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needserotonindealer · 2 years

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Connectinon Between Childhood Trauma and Enneagram

I've decided to share some of the stuff I learned about the childhood experience of all Enneagram types, and how this experience shapes us into a certain type. All this is based on some of my observations and studies plus backed up with some info from the books: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon and The Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

And do keep in mind that it’s just a general pattern and observation - while it’s a lot more common for a certain type to have such a childhood experince, nothing is set in stone.

Type 1

A person could have been shaped into a One based on the experience from their early childhood where they had strict and controlling parents, which from early childhood showed the little One that they have to be responsible person, that is more mature than their peers:

Early in life, One had a painful experience of feeling criticized. When this happened, he felt pressured to conform to others’ standards of good behavior. One unconsciously tried to cope with the pain of feeling judged and punished by proactively monitoring and criticizing himself before others had a chance to. He internalized the standards others applied to him and tried to be good and do the right thing all the time. He began to feel that he had to be perfect to be seen as worthy and that he had to work hard to control himself in order to be “good.”

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, One could have had Incompetent, naive, and/or immature parents, which showed the little 1 that they are incapable of taking care of them, so this child had to grow up too early, and become the “adult one” themselves. Type One is part of the Frustration triad, which was dissatisfied with their parental figures. They could also have been frustrated with too many rules in the family, so they developed their own vision of how things should be:

The disconnection from the protective figure, and what that person symbolized, was of central importance to the development of the superego: these children felt that they could not rely on the structure and guidelines provided by their family of origin. They may have experienced the rules of the family as arbitrary and unfair, or too strict, or too unstable. Whatever the particulars, Ones were dissatisfied and frustrated with the structure and limits that they received from the protective-figure and so felt that they had to develop their own guidelines.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 2

All the attention and focus of type Two goes towards love and care because, as children, they felt unloved, not needed and uncared about (which is more of the case with an unhealthy childhood experience).

As Two grew up, she experienced bad feelings when some of her needs weren’t met by the people around her. Sometimes when she was hungry, no one came to feed her. Sometimes when she got hurt, no one realized she needed comfort. And when she felt her deep need for love, she often felt that she did not receive it. Two tried to find the love she needed by expressing love for the people around her. She tried to get them to take care of her by taking care of them. If she was very pleasing, helpful, and supportive of others, she thought, they would want to be very pleasing, helpful, and supportive of her. They might remember to take care of her. To get the love she needed so much, Two found herself doing all she could to please the people in her world.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, type Twos could have been slightly more connected to the protective figure, as opposed to the more nurturing one, or they may have grown up without a nurturing figure altogether. So Twos learned to take up on a role of a nurturing figure themselves.

Since the orientation is toward the protective figure who represents the qualities associated with patriarchy— authority, structure, discipline, guiding the child in the ways of the world—the child began to identify with the complementary, matriarchal role. Young Twos learned to become "little nurturers" as a way of gaining safety and security in the family system. In other words, they believed that if they could nurture others in their family sufficiently, they could win the affection and protection of the protective-figure. This relationship with the protective figure sets the stage for a similar orientation toward everyone who can give Twos the love they want.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 3

The strong impulse to achieve, be better and be praised that type Three craves stems from their childhood experience, where they were only (or mostly) loved and given attention when they somehow stood out from their peers, particularly for their accomplishments.

Three saw that she was praised for what she did, not for who she was. Everyone around her got very excited and happy when she successfully completed her homework, or did a trick in gymnastics, or won a game. But when she expressed her true emotions, when she felt sad or disappointed or hurt, no one paid any attention to her at all. She felt lonely and scared when no one recognized her or cared about what she expressed from her heart. People seemed to like her when she accomplished things; but they acted as if she didn’t exist when she was just being herself. Three found a way to make sure that she wouldn’t feel alone or fearful anymore. She discovered that she had the ability to sense what people valued and then magically turn herself into exactly that.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, Threes are also part of an Attachment triad because they were very connected to the mother (or the mother figure) - basically, anyone that praises and admires them, showers them with gifts and compliments, and they got so attached to this person from early childhood that they learned to act in a way that will receive this positive affirmation.

