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entirelytoooobsessed · 11 months ago

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needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post

synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.

warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it

The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.

What a delightful feeling.

What a human desire.

“Touch me.”

The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind.

“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return.

“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.

“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is.

“Your name?” You mutter slowly.

“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.

Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you.

You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.

You don’t mind now.

“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back.

He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.

The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands.

With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?

“Hmm? Just what?”

He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you.

You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.

But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.

Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.

Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before.

Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.

But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.

He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.

You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.

“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.

“No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off. “No, n-no, don’t wan’you to leave…”

You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”

He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.

You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper.

“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”

You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth.

You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.

The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.

A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.

Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.

“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~”

His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.

Perhaps…

“Kiss me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”

He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.

“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”

“You know we can’t. You-“

“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”

A losing fucking battle.

Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight.

All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.

And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.

He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein.

It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips.

He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using.

Just like he told you to do.

He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises.

You’d show him what real ascension felt like.

You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.

To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.

You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting.

He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”

You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin.

And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.

In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.

Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat.

He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.

But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.

So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.

Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.

Like he wants you to.

He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down.

Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced.

He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.

And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.

He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.

He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.

For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.

But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.

Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.

But he stops you.

His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.

Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.

"I promise, I will."

And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.

Just you.

"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."

He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.

But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.

To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.

His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.

"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."

He always has been one for dramatics.

His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.

"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.

He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

And he's crying. And he's beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.

"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"

You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours.

"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.

“Satoru,” And he shakes.

“Satoru,” And he sobs.

“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.

“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.

Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.

Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.

Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.

Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.

"You love me right?"

You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.

But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.

"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.

"Do you love me?"

You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.

"I do love you Satoru."

And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.

But that doesn't matter.

Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.

"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.

“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”

“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”

You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”

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mouseratz · 5 months ago

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it's like yes I want to drive I have a car available I could practice with most of the day. however. every time I go outside I usually have an allergic reaction that makes my skin burn and itch from actual head to toe for the last few months. so I only go outside when we need something and quite generally avoid it. this is also disregarding the fact that I have been mentally ill my entire adult life and it is very anxiety provoking. which I will eventually get over but that is gradual and also not considering that like.....it's still an Obstacle right. you guys know what panic attacks are like right. and this is also all assuming I have enough executive functioning to decide and remember to do something other than sit here and stare at a wall. "it's just your phone distracting you lol" I have gone weeks without going online and it straight up Didn't Help. In fact. It made me more anxious and depressed and prone to mood swings bc my primary contact outside of the house was gone. so. the easy solutions......are not solutions. or even easy. it is not impossible but somewhat uphill.

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witchmd13 · 4 years ago

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The thing that I've been thinking about a lot lately in regards to the Druid episode in S4 is how we all assume that nothing ever came of it but I'm wondering of maybe that's the wrong way to look at it? I mean Arthur promises that the druids would no longer be raided and senselessly slaughtered and in 5x04 we see Arthur ask the man hanging the sorcereress if she'd received a fair trial. That actually suggests to me that he did keep his promise in the sense that sorcerers were no longer being killed without reason the way they were under Uther. Even with Kara, he didn't kill her simply bc she was a sorcereress but bc she pledged her loyalty to Morgana and killed multiple innocent people. So in that sense, he did keep his promise. Beyond that, I actually think it's a bit unreasonable to expect him to simply lift the ban on magic when he didn't know the full truth and had reason to be wary of magic users. I mean aside from the Dolma pretty much almost all of Arthur's interactions with magic users even in the last couple of seasons were where they threatened him or his people. When you think about it, Arthur was betrayed and lied to by magic users so many times yet he still found it in himself to at least question the belief that all magic users were evil. I don't think it's fair the way people try to judge and condemn Arthur when the truth is that he did the best he could with the knowledge that was available to him. Beyond that, it's really not his fault that nobody would tell him the truth. While I don't believe that Merlin had any obligation to tell Arthur about his magic, I do think that would've been the thing that changed Arthur's mind for good bc I have every reason to believe that while he would probably have been upset at having been lied to (and understandably so IMO) he would've come around to it pretty quickly. Anyway, I'm just wondering if maybe we look at Arthur's promise in the Druid episode the wrong way in some ways

I agree 100% with everything you said.

I’m going to elaborate on the way I see it. I realize a lot of people are going to strongly disagree with my answer, but I’m going to write it once and for all.

First time watching, I honestly thought Arthur did change his policies regarding the Druids just like he’s told the Druid boy. I thought he was just teasing Merlin. Later, and mainly because of tumblr, I changed my mind and assumed I read the situation incorrectly, but now that I’ve had the time to watch it again and let it set with me, I really believe my initial impression was correct. Arthur didn’t fully lift the magic ban (for all the reasons you’ve mentioned and I’m going to elaborate on that in a moment), but I fully believe he did stop persecuting Druids and attacking them based solely on the fact that they existed. The main thing that makes me believe it so is what Arthur tells Merlin in Arthur’s Bane about the murdered Druids they find (just after Merlin hears Arthur’s death prophecy for the first time). He says: “We’ll leave once we give these people a proper burial” which, I believe, is something Uther would’ve never allowed had his policies remained unchanged. Mordred tells Merlin later that sorcerers were not allowed marked graves, do you think Uther would’ve permitted that to Druids?

I also totally believe Arthur stopped persecuting people for being born with magic (for the same reasons he presented to Uther when he was defending Mordred in the Beginning of the End; that he was just a boy and there was no telling what he’ll do when he grows up), but he didn’t stop persecuting people who actively practiced magic, and since he had very good reasons to believe all magic was evil, I think was a very good change at that point.

The show made it perfectly clear that in the end the story became about Merlin and Arthur, and I truly believe that’s what they were going for at the end. The story zeroed in on Arthur and Merlin so much that we weren’t even shown what Gwen did as queen, what happened to everyone else, hell we weren’t even shown the result of the battle, only what happened to Arthur and Merlin. You are free to see that as a flaw in the storytelling of the show (as I do), but it’s another reason why I believe we weren’t shown the gradual change in Arthur’s policies regarding magic in the years between s4 and 5 and after the episode with Dolma. Still, like you said, we could see it in the whole Kara issue. I believe Arthur had 100% the right to have her killed. He had given her the opportunity to go back on it and get away with it, which, yeah, she tried to kill the King in time of war, had killed multiple people, and had publicly declared her allegiance to Morgana. How can anyone really expect Arthur to let her live? are you kidding?!?

Morgana’s actions and her constant attacks on Camelot made it impossible to change something as drastic as an almost 30 year old magic ban.

I never saw anyone talking about this, so I’m mentioning it here. Morgana’s story from Arthur’s POV must’ve been a literal sobering nightmare on how magic can corrupt. I’m honestly surprised it didn’t turn him away completely from magic forever even before he asked Dragoon to save Uther. Here was this girl who was good and kind to everyone suddenly without warning turning into this monster that broke his father’s heart and wanted to kill him and his people (still, the one time we saw his reaction to her being imprisoned and tortured was clear hurt for her). All he knew was that one day Morgana cane near magic and then became the polar opposite of who she was. How can you blame him for thinking magic had corrupted her? How can you blame him for thinking magic was pure evil?

