moving around your legs as he sits and settles against the back of the couch. Annoyed with it, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor. For a second, you feel tempted to trace the cloaked figure covering his back.

Without saying a word, he reaches forward, pulling up the band of his sweatpants over his ass as he snags the blue pack of cigarettes off the coffee table. You watch as he flips the top with his thumb and pulls one out between his lips before tossing the pack back onto the table. He shuffles over to the sliding glass door and pushes open the screen enough to step out. 

Standing against the doorframe to avoid getting rained on, he digs a lighter out from the deep pocket of his sweats. He lights the end of his cigarette and pulls a long drag — an action that’s so fluid it's become second nature. With so much unsaid, everything feels as though it's moving in slow motion. Each passing second is an eternity, a daily routine that neither one of you would have batted an eye out. 

But this silence isn’t deafening. Tension isn’t living in his shoulders. Looking at him, you can tell that his posture is relaxed as he blows out each smoky exhale into the outside world — and he’s never looked more attractive to you than he does right now. 

Josh is a bright summer day, memories filled with youthful promises and laughter that makes your side hurt. Jake is your impending storm, frightening and hauntingly beautiful. You should look away, and run while you can, but you find yourself caught in the center of it. You’ve experienced enough to see there’s torment behind his eyes, pain sewn within his soul. It makes you ache, questioning why it exists when his other half beams with light. But with the wrath of any storm, there’s a moment of serenity that follows. 

You look at him leaning up against the doorframe, lost in the thoughts that he’ll never share with you. You’re never going to be one to complain about seeing the collection of his tattoos. Inside your mind, you gush about how the gloomy lighting looks on his inked skin, the way those worn sweatpants hang low on hip bones, how his knotted hair still manages to look beautiful tucked behind his ears —  an image you make sure to paint into memory. 

You suddenly stand to your feet and stretch out the stiff muscles while wrapping the quilted throw around yourself to keep warm from the incoming draft. He glances at you, espresso-dark eyes rich with intrigue. You would normally fight it back, but you reveal the smirk trying to show through as you make your way over. His eyes narrow and a brow lifts, but a smile forms the closer you get. You stand before him, holding that smitten gaze up at him for far longer than you planned. 

You reach your hand out from an opening in the blanket, silently asking for a drag to which he shakes his head and clicks his tongue at you, “Smoking is very bad for you, dove.” You immediately pout, making him flash a cheeky smile and put on the corniest British accent, “A foul, retched habit, really.”

Defeated, you cast your eyes to the soaked wood of the deck and mutter under your breath, “Josh lets me.”

He just chuckles, luring your attention back to him. You can see the gears turn in his head as he licks across his bottom lip and flicks the filter aggressively with his thumb before taking another drag just to rub it in. He responds to you through the blown smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well, he’s soft for you.”

You would question what he meant by that, but you know better than to pry. Doubting he would even answer you, you hug yourself, pulling the blanket tighter around your body, and huff, “And you’re what? An impenetrable fortress of mystery?”

A devilish smile flashes in an instant. He peers down at you as he brings the filter to his lips once more instead of firing back at your quippy remark with one of his own. You decide to risk the consequences, plucking the half-burned cigarette from his loose fingers. 

Thinking the bratty move would ignite that darkness in him, you’re surprised to see his expression staying soft. The glimmer in his eyes distracts you so much that you almost forget about the stolen cigarette. 

You couldn’t care less about the nauseous rush of nicotine, or the harsh taste of smoke now filling your lungs. You’re only doing it to feel close to him again, knowing that his perfect lips wrapped around the same paper seconds before you. His eyes never leave you, making you blush and close the last inches of distance. You finally give the cigarette back by placing it back inside his mouth. He gladly accepts, melting into your touch with a rumbling groan as you wrap your arms around his bare waist.  

You nuzzle into the warmth of his chest and listen to the rain, wishing that you could stay in this moment forever. On the surface, you try to convince yourself that this is just the rush of endorphins flooding your brain. It’s the contact post-sex that’s making you feel this way. Deep down, however, you’re just not ready to admit to yourself that this could be something more with Jake. That you’ll yearn for the way his fingers are rubbing circles on the small of your back for days to come. After a few minutes of peace, he ends the silence with a cough to clear his throat. “We should finish that leg piece today. You never scheduled your follow-up, by the way.”

“Today? I thought the shop was closed on Sundays.”

“It is. That’s why I think it will be a perfect day for it.” He stretches, breaking the embrace to toss the butt of his cigarette into the old planter sitting outside the door. “Just you and I.” Once he notices your hesitation, he drops his smile. “Do you have work?”

“No, but I really wasn’t expecting to get tattooed today.”

His eyes drop as he taps the center of your chest even though you’re still wearing his t-shirt. “This one wasn’t planned.” Just when you open your mouth to explain, he interrupts the thought by dragging his fingers up your throat before wrapping them around it. He holds you and leans in, placing a kiss on your cheek. “I just don’t think I can go another day seeing mine unfinished.”

“I dunno...” you trail off, tickled by the warmth of his breath.

His lips brush against your skin with every word. “I’ll take care of you, okay? I’ll pick you up a nice meal — your choice. Get you nice and hydrated. I think I have some numbing cream from my last convention you can use.”

You giggle at the thought, fitting right into the perfect space between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in like he’s fresh laundry right out of the dryer. “Numbing cream? Isn’t that cheating?”

He hums to the feeling of you kissing his throat. “If it meant that you would proudly wear my work, then I’ll buy you all the numbing cream you want, my dove.”

Your heart flutters from his words — the generosity. “You really want to spend the day with me? Aren’t you tired of me yet?”

“I think that’s the silliest thing you’ve asked me yet. Of course, I want to spend the day with you.”

As you start to break away, he hooks your arm to pull you back. “Hey.” He hesitates for a second like the thought has been weighing on him for a while. “Why did you leave your dress here the other day?”

“Oh… I guess I didn’t want to shove it in the backseat of Josh’s car.” You make a face that is akin to a grimace, one that he catches onto instantly, causing him to laugh and shake his head. 

“Okay, that’s fair,” he admits with a throaty laugh, following you as you walk into the hall and back to the bedrooms. You stop in front of his room, letting him enter first. He calls over his shoulder and points to his closet, “Did you want to wear it today?”

“I think comfier clothes might be my first choice.”

He nods, redirecting to his dresser to pull out a pair of black sweatpants and a new t-shirt for you. “Here.”

“I’m gonna have to bring back a basket of laundry from all the clothes you guys give me,” you joke, taking the clothing from his outstretched hand. If it was anyone else but him, you would be determined to think that these were the actions of a loving boyfriend. 

“That’s because they look better on you than they do on us.”

You change easily, slipping on the stretchy, loose-fitting outfit in preparation for what’s waiting for you. It gives you the chance to watch him get dressed while perched comfortably on his bed. His choice is a white tee that has a distressed collar that shows his tattooed arms and a pair of blue jeans that have been mended by several hand-sewn patches. 

He takes a hairbrush through his tangles and gives himself a few sprays of cologne from one of the fancy bottles sitting on his dresser. When he leaves the room to brush his teeth and use the bathroom, you hop off his bed to find your phone in Josh’s room to send him a quick message that you’ll be spending the day with Jake.

You hear the bathroom door open, alerting you that it’s open for you to quickly refresh. After ditching your underwear and cleaning yourself up, doing the usual morning routine of brushing your teeth and fixing your hair, you’re met with Jake waiting for you in the living room.

“Ready?” He asks, gesturing to the side door of the house. You nod, following him through the kitchen.

Sitting in the garage is Jake’s car — a vintage one. A prized possession protected from the outside elements:  It’s a make and model you don’t recognize, but you can appreciate its value nonetheless. 

Its sleek black paint is obviously treasured, polished, and waxed to perfection. Sitting next to it is his motorcycle, hidden beneath its black cover. 

“Wow,” you breathe in awe as if you’re scared to approach the thing. 

“She’s pretty, right?” He coos with pride as he steps toward the driver’s side door. 

Dumbfounded, you ask a question that might embarrass yourself. “What is it?”

He chuckles, popping open the metal door handle. “‘67 Camaro.”

He tosses his stuff into the backseat as he slides into his own behind the large steering wheel. You open your door and pause once you see what the interior looks like. It’s pristine, restored to its former glory days from decades ago. “I’m afraid to get in this thing, Jake. What if I ruin something?” 

He tips his head, lifts a brow at you, and asks in a low pointed voice, “Do I need to make you?” The dominance in the question makes you clench your thighs together. He then pats the seat, ushering you to get in. 

You carefully lower yourself, mindful not to scratch or ding anything in the process. Your nose is hit with the scent of aged leather of the black upholstery, the product he used to condition it, and the faint line of the air freshener. 

It’s so unequivocally him. 

“Is anything about you practical?” You scoff, settling into the seat as you buckle yourself in. 

He reaches up and clicks a button on a plastic device clipped to his visor, making the garage door open. Looking at you with his most charming smile, he grips the ball of the shifter and gives it a little wiggle, “Would you expect anything to be?” 

“No. No, I guess not.”

Thankful that the rain has finally subsided to a misty drizzle, you scurry behind Jake as he unlocks the shop’s back door. After you both shrug off damp jackets and hang them in the lockers, he makes his way into the hallway.

The old building is dark and eerily quiet until he starts flipping on lights leading up the stairwell. You feel comfortable letting him lead the way despite the fact you’re becoming well acquainted with the place. 

You set your bag of food and stuff on the coffee table and make yourself comfortable on the studded leather couch that already holds many memories for you. Instead of going directly to his station, he walks over to the turntable and record collection that you assumed was more for decoration than anything. He flips through the plastic milk crate for a minute until he pulls out a black sleeve you recognize as The Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. 