As young children, Threes were connected to the nurturing figure, the person who in their early development mirrored them, cared for them, and provided affection and a sense of the Three's personal value. This person is usually the Three's mother or a mother-substitute, but not always. In some cases, the mother may have been largely absent, physically or emotionally, and it fell upon the father or a sibling to nurture the baby. In other cases, a nanny or grandparent may have fulfilled this role. In any case, it is important to understand that the nurturing figure is the person who cared for the child and who provided mirroring. In their formative years, Threes learn to tune in to the desires and hopes of their nurturing-figure. As adults, Threes continue to play out this pattern learned in early childhood. They seek out people whom they admire and esteem to give them validation and admiration.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 4

As young children, type Four felt a loss of connection with their parents. Similar to type Two, they felt that they were unloved and not needed, but unlike Twos that were ambivalent to their parental figures, Fours felt completely disconnected from them. Moreover, type Fours started to believe (or were even directly told) that the parents are no longer connected and appreciate them because of the Four's fault, that they are somehow to blame. Maybe they were a child of a younger couple that has the kid too early and then blamed the Four, maybe claiming that them being born ruined all the opportunities for these now-parents. Four could have also started to think on their own that since the parents no longer like and care for them as much, then there must be something wrong with them, that they are not like everyone else.

Fours are disconnected from both parents. As children, they did not identify with either their mothers or their fathers. ("I am not like my mother; I am not like my father.") They may have had either unhappy or solitary childhoods as a result of their parents' marital problems, divorce, illness, or simply because of personality conflicts within the family.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Even more often there could have been a sibling rivalry in the family, where Four was the older sibling, and all the attention was given to their younger sister(s)/brother(s) while they felt abandoned, so they felt the need to somehow stand out to be noticed.

A baby was born. It was as if Four’s perfect world ended. No longer was she the center of her parents’ attention. No longer was she the most special child in the world. When she wanted someone to play with or a hug, everyone was busy taking care of the baby. She felt unimportant, alone, and ordinary. Four made sense of this terrible new situation by believing that she must have done something wrong to cause the loss of connection with her parents. After all, they didn’t seem to care about her the way they did before. It must have been her fault. They must have discovered there was something wrong with her. This new baby must somehow be better. What other explanation could there be? Four’s new way of thinking caused her some pain and distress, but gradually she got used to feeling bad—and sad. And, she reasoned, if it was her fault that she had lost the connection she had once felt—maybe that meant she could do something to make things right. Maybe she could somehow make a connection with others and the world again by showing everyone how special she was— or by making them see how much she was suffering by acknowledging that she wasn’t as special as she had thought. Over time, Four tried different ways to rebuild the connection she had lost. She tried to get people to see her as special again.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Type 5

In their early childhood, Type Fives felt an almost smothering influence of their parents: they could have been way too involved in the lives of their child, too clingy, giving them little to no privacy, and constantly invading their personal space, leaving too little room for Fives to withdraw and be left alone. That is what developed a Withdrawal stance in type Fives, as they started to realize that if they will let other people way too close, that they start to get too overly involved in other people’s lives they will also start to lose that independence and will again be overwhelmed with people’s attention and demands. So Fives learned to not only minimize their needs but to also avoid investing in a lot of relationships.

When she was young, Five tried to create true heartfelt connections with people. However, those people had a tendency to invade her space when she felt like being alone. And then they weren’t around when she really wanted them to be. Both intrusion and unavailability were a cause of constant concern for Five, which made it hard for her to know what to do to relate well to others, especially when she felt intruded upon or neglected. She secretly felt inadequate and different from others. Trying to find ways to connect with them just frustrated her. Again and again, people either left her when she felt she needed them or they didn’t allow her to be alone enough. As time went on, Five finally gave up and disconnected more and more from others and from her feelings. Five found she felt calm and comfortable when she spent time by herself.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Not only that but too much care and attention from parents, and their clinginess made Five think that they are caring so much because the parents think that Five is incompetent and incapable to deal with their own problems, and Fives also start to believe that as well. So they started to gather knowledge and hone skills to be safe in the world and to be able to deal with problems that could arise.

Type 6

Since their early childhood Sixes were either were constantly told that the world is a dangerous place and people are unreliable, to the point that parents almost instilled fear in them: “the monsters are hiding under your bed”, “I will tell a police to come to get you if you will behave inappropriately” etc or the Sixes experienced a traumatic or life-threatening event which made them think that they always have to be careful, that the wolves are after them, things can easily go wrong, so the Six child always has to be cautious.