Arthur’s betrayal at Merlin’s secret was just that. It was because Merlin didn’t tell him, not because he had magic. It was about them, about their friendship and their personal relationship. It was never about the magic or not trusting Merlin himself. He was willing to send Merlin back to Camelot and to Gwen, to his kingdom and his queen! He absolutely trusted Merlin. He was just hurt.

I don’t believe either Morgana or Merlin owed Arthur the truth, but we have to keep in mind that Arthur was kept in the dark about magic almost his entire life. All he knew was that it corrupts and kills and hurts people and he still made the choice to assume the good when he had the choice. If anything, that shows his true character more than anything.

#arthur pendragon #afireice #ask #honestly if you read all of that you deserve a cookie #i just have so many feelings about arthur's relationship with magic you have no idea #believe it or not this is the edited version #lmao

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drfitzmonster · 6 years ago

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Scrap my previous question. I have a new (and better) one. What is smoking pot like? I’ve always been curious but I’ve never dared to try it out of fear of some adverse reaction. But I do wonder what it’s like for people who have beneficial reactions to it. (And maybe also whether smoking is better than pot brownies or vice versa because people talk about pot brownies more than smoking pot, at least amongst the people I know)

i’m definitely going to answer the other one bc it is very good, but i’ll do this one first

so the thing about cannabis is that it can be really great for some people, but it’s definitely not for everyone

it can have some significant side effects (esp for habitual smokers) that do seem to be at least partially reversible if you quit

it also can make you paranoid

cannabis can have stimulating effects, certain strains more than others (sativas are generally more stimulating, indicas more relaxing)

some people don’t like the way being high feels, some people love it

it makes some people feel paranoid or panicky, but i think that at least some cases of paranoia/panic are due to overconsumption (esp of edibles)

it’s been very helpful for me personally, and for my wife

i use it for anxiety and insomnia, and bc it’s fun and it just generally improves the quality of my life

it affects everyone differently, but for me, it helps me relax, it helps me sleep, it stimulates my creativity, it makes me feel good and happy sometimes, but it can also be numbing, a bit, which is not great if you’re using it to numb yourself so you can avoid dealing with issues in your life that need to be addressed proactively

while it is not physically addictive, some people can become psychologically addicted and it can impact their life negatively

having said all of that

cannabis is far safer and less addictive than opioids or benzodiazepines (both physically addictive), or a host of other pharmaceuticals that treat conditions that can also be treated with cannabis

the way cannabis affects a habitual user is different from the way it affects a first time smoker or a very occasional or rare smoker

and eating or drinking it affects you much differently than smoking/vaping

i’m going to talk about smoking (the flower, the actual dried plant matter, not concentrates, which you should not try until you are a more experienced smoker) first, because if you can, you should smoke it before you try edibles

if/when you smoke pot for the first/first few times:

you will cough (have water nearby)

the first time you try to smoke you may not get very high because you are not able to take a deep enough hit. if the first time seems lackluster, the second time you will probably get actually high

you will probably become really giggly

it will probably make you want to eat, and when you do eat you may enjoy the food more than you normally do

it may make everything in general seem funnier and more enjoyable

it may make you feel euphoric and excited

it may make it very difficult to concentrate

it will most likely make it impossible to follow a conversation or something on tv

it may make you hyperfocus on a physical object

it might make you very chatty, and you may wax philosophical

it might make you say really ridiculous sometimes bizarre (but usually funny) things

it might make you really sleepy

edibles affect you a lot differently, you feel it more in your body, it lasts longer, but it also takes longer to kick in

if you use too much it can become a very negative experience, so it is very important to start with a low dose and wait for it to kick in. it takes about an hour to take effect (while smoking affects you immediately).

start with a small dose, like 5mg, and see how that affects you

if you feel like 5mg isn’t enough, next time you can try 10mg, and gradually increase your dose from there each subsequent time you take edibles

the main problem people have with edilbles is they eat one and don’t wait long enough for it to kick in so they eat another, and then when it actually starts working they realize they’ve taken too much

just remember that you will be high much longer, and it may make you extremely drowsy

sometimes when i take edibles i just end up taking a really long nap (which is not bad, i can always use more sleep)

i hope this helps some, i’m sorry for the length of this response, one of the things cannabis does to me is make me extremely long-winded

i’m going to include a couple links to articles/sites that may be helpful to you

https://toronto.ctvnews.ca/new-to-cannabis-experts-offer-tips-on-how-to-achieve-your-best-buzz-1.4135813

https://www.leafly.com/news/cannabis-101

https://weedmaps.com/learn/

https://www.wellandgood.com/good-advice/beginners-guide-to-cannabis/

*do not drive while you are high*

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loxxxlay · 6 years ago

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Do you happen to have any advice on not shaving? I normally just do it in summer but I’d like to stop completely, but not sure if I have the confidence lol. I’m worried ppl will think it’s gross or that I have bad hygiene or something (for some reason I feel like that’s more likely in a conservative small town like mine? bc it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s seen as this “progressive/feminist” thing. Not sure if that makes any difference though) How did you find the confidence to stop shaving?

ahhhhh, this ask absolutely made my day because it took a long time for me to be able to not shave, and it makes me so happy that it had an inspiring/encouraging affect on you. that said, i’m not perfect. there are still plenty of situations that make me feel insecure (and one recently which actually made me re-shave, and i regretted it instantly lol. the armpit hair is all grown back now though ;) hahahha). but to the best of my ability,,,,

(I’ll start with armpit hair because.. leg hair is something i’m still very insecure about, which will all become clear later:)

the way i started was actually during winter as well when ppl don’t see it. and idk, this was around the time where i was really trying to be more comfortable in my skin. and there was one point where i looked in the mirror with full grown out armpit hair and realized.... that i liked how it looked. and from there, i gradually learned that apparently i am into women with a good amount of armpit hair idkkk, it looks cute to me. and since i know rationally that my opinion is the only thing that really matters, that’s when i decided to stop shaving.

emotionally though, it was hard. whenever i went to dance practice, i would get lots of disgusted side-eyes. potential sex partners were definitely worried about my hygiene at the time. -rolls eyes- there were many times where i gave into the pressure. but since i’d been building such a habit and a love for armpit hair over the winter, it always looked really weird to me when i shaved. and eventually it became a truth that the reaction from other ppl was not worth feeling weird about myself. like, the choice was made for me at that point.

So idk if that helps you? :/ Like I think in general you really have to start from a place of self-love. Picture the sexiest woman possible (if you’re into women anyway ;) and if not, maybe the most objectively beautiful woman).. and picture her with armpit hair. Do you like it? It’s okay if you’re unsure at first. Either way, try to start appreciating your appearance with it more. Look at yourself in the mirror and think about how good your armpit hair looks. Like, that’s what I do every single time I shower and am drying off my hair. I get a good glimpse of my armpit hair and am like “yeah, that’s attractive, I am attractive” hahhaha. Even if you don’t fully believe it, keep saying it, and if u like the body hair, you will eventually find the confidence!!