You sit quietly, watching how he carefully slides the old vinyl out and places it down. The hushed scratch of the needle fills the room before the song “Breathe” begins to play. He turns to face you and extends an open hand, telling you, “C’mere.”

Your feet carry you over to him before your brain catches up to what’s happening. He takes your hand in his and wraps his other around the small of your back, bringing you in close against his body. Waiting seconds, the slow, sleepy tempo of the drums, and the sultry whine of the guitar echo throughout the studio. You rest your cheek on his shoulder and start to sway with him in the middle of the floor.

Breathe, breathe in the air. 

Don’t be afraid to care

Leave, but don’t leave me

Look around and choose your own ground

You listen to the dystopian vocals with him, appreciating the raw, unfiltered beauty of this moment. It’s clear that the dance isn’t about the coordination of your steps, it’s to hold you close to him. It makes you wish things weren’t as complicated as they are. He’s finally opening that book, giving you a glimpse of a page and all you can do is bury your face into him. 

The first time you came here, bright-eyed and anxious as hell, you would’ve never believed that you would be standing on the second floor of this tattoo shop with him. You don’t want to forget this. The soothing heat of his body, the woodsy scent of his cologne on his clothing, the strength of his grasp as he holds your hand. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your knuckles and his hand holding your waist tightens. 

The song ends and starts playing into the next, making him stop. “Ready to finish your tattoo?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Remember I am posted the second half of this later this week!

TAGLIST:

@gretavanbitches @dannyandthekiszkas @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @asparrowofthedawn @ageofnations @welightthefire @garbagevanfleet @lvnterninthenight @pennylanefics @writingcold @alexxavicry @gvfficrecs @jakeyboiiiiiii @doodle417 @richjaaasss @pr41sethemoon @gretavanflowerpowerrr @joshskittytickler @jakekiszkasbabymama @tripthelightfatality @maddie-van-fleet @sarakay-gvf @josiee-gvf @milkgemini @sammiejane22 @gretavanbear @capturethechaos @welllauragvf @averagemisfit03 @myownparadise96 @givemeyourtots2 @gretavangroove @autopsy-im-ill l @objectsinspvce @myownparadise96 @feilores @josh-iamyour-mama a @givemeyourtots2 @joshkiszkasbigtoe @lightmylove-gvf @mydarlingdanny @shutupdevvie @twinszka @busybeingtrash @carlybubs @demonrat444 @high-fidelity1

[imitationgame77]

ART and Human Adolescents

~ Reason Why ART Befriended Murderbot in AC ~

A sort of theory...

In Network Effect, Murderbot notes several times that ART likes adolescent humans. For instance,

I'd noted that ART's tone when it spoke to Amena was completely different than it was to the other humans. [...] Whatever else ART was, the classroom space and bunk-rooms said it was actually, on a regular basis, a teaching vessel. And before this when I was stupid and we were still friends it had talked about human adolescents in an indulgent way.

[Network Effect, Chapter 9]

Murderbot uses ART's soft spot for adolescents to its advantage!

And then, a couple of chapters later,

Amena still had questions. "Then why did you do it? You didn't - you don't care about me. You didn't really even know me then."

Why does ART like adolescent humans? This was exhausting.

[...]

ART must be recovering because it had to butt in with, Tell her you care about her. Use those words, don't tell her you'll eviscerate anything that tries to hurt her.

[Network Effect, Chapter 10]

ART does show protectiveness towards Amena's feelings, and urges MB to do the same.

ART also shows indulgence towards young people, who probably have left adolescent recently. In Artificial Condition, Murderbot's young client Tapan gets herself into a dangerous situation (again), then in a relatively safe environment of a hotel accommodation, inadvertently upsets MB with personal questions. ART helps MB calm down by playing its comfort media's soundtrack, then

In my feed, ART turned down the soundtrack to say, Young humans can be impulsive. The trick is keeping them around long enough to become old humans. This is what my crew tells me and my own observations seem to confirm it.

[Artificial Condition, Chapter 7]

An American psychoanalyst Erik Erikson has developed a theory of personality development which consists of 8 stages from infancy to old age. Each stage has a central theme with basic conflict. Successful resolution of conflicts at each stage results in development of healthy personality and acquisition of virtues.

Adolescence (12-18 years) is defined by its conflict of Identity vs. Role Confusion. Adolescents search for a sense of self and personal identity, through exploring values, goals, interests, and so on. If they are not given enough support and/or restricted in their exploration, they are left with role confusion - struggle to identify their purpose in life, not knowing who they are and what they want. Social relationships are also important in finding their roles in society. Successful resolution of this stage will lead to the virtue of fidelity that involves being able to commit one's self to others on the basis of accepting others even with differences.

The next stage is Early Adulthood (19-29 years), whose basic conflict is Intimacy vs. Isolation. This is when people learn to establish intimacy and relationships with others. If an individual can successfully form intimate, reciprocal relationships with others, love is the virtue to be gained. But, unsuccessful resolution in earlier stages can cause failure in this stage, resulting in isolation. Isolation can be the result of unresolved identity crises, fear of rejection, etc.

This stage thoery was developed in the 1950s. Since then, societies have changed somewhat and many young people can afford to be in "not a child, but not quite grown-up yet" stage for longer.

Presumably, machine intelligences, however sophisticated like ART, do not need to be influenced by physiological changes associated with hormones. Humans are largely influenced by nature part of nature/nurture, but for AIs, nurture (experience) is a lot more significant in forming their personalities. Having been "brought up" in loving human family environment with Iris as its "sibling", ART has developed very good understandings of human development as well as enormous tolerance. Having been interacting with many, many university students (presumably still 18-22 ish), it knows how important adolescent is to their later development in their characters.

One of the fundamental reasons why ART immediately took to Murderbot, in my view, is that it recognised adolescence in it. Whatever its human-equivalent chronological age was when they met, MB had only been governor-module-free for 4 years or so, and its experience of interacting with real people autonomously was very limited. MB was smart and competent in its functions, but also extremely vulnerable and awkward. It fits the definition of adolescence of not knowing its new role (not an appliance anymore)in the world.

So, ART's initial interaction with MB and protectiveness it exhibited were largely because ART was basically kind to vulnerable young people and MB was one. (Their 'relationship' evolves rapidly, but it is getting too long, so I stop. For now.)

----

Addendum

ART was not exactly gentle to Three which had had less-than-1-cycle of experience at being autonomous. It was more like a colt than a human adolescent. Must have been stress and anxiety talking.

Does an advanced AI have an equivalent of adolescence?? (probably mild, being hormone-free)

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#342

“Well fuck!  I know it’s end of the day on a Friday, but you still have an hour and a half of work you owe me.  Jesus, you have already changed out of your ranch work clothes into going-to-the-roadhouse clothes.  You look ridiculous.  You go from being an actual cowboy working with the herds on a ranch to dressing like a wannabe city cowboy who goes to watch the rodeo during the day and then line dances, gets rowdy drunk, and gropes up some skank ho who believes every cowboy line you feed her before taking her round the roadhouse for a pathetic back-alley blowjob at night.  Good lord, those jeans look sprayed on.  There’s no way anyone can miss your junk up front…. 

“Wait, is that one of…  Did you open up one of my beers?  Jesus fuck.  When I allowed you to stay in the workers quarters around back as part of this job, I told you that food and drink was your responsibility.

“Look, we need to have a talk.  It’s been three weeks since I hired you on.  Now is as good as time as any to go over how you are doing.  Into the barn now!

“Holy shit, no wonder why you wear those jeans; your ass is on display.  I swear if you were to fart, that seam would split open. 

“Go into the center….  Got you motherfucker….  Urgh….  Ahh….

“Shut the fuck up.  I was roping cattle since I was nine.  Tying up a scrawny five-foot seven pseudo cowboy wearing very restrictive jeans is nothing for me.  Now look at you, your limb bound together so can’t move a muscle lying on the ground totally vulnerable.  Damn, my tying skills are amazing.

“Now let’s talk about your performance the past few weeks.  You suck.  You do a half assed job, and it shows.  You make mistakes, nothing major.  But still.  Now you want to cut out early?  Fuck that.

“When I hired you, I heard about your reputation of being a brat, not interacting well with others.  I figured you just needed a job with little interaction with others.  Now I understand fully that you are a fuck up.

“So, I am in a predicament.  What the fuck do I do with you?...  Shut up!  That was a rhetorical question.  See, my ranch is one of the smaller ones around, and I can’t pay as much as some of the corporate ones around here.  So I’m stuck with a worker who sucks.

“Heh, interesting choice of words hunh?...  You know I spent eight years in the Corps right out of high school?  Yeah, I don’t have many things from my time in.  But the one thing I use quite often is this: my Ka-Bar knife.  This knife is so functional, I keep it sharpened.  If you were impressed with my roping, wait until you experience how I handle this knife. 

“With one swipe, the seam of your jeans now has a hole in it.  And like that, I have further ripped the hole, so your entire ass crack is exposed.  Another tug,… now your cock and balls are free.  I should say your tiny cock. 

“Now you are in a predicament.  Your limbs are bound and your asshole is exposed for all to see.  Let me ask you again.  What am I going to do with you? 

“I see you drank half your beer.  I would hate to see the rest of it go to waste.  It should go into the sewer, your sewer.  Hold still.  The bottle is still cold.  Your asshole is twitching.  You ever have a beer enema?  No?  Well, half a bottle should be enough.  You feel it?  You should start to feel the effects quite fast….  You’re drunk hunh? 