As Six grew up, she had a few experiences that made her feel afraid. Her mother once forgot to pick her up at school. She was frightened by a movie that showed people being killed. She started noticing all the things that could go wrong and learned that sometimes bad things happened. The world started seeming more dangerous and more threatening to her. Six became paralyzed with fear and doubt. She wanted to feel safe and carefree as she had before, but that didn’t seem possible. The world seemed like a fundamentally dangerous place. The only thing that seemed to help was to imagine all the bad things that could happen so that she could make sure they didn’t. But any feeling of safety that brought her was only temporary.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, Sixes may also have a strong and protective father figure, on which they relied the most, who protected them. So losing the support of such a strong father figure and being left alone in a scary world was especially terrifying for Sixes, hence why they became the Attachment type that seeks to build connections to feel safer, like with their protective figure from childhood.

As the result of their formative experiences, Sixes became connected with their protective-figures. The protective-figure was the adult in the child's early environment who provided guidelines, structure, and sometimes discipline. This was the person who occupied the traditional patriarchal position in the family. Most often this was their fathers, or a father figure, such as a grandfather or teacher, but in many cases the mother or an older sibling may actually be the protective-figure. As children, Sixes wanted the security of approval by their protective-figures, and felt anxious if they did not receive it. As they grew up, their connection with their protective-figure shifted to an identification with substitutes for this person, such as civil authorities or belief systems from which they could obtain security.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 7

From early childhood, Sevens felt rejected by the parental figures the same way Fours may have, but while Fours felt that parents didn’t connect to them because there is something wrong with them, that the Four is somehow to blame, Sevens felt that parents were way too busy with their life and work to pay as much attention to Sevens as they may have wanted. Sometimes, parents may have even brushed them off when the Seven was in need or pain, or the parent’s indifference to the child caused the Seven that pain, so they learned to avoid the hurtful feelings as much as possible.

One day, when Seven was paying close attention to a bee that was walking on his leg, it stung him! He burst into tears and looked around for someone to comfort him. He tried to tell his father about it and perhaps receive some comfort, but his father was angry about something and told him to “go away.” So he went to his mother, but she was busy doing something and said she “didn’t have time” to hear about something so insignificant. These responses made Seven feel even more pain—almost more than he could handle.

Seven hadn’t had much experience with pain, and he didn’t like it. So, to get away from these unpleasant sensations, he retreated into his own imagination. He started thinking about things that made him excited—watching clouds as they passed through the sky or playing with his best friend. In fact, Seven found that he was good at imagining fun and interesting things. As time went on, he became adept at diverting his attention to these thoughts whenever any kind of pain threatened him.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, Sevens may have encountered a serious trauma as a kid, that made them feel like they would be deprived of something, so to avoid fear of being deprived they started to adopt a more gluttonous attitude, fearing that what they need to survive may be taken away from them.

Some other childhood deprivation, such as poverty, war, being orphaned, or a long illness, may have shaken their expectation that the good things of life would be given to them. There may have been an absence of the nurturing-figure at a critical stage, or some accident that shook the child's faith that he or she would be adequately supported. It may also be that Sevens naturally need a great deal of contact and stimulation which may be more than the nurturing-figure can provide. Thus, for whatever reasons, the fear of deprivation becomes the fundamental motivation for this personality type.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 8

Type Eight’s childhood experience may resemble one of type Six, where they felt or made believe that the world is dangerous, and people are out to get them. However while Sixes developed a more neurotic and cautious stance, thinking that they will be safe if they have someone to rely on or an ideology/law to follow, type Eight decided that they will be safe if they become strong and could face these challenges themselves, without relying on anyone. Moreover, while Sixes may have had a protective figure that could defend them when needed, Eights felt no protection from their parental figures, or sometimes these parental figures may have been abusive themselves.