However, there is a possibility of finding out you objectively just... don’t think it’s cute. that’s kinda how I feel about my leg hair? no matter how hard I tried to convince myself, I’m not into it. I like a smooth leg. So that’s a situation where self-love was impossible as a solution and made my insecurity harder to combat? But I definitely don’t think that attractiveness should be a requirement to exist in the world. So if you want to quit shaving, even if you’re not fully into the look, then this is what I did for leg hair:

I looked for spaces where leg hair would have the least amount of consequence/risk possible and used those places to practice. I’m very lucky because my body hair is very fine and light so it’s hard for ppl to notice, so my advice might be colored a bit by that? But in general, I started at work. My dress code is pretty lax there and everyone is too busy to notice legs. So I would wear pants that stop halfway down my calf, and then shorts. Until I got to a point where I don’t even think about it anymore. then I’d start doing the same thing for increasingly nerve-wracking situations like hanging out with friends and parties and such. (Maybe for ppl who do have a dress code at work, a good starting place would be at the grocery store or something. Anywhere where it’s comfy to feel dressed down.)

What also helped was to find other ppl who didn’t shave much either and spend more time with them (specifically in shorts lol). Like whenever I’m insecure, I say to my friends, “wahhh look at all my leg hair” and they always say something that comforts me - which makes the opinions of strangers matter less and less. (this last bit might be hard in a small town :/ but if you can find even one person to bond with, it will help a lot!)

Anyway idkkk, I hope this was helpful to you!! Either way I wish you the best of luck!! It’s hard, and I still struggle, and it’s okay if it takes a while to get the hang of it. I believe in you!!

#random #shaving #scintillatingshortgirl19 #lox replies

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reactivebangtan · 7 years ago

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REQUEST: Can I have bts reaction when their GF remove their makeup and doing for them face treatment after they came exhausted from award show? annnnd i love you and your reaction so soooo sosos much thanks for everything bc you’re my type of writing REQUESTED BY: @ranmin10 WARNINGS: nothing but sweet fluff. ur welcome NOTES: these were rlly cute and domestic i loved writing all of them but jungkook’s for some reason came out extra cute and honestly idk what i did to deserve this kind of disrespect. this is what they mean when they mention the jungkook effect. smh ( and, thank you!! i’m really glad you’re enjoying my blog so far!! )

your hands are gentle — they’re always gentle — and your fingertips just brush against his skin with each swipe of your make-up wipe ( your touch tickles and teases him, but it’s enough for now ). this entire scenario has become like a ritual to you both, him sitting before you with his eyes closed and body content, and you cleaning him up with ginger touches and loving caresses. these things always seemed more gratifying when he could come home to you, to this, even when all the shows and awards and special appearances were gratifying enough on their own. eventually, the remnants of the day are smeared against the moist towelette, eye shadow and foundation muddled and mixed together that you can’t tell them apart, and his skin seems to glow in the aftermath —

you both relish in these moments, where nothing interferes with your little bubble, eyes only for each other and it’s as if nothing else in the world matters. your hands glide over his skin as you prep his face for the mask you’ve chosen for the night, and all he can do is watch you with soft eyes, loving eyes, the sort of look that always makes you weak in the knees. jin is always keen on watching the way your expression moves fluidly from one thing to the next, the way your brows crease when you slide your ring finger just beneath his dark circles and the way your lips pull up when you catch his doing the same. you’re so careful with him, so extremely gentle, and even the look in your eyes is the same — he isn’t sure what he did to deserve you, or this, but he never has the heart to deny you. it wouldn’t be a pampering session if you didn’t join in, though, matching sheet mask and all. the rest of the night is spent leaning into one another on the couch and drinking homemade hot chocolate, the blanket draped over your legs making everything feel so much cozier. when it comes time to peel the mask off, you’re straddling his lap and taking your time peeling the thin layer away; his skin shines with the treatment, positively glowing and supple, and you don’t bother hiding just how tickled you are that it worked so well ( you think he doesn’t know it, but he’s more than aware that you did all the research you could to find something that worked well with his skin type, and seeing you so happy over something so seemingly meaningless has him falling in love with you all over again ).

❝ alright, i’m going to put the mask on, so stay just like that. ❞ he’s quiet and obedient and far too pleased to tease you for telling him what to do — the most you get out of his tired body is a nearly unnoticeable shiver at the feel of the cool clay you begin to smear all over his face. the pads of your fingers follow the contours of his face and smooth down his nosebridge, right before you’re brushing his hair away and adding the finishing touches. and, if it weren’t for the way his lashes flutter and his lips pull into the softest of grins you would have thought he’d fallen asleep, but you know as soon as you speak that he hears every word ( ❝ green clay really suits you, you know. you should wear this more often. ❞ said with a playful lilt and a teasing tap to his nose, all of which is met with a giggle ). the next twenty minutes are spent laying next to each other, him telling you all about what went on behind the scenes, and you listening to even the smallest details. the peace of it all is only ever interrupted by you having to swat his hand away from nearly touching his face with a chiding ❝ don’t! ❞, until eventually he’s doing it on purpose and you can’t be bothered to listen to exactly what kind of disaster namjoon caused backstage or just how much hoseok laughed about it or what jin had to say about any of it — you’re far too busy reaching over him and past him and damn near through him just to get it him to quit messing with you. you’d worked hard on getting that coverage as even as possible! one little stretch has him grasping at you and pulling you even closer, though, and the little yelp he pulls out of you is swallowed up by a kiss. you had to hand it to him, it was the perfect way to get you to shut up and stop nagging him so much — that is, until your hands come to cradle his face and you feel the warm clay mold into the imprint of your fingertips and the way it smears against your nose and the apples of your cheeks. any complaints that might’ve formed right on the tip of your tongue die at the sight of his wide smile, and all you can do is smile back — ❝ green clay really suits you, too, you know. ❞

❝ mmm — you’re too good to me. ❞ his voice is sluggish and rolls off his tongue at half the speed it normally does, tired and contented to simply sit there beneath your tenderness without a care in the world. with your straddling his waist and his hands resting on your thighs, anyone who walked in would think you were keeping him captive — it was quite the opposite really, as you knew any attempt you made to leave would result in puppy-dog whining and pouting lips. still, you never once complained about keeping him company, instead taking the opportunity to pamper him when the time would allow. his newest cleanser leaves his skin fresh and soft to the touch, and you hum at the feel of it even beneath the gel-like consistency of your mask of choice; the warmth of him could be felt from across the room, from before he even entered it, but you never tired of feeling it directly ( it was never once overwhelming, never too much, and you’d always ask for more if only he would allow it — and he always does, always ). during these moments neither of you ever feel the need to speak, instead opting to simply bask in the company of the other, far too invested in the sensations to be aware of anything else. to hoseok this is cloud nine, this is heaven, this is euphoria — he can see nothing greater than simply being under your care.