“You know?  If I let you continue working here, I think I will require you to wear those jeans from now on.  It will keep your mind focused on who is in charge here. 

“And just to show you that I’m not a total asshole, I’m going to let you see my ass and dick.  That’s only fair.  I’ll just take mine off….

“This is a real cowboy cock.  Eight inches long and seven inches around.  I got a serious leak going on.  Check out my ass.  This is a real cowboy ass, not one poured into jeans.  This ass came about from decades of hard work.  You should see it up close.  Here, you aren’t going anywhere, let me just squat over your face.  Smell that?  That stink is not from not wiping, but being in the saddle all day in the sun.  That’s saddle stink.  You will learn to love it….

“What the fuck?  Did you just lick me?  Jesus fuck you did!  Holy shit!  Damn boy, either that beer enema got you really drunk or… you’re a faggot!  Oh my god, your dick is rock hard.  I got me a faggot working for me.  Here eat some more of my hole boy.  You seem to have no problem with the saddle stink.

“Oh man, you have done this before haven’t you?  I take it from you moan that you have.  Fuck, you are one nasty pig.  Wasn’t expecting this to happen from you, but fuck your tongue really belongs in my shitter.  You really got me leaking.

“I need your hole now….  No! I’m not untying you until I’m done.  This is not supposed to be comfortable for you.  I want you tied in that position. 

“Feel my leak on your hole?  That’s all the lube you are going to get.

“Scream motherfucker.  Scream!  Clamp down, don’t let one drop of beer go.  Oh man, does your hole feel good, and a beer filled one at that.  Fuck.  Quit squirming.  You are interrupting my rhythm.  I’m not going to last long.  It’s been a week since I last shot, and I am ready to breed this hole.

“I’m going to do it!  I’m going to cum.  You ready?  You don’t deserve this load.  But fuck I deserve to nut.  Here it cums.  Here it cums!  Ahh ahh ahh!  Fuck.  Ah.  Oh man.

“Going forward this hole is mine.  Part of your job is to serve my cock.  What my cock wants, it gets.  Clamp down.  I’m about to pull out.  I want my cum and beer to be in you for a while. 

“Fuck, you look good tied up.  Let me get you bound in a different painful position.  I’m going to untie you.  Keep in mind, you are sore from being in that position, you are drunk, I am bigger than you, and I know how to handle livestock.  So don’t do something stupid and try to run.  You are going to be tied down in one way or another this entire weekend.  Stand on these blocks and lift your hands up high….

“…There, you are.  You look good spread eagle with your wrists tied to those posts. And if I kick those blocks you were standing on, on your tip toes you go.  Well, I’m going to be back in an hour or two.  I’m going to call some friends over from the canyon.  They are a couple that got me into tying up and fucking queers like yourself.  You are definitely their type.

“Yeah, now you know what’s really expected of you for this job, I think you are work out fine going forward, don’t you think?”

[enden-k]

i’m absolutely hooked on your grimms games story.. feel like an orphaned kid (youri) begging for more scraps! please sir... can i have some more 🙏🙏. i have a good load of questions though tehe... feel free to ignore any, i know its a lot

1. you mentioned that the games are all played for the entertainment of others, but i wondered what you meant by that? does this mean there’s a higher organisation that watch these games for fun... or are the games broadcasted to the people of the city for their entertainment?

2. how long do these games typically last? i assumed they happen every year.. but do the teams have a set time frame to complete the game by, or are there no time restrictions + the game simply ends when there’s only one team standing?

3. do the games only consist of fighting, or are there external forces involved in tricking and endangering the players? for example.. collapsing buildings, natural disasters, acid rain? (which makes me wonder whether the games are held in a controlled arena, distant + abandoned grounds, or within the city and among the ppl)

4. shorter question! but how do people enter the games? the fighting siblings and the surrounding team members?

5. does kaia like women.. would she perhaps be interested in kissing girls.. just asking... for a friend.. 🫣🏳‍🌈..

ALSO I’M REALLY SORRY, I KNOW THERE’S A LOT OF QUESTIONS... i’m not expecting an answer for all of them dw, only answer whatever u feel like answering 🫶 but omg i am SO hooked on this story, on ur characters.. (particularly izayah, kaia and tay) sending u all the love!!!

!!!!!!!!! thanks for the interest and asking!!!!

2) the game starts once both siblings set foot into the city and ends when the first sibling dies. the losing sibling will be eaten by the entity, finishing the ritual and once it hungers again, the games will be repeated and hosted by the winning sibling. until then, they rule (usually nothing less than 10 years), having all their wishes fulfilled

1) for this, i have to babble a bit abt the story/inspiration behind it. when i first drew this story, i was 14 and inspired by a fairytale my adoptive father used to read to us every evening when we were younger. idk if the story of hansel and gretel is known to all of you (i think it should?) but its literally the story my comic used to be heavily based on until i made changes over the years n stuff.

in my comic, i mentioned a ritual and sacrifice etc. its all for a strange, demonic entity who lured the first siblings into the woods centuries ago and the games were eventually made for. the sacrifices, the deaths are all for its entertainment, the souls to feed it. in return, it nurtures, powers and protects the cursed city

3) the entire cursed city is their battlefield and there are few safe zones where theres no fighting allowed and where they can encounter each other on a neutral basis (hospital, central part/main business district, ...). other than that, its pretty much purge-style. no rules, everything is allowed

4) the siblings are chosen by the entity itself early on, destined (cursed) to find their way into the woods and the city, lured by the entity. this goes only for the siblings, the main players.

for fairness, each team has fixed, same roles where the possible players are lit raised for it (like youri. he was taken in and raised to be the "guardian" among many other orphans). all members get picked by the siblings themselves, theyre responsible for their teams quality and quantity

5) kaia doesnt like much, shes entirely driven by hatred................but to answer that, yes she does jkjsbdjk

some answers are quite short, i came home from work and am a lil dead tbh but yea maybe ill pick these up some time again and elaborate more or so!!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The fall of Reservoir

From the audio recording of Frin Yuel Retired Artark, Recipient of the Stone of Valor, Hero of the Battle of Reservoir Recordings restricted from public distribution by order of Central Command.

“I have been called many titles over my years of service, but there has been none more insulting to me than the “Hero of Reservoir”.

There was nothing heroic about that engagement; at least not from our side of the battle.

Yes, yes, I know; what madness do I speak against our glorious people to not call us all heroes on the field of battle. Hear this old soldier out and decide after if your judgment is as strong as you think.

We were half way through the first contact war with humanity when we stumbled upon their core world of Reservoir. It was a backwater colony planet that had just transitioned from a colony into a functioning world of their empire when our fleets darkened their skies.

By that time I had been in several intense battles with the humans, but this was the first time we were attacking a well-established metropolitan world of theirs. At best our early skirmishes had been in space or along resource worlds that had their mining operations established.

The orbital battle was over quickly. The human planet had no orbital defense platforms and only a small fleet was present which was quickly swept aside. No sooner had the last of the human ships been destroyed in low orbit above the world did the ground invasion begin.

I remember watching as the first and second wave of our infantry forces detached from the troop carriers and began their descent below the cloud cover. My war host was in the third wave so while we waited for deployment we watched the video feeds of the first and second.

It was not a smooth landing.

The moment they broke the cloud cover they were met with withering barrages of anti-aircraft fire from emplaced redoubts and mobile vehicles. Scores of dropships were violently ripped apart or had their engines damaged and spiraled out to the surface below. I can remember hearing troops in the latter calling out for help right up until the moment they impacted the ground and the feed went silent.

It is not easy to listen to your comrade’s die….. I can still hear them sometimes in my dreams. Even now after all these years I can close my eyes and listen to their tortured souls calling out to us again and again……

……….

Apologies; I got a bit side tracked there.

Eventually the second wave was able to carve out safe landing zones and signaled the third wave to deploy.

We launched with vengeance in our hearts and fire in our bellies. Our one purpose now to avenge our fallen friends and shatter whatever human fools had slayed them.

The humans for their part did not make our task easy. Over the span of several weeks we had to grind their resistance down meter by bloody meter, losing thousands of warriors with the capture of each one of their cities. Yet our resolve was unwavering and though our losses mounted the day finally came when I found myself standing outside the final human bastion of their world.

Even when cornered like vermin the humans refused to surrender. We shelled their city for days, reducing their towers of stone and metal to rubble and yet they only burrowed deeper and became that much harder to dislodge. Vehicles that went into the city were beset on all sides by craven hit and run attacks, while our scouts were ambushed and cut down by well concealed snipers. This went on for several days until our commander had finally had enough.

When the order finally came to storm the city a great war cry was let out from our warriors and we poured into the city. I wish I could say there was some battle plan or larger strategic picture we were following, but the reality was we were storming one building at a time before advancing to the next.

That is where I found my worthy foe.

Within the heart of sector G17 there were reports of a lone human soldier causing untold damage to our attack. I ignored the reports at first, but as the day progressed the reports continued to come in only far worse. Now they said the human soldier had slain a hundred warriors and still stood their ground. By the end of my fourth block cleared I was hearing that an entire cohort had been wiped out and now warriors were avoiding the area.

At this notion of fear spreading through the ranks of my brothers I was filled with a seething rage and made my way to sector G17 to confront this human champion myself. It was not hard to find them, as the trail of bodies led straight to them. As I followed the trail I realized that the reports had not exaggerated the casualty list; if anything they had underestimated the dead.

Standing at the entrance to a metal bunker of some sort stood the foe I sought. They wore power armor standard to their people but damaged in several places. The paint had long since been scorched away by ricochets, their once proud cloak torn in a dozen places and hanging limply from their waist; yet their rifle was still firmly clutched in their hands so tightly I wondered if even the gods themselves could pry it from their grasp.