Early in life, Eight had an experience in which she needed protection and there was no one there to take care of her. Sometimes there were things she just couldn’t do by herself, even though she was bright and capable for someone so young. The people in her life that were bigger than she was didn’t seem to notice when she needed to be cared for, listened to, or fed. And a few times, when one of the older kids hurt her, no one saw that she was little and needed protection. So Eight learned—the hard way—that she had to take care of herself. If no one else was going to do it, it would have to be her job. She would have to get big—fast! (Too fast.) She would have to be strong. She would have to be powerful, even though she was still small. Sometimes people around her fought, and they didn’t notice she was scared. So she would have to be fearless, in addition to being big, and strong, and powerful.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Also, Eight could have had the opposite childhood experience from Twos, where Twos had a stronger protective figure so they had to become the nurturer, Eights had a stronger nurturing figure, so they decided that they need to become the protective figure themselves.

Eights learned that they could maintain some kind of connection with the nurturing-figure and fit into the family system by functioning in a role that was complementary to the nurturing-figure. The nurturing-figure represented (and therefore "owned") the qualities associated with motherhood: warmth, caring, nurturance, approval, gentleness, and sensitivity. Thus, the Eight identified with the complementary patriarchal role, and learned that the best way to get some sense of value, affection, and nurturance was to be "the strong one," the little protector, the one that others turn to for strength and guidance, especially in a crisis.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

Type 9

At some point in their childhood, Nines felt that their desires, wishes and opinions are not important or listened to. When they tried to express what they wanted, their parents may have shut that desire off, bruising it aside, or choosing for them under the pretence that they know better. At first, Nine could have protested against that, but when they started to understand that the more they protest the more arguments and conflicts it will cause, damaging their relationship with the parents, the more they began thinking that maybe what they want is not worth all the drama and discord that disrupts their inner peace. Instead, it was better to go along with what others wanted, and find comfort in other parts of life.

Nine woke up one day feeling alone and disconnected. He felt frustrated at having been left by himself and wanted to register a protest against whoever had pushed him out on his own. But this made him even more uncomfortable. There were others nearby, but they seemed somehow distant. This new sense of being separate felt lonely and scary. If he was no longer connected to the world around him, how could he feel any sense of belonging? When Nine tried to complain about this new and disturbing situation in order to re-establish his connection with others, no one would listen. Those around him spoke louder and had more important things to say. They knew what they wanted and argued to get it. They didn’t seem bothered by the fact that they were separate—and that their arguing made them more so. They didn’t seem to care what Nine was saying. He tried speaking louder and protesting more, but no one paid attention. After a while, he simply gave up. If they weren’t going to listen, he might as well go back to sleep. At least there was comfort in sleep.

From: Enneagram Guide to Waking Up by Beatrice Chestnut.

Alternatively, Nines could have lived in a very intense or unhealthy environment, that damaged them emotionally. So in order to keep their peace and sanity in one piece, they learned to numb their feelings, to protect themselves.

If their early childhood was torn by strife and dysfunction, holding all of the painful and conflicted feelings and messages inside them was almost intolerable, so average to unhealthy Nines learned to dissociate—to remove themselves from the immediacy of their feelings and thoughts so that the inner turmoil they absorbed did not overwhelm them. At the same time, they learned to tune out the conflicts and pain of the external environment, a strategy familiar to many children. This is like the young person who blocks out the sound of her parents fighting in another room by singing a song to herself or remembering happier time.

From: Personality Types: Using the Enneagram for Self-Discovery by Don Richard Riso & Russ Hudon.

#enneagram #enneagram 1 #enneagram 2 #enneagram 3 #enneagram 4 #enneagram 5 #enneagram 6 #enneagram 7 #enneagram 8 #enneagram 9

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bethanydelleman · 8 months

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I thought of how little we know about the feeling of old people. Children we understand, their fears and hopes and make believe. I was a child yesterday. I had not forgotten. But Maxim's grandmother, sitting there in her shawl with her poor blind eyes, what did she feel, what was she thinking? Did she know that Beatrice was yawning and glancing at her watch? Did she guess that we had come to visit her because we felt it was right, it was a duty...?

... I wished that I could lay my hands upon her face and take the years away. I wished I could see her young, as she was once, with colour in her cheeks and chestnut hair, alert and active as Beatrice by her side... Not sitting there with her eyes closed while the nurse thumped the pillows behind her head.

Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

The Narrator goes on a visit of duty to her husband's grandmother and finds herself desperately wanting to connect to this old woman she doesn't really know. It really made me love her.

#rebecca #daphne du maurier

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bratshaws · 6 months

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through the hourglass 286. brb x oc

a/n: no Brad in this one but there will be plenty next chapter :) (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

/253/254/255/256/257/258/259/260/261/262/263/264/265/266

/267/268/269/270/271/272/273/274/275/276/277/278/279/280/281/282/283/284/285

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @novastories @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix @lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls

@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

@emilybradshaw @louisahale @leobabbyyy @booklover2sblog @ktjmac @graciereads @bigpoppajes @taytaylala12

@caitsymichelle13 @becks-things @caatheeriinee07 @fanboyswhore9 @jesfreedark @katiemcrae @lilmonstrjedi @hobiismyhopeu @teacupsandtopgun @insominac23 @gh0stsgoodgirl @mygyn @chavivaelisheva @kmc1989 @enchantingharmonyalpaca

The twins looked like a perfect mix of Beatrice and Rooster. While Nikki was leaning more towards her father, her siblings made sure to mix the dna just right to make everyone wonder who looked more like either parent.

Gavin’s hair was more wavy now, leaning to Beatrice’s chestnut color while Aurora remained a blonde, albeit a bit darker than when she was born. It wasn’t surprising considering Rooster’s mother was a blonde too. Beatrice couldn’t believe she was taking the twins home, finally, and she tried so hard not to cry when she placed them on the little booster seats, right next to Nicole’s.

Shells was kind enough to drive Bea’s jeep to the hospital, she knew her friend was on a pile of nerves and seeing how the brunette just covered her face with both hands to cry a little bit, she did the right thing. Nicole was on Shells’ arms, furrowing her tiny brows when she noticed her mother’s crying, “Mama…” she reaches for Beatrice, and Shells steps closer so she could touch her shoulder.

“Your oldest is worried.”Shells smiles sweetly, then gently rubs Beatrice’s shoulder, “It’s over babes, they are going home now.”

Beatrice nodded, her tears drying as she took a deep breath to regain her composure the best way that she could. She knew Shells was right. It was a moment to celebrate, and she couldn't let her emotions overwhelm her. “I know.” she whispers, ‘I’m just…it’s been a long time coming.”

‘Sure has.”

Bea picked Nicole from Shells, kissing the little girl’s forehead before she placed her on her own seat. The second the toddler was latched, all three of them shared looks. Nicole looked at Gavin who in turn looked back at Aurora and then the two focused on their older sister.

“Baby!” Nicole points, giggling a bit, “Baby!”

“Yep, they are your baby siblings.” Beatrice says, wiping her eyes again and leaning against the car to keep herself together, “Fuck, it is over now.” she says, looking back at Shells who thumbed the car’s keys, waiting for her to drive away, “...thank you for doing this,Shells.”

Shells smiled warmly at Bea, rubbing her upper back,"You're welcome, Bea. I'm here for you, always. Now, ready to go home?”

Beatrice nodded, her heart brimming with gratitude “Yeah,ready.” She climbed into the passenger’s seat, her precious cargo safely secured in the back as Shells sat on the driver’s, turning the jeep on and waiting until the engine purred to life.

“Damn, your car is…” the blonde chuckles, “Like the wife of Rooster’s Bronco.”

“Hm?”

‘Oh, come on, they even look alike.” she says, slowly driving away from the hospital, “I swear, you two keep being disgustingly cute.”

Beatrice smiles, almost confusedly, she never…well, she never saw her jeep that way, “...well, it is one way of seeing it.” she says as she leans back against the seat, “It does look a little bit like the Bronco.”

“I know, that’s why I said it.” Shells chuckled, paying attention as she drove off, “How are the little ones doing back there?”

"They do look a lot like a little army back there," Shells remarked, casting a fond glance at the rearview mirror. "Rooster's got quite the crew, doesn't he?"

Beatrice chuckled, her gaze still lingering on her children. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be driving my own little squad home. It's surreal." she pauses, “Well,sort of since you are uh,driving us.”

Shells grinned, her eyes on the road. "You deserve this, Bea. You two have been through shit together, it’s time for some relaxation."