❝ alright, this isn’t working as well as i thought it would. ❞ your laughter brightens up the room in a matter of seconds, leaving namjoon to smile at the very sound of it — sure, it was at his expense, but he's happy to provide anything and everything to hear you giggle. he’s never been one to simply take, so when you’d offered to pamper him a little bit and you didn’t seem to back down from the idea he’d immediately come up with a compromise — no girlfriend of his was going to take care of him without him returning the favor! of course, the idea was nice, but the actual act was, well... arms got a little tangled and you’re pretty sure the both of you have matching streaks of clay in your hair. sitting knee to knee, you’d tried about ten different ways, until eventually you found a way that kind of worked — one hand for each of you, a little bit of clay at a time, and you gradually paint one another’s faces with tender caresses and gentle touches. it took longer than necessary, and half the mask had already dried by the time you’re done, but he can’t complain. he feels rejuvenated already simply watching the way your face lights up with a smile and your eyes positively glitter with humor and something so close to love he might just dare to say it is.

jimin loves a great many things about you — the list is so long that it’s damn near impossible to complete and there’s always something new added to it every single day — but your total and utter care for him has to be among the top of the list. at the very least he’d expected you to be waiting in bed for him, ready to cuddle up real close and relax, but even that you seemed to make better — even if it is your open arms waiting for him, instead of blankets it’s warm water and the gentle foam of bubbles, and your hands are ready to do more than simply run through his hair and ease him to sleep. his eyes closed nearly as soon as you touched him, your fingertips easing and melting away everything else until all there is is you. if warmth of the bath and the atmosphere itself wasn’t enough, the mask of your choice warms with your touch and as you smooth it over his skin your fingertips leave a trail of heat over every curve, every dip, every little arch until you’ve painted his face in tenderness. he looks beautiful like this, splayed out beneath you like a living work of art, water licking at his flesh with every little movement — you almost think he’s asleep until he finally opens his eyes. it’s only after you’ve begun wiping away the evidence of your pampering that he does so, and only to look into your own, the softest of smiles growing upon his lips at the sight of your questioning gaze — ❝ i’ll return the favor one of these days, okay? ❞ ( and, he does, with candles and kisses and enough sweet talk to last you a lifetime. )

you can hear your favorite television series playing from down the hall, and don’t even realize you’re humming along to the theme song until taehyung chuckles about it — you had every right to tug on the lock of hair within your grasp, but instead you continue to massage his scalp and rinse water through it ( in his defense, he was only giggling because he thinks you’re cute ). it started with a shoulder massage that turned into you going all the way down his back and back up again, only for you to finally demand he get into a hot bath ( ❝ i can tell it’s more than just your back bothering you, so get in there! ❞ ), until finally you came to kneeling just outside the tub, washing his hair for him. you can’t see his face, but you already know his eyes are closed and every question you ask is always met with a quiet hum or an indistinct groan, so you stop trying to pry about the awards show and simply let him be — you know he’ll tell you everything tomorrow — all while pampering him to the nines. eventually, you manage to drag him from the warm waters enough to allow you to rinse away the rest of the sweat and grime, until he’s damn near sparkling clean. with fresh, steam-warmed skin it’s easy to slip a mask on him and allow it to soak into his pores, and it’s only then that you pry him from the soapy waters and allow him to hunker down into bed, already half-asleep by the time he hits the pillows. ( thankfully he doesn’t move very much, because you almost forgot to take the mask off, before you joined in beside him — it doesn’t hurt to let it soak in for a few extra minutes, right? )

❝ you worry too much. ❞ it’s all he has to say as you fuss over him, as if he hadn’t been practically dragging himself through the front door a few minutes ago. still, your fretting does nothing to annoy or frustrate him — in fact, he smiles when you shove him down onto the couch and demand he kick off his shoes while you go gather up far more than you need to get the job done. jungkook says nothing as you clean his face off, and doesn’t comment when you pin his bangs back or when you swipe your toner over his newly cleansed skin. though, it would be worth it to mention that he does make a discontented noise when you mention that you’ll have to get a toner specifically for his skin next time, because you already do far too much for him as is. the very idea has his smile widening, though — that would mean he’d have things at your place, right? it’d be like leaving his mark among all of your own things, like a small jeon jungkook was here. he’s caught up in the concept so much that he doesn’t notice you leave for a moment or two, and only notes that you even left when an adorable little ‘ ah-ha! here it is! ‘ is heard from down the hall. you’re scurrying back a few seconds after, and he barely has time to register what’s in your hands, before you’re ripping the packaging open and gingerly lifting the mask out of its foil. ❝ close your eyes. ❞ your tone is as gentle as your touch as you begin laying it over his skin, carefully guiding it to fit against all the right places — he shivers, but not from the cool substance clinging to the cloth, but rather the care with which you put it into place. are you always like this? so tentative and kind? you must be — you are. once a distinct hum of approval thrums in your throat, he finally opens his eyes back up to look at you, and it’s like he’s looking at you for the first time all over again. ❝ can i kiss you? ❞ the question catches you off guard, but only long enough for you to think of and get the word ‘ no ‘ out. maybe the confusion was written on his face, or maybe you just knew he was gonna ask, but you answer before he can even begin to form the question on his tongue. ❝ i’m not getting your mask all over me! it’ll get all sticky! besides, it needs to stay in place. ❞ and, just like that his expression falls into one of absolute disbelief — ❝ oh, really? ❞ the squeal that comes out of you from the way he grabs you and drags you down probably alerted the neighbors, but you can’t seem to care when he’s holding you like that and kissing you like that and — you feel the mask fall from it’s place along the top of his forehead, the wet material peeling all the way down as you pull away. the look you shoot his way and the shine of the mask’s treatment smeared down the side of your face is enough for him to grin with just a little bit of shame ( it’s microscopic, but it’s there ). ❝ you, uh... you got a little something right there... ❞

#ranmin10 #reactions.#requests.#bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts reacts to #bts reader insert #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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virlvdeosbest · 4 years ago

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“It appears to me to be essential for each physician to be knowledgeable in nature and to make every effort to know, if he wishes to perform his responsibilities, what guy is in relation to the food and drink he consumes and to all his other professions, in addition to their results on everybody else. Due to the fact that if he does not know what results these things have on man, he can not know the effects that arise from them. If he does not focus on these things, or focusing does not understand them, how can he understand the diseases which befall man? For male is impacted by each of these things and changed by them in numerous ways. The whole of his life undergoes them, whether in health, convalescence or illness. Absolutely nothing else, therefore, can be more crucial than to understand these things. (Hippocrates 450 BC.).Wow, what a smart guy, this Hippo-something guy! He was generally stating not just that “you are what you take in” however that “you are what you do” as well. And he was saying that it behooves medical doctors to focus on dietary and lifestyle aspects when venturing to comprehend the “illness that befall man.”.And in today’s world, as in the world of ancient Greece where Hippocrates lived and practiced medicine, there are some “diseases that befall man” (or female) which today’s doctors often misdiagnose or do not fully comprehend. Two of these illness or syndromes just recently named “fibromyalgia” and “fatigue syndrome” were just unwillingly provided these names and a place in medical literature after patients suffered for many years with either no diagnosis at all or a medical diagnosis of a mental or emotional disorder.