While I approached the warrior I saw three of my fellow soldiers come forward and try to slay the human first. The first went down with deep hole in their chest where the human’s plasma shot had carved through them. The second warrior used this opportunity to close the distance with the human but with a swift backhand from the power gauntlet their neck was snapped and they collapsed to the ground. The third soldier made it close enough to land a blow against the human, adding to the collection of gashes already dotting the armor. Their combat blade dug deep between the leg joints and the human let out a cry of pain. The third soldier twisted the knife inside the joint, reveling in the victory to come. I watched as the human let their weapon fall from their hands and clasped the third warrior’s head between their mighty gauntlets. In a grueling and morbid motion the human crushed the third warrior’s skull like a grape and let the broken body fall to the ground.

The human stood motionless after the melee, which to my surprise had taken less than a minute to complete. They made to pick up their fallen weapon as they finally registered my presence but the blade wound had done more damage than they expected causing them to tumble to the ground in a loud bang.

I watched for a moment as they crawled towards it in an attempt to bring it to bear before I casually kicked it out of their reach. It was then that more of my warrior brethren began to flood into the area and saw me standing over the human that had done such horrendous damage to our forces. One by one they began chanting my name as if I had been the one to bring the foul beast low and called for me to end their life once and for all; but all I could focus on was the human before me.

Through their visor I saw the face of the human looking up at me. A thin red stream of blood ran from the corner of their mouth with specs of blood dotting the inside of the helmet from where they had coughed it.  Their eyes…….even though their body was broken and defeated their eyes never once showed a hint of remorse or pleading as they fixed me with a death glare. If it was possible I half imagine they were trying to kill me with their stare right there and then before I emptied my clip into their chest cavity.

I just stood there with my finger held down on the trigger as round after round of plasma energy burned into them while the surrounding soldiers cheered. The human died half way through the clip but I kept my fingers firmly on the trigger until every shot was emptied.

As you know after that I was given the title “Hero of Reservoir” for I had seemingly killed the human butcher all by myself. There were of course the video feeds from the warriors helmets that came before me that contradicted that sentiment but central command quickly quashed that notion; erasing or restricting what footage there was while fabricating their own that made me out to be the ‘Hero” after all. With the substantial losses they had taken claiming the planet they needed someone they could hoist up and show the homeworld to as a sign of admiration and prowess in our war against the humans.

Like I said before I never cared for the name. Not because it was based on a lie, but from what I discovered when I went to investigate the bunker the human soldier had been so ferociously defending.

It took several explosive charges to pop off the hinges but with a loud thunderous boom the door finally gave way and I led a war party inside. We had expected some sort of redoubt or military bunker and went in with our weapons firing on anything that moved; which was fortunate as the door led into a series of tunnels dotting the city filled with humans.

My fellow warriors were lost to the blood lust and carved their way through the humans as if they were made of paper while I stopped and examined the nearest fallen human.

They were a frail thing, not half the size of a normal human adult. I believe they were called “children” by their cultural standards and were designated as the youth of the species. The child lay huddled in a corner they had attempted to hide in when the breaching charges had gone off but were caught by the explosion nonetheless and died.

As I gently pulled on them to turn them around I saw that the child had been holding something tightly against their chest. When I saw what it was I recoiled and nearly fell over another dead human from my realization.

The child had been clutching a stuffed toy animal, not a side arm as his fellow warriors had believed.

With a grim realization I came to the conclusion that this was not a military bunker or the last vestiges of the human military lurking within the walls of these tunnels. They were human civilians who had been led into the depths of their city in the hopes they could survive the coming battle.

I tried to call off the attack into the lower levels but by then our warriors were lost to the haze of battle. By the end some three hundred human civilians were massacred in that bunker; their bodies sealed within a rocky tomb when we detonated charges to collapse the bunker complex.

That is why I hate being called a hero for that awful battle.  I am a pretender, a charlatan, a fraud; held up to justify the deaths on both sides as if a statue of me will someone make us forget what we had done.

The real hero of reservoir died by my hand, giving their life to defend the defenseless.

[alphynix]

Today's #Spectember concepts come from three submitters: anonymous, Jonas Werpachowski, and Novaraptoria.

Despite having a convergent resemblance to penguins or gannetwhales, the humdertaker (Suchomergus pollinctor) is actually a distant descendant of modern hummingbirds.

Its ancestor was a hummingbird species similar to the tooth-billed hummingbird, with tooth-like pointed serrations along the edges of its beak – initially developed for fighting, but later co-opted for better catching insects. Some of these hummingbirds shifted their diet fully away from nectar and became aerial hunters more like their relatives the swifts, and one lineage that commonly fed on insects at the water's surface began also snatching up aquatic prey like tadpoles and small fish.

These birds became larger kingfisher-like divers with waterproof feathers, and eventually some became increasingly aquatic, spending most their time swimming at the surface of lakes and rivers like mergansers or loons. These forms rapidly became flightless, specializing for penguin-like wing-based swimming, but due to their front-heavy build and ancestrally small legs also became completely unable to stand or walk on land, instead restricted to an ungainly motion somewhere between a tobogganing penguin and stiff-spined galumphing seal.

Growing up to about 2m long (6'6"), the humdertaker is a semi-aquatic ambush predator occupying a similar ecological role to small crocodilians. With a heavily serrated beak able to hold onto slippery prey, it feeds mainly on fish, amphibians, and crustaceans, but will also opportunistically snatch other animals from the water's edge and scavenge on carrion – and like a giant aquatic version of a shrikes it often caches "larders" of surplus food on snags in the water.

Although it has a much slower metabolism than its nectar-fueled flying ancestors, it has retained some of their other biological quirks. Tolerance for very low oxygen and the ability to enter a torpor-like resting state allow it to hold its breath underwater for much longer than many other air-breathing vertebrates, and to better conserve its energy during periods of food scarcity.

———

One offshoot lineage of small humdertakers began using their beaks and wings to excavate burrows into the riverbanks, and gradually specialized more and more for digging rather than swimming.

The humderminer (Iposkapteryx werpachowskii) is an especially mole-like form, a fully subterranean tunneler with reduced eyes and broad shovel-like 'flippers'. Only about 10cm long (4"), it primarily hunts worms and other small underground animals, and has retained somewhat iridescent plumage due to the structural benefits when moving through soil.

———

The humdingers are another offshoot from early humdertakers, specializing into even more aquatic lifestyles and eventually moving out from freshwater into the ocean.

Voragornis novaraptoriae here is one of the largest humdingers, about 5m long (16'4"). It's a fully wing-propelled swimmer with a highly streamlined body, and its still-relatively-small legs are adapted into rudders and stabilizers similar to the hind flippers of turtles.

It's an especially accomplished diver, able to reach depths of close to 2000m (~6600 ft), preying on soft-bodied deepwater cephalopods and fish. Lacking echolocation it mainly uses sight to hunt in the deep dark waters, looking for glimpses of bioluminescent prey.

Although humdingers are the equivalent of "whale-sized" compared to their much tinier hummingbird ancestors, they're currently limited from growing much larger due to their reproductive requirements – these almost-fully-aquatic birds do still need to be able to haul themselves out onto land once a year to molt and breed.

Much like penguins humdingers undergo a seasonal "catastrophic molt", replacing all their insulating feathers at once and being stuck on shore unable to swim for a few weeks at a time. This molting coincides with their nesting season, when females use their flippers to dig out a turtle-like nest on the shore – burying the clutches to incubate since their bulky bodies are too heavy to safely sit on them. They'll guard the nests until they've completed molting, but then abandon them, leaving the young to hatch superprecocial and fully independent a few more weeks later.

———

Nix Illustration | Tumblr | Twitter | Patreon

[b4tasquad]

can you write a pov with Aj forgetting your birthday and then making up for it?

BIRTHDAY: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: finally something for my boy Aj.. I can’t believe I haven’t written something properly for him…. So disgusting of me honestly😒😒 but here it is. Also it’s more of a sad one because I feel like I only write happy things🤷‍♀️

Warnings: mention of shitty parenting, reader being emotional, Aj shabeel being overly sweet

…

A feeling of deep hurt had permanently taken refuge in the pit of your stomach. Your mind was working on memory, as you went about your day, as if it was just like any other. Every few seconds, a notification sound would pop up on your phone, causing you to snap your head in the device’s direction, hoping with everything in you that it was him.

But no. Every single time, the same sound of sheer sorrow left your lips as you tried shaking away the disappointment of being forgotten. It wasn’t unusual really. All your life you had become accustomed to being insignificant, in your household, during your years at school, and even amongst some of your friends. Your restricted personality alongside anxious habits you’d caught, making it easy for people to just disregard you.

Aj had never made you feel like a background character, someone who simply existed to feed into someone else’s needs. He always made you feel like the brightest star, and the sole attention in any room you stepped in. Through Aj Shabeel, you had learned to not settle for only being in the corners, but daring to step into the center at times too.

It was funny how the person that had made you feel the most special was also the reason you carried yourself with such indifference on your birthday. For the 2 birthdays of yours the two of you had been friends, he had been the first to congratulate and treat you, but the year you’re finally his? He completely ignores you as if he couldn’t care less about this unimportant day.

You felt stupid for how you had spent your early hours of the morning, expecting something, anything, to come from him. During your breakfast, you made sure to check, double-check, and even triple-check for a new message, but there was nothing. Radio silence. As you moved from the morning into work, there was no time for you to even be on your phone. You could vividly remember feeling awful as you did your work on the computer, hand itching to reply to a call or even a message you knew would be there.

