#so make it sensory friendly as much as possible make it easy to live in and make it fun to be in

[mueritos]

Is this ur second time living in the dorm if so what do u recommend are dorm must haves as a first dormer or trans guy? Also what if I’m trans and go to uni who do I tell I wanna be call a certain name?

it is! i lived in a dorm during undergrad for one semester, and i'll be dorming this entire yr in graduate housing. You generally have waaay more freedom in graduate housing because rules are looser, but undergrad dorming usually means there's RAs who will regularly do room checks and depending on who your RA is, they will either care or not give a shit. If you're on HRT, i recommend getting a container that locks or can be hidden away to store your supplies. I never did this because I dormed in singles (so no roommates in the same room), but it might be useful if you don't know your roommate and to prevent people from getting into it. It woud be fucking odd if someone tried to get into your HRT anyway, but it can be useful to ensure nothing happens to it. Other than that, I can't think of anything else that is trans specific for dorming (besides the trans flag to salute to). If you mean must haves in general, I find I really love 1. decorations/pictures of loved ones, 2. an appliance like a keurig, water heater, or rice cooker (if possible/can hide it from ra), 3. a step-stool and a folding grocery cart (if you do your own groceries or for laundry), 4. something cozy like a blanket or stuffed animal, 5. something fun :) I usually brought my guitar with me (didn't for grad housing unfortunately), but don't be afraid to bring card games, board games, video games, a TV (if it fits), books, etc and etc :)

if you want to change your name in your uni registration, I would either contact your school's LGBTQ center to see if they have someone there who does that already (in my undergrad, it was our queer chaplain and they helped people change names and gender markers in the system). If you don't have an LGBTQ center, try reaching out to registrar to see if you can put a different name. I would also email your professors ahead of time (if you're worried) to let them know you go by that name and that if a different name shows on the roster to refer to the one you gave.

hope that helped!

[ourladylennon]

Hi, how are you our beloved lady? I hope ur doing good. I want to know your opinion to mbti stuff. What do you think about that? And what do you think about Beatles mbti stuff?

Tulip!!! How are you? I am so sorry it took me this long to answer- I could not figure out the best way to present the information for this ask or what would be the best information *to* share. I actually *love* MBTI, I think it’s fascinating. It really helps you understand yourself and others better. As far as the Beatles, there is a lot of debate about their types, but I have compiled a list of the most commonly accepted type for each Beatle with a break down below the cut!

John: INFP, “the Healer” (function stack: Fi-Ne-Si-Te) or ENFP “the Champion” (function stack: Ne-Fi-Te-Si)

A concise picture: generous, kind, charming, empathetic, sensitive, perceptive, strong personal values, introspective, imaginative, idealistic, individualistic, lively, spontaneous, adaptable, big picture, forward looking, long term oriented  // can be impractical, disorganized, tendency to overthink, easily offended, disregard for rules/traditions/norms

Paul: ISFP, “the Composer” (function stack: Fi-Se-Ni-Te) or ESFJ “the Provider” (function stack: Fe-Si-Ne-Ti)

A concise picture: kind, charming, warm, caretaker, sympathetic, sensitive, observant, reserved, practical, level-headed, “live in the moment”, sensory based, detail oriented, action oriented, strong sense of “right & wrong”, curious, competitive, literal // easily bored, thrill-seeking, unpredictable, “black & white”, short term oriented, intensely private, detached, aloof, fiercely independent, can be inflexible, worried with social-status

George: INFJ, “the Counselor” (function stack: Ni-Fe-Ti-Se)

A concise picture: altruistic, affirming, nurturing, compassionate, empathetic, sensitive, perceptive, strong personal values, introspective, visionary, idealistic, individualistic, seeking meaning, insightful, big picture, forward looking, long term oriented, value organization, decisive, reserved, firm // intensely private, deeply sensitive, perfectionists- prone to burn out, overthinking, need for a cause, uncompromising

Ringo: ESFP, “the Performer” (function stack: Se-Fi-Te-Ni)

A concise picture: generous, kind, charming, warm, sympathetic, friendly, easy-going, observant, practical, tolerant, accepting, spontaneous, playful, enthusiastic, resourceful, adaptable, “live in the moment”, sensory based, action oriented, strong sense of “right & wrong”, literal // easily bored, thrill-seeking, unpredictable, “black & white”, short term oriented, frivolous, materialistic, deeply sensitive, conflict averse

Note: MBTI code is comprised of four functions: iNtuition or Sensing, Feeling or Thinking. Intuition and sensing are perceiving functions: how you gather and assimilate data. Feeling and thinking are judging functions: how you use that information to make decisions. Each of these functions can either be Introverted (introspective, self-reflective, subjective) or Extraverted (objective, facing the outer world, expressed outwardly); for example, Introverted Feeling= Fi, Extraverted iNtuition= Ne, etc.

John: INFP, “the Healer” (function stack: Fi-Ne-Si-Te) or ENFP “the Champion” (function stack: Ne-Fi-Te-Si)

Both are very convincing. As you can imagine, these two types are very similar and their differences are more like nuances. It probably comes as no surprise that XNFP are known to be “dreamers” who act as mediators amongst people, desire harmony and look toward the future and see endless possibilities. This combination of being iNtuitive + Feeling dominant makes for a very empathetic subject who has a knack for reading between the lines; they both understand human emotion and relate to others well, but on the flip side, they can be hotheaded and quick to take offense: both for themselves and others. At the core of both, these types have strong moral values and use value judgements to make decisions, i.e. "this is good this is bad". They use their Ne/Ni absorb information from the meanings and impressions they gather and search for patterns in data to quickly see the bigger picture, and then use emotions to make decisions based around that. Though they are XNFP are generally open minded and adaptable, when their personal values are called into question, they sense injustice, they sense inauthenticity, or if someone tries to control them is when they can become upset. They do not like to be limited because they desire freedom, options, and don’t like redundancy. Communication style is likely to be abstract, metaphorical. Though they crave close connections, they become drained from social interaction. Depending on whether INFP or ENFP, there are subtle differences. For example, ENFP leads with Ne, meaning, they may be quicker to materialize their ideas (the more spontaneous of the two), whereas the INFP will spend more time reflecting "what if" before doing. This bleeds into other aspects; ENFP may be more lively, spouting things off the top of their heads without reflecting, they're a people's person. INFP is a little more introspective before diving head first and spilling everything. XNFP tend to constantly assess their value and desire validation. 

(I did see people throw John around as an INTP/ENTP. They’re mildly convincing, but much less likely. His Fe/Fi seems too present to be a Te/Ti)

Paul: ISFP, “the Composer” (function stack: Fi-Se-Ni-Te) or ESFJ “the Provider” (function stack: Fe-Si-Ne-Ti)

Both are very convincing. These literally have the *exact same* function stack order, but the energy of each function points in different directions (which ultimately does make a difference even though it may not seem like it). With both of these types, we typically see someone who is observant, practical, and very rooted in the present. This combination of Sensing + Feeling dominant makes for a very caring individual who both enjoys and is good at nurturing others, but on the flip side, they can be quick to take offense and may shut down/withdraw. XSFX types are known for being reserved with their emotions/needs and likewise reserved in showing emotion and tend to do so through their actions, rather than words. At the core of both, just as with other feeler-types, they have strong moral values and use value judgements to make decisions, i.e. "this is good this is bad". However, they use their Se/Si to observe and absorb information through their physical reality, often referencing from past experiences to fill in the details in order to build the bigger picture, and then use emotions to make decisions based around that. Though both types are generally seen as level-headed and adaptable, when their personal values or character are called into question (because they have a very clear picture of their values; they know who they are) or their good-nature is taken advantage of is when they can become upset. They do not like to be limited because they prefer to be in control and do not like uncertainty. Communication style is likely to be direct, literal. While ESFJ love bringing people together and ISFP may enjoy small groups & close connections, they both become drained from social interaction. Depending on whether ISFP or ESFJ there are subtle differences, the most apparent being that ESFJ prefer more structure than ISFP, and likewise, the ISFP may be a little more spontaneous as they seek to stimulate their Se. ESFJ will also likely be a bit more outgoing with Fe being in play as their dominant trait, whereas the ISFP may be more socially reserved (Fi), though no less charming or socially aware. They both have a knack for understanding what is expected of them but ISFP is less likely to bend for others whereas the ESFJ seeks group harmony. Both types tend to put others first and are reluctant to ask for their needs, and in combination with simultaneously being sure of their values and sure others understand those without question, they may have a heightened desire for praise to validate their actions & themselves. Both types often don't feel seen for the amount of care they put in for others and desire to be appreciated. 

(Fun thing I saw mentioned a lot and felt relative to Paul: ISFP are said to enjoy aesthetic beauty of things- clothing, art, etc. without needing the abstract meaning to make it so; they just simply like it for what it is. This is likely because their Se is grabbing for anything stimulating and then introverted Feeling (Fi) says “oh yes, this makes me feel good!” Can we say hello MMT sweater vest?)

George: INFJ, “the Counselor” (function stack: Ni-Fe-Ti-Se)

As you can imagine, INFJ is going to be similar to XNFP on the surface: dreamy, idealistic, empathetic. What sets them apart is that INFJ tend to have a bit more structure and a little bit more of an analytical mind. The combination of being iNtuitive + Feeling dominant is going to still give that very empathetic subject who has a knack for reading between the line, but there is a subtle difference with INFP's mirroring others emotions (Fi) and INFJ's absorbing others emotions (Fe). INFJ understand human emotion and relate to others well, but on the flip side, they can become angry when someone upsets group harmony or overwhelmed from constantly assessing emotions. At the core of INFJ, just as with the other feeler-types, they have strong moral values and use value judgements to make decisions, i.e. "this is good this is bad". They absorb information from the meanings and impressions they gather and search for patterns in data to see the bigger picture and use emotions to make decisions based around that. Though they are generally open minded and adaptable, when their personal values are called into question, they sense injustice, or if someone dismisses their ideas they can become upset. While they enjoy freedom to explore many possibilities, they do well with a bit of routine and organization to help see their ideas through. Communication style is likely to be abstract, metaphorical. Though they crave close connections, they become drained from social interaction. INFJ's often feel like people don't get them and desire to be understood.

Ringo: ESFP, “the Performer” (function stack: Se-Fi-Te-Ni)

ESFP is a beautiful blend of all the cognitive functions and that's why it's often labeled at the "entertainer" type. They're practical, but not rigid; they’re bubbly, but they’re deep; they’re spontaneous, but they’re down to earth; they’re honest, but not too blunt; they’re just all around the kind of people who can bring people together. The combination of Sensing + Feeling dominant makes for a very caring individual who is warm towards others and overall inviting, but on the flip side, they can be quick to take offense and may erupt or shut down. At the core of ESFP, just as with the other feeler-types, they have strong moral values and use value judgements to make decisions, i.e. "this is good this is bad". They use their Se/Si to observe and absorb information through their physical reality, often referencing from past experiences to fill in the details in order to build the bigger picture, and then use emotions to make decisions based around that. Though generally seen as one of the most easy-going types, when their feelings are dismissed or their general exuberance is mistaken for shallowness, they're forced to make decisions, or they find themselves stuck amongst negativity is when they might become upset. They do not like to be limited because they desire freedom and dislike rigorous routine. Communication style is likely to be direct, literal- to be clear, too much abstract information might drive an ESFP crazy, and unlike some of the other Sensor types- do not like too many details. ESFP are social by nature and find socializing fulfilling. 

How this applies to their relationship dynamic:

This is my favorite part and if you’ve read this far- please like go treat yourself for your good work. Not only do the general stereotypes of their personalities fit them so well, but it literally shows just how real the contrast of John & Paul and Paul & George is and how similar John & George are. 

But mainly, I just want to focus on J/P because I. fucking. love. it. Just think about it. John: Strawberry Fields. Paul: Penny Lane. SAME concept- ENTIRELY DIFFERENT STYLE. Intuition vs sensing at its finest. It’s clear as day. (wonderful video by one of my favorite MBTI youtubers, appropriately titled: Intuition vs Sensing, Explained with The Beatles)

Not only that, but I always think back to Geoff Emerick’s biography when I was reading about their work in the studio:

“John always had plenty of ideas about how he wanted his songs to sound’ he knew in his mind what he wanted to hear. The problem was that, unlike Paul, he had a great difficulty expressing those thoughts in anything but the most abstract terms. Whereas Paul might say, ‘This song needs brass and timpani,’ John’s direction might be more like ‘Give me the feel of James Dean gunning his motorcycle down a highway.’ ”

“In the midst of all this, John had been listening repeatedly to his acetate of ‘Strawberry Fields Forever,’ and he decided he didn’t like it. For someone who was normally so articulate, it always amaze me how he would struggle for words whenever he tried to Tell George Martin how he wanted a song arrange. This time around, he just kept mumbling, ‘I don’t know. I just think it should somehow be heavier.’ ‘Heavier how, John?’ George asked. ‘I dunno, just kind of, y’know…heavy.’ Paul did his best to translate John’s abstract notion into concrete musical form. Pointing out how well the flue sound on the Mellotron had worked, he suggested that perhaps some outside musicians be brought in, that the song be scored for some orchestral instrumentation. John loved the idea, specifically requesting cellos and trumpets.”

Furthermore, this entire paragraph that I don’t feel like typing out:

God, I could seriously just go ON about those two. Honestly, Geoff’s book has been incredibly insightful to their nature (pretty sure this book is responsible for when I started falling *in love* with Paul). There are tons of examples to go with the MBTI typing, but I realize this is already at great length so I’ll refrain. 

Now that I’ve nearly written a whole book, I’d like to say some words: this is by no means an all inclusive or exhaustive review of MBTI & I am no expert. There are so many other facets of MBTI that go much deeper than this, but I felt for the purpose of general explaining, it made most sense to stay at surface level (which incidentally made me feel like i’m providing a useless analysis). Hope you learned even a little bit or got some sort of fun out of it!

If you have specific questions, feel free to ask and I’ll try and make sense of the MBTI madness!

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Under My Skin (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW

Summary: Set in the middle of chapter 6, Ethan and Naomi have it out over the current state of the diagnostics team.

Tags: @colourmeshy @virtualrain202 @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune ~v~

Naomi stares at the textbook in front of her, eyes tired and blurry. She checks the time on her cell phone and 3:22 AM stares back in bold, white letters. Craning her head slightly, she spots Ethan standing at his kitchen island, looking at something on his laptop. 

She never thought she’d be back in his apartment, but he invited the entire diagnostics team over so they could get some research done on Leland Bloom’s case. Ethan wants it to be solved as quickly as possible, and he wants to be rid of the tech billionaire, so after work they all congregated in his apartment, eating Chinese food, drinking wine, passing around textbooks and throwing out theories. 

They’ve been at it for almost 6 hours now. 

The energy in the room is off. Ethan’s been pissed ever since the board told him they’d need to be for-profit and start accepting wealthy clients and potential donors, and everyone feels it. June, Baz, and Naomi have been walking on eggshells around him, but aside from occasional snark from Naomi, they’ve been extremely curt.

Jenner likes her though. The golden retriever took a shine to her the moment she crossed the threshold to Ethan’s condo, sniffing at her feet and attaching himself to her hip. He’s now lounging with her, head in her lap and she pours over this book, and she’s glad. The friendly dog provides an excellent distraction and Naomi is thankful, because his owner currently sucks.

Naomi has dealt with a lot of Ethan’s moods before: upset, defeated, angry, happy, the works. But she’s never had his ire directed at her before. They’re in this mess because of her, and it’s a tricky space to occupy. It’s not fun.

“As much as I love reading, if I look at another word, I think my brain might melt,” June says, breaking the tense silence. She stifles a yawn.

“I’ve tapped out for the night as well,” Baz adds. “I’ve looked up every possible kidney and bladder disease and disorder known to mankind. I’m on sensory overload. I think it’s time I go home.”

Ethan looks up from his laptop. He knows his team is probably exhausted. He can’t believe they’ve actually stayed over this long. “Well, thank you for staying. Go home, get some rest, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

June and Baz gather their belongings and all of the study material they brought along with them, returning Ethan’s living room to its original tidy state. Muttering goodbyes, the two of them exit the apartment. 

And then there were two. Naomi ignores the tension, ignoring the fact that they haven’t been alone together in over a week. Instead, she buries her face in her book, trying to focus on the words.

Ethan doesn’t bother sparing Naomi another glance before asking, “You didn’t want to leave with them?”

“Why, are you about to go to bed?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She’s not going to stop now, and give him the satisfaction of thinking she’s given up for the night. Her stubbornness won’t allow it. “I don’t want to disrupt the process. I want this guy diagnosed and treated as badly as you do.”

Ethan scoffs. “I doubt it.”

Naomi has been giving as good as she gets when it comes to the passive aggressive snark, but it’s just exhausting at this point. She refuses to be his emotional punching bag any longer. She whips around in her seat. “God, is being a petulant little crybaby a second full-time job for you?”

That manages to get Ethan’s full attention. He levels a cool glare at the young resident, eyebrow raised in challenge. “You’ve gotten real comfortable calling me out of my name recently. Care to repeat that, Valentine?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Ramsey. You’re being a petulant little crybaby. You’ve been trying to pick a fight with me for the past 2 weeks. Look, I apologized, multiple times, for going behind your back or over your head, but I will not apologize for doing what I believe is right, not just for the team, but the hospital.”

“And you’re an insubordinate know-it-all!” Ethan shoots back. “You’re the type to touch the hot stove despite being repeatedly told not to because you think you’re a special snowflake who’s above getting burned. You lack foresight and analytical thought and self-preservation.”

Naomi recoils, having not expected Ethan to snap at her like that. “Excuse me?”

Jenner recognizes the change in tone between both adults. Not wanting to be caught in the crossfire, he moves from his spot on the couch and trots out of the living room, disappearing into the hallway.

“You thought this was going to be easy, that patients would just come flocking to us, but look at us, and everything would be perfect. We’re part of some social media...something or another’s video diary, we’re competing with a subpar hospital for patients despite being better than them, wasting time and resources because he wants to treat this like a reality show contest, and who knows what’s next, because you’ve opened Pandora’s box. We’re whoring ourselves out to the highest bidder, and the integrity and core foundation of this team has been compromised. So please spare me the martyr act, Naomi, and while you’re at it, please remember that I’m still your boss the next time you want to spout off at the mouth.”

Naomi’s hands are shaking, and she can practically feel the anger boiling in her blood. The nerve of this man. She stands up, ignoring the heavy book that fall out of her lap and onto the floor as she does so. She charges over to him, and sizes him up. Ethan’s almost a foot taller than her, but Naomi doesn’t care about the height disparity. She tilts her head back so she can look him in the eye.

“I’m not a martyr, but you’re a self righteous hypocrite. You’ve been pouting and waxing poetic about Naveen’s mission when you were the first one to mess with his legacy.”

Ethan’s nostrils flare at the accusation. “Excuse me?”

“Last year, you got into bed with Declan Nash and big pharma, compromising your own shaky moral code in order to save the life of one person. I’m trying to keep the team around in order to save a lot more people than just Naveen!”

“That was different!” Ethan argues. It doesn’t even feel right coming out of his mouth, but they’re far too deep in the argument for him to do anything besides dig his toes in.

“The only difference is you were the one in control then. But because it is my idea, you’re rejecting it. You’re being completely unreasonable here, Ethan. We’re standing in the middle of a sinking ship. Edenbrook is in trouble. My friends and I didn’t get our new salaries upon becoming residents, there’s talk of them shutting down the free clinic, and they’ll be coming after our team next. Who knows, maybe they’ll decide that mental health isn’t important and the entire psychiatric department should go. And then the nurses. And then they’ll start ordering less and less supplies, just to stay above water. And maybe you don’t care, because you’re Ethan Ramsey, you’re so wealthy that you only get a one dollar salary from the hospital, you’re established, your livelihood isn’t on the line, and I’m sure any hospital in the world would kill to employ you, but the rest of us? The little guys? We don’t have that option, so again, if you’re looking for me to kiss your ass and grovel because I made an executive decision, you’re going to be looking for a mighty long time.”