"Yeah," Beatrice agreed, her voice quiet. "I can't wait to see the look on Rooster's face when he sees them all together."

Shells gave her a sly smile. "Speaking of which, did you talk to him?”

Beatrice blinked, then sighed softly, “Well…not in video but we did text each other.” she says, “This deployment is…not giving him a lot of time to talk to me which I understand. He knows that today I was going to bring the twins home though.” Beatrice’s eyes move to the outside,watching as the buildings and trees become a multicolored blur.

The twins in the backseat were peacefully asleep, and Nicole had dozed off after some playful giggles, clearly too tired to pay even more attention to the common surroundings. The Jeep cruised along the familiar route, with Beatrice lost in her thoughts and Shells occasionally glancing over at her friend.

“It’s alright,I wasn’t able to talk to Bob that much either.” Shells shrugs, “It’s all good,babes.”

"Thank you, Shells.” the brunette replies, still smiling, “I just…well,I do wish he was home to see them, you know?”

“I know.”

“But…it’ll be only three months and it’ll go by so fast.”

Shells reached out to give Beatrice's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You got it, babes, besides you can always talk to Mav if you need…I dunno, to know something more maybe? Just think about it this way: the babies are home and you can sleep in peace…also, today is your weekend off, you don’t have to go to the Hard Deck tonight.”

"You're right," Beatrice admitted with a small smile. "Having the babies home is a blessing, and I can't wait to spend time with them. I'll definitely talk to Mav if I have questions.” she says, “I doubt he’d have anything else to share, but he’s Rooster’s uncle, it helps with the familiarity.”

Shells grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she turns the car towards Beatrice’s street. "Exactly, and a good night's sleep also helps. Normally I’d tell you to go out with me, but," and she holds up her hand, “I know you want to spend time with the kiddos, so I’ll leave you be.”

“I appreciate that,Shells, thank you.”

Beatrice couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment as she watched the scenery pass by. The twins were nestled snugly in the backseat, sound asleep after their eventful day at the hospital. Aurora had her tiny fingers wrapped around the edge of her brother's blanket, and that was the cutest thing Bea had ever seen.

"They're so peaceful when they're asleep," Beatrice remarked, amazed by her own kids.

She birthed those kids. Like, they came out of her.

Shells glanced at the rearview mirror, her eyes softening as she took in the sight of the sleeping twins. "They really are," she agreed. "It's amazing how much they've grown since I last saw them."

"Yeah, they've changed so much in just a few months," Beatrice said,"I can't believe they're finally home."

"I bet Rooster is going to be over the moon when he sees them," Shells added with a grin.

Beatrice smiled, imagining the joy on her husband's face when he returned from his deployment to find their children at home. "I can't wait to see his reaction. He's been counting down the days until he could hold them again." she says as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “They’ll be…even bigger when he comes back. And they alread are kinda big, you know?”

Shells navigated the Jeep onto Beatrice's street nodding in reply to her friend’s words, “I know, they have that long kid body type.” she chuckles, her blue eyes moving around, “Also, don’t worry about me going home. I can call an Uber.”

“Shells–”

“Don’t you dare.” the blonde cut her off, ‘You don’t have to pay me anything,I can also call aunt Penny to pick me up. She’d love the change of scenery.”the garage door slowly opened and Shells leaned back on the driver’s seat, “I’ll help you with the babies and the dogs, so you can relax for the rest of the night. Good?”

Beatrice couldn't help but be moved by Shells' kindness. She knew her friend had plans for the night but…she was so glad she chose to stay.

"You're a true friend, Shells," Beatrice said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I appreciate your offer, and it would be great to have your help. It's been a long day, and I could use a little break."

Shells flashed a warm smile as she turned off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt, ready to assist her friend. "Then it's settled. Let's get these little ones inside, and I'll help you with whatever you need."

“Thank you,Shells.”

The two friends exited the car and opened the backseat to gently retrieve the sleeping twins from their car seats into the stroller to make it easier to go inside. Nicole woke up from her nap and immediately glued herself to Bea’s leg as she pushed it inside, while Shells busied herself in keeping the dogs at bay.

Since the twins were asleep, Beatrice decided to place them in their cribs - finally the nursery had life in it.