When lunch had finally approached, you had turned down a lunch offer from your friends as they were in a rush, and you were sure you’d have to call Aj to thank him. How stupid you felt, checking every app for anything. In a last attempt, you had even opened Instagram, an app you never even communicated on, only to come to the same two conclusions.

He had either not woken up or forgotten. How you hoped it was the former.

But doubt turned into confirmation once you saw him post on Instagram hours later. He had even texted you after your shift, simply informing you he’d come over to yours after he was done with work. But there was no mention of your birthday, and now you were completely sure your boyfriend had missed it.

Even in your angry state, you could never have it in your heart to believe he just didn’t care enough to mention it. That wasn’t like him.

Usually, you would be ecstatic to know your boyfriend was coming over straight after work, that meant him telling you about everything he did which was something that fascinated your mind. His lifestyle and work were something that you’d always loved, Aj creativity and passion for it fuelling your interest. But now, you walked home with such dread, shoulders slumped in defeat.

You knew you should’ve made the best out of your day even without Aj, but it was just so hard to look past the fact that the most important person in your life had just neglected you like that and continue with your day. Your closest friends had gratulated you and you answered with the same faux tone of happiness. Even Aj’s family members, those you had met because of him, sent you countless nice messages.

Currently, you were just moping around, watching a rerun of a romantic movie that played on your tv every night. A bowl of popcorn was laid in your lap and you occasionally threw one in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you watched this movie, every time you were left flabbergasted at the plot twist. It was just that dramatic.

A notification sound on your phone interrupted your little movie night, and you hated yourself for how quickly you grabbed it, thinking it was Aj.

Anna:

What you doing tonight?

You knew where this was going, and a part of you wanted to lie your way out of the obvious plans about to be made. Another part of you felt bad though, here your best friend was, trying to show you how loved you were on your birthday and you were just gonna lie your way out.

You:

Nothing much, why?

It doesn’t take more than 20 seconds from when your message is sent for your best friend to reply.

Anna:

I’ll be at yours in 30, get ready!

And there wasn’t much you could do after that. In just an hour you found yourself seated at a fancy restaurant, Anna sat across from you. You had came with a slightly dampened mood, ready to not enjoy the evening and go home still feeling down. But that was not the case. There was just something so beautiful about Anna that made everyone around her smile. From the way she laughed to the way she talked, Anna had everything it took to get a laugh out of you.

There was the occasional glance at the phone, but other than that you spent 2 nice hours chatting away with Anna as you ate the luxurious food. You were extremely thankful for her and made sure to thank her extra on the ride home.

“I’m your best friend. Now stop thanking me!”

Opening the door to your flat, you had been ready to take off your makeup and outfit and just spend a lazy night in bed. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and as a woman in her early twenties, this should not have been what you were doing. The door closes with a thud behind you as you’re too eager to throw off your heels, but a set of other shoes alongside yours catches your attention.

“Why are you dressed up?” Aj asks from the doorway, his voice simply curious. You don’t even spare him a glance as you finally get rid of your shoes and shrug the jacket off. At the rejection, Aj looks at you weirdly, noticing how off you seemed. As you try to walk past him, he stops you by stepping in front of you.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” A part of you breaks at the fact that he genuinely didn’t even know. Your boyfriend is confused, eyebrows furrowed until you look at him with disappointment and suddenly it’s everything he can think about. By his eyes widening, you can tell he finally remembers.

Scoffing, you just step away from both him and the conversation, feeling as if you might’ve cried if you stood in front of him any longer. As a child, your parents had made it a regular thing to forget about your birthdays. Claiming they didn’t forget, but simply planned something good. Being the gullible kid you were, you always believed them, waiting for that big surprise. It was finally after your 10th birthday you realized it was their fucked up way of trying to make their nagging child shut up. There was no such thing as a ‘big surprise’.

Fair to say you never asked, but just took the love you got on rare occasions.

As Aj walked behind you to the bedroom, muttering apologies and excuses, you felt like a child again, hearing the same words from your parents. Seeing how you were making your way to the connected bathroom, Aj took hold of you, afraid you’d lock yourself in there and refuse to talk to him. You’d never do that, but he was stressing and thinking of every possible outcome.

You don’t pull away from his hold on you as he sits you down on your bed. He’s stood over you, hands on his hips as he tries to think of a way to make it sound less… wrong?

“Y/n, I genuinely don’t even know how it managed to slip my mind. I just woke up late and was rushing to get to the studio to film, and it ran later than I thought. It’s no excuse because I’m your boyfriend, and I shouldn’t prioritize work over something so important like your birthday- oh my fucking God, I can’t believe I forgot your birthday.” Rambling was one thing Aj did once nervous. He had done it when the two of you knew each other as friends and continued to do so far into your romantic relationship. Usually, you found it cute, but right now you didn’t have words to describe it.

His genuineness softened the pain and by the way his eyes lightened up, you could tell he saw the change in your behavior. Even with the slight empathy for his situation, there was still a feeling of neglect that you couldn’t shake off. You don’t know when, but somewhere during the speech, tears you’d kept in all day, quietly started to slip down your cheeks.

When your boyfriend notices, his voice wavers, truly seeing how much he had messed with your whole mood. Aj was the petty type, one to stay mad and drag things out for far too long. You were a clear contrast from him with your forgiving tendencies, and not being able to hold a grudge.

The fact that you were sitting on the edge of your bed, crying your eyes out on your birthday said something about how much you had been hurt. “Baby, no please don’t cry.” Aj pleads with you, but you’re far too gone to stop crying. When your sniffling gets louder, he crouches in between your legs, pulling your hands away from your face.

You don’t fight his grip but simply gaze at him. Aj kisses the palm of your hand in his hold, holding it against his cheek in a way of showing affection. “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.” He wipes at your eyes. “ I love you so much, I’m sorry for being such a shit boyfriend. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, genuinely, I don’t know what I would do without you. Please just don’t cry.”

Too deep in your feeling, you don’t think twice about wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulder, needing comfort even if he was the one to hurt you, to begin with. Being an over-sensitive person, you weren’t always too in touch with your emotions. They sometimes got too much to bear on your own, and therefore you found it easier to process them with the help of Aj.

With just a comforting touch or a few reassuring words from him, you always managed to feel better. And right now, as funny as it sounded, Aj was the only one you wanted to comfort you.

“I felt so alone.”

Your words are like daggers being thrown into his heart, twisting and digging an even bigger wound in his already vulnerable state. He knew he had no right to feel gutted like he was feeling now, but hearing your broken whispers and knowing he was the cause of your defeated words was a hard pill to swallow.

“You’re not alone.” Aj takes a seat beside you on the edge of the bed his hold on your hands never faltering. In a futile attempt to show you the reality of his words, he opens his arms. You fall into his hold holding him as close to you as you possibly can.

The warmth he supplies you is a unique thing you’ve only felt in the arms of your boyfriend and you can’t help but snuggle closer to get more of it.

Aj wipes your tears, holding your cheek to make you look at him. A faint smile appears on your lips as you hold eye contact. The faint feeling of hurt is still present, and there’s no way you’re just letting it go. But all you want to spend the last moments of your birthday doing is be in his hold. In his protection. With a soft peck to your slightly tear-coated lips, Aj speaks. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

long defeated sigh

okay. here it is. au #23847387834: the Mythological Beastie Rehab AU

(yeah this one is over explained i have a bunch of ideas for the story for this one sdjfh) 

(BIG WARNING this is so long. it’s like 1000 words on its own. im so. so sorry

The Mytho Rehab AU: (Sun, Moon, Eclipse x reader)

In this au, all of the boys- and every animatronic from sb tho they may or may not be relevant- is a mythological creature of some kind! Eclipse is a BASILISK, massive and writing and very distrustful of humans. Sun is a HARPY, all feathers and fluff but strong and unused to humans and how easily they damage. Moon is a KELPIE, sulking and contemplative and clever, it’s impossible to tell when he’s being serious or mocking, or when he's telling the truth or fooling you with a lie.

The three end up at a Mythological Entities and Creatures Rehabilitation Center- where humans rescue mythos who have been injured or rendered unable to survive on their own, or whose homes and native habitats are becoming dangerous and unlivable, and take them to a large zoo/aquarium type facility with several different designated (massive, imagine ‘bigger on the inside’ type rooms) biomes in which they can recuperate and heal while feeling relatively ‘at home.’ In return, the humans ask that they be allowed to study and document the habits, lifestyles, and general experiences of these different, dangerous creatures- who mankind has cast in the light of being mere monsters, despite them being INTELLIGENT and CAPABLE OF REASONING.

Reader is a volunteer working at the rehab center- very new and sometimes referred to by the fellow staff as ‘freshmeat.’ (yes this is a slight foreshadowing and a bit cruel but reader thinks its just a silly nickname jsdfhk)

Eclipse is captured and brought to the center against his will- he is partly trapped and entangled in a long steel chain meant to be tethered to an anchor, and if left alone would eventually perish as the chains dug deeper and deeper and restricted him more. (He is captured before Sun and Moon are, since he threw himself between them and the approaching, seemingly threatening, humans, and attempted to ward the humans off long enough for them to escape. They DID escape, but only for a little while; maybe they LET themselves be caught in an attempt to see their brother again?) He fights fiercely against the humans, convinced they want him as some kind of trophy, but eventually falls sullen and silent, spending long periods of time simply laying half submerged, almost as though sleeping with his eyes open- but snarling and seething at anyone who comes close, choosing to stay mostly hidden in the lonely waters of his habitat.