For years male fight veterans have actually been detected with “shell-shock,” “combat fatigue,” or more recently, “post-traumatic stress disorder.” An intriguing historic reality in relation to this is that President John F. Kennedy took cortisol (a steroid hormonal agent produced from the adrenal glands) for much of his adult life after having his PT-109 torpedo ship destroyed by an accident with a Japanese warship in August 1943 during The Second World War. He rallied the survivors, rescuing one of them who was badly injured, and received the following citation from the Navy: “For extremely brave conduct as Commander of Motor Torpedo Boat 109 following the crash and sinking of that vessel in the Pacific War Theater on August 1-2, 1943. Unmindful of personal risk, Lieutenant Kennedy unhesitatingly braved the difficulties and dangers of darkness to direct rescue operations, swimming lots of hours to protect aid and food after he had actually been successful in getting his team ashore. His impressive courage, endurance and leadership added to the conserving of numerous lives and remained in keeping with the greatest traditions of the United States Naval Service.” Obviously, however, JFK experienced physical and/or emotional sequelae from this terrible event, and in 1948 his physician prescribed cortisol, which he considered the rest of his life, for Addison’s disease – withering of the adrenal glands. One has to wonder how much the trauma of The second world war related to Kennedy’s Addison’s disease. Even back in 1948 some physicians, including the one who dealt with Kennedy, acknowledged that severe tension or injury might exhaust the adrenal glands, rendering them sub-functional afterwards.However, although disorders resulting from combat injury were thus acknowledged relatively early in men, lots of female clients struggling with fatigue and muscle and joint discomfort went un-diagnosed. In essence, doctors threw up their hands and said either, “There’s nothing incorrect with you,” or “Your condition is psychological,” and sometimes prescribed antidepressant medications as treatment. Although these medications did help some clients with a fatigue syndrome, they did little to deal with the underlying causes of the tiredness, pain, insomnia, etc. For some reason, cultural or otherwise, many men were permitted to have an authentic stress-related physical medical diagnosis, while numerous ladies were relegated to medical diagnoses that made them sound hysterical or mentally weak. As chauvinistic as this seems (and most likely was), those inequalities will not be further attended to here. The reality is, many males (specifically fight veterans) as well as females were not then and still today are not being afforded the mindful and thorough physical exams and laboratory analyses which they require to determine their actual issue – which, not remarkably, is typically related to deficiency of their adrenal glandular function. Relatively recently, after years of perplexing signs that physicians had a tough time detecting, the medical profession has recognized the medical diagnosis of “adrenal tiredness.”.It has long been understood that the adrenal glands, which are located on top of the kidneys, secrete compounds such as adrenaline and cortisol in reaction to danger, tension, or risk. This is an instinctive physical response which informs the autonomic nervous system, which manages breathing, nerve level of sensitivity, and heart rate, to heighten its activity. It has actually also long been known that cortisol from the adrenals normally assists to neutralize the results of the stress or risk. For instance, it aids in the release of insulin, assists bring blood sugar level back to normal levels, manages blood pressure and immune function, and decreases inflammatory reactions in the body. It also provides a fast energy fix, increases mental alertness, and temporarily raises the body’s pain limit. These short-lived modifications assist a person satisfy the difficulties successfully, and then the body normally returns to an autonomically regular state (slower breathing and heart rate, etc.). Nevertheless, because cortisol’s function in the body is to react to a short-term state of challenge, whenever the tension is constant or unmitigated for too long a time period, the body remains in a state of hypervigilance, causing cortisol to collect to unhealthy levels in the body. At these excessive levels over an extended period of time, cortisol stops to be beneficial. A high cortisol level in fact motivates the accumulation of fat around the middle and in fact triggers the body to begin metabolizing proteins from the muscles as energy sources, causing muscle pain, weakness, and tiredness. Also, levels of the beneficial steroid hormonal agent DHEA, which is also produced by the adrenals, begin to fall, because DHEA levels are inversely impacted by cortisol levels.

This state of excess cortisol in the body is the earliest stage of adrenal tiredness. As explained above, the body responds inadequately to the over-balance of cortisol, with weight gain, sweet cravings, and muscle weakness. However, the continuation of a high stress level causes the body to keep requiring more cortisol. This is the 2nd stage of adrenal tiredness, as the adrenal glands end up being less able to drain the amount of cortisol which the patient’s stress level continuously requires. They don’t stop attempting, however, and at the same time they become weakened at the cellular level and hence less able to produce adequate quantities of all of the essential hormonal agents which they usually do. In women, if adrenal tiredness occurs after menopause, it can considerably intensify menopausal signs, due to the fact that a number of the hormones produced by the adrenals are inter-related with estrogen, progesterone, and pregnenolone, and now the balance has been tampered with. Also, an adrenal imbalance can negatively affect hormones secreted by the thyroid gland as well, since the adrenals interact chemically with the thyroid.The 3rd stage of this stress-induced process is adrenal exhaustion – more noticable than adrenal fatigue but still not so pronounced regarding be called Addison’s illness, which is complete atrophy of the adrenals. Throughout the adrenal fatigue stage, cortisol output gradually decreases significantly below suboptimal levels, because although the tension level needs more cortisol, the adrenals are no longer able to even attempt keep up with the demands.These realities concerning the adrenals are important to those of us who wish to preserve a healthy weight. Throughout the initial stage of adrenal tiredness, weight frequently accumulates in all the incorrect places and it is practically impossible to lose it. Moreover, if a person strenuously exercises frequently, the stress placed up on the body by this in addition to all the other stresses can in fact get worse the syndrome. However, if adrenal fatigue advances previous stage one, typically a person will start to slim down beyond a healthy point, and will now have a thin body type with insufficient fat. Although they might look thin and fit, their energy levels still remain low, as their body is still unhealthily metabolizing protein fuels from necessary muscle mass.The conclusion of all these disconcerting truths, then? – well, just count the number of times the word “tension” has been utilized in this post, and you will understand – tension management is crucial for healthy adrenal function, which is crucial to our health, sexual function, and energy levels. So what can be done to aid stress management? Primarily, a diet of primarily unprocessed foods with the right proportions of carbohydrates, protein, and fats (the right kind), and a wealth of alkalizing fresh veggies and fruits. Likewise, make sure your diet and/or dietary supplements includes a sufficient amount of zinc, which assists to support adrenal function. Next, examine your life for energy burglars and remove them. Stop doing things that do not reward you and keep away from individuals or pursuits that drain your energies. Get a little extra sleep where possible and give yourself the luxury of a nap whenever possible. If a nap isn’t possible, a minimum of enjoy a little brilliant images of remaining in your preferred location on the planet. Enjoy a routine of mild day-to-day exercise, and choose a walk in the woods when you can!So Hippocrates was right on the money when he said that male is affected by these things and changed by them in numerous ways – “these things” being what we consume, consume, and take in, and “other occupations,” including leisure. Leisure and relaxation are just as essential if not more vital than our work demands. And strictly speaking, actually our adrenal glands’ action to an offered situation is what informs us whether to specify it as work or as recreation! So listen – your adrenals are most likely informing you something right now!

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fbviralvideos0 · 4 years ago

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megabadbunny · 7 years ago

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For the DxR fic meme: Nine x Rose; 01 G ☯

(Nine x Rose, Jackie’s flat, midnight, Rose’s diary; from @doctorroseprompts )

***

He knows he shouldn’t, and yet, here he is.

(But it’s not exactly his fault, is it? If she didn’t wanthim to see it, maybe she shouldn’t have left it lying around all public in theopen, conspicuous and winking at him and daring him to take a little peek,wriggling its (figurative) hips like a minx in red throwing a perfumed kissover one shoulder. Never mind the fact that it wasn’t lying around in public somuch as it was in her room, that it wasn’t in the open so much as it was tuckedunder her mattress.)