Ethan studies her, his gaze coolly fixated on her as she rants because he’s waiting for the second she stops talking, so he can jump back into his own argument. He realizes that it’s not an effective way to debate, and he falters slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Naomi goads, her voice taking on a singsong tone. She’s embroiled in the fight now. “Cat got your tongue?”

In his 37 years of living, Ethan can confidently say Naomi Valentine is the most infuriating woman he’s ever met. A stubborn, impulsive, hot-head with a smart mouth. 

And fuck, he’s made a mistake.

Her mouth. Now his gaze is fixated on it, her full lips that she’s repeatedly bitten down on during this argument, the tackiness of her lip gloss, the way her tongue darts in and out.

Their argument is now the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s actually annoyed by it. What is it about this…woman that completely bewitches him? He wants to argue, not be transfixed on how pretty she is. She doesn’t even have to do anything and he’s under her spell again. 

A sharp jab in the middle of his chest pulls Ethan back to reality. He looks down and realizes that Naomi poked him in the chest, out of anger or to get his attention, he’s not sure.

“Hey!” The fact that he’s ignoring her only makes her more incensed. He started this fight, he doesn’t get the right to dissociate and shut down in the middle of it. “Have you listened to a word I just said?”

“No,” Ethan answers honestly. Naomi’s eyes darken at the response. He didn’t say that to piss her off further, but he won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy the sight.

He can tell she’s going to launch into another tirade, one that’s completely separate from their original issue, because that’s just how things are between them; they spiral before either of them knows what’s happening.

Before she can even fix her mouth to call him another name, his hand cups her jaw, tilting her head back, and he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her fiercely.

She gasps. This is the first time he’s ever caught her off guard and initiated a kiss. She’s usually the one to be in control.

All too quickly, Ethan pulls back, locking eyes with the young woman in front of him. She’s dazed, chest heaving and eyes glazed over.

“Did you do that to get me to stop talking?”

“No, I kissed you because I wanted to. But the fact that it got you to stop running your mouth is a personal bonus.”

Naomi huffs, but doesn’t say anything else. God, he could be such an asshole at times.

“I want to do it again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His blue eyes pierce into her own, and it suddenly becomes hard to focus on anything other than him. “Can I?”

She doesn’t know why it’s so sexy, him asking for permission, but she feels the butterflies in her stomach rumble at the question. She’s barely able to nod her head before Ethan launches himself at her, sending her flying back into the kitchen counter.

It’s so different from any other kisses they’ve shared. This one she can feel all the way down in her toes. His tongue darts out, gliding against her bottom lip and demanding access to her mouth, which she eagerly grants him.

Everything about him invades her senses: the feel of his calloused hands touching her jaw, the scratch of his beard against her face, the smell of his cologne (something by Gucci that she’s been yet to narrow down), his taste (she can still taste the wine on him, even though he drank it earlier), his sounds (the little groans that only she’s privy to, always gravelly and smooth, that make her knees buckle). It all culminates into this one man that is so all-consuming, it makes her lose her mind.

The kisses become shorter, more teasing, allowing Naomi the opportunity to actually breathe. He leaves kisses along her jaw and neck, making her whimper.

Ethan wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist and spins them, pushing her against the wall. She winces upon contact. “Warn a girl next time.”

“You want to know what’s been on my mind recently?” Ethan asks, nipping at Naomi’s earlobe.

“W-What?”

His hands find purchase underneath the grey Henley she’s wearing and he lifts it up. Her stomach clenches under his touch and it’s maddening just how responsive she is to him. “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my mind since I came to pick you up from your apartment the other day.” With trembling fingers, Naomi helps him remove the shirt, and it’s tossed somewhere behind them.

She’s not wearing the grey bra he saw the other day, this one is a soft pink, and he groans at how it contrasts against her skin. There isn’t a color that doesn’t look good on her. “I stood there…” he only pauses to place opened mouthed kisses on her collarbone. “...like a floundering idiot…” this time he kisses slightly lower, earning a sharp inhale from Naomi. The noise does nothing to soothe the erection straining in his jeans. “...while you decided to tease me.”

“You’re the one who decided to stay,” Naomi shoots back with a shrug. “So I had to put on a little show.” He hums in agreement. His tongue darts out, flattening over her lace covered nipple. “Fuck, just take it off!”

“You still have no patience,” Ethan observes. He yanks at the material, until he hears a loud tear.

“That’s La Perla!”

Ethan blinks, struggling to find the significance in that statement. Was it supposed to mean something to him? “Okay?”

“It was expensive, you jerk!”

“I’ll buy you 10 more,” he replies with a shrug before resuming his previous activity, pulling one of her nipples between his lips, sucking lightly. Naomi’s breath comes out in quick bursts, and it’s becoming harder for her to stay grounded to reality. She reaches out, wanting to touch him, but he intercepts, catching her wrist. “Hands to yourself, Valentine.”

Ethan’s fingers make work of the button holding her jeans together, and he drags down the zipper. He yanks at her jeans with the same care he afforded her shirt and bra, tugging them down until they pool at her feet. Naomi does the rest of the work, hopping around until the pants are fully off.

“You and the thin scraps you call underwear, have been driving me insane all week,” Ethan confesses. “The other day when I came to pick you up, part of me was so mad at you because of your blatant defiance, but the other part of me wanted to push you onto that bed, and do very, very inappropriate things to you.”

The wetness that floods her panties is overwhelming. She clenches her thighs together in hopes of alleviating some of the tension, but it doesn’t help. Figuring out a new strategy, she wraps a leg around his waist, pulling him flush to her. She rolls her hips, grinding into him. The growl that escapes his lips only fuels her and strokes her ego. “You should’ve.”

Ethan kisses her again, reveling in the needy way Naomi claws at him. Her fingers are desperate, fingering into his t-shirt, twisting at the fabric. He’s unsure if she wants to take it off, or if she’s impatient enough to say ‘fuck it,’ and just rip it.

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let her continue. Grabbing both of her hands, he forces them on either side of her. “You really do have a problem with listening. No. Touching.”

The gruffness in his voice sends a shiver down her spine, but whatever rebellious side of her that wants to challenge the command is squelched with one look into his eyes. She can tell he means business and now isn’t the time to challenge his authority.

With restraint she didn’t know she had, Naomi places her palms on the hall behind her, and she stays as still as she can.

“Good girl.” Ethan smirks and drops her hands. He untangles himself from her and steps back an inch to admire his work. “You followed directions for once.”

Whatever smart aleck reply that was about to fly from her mouth is stifled by Ethan pulling her soaked underwear down and slipping two digits past her folds. The noise she lets out is a mixture of a high pitched yelp and a strangled moan, something that threatens to choke her.

The pace he sets is random and uneven, never giving Naomi a chance to settle into a rhythm, and she wonders if this is his way of punishing her, keeping her keyed up and writhing on him for what feels like eternity, trapped in her own form of purgatory.

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and bucks her hips wildly into his hand, trying to keep pace with him.

“Stop doing that,” Ethan demands, using his free hand to pull her lip out of her mouth. “I want to hear you, Rookie.”

Something about the use of her former nickname makes her moan, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ethan.

“You like the nickname,” he states. “It’s funny, you know.  You take every opportunity to defy me, argue with me, and push my buttons, yet you get off on me controlling you.”

She can’t focus. He’s too close, it feels too good, and her brain can’t function properly under these conditions. He presses forward, the heel of his palm pressing into her clit, earning a hiss.

“Admit it.”

At this point Naomi would admit to committing armed robbery if it meant he’d keep doing this. She nods frantically. “Yes, Doctor.” He groans at the use of his title, and he pumps harder, curling his fingers inside of her. 

Naomi stands on tiptoes and desperately claws at the wall behind her. “Fuck Ethan, please!”

“Please, what? What do you want?” His lips find her neck again, and he sucks on her pulse point, only making things more hazy. “Use your words, Rookie.”

She wants a lot of things. She wants to cry out, she wants to dig her nails into his back until she draws blood, she wants him to keep talking her through this, his gruff voice in her ear as she shatters around him.

Unfortunately, Naomi cannot form a coherent sentence to save her life. She just rolls her hips, shamelessly grinding herself into his hand. “I...I…” The pleasure mounts, building in the pit of her stomach, spreading out. She’s so close, she can almost taste it. 

“Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I want–” Ethan rewards her for her honesty and his thumb drags into her clit and he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. That’s all it takes, and she orgasms with a strangled cry and she’s thankful Ethan is right here because he holds her upright as her legs momentarily give out.

When Naomi regains the ability to stand on her own, Ethan lets go and slowly removes his fingers. Moving fast, Naomi grabs his hand, and without breaking eye contact with him, she slides the two digits into her mouth, licking them clean.

Ethan’s next breath is a shaky gasp that leaves his lung far too quickly. “Fuck, Rookie.”

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” Naomi suggests, releasing his fingers with a loud pop.

Ethan shakes his head. “No.”

He registers the confusion on her face, but Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to respond. He grabs her by the waist and kisses her again, walking them towards the living room. He only breaks the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head, and it joins the growing pile of discarded clothing scattered around. Naomi helps him speed the process along, getting rid of his belt and popping the button on his jeans. Her fingers hook into the belt loops of the pants and she pulls them down.

Before she can do anything else, Ethan stops her wandering hands. “Wait, wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Ethan knocks his forehead against hers and he sighs deeply. “Naomi, if you don’t want to do this, please stop me now.”

She thinks it’s cute that he’s giving her an out, but she doesn’t need it. Her fingers slip past the waistband of his soft cotton boxers, a warm dainty hand wrapping around him.

Ethan shudders as a warmth spreads through him at the touch of her hand, and he mentally curses himself. He pushes her hand away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I’m not cumming into your hand.” Ethan spins Naomi around and bends her over the arm of his couch. 

While it’s not the desk in his office, Naomi won’t complain. She feels one of his calloused hands trace the length of her spine and her eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

No patience left, Ethan tugs down his underwear, letting the material pool at his ankles. Without another word, he lines herself up at Naomi’s entrance and thrusts into her all at once. He groans at the sensation.

Naomi has never been more thankful for couch cushions, as they muffle the scream that escapes her.

“Fuck, Naomi.” He digs his fingers into her hips before pulling out and slamming back into her. He doesn’t give her any time to adjust, but she doesn’t mind. They both know patience isn’t her forte. “You’re...so...tight.” His words are punctuated by sharp thrusts that threaten to steal the air straight from her lungs.

He leans forward slacking against her, but Naomi welcomes the weight. His beard scrapes against her shoulder blade, his breath warm against her ear, his fingers which are no doubt going to leave a bruise, all of it makes her dizzy, and god, this isn’t going to last much longer.

His thrusts become sloppier, more frenzied as the pleasure mounts, his blood boiling in his veins like molten lava. The only thing he can hear is the sound of the skin slapping, and his ragged breaths.

“Are you close?” He asks. But Naomi can’t think, let alone actually speak words, even if something monosyllabic would suffice. Why does he keep trying to make her speak? Her head drops with a thud and she mumbles something incoherent.

“For someone who had so much shit to talk earlier, you’re mighty silent.” Letting go of her hip, Ethan tangles a hand in her hair, yanking it back so she can’t hide her face in the cushions anymore. His other hand reaches around and he rolls her clit with his middle finger. Still way too sensitive from her last orgasm, she thrusts back, clawing at the couch with her nails, but he holds her in place, refusing to let her move.

“Ethan, fuck, don’t stop!” The words fly out all at once, shaky, fast and jumbled, but it’s all Ethan needs. 

With a burst of energy he didn't know he possessed, he drives into her, plunging deeper. “Cum for me, Rookie.”

Naomi screams. Loudly, and she’s sure his neighbors might be very annoyed, but she doesn’t care. Everything goes white behind her eyes as he all but pushes her over the edge. She clenches around him and Ethan hisses as she’s holding him in a vice-like grip. A few quick thrusts later, and he’s joining her in ecstasy, spilling inside of her. The hand holding her hair tightens for a second, then relaxes.

She’s pretty sure she blacked out for some period of time because when Naomi is finally able to focus, they’re no longer obscenely bent over the arm of Ethan’s couch. They’re on the floor, in the cramped space between the couch and the coffee table. 

She’s hot and sticky and absolutely exhausted. She places her hand over her heart, willing it to stop beating so erratically. Stealing a glance, Naomi peers up and looks at Ethan. He looks as disheveled as she feels, his hair tousled, lips swollen, chest and neck flushed red.

Her voice is horse and completely shot to hell when she finally speaks, “If that’s how our fights are going to play out from now on, I’ll let you pick more fights with you. And I’m a Cancer, we’re stubborn people.”

“I think we can find a happy medium somewhere.”

Naomi rolls over, until she’s nestled into his side and her head is on his chest. She can feel his heart beating rhythmically under her cheek. “Are we still fighting?”

“No.”

“Are you still mad at me?” He doesn’t answer the question right away, and a sense of dread fills her.

“I was never really mad at you,” Ethan admits after a long bout of silence. “I’m just mad at the entire situation. I’m mad at the budget cuts, I’m mad at our country’s healthcare system, I’m annoyed with your inability to listen to me. I’m mad at Leland Bloom’s obscene wealth and the fact that he gets to dangle his money in our faces like we’re horses waiting for carrots.”

“You made the right call, Naomi,” he continues. “But it’s a call you shouldn’t have been forced to make in the first place. I’m sorry for making you carry the brunt of my misplaced anger.”

“Apology accepted. And since we’re apologizing, I’m sorry for calling you a petulant little crybaby.”

Ethan chuckles. “Do you apologize for calling me a goddamn diva, as well? Don’t forget ‘entitled jackass’ and ‘spoiled child’.”

“You co-signed ‘spoiled child’ so I am not apologizing for it.”

“Fair point,” Ethan concedes.

Blindly searching with an outstretched hand, Naomi finds her cell phone and checks the time. She has to be at work in 2 hours, though she’d much rather get into Ethan’s bed and go to sleep.

“That happy medium that you mentioned? I think I have it figured out.”

Ethan raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh, yeah?”

“First and foremost, I promise to never go over your head again, if you agree to do a trial run on whatever ideas I may come up with. You can’t shoot me down immediately.”

“I’m...willing to agree to that.”

“And once this all settles down and the hospital isn’t on the verge of complete financial collapse, maybe we can convince the board to only take on one or two billable patients a quarter.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” 

“Yeah, I tend to have those every once in a while,” Naomi teases.

Ethan stares at Naomi as she laughs at her own poor joke. Everything about her is an anomaly to him. She blew into his life a little over a year ago and here he is, willing to adapt his entire ethical code for her. And here they are, entangled together as if he didn’t spend 2 months on a different continent in order to get her out of his head. What is it about her that he can’t shake?

He gently cups her jaw and kisses her as if she’s a precious gem, like he didn’t just try to devour her. “What are you doing to me?”

Naomi smirks, recalling that it’s the same question he asked her in Miami. “Hopefully something good.”

He kisses her again. “Better than good actually.”

Realization washes over her that once she leaves this apartment, things are going to go back to being the way they were. He’ll go back to pushing her away. “So does this mean you want to have another reset?”

The question throws him off, but he soon understands what she means. “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ethan repeats. If there’s a happy medium to be found between his team and the board, maybe there’s one for him and Naomi.

She doesn’t allow herself to get swept up by his words, but instead she braces herself for the chance that he pulls the rug from under her feet. “Well, what does that mean?”

“It means you and I are going to take a shower together, go to work, and we deal with our obnoxious patient. And after work, you’re going to put on something fancy because I’m taking you out to dinner. How does that sound, Dr. Valentine?”

Naomi can’t stop an annoying grin from spreading across her face. “I think it sounds pretty damn good, Dr. Ramsey.”

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirteen- Variation One

(Prevoius chapter here)

(Discord Here)

This chapter was originally an RP with @ablackswansweet, and there are two versions- one from both character’s POV. I have Swan’s permission to post this.

Zane warily eyes the young adult who enters alongside Martha. Does she intend to hurt him to force him to do something?

“What do you want?” He questions, hating the resignation in his tone.

He really has begun to give up.

The blond seems oddly excited, considering the circumstances. It looks as though he’s barely containing himself as he comes up to Zane.

He leans into the nindroid’s personal space, studying him closely in a way that once again makes him feel like a studied lab rat.

"I want to learn how you work." The blond smiles deviously. He then grabs Zane’s face and moves it around to inspect it from different angles, and Zane tries to cover up his winces of pain as some of his exposed sensors are touched.

The blond takes a few notes in a notebook before returning to Martha’s side, still with an evil expression.

Zane tries to hide his sigh of relief when the teen leaves. It had taken a lot of impulse control to stop himself from attempting to bite the blond- being manhandled in such a way is a very unpleasant feeling.

“Haven’t you done that enough?” He protests, shifting in his bonds to the best of his ability. “With everything you’ve done to me, I doubt that any competent mechanic would need any more research.”

He glares at the two while he speaks, wishing he still had his faceplate- if only to better emphasize his look of displeasure.

The young man laughs a little, seemingly more to himself than to anyone around him. Yet once again, there’s still an almost cruel aura around him that puts Zane on edge.

"Thing is, Original, I'm not exactly a mechanic. I'm just really, really interested by your wires and gears. And how well they respond to… Certains stimuli," he says.

The teen takes a few more notes before looking to Martha, seeming to wait for approval. She gives it with a nod.

Zane doesn’t quite grasp what is happening until wires are hooked up to him, the blond still seeming to almost shake in his excitement.

He then steps in front of the control panel and looks back to Martha.

Zane feels a wave of unease take over him. Something about this situation is concerning him, and it’s more than the fact that they likely plan to hurt him.

They haven’t given any orders. They haven’t asked any questions. And yet it seems that they plan to hurt him anyway.

They claim that this is training, but at this particular moment, it seems as though this shaping up to be more torture than an attempt at teaching.

“To begin with, my name is Zane, not Original. Second, if you are so interested in ‘wires and gears’ perhaps a robotics course would be a more healthy outlet for you.”

He’s well aware that his words will make no difference, but he attempts to convince the teen to leave him alone anyway.

After a few moments, he adds, “Why are you doing this? I can assure you that I have never meant to cause harm on any innocents.” He glances over at Martha on the last words, noting her displeased expression.

“You can begin whenever you like.” She tells the blond, who hums in response.

"Hey, Original?" He calls out, waiting until Zane looks at him to continue. "You talk a lot."

The young man then pushes a button, and Zane finds himself squirming in his bonds at the uncomfortable feeling. This is far from the worst they have done or can do, but it is still not a pleasant feeling.

He watches as the blond writes something else down, and starts to try and reason with the teen, trying to convince him to stop. He even uses proper manners, but it still seems to have no effect.

When his requests to stop are left ignored, Zane decides to take a new track.

“I suppose I am talking a lot,” he admits, “but not nearly as much as an old friend of mine. Jay couldn’t stay quiet if his life depended on it.”

While starting up a friendly conversation might seem illogical, Zane hopes that it will perhaps give him some insight on the one hurting him. Information about the blond may give him an opportunity to convince him to stop- and perhaps small talk will help him prove that he is seintent.

"Heh, yeah. I had a guy like that in one of my foster homes." The blond smirks, seemingly at the way Zane is surprised. "Didn't end well for him either. No one like a constant source of useless noise, don't you agree?"

Zane isn’t quite sure why he finds him so humorous, but he chooses not to dwell on it, instead trying to find an appropriate response to the words.

"How is your old friend doing now?" The blond smirks as he turns up the voltage, staring Zane dead in the eyes.

Zane struggles to keep a hold of himself, gritting his teeth and trying to maintain the conversation.

And endless source of constant noise? That could be a way to describe it, but Zane has always been fond of Jay’s rambling.