Reader is, after being the intern-who-does-everyone-else’s-menial-tasks for a bit, assigned to Eclipse. Why? Well, he’s clearly very unhappy, which isn’t helping him to heal any faster, AND he refuses to let anyone close enough to even examine the gouges the chains are digging into him. So, your task: get him used to humans. Just hang out, attempt to feed him, just EXIST in the same space as him- sooner or later he’ll grow numb to your presence, and then they can try adding more people to the mix. 

(What no one tells Reader is that they’ve tried this with four other humans so far. Three ended up in the hospital, one was forced to retire early due to the severity of their wounds.)

Slowly, Eclipse and Reader grow a bond- Reader is the first one to talk TO Eclipse instead of demanding him or instructing him to do things or treating him like a beast as low as a dog. And they bring things to show him- small things, like a MP3 player with a few of their favorite songs, a checkerboard they eventually get him to play, books and Kaleida scopes and whatever they can think of that he might be even SLIGHTLY interested in. They learn about things he likes and doesn’t like, and learns to tell when he wants to be talked to and played with and when he just wants the company. Some days he wants no one, and they respect that- respect him. Slowly, he opens up to them, even allows them to touch and pet him and sit on him and examine his wounds and scars.

Technically, Reader’s task is a total success! Unfortunately Eclipse has bonded with them and ONLY them and is very attached to them in particular. Everyone is very frustrated, so they get Reader to try and gather some information about him when they go to see him since he’s too irate and uncooperative for anyone else to do it. They do, but they always ask if he’s okay with it first. 

(fun tidbit:) Sometimes he rests his enormous head in their lap and refuses to move even when they need to leave. He smacks his tail against the water when they give up and decide to stay a little longer- a happy gesture.

Later, when Sun and Moon are brought in, after some squabbling (they don’t really share a habitat with Eclipse, Sun belongs on high mountain slopes and Moon belongs in a foggy, gloomy swamp), they are put into the same habitat as Eclipse. Eclipse is overjoyed to see them and they swap their tales of whats happened since they last met- Eclipse, of course, absolutely gushes for hours about this wonderful HUMAN and how CUTE they are and so SMALL and AAA IT WOULD SO EASY TO JUST PICK THEM UP AND CARRY THEM AROUND FOREVER and they have this VOICE you just HAVE to hear it and when they’re really happy they make this LOVELY ADORABLE SOUND and they’re so nice and warm and safe, really you just HAVE to meet them, they’re so wonderful, there’s nothing like them, no human quite so incredible and kind and

(moon gets tired of it real fast. Sun is increasingly curious, and gets caught up in Eclipse’s excitement.)

Anyway eventually Sun and Moon (Sun very easily, Moon requires almost as much convincing as Eclipse and is verbally much more prickly and cold and unkind) warm up to Reader, then like absolutely fall for Reader like they PLUMMET into love with this big stupid barely-qualified-to-be-a-mythological-handler idiot. Everyone else at the center is like ,,??? Sh,, should we do something,,? I mean that one is obviously attempting the beginnings of a courtship ritual,, wait that one is too- oh my god they’re all trying to swoon them what do we do. Like this is really really good for our research but,

Anyway it’s cute but also potentially angsty thank u for ur time

[meadowsofmay]

what's interesting to me about legolas leaving his homeland behind and searching for a ranger on the north is something that actually fully explained their whole dynamic to me at this early morning hour.

big post ahead, brace yourselves.

legolas leaves the battle of the five armies, and essentially, mirkwood being a soldier. half of his life at least he spent training and fighting in a way that soldiers do, that means he knows discipline — he must follow orders, he must control what he is doing and he must control his emotions, he must asses the situation and he must give orders, he must plan, he must care for those under his command, he must make right decisions, he must, must, must...

that's a hard life to live but, given the situation mirkwood had, he made a decision to be a soldier and he served enough to rise in ranks. he had alot of responsibilities that started weighting him down for a reason.

see, he is young (and many headcanon him being one of the youngest among elves) but he didn't have different life and he wants to, he wants to know what's out there besides constant fighting with the same creatures every single day. he wants to learn more about the bigger world he is a part of — and maybe before the end to his little part of the world will eventually come.

he explored his little world enough without restrictions when he was a child, so he justifiably thinks it's time for him to explore what's beyond it. he just didn't have enough of a reason before the battle of the five armies and tauriel thing where he realized he doesn't want to come back to his previous life and wants to learn who he is besides a prince and a soldier.

legolas is conflicted and the only thing thranduil can do in this situation (obviously not being the one who denies his son) is to give him direction (for legolas to have a sense of knowing and for thranduil himself to at least know where in the world his son is). why he knows about aragorn is none of my concern but what is is thranduil knowing about a son of a great man that will probably become even a greater one and thinking that his own son will find a better company by his side.

and legolas does. we can assume that legolas finds strider and his rangers and joines them for a while. he learns how to live in a wild, and even though legolas lived in a woods before that — he lived in a controlled environment. with aragorn there is no control over him. there is companionship. no oaths and pledges, no allegiance. legolas learns to make decisions for his own self and he learns to chose whom he gives his trust. this made the same tasks, say, fighting and going on missions (same things he did as a soldier), appear under different light because they were done with and for different person and cause.

legolas follows aragorn because he develops a sense of trust. and it becomes only stronger over the years they spend on adventures together. aragorn doesn't make him do things, eventually, aragorn doesn't even need to ask. legolas does because he wants to. that's a rare thing among those in the army. you can't just do or not do.

in the wild — legolas has a choice. and he has time to learn.

he learns that aragorn indeed is a great man, the one whom he can rely on and whom he can trust.

he learns that he himself is enough for someone to trust him, that he is good enough, that he did enough. he learns that feelings can be mutual and he has this overflowing desire to be by the side of the person who opened his eyes to those things. he feels inspired.

that's how we get legolas that appeared in the lord of the rings. less stiff, less angsty, less angry, even. through travels with aragorn he finds joy for his soul to feed on, and even though he is still a soldier — he is his own (and maybe aragorn's, shall he ask). and that brings me to my main point that i'll quote myself on:

«...in the 'council of elrond' scene it already felt present. it being the familiarity between aragorn and legolas. the way legolas jumps eagerly to defend an honor of aragorn doesn't really seem to be just he's a king!, but more like he's a fucking king, you moron, how dare you disrespect my friend like that?!!. along with plain respect legolas clearly shows towards aragorn, there's also this genuine reverence/veneration (i'm not sure which word to choose as i'm not native to english language) that legolas has — such reverence that warriors have towards their trusted king whom they're ready to follow, protect and fight for as well as along side with because he trained and went through hardships with them. you don't just develop such an attitude towards a person who doesn't even adresses himself by his given name much. legolas knows who aragorn is and he will stick to it — even if aragorn himself doesn't want to accept the fact.

and from that, the decision legolas makes to follow aragorn on the quest and not much frodo makes sense. he trusts aragorn. he follows aragorn's emotional courage — the way he swears to protect frodo with his life and sword — and does the same.»

i have seen enough to think that legolas has all sorts of adoration towards aragorn. he's ready to follow him like a religiously-in-love general his king, he has a deep respect towards him as a comrade and he definitely trusts him as a friend/soul mate/any other form of intimate relations.

but legolas is still a soldier. he can't fully erase it and, something tell me, doesn't really want to — he is a proud warrior after all. and that only ensures me, that serving aragorn as a warrior is one of the ways for legolas to showcase his love and gratitude to him. that's his acts of service, as in love language, thing taken quite literally because that's what legolas knows best and he's going to utilize it to the fullest.

because he knows that aragorn relies on him, trusts him and not only just in battle. he knows that there's a big future ahead for aragorn and he doesn't urge him forward but walks side by side, waiting patiently when aragorn will be ready.

legolas, basically, found a mutual, meaningful connection and committed to it with a heart of a striving for love being and a soul of a warrior. and i think it's beautiful.

[patriarchal-authority]

I wonder if you can briefly explain the phases you've talked about..

A good question that I have not explicitly addressed. The Phases of a Patriarchal Order define the social setup and norms that are followed.

We are now in what I believe is a Phase-0 society. Where everybody has a lot of "independence" and anybody can do whatever they please and as a result, there is immense confusion, lack of purpose in society. In the end this causes deep loneliness, suffering, unhappiness in everyone - but especially so for women, who are sensitive and emotional and trapped in a social setup that does not fulfill their true nature and emotional needs. They feel too scared to do anything about it, because ethyl have been told repeatedly that this is supposed to liberate and empower them, but increasingly, females have started to feel that this so called epithet of liberation is going nowhere.

A Phase-1 Patriarchal Order is what was observed in society in the early 19th century. Here Men and women had clear purposes that they were encouraged towards. Men were expected to behave as Gentlemen, take charge of the family, look after external duties. Women were encouraged to be feminine, care for the domestic. Women are free, educated, and allowed to work and take part in society, although that is not seen as their most desirable role. Phase-1 societies have a classic order to them that carries its own charm, but it fails to protect females from having to look after themselves in situations of duress because that is not the default order.

A Phase-2 Patriarchal Order refers to a more older and time tested setup, existing through late Middle Ages until the Industrial Revolution. In this setup, females are strictly meant to look after the home, family, and children. Females education is allowed but restricted to what is actually useful and practical for them than abstract ideas that have no applicability in the duties of their life. Men are raised to be strong, take leadership and charge in society and community alike, drive the development of the economy and hold each other through adversity. Their cornerstone is the home, which they protect and provide for. A female upon marriage is owned, and abides by the instructions of her Husband. Unowned females are generally looked down upon, either provided for charitably by a Male led society, or go down the path of sin (theft, prostitution, etc) to feed themselves.