Beatrice carefully placed the twins in their cribs, their tiny hands clutching the edges of the soft blankets. She couldn't help but admire the peaceful expressions on their faces as they continued to dream. Aurora and Gavin, much like Nicole, were unbothered in their sleep and just stayed there, comfortable and warm.

As she watched them sleep, she turned on the baby monitor and checked on her phone to see if everything was alright. Once satisfied, she slowly and carefully made her way out of the room. Eleanor,Jack and Jolene were waiting for her outside, the three dogs curious to meet the new family members but Beatrice just told them to wait a little bit.

Shells looked up from where she was seated with Nicole, “Asleep?”

“Yep.”

“Damn, sometimes I think we should sleep like babies, at least once.” Shells chuckles, “Do you need help with anything else?”

Beatrice couldn't help but smile at Shells' comment. "Wouldn't that be nice? Just a peaceful nap without a care in the world." She gently stroked Nicole's hair as she waddled up to her. "Actually, there is one thing I could use your help with," Beatrice admitted. "Help me with the laundry? I mean I–"

Shells grinned, always ready to jump into action. "Of course, babes. Is everything settled?”

“Mhm, it’s all separated.”

“Alrighty, I’ll be right back then.”

Beatrice thanked Shells again as she sits down on the couch, exhaling loudly while bringing Nicole to her chest. The little toddler sat on her mother’s stomach, blinking curiously at her when she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, “...it’s over.”Bea whispers to herself, rubbing her face with both hands, “Ohhh my God, it’s finally over.”

The house was filled with the comforting sounds of Shells bustling around in the laundry room, the dogs playing in the backyard, and the twins sleeping soundly in their cribs. It was a rare moment of peace in their busy lives, and Beatrice relished it.

Nicole looked ready to take over the role of the older sister and…she didn’t seem to be too bothered by the new additions to the family. As she looked down at Nicole, who was snuggled against her, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of her daughter's head pressed to her heart.

Shells returned from the laundry room with a basket full of freshly folded clothes, she placed the basket on the coffee table and took a seat beside Beatrice. "Laundry's done," she announced. "What can I do to help next?"

Beatrice appreciated Shells' willingness to lend a hand. "Thank you for all your help, Shells. I think we're good for now. I should probably sleep or something.” she says, holding Nicole to her chest, “I am…really tired.”

“That’s fair babes, you want me to lock the door with my spare?’

“Can you?” Bea’s tiredness is taking over, “I’d appreciate it so much.”

Shells nodded with a warm smile, tossing the keys and grabbing them mid air. "Of course, I'll lock up for you. You go get some well-deserved rest.”

Beatrice mustered a grateful smile, her fatigue evident in her eyes. "Thank you, Shells. I appreciate your help more than I can express."

She sputtered while waving her hand. "You don't have to thank me, Bea. Friends are there for each other, and I'm always here for you. Now, go get some rest, and I'll make sure everything's in order."

With a final nod of appreciation, Beatrice headed to her bedroom, her steps heavy with fatigue. She couldn't wait to finally rest, sleep and just…enjoy the fact her kids were home…that is until she heard the knock on the door.

She groans but Shells replies with “Don’t worry,I’ll get it!” she hears the door open followed by Shells clearly unamused tone of “No she’s tired right now, can I help you Miranda?”

Beatrice’s eyes snapped open.

“Not her, God not her, not now.” she groans, burying her face on Nicole’s neck and sighing the cotton flower shampoo on her daughter’s hair, “God,I can’t handle her right now, that woman…is so…weird. Why is she like this?”

Miranda's presence always seemed to come at the most inconvenient times.

From her bedroom, Beatrice could faintly hear the muffled conversation between Shells and Miranda. Shells' tone remained ‘polite’, but her words were undoubtedly laced with a sense of exasperation. Beatrice wasn't sure what had brought Miranda to her doorstep this time, but she had learned to expect the unexpected when it came to her neighbor.

She could barely figure out what was being said besides Shells’ unenthusiastically ‘uh huh’ ‘sure’ ‘yeah’ before the door finally closed. She hadn’t noticed she was holding her breath until she heard that sound.

Shells footsteps walked up and she appeared by the door, holding a piece of paper, “You’ve been invited to a Halloween Party.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x oc #top gun maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x named reader #tgm oc #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