“I haven’t seen him in a while- I’ve been a little…” He glances down at his chains, wincing. “... tied up.”

At this point, it’s likely that the blond has a game of his own if he’s still choosing to continue the small talk- and the large smirk on his face confirms it.

He pauses a moment before continuing. “I don’t think I caught your name, either. What do you go by?”

The blond wears a faux-surprised expression for a moment before answering. "My name's Kyle. He/him, I guess. But I don't think you're going to need to know that."

He returns to slowly upping the charge of the voltage, seeming to reveal in the uncomfortableness that he’s causing.

"Tell me about your other old friends.” Kyle still doesn’t look away. “You said you were dating, right ? How's it like ?" That menacing smile doesn’t fade, and while Zane isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this, surely playing along for the moment couldn’t hurt.

He forces any sign of pain down, attempting to keep up a polite and friendly facade even as the pain increases.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kyle.” He lies. “I don’t recall mentioning that I was in an active relationship, but I suppose that the background research you must’ve done would cover that.”

It is obvious that they know about his boyfriends- how else would they have known to show him what they did in the sensory manipulation?

The pain is still increasing, and it’s becoming harder and harder to pretend as though he’s not hurt.

His breathing has begun to grow heavy, and he’s sure that there are flickers of winces being shown, but he still does his best to maintain his friendly appearance.

"Yeah, I read your file before coming here. Big fan, by the way." Kyle still wears a cruel smile, but it starts to turn more menacing, an evil nature with more purpose. "Wonder how they feel about your self-sacrificing nature," he snarls.

But then he pauses, gritting his teeth. He seems to be trying to keep a hold on himself, but Zane isn’t quite sure what could have triggered it.

Unless… is it possible that his self destruct could have harmed more the way it did Martha?

Zane doesn’t have time to dwell on the thoughts, as he’s suddenly blasted with electricity, and he’s forced to bite back a cry of pain.

Thankfully, it’s only high for a few moments before Kyle lowers it, allowing Zane to regain his composure with a relieved sigh.

Kyle redirects the conversation again. "So, your old friends ?"

Zane decides to instead address the major concern of what may be a part of Kyle’s hostility.

“When I was fighting the Golden Master, I meant no harm to any innocent people. I was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. I… I understand that in some ways, I have failed this function, but I do my best to help those in need.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Keep calm. He can’t let the pain overtake him- he’s begun to sense that that’s what Kyle wants.

He debates saying more, but chooses to remain silent, waiting for a hopefully diplomatic response.

Kyle sighs and gives him a sharp glare that confirms Zane’s hypothesis. It was likely that his sacrifice had-

He’s cut off from his thoughts by a spike of electricity, and it takes quite a bit of willpower to prevent himself from shouting out at the pain.

Unfortunately, it appears that his pained reaction pleases Kyle, who is now smiling again.

"You didn't answer my question, Original. How was life with your… Boyfriends ? Kai Smith, Jay Walker and Cole Brookstone, yeah ?" He smiles as he emphasises the last names, a menacing threat behind his words.

Zane feels everything in his body go rigid, and with his concentration now centered on the others, he knows that he is having more acute reactions to the pain.

He hates the small whimper that escapes him, but he ignores it in favor of speaking, addressing the underlying threat of his words.

“You do not touch them.” He snarls. “If you hurt them, I swear on the First Spinjitzu Master that I will hunt you down to the ends of the-“ Zane finds himself cut off with a cry of pain as the voltage is jammed up.

"Calm down. I didn't even actually threaten them yet," The blond mutters to himself. Thankfully, it’s not long before he lowers the voltage, and when he does Zane is able to breathe again.

But his panic is still running high. He had all but directly said that-

"If I wanted to truly use them as hostages, I'd tell you I know which shop they go to every two weeks to buy supplies and food, which is the one at the end of the main avenue."

The voltage begins to increase, and Zane wants to be listening, but he can only just make out his words, in too much pain to think straight.

"I'd tell you we have live feed of them almost every day and everywhere they go."

Zane hates the loud screams escaping him, but he can’t even focus on them, all of his attention forcefully grabbed by the pain and the threats, the way he threatens the ones he loves-

"Or… I'd tell you how one of them already got arrested once, and how easy it is to transfer prisoners or fake an accident."

Zane can feel the way his body is reaching the maximum limits of what it can handle, he can’t handle much more of this, this will kill him, he can’t possibly-

When the power is shut off, Zane finds himself sobbing, thankful that it’s gone, the pain is gone, but he still has fear running through him, fear of what could possibly happen to the ones he loves.

Kyle walks up to him, and Zane hates the fact that he flinches, and he hates even more the smile the teen wears when he does.

"Don't you dare threaten me or her ever again. Remember who holds the power here," the blond mutters in his ear before going back over to Martha, checking his notebook.

Zane doesn’t have it in him to be ashamed of how much he had screamed when the voltage was on maximum power- or at least, what had felt like it.

He wants to retort, to tell the boy that will protect his boyfriends to the death, to tell him that he is more than a machine, to tell him that he will threaten him again if he has to.

But he can’t find the words. He’s too tired to come up with proper sentences.

The part of him that spends too much time with Kai urges him to tell the teen a string of insulting curse words, but Zane ignores it.

When the two leave the room, Zane doesn’t even bother saying a farewell.

What’s the point in it, anyway?

[banashee]

Part 5 of my @badthingshappenbingo​ round 2

 With a bit of help

 Steve doesn’t run, but he very much wants to. His steps are wide and just quick enough so he can move as fast as humanly possible without making himself any more noticable. Walking quick won’t make him stand out in a busy street, but running would probably earn him some looks. It’s the last thing he wants right now.

 There is so much noise around here - chaotic traffic with honking cars and loud motors, people chatting, yelling, laughing. Somewhere, a toddler is crying. Phones are ringing left and right and people are shouting back into it.

 The noise on it’s own would be bad enough, but there are so many neon lights, and so many different smells - Steve wants to rip his own head off and bury it in cotton, so he doesn’t have to see or hear any more of it. It’s too much.

 Sometime, in the 70 years he was asleep in the ice, the world got really fucking loud. It’s close to unbearable, but how do you even begin to explain that?

 Luckily, it doesn’t take long for him to reach the SHIELD facility near Times Square. The street itself is one of his own personal nightmares. Steve isn’t sure if the reason for that is his less than pleasant awakening in the 21st century and the memories with this particular place, or if it is due to the fact that it is even brighter with flashing lights and video commercials here.  

 In any case, he is happy when he enters the sleek glass building. It’s busy, too, but not nearly as bad as outside.

 He smiles politely without really making eye contact at the people he crosses on the way back to his quarters. Once the door falls shut behind him, it’s like he deflates entirely. His hands are shaking, Steve notices, and he drops his bag onto the floor, next to his brand new, unused combat boots that they gave him. He didn’t have a mission yet - he’s itching for it, but at the same time isn’t sure what will be expected of him.

 With heavy limbs, feet dragging over the floor, Steve makes his way to the bed in the corner and collapses onto it.

 His ears are still ringing, his heart is still racing, and all he wants is just a moment of peace and quiet. Even the ticking of the clock sounds deafening to him, and he knows exactly what is happening in the rooms nearby.

 SHIELD barracks have paper thin walls, and his enchanted senses don’t help. In the room next to him, somebody is playing a video game. The gunshots and explosions are fake and Steve knows it, but he can’t help but flinch at the noise every time. It’s too much.

 Another room over, someone is having a heated but one sided argument - over the telephone, probably, if he had to guess.

 Across from him, it sounds like there are two people and - oh. Oh hell no. He really doesn’t want to listen to that, it would be incredibly rude.

 In an act of desperation, Steve crawls out of bed again and makes himself a pair of makeshift ear plugs out of toilet paper, then he buries his head under the pillow.

 He is shaking violently by now, wishing the world would be just a little bit calmer. It’s still so new, and he feels incredibly stupid, but he is absolutely overwhelmed with everything.

     There is a name for it, he learns later. Sensory Overload.

 That’s what he gets from typing “Why am I overwhelmed from noise, people and lights?” into the Google Thingy, and it makes a lot of sense. Unlucky for him, the only suggestion he can really find is to remove himself from the stressful environment, which is not always possible. Besides, he highly doubts that the articles he has been reading have taken a guy from the 40s who woke up in 2012 just a few weeks ago into account. His case is, admittedly, quite unique.

 “Quite Unique”, he knows, also means that getting help for The Thing is hard.

 Steve makes do with whatever he can, but it’s draining. Oftentimes, he’ll find himself collapsing into bed after a day around people, unable to stop shaking. The thing they gave him for alerts keeps beeping sometimes, even after hours, and he barely resists the urge to “accidentally” step on it one of these days.

 Then, aliens attack New York, and his life changes once again. He’s got a team now, even though their start was admittedly messy and his own attitude not the best.

 He has a chat with Stark, later, and they shake hands. Steve is not sure he’d call him or the others  “friends” at this point, but “friendly” for sure, and he trusts every single one of them. This has to be enough for now.

 Steve leaves the point of departure with a bag full of clothes on the back of his motorcycle and a mobile phone with a few numbers programmed into it. He isn’t sure if he’ll use it, but he figures it might be useful. Besides, they tell him that phone booths aren’t really a thing anymore, so better not rely on them.

 Steve intends to go see the country for a bit, drive wherever he sees fit at the moment.

 His plan to see the cities largely fails - much like New York, there is too much stress, too much noise. Steve can’t relax in any of those places, so he gives up and makes his way into much more rural areas.

 Back in the day, when he was with the army, he traveled the world, but he never managed to enjoy the sights, for obvious reasons. Now, he’s got all the time in the world to go watch the stars in a field where no light pollutes the air. He walks on a beach for the first time in ages, letting the feeling of water and sand around his feet wash over him.

 Luckily, he manages to grab a small, portable photo camera in a tourist shop. It’s a cheap, easy to use thing which he can deal with. There is a camera on his telephone, Stark said, but that doesn’t really seem necessary to him. He didn’t use the phone, but he keeps it charged - just in case.

 Two weeks after he left New York, his phone rings. The damn thing makes him jump and almost crash his motorcycle into a tree.

 Cursing, he pulls over to the side and fumbles it to answer. The sound of it ringing grinds his gears, and it takes every ounce of self control not to snap at whoever is at the other end.

 “Hello?”

 “Steve, hi. This is Natasha. Where are you right now?”

 “Oh, hey. I’m in Georgia right now - why? Am I needed back?”

 “We have a situation - sorry to interrupt your road trip. Can you please keep your phone on and wait at the nearest point accessible for the jet? We’ll pick you up on the way.”

 “Yes, of course. You will be able to find me?”

 “Already did.” it sounds like she’s smiling. “See you in about two hours, possibly sooner”

 When the jet sets down on an empty space of land, the ramp extends and Steve drives up there. The door closes behind him, and he is greeted by his team, already suited up. Thankfully, they brought his gear and his shield.

 The situation is messy and so is the fight they have to take part in, but all of them return to New York in one piece - small favors.

 When the jet settles down on the roof of the tower, it does so with little grace. A string of very colorful curses emerges from the cockpit, where Barton is ranting about shitty robots shooting at them and wheels that spontaneously fall off in the middle of landing, but other than that, they’re  fine.

 Internally, Steve has to agree with him, but externally, he keeps on a brave face. He refuses to lose it over this, although he very much would like to join in on banging his head against hard surfaces. Unfortunately, it’s just a bad look on a leader, so he remains calm.

 As soon as he steps out of the jet, the noises of the city drill into his brain, and it takes a lot of self control not to cringe at it. He’d gotten used to the peace and quiet of the countrysides, and even though he’d known it wouldn’t last forever, he already finds himself missing it.

 Thankfully, the inside of the tower is a lot more bearable. The walls must be thick and at least somewhat soundproof. It makes it easier to relax, and although the debrief takes a lot out of them all, they’re glad to be back.

 Before they shuffle off into different rooms to sleep off the last mission, Tony stops him on the way.

 “Oh hey, before you walk off - let me know if you’ll need anything specific, the apartments are in planning.”

 Steve blinks. “Apartments?”

 “Yeah. Here, for everyone. Didn’t I tell you?”

 “Uh, no?”

 “Oh. Here you go, then. We’ll move everyone in here and I need to know if you have any specific preferences. Layout, accommodations, furniture whatever. You can tell JARVIS, too, if you’d rather.”

 Before he can ask anything else or even say “thank you”, Tony has disappeared, leaving Steve standing there like he just got rolled over by a train. To be fair, this is the kinda feeling that most people have after talking to Tony when they’re not used to him, and Steve has been away for a while.

 He mulls over this on his way to a guest room. JARVIS is kind enough to explain the plans in more detail, which helps a lot because “Hey so, you’ll move in here for free, let me know if you want any stuff” is not what he expected to hear once he got back.

 Truth be told, it feels kind of weird and overwhelming, so he decides to shower, sleep and think about anything else later.

 As it turns out, the walls are soundproof in here - Steve falls asleep and wakes up in total silence, and he sighs in relief. Maybe, moving here wouldn’t be such a bad idea, especially since the tower is a lot more private and convenient than SHIELD barracks.

 When he makes his way to the kitchen for breakfast, there are voices and the clattering of plates, sizzling from the stove and gurgling off the coffee machine. His ears can pick up every single noise, but unlike the traffic on the streets or neighbours back at SHIELD, it’s not uncomfortable now that he is well rested and, most of all, got a break.

 Maybe, living here isn’t a bad idea. It’s an opportunity to get closer to the team, especially since everyone else will be around as well. So, Steve enters the kitchen to share breakfast with the other Avengers.

 He’ll figure out the rest.

*+~

Square 5/25: Sensory Overload

[docholligay]

Winston and Lena for Geeky =P

@madegeeky YOU ARE VERY LOVED. Also this is abbout 2500 words and thus not even really a ficlet anymore but instead

A Stopped Clock 7.5: Lighting-Up Time in London

I hope you enjoy it! All of  A Stopped Clock can be found here. 

It was raining in London, which you’d think Winston wouldn’t even pay attention to anymore, used to it as he was, but he still noted it. He’d had Tracer back in London two weeks, and already he’d seen improvements to her condition, and so it could rain as much as it wanted. She loved it anyway, she was a creature of the fog and mist. She was always complaining about how dry Numbani was anyhow. 

The question, of course, still hung over him as to how much better she would get. Mercy had no idea, either, simply shaking her head and saying by every model she could figure, Tracer should not have survived the shock of it in the first place. Being ripped in and out of time was hard on a body, not to mention the aspects of sensory overload that the absence of time itself had on her. He tried not to think on it, too much, as the answer for him would never change as to what he would do. He would take care of Tracer, for as long as she needed, or as long as she lived, whatever came first. 

Besides, it was much easier in London. The Oxtons were constantly helping, bringing over food and offering to help with cleaning and dishes and whatever else Winston and Tracer might need. Making sure Tracer’s life was as pleasant as possible was more of a group project here, and he knew no one would try to take her and put her away, and for that reason alone, rain or not, Winston felt much more at ease. 

Athena’s voice rang overhead. “Parvati is at the door.” 

Tracer’s cousin was a frequent visitor, a seeming palette swap of Tracer herself born a month later. Winston opened the door for her, grocery bags in hand, her long black hair swept up into a low and lazy bun that didn’t fully contain it, dark eyes glittering with mischief as she winked at Winston, deep freckles dancing across her face as she smiled that Oxton grin. 

“Brought you a few essentials.” She eased past him without being invited, knowing she had no need. 

Essentials, by Parvati’s measure, was likely a container of beer and cider and few frozen pizzas. Sometimes she thought ahead enough to bring some meat, or vegetables, but it was always a scattered array. In the kitchen, Parvati made Tracer look like a domestic goddess, which she was always quick to counter was reversed when something needed cleaning. 

Depositing her essentials in the exact spaces Winston had imagined, a light blue bag from work still slung over her shoulder, she clapped Winston on the arm. 

“‘Ow’s this romantical sort of day going for you, big guy?” 

Winston looked at her, puzzled. “What?” 

“‘S Valentine’s Day,” she took something out of the bag, “on that note, Teddy ‘ad me bring you these.” 

They were sweet rolls, in the shape of hearts with pink frosting. Anything from Teddy’s bakery was generally a treat, but he must have remembered how much he liked these. 

“Ones with raisins in, your favorite, right?” 

“I,” Winston stumbled, “Yes, I love them, I, I totally forgot it was Valentine’s Day.” 

Parvati gave a crackle of a laugh. “Women ‘round all of London will be crying tonight,” she saw his slight slump of the shoulder, “I’s only joking Win, why should you know what day it is, been a bit busy, you have, and that’s the bloody truth.” 

“Do you have plans?” He asked setting the rolls out for later. Maybe Tracer would feel well enough to have tea. 

“Intend to,” she chuckled, “but so far, not much luck.” 

“Weren’t you--” He shook his head. “Nothing.” 

“No need to be bashful for it, Win, wasn’t I seeing a man, you were going to ask, love, and well, true enough, I was, but I find men are a bit like fast food adverts. You see it, and you go, ‘right enough, think I’d love that!” get it ‘ome, nothing but a bit of greasy cheese stuck to some weak little patty and the ‘ole thing covered in oil, think I’d learn, but I never really do, curse of me life, it is.” 

Sometimes talking to Parvati made Winston miss Tracer, in ways he could not articulate. She had the same rapid fire stream of consciousness, the same easy laugh, the same patter. She didn’t have Tracer’s quality of movement, exactly--no one did--but it was obvious they had been raised together, and it made him feel a desperate longing for Tracer to come back to him, just as she’d been. 

“Should be seeing Lena,” Parvati nodded, “if you’ll excuse me, told me to come by early.” 

Winston nodded as Parvati headed to the side room that had always been Tracer’s, even when Winston had first bought this place, before she’d been so badly hurt again. It was nice that people came to see her, and her family seemed patient with the idea that she didn’t really talk too much, still, or that she needed a bit of quiet and calm. In all, he supposed, they were both very lucky. The Oxtons had taken him in like a stray, given them his last name and told him to say no more about it. 

There were plenty of things he needed to do today. He had to try and get everything together to start advertising his repair business. It wasn’t glamourous, but he could fix nearly anything, technology wise, and so what if it was cell phones and laptops and not high-end equipment? He’d made his interest known to the British government, thinking they might have need of his particular skills, but of course, with Overwatch crumbling, they were keeping their distance. 

So, cell phones and laptops it was, no job too big or too small for your friendly repairape. It would be enough to get them by, with her family’s help, and he could do it from home, so she could be cared for, and so Winston didn’t really care that it was somewhat of a stepdown from the cutting edge work he’d been doing. Maybe there would be enough time to tinker, and that would be nice. He’d always liked that. 

Valentine’s Day. It was strange to think that a day devoted to love might mean anything to him at all, and he would have convinced himself he didn’t care, when he was younger, before he’d had any sort of a family to call his own. And now he was getting sweet rolls from someone who owed him nothing, and he had completely failed to reciprocate. 

Teddy wouldn’t hold it against him. It wasn’t in his nature, and the two of them had always had a bit of a kinship, being giant, quiet marshmallows folded into a family of tiny spitfires. 

Maybe he would see about getting dinner delivered for him and Tracer, something special. Whether she was seeing someone or wasn’t, Tracer had always made a special point of doing something with the two of them for Palentine’s Day, her own giggling inclusion to a romantic holiday that allowed space for the people she loved in all the other ways. Maybe Italian? Their favorite was always Chinese, and sometimes Indian, but Valentine’s Day was a special holiday and so he wanted to get something special. If she was feeling up to it, maybe they could watch a movie together. 

Nothing too much--Mercy had recommend Tracer not drink on the medicine she’d prescribed, and he never wanted to make Tracer feel bad for forgetting, she’d been trying to get well, of course she wouldn’t pay the day any mind--but just something, so Tracer would know he still felt himself lucky to have a friend like her. 

Yes, he resolved, that would be a nice quiet Valentine’s Day between them, and that would be just lovely. 