The Doctor glances around furtively, even though he knows noone will catch him in the act; the flat is empty of any other living thing,save for him and the dust motes colonizing the space beneath the rug. Rose andher oddity of a mum have whisked off somewhere or other (“a proper girls’night”, Jackie might’ve said, or might not have, as the Doctor might not havebeen listening) and Jack is goodness-knows-where with goodness-knows-whom, sothe Doctor figures he’s got a good few hours to himself before anyone returns.And he’s got to find some way to occupy himself, hasn’t he?

(Besides, it isn’t as if he went snooping specifically for it.More like, he snooped, and there it conveniently was. Also, he’s bored.)

Plunking himself down on her bed—not nearly as soft or plushas her TARDIS bed, he thinks with a smirk—the Doctor opens the book to thefirst page.

Dear dairy readsthe first line.

The Doctor chuckles. There is no date scrawled anywhere onthe page, but the scribbles and misspellings amidst very careful and deliberatestrokes tell the Doctor these words were written by someone who had only recentlylearned penmanship, and was determined to do it well.

Dear dairy

Hello how are you? Myname is Rose Marion Tyler. It is my brithday today I am 6 years old.

It’s almost impossible to imagine Rose ever being so young;far easier to picture her emerging fully-grown and stubborn-willed and jeopardy-friendlystraight from inception. But the Doctor tries, and in his mind’s eye he canalmost see her sitting on the bed—no, lying on it, stomach-down, her sock-cladfeet kicking idly in the air. Her hair, unbleached and light brown, would be pulledback into a ponytail, held in place by one of those what d’you-call-it’s. A scrunchie. Her head would bend down inconcentration over the diary as she clutched her pen tightly in her small fist.The Doctor imagines the pen to be pink, glittery, one of those gel-things, hopelesslyand wonderfully childish and girly, and his grin broadens.

Mummy and me had aparty in the park and Lottie and Fred cud not come but Shireen was there andMickey to and his gran and my grandad Prentis. Grandad brung cake from thestore it has had a heart drawed on and my name and there were candels.We had ice cream to. And I had prezents there was a barby and shoes and a newbell for my bike…

The list continues and the Doctor rolls his eyes fondly.Clearly, six-year-old Rose had decided to commit only the most pertinent ofdetails to memory. He flips through perhaps the first quarter of the diary, pausingat a mention of Mickey here, a drawing of a flower there, and watches as Rose’shandwriting grows more confident, her entries more substantial. Her diary is amicrocosm of her adventures with mates, days at school, developing crushes, thelikeability of some of Jackie’s boyfriends and the caddishness of others. Atrandom, the Doctor slips a finger between the pages and opens the diarymid-entry, perhaps a year or two along its timeline.

and it felt awful butI didnt say anything bc he was right I dont have a dad but Keisha got angry andtold him to butt out and mind his own business. So then Nick laughed and madefun of Keisha bout her mum and I thot Keisha might cry so I punched Nick in thenose and it bled and the head teacher says I cant come back to school for aweek. Mum says Im in trouble but she didnt stop granddad from buying me a 99 onthe way home and she said next time do a slap its easier on the nuckles.

The Doctor can just picture Rose, eight years old, eyesflashing and stance wide as she bloodies some little twerp’s nose with herfist. Now that—that is a Rose he has no trouble imagining. Laughing, the Doctorshakes his head and flips to a later entry.

8 Nov 1996

Dear diary,

We went to go see Dad yesterday.

The Doctor pauses, hesitates. He knows what the words mean—they’refigurative, not literal, because it would be another eleven years before Rose sawany more of Pete Tyler than old photos and a grave—but the memory of the daynine years earlier still sends a shiver down his spine, clenches something inhis gut in a guilty-sick feeling he can’t quite explain.

Mum told me the storyagain. She seemed all right definitely better than the last time. I think thephotos help. Granddad came to and I don’t think he rly liked Dad very much buthe was nice about him today nicer than on other days. Afterwards Mum went todrop me off with Mickey but he said she needed me so I went on home and she seemeda little happier but she still cried a bit.

The Doctor wrinkles his nose. Something about Mickey theIdiot doing a good turn makes him grumpy. Who does that idiot think he is,anyway?

We had tea and fellasleep in front of the telly. I wanted to make her dinner but there was nothingin and I couldnt find anything in her purse so I went down to Ms Nodd’s bc she’sout seeing her grandson and I got the spare key from under her flower pot and Ilooked in her bedroom and found a few pounds and took them. I bought Mum aChinese from her favourite place and she didnt ask where I got the money so I didnttell her. I dont think Ms Nodd would know it was me that took it but I stillfeel bad I just didnt know what else to do. Ill pay her back when I get somemoney for my bday.

Nice old bird, that Ms Nodd. Much nicer than some of theother tenants on the Estate, with her blue-tinged hair and cheerful smile andwithered old hands that freely distribute home-baked biscuits to errant TimeLords who just happen to be handy with a squeaky front door. The Doctor makes amental note to liberate an ATM of a couple hundred-pound-notes at his earliestopportunity and slip them into her flat.

He reads a few more pages—comfortably silly stuff, all ofit, more crushes and rants about school and discussions of celebrities andfashion and Rose’s favorite things on telly—until his fingers land on an oddlybrittle page, warped in places, buckling. Several of the words are nearlyimpossible to discern, smudged as they are, and it takes the Doctorapproximately .003 seconds to identify the water marks as tears.

(There’s no dear diaryhere, no date. The words simply begin, as if writing anything more than theabsolutely necessary would take too much energy. Like it would hurt too much.)

Granddad’s gone.

The Doctor sighs, and his hearts each break a little foryoung Rose, curled up in her bed and crying bitter tears into her pillow. Tenyears old is far too young to experience the cruelty of such a loss. But it isn’tas if it gets any easier at any other age. The Doctor knows that to be painfullytrue.

Had a heart attack.Doctors said he went in his sleep and didn’t feel anything. I hope that’s true.Mum said he’s with the angels now but that’s stupid. The angels don’t need him wedo. I already miss him.

Mum can’t stop crying.I wish Dad was here.

And there’s that feeling again in the Doctor’s gut, thesquirmy-sicky one. Almost as if his stomach knows he shouldn’t be doing this,like his body is punishing him. It was all well and good reading about the funfrivolities of a carefree primary-schooler, but this sort of thing—this issomething else. Something deep and personal, a compound fracture of emptinessand hurt. The Doctor knows should stop reading now. He really should.

(He doesn’t.)

It takes a few weeks for the mentions of Granddad Prentice tostart fading, but eventually, they do, fading away to be gradually replaced bythe normality of everyday life. Sometimes months pass between diary-entries;other times, years. The Doctor smiles as he glances over recountings of schooldays and formals and skipping classes, of Jackie’s eccentric cluster of boyfriends,of fights with friends and happy makings-up after, of holidays and gossip andhopes for the future. The day Rose and Shireen fall out over a boy is marked byan obscene amount of swearing and words crossed-out and pencil-punctures dugdeep into the page; the day Mickey asks Rose to be his girlfriend is noted withexclamation points and a lipgloss-kiss.

The day Rose meets Jimmy Stone is noted with a single heartthat simply reads Mrs Rose Stone.

Grimacing at the words, the Doctor forces himself to presson.