A Phase-3 society is only observed in some cultures and histories, and perhaps related more to a Gorean social order. In such a society, the Male kind own complete authority and responsibility of running the society and its functioning. Roles between them are divided on the basis of capability and efficiency while respecting the value each Man brings in their own right. Females are not free by definition of their sex, and not educated beyond household tasks. They are owned in the household where they are born and raised strictly to serve, obey, please with their manners. Feminine slavery is seen as the path to true liberation, and a female aims to and is extremely proud to be owned for life as a slave. Marriage is seen as the social ritual of adoption and owning of a female from Father to Husband. Females almost strictly stay indoors, are protected at all times. Unowned females are seen as social outcasts who have the option to redeem themselves through penance and punishment.

Many of these definitions are seen as "backward" today, but it is important to note that they stood the test of time for decades, centuries, because they aligned with the foundational biological nature of Males and females. Adherence to such Orders brings peace, prosperity, protection, and worth to every individual in their own place and purpose.

Feel free to ask more.

[detentiontrack]

okay, I'm interested in your thoughts on sasha developing an ed

OKAY *huge inhale*

(Also TW for mentions of eating disorders, self harm, trauma, and me torturing the blorbos. I’ll put a tw in the tags and I’ll try to not be too graphic but. Just a warning)

SO Sasha Waybright. When you look in the DSM-5-TR, there are sets of symptoms that relate to different eating disorders. Currently the ones documented in the DSM-5-TR are anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, binge eating disorder, PICA, rumination disorder, avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder, other specified feeding or eating disorder, and unspecified feeding and eating disorder. (Fun fact, those last 2 were originally referred to as EDNOS, eating disorder not otherwise specified, but they changed it into OSFED and UFED.) (obviously there are other eating disorders NOT classified in the DSM at this point in time, such as orthorexia but today we’re only talking about a few of the ones in the DSM-5-TR, published in 2022.)

When talking about eating disorders, it’s inevitable to talk about the CAUSES. So eating disorders are SOMETIMES genetic. This doesn’t mean that if your mom has anorexia, you’ll automatically develop anorexia. You might develop bulimia or BED, or you might not develop an ED at all. The second main cause of eating disorders is TRAUMA. this could mean childhood trauma, or trauma that occurs when you’re an adult. Your personality also is a factor, as well as the eating habits you grew up with or stick to as an adult. (For example, chronic dieting may result in BED, bulimia, or orthorexia. Just like growing up with food insecurity has shown to be a huge factor in the development of BED.)

Now, what does this have to do with Sasha Waybright?

First point: Well from the information we got in the Marcy journal, Sasha’s early years were most likely associated with her parents divorce. Her parents most likely had fights and arguments in front of her. And then they divorced when she was still young, and both of them got into committed relationships, leaving Sasha feeling “lost at sea” in her own family (a direct quote from the Marcy journal in Anne’s words). This obviously, is traumatic. So even before amphibia, she still had trauma and insecurity and likely self esteem issues that she covered up with her “tough guy” attitude. She views herself as “the strong one” who needs to never show emotion or let others know she’s struggling. Repressed feelings like this can absolutely cause an ED.

Second point: Amphibia was traumatic. There is no argument about that. Even if the war had never happened, even if Marcy never got killed in front of her and brought back as Darcy, even if she never fell out with Anne, even if she didn’t fall from toad tower, being suddenly trapped in a hostile unfamiliar world, and immediately being arrested and thrown in a cell for a long time, IS trauma. But all that other stuff DID happen, so that’s a whole truck load of trauma.

Third point: Sasha blames herself for everything. She betrayed Anne multiple times, she encouraged Anne to steal the music box, she manipulated and bossed her friends around for years, her betrayal ultimately led to Marcy being killed (which wasn’t her fault, but from her perspective and from what she’s canonically said in the show (see: turning point) it seems like she blames herself. Patients with eating disorders who harbor a lot of self blame, often use ED behaviors as a way to punish themselves, because they believe they deserve it. Sometimes it’s a form of self harm, sometimes it’s the belief that they can redeem themselves if they stay under their calorie goal or achieve that perfect goal weight that’s always moving lower, they can make up for their actions. Sasha already shows signs of punishing herself (like in toad catcher when she works herself into exhaustion after toad tower, completely ignoring her own needs) (or in turning point where she puts herself in danger and just. Accepts her death by the robot instead of fighting it). It’s passive suicidal behavior (or sometimes active in the case of toad tower), but it can also be viewed as self harm and punishing herself.

Fourth point: Sasha Waybright NEEDS control. She feels unstable, unsure, insecure, and distressed when she isn’t in control at all times (re: when she told toadie that she needs to be in control of everything at all times or she’ll “go crazy”). Eating disorders THRIVE on the need for control. Sasha may not be able to control drifting apart from Anne in high school, or facing the weight of what she did in amphibia, or Marcy moving away, or the fact that everything is different and the trio will never be the same, but she CAN control how much she eats, how many calories she consumes, how much she exercises, whether the food stays down, her weight, etc. Sasha needs control so desperately, that she would harm herself and her body just to feel that sense of calm that is associated with being “”good”” at your eating disorder. Some may say that she left that need for control back in amphibia, but I believe that it’s still there. She just doesn’t feel as much of a need to control OTHERS. She could still very well feel the need to control her life, her body, and her eating behaviors.

Fifth point: This is more of a headcanon, but it’s backed up enough in the show that I feel comfortable including it. Sasha feels the need to be “perfect”. She needs to be the strongest person who protects her friends. Before amphiba, she was a skinny blonde cheerleader who was super popular, threw parties, and had control over the whole school (see: point 4). In amphibia, she had to be the best soldier, the strongest and fastest, the best strategist, the winner of everything. Even after her redemption arc, before Anne arrived back in amphibia, she had to be the BEST commander. When you grow up and go through puberty, you gain weight. It’s inevitable. I think when she got home from amphibia, especially because she probably wasn’t exercising as much due to her injuries and not needing to lead a whole army, she gained weight. This caused her to break down completely, and feel like she needed to “fix” the “problem” (I’m not saying gaining weight is a problem to fix, it’s completely natural, especially as a teenager. I’m just saying what I think SHE was thinking) because due to her need for perfectionism, she felt like she needed to have the perfect body and control over everything she could possibly have control over (point 4).

Sixth point: this is entirely a headcanon, but I wanted to include it. Despite the obvious PTSD/CPTSD, I think Sasha also meets the criteria for another mental illness. It’s hard to tell with the limited screen time we had in s3 and because she’s only 13, but if I had to guess, I would say she has a lot of warning signs for borderline personality disorder (I also have a lot of thoughts about this so let me know if y’all want another post about her borderline traits). Criterian 6 in the borderline section of the DSM5-TR is “impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self damaging (e.g. spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating”. Binge eating is a major factor in bulimia, BED, and sometimes OSFED. Criterian 7 is “chronic feelings of emptiness”. This can also be caused by repetitive trauma, but regardless of its source, chronic feelings of emptiness can absolutely cause binge eating or restricting to get that “thrill” to keep the emptiness at bay.

Soooo what does this all mean? What eating disorder does she have?

So in conclusion, Sasha Waybright has all the perfect factors in the development of an eating disorders. Eating disorders can start at any age, however they most commonly develop in your teen years, so she’s right at the age where you’re most at risk. What eating disorder she specifically has is difficult to tell, because she didn’t show any signs of disturbed eating patterns in the show. The 3 Ds of abnormal psychology, and what makes disordered behavior an actual disorder, are “dysfunction, distress, and deviance” (deviance used here means “abnormal from cultural norms”). She didn’t develop any of those in regards to eating throughout the show, but I’m mainly talking about after amphibia when she’s home again. It would be easy to assume that she would develop anorexia nervosa, I think that’s what most people think when they headcanon her as having an ED, but in my personal opinion, I think she’s more at risk of developing bulimia nervosa. Sasha needs control, yes, but she also frequently LOSES control. She is in control for a while, but then she loses her grip and does something impulsive or dangerous (such as her behavior in barrels warhammer). I think she would start off by restricting food and over exercising, but then she would break and end up binge eating. After the binge eating, she would feel guilt and the need to get rid of the calories she ate, which would lead to purging behaviors. Which would eventually lead into a purging addiction and a nasty binge/purge cycle.

Thank you for reading this far!

(Remember: I am NOT a licensed mental health professional. I’m just insane about Sasha Waybright and use my psychology degree for evil. This is all just my opinion and my perception of Sasha’s character.)

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 20

A Niche Narratives fanfiction

last | first | next

20: Breaking Point

It's only November, yet the local stores have swapped their Halloween decorations for the traditional, garish reds and greens of Christmas, for it promises to be a good one. With the pandemic restrictions lifted, rationing rumored to relax in early December and the anniversary of the Great War's conclusion on the horizon, even non-Christian communities are filled with seasonal cheer, leaving New York revitalized, rejuvenated and more proud to be American than ever, even as winter rapidly descends upon the city.

Its residents drawn into an icy grip of freezing rain, sleet and an unerring frost that licks the window panes, Mordecai can at least afford to heat his home properly this year. He burns kindling and coal almost constantly when at home, and his landlady often enters to light his hearth before bed to ensure the apartment is not freezing when he returns. In exchange for that simple kindness, he buys the widower a steady supply of coal, ensuring her pension goes on sustenance and essential fabrics rather than just staying alive.

Kosher meat is more readily available once more, allowing Mordecai to reintroduce some much needed variety into his diet. While still rationed for the time being, a little chicken in his soup makes a world of difference. It adds flavour, texture and additional proteins that allow the tuxedo to regain some of the body mass he lost during the Great War. It also adds to his family's diet, ensuring his mother is as healthy as can be as the weather changes and exacerbates her cough.