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Parvati calling goodbye to Tracer, shutting the doors quietly behind her as she swung back around to where WInston sat. It had been nearly an hour, that he’d been sitting there just daydreaming, he realized, and had gotten so little of the work he’d meant to accomplished. 

“Seems pretty well today,” Parvati nodded to him, “minute by minute, sun comes back up, don’t it?” 

He envied the Oxtons their easy faith in resilience. It was not that they believed things would work out, so much as they believed they could recover from them. East end flattened in the Omnic crisis? Always did hate that pub, opportunity for something better to go in. Tracer ripped out of time? Well, she was always a strong little thing, she’ll come right. Someone you love has died? We’ll all live the harder for them, say their name over a beer. They were born with sunshine and steel in their spines, and he adored them. 

“She’s getting better,” he nodded. 

“Course she is,” Parvati shifted her bag onto her shoulder, “told her the plans for me birthday, and she’d be barmy to miss that, love, and you as well, Win, you never come out and you should.” 

“Parvati, that’s not until September.” 

“Right,” she giggled, “but I know you, Win, and it’ll take you the ‘ole seven months to talk yourself into it. Oh! And Lena’s wanting to see you as well, likely to tell you all about me birthday plans.” 

She had a small point, but he refused to concede it, instead scowling playfully and waving her off. Parvati chuckled as she tied her shoes and headed out the door into the damp and grey of a cool London day, flicking open her umbrella with a flourish as the door closed behind her. 

Winston closed the lid of his laptop. There was no way he was going to get anything done until he’d spoken to Tracer and made sure she didn’t need anything, anyhow. Maybe he could come back to it with fresh eyes and get a little more done. Tracer would be excited, he hoped, for their dinner plans. He would suggest she order whatever she liked, and as much of it as she wanted. She was eating a little better, in the past few days, but it was still a worry of his. There was only so many times he cared to have an argument about whether or not she needed a nutrition shake. 

He lumbered quietly into her bedroom, decorated with pictures of her family and friends, little drawings by some of the smaller Oxtons, and postcards from some of the scattered Overwatch folks who cared enough to hope she got well. Tracer herself was leaned against a large pile of pillows, looking out the window at the drizzle and the pigeons huddling under the eave of the house for warmth. She still carried the pallor she would carry for months, and there was a quality of fragility about her that seemed so out of character no matter how long it persisted, but her sweater was brightly colored, and when she saw Winston come in she smiled brightly, and pushed herself to sit up. 

“Win.” Her voice was a bit quiet, but warm and bright. 

He settled in next to her bed. When he sat on the floor, they were nearly nose to nose, and Tracer seemed to appreciate it, at least until she could easily climb on his shoulder again. 

“Parvati said you’re feeling good today.” He nodded as if that extra emphasis would make it true. 

“I think so!” She looked back out the window again, “‘ope the pigeons are staying warm, but I must be honest, missed this in Numbani.” 

She touched the window, and the cold ran through her for a moment. Her body jumped and she gave a small whimper, hanging her head and closing her eyes. 

He reached out and put his hand on her leg, almost without thinking about it, his touch heavy and gentle. Tracer put her hand on Winston’s and they sat there for a moment, Tracer taking a few deep breaths before she opened her eyes. 

“Don’t always think.” She managed a small smile. 

“I was thinking,” he kept his voice soft, “tonight, for dinner, it’s Valentine’s Day--I,I forgot too, so don’t” 

“Oh Win, but I didn’t forget!” She leaned forward excitedly, nearly jumping toward him, which itself was a bit too much, and she had to brace herself on the edge of the bed for a few quiet seconds. 

Don’t be a worrywart, Winston, he reminded himself, she hates that. She’s testing things because she’s feeling so much better. That’s good. She’s fighting. She’s winning. Just takes time. 

“I didn’t forget,” she continued, nodding slowly, “I got you something. It isn’t very much, really, but I made Parvati ‘elp.” 

She turned to her little bedside table and took out a card. The red envelope had a few heart stickers on it, and in clumsy, difficult handwriting, it said “To Win. I love you. Lena.” 

“Still shaking a bit,” she looked down at it, “not as pretty as it might be.” 

He took it from her trembling hands, trying not to show how overwhelmed he was by the quality of her love, even after knowing her for these last few years. A few weeks ago, she had been barely able to speak, hardly able to be touched, and here she was, thinking about Winston on a silly side holiday. 

Winston ran his hand over the envelope. It almost seemed too much to open. How hard must it have been for her to write? Every letter she would have struggled through was an I love you, and he wasn’t sure he could bear it. 

 “I didn’t do anything for you.” 

She gave a chuff. “Think we can both agree that’s a bloody lie.” 

He looked up at her. “I thought maybe I would get us some Italian. Have a little date for the two of us, watch a movie?” 

“Oh Win, I’d love to!” she reached out slowly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you. Happy Palentine’s Day, love.” 

Her eyes held that glimmer he’d always known, and he felt the sunrise Parvati had mentioned. 

There were so many things Winston could not control. The rain in London. The market for mobile repair. Whether Tracer would ever fully recover. But he could do this. He would make a nice cozy spot on the couch for the two of them, two little Valentines safe and sound. He would get them rich, thick pastas, and play some sappy movie. 

He may not be able to fix her, but he could love her, and be loved by her, and today, that was enough.

[mbti-notes]

Anonymous asked: 

Hello. How to be a well-known and well-liked person at work?

Why do you want to know? What is your underlying motivation? When you approach personal learning and development without a clear or authentic intention, you are liable to stumble badly and get unpleasant results. Your question includes a lot of confused thinking, which is a major part of the problem.

I used to think that knowledge and working hard are the only things necessary for success at work. I haven't had a career yet. but I hear from others that other factors and office politics are also involved. Good comunication and social skills, being liked by coworkers and bosses for example. There are people who join a workplace/college and after a short time, they know almost everyone and everyone knows them, trusts and loves them. Bosses like and respect them, don't want replace them, etc.

You seem to “think” a lot of things. And to what end exactly? Do you enjoy “thinking” yourself into a pit of worry? You don’t possess any meaningful experience, yet you still claim to “know” things based only on some imaginings and secondhand information. This kind of speculation is problematic, a bad cognitive habit that should be stopped, because it is counter-productive to learning and growth. You are misinterpreting the few facts that you’re hearing. Yes, it is a fact that some people are good at socializing, but what does that mean for YOU? Does it mean that you have to be just like them? Yes, good social skills are required to succeed in some work environments? But all of them? Don’t jump to conclusions so quickly. You can’t seem to tell the difference between a fact and your own faulty interpretations of the fact.

Do you believe that you can become a good footballer by listening to people talk about how to play or describe their impressions of a few matches they watched? Secondhand information is subjective and anecdotal. You take the few facts that were presented and then you stitch together an elaborate narrative of some abstract “workplace” that you believe represents ultimate reality. This is very poor reasoning. In the end, you construct a very distorted view of the world and become blinded by faulty or oversimplified beliefs about how the world works. All this before having even stepped out the door, so to speak.

While I like to have that, I don't have the energy or skills for that as an introvert. I don't know how to start a good conversation or get people to like me, trust me and open up to me. I would naturally want to get the job done and go home. I'm not really interested in people's lives. meeting with more than seven people or going somewhere crowded gives me social anxiety and sensory overload. and Idk what is ok to say/ask in convos. Idk if I should be friendly or professional with bosses, supervisors and coworkers. or what behavior is ok or too much.

If you want to learn, then learn. There are lots of resources available out there. If you don't want to learn, then don't. It's your choice to make, as it's your life to live. DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO LEARN? I can’t help you if you are stuck in contradiction and talking out of both sides of your mouth, saying that you both want but don’t want (i.e. unaware of who you really are or what you really want). How are you ever going to get motivated when you can’t commit to any particular desire/goal/direction?

If you suffer from severe social anxiety, get professional help for it. Social skills can be learned, just like learning how to play football by actually playing it though hours of practice. If you want to learn any worthwhile skill, you must put in time and effort to study and practice repeatedly, to get better gradually - it is certainly tiring - no pain, no gain. Is feeling “tired” the end of the world? You seem to believe that it is for some strange reason, which means that you’re not willing to put in the work? If you’re not willing to work hard, that is the end of the story. 

So I just stay safe, overly formal, independent and polite. I prefer to be alone. During long hours of college or socializing, I stay quiet and anxious, get headaches and feel dizzy/confused. And I'm not on any social media because I don't care about the pictures people post about family, pets, celebs. I'm also not assertive and I'm afraid of drama or ppl hurting/using me.

"Stay safe" is the key phrase. Generally speaking, an excessive desire for safety is rooted in emotional problems, often stemming from painful memories and/or traumatic experiences. Until you resolve the emotional problems that keep you stuck and resistant against venturing outside your comfort zone, you won’t be able to grow as a person. The heavier the emotional baggage you’re unconsciously dragging around, the more “tiring” the learning process is, because there are too many self-inflicted psychological obstacles holding you back. 

Instead of facing up to your emotional problems, you’d rather entertain useless speculation about imaginary workplaces and people you haven’t met yet, making yourself more and more scared (in order to justify isolation)? It’s quite easy to speculate and imagine all the possible threats out there in the world. It’s hard to examine the reality of how much you fear being hurt and how the fear twists your perception of reality. You keep taking the easy road and then wonder why you never get anywhere. DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO CHANGE? Once again, I can’t help you if you are stuck in contradiction and talking out of both sides of your mouth, saying that you both like and don’t like how you are (i.e. unaware of who you really are or what you really want). I only help people who are fully committed to change.

I already know the consequences of being the way I am.

I’d argue that you don't understand - another example of thinking that you “know” when you really don’t. You've emphasized that you prefer to be alone, which means that you LIKE the consequences - your feelings tell the true story. You don't perceive the consequences as being negative, so why would you change your behavior? If you like isolation, isolate. Why not just “be yourself” and live the life that you want? Who says that you have to be anything but what you are? Why do you even care about any of this “social” stuff (that you also claim to not care about)? Why pressure yourself to be something that you’re not? If you put the pressure on yourself, then you take it off at any time.

But “being yourself”, if you’re doing it properly, won’t lead you into an unhealthy tertiary loop, so you’re not doing it properly, are you? If you’re not ready to leave your loop, don’t. Keep pretending that you’re “staying true” to your antisocial self, keep enjoying the safety of isolation, until you can’t live in denial anymore. That’s how most people have to play out their tertiary loop. 

One day, when you’ve had enough, you may realize that your desire for isolation isn’t actually “staying true” to who you are and what you want. One day, you may realize that “staying true to yourself” was just an excuse, that you don’t really know yourself at all, and that your self-image has been nothing but a twisted little ball of fear all along. In other words, right now, your idea of “being yourself” is actually just being a scared little puppy that hides from every loud noise - is this what you really are and want to be? Is there nothing more to you than fear? Do you want to spend your entire life under the spell of the irrational fears you have conjured up to protect your comfort zone?

I need your help. How can I develop interest in people? How can I have more energy to socialize? How can I gain social skills and get people to like me, trust me, open up with me and let me in? (without being fake or pushy?).

Very simple: You have to care about more than just yourself and your own safety and comfort. But this is impossible if you leave your fear unaddressed and it continues to hijack your whole mindset. When you live in fear, you are all too willing to believe that people are bad and the world is terrible (based on selective evidence gathering), only looking out for yourself and your own feelings, which, in the end, amounts to starting every relationship in an extreme state of defensiveness and self-centeredness. A person needs to know you to like you, and how would they know you when you are emotionally closed-off and obviously hostile to their advances, when all you show them is coldness? A positive relationship should be built through the connection of two open and trusting hearts. Cynicism about people or society is merely a convenient cover that allows fearful or helpless people to feel safe/superior, but only in their own mind. Living in a coffin, worrying or complaining about the outside world without ever venturing out, is surely safe emotionally. But nothing ever happens there, does it? You’ve put yourself in there because you’re scared, which means that it’s up to you to own your fear and step out anyway.

How can I maintain relationships?

By putting in the time and effort to build your social skills and learn through firsthand relationship experiences. By taking the time to care about something other than yourself. Even psychopaths manage to care about the people closest to them. Is the problem that you can’t care or that you won’t care? If it’s a problem of won’t, why won’t you? 

Relationship skills aren’t something that can be summarized in one paragraph, especially if you have a lot of dysfunctional relationship habits to unlearn. I've already recommended many relevant books on the resources list. Are you a good learner? From what you’ve said, I suspect that you have trouble learning or accepting advice because you always think that you know better and/or have an excuse ready to rebut good advice? If you’re serious about learning, then devote yourself fully to studying and practicing.

How can I learn office politics? How can I make my bosses like/trust me without seeming fake?

"Office politics" is not what you believe it is - dismantle your faulty fearful beliefs. Every workplace is just a group of people, made up of various individuals, some of them not too different from you. The quality of a group depends on the quality of the individuals and what they contribute to it collectively, and this varies quite widely from group to group and the size of it. If you contribute negativity, you influence others to be negative. If you contribute positivity, you influence others to be positive. But you don’t care about how you affect others because you don’t even recognize that you have any power to affect anything due to your fear, passivity, and helplessness. All you care about is whether you get paid? Work has no other benefit or purpose besides monetary compensation?

Some of the surest signs of having poor social skills include:

mindreading: presuming to know what people think/feel with little to no evidence; grossly misinterpreting people’s intentions/behavior due to fear, insecurity, anxiety, or overactive imagination

prejudice: making blanket/overgeneralized judgments about individuals, groups, or society based on very selective “facts” or superficial characteristics; unable to treat people as individuals to be dealt with in an adaptable case-by-case basis

self-centeredness: compulsively resorting to inauthentic and/or defensive behavior to manipulate social situations for personal reward/comfort; unable to understand situations from other people’s point of view

You suffer all three problems. You are quick to assume that people have ill-intentions. You like to divide people up into these or those “kinds” of people. You only care about people in terms of whether they make you feel good/bad and inexplicably refuse to care about their perspective. 

A healthy relationship should be mutually satisfying in order to establish a sense of connectedness. A healthy relationship should be mutually beneficial in order to establish a sense of equality. A healthy relationship should include mutual caring and sharing in order to establish intimacy. Why would anyone want to enter a relationship with you if you make them feel uneasy, unsatisfied, and uncared for? Would you want to enter a relationship with you? If you’re a terrible friend, you’ll feel undeserving of friendship, because, deep down, you believe that you don’t deserve any kindness for never giving any kindness to anyone. If you want good friendships, you must first be a good friend. If you’re not willing to open up emotionally to care for people, that is the end of the story. 

How can I make sure people don't see me as a good target to hurt, use or gossip about?

What is the source of your paranoia? Why is your first stance towards the social world one of negativity, fear, mistrust, suspicion, attack-and-defense? If you’ve been hurt before and that’s why you’re scared, then address that problem.  Serious questions: Have you ever known LOVE? Have you ever known a caring, supportive, empathetic, and intimate relationship with someone? If you haven’t, for whatever reason, then you have a lot to learn about relationships. But going around pretending that you already know how people are (out to get you) and how the social world works (to victimize you) is not going to help you learn. You won’t learn if you already presume to know.

I haven't had a job yet. but I'm honestly afraid of having a career for these reasons.

You can’t prepare for every situation in life. No amount of mental preparation is going to eliminate your fear when the fear itself is always left unaddressed. Go out into the world, live your life, learn from your experiences. That's how life goes. But you don't want to live in real life, do you? You prefer living in your own imagination, pretending to know what the world is like without proper breadth of experience?

"Afraid" is the key word. Are you really ready to confront your fear? I don't think you are yet because you are still talking about how nice it is to be safely protected by tertiary loop. No one can force you to let go of your faulty beliefs when you depend on them so much for safety. You overthink and overanalyze, speculate and imagine, turn human beings into abstractions, convince yourself that you “know” when you really don’t... all for what? It is all a defense mechanism that keeps you trapped within yourself, ruminating in circles. It's all just meant to hide the fact that you are afraid, helpless, and willfully ignorant (in twisting the facts). The solution to fear is to actively confront it. The solution to helplessness is mastering the appropriate social and emotional skills. The solution to willful ignorance is humility: let go of what you think you know so that you can finally start to learn fresh.

[crownofbeautyalina]

Test Result

Your Sociotype: SEI-0 (ISFp) Sensing Ethical Introvert - The Mediator

Brief Description of the

SEI

Using introverted sensing as her base function and extroverted intuition as her creative, the SEI excels at creatively applying her introverted sensing to improve the mood of those around her. As with the ESE, the SEI is in tune with people's emotional states and seeks to mitigate conflict and encourage a harmonious atmosphere. The SEI's creativity is practically unlimited, and this skill is used in a number of pursuits including graphic design, music, and culinary arts, to name a few. Generally speaking, this creativity is channeled towards uses that will have a positive impact on at least one person's emotional state; as such, the SEI would prefer not to channel her creativity towards more impersonal endeavors. At her best, the SEI applies sensori stimuli (in the form of art, good food, etc.) to make herself and those around her comfortable and content; at her worst, the SEI can become highly emotional, and these emotions can become very volatile--changing quickly from happiness to sadness to anger within minutes. Furthermore, these volatile and strong emotional states will be shared freely with those around her--to either their pleasure or detriment.

Socionics Types: SEI-ISFp

Description of The SEI

Ego Block

Introverted Sensing 

Si

SEIs are naturally attuned to the nature of the physical stimuli around them. They are often aptly aware of whether they are comfortable or relaxed in a given environment and they often take spontaneous action to make their living environment more comfortable. They often make effective hosts, as they may spontaneously exhibit great attention to ensure that friends and family around them are comfortable and that their physical needs are well satisfied. They often have a natural level of attentiveness to the signals of the human body, and may make instinctive responses to adapt their environment to their comfort.

SEIs are usually unconcerned with the external demands around them, and may feel as though the world around them is overly hectic or frenetic, and unable to stop and smell the roses. SEIs may disdain the hustle and bustle of the world around them, and instead display a relaxed and convivial demeanor. They may be inclined to dismiss the productive demands placed on them and instead focus their energy on maintaining a comfortable, familiar, recreational, and nonthreatening environment. At times when they have to present themselves or their work to others, however, they may be overly socially anxious and afraid of disappointing others, and they may tend to overwork themselves or give extra effort. In this way, they may be highly industrious and dutiful workers.

SEIs often exhibit a down-to-earth quality and often focus their attention on events, affects, or relationships relevant to their physical environment or personal experience; for this reason, their style of conversation may at times come across as somewhat mundane or unimportant. SEIs may focus much of their energy towards processes oriented with bettering sensory experiences, including visual art, fashion, food preparation, dance, or other physical aspects. Their affective responses to situations are often intertwined with their level of physical comfort.

Extroverted Ethics 

Fe

SEIs are often highly attuned to the emotional environment immediately surrounding them. They are skilled at loosening up the atmosphere and often seek to actively contribute to the overall sense of group harmony and familiarity. SEIs often feel uncomfortable in circumstances in which the group atmosphere is overly hostile or virulent; in such situations, they may seek to play the role of peacemaker in order to restore the mood to a sense of joviality or calmness.

SEIs may expect individuals around them to behave according to the predominant emotional affect in a given environment. They tend to enjoy crafting an open, conflict-free, and relaxed environment where individuals are able to express themselves freely, but they may feel confused and deflated if somebody espouses viewpoints contrary to the predominant mood.

Many SEIs are shy, sensitive, and reserved. They may develop a mild, friendly, and soft-spoken demeanor, as they can frequently be overly concerned that they have offended others with their actions. They can be inclined to a somewhat avoidant, withdrawn, and socially reserved lifestyle. Rather than forge strong emotional connections with others, some SEIs may be inclined to interact spontaneously (and often reservedly) with others according to the immediate emotional ambience of a situation.

SEIs tend to spend a lot of energy concerning themselves with social acceptance and interpersonal dynamics.

Super-Ego Block

Introverted Intuition

Ni

SEIs are capable of mentalizing and devling into imaginative inner worlds, pondering past, future, and recognizing patterns and trends. However, they tend not to emphasize these aspects especially, instead emphasizing physical, tangible, and relational aspects, and the simple pleasantries in life.

SEIs may be very minimally inclined to think towards the future. They may resist thinking of long-term matters, seeing them as somewhat unnatural and secondary to the state of their immediate pleasure or experience. However, at times, they may recognize and become overly anxious about the importance of long-term planning, sometimes demonstrating a tendency to overthink or overplan situations, and to draw unrealistic assessments about their future.

Extroverted Logic

Te

SEIs may have difficulty adapting themselves to tasks in which they are expected to make judgments about the efficiency or effectiveness of a process, or tasks requiring them to evaluate or assimilate a large amount of factual information. They are prone to be uninterested in synthesizing the productive, technical, or methodological details of a situation, instead preferring to focus on their own experience and the emotional environment around them. They may see individuals who are highly attuned to processing and disseminating factual information dry, harsh, or inconsiderate. They may be skeptical and hesitant if proactively engaged or asked for feedback, particularly if the project does not relate to their personal knowledge or experience. They are equally inclined to be skeptical of others' claims of knowledge or expertise if not derived from direct personal experience, but from other sources such as books and the like.

SEIs are often highly disinclined to engage in productive tasks, and may be inclined to react to "responsible" individuals or environments as overly somber, cold, or dull. They often see the hustle and bustle of working concerns to be insignificant, preferring to focus on their own comfort and friendships.

Super-Id Block

Extroverted Intuition 

Ne

SEIs may demonstrate stagnant or reserved lifestyles. Many SEIs are disinclined to spontaneous action, travel, or readily adopting new interests. They may go through life quietly, dutifully, and comfortably, feeling as though there are no truly novel pursuits for them to seek. They may be perceived by others as insipid or uninventive. SEIs appreciate the company of friendly and engaging individuals who can show them new and interesting projects, and expand their mental landscape. They often make willing followers in zany or unusual pursuits or travels.

Some SEIs may have difficulty formulating original conceptual connections. SEIs can be attracted to esoteric, theoretical, or intellectual fields of interest, and may be drawn towards investigating the conceptual frameworks of others rather than developing their own ideas. They may be inclined to assimilate theories, possibilities and novel ideas and apply them to their own experience, comfort, or overall state of well-being.

SEIs are often focused on the present and may be unaware of the depths of their imaginative abilities. They can be insatiably curious individuals on some topics, but may be reticent to seek out information spontaneously on unfamiliar ideas. They are not always cognizant of the new opportunities that may develop for them or the directions in life that they may choose to pursue.

Introverted Logic 

Ti

SEIs seek clarity in their system of beliefs and understanding. They may seek to reinforce and expand their base of knowledge by assimilating information in the form of easy-to-remember models or systems. They may be inclined to developing models and belief systems based on large amounts of data that they have personally processed or personal experience; it can be difficult to dissuade them from or convince them to reevaluate the beliefs that they develop in this way, or to introduce additional variables into the conceptual equations that they produce. SEIs may be very adept at organizing data, and sometime can exhibit a meticulous fascination in the numbers and conceptualizations that they derive from it.

SEIs are anxious to satisfy themselves that they have already learned enough on a subject to reach definitive conclusions, and dislike the idea that acquiring expertise in a given subject is a never-ending process rather than a step. They may dislike having it pointed out, or demonstrated, that their understanding and expertise was not as definitive as they had concluded.

Id Block

Extroverted Sensing 

Se

SEIs are often quite averse to conflict and aggression. They may be highly discomfited and unsettled by environments in which conflict, competitiveness, and/or aggressive behavior are the norm. SEIs often have difficulty asserting themselves or saying no to others, and so some may even choose to overlook the roughshod nature of environments in which they subsist and instead try to maintain for themselves a positive attitude. Many SEIs try to make a point not to be aggressive, rowdy, or hurtful themselves.

SEIs are rarely interested in matters of political hierarchy or who maintains power in a situation; they may be inclined to believe that everyone will be well off if people treat each other with kindness and decency.

Introverted Ethics 

Fi

SEIs are often disinclined to making harsh or dismissive moral or ethical judgments. They prefer to maintain a positive attitude, and tend to see individuals' behavior and interactions as situational, and as a reflection of the predominant emotional atmosphere, rather than as a reflection of their character.

SEIs are adept at understanding the relational and emotional dispositions of others. However, they are usually more instinctively concerned with promoting a friendly and positive mood than with affirming the positive intentions of those around them. They may be inclined to overlook disaccords and contrarieties in the presence of a positive mood.

This article incorporates text from Socionics Workshop and Wikisocion.

[s-3-xp-3-st]

untitled

word count: 3,899         started: april 30th, 2019         finished: august 17th, 2019

   Walking through the bakery, the smell of dough and sugar-filled his nostrils and he wasn’t sure how much he appreciated it. A girl -- his girl, or though he’d hoped -- was standing at the counter, her shorts short and red with pretty stitchings of sunflowers all over. He grinned ever so slightly, practically internal, at the way she tried but failed to conceal her excitement while ordering the doughnuts.    She’d been craving doughnuts from this particular place since October; it was June. She’d been waiting for him to come around again and for the weather to be nice. She planned this elaborate picnic in her head where they’d sit by the river on the grass with a red and white blanket like in the movies and she’d watch as he took a bite from a creme-filled or jelly-filled pastry: he’d be taken aback by the taste, of how savory and sweet it was, of how great it felt against his taste buds and how smooth it went going down his throat after chewing it. She could picture them splitting half a dozen and then laying on their backs, staring at the clouds and listening to each other’s breathing as the sweetness stirred in their stomachs for a while. And when the sun hit high noon they’d stretch out, stand up and walk back to the car. It was a dream she was intrigued to emulate into reality.    She held the white box close to her chest as they walked back to the car in the parking lot, and kept it that way until they’d gotten to the park. She faltered a little when she tried getting the things from the trunk, and when he offered to hold the box, she just shook her head and moved to the side, silently asking him to pick up them up for her.    He found himself carrying the majority of the load--as he often did--while she continued along the overgrown path, with that damned white box full of sweetness tucked cautiously under her arm. It was obvious she was lost in her own world: wanderlusting she’d called it. She’d apologized profusely for it every time she felt it coming on, saying, “I’m pre-lusting,” or “I’m gonna wander so hard in about a minute”. It always made him chuckle.    This was his third time visiting her town. Each time, they’d get close enough to catch him off guard, to make him believe that maybe they were something more than just two friends “hanging out”. But then the trip would end and he’d have to go back to his campus without getting a chance to officiate things: to kiss her.    She was hard to read. They’d talked about living together, marriage, even kids months before, but now he was questioning her devotion. Was she seeing someone else? Was she slowly letting him go? How much longer would these trips last? (They were already so few and far between).    She stopped at the edge of the lake, where the trees provided minimal shade. She stared at the water for a minute, mesmerized, before turning around. Seemingly on queue, he dropped the picnic supplies on the grass and started to set up.    She stood back, feeling helpless as what to do or how to help, but she finally decided to just set down the box, snug in the grass. She wasn’t sure if she was being rude when she turned back toward the water, leaving him to do all the work on his own, but she was too captivated to care much. The sun was glistening on the surface of the water and the greenery was in full bloom. The birds sang, their voices being carried away with the soft breeze that fluttered her hair and kissed her nose. She breathed in, the scent of nature tickling her nostrils. After exhaling, she paused, then sneezed.    “Bless you.”    She turned back around, sniffling.    He was sitting on the blanket, the boxes of doughnuts in the shade at his side. He looked like art in the sunlight; his skin gold-toned and his eyes shimmering like melted chocolate, though there was an intense glare from his glasses. She could stare at him for hours, she thought as she sat down on the other side of him, basking herself in the sun. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard to keep himself busy but simultaneously exploiting his awkwardness. Perhaps there was a tension between them--or maybe he was just intimidated by the romantic aura of the setting--but either way, it was making him grow anxious and quiet.    He stayed sitting up while she lay back, her eyes closed and her lips curved in a subconscious smile. She was breathing deeply; her heart was beating in time with the melodic birds, keeping them in rhythm; she was happy. She loved being around this boy, and though her actions had been more friendly than girlfriendly, it didn’t make the statement any less true.    She loved him endlessly, from the bottom of her heart and then some. She hoped that this date (she avoided the word to keep it as casual as possible as not to freak him out) would be the date that they finalized their relationship and sealed it with a kiss. There were so many times she had wanted him to kiss her, where she wanted to kiss him, but they’d both been too afraid; he wouldn’t make the first move and she wasn’t sure if he was ready for her to either. Once they’d been lying in bed together, both sun-kissed and fatigued from a day at the pool and it would’ve been so easy; no effort at all to just tilt their heads slightly and connect their lips with calculated naivety. But even the idea let loose butterflies in her stomach. She could only imagine the anxiety he felt in those recurring moments: how fast his heart was probably beating and how quick his thoughts were racing around in his brain.    “I’m too shy,” he’d said months earlier. “If I want to kiss, chances are I won’t because I’ll be quietly losing my mind.” She’d laughed, cooing at him and calling him adorable, then reassuring him that their first kiss would be conducted as a ‘team effort’.    This had been before the trips back and forth between his college and her hometown before the expectations were dropped; not because they weren’t in love but because they hadn’t taken into account the truth of their situation: they were both just too afraid.    It scared her to think that he was falling out of love with her. The conversation about his conservatism had happened many a time. It was not the lack of physical admiration that fed her paranoia, yet it would still creep in and make her second guess if he was genuinely trying to keep her.    She’d be driving home after dropping him off and she’d think about the other girls in his classes, the other girls on campus, other girls walking down the sidewalk or passing his dorm room. She’d think about girls who had more interesting things to say, things that were coherent and made sense and how he’d realize that he’d never understood anyone as much as he’d understood her.  She’d think about the eventual decline in trips, then calls, texts, and how eventually he would disappear altogether.    She reached out her hand, feeling the softness of the blanket against her palm. She slid her hand toward where she expected him to be sitting, only to feel nothing but fabric. She sat up abruptly, thinking about him leaving without any goodbyes or plans of returning.  A heavy pain rose in her chest, aching terribly.    “Hey,” he was sitting at the edge of the lake, a stick in his hand, playing with the water. “What’s up?”    After exhaling the breath she’d been holding in attempts to calm herself down, she made her way over to him, sat down and hugged his arm. “I didn’t know you moved. Thought you might’ve left me for good.” she sounded lighthearted, trying her best to laugh it off, but her heart still hadn’t retreated to its normal pace.    He put down the stick and caressed her hair, smiling before kissing her forehead. “I would never leave you like that. I just thought all the excitement got to you and you crashed.”    Leave you like that, she repeated in her head. It was just a normal remark, but it still made her uneasy, almost nauseous.    She straightened up beside him, his arm still draped over her shoulders. “You hungry?” he asked. She responded simply with a hum, afraid of saying too much. They walked those few steps back to the blanket holding hands; he could feel that something was off, and knowing that sometimes the girl he loved wandered around in her head a little bit too much, he understood it took a lot more than words to get her to come out again.    That was one of the many things that pulled him to her. She couldn’t just watch a movie; she needed to feel the blanket on her skin, the taste of popcorn on her tongue, the smell of his cologne as he sat next to her, the volume turned up loud to immerse herself fully into the film. A sensory reaction could determine an entire mood for her while another could completely flip it on its head. It gave him this fierce sense of intrigue that constantly needed to be fulfilled, and she was the only one who knew how.    He grabbed the white box when they sat down and handed it to her, prompting her to open the cardboard flaps and reveal the plump pastries. Her mouth started to water at the potential ones she’d devour, different flavors each testing themselves on her taste buds. Her stomach reacted to the vivid imagery with a small grumble.    “You pick first,” she said, holding out the box to him. He scanned the two rows, face unchanging. He reached for one with white cream swirled in a spiral in the middle. “That has chocolate frosting in it.” she grinned. He cradled it awkwardly in the palm of his hand.    She copied his choosing method, though she already knew which one she wanted. Easily and almost expertly, she picked up a powdered one, knowing full well it was injected with tangy lemon jelly. Holding the doughnut in one hand, she steadily set the box down next to her and flipped the lid again, the white blinding against the mid-morning sun.    They sat with the pastries sticking to their fingers, the excitement building so much it started to boost her heart rate.    “You okay?” he asked, but she talked over him.    “You go first.” she was trying hard not to beam at him like a freak.    “Okay..” he raised his brow in mock suspicion. He looked down at the treat and hesitated before biting into it graciously. The taste of soft dough and buttercream chocolate frosting was overwhelming, and the sugar pummeled his taste buds. He felt his teeth start to rot from the outside in. He fought to swallow it. She was looking at him with childish eyes, all wide and expectant of positive review. It hurt him to disappoint her, but he couldn’t hide the grimace on his face.    She tried to keep her features from falling when she noticed his frown. He cleared his throat, his hands resting on his knees, the frosting in the doughnut warming in the sun. He cleared his throat again when she continued her silence.    Awkwardly he said, “We should've brought some water.”    “Why? Do you not like it?” She asked quickly.    “No,” he shook his head, “it’s just hot.”    She nodded, hiding her uncertainty. She chewed the inside of her lip covertly, a nervous habit well known to him.    “Do you not like it?” she hadn’t realized she’d repeated herself; the words had fallen out of her mouth carelessly. He looked down at the pastry for a moment, not saying anything, his mind going over all of the possible responses and consequences: none of them seemed like the right answer. But once he looked her in the eyes -- those beautiful, honey-swirled, baby cow eyes -- he knew he had to tell the truth.    “I don’t, to be honest,” he tried gently. “I’m sorry.”    Her teeth were gritted not out of anger but as a means of protection; she was unaware of what her muscles would do if she allowed them to relax. Her mouth could stay in a permanent smile, her eyes unblinking and her mind racing, or she could break down in the ugliest manner: heavy sobs, ragged breathing, big fat tears, the whole shebang. So instead, she sat rigidly, her jaw tight and her eyes vacant, staring at the corners of his glasses.    He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to reach out his hand, touch her face carefully, and say something so romantic and heartfelt it’d maybe make her cry or, then they’d finally kiss. But he didn’t.    She blinked and looked into his eyes. Damn, they were gorgeous. “It’s okay. Don’t sweat it,” she looked back down at the doughnut in his hand. The box, which looked a little dimmer than before, sat in the direct path of the sun, the four remaining pastries dwelling in the heat. “I guess I’ll just take these home with me. Someone will eat ‘em, y’know?”    “Mhm,” pause. “What should I do with the rest of this?”    Something stung in her chest, and she didn’t know why it was happening. It wasn’t his fault that it was too sweet, even she’d admit it was an acquired taste. But now, the fantasy was gone, never fulfilled and tragically still warm. She did that a lot: conjuring up radical ideas in her head, her standards increasing each time she thought deeply about it, and then being let down by the outcome whenever it missed the mark -- and it did, quite frequently, do just that.  She tried not to let out the sigh building in her chest, but she couldn’t help it.    “I’ll eat it.” she tried to sound cheerful.    He saw right through it.    “I’ll just put it back in the box,” and he did, making sure the open end was facing toward the cardboard so it wouldn’t contaminate the rest. She reached over him quickly, placing hers back in the vacant space. “Why’d you do that?”    She now stared disconnectedly at her hands in her lap, and without looking up she said, simply, “Not really that hungry.”    “That’s a lie. You just said you were starving.”    She said nothing, just stared at the blanket, tracing the patterns with her forefinger. He continued, hoping it would help.    “Please eat something, babe. Even just half of one?”    She cleared her throat gently, and couldn’t conceal the smirk pulling at the corners of her lips when he called her “babe”. She stopped fiddling her thumbs and tucked some hair behind her ear; he loved when she did that, it drove him insane and thrust him deeper in love.    She nodded, almost to herself. “I’ll eat one later. Just not right now. I promise.”    “Kya hua bubba? Tell me, na.”    “It’s stupid.” she hugged her knees but looked at him this time.    “You know it’s never stupid. Ever.”    She sighed heavily, and squished her cheeks between her knees, making her words come out all muffled.    “It’s just,” she paused, nervously biting her bottom lip. He was looking at her with a slight pout on his lips, copying her expression. She couldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to worry him or make him feel sad. She wanted him happy because that’s the type of boy he was: a happy one. With her eccentric mood swings and emotions unpredictable even to herself, his normalcy came as a welcomed commodity, an easy comfort. “It’s just… I had this vision, y'know? I thought that we’d get those doughnuts, come to this park and chill and talk about random shit, maybe laugh or something. Then you’d fall in love with these as soon as you taste them, and you’d eat one half and I’d eat the other, and you’d rave about them constantly as we ate. We’d laugh some more probably, then head back to the car, drive around a little, then maybe park somewhere with ice cream, watch the sunset or the stars and then-” she stopped herself. She looked at him again, sitting up straight before continuing. “And then maybe we’d kiss.”    Instantly he started blushing, his eyes darting toward the ground and his cheeks turning a beautiful sunset pink. They both laughed airly and withdrew from the conversation, suddenly becoming shy acquaintances. She thought about kissing him then, like all the other times their quiet flirtations blossomed from teasing to a type of challenge: one that neither he nor she wanted to address or initiate. She wanted to kiss him, softly at first, then deeply, with tongue and spit and everything, hands wandering bodies and breath becoming shallow. It was a private, cherishable moment, but she wanted it now; she had been wanting since the day they met.    And he wanted the same. He wanted to feel her soft skin, feel her lips on his; to be connected so deeply it felt as if they were inseparable. They’d been together for a long time, but it hadn’t felt as if they were truly intertwined yet like he thought they’d be by then. They’d always talked about it when the mood shifted to a soft and vulnerable place, similar to that of pillow talk or early morning confessions: never leaving each other’s side; being tangled in the sheets after long nights of treacherous fucking and holding each other tight; walking down the street hand in hand. He wanted her and her only, every night and day, but he couldn’t get his damned thoughts in order, to tell her.    Their nervousness subsided enough for the laughing to cease, and the only sounds left were the rustling leaves and chirpy birds around them.     “So.” she started.    “So,” he replied, “I’m sorry that I ruined your-”    She playfully brushed it off with a wave of her hand, “Please, it’s okay. I can’t make you like stuff.”    “Still. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”    She placed her hand on his arm, adoringly tilting her head to look him directly in the eyes. Butterflies, birds, caterpillars, the whole goddamn garden erupted in the pit of his stomach; he’d stared into her eyes many times before but for some reason this moment seemed more intense, like the world was off-kiltered, and the only way for it to rebalance on its proper axises was for their lips to connect, for their saliva to exchange and their tongues to dance around as if the organs themselves were intoxicated.    “Don’t worry about it. Please.” She blinked so innocently it made him want to weep. He placed his hand over hers, glanced at her lips, and before he could muster the courage to kiss her, she was leaning in.    Their lips collided with such supple tenderness it was almost supernatural. His hand cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek. They sat there for a good minute, making out slowly. It was magical. He relished in every second of it.    She’d been waiting for him to make the first move. She didn’t want to intimidate him or scare him off, but she needed it to happen. She’d been waiting.    It was the right thing for her to do, to lean in and kiss him first. As soon as she did he took control and guided them, deepening the kiss and making her insides burst like bubbles in orange soda. She felt bubbly for the first time in a long time and she knew it wasn’t going away.    She rested her cheek in his hand and let hers travel up his arm and wrap around the base of his neck. They pulled each other closer, barely easing up. In her head, she was humming and swaying in the grass, shoes off; a dream had come true. It was bliss.    His mind, however, was blank. He focused on his senses; the sun on his back, the whoosh of the distant cars passing by, their tongues intertwining, the bumps of acne dotting her cheek, the curls in her hair gliding against his knuckles, the sweetness of the doughnuts as the frosting started to heat up. He would memorize each of these sensations and each time he experienced it after today he’d remember. He’d be transported right back to this morning on this picnic blanket next to the sticky, melting doughnuts and be reminded of everything: from the way she woke him up that morning, all jittery and anxious from the anticipation at 7am, to the car ride filled with sing-a-longs and a coffee shop (for him only), to the intense fragrance of the bakery as if the sweetness had stuck to the little hairs in his nostrils and clung on for years.    They broke away at the sound of a horn, fearing it was directed toward them. It wasn’t, though their faces blushed anyway. They were giggling again, and it felt as if they were releasing the creatures from within their guts, their irrational fears escaping with them.    “You should eat,” he repeated, his cheeks still warm.    “Mhm, I will,” he flipped open the lid and started to reach for the lemon one, when she interrupted, “can I have the chocolate one with sprinkles this time?”    “Yes, you may.” He replied as he handed her the pastry she asked for. As soon as she held it between her thumb and forefinger her mouth began to water, and the first bite sent endorphins rushing through her brain. She closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of chocolate melting on her tongue, the soft dough filling her stomach while parts of the rainbow sprinkles stuck in her molars. He couldn’t contain his laughter.    “You’re adorable,” he practically cooed. “Truly.”    “Shhh.”    She took more bites, each one more satisfying than the last. The sun was hitting her perfectly, and her hair was framing her face in the most attractive way. While taking a mental picture to pair with the scented memories, he noticed some frosting in the corner of her lip.    “You have a little something…” he leaned in, his thumb and his forefinger resting on her chin. She leaned in too, her eyes gleaming and her lids lowered; her brain was fuzzy from the rush of their passion and her stomach full from the sugary treat.    He smiled crookedly, and kissed her, the eagerness between them growing more vehement the longer their lips connected. He enjoyed the chocolate taste as their tongues danced around each other, and couldn’t help his laughter from interrupting the intimacy.    “What?” she pouted, pulling away from the kiss.    “I kinda like the filling now. It’s growing on me, actually.”    She laughed, almost too loudly, and hit him playfully on his arm. “Shush,” she settled down and looked back at him with those narrowed eyes that enticed him beyond belief. “Kiss me again, please.”

[adelth]

Signs of Life

It’s mermay! I love me some mermay! (But honestly I’ve got too many WIPs to start another one) Luckily, I remembered I had a 2k ficlet that technically qualifies sitting around on my drive. I don’t think this will ever be a full story, maybe a series of one-shots once I finally wrap up some of my other projects. If that doesn’t scare you off, here’s my very sci-fi contribution to the fine tradition of writing about mermaids in may.

Title: Signs of Life Rating: T Warnings: one vicious swear? Relationship: Yuuri Katsuki/Victor Nikiforov Summary: Victor Nikiforov just needed a place to repair his ship, but landing on a long-abandoned planet leads to discovering the mystery of its sole remaining inhabitant.

“No,” said Victor, eyeing the warning that flashed across his center console with dismay. “No, no, no. Don’t do this right now.” The console responded by chiming out a stall warning, in contradiction to the overspeed alarm that was still active, and the fact that a stall was impossible outside of an atmosphere anyway.

Already suspecting the source of the error, Victor turned off the autopilot. The alarms silenced themselves, but his brow didn’t unknit. He reached up to flip the switch for his secondary autopilot to take over, a partitioned backup to the system that was currently failing. The alarms immediately started up again, this time including a particularly shrill siren that warned of a hull breach. He’d only just managed to slap it into silence when a truly dire dangerous terrain message came blinking across his viewport, though apparently only the midship attitude control sensors could tell he was about to slam into some catastrophic obstacle.

Victor growled a credible impression of a Hexxii curse his favorite techmonger was fond of. The language wasn’t particularly friendly to human vocal cords, but Victor had a bit more leeway than most in what he could pronounce. He wasn’t entirely sure what the expletive meant, truthfully, but based on usage he’d gathered that it was more or less equivalent to “motherfucker.”

Perhaps due to the circumstances of his exposure, it had become Victor’s customary reprimand when hardware failed him at inconvenient moments. Inconvenient but not disastrous he reminded himself. At least it was one of the sensory control modules that had gone haywire, and he wasn’t actually at risk of sudden decompression or crashing into a non-existent terrain feature.

Theoretically Victor could still finish his journey if he was willing to pilot the whole way manually, but that would make for a very long trip. He was flying single-handed, as was his preference, and even he could only go so long without sleep. He’d lose time looking for a safe place to berth, on top of the time he actually spent sleeping. He also wouldn’t be able to travel through the most convenient spaceports, where traffic control mandated the use of autopilot to prevent accidents.

He slouched back in his seat, blowing his bangs out of his face as he stretched his legs. He wasn’t stiff, neither he nor the pilot’s station were designed for that, but the stretch still felt good.

Taking a long moment to gaze through his viewport, he let himself be entranced by distant pinpricks of light while he reminded himself why he traveled this way, instead of in one of his parent’s well-staffed schooners.

He reached across the small flight deck and tapped his fingers against the hull of his ship, a reinforced strut just within reach. Titanium alloy over a high carbon nano-ceramic, warm fingers against cold metal. Withdrawing the hand, he set a finger against his own mouth; the texture was soft and giving this time, warmth against warmth.

He discarded the thought of calling his family for help.

On balance, these were his options: he could take the long way home, he could suit up for an EVA, or he could find a place to land and do this the easy way. There’d been a similar failure not long after he’d purchased the cruiser, and he’d replaced the entire module not five years ago. Aware that the three other modules were still original, he made a point of carrying a mostly built spare, ready to be modified as a replacement as needed.

Still, although he had an electron beam gun on board, he wasn’t eager to try welding in a hard vacuum. He’d much rather land somewhere with enough of an atmosphere to make a more conventional arc weld viable. Better yet, he’d like a garage where he could just pay someone else to do the work, but he was a long way from that kind of amenity.

There wasn’t a planet chartered for habitation within several days travel, he knew that already. Humans hadn’t claimed so very many worlds that they were hard to keep track of just yet. There was a siderophilic asteroid mining operation, but unless they were feeling very accommodating, they weren’t going to help him. It was more than likely a fully automated enterprise anyway, without even disgruntled employees he could bribe. His techmonger had opinions about the kind of law-skirting that happened on the far edges of civilization, where obscure businesses might avoid either decommissioning or emancipating the almost-AIs they relied on for decades.

Changing his parameters as he flipped through the ship’s directory, Victor started looking for any nearby planet that might suit his needs. His new search brought up Proxima-b, a rocky planet with a breathable atmosphere, which looked to have gone uncolonized due to the 200 km deep ocean that covered the entirety of its surface. It was tidally locked, one face continually scorched by close proximity to its sun, so tight was its orbit around the small red dwarf.

His cruiser was reasonably versatile, but it didn’t have pontoons. If Proxima-b was entirely undeveloped, he would have to move on. That said, there was a long expired commercial exploration charter attached to the planet. Very long expired, Victor realized, hunching forward with interest. The project had been abandoned almost 200 years ago, and given where they’re located…

Scanning through the registry, Victor sought out the corporation that had filed the charter, and cross checked the dates. He whistled in appreciation. Proxima-b had been claimed for exploration by interests located on Earth, back when it would have taken 20 years for a spacecraft to travel between the two. It must have been one of the first commercial planetary charters on record. They’d gone all that way… to harvest semiconductors and dopants?

And here Victor had been under the impression that platinum group metals had been the elements sought out by space’s first prospectors.

The now defunct venture seemed to have been focused on boron in particular, which was downright odd. Chemically uncombined, elemental boron was only found on Earth in small amounts deposited by meteoroids, and might well have been worth mining. What could have been extracted from the waters of Proxima-b, however, seemed unlikely to differ all that much from what could have been extracted from Earth’s own oceans.

Astrobiologists, on the other hand, had a decided interest in extraterrestrial boron. When combined with water it became borate, which stabilized ribose in a way that made the formation of RNA, and therefore the storage and replication of genetic information, possible.

It was, in short, a sign of life.

Victor hesitated to assign motives to people who lived centuries ago, but a for-profit enterprise secretly seeking out proto-life seemed dubious. Maybe it was easier to do so as a resource management company than a research firm for some reason? Victor had little knowledge of contemporaneous space travel policy, only lingering disquiet.

Why Proxima-b had been abandoned, at least, wasn’t mysterious at all; intense solar flares were eating through the atmosphere. That wasn’t entirely surprising behavior from a red dwarf like Proxima Centauri, but having the brightness of the star suddenly increase by a factor of 1000 during a massive flare certainly was. For a span of seconds Proxima-b had a sun 10 times brighter than Earth’s own, and that had been enough to scare the prospectors away. They’d been planning to build their operation on the dark side on the planet, but no one wanted to be exposed to that kind of radiation.

Happily, they looked to have left a landing platform and maintenance facilities behind, the bare beginnings of a testing site. They’d be ancient, but all Victor needed was somewhere to land. Repairs would only take an hour or two, and the chances of Proxima Centauri happening to do something unfortunate during that time were minimal. Cautiously optimistic, Victor charted a course and engaged his thrusters.

~

Victor had been prepared, been half expecting even, to have to scupper his plan. There was every chance the centuries-old facilities on Proxima-b would be unusable, left to the seaworld’s irradiating flares and briny fathoms.

Instead, they looked pristine. They weren’t modern, they didn’t look like they’ve been updated in 200 years, but they’d been assiduously maintained.

Victor almost forwent landing, worried he was about to drop into a very cleanly smugglers nest. His sensors weren’t detecting any lifeforms, but he wasn’t entirely confident they were to be trusted given his current troubles. The landing pad was right there though, and truthfully Victor was loath to leave the mystery unprobed.

The landing itself was uneventful, save for the moment the platform lit up to welcome his arrival. He’d nearly pulled up in shock, but the process seemed automatic, rather than a herald of hostile intent.

He armed himself before leaving the ship, taking time to poke around the floating base before beginning his repair. There wasn’t much to it, besides the landing pad, there was a combined hanger and workroom, along with a barebones office and washroom. There weren’t even bunks, though he supposed cots might be stored somewhere. The whole structure rolled with the waves below, nearly sending Victor tumbling more than once.

He was testing the shower, which somehow still ran fresh water, when a loud creak from the workroom made him snap to attention. It was followed by a heavy clang, which sent shivers snaking up Victor’s spine. There was nowhere to hide - the shower didn’t even have a curtain - and he couldn’t go for his gun without being terribly obvious. Caught out, he raised his hands and turned slowly around.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t an equally stunned man half protruding through a hatch in the floor, dark hair wet and chest naked. They both stared for moment, then the stranger nearly sent himself back down the hatch he flinched so hard.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t…I didn’t.” He stopped, looking up at Victor as if he was the inexplicable element in the room. “I didn’t think anyone was coming.”

Without giving Victor a chance to come to terms with his own confusion, the stranger began hoisting himself onto the platform. Victor got a brief view of skin moving over flexing muscle, before being entirely distracted by the black tentacle that infiltrated through the hatch to grip a handhold on the wall and help pull the…man…through.

He didn’t have legs. What came through the hatch after the man’s torso was a mess of thick, black, prehensile coils. Victor had a hard time keeping track of what they were all doing, but one reached out to close the hatch behind the man as he moved away, familiar with the space and how to navigate it.

He bustled around - opened a locker here, replaced something in a drawer there - incredibly industrious with his many limbs. It had the distinct air of nervous busy-work, which alleviated some of Victor’s fear, if not his shock.

“I tried to keep everything running, but I’ve had to prioritize essential systems. I ran out of containers for samples, so it made sense to cannibalize the testing equipment for parts. I know it was expensive, but not even my batteries can be recharged indefinitely, and I’ve lost more than half the solar panels to weather and wear.” The man didn’t look at Victor as he spoke, half facing away to monitor his tentacles working.

“What are you?” Victor asked, perhaps insensitively, but unable to parse through his confusion to find any other question.

The man slowly put down the screwdriver he’d been holding, transferring it from hand to tentacle to workbench. He turned his head, one eye meeting Victor’s over his bare shoulder. His eye was brown and normal, but the pupil rapidly swelled and shrunk twice, dilating in a way that was thoroughly artificial. His torso sagged, even the tentacles seemed to wilt.

Then he was gone, back down the hatch in a rush of black, without even saying a word.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

(1) Hi Em, I’m trying to get my type right, but could you help me to narrow it down? (English isn’t my 1st language). I’m pretty sure I’m an introvert and I have low or disfunctional Fe: I’m socially awkward, a serious girl, but when people tell me this, I feel bad. I want to appear friendly and be likable. I’m a shy introvert and the E9 passiveness makes it worse: “what if they don’t like this gift? What if they hate me because of this? I’ll stay quiet… But I want to speak for myself!

(2) I’ll do it! *speaks* Oh no what if now they hate me? I shouldn’t have said/done that…”). I find myself imitating the expressions of others to fit in or to “appear more normal” (which I think it’s Fe>Fi). I also find myself wanting the approval of other people, which I hate: I’m independent, so why the urgent need to seek approval? I then become quite sensitive and I isolate myself to not hurt others with passive-aggression.

(3) So, if I have Fe, it means I’m on the Ti-Fe axis, that’s right; my problem relies on Ne-Si vs Se-Ni axis and their place on the stack. I’m usually indecisive because I fear that I may miss a better solution and I don’t have the Te to guess what’s the most effective one; I like to know what to expect on a situation, but I don’t really like to plan things out, I mean, I find planning exhausting because I cannot foresee how things will come out and that stress me,

(4) I prefer to do the thing in the moment, but unfortunately I’m lazy and I tend to procrastinate a lot; I’m more present and future oriented than past oriented; I’m quite ok with imagination and possibilities and impossible stuff, but if I have to apply something in the real world I prefer it to be practical, effective, applying the lowest effort if possible, easy to apply/understand (for others and me). I lead with linguistic intelligence, I’m a visual learner and I prefer hands-on-experience 

 (5) but, before that, I want to understand how something works, but I understand better with visuals or demonstrations, like examples where you can see how and that it works; this is what makes me thing I lead with Ti. For example, when learning English, my classmates were OK learning the grammar before applying it while I was thinking “well, you say it works like that, but I cannot visualize it if you don’t show me”; I mean, other people can learn the grammar (or whatever thing)

(6) and then apply it correctly, but I cannot learn something without applying it, without the experience. You understand the nuance? This is a problem for me when I need to explain verbally something because I’m usually better showing it, which for now indicates more S than N, I know, but I don’t see myself being naturally gracious with my body, E9+Se is uncommon, I’m insecure to be high Se-opportunistic, I tend to zone out, I tend to miss details/not good with them (Si),

(7) I think I know what I want to be in the future but I don’t know how to do it and I lack Ni’s “seeking the ultimate truth” and the “grand scheme of things” (wtf is that?), and I’m more sure about having aux Ne but I’m not good at brainstorming or seeing all the possibilities, not even when I’m personally invested on the thing I’m doing. I have to say that I lack self-esteem so maybe I’m good at some of these things but I’m not looking at myself with objectivity.

(8) So, to sum up: nearer to my 30s (so in tertiary development), introvert; pretty sure on the Fe-Ti axis, leaning low Fe because of approval-neediness, being socially awkward and don’t understand why people may act in a certain way; pretty sure I’m E9; not sure if high N because I tend to live in my own world and miss things around me but also not sure if high S because I prefer to learn and apply sensory stuff, which makes me think that the N-S axis is on the middle and they overlap.

----

Hi anon,

I would think ISTP, though honestly I would not rule out ISFP:

-it is normal to generally want the approval of others, and women especially are socialized to be people pleasers. As a result it often becomes incorporated into even an Fi user’s beliefs. However, I do lean towards Ti for a couple reasons, one being that a lot of Ti doms do see themselves as very independent, and another being the later parts of this ask.

You very much describe the extroverted perceiving functions in the next section: they are not very past oriented, and Ni or Si users see planning as a way to have some control over the future, so I would rule those out. Additionally, procrastinating is pretty common for everyone but if it’s something you find you do most of the time, you’re more likely an Ne or Se user.

The next bit very clearly sounds like Se: practical, effective, applicable, needs examples to visualize. I would also agree with your Ti typing here regarding understanding how things work and wanting to do things as simply as possible with minimal effort. 

Aux Se is less primed for opportunities because Fi or Ti tend to get in the way and cause the person to start analyzing the situation instead. Additionally aux Se and enneagram 9 is a fairly common combination. So that addresses why you previously thought it wasn’t Se.

[vitos-ordination-song]

very important passages from On Becoming a Person:

One of the most revolutionary concepts to grow out of our clinical experience is the growing recognition that the innermost core of man's nature, the deepest layers of his personality, the base of his "animal nature," is positive in nature--is basically socialized., forward-moving, rational and realistic.

This point of view is so foreign to our present culture that I do not expect it to be accepted, and it is indeed so revolutionary in its implications that it should not be accepted without thorough-going inquiry. But even if it should stand these tests, it will be difficult to accept. Religion, especially the Protestant Christian tradition, has permeated our culture with the concept that man is basically sinful, and only by something approaching a miracle can his sinful nature be negated. In psychology, Freud and his followers have presented convincing arguments that the id, man's basic and unconscious nature, is primarily made up of instincts which would, if permitted expression, result in incest, murder, and other crimes. The whole problem of therapy, as seen by this group, is how to hold these untamed forces in check in a wholesome and constructive manner, rather than in the costly fashion of the neurotic. But the fact that at heart man is irrational, unsocialized, destructive of others and self--this is a concept accepted almost without question. To be sure there are occasional voices of protest. Maslow (I) puts up a vigorous case for man's animal nature, pointing out that the anti-social emotions--hostility, jealousy, etc.--result from frustration of more basic impulses for love and security and belonging, which are in themselves desirable. And Montagu (2) likewise develops the thesis that cooperation, rather than struggle, is the basic law of human life. But these solitary voices are little heard. On the whole the viewpoint of the professional worker as well as the layman is that man as he is, in his basic nature, had best be kept under control or under cover or both.

As I look back over my years of clinical experience and research, it seems to me that I have been very slow to recognize the falseness of this popular and professional concept. The reason, I believe, lies in the fact that in therapy there are continually being uncovered hostile and anti-social feelings, so that it is easy to assume that this indicates the deeper and therefore the basic nature of man. Only slowly has it become evident that these untamed and unsocial feelings are neither the deepest nor the strongest, and that the inner core of man's personality is the organism itself, which is essentially both self-preserving and social.

The thread which runs through much of the foregoing material of this chapter is that psychotherapy (at least client-centered therapy) is a process whereby one becomes his organism--without self-deception, without distortion. What does this mean? 

We are talking here about something at an experiential level--a phenomenon which is not easily put into words, and which, if apprehended only at the verbal level, is by that very fact, already distorted. Perhaps if we use several sorts of descriptive formulation, it may ring some bell, however faint, in the reader's experience, and cause him to feel, "Oh, now I know, from my own experience, something of what you are talking about."

Therapy seems to mean a getting back to basic sensory and visceral experience. Prior to therapy the person is prone to ask himself, often unwittingly, "What do others think I should do in this situation?" "What would my parents or my culture want me to do?" "What do I think ought to be done?" He is thus continually acting in terms of the form which should be imposed upon his behavior. This does not necessarily mean that he always acts in accord with the opinions of others. He may indeed endeavor to act so as to contradict the expectations of others. He is nevertheless acting in terms of the (often introjected) expectations of others. During the process of therapy the individual comes to ask himself, in regard to ever-widening areas of his life-space, "How do I experience this? "What does it mean to me?" "If I behave in a certain way how do I symbolize the meaning which it will have for me?" He comes to act on a basis of what may be termed realism--a realistic balancing of the satisfactions and dissatisfactions which any action will bring to himself.

Perhaps it will assist those who, like myself tend to think in concrete arid clinical terms, if I put some of these ideas into schematized formulations of the process through which various clients go. For one client this may mean: "I have thought I must feel only love for my parents, but I find that I experience both love and bitter resentment. Perhaps I can be that person who freely experiences both love and resentment." For another client the learning may be: "I have thought I was only bad and worthless. Now I experience myself at times as one of much worth; at other times as one of little worth or usefulness. Perhaps I can be a person who experiences varying degrees of worth." For another: "I have held the conception that no one could really love me for myself. Now I experience the affectional warmth of another for me. Perhaps I can be a person who is lovable by others--perhaps I am such a person." For still another: "I have been brought up to feel that I must not appreciate myself--but I do. I can cry for myself, but I can enjoy myself, too. Perhaps I am a richly varied person whom I can enjoy and for whom I can feel sorry." Or, to take the last example from Mrs. Oak, "I have thought that in some deep way I was bad, that the most basic elements in me must be dire and awful. I don't experience that badness, but rather a positive desire to live and let live. Perhaps I can be that person who is, at heart, positive." 

What is it that makes possible anything but the first sentence of each of these formulations? It is the addition of awareness. In therapy the person adds to ordinary experience the full and undistorted awareness of his experiencing--of his sensory and visceral reactions. He ceases, or at least decreases, the distortions of experience in awareness. He can be aware of what he is actually experiencing, not simply what he can permit himself to experience after a thorough screening through a conceptual filter. In this sense the person becomes for the first time the full potential of the human organism, with the enriching element of awareness freely added to the basic aspect of sensory and visceral reaction. The person comes to be what he is, as clients so frequently say in therapy. What this seems to mean is that the individual comes to be--in awareness--what he is--in experience. He is, in other words, a complete and fully functioning human organism.

Already I can sense the reactions of some of my readers. "Do you mean that as a result of therapy, man becomes nothing but a human organism, a human animal? Who will control him? Who will socialize him? Will he then throw over all inhibitions? Have you merely released the beast, the id, in man?" To which the most adequate reply seems to be, "In therapy the individual has actually become a human organism, with all the richness which that implies. He is realistically able to control himself, and he is incorrigibly socialized in his desires. There is no beast in man. There is only man in man, and this we have been able to release.”

So the basic discovery of psychotherapy seems to me, if our observations have any validity, that we do not need to be afraid of being "merely" homo sapiens. It is the discovery that if we can add to the sensory and visceral experiencing which is characteristic of the whole animal kingdom, the gift of a free and undistorted awareness of which only the human animal seems fully capable, we have an organism which is beautifully and constructively realistic. We have then an organism which is as aware of the demands of the culture as it is of its own physiological demands for food or sex--which is just as aware of its desire for friendly relationships as it is of its desire to aggrandize itself--which is just as aware of its delicate and sensitive tenderness toward others, as it is of its hostilities toward others. When man's unique capacity of awareness is thus functioning freely and fully, we find that we have, not an animal whom we must fear, not a beast who must be controlled, but an organism able to achieve, through the remarkable integrative capacity of its central nervous system, a balanced, realistic, self-enhancing, other-enhancing behavior as a resultant of all these elements of awareness. To put it another way, when man is less than fully man--when he denies an awareness of various aspects of his experience--then indeed we have all too often reason to fear him and his behavior, as the present world situation testifies. But when he is most fully man, when he is his complete organism, when awareness of experience, that peculiarly human attribute, is most fully operating, then he is to be trusted, then his behavior is constructive. It is not always conventional. It will not always be conforming. It will be individualized. But it will also be socialized.

[justherefortaylorswift]

there’s glitter on the floor after the party...

Taylor,

*About 9 days ago, on May 22nd, 2018, I had just arrived home from your Seattle show at CenturyLink Field. It was 4am and I couldn’t sleep. I had so much on my mind and was still on a high from your show. So, in the early hours of the morning, after my friends had long gone to bed, I began to write. I’ve revised my original note quite a bit since then. I’ve also had the opportunity to do some additional reflecting since tour, and I have some thoughts. So, I guess this is the end-result of a mash-up of 4AM overly-emotional rambling, combined with well thought-out, fully coherent, mature writing. I feel like I really over-explained this. I could have been a lot less-awkward in setting this up. Let's just get into it:

[SO. I just got home from your Seattle show. It's 4 am and I can't sleep. This was my 6th tour, and I made what seems like an infinite amount of unforgettable memories with a group of incredible people I call my ‘Swiftie Fam” (the name needs work...). There's Cecil (my long-time, Canadian Swiftie friend, you’ll see him in earlier posts), Wanda (Cecil’s wife), Kaeden (7. Cecil & Wanda’s son. Major Swiftie. His first concert!), and finally the beautiful Maile (a recent addition to the fam, and now a life-long friend!).  It’s hard to explain in words, but we all have developed a connection that’s special and unique because of what we experienced together. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to stand by my side tonight. We danced, laughed, and cried together… I don’t think I’ve ever felt more understood. These people ‘get’ me.

Not surprisingly, I screamed every single lyric at the top of my lungs and subsequently lost my voice almost IMMEDATIELY. With that in mind, I suppose a more accurate description would be: I wasn’t so much singing, as I was gasping for the remainder of the show. I literally danced with until I was out of breath. I cried (ok, SOBBED) all of my make-up off (a Long Live/NYD mash-up… are you kidding me?! I FEEL ATTACKED). 

By the end of the night, I resembled a pathetic, overly-emotional, glittery, drowned rat.

and I was living my absolute best life.

Also, I was REALLY proud of our outfits this time around! I think we did a decent job of recreating your Direct TV commercial, with my rainbow two-piece, and Cecil’s interpretation of Olivia Benson dressed as a Caticorn (I can’t say I ever thought I’d use that in a sentence). It consisted of around 8-10 hours total of gluing, painting, and hand-sewing, leading up to the show. Everything turned out awesome, way better than expected. Totally worth the man hours! Wanda hand-made matching these adorable matching t-shirts for her and little Kaden (Big Rep & Little Rep), and Maile constructed a beautiful MASTERPIECE from the mountain LYWMMD outfit- it was freakin’ incredible and HOT!

There was something a bit different about this tour for a couple of reasons:

[The production.] I don’t think I’ve experienced such sensory-overload in my LIFE. The whole time it was like a constant stream of frantic, internal dialogue with a lot of run-on sentences, like, “WHAT IS HAPPENING SHE’S GIVING US CHOREO OMG YAAASSS WERK HONEY IF A MAN TALKS SHIT WE DON'T OWE HIM A DAMN THING OH MY GOD ITS RAINING CONFETTI I MUST COLLECT IT I HOPE THESE MULTI-COLORED FLASHING LIGHTS DON’T GIVE ME AN EPILEPTIC ATTACK WHERE THE F-CK DID THESE GIGANTIC SNAKES COME FROM THERE ARE LITERALLY STAGES EVERYWHERE I’M OVERWHELMED OH SHIT SHES PULLING A SPEAK NOW BY WALKING THROUGH THE CROWD WHAT'S GOING ON OH GOD F-CKING FIREWORKS THESE VOCALS ARE LIT THO I'M SWEATING I’M DEFINITELY GONNA NEED THERAPY AFTER THIS NEW YEARS DAY/LONG LIVE MASH UP IS THAT A FOUNTAIN WHATS HAPPENING OH GOD IT’S REAL WATER AND SHE’S IN THE FOUNTAIN I’M HAVING A 2008 SHOULD’VE SAID NO ACM AWARDS FLASHBACK MOMENT HOLY SH-T MORE F-CKING FIREWORKS SO MUCH PYRO IS THIS EVEN LEGAL” I’ve gotta say, you have BEST band (Paul, Amos and Mike..OGS), vocalists (Eliott and Kamilah…the TALENT), and all the dancers. Every single person on that stage was on FIRE, and their talent, passion, and individual personalities made the night sparkle.

[The fans.] I freaking adore this fan culture. I’ve never met a Swiftie who wasn’t ridiculously friendly, welcoming, and super relatable. The vibe was so positive. I’ve never smiled, waved and taken pictures with so many random strangers in my life. It felt as if we were literally in a different world that day. It felt like home.

[YOU!.]  We need to talk about this major GLO UP you’ve got going on, honey. You exude SO much confidence and you're just pure sunshine. When I think about the way you’ve carried yourself these past couple of years through all of the BS drama, I can’t help but feel damn proud. You’ve successfully converted pain into art, into music. Real music, that’s poignant, raw, and just BAD ASS. Your lyrics continue to foster a special connection you maintain with the audience...a connection that often times breathes life into brokenness.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world tonight. 

This may have been my best concert experience ever, which is actually pretty ironic because:

Unlike Red, I wasn’t in the Pit

I didn’t have VIP seating, like 1989

You weren’t close enough for any potential high fives, waves, or eye contact like I experienced at Speak Now at B-Stage

We were not chosen for Rep Room (or T-Party, Club Red, or Loft 89)

…But, it was OK. It was way more than OK. It was truly a dream.

Listen: Something I've always deeply admired about you is that you make it a priority to maintain a personal relationship with the fans.  It’s clear you want to meet as many of us as possible, and you make a conscious effort to do so. You get to know us as individuals and you CARE, and that means everything us and makes such an impact. I mean, you invite us into your HOME for crying out loud, you walk through massive crowds and give high-fives, you lurk our Instagrams and Tumblrs and interact on social media, and you always make a notable effort to meet as many of us as possible at tour.

However, this can sometimes turn into a bit of a "Catch 22" situation for people. The downside, is that it’s honestly SUPER easy to fall into the “trap” of being consumed with the possibility of meeting you after your shows. Due to the fact that the “selection” process is both intentional, yet also random. To be transparent, it's quite difficult to not obsess with the idea of ‘trying’ to get chosen. I witness this behavior so often, in others and in myself just as much, if not more. Selfishly, I often feel not only jealous, but UPSET when I see photos/read experiences of other fans meeting you. I sometimes feel like the only one who hasn’t yet gotten the opportunity.  It can quickly turn into a mind-game if you're not careful, which has the potential to become toxic if we allow the idea of meeting you to rule supreme over what it's actually about...which is the MUSIC. And, this amazing show you put on for us night after night. And somewhat understandably so, I've witnessed the obsession with being chosen to meet you become a main focus point for a lot of us (including myself a bit!). It's pretty stressful, and can easily dampen or cheapen the concert experience, if you're not careful. As dramatic as this probably sounds, Tumblr (and social media) can be brutal within this fandom, and dare I say ‘cut-throat’ at times. It's easy to get upset watching (what seems like) literally EVERYONE get that opportunity, except you. 

That said, I had a wake-up call/mini-epiphany recently, which manifested while driving home from your show at Midnight on May 22nd with my friends, feeling so amazing and so grateful for what I just experienced…but also a little guilty because I feel like I’ve spent way too much time worrying about the possibility of meeting at you when you come to Seattle, how to get the attention of Taylor Nation, where to find Mama Swift, getting that guitar pick from Papa Swift, and this time was no different. Granted, my intentions are 100% pure and it’s only because you’ve meant so freakin much to me for so many years, and it's almost as if my life won’t be complete until I finally get to tell you in person. That said, there is certainty a valuable lesson to be learned here. I am confident that you and I will come face-to-face one day (hopefully with my Swifie fam!). The stars will align at the exactly the right time, and I will have my moment with you, and it will be SO worth the wait. You can't "force" stuff like this, you know? The privilege of meeting you is almost ‘sacred’ in a sense. At least in my opinion. Anyway, my point is: I refuse to a continue to attempt to “create fate” by attempting to "earn" my worthiness in fandom. It’s not productive, it's not healthy, and it’s not cute.

Alright, this is getting out of hand. I need to wrap this up. 🤣 I’m not sure whether or not you’ve seen any of my throwback photo-posts I posted the week leading up to the show. They definitely explain a lot more about me, and my history being a fan. Either way, I must reiterate how grateful I am to have you in my life, and that support you 100% and will always be here. The amount of hope, joy and comfort you've given me over the past 10+ years is insurmountable, and I'll never be able to repay you for that. And I mean that in the most sincere way. Not a lot of things make me as happy as you make me (especially lately). This experience was the ‘boost’ I needed, I think. And like I said, the relationship I have with my friends/Swiftie Fam is invaluable, and I look forward to making memories with them at your shows in the future. You’ve brought the most random group of people together and created a bond that’s unique, unconditional and unbreakable, and I think that’s so cool.

This was A LOT longer than I originally intended it to be. This escalated quickly. Haha. Thanks for listening. 💗

Don’t read the last page…]

Love you, T

Crystal

@taylorswift

@taylornation

@ceunit

@maileswiftie

[photos]:  1) The whole crew: Cecil, Wanda, Kaeden, Maile and myself at our seats. 2) Kaeden the night before the show. SO EXCITED!! 3) Testing out the Caticorn onesie w/ Cecil 4) Cecil and myself FULLY DECKED and ready to go. 5) Wanda and Kaeden: Big Rep & Lil’ Rep! 6) the girls! Maile, Wanda and Me pre-show 7) Us at the end of the show! And yes, that’s me in the middle..in disbelief, exhausted, sweaty, and a physical and emotional wreck (see also: ‘drowned rat’ description above). 8) All of us after the show literally in a hotel lobby (and glitter on the floor after the party!), waiting for traffic to die down before we headed home.

[paddysnuffles]

yes hello you said you did the reading to your self diagnosis and im gonna ask what did you read bc i think i may be autistic too

Hi! The research I did was really extensive as it was for a major project for my science, technology, and medical information class during my Master’s (Library and Info Science). The project was to make a user-friendly starter guide on a topic of our choice, so here are the resources I ended up using:

Is There Really an Autism Epidemic? (by Hal Arkowitz & Scott O. Lilienfeld, Scientific American, 2012)

The article discusses the possible meanings of the drastic change—within the short span of a decade—from the long-held ratio of 1:2,500 people with ASD to one of 1:166, suggesting that better understanding of ASD (and thus better ability to diagnose it) is likely to account for most of the increase. This is a great educational tool on understanding why autism is reported to be on the rise and why the current data on rising prevalence is rather misleading.

How to Think About the Risk of Autism (by Sam Wang, The New York Times, 2104)

An extensive yet approachable look at what the science says about the causes of autism and how to estimate the chances of a person having ASD. The article offers a comparison between how much emphasis the scientific community puts on each probable cause and how the media covers the subject. Genetic research can often be hard to follow even when simplified, so this could be a valuable introduction to the subject.

Survey: One in five believe vaccine causes autism (by Carly Weeks, The Globe and Mail, 2015)The article shows the effects of 18 years of false information fed to the public as science by Andrew Wakefield, starting with his 1998 paper on how vaccines are to blame for the existence of autism (which has been repeatedly disproven) to the 2016 propaganda film Vaxxed: From Cover-Up to Catastrophe. An important issue with serious public health implications.

Steve Silberman on autism and ‘neurodiversity’ (by Emma Teitel, Maclean’s, 2015)

An interview with Steve Silberman, who delved into the history of ASD to prove that the belief that “autism is a historical aberration of the modern world” is not actually correct. It offers an insightful explanation about what neurodiversity is, and serves as a great companion to the essay Mental Disorder or Neurodiversity? included in the topic-specific list.

Autism spectrum has no clear cut-off point, research suggests (by Nicola Davis, The Guardian, 2016)

This story reports the findings of a study that showed that the genes involved in the genesis of autism are connected to an individual’s social skills regardless of them exhibiting symptoms of ASD, “suggesting that “the autism spectrum has no clear cut-off point.” In other words, all individuals could be put within a scale for autistic traits and placed anywhere between the most severely impaired people on one end and the easy-going, social butterflies on the opposite end. The article provides a biological basis that could inform some of the discussion presented in other articles on the suitability of labelling less severe cases as a “disability” rather than a difference.

Autism spectrum disorders in the DSM-V: Better or worse than the DSM-IV? by Lorna Wing, Judith Gould, and Christopher Gillberg—–An overview of the changes brought by DSM-V by removing the category of Pervasive Developmental Disorders and replacing them with Autism Spectrum Disorder, as well as a discussion about the positive and negative aspects of the new criteria. Considering that the changes brought by the new edition of the DSM is one of the most important developments in the area, this article provides a much-needed discussion on the very definition of ASDs. Note: One of the beliefs professed in the article - that autistics cannot feel empathy - has recently been disproven; for details on that see Brewer & Murphy in the referenced works section)

Evidence-Based Practices for Children, Youth, and Young Adults with Autism Spectrum Disorder: A Comprehensive Review by Connie Wong, Samuel L. Odom, et al.—–A look at the current practices for ASD therapy to help children learn coping mechanisms, hone their fine motor function abilities, and other interventions found to be effective through different research projects. This essay will be helpful for an understanding of the therapies and techniques available for families affected by ASD.

Does the different presentation of Asperger syndrome in girls affect their problem areas and chances of diagnosis and support? by Elizabeth Hughes—–The article discusses the differences in how ASD presents itself in females versus males, comparing the diagnostic tools available for ASD and doctor’s perceptions of what ASD looks like in order to determine whether more males tend to be diagnosed with ASD than females due to actual biological differences in prevalence or because of gender bias imbued within the diagnostic tools. In addition to addressing an important issue surrounding ASD, this article also helps with the understanding of the range of symptoms and level of severity ASD can be manifested.

The Ever-Changing Social Perception of Autism Spectrum Disorder in the United States by Danielle N. Martin—Providing a historical perspective on the evolution of the understanding and acceptance (or lack thereof) toward ASD from a social and medical standpoint, this article looks at how past perceptions have shaped the modern stigma toward this disorder. This thesis paper—which was awarded the Michael F. Bassman Honors Thesis Award from the East Carolina University—will helps readers to familiarize themselves with how stigma against ASD manifests itself.

A Minority Group by Charlotte Stace—–Slang and terminology related to ASD are explored from the perspective of the ASD community, offering a unique insight into how the community views itself as well as how it views outsiders. It provides an interesting mirror image to the previous article, which is focused on the point of view of those not living with ASD.

Mental Disorder or Neurodiversity? by Aaron Rothstein—–The author discusses whether differences in how the brain deals with sensory input (such as in ASD, ADHD, and dyslexia) should qualify as “disorders” or whether they are variations on the brain’s “wiring” that helps with our species survival by providing certain individuals with an ability to problem-solve in ways that most people can’t. The emergence of this debate within the community—which is rapidly gaining prominence in media outlets—makes this paper an important read for those interested in a more holistic view of ASD.

Major sources of information (publications)

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, 5th edition (DSM-V): Although not a source solely focused on ASD (which comprises a relatively small part of the overall publication), it is nevertheless considered to be one of the key sources of information for professionals trying to determine whether a patient might be on the spectrum.

Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders: The leading peer-reviewed, scholarly periodical about ASD and other closely related disorders; published monthly.

Autism Spectrum Digest: A monthly digital magazine centered around topics of interest to members of the ASD community and their families, such as helpful apps, current news related to ASD, legal/human rights issues, etc.

Electronic resources

Autistic Self-Advocacy Network: An advocacy group about ASD, for autistics and by autistics, which promotes programs, offers a resource library, and provides a source for news relating to the ASD community from an ASD perspective.

Research Autism: A UK organization whose focus is research of interventions in autism, as well as provide objective evaluations of the scientific evidence behind each. It also offers a number of useful resources, such as a database of publications relating to ASD, links to apps developed for people with ASD, and information on legislations and policies relevant to people with ASD.

Authorities

Hans Asperger: Hans Asperger played an important role in the history of Autism Spectrum Disorder. He was one of the first scientists to identify ASD, and the first to theorize that ASD is something that affects a person throughout their whole life rather than only through childhood as Leo Keller claimed (Sole-Smith, 2014). Asperger’s Syndrome, one of the most-known variations of ASD, was named after him (Asperger’s Syndrome, n.d.).

Temple Grandin: Though her formal education deals with animal caregiving, Dr. Grandin is nevertheless seen as a leading authority on autism by both the ASD community and researchers alike. She is recognized as one of the first advocates for autism to actually have autism, and her insights into how autistic people experience the world were instrumental in bringing awareness and some degree of acceptance to ASD. Dr. Grandin has been profiled by the New Yorker, interviewed in NPR and the New York Times, was the subject of a photo essay for Time magazine and was listed in the 2010 Time 100 list in the "Heroes" category (Flatow, 2006; Goldman, 2013; Slaby, 2009; Hauser, 2010). She has written a number of books on Autism, has received honorary degrees from several universities, and was awarded a Double Helix Medal (Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, 2011; Grandin, 2016).

Key issues

"Neuro-diverse" versus “disabled”: There is surging controversy about whether milder forms of ASD should be considered disorders/disabilities or only a version of how the brain can function (like having a Mac vs a PC - they’re different, but it doesn’t mean one is faulty). A major reason behind this movement is that, as Dr. Grandin explains in her TED Talk, autistics might be worse than most people at some things, but they’re more skilled at others, like breaking down complex systems and understanding how they work (Grandin, 2010). Also in favour of this theory is the fact that those “on the spectrum” often enter professional fields in the area of their special interests and become experts on the subject (Grandin, 2010).

Prevalence of ASD in Women: A number of studies have shown that the signs doctors look for when diagnosing ASD are mainly those that manifest in males, meaning that women are often undiagnosed or misdiagnosed, with some doctors going so far as saying that “women can’t have Asperger’s” even when faced with a classic case according to current diagnosis definitions (Hughes, 2014). There is a slowly growing movement to fix this, but as of yet little has been on an official capacity other than studies repeatedly finding that a drastic change needs to be implemented.

Vaccines and Autism: A major issue related to autism and ASD is the widespread belief among the general population that vaccines can be to blame for a child’s autism. The problem started nearly two decades ago, with propaganda disguised as science by Andrew Wakefield that was widely spread through the internet and general media outlets. To this day, despite definitive proof to the contrary by a number of research findings, 20% of Canadians still believe that there is a link, while another 20% aren’t sure about it (Weeks). As a result, a number of parents started to refrain from giving their children vaccines, with serious consequences such as illnesses like measles having made a deadly comeback to the country (Weeks).

References

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). DSM V. American Psychiatric Association.

American Psychiatric Association. (2015). DSM V Update. American Psychiatric Association.

Arkowitz, H., & Lilienfeld, S. O. (2012, August 1). Is There Really an Autism Epidemic? Scientific American. Retrieved from https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-there-really-an-autism-epidemic/

Asperger’s Syndrome. (n.d.). In Merriam-Webster. Retrieved from

http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/Asperger's%20syndrome

Autism Spectrum Digest. (2016). Autism Spectrum Digest. Retrieved from http://asdigest.com.

Autistic Self Advocacy Network. (2016). Autistic Self Advocacy Network. Retrieved from http://autisticadvocacy.org/

Bradley, E., Caldwell, P., & Underwood, L. (2013). Autism Spectrum Disorder. In J. McCarthy & E. Tsakanikos (Ed.), Handbook of Psychopathology in Intellectual Disability: Research, Practice, and Policy (pp. 237–264).

Brewer, R., & Murphy, J. (2016, July). People with Autism Can Read Emotions, Feel Empathy. Spectrum. Retrieved from https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/people-with-autism-can-read-emotions-feel-empathy1/

Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory. (2011). Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory honors stars of science and sports at sixth annual gala. Retrieved from http://www.cshl.edu/news-a-features/cold-spring-harbor-laboratory-honors-stars-of-science-and-sports-at-sixth-annual-gala.html

Davis, N. (2016, March 21). Autism spectrum has no clear cut-off point, research suggests. The Guardian [London]. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/science/2016/mar/21/autism-spectrum-has-no-clear-cut-off-point-research-suggests-nature-genetics

Dichter, G. S. (2012). Functional magnetic resonance imaging of autism spectrum disorders. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 14(3), 319–351. Retrieved from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3513685/

Flatow, I. (Host). (2006, January 20). A Conversation with Temple Grandin [Television series episode]. In Talk of the Nation. National Public Radio.

Foster, R. (2014). Does the Equality Act 2010 ensure equality for individuals with Asperger syndrome in the legal arena?: A survey of recent UK case law Autonomy, the Critical Journal of Interdisciplinary Autism Studies, 1(4). Retrieved from

http://www.larry-arnold.net/Autonomy/index.php/autonomy/article/view/AR16

Fuentes, J., Bakare, M., Munir, K., Aguayo, P., Gaddour, N., & Öner, Ö. (2014). Developmental Disorders - Autism Spectrum Disorder. In J. M. Rey (Ed.), IACAPAP e-Textbook of Child and Adolescent Mental Health (p. C.2 1–35). Geneva: International Association for Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and Allied Professions.

Goldman, A. (2013, April 12). Temple Grandin on Autism, Death, Celibacy and Cows. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/14/magazine/temple-grandin-on-autism-death-celibacy-and-cows.html?_r=0

Grandin, T. (2010, February). Temple Grandin: The world needs all kinds of minds. [Video file]. Retrieved from

https://www.ted.com/talks/temple_grandin_the_world_needs_all_kinds_of_minds?language=en#t-157979

Grandin, T. (2016). Temple Grandin Professional Resumé. Retrieved from http://www.grandin.com/professional.resume.html

Hauser, M. (2010, April 29). The 2010 TIME 100. Time. Retrieved from http://content.time.com/time/specials/packages/article/0,28804,1984685_1984949_1985222,00.html

Hughes, E. (2014). Does the different presentation of Asperger syndrome in girls affect their problem areas and chances of diagnosis and support? Autonomy, the Critical Journal of Interdisciplinary Autism Studies, 1(4). Retrieved from http://www.larry-arnold.net/Autonomy/index.php/autonomy/article/view/AR17

Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders. Retrieved from

http://link.springer.com/journal/10803

Martin D. N. (2012) The ever changing social perception of autism spectrum disorders in the United States. Honors Thesis, East Carolina University. Retrieved from http://uncw.edu/csurf/Explorations/documents/DanielleMartin.pdf

Medical Library Association. (2016). Medical subject headings (MeSH).

Research Autism. (n.d.). Research Autism. Retrieved from http://researchautism.net/

Rothstein, A. (2012). Mental Disorder or Neurodiversity? The New Atlantis, 36. Retrieved from http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/mental-disorder-or-neurodiversity

Slaby, M. (2009). The Perspectives of Temple Grandin. Time. Retrieved from

http://content.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1985143,00.html

Sole-Smith, V. (2014). The History of Autism. Parents. Retrieved from http://www.parents.com/health/autism/history-of-autism/

Stace, C. (2014). A Minority Group. Autonomy, the Critical Journal of Interdisciplinary Autism Studies, 1(3). Retrieved from http://www.larry-arnold.net/Autonomy/index.php/autonomy/article/view/AR13

Teitel, E. (2015, August 25). Steve Silberman on autism and ‘neurodiversity’. MacLean's. Retrieved from http://www.macleans.ca/society/science/steve-silberman-on-autism-and-the-neurodiversity-movement/

Tonge,B., & Brereton, A. DSM-5 Autism Spectrum Disorder Fact Sheet. Retrieved from

http://www.timeforafuture.com.au/factsheets/CDPP%20Factsheet%201.%20DSM%205%20Autism%20Spectrum%20Disorder.pdf

Wang, J. (2014, March 29). How to Think About the Risk of Autism. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/30/opinion/sunday/how-to-think-about-the-risk-of-autism.html?_r=1

Weeks, C. (2015, February 6). Survey: One in five believe vaccine causes autism. The Globe and Mail [Toronto]. Retrieved from http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/health-and-fitness/health/survey-finds-one-in-five-people-believe-measles-vaccines-cause-autism/article22851493/

Wing, L., Gould, J., & Gillberg, C. (2011). Autism spectrum disorders in the DSM-V: better or worse than the DSM-IV?. Research in developmental disabilities, 32(2), 768-773. Retrieved from http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0891422210002647

Wong, C., Odom, S. L., Hume, K. A., Cox, A. W., Fettig, A., Kucharczyk, S., ... & Schultz, T. R. (2015). Evidence-based practices for children, youth, and young adults with autism spectrum disorder: A comprehensive review.Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 45(7), 1951-1966. Retrieved from http://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10803-014-2351-z

World Health Organization. (1994). International classification of diseases (ICD).

Further Resources

Autism Women’s Network

Interactive Autism Network

Simons Foundation Autism Research Initiative (SFARI)

The official site for a research program funded by the Simons Foundation, which focuses on all aspects of autism research

Doctor Temple Grandin’s Site

Dr. Grandin’s site on autism. It has some of her writings on the subject as well as information on conference appearances.

ResearchGate Discussion Forum

A discussion page on ResearchGate on academic papers regarding ASD stigma. You can also search the overall discussion forum for other ASD-related discussions by academics.

Parents miss signs of autism in their daughters by Emily Anthes (Spectrum, 2016)

A study finds that parents of girls with autism are significantly less likely than those of boys to voice concerns about their child’s social behaviour.

Tumblr

Though mostly useful to familiarize oneself with ASD culture, members of the ASD community also post links to news and resources (usually with commentary on their perspective on the matter). Tags of interest: #asd, #actuallyautistic, #stimming, #aspielife

Stigma and the “Othering” of Autism by Lynne Soraya (Psychology Today, April 1, 2012)

An Aspie’s perspective on the stigma surrounding autism and what it means to support an autistic child.

Autism Speaks, But Not For Autistics by Dane La Born (The Free Weekly, April 6 2016)

An autistic’s perspective on the lesser-known controversy surrounding Autism Speaks, the #1 autism charity in the world.

Ce que signifient les étapes du développement chez un enfant autiste by Kathleen O’Grady (Huffington Post Quebec, 2016)

The Autism Speaks Controversy by Brianne McDunnough (Reporter Magazine, 2014)

Where Autism Got The Right Treatment In 2015 by Emily Willingham (Forbes, 2015)

Proteins that spark learning may play key part in autism by Ann Griswold (Spectrum, 2016)

Autism Spectrum Disorder Linked to Mutations in Some Mitochondria by (Neuroscience News, 2016)

Autism gene needed for growth of neurons during gestation by Jessica Wright (Spectrum, 2016)

[shawol9196]

Nature Spirits AU – First meetings

🐶ontaekey bring lil Jonghyun to Minho’s island so that he won’t be so lonely. 🐶Tease each other to no end, but at the end of the day they’re 100% ride or die 🐶Used to sleep on opposite ends of the island but after one (1) accidental nap they won’t sleep apart. 🐶Try to team-prank Key as much as possible, doesn’t always end well.

(fic under cut; ~2k words)

Now that some time had passed and they’d learned what he liked and disliked, Taemin and Jinki started forming a third bounty pile of flowery treasures for Minho. It was mostly pieces of jewelry but sometimes there would be pieces of glass windows or shards of porcelain. What had formerly been a small endeavor for acquaintanceship and treasure and grown into a more friendly endeavor. They would plan their trips according to where Taemin had recently sent storms (to make it easier to pull up the goods), and simply took everything to Minho’s island to sort together instead of awkwardly on clouds at sea. Minho never watched them sort, not wanting to interrupt their quiet friendship, but would come and fawn over every piece they brought back once the sorting was done. When they parted, they’d make arrangements for the next time to meet. They were getting pretty good at this and Taemin was attempting to find something extra pretty to give to Kibum in apology for losing some of his treasures.

Normally they would go and find long sunken treasures that no regular humans would come looking for; but as they travelled out, they came across a rather recent shipwreck. Jinki swam up to the debris to check for survivors while Taemin held back. While he never intentionally sent storms in the path of normal people, it never made it any easier to see ships that had been so obviously wrecked by them. Jinki gave the all clear and they began stirring up the water to see what was inside. Since the wreck was so recent everything came up rather quickly. Seeing how hard the wreck was on Taemin, Jinki paused.

“Is it ok to stay here or would you rather go somewhere else?” he asked.

“No, it’s ok. You said there wasn’t anyone in there right?” Taemin replied after a moment.

“There was no one I could see. I saw a few other ships go by yesterday from around here, they were probably able to rescue everyone.”

Taemin nodded but didn’t say anything else. Jinki also went back to work, diving down to see if there was any good china on the inside. Minho had lately taken an interest in rose patterned teacups and seeing the happiness on his face was worth the extra dive. As expected there were a few good cups laying on the floor. He saw some strange bubbles coming up from the floor below and against his better judgement he went to go check it out. After searching through several rooms, he finally came across a door with bubbles coming out. To his surprise, he found the source of the bubbles was a small puppy, caught in some sort of air pocket in the corner of the room. The puppy noticed him and began trying to bark in Jinki’s direction. Being careful not to burst the bubble, Jinki slowly began maneuvering the bubble out of the room and towards the surface. The puppy continued barking but did its best to remain still, seeming to understand what was going on. Eventually, Jinki and the pup got to the surface. Taemin was waiting for him at the surface; it was obvious from the relieved expression on his face that Jinki had been down there a long time.

“Is that a puppy??” Tae asked when they reached the surface.

Jinki nodded and finished bringing the bubble up. As soon as it came into contact with the air the bubble burst; the puppy did its best to swim, but it was obvious he wasn’t used to being around water. Jinki carefully directed him up on a swell to Taemin, who excitedly brought him onto his cloud. The puppy cowered in his lap.

“He was in a bubble in the bottom level of the ship, but not a normal air pocket or anything. It was like he’d been purposefully put in there.” Jinki explained, reaching out to try and pet their new friend. Taemin’s face turned serious.

“Jinki, that’s not a good sign. We need to watch him, hide him somewhere. I don’t want anything to happen to this little guy.”

Jinki nodded. They sat for a minute, both quietly trying to brainstorm how to protect this puppy. Both liked it but neither lived in a place that was safe in any sense for a land animal.

“Oh! I know! We can take it to Minho! Then he’ll have a friend all the time!” Taemin shouted suddenly.

“Maybe then he won’t be so sulky when we leave. Good thinking.”

With the puppy’s fate decided, they headed off to the island. It wasn’t far, but it took them a while since Taemin wasn’t used to having passengers and the puppy wasn’t used to being on a cloud. When they got to the island, Minho was out near the water’s edge practicing his sea plants. His hand were out in the water and as they got closer Jinki could see the kelp stretching from his palms. The puppy was obviously excited to see land and as they approached Taemin had trouble keeping him on the cloud, eventually slipping out of his grasp. Once the puppy was off Taemin let himself drop into Jinki’s waiting wave. Minho looked up and let go of his kelp, interested in the treasure he knew was coming.

“Hi guys! How was your ship today?” he asked when they finally reached the beach.

“Good,” Jinki replied. “We found a lot of cool stuff. We even brought you a friend!”

Taemin held out the puppy, which had begun whimpering at being wet. Minho looked at it with wide eyes; it occurred to Jinki that Minho might not have seen a puppy before. When Minho reached out and began playing and petting it he remembered that at some time or another, Minho had lived somewhere else. From further up the beach came a scream.

“OH MY GOD IS THAT A PUPPY.”

Taemin and Jinki laughed at Kibum, who was now running down the beach.

“Yes, Bummie, it’s a puppy. Jinki and I found it on a ship today and since none of the three of us live in puppy-suitable places we’re giving it to Minho.” Taemin yelled back, finally putting the puppy down on the ground. It sniffed around for a moment and then plopped down, apparently anticipating Kibum’s incoming affections.

“The puppy is for me??” Minho asked in disbelief.

Jinki nodded. “Yeah, bud. I mean beyond the whole ‘who lives in a place where puppies can also live’ you also have the hardest time going to visit friends.”

“Hey Minbabe, you should grow him some grass to use so he doesn’t ruin all my flowers.”

Everyone turned to look at Kibum.

“Last time I checked they were Minho’s flowers, actually.” said Jinki.

“You all know what I mean. Minho, just go do your thing, my wonderful flower child.” Kibum huffed.

“What is grass like again? I almost remember it but not enough to grow it.”

After about ten minutes of explanation ranging from Jinki’s unhelpful “large and nearly ubiquitous family of monocotyledonous flowering plants” to Taemin’s equally unhelpful “that green stuff that grows on the ground and shakes in the wind” to Kibum’s short somewhat helpful sensory descriptions, Minho had enough of an idea to attempt it. He went further up the beach, past the normal threshold of waves, sat down and put his palms face down on the sand. After a moment he lifted his hands and a small patch of scraggly grass began growing. It wasn’t lushous or full by any means but it was enough to catch the attention of the puppy. It ran over (much to Kibum’s chagrin) and began to roll around. Minho laughed and reached out to pet it again. After a while it tuckered out, plopping down again to take a nap. Minho got up and walked back to the shore line, where Jinki and Taemin were beginning to offload the treasures they’d saved for Minho. He and Kibum walked them up to the tree ring. As they were walking back there was a loud pop coming from the direction of the puppy. All four turned and saw a very confused looking boy sitting where their beloved puppy had once been napping.

“Hello? Where am I? What happened to the boat?” he asked, obviously beginning to panic. Minho ran over and sat next to him.

“My name is Minho. You’re on my island. The boat you were on wrecked and my friends Jinki and Taemin saved you from it.” he explained, pointing at where the other two were.

“The boat wrecked?”

“Yeah, it was really wrecked. You were the only living thing left on the boat,” said Jinki.

The boy looked down at the ground; he looked shaken but not distraught.

“What’s your name?” Minho asked, trying to keep him talking.

“I-I’m Jonghyun.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Kibum continued. “Where are you from Jonghyun?”

“I’m fr- I’m from the mainland, I think. This was my first time sailing. I was going somewhere but they wouldn’t tell me where.”

Jinki sat down next to Minho and waited for Jonghyun to look at him.

“My name is Jinki. I was the one that found you on the ship. I’m going to ask you a question but you don’t have to answer if you don’t know, ok?” he said. Jonghyun nodded.

“Were you turned into a puppy by someone or is that something you can do by yourself?’

Jonghyun looked down again, brows furrowed in thought. No one said anything.

“I-I think I can do it myself? It’s not easy though. And I sometimes forget how t- how to turn back. Like into a person.”

“When I found you, you were in this ball of air. I’ve never seen anything like it before. Do you remember how you got in there?”

Jonghyun shook his head. “I don’t remember anything from the time we left shore til you came in for me.”

Silence fell over the five. Taemin made his way over to Kibum and began whispering in his ear. When he finished, Kibum turned to Jonghyun.

“Jonghyun, it’s getting dark. The three of us, “ he gestured at Jinki, Taemin, and himself, “can’t take you with us to where we live. Do you feel okay to stay here with Minho? We can take you to the mainland if you don’t, but it’s a long long way and it may not be anywhere close to where you’re from.”

Jonghyun looked around the island, then at Minho, then back at Kibum.

“I-I think I could stay here? If that’s ok? I don’t want to be trouble.”

Minho smiled. “You won’t be trouble, I’ve been hoping for a friend that can stay.”

He stood and stretched his hand out towards Jonghyun, who gingerly accepted it. Once everyone was standing, the three started out towards the water while Jonghyun and Minho stayed near the grass. They turned around and waved.

“We’ll come back tomorrow to check on you, ok? Minho’s the nicest person I’ve ever met so you’ll be ok for tonight. Goodbye!” yelled Kibum.

Jinki jumped in the water just so that he perfectly soaked Kibum and Taemin, then was gone. Taemin called a cloud over and Kibum called a wind, together maneuvering their way into the skies and out of sight. Minho and Jonghyun waited on the beach, hands still clasped (Kibum had just taught Minho about holding hands), til everyone was gone. They turned towards the tree ring.

“Do you like strawberries?” Minho asked.

“Yeah, strawberries are nice. Why?.”

“I just learned how to make them. I have some in my garden, do you want some? Jinki says they’re sweeter than normal ones but Taemin and Kibum like them so.”

“You can make strawberries??”