OMG met this bloke Jimmyyesterday n he was soooo fit reads the next entry. Shireen and Keisha and me went down the pub and he was playing in theband and I thot he fancied Keisha at first but after he asked for my number ♡ ♡ ♡I kno it doesn’t mean nothing so I didn’ttell Mickey cos no point in him worrying and he gets so jealous anyway lol

Awww, poor jealous ickle Mickey, thinks the Doctor. He snortsderisively. Human beings—so quick to such petty reactions. He’s very glad hedoesn’t have to worry about silly things like that.

Still, it’s a little surprising when, just a few pages later,things have already progressed by leaps and bounds. Jimmy kissed me! leaps out from the page, followed by things like Mickey and me had a fight and Snuck out to hear Jimmy play downtownand Went to the cinema with Jimmy and he puthis hand up my sk

Hearts hammering, the Doctor flips past that page before hiskeen eyes have a chance to read any further. For some reason, the thought ofJimmy putting his hand up anything of Rose’s—indeed, of Jimmy or some otherfool even thinking about touching her, anywhere, with anything—makes him burn abit under the collar. Unpleasant, that. Maybe he’d better take a look at Jackie’sthermostat, make sure it’s doing its job, because it certainly doesn’t feellike it.

(Still, he skips the several pages that follow, just to besafe.)

said if Iwalked out that door I’d better not walk back in and you know what screw her.She’s wasted her whole life crying about Dad and never doing anything withherself and never doing anything for me. I hate her I would rather die then belike her

Eyes widening in surprise, the Doctor quickly scans over thenext few pages, his concern deepening by the second.

love Jimmy andno one can tell me any different and if Mum really knew what love was then she’dunderstand

Im so glad I’mwith him now he gets me like no one else ever has or ever will, ♡ him forever

didnt want totake my a-levels anyway not like it means anything out in the real world

moving into aflat together next week can’t wait ♡♡♡

and I love himbut I wish he’d get a job cos the gigs don’t make enough n I can’t covereverything on my own

came home drunkagain last night n wouldnt tell me where he’d been

told me I’dbetter cough up the rest of the rent by next weekend or else he would

And then, nothing.

The Doctor frowns. Whatever he would do is left unexplained, torn away along with a wholecluster of pages in the diary, leaving a ragged little scar behind where wordsand feelings used to sit. The Doctor runs a finger along the page-stumps leftin the spine, and wonders.

What could have happened that was so bad that even the memoryof it had to be ripped away?

The next entry picks up a few weeks later. It does notmention Jimmy. Instead, the page displays only a handful of lonely words:

He wasright. I’m so stupid.

It takes a moment for the Doctor to realize that the diaryis shaking in his hands. But that’s only because he’s gripping it so tightlyhis knuckles are glowing bright white in an attempt to jump out of his skin. Andsuddenly he’s glad, in quite a perverse way, that he has witnessed thedestruction of the Reapers firsthand, because otherwise the temptation to pilotthe TARDIS back in time to ensure that Jimmy Stone never hurt Rose—that henever so much as existed, never so much as blighted this planet with even asingle vile breath—would be so strong that he’s not entirely sure he’d be ableto stop himself.

Forcing himself to calm, the Doctor skips forward, hopefullyto an entry that won’t cause hisblood to boil angrily in his ears. Now phrases like moved back in with Mum today and applied at Henriks greet his eyes, and he feels the muscles in hisshoulders begin to relax.

and a sweet ginger boy’sstarted coming round, Mum named him Jonesy

but the new job’s notso bad

going out to the clubswith Shireen

Mickey stopped by withflowers today and it was like nothing had ever gone wrong

anyway we’re datingagain

nothing’ll come of itbut some blokes won in Bristol last week so who knows, maybe we’ll win a littlesomething n I could get Mum something nice

a little boring Iguess but prolly about the best I can expect for now

So my job blew uptoday???

Now a grin spreads across the Doctor’s face, lighting it upfrom ear-to-ear. Finally. Took longenough to get here. Now for the reallygood stuff.

Fingers tingling in anticipation, he turns the page.

Nothing.

The Doctor flips through the remaining pages, hunting forsomething, anything, but nothing buta sea of white greets his eyes, winking up at him obnoxiously without so muchas a single date or scribble or scrawl to capture his attention. The rest ofthe diary is completely, utterly blank.

Huffing in irritation, the Doctor sits back, flipping thebook closed with a scowl. It makes a certain sense, he supposes, but still.Really? She’ll write about ice cream and Barbies and school gossip and Mickeythe Idiot but no mention of the TARDIS, no asides about traveling through timeand space, no discussion of Dickens or Slitheen or bitchy trampolines or 900year-old Time Lords taking her by the hand to show her anything her littleheart could ever possibly—

CLANG.

“I just found it!” blurts out the Doctor without eventhinking, pushing off the bed and whirling round to face Rose’s open bedroomdoorway. But no one stands there; indeed, if his superior hearing is anythingto go by (and it usually is), there’s no one within several meters of him, certainlyno one in the flat. And the continuing ding-dang-dongbell’s sound, ringing at twelve lazy but significant intervals, informs himthat his nervousness was for naught—it’s just Jackie’s old grandfather clock,noisily (and unnecessarily, the Doctor thinks with a grump) proclaiming thetime.

It’s midnight. Probably Rose and Jackie will be home soon. Andprobably he shouldn’t let them know he was nosing through Rose’s diary.

(Even if it wasn’t his fault, seeing as they left him aloneand bored and unoccupied in the flat, and even if he didn’t find what he waslooking for—even if he’s not entirely certain what that was.)

As he slips the diary back into its hiding-place beneathRose’s mattress, it occurs to him that there are any number of reasons Rosemight not be writing things in a diary any more—she forgot it at home, or she’stoo tired after their adventures, or too distracted, or maybe she’s even got anew one aboard the TARDIS, hidden somewhere equally silly. But there’s anotheroption too, he realizes; that she’s simply too happy to see the need forwriting things down, that she is too busy living her memories to think of takingthe time to document them. The thought warms him, contentment blooming in hischest, and he leaves Rose’s room with a smile, closing the door behind him.

(He still checks her room on the TARDIS just in case.)

***

part ii

#ficandchips #nine x rose #ninerose #ninexrose #nine/rose #prompt fill #thanks for the prompt dear!#<3 <3 <3

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cannonalise92 · 4 years ago

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Cat Pee New Baby Super Genius Cool Ideas

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How Much Does It Cost To Spay A Cat In Bc

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What Can I Spray On My Cat To Kill Fleas

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#Cat Pee New Baby Super Genius Cool Ideas #Cat Pee On Floor

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guillaumebottazzi · 7 years ago

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This is your brain on art: A scientist’s lessons on why abstract art makes our brains hurt so good

Kandel’s took a Nobel-winning scientist who specializes in human memory to break new ground in art history

The greatest discoveries in art history, as in so many fields, tend to come from those working outside the box. Interdisciplinary studies break new ground because those steadfastly lashed to a specific field or way of thinking tend to dig deeper into well-trodden earth, whereas a fresh set of eyes, coming from a different school of thought, can look at old problems in new ways. Interviewing Eric Kandel, winner of the 2000 Nobel Prize for Physiology or Medicine, and reading his latest book, "Reductionism in Art and Brain Science," underscored this point. His new book offers one of the freshest insights into art history in many years. Ironic that it should come not from an art historian, but a neuroscientist specializing in human memory, most famous for his experiments involving giant sea snails. You can’t make this stuff up.

I’ve spent my life looking at art and analyzing it, and I’ve even brought a new discipline’s approach to art history. Because my academic work bridges art history and criminology (being a specialist in art crime), my own out-of-the-box contribution is treating artworks like crime scenes, whodunnits, and police procedurals. I examine Caravaggio’s "Saint Matthew Cycle" as if the three paintings in it are photographs of a crime scene, which we must analyze with as little a priori prejudice, and as much clean logic, as possible. Likewise, in my work deciphering one of most famous puzzle paintings, Bronzino’s "Allegory of Love and Lust," a red herring (Vasari’s description of what centuries of scholars have assumed was this painting, but which Robert Gaston finally recognized was not at all, and had been an impossible handicap in trying to match the painting with Vasari’s clues about another work entirely) had to be cast aside in order for progress to be made.

Ernst Gombrich made waves when he dipped into optics in his book, "Art and Illusion." Freud offered a new analysis of Leonardo. The Copiale cipher, an encoded, illuminated manuscript, was solved by Kevin Knight, a computer scientist and linguist. It takes an outsider to start a revolution. So it is not entirely surprising that a neuroscientist would open this art historian’s eyes, but my mind is officially blown. I feel like a veil has been pulled aside, and for that I am grateful.

Ask your average person walking down the street what sort of art they find more intimidating, or like less, or don’t know what to make of, and they’ll point to abstract or minimalist art. Show them traditional, formal, naturalistic art, like Bellini’s "Sacred Allegory," art which draws from traditional core Western texts (the Bible, apocrypha, mythology) alongside a Mark Rothko or a Jackson Pollock or a Kazimir Malevich, and they’ll retreat into the Bellini, even though it is one of the most puzzling unsolved mysteries of the art world, a riddle of a picture for which not one reasonable solution has ever been put forward. The Pollock, on the other hand, is just a tangle of dripped paint, the Rothko just a color with a bar of another color on top of it, the Malevich is all white.

Kandel’s work explains this in a simple way. In abstract painting, elements are included not as visual reproductions of objects, but as references or clues to how we conceptualize objects. In describing the world they see, abstract artists not only dismantle many of the building blocks of bottom-up visual processing by eliminating perspective and holistic depiction, they also nullify some of the premises on which bottom-up processing is based. We scan an abstract painting for links between line segments, for recognizable contours and objects, but in the most fragmented works, such as those by Rothko, our efforts are thwarted.

Thus the reason abstract art poses such an enormous challenge to the beholder is that it teaches us to look at art — and, in a sense, at the world — in a new way. Abstract art dares our visual system to interpret an image that is fundamentally different from the kind of images our brain has evolved to reconstruct. Kandel describes the difference between “bottom up” and “top down” thinking. This is basic stuff for neuroscience students, but brand new for art historians. Bottom up thinking includes mental processes that are ingrained over centuries: unconsciously making sense of phenomena, like guessing that a light source coming from above us is the sun (since for thousands of years that was the primary light source, and this information is programmed into our very being) or that someone larger must be standing closer to us than someone much smaller, who is therefore in the distance. Top down thinking, on the other hand, is based on our personal experience and knowledge (not ingrained in us as humans with millennia of experiences that have programmed us). Top down thinking is needed to interpret formal, symbol or story-rich art. Abstraction taps bottom-up thinking, requiring little to no a priori knowledge. Kandel is not the first to make this point. Henri Matisse said, “We are closer to attaining cheerful serenity by simplifying thoughts and figures. Simplifying the idea to achieve an expression of joy. That is our only deed [as artists].” But it helps to have a renowned scientist, who is also a clear writer and passionate art lover, convert the ideas of one field into the understanding of another. The shock for me is that abstraction should really be less intimidating, as it requires no advanced degrees and no reading of hundreds of pages of source material to understand and enjoy. And yet the general public, at least, finds abstraction and minimalism intimidating, quick to dismiss it with “oh, I could do that” or “that’s not art.” We are simply used to formal art; we expect it, and also do not necessarily expect to “understand it” in an interpretive sense. Our reactions are aesthetic, evaluating just two of the three Aristotelian prerequisites for art to be great: it demonstrates skill and it may be beautiful, but we will often skip the question of whether it is interesting, as that question requires knowledge we might not possess.

We might think that “reading” formal paintings, particularly those packed with symbols or showing esoteric mythological scenes, are what require active problem-solving. At an advanced academic level, they certainly do (I racked my brain for years over that Bronzino painting). But at any less-scholarly level, for most museum-goers, this is not the case. Looking at formal art is actually a form of passive narrative reading, because the artist has given us everything our brain expects and knows automatically how to handle. It looks like real life.

But the mind-bending point that Kandel makes is that abstract art, which strips away the narrative, the real-life, expected visuals, requires active problem-solving. We instinctively search for patterns, recognizable shapes, formal figures within the abstraction. We want to impose a rational explanation onto the work, and abstract and minimalist art resists this. It makes our brains work in a different, harder, way at a subconscious level. Though we don’t articulate it as such, perhaps that is why people find abstract art more intimidating, and are hastier to dismiss it. It requires their brains to function in a different, less comfortable, more puzzled way. More puzzled even than when looking at a formal, puzzle painting.

Kandel told The Wall Street Journal that the connection between abstract art and neuroscience is about reductionism, a term in science for simplifying a problem as much as possible to make it easier to tackle and solve. This is why he studied giant sea snails to understand the human brain. Sea snails have just 20,000 neurons in their brains, whereas humans have billions. The simpler organism was easier to study and those results could be applied to humans.

“This is reductionism,” he said, “to take a complex problem and select a central, but limited, component that you can study in depth. Rothko — only color. And yet the power it conveys is fantastic. Jackson Pollock got rid of all form.”

In fact, some of the best abstract artists began in a more formal style, and peeled the form away. Turner, Mondrian and Brancusi, for instance, have early works in a quite realistic style. They gradually eroded the naturalism of their works, Mondrian for instance painting trees that look like trees early on, before abstracting his paintings into a tangle of branches, and then a tangle of lines and then just a few lines that, to him, still evoke tree-ness. It’s like boiling away apple juice, getting rid of the excess water, to end up with an apple concentrate, the ultimate essence of apple-ness. We like to think of abstraction as a 20th century phenomenon, a reaction to the invention of photography. Painting and sculpture no longer had to fulfill the role of record of events, likenesses and people — photography could do that. So painting and sculpture was suddenly free to do other things, things photography couldn’t do as well. Things like abstraction. But that’s not the whole story. A look at ancient art finds it full of abstraction. Most art history books, if they go back far enough, begin with Cycladic figurines (dated to 3300-1100 BC). Abstracted, ghost-like, sort-of-human forms. Even on cave walls, a few lines suggest an animal, or a constellation of blown hand-prints float on a wall in absolute darkness.

Abstract art is where we began, and where we have returned. It makes our brains hurt, but in all the right ways, for abstract art forces us to see, and think, differently.

#art #contemporary art #artcontemporain

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