Regarding his family and restoring relations, it's a tentative process certainly, but they've made steady progress. Esther and Rose adjusted to his return almost immediately, pulling him back into the comforting rituals of Sunday afternoons in an instant. He spends much of his time being shown Rose's newest sketches - which move from animals, to delicately sketched cityscapes and countryside from their father's old books - or helping Esther with chores around the house as mother rests, the morning service having exhausted her.

Reconnecting with his mother is more difficult. While she's obviously happy to have Mordecai back in their lives, former affections return slowly. It takes months to tease more than single word answers from her, numerous more to move from formal discussion to easier conversation. It was the evening she suggested he lead hamotzi he'd finally felt forgiven, an honour he'd willingly split with Esther from that night on. It's also a relief his mother never mentions returning to Temple or speaks of Nataliya, leaving his associating with the synagogue firmly in the past for their present relationship.

Unfortunately, his Mother's health declines as the seasons change; occasional coughing fits become asthmatic attacks, wheezing and persistent malaise that makes housework or cooking almost impossible to maintain. With an unrelenting schedule, Mordecai relies on Esther in particular to keep the house clean, food on the table and accompany their mother to her copious appointments, feeding back the results as he assists with dinner clean-up every Sabbath.

Regardless of the specialist or tests, the outcomes remains consistent; take medications as prescribed, keep the house clean and when possible, move to a quieter suburb.

The constant re-administering of old advice - coupled with a mounting list of ineffectual yet expensive medications - is an exasperating experience for the entire family, but none more than Mordecai. Moving his family to better housing was the main motivation for a foray into the criminal underworld. Yet nine years later, he has a delightful apartment while they fester in rental purgatory, an incessant onslaught of medical bills constantly chipping away at his hard work until he has to add another month to their intended moving date.

He and Esther talk for hours after Mother and Rose go to sleep, discussing potential short term reparations for their situation. Their landlord won't fix the drafts or the broken kitchen window, an act of unsolved vandalism during the Great War, so they've taped newspaper and cardboard over the hole to act as an insulator. They've similarly insulated leaking window frames with paper, hung up dense curtains donated by a kind Temple member for heat retention, and now keep a window situated at each end of the house barely cracked at all times for fresh air ventilation.

Unable to afford a professional chimney sweep, Mordecai had stripped to his vest and boxers and attempted to clear out the chimney with a broom handle topped with a damp cloth. The mess was immense; a white muzzle ended up indistinguishable from black fur, while his undergarments were so badly stained, they were still gray after four washes and had to be thrown out. The throwback from their next fire was definitely reduced however, well worth a pair of boxers and a vest, when their mother could breathe easier.

After noticing the abundance of mold under the window in his mother's bedroom bringing her some tea a few months prior, he began to dedicate an hour each week to removing the mold in every bedroom, before moving on to the worst offender in the house, the bathroom. The first time he scrubbed it clear of mold, his hands were raw and bloody. He'd gotten lectured by both Esther and his mother into investing in rubber marigolds, which have certainly saved his poor paws from further damage, even if he hates how they feel on his bare hands.

Despite these efforts, his mother's cough moves closer to a suffocating moistness that choked his youngest sister on the stairs that awful night. Esther notices too; when cleaning up tjegtehr, they share a worried glance across the kitchen before glancing at the ceiling, ears straining to hear her wheezing breaths afterwards, seeking reassurance their mother remains alive for another week.  

Returning home, Mordecai always counts his savings again each Sunday, willing eighteen months to pass in earnest. 

While loath to admit it even to himself, the unerring forward march of her illness has resulted in some unprofessionalism on Mordecai's part. He's short with his own employees, quick to become irritable in adverse conditions, and even less forgiving with the unlucky souls on the receiving end of interrogation. More than once, he's foregone any calculated discussion entirely for physical torture in a quest for swiftee conclusions, the job remaining in his least favourite line of work under Mr Savage's leadership.

Life continues on mostly according to plan though, until just two days before his twenty-first birthday, when Mordecai jolts awake to a banging on his apartment door. 

"One moment," he mumbles too softly for anyone to hear, then scrabbles on his bedside table to switch on the lamp. Retrieving his pocket watch, he pops it open and squints at the face a long moment before realizing he can't see without his glass. "Briln," he grumbles to himself, clumsily picks the eyeglasses up and sets them on his muzzle. He then peers at the time with bleary eyes, tilting his head to avoid the awful fingerprints he's just left on the glass to read the face.

3:17am. Mordecai groans and presses his face into a pillow, making his pince-nez wonky in its feathery softness as his arm falls to the mattress beside him. He's been in bed for a few hours, likely only asleep for one and a half. Certainly not long enough to be summoned from slumber and tempted to ignore them and roll back over, it's their desperate nature to eventually encourage the man, begrudgingly, to his feet. 

The disheveled tom pulls his robe over striped pajamas and steps into worn slippers, then causally stifles a yawn into a fist while retrieving the Colt from his shoulder holster. Gun in hand, he approaches the door and opens it without thought, the gun hanging at his side more habit than a careful plan. If anyone wanted him dead in that moment, he'd have been a sitting duck in his robe and nightclothes that Sunday night 

As luck would have it, there is no threat waiting on the other side of the door, yet it's somehow immeasurably worse to be faced not with a disgruntled, bankrupt client but Rose in just her nightdress and a thin robe, tears staining her cheeks in fresh streaks and body shaking almost violently. The sight is enough to wake Mordecai up entirely, though before a query can leave his lips, Rose has thrown her arms around him and buried her face in his pajama shirt, sobbing hot tears into the fabric without remorse.

Mordecai stands awkwardly, eyes wide and confused, Colt still hanging uselessly at his side while Rose squeezes him tight enough to knock the breath from his lungs. She should not be walking the streets of New York alone at all, let alone at night. She's hardly dressed for the weather, as if she just grabbed the nearest pair of boots and ran soon after waking up, unruly curls escaping from the dual braids uses to keep it from becoming tangled during sleep. 

Her attire is as bewildering as her presence, however after a number of seconds have passed, his familial instincts finally return. Bringing the hand holding the gun to rest against her lower back, Mordedai places his other hand on her head in an attempt at reassurance and comfort. It seems effective, as her tears redouble into his shirt, her arms so unnaturally cold to the touch through the thin fabric it makes him frown.

Only then does he finally look up and notice his Mrs Kovitz, his downstairs neighbour and landlady, also standing in the hallway. The elderly woman leans against a wall for support, her face smothered in anti wrinkle cream and frame almost skeletal thanks to the stress of losing both her husband and a son in the war, her palm beneath the opposite elbow to steady her hand as she puffs on a cigarette. 

*She say sumzing about motzher going into 'ospital," the elderly woman states between tokes. Her frilly nightgown is like a sea of white on her small frame, making her seem like she doesn't have feet. "I zink it best let her up to speak."

"I appreciate the forethought, Mrs Kovitz," the monochrome tom offers with obvious sincerity on a usually stoic muzzle. He glances down at Rose for a moment, gently stroking the back of her head as she begins to quiet down, before olive eyes rise to meet pale yellows. "Anything with which you require assistance, I would be most-"

She interrupts him with a shoo motion from both hands. "Go be wiv family, narr," she instructs with a sad smile, tired eyes moving to the sniffing girl pressed to his chest. It's her favourite thing to call her peculiar upstairs neighbour, when the man fixates on unimportant things, an affectionate term, even if it sounds somewhat cruel; jester. Mrs Kovitz motions to the girl she hasn't met before. "Time for being man of family, not pester old woman wiv help."

Mordecai nods gratefully before ushering Rose inside, her freezing hands a sure sign her shivering is not just from the expression of intense emotions. She needs a cup of tea to sip while Mordecai finds something suitably warm to pull on over her robe, then they'll go to the hospital together. Until they talk to a professional, Mordecai can only hope there's still something that can be done for his mother's poor health.

oOoOo

Even at six in the morning, the hospital still bustles; around slumbering patients and anxious relatives, nurses move in and out of wards fluidly, taking vitals and checking on their most vulnerable patients with admirable efficiency. Mordecai watches them silently from his chair beside his mother's bed once her cough has been brought under control. Hours flow past for while she and his sisters slumber, he cannot relax. There's no time for rest, not when he has new calculations and risk assessments to run regarding his savings plan.

He reclines in the armchair and stares at the ceiling, fingers entwined in his lap atop a white fedora. With just months left before saving enough to buy them a house, the sudden decline in their mother's health is a kick in the teeth. Doctors expect her to be discharged in three weeks and determined she won't return to a home that's slowly killing her, the time frame for success has significantly reduced to a mere tenth.

This comes with its own slew of problems; there's no way Savage won't notice if Mordecai starts scraping more than one percent off each business under his management. The numbers are simply too high to disguise as unexpected bills or degraded stock, yet Mordecai remains aware his current scheme can't earn the remaining funds in just three weeks, not unless he can exponentially grow his customer base in each consecutive week, unlikely in a post-war climate.

A low wheeze drawing his attention, Mordecai sits up and observes his mother carefully as she struggles to catch her breath, even at rest. The episode thankfully passes just as swiftly as it came when she rolls onto her side, but it's enough to convince Mordecai of his next move; temporarily increasing his embezzlement margins to three percent, and hope he can disguise it well enough to avoid the deception being uncovered.

It's a huge risk, but just two weeks of triple earnings is all he needs to ensure once his mother is discharged, she and his sisters can move into a new home. One without black mold under the windows. I can remain undetected for a fortnight. I have to, for mother's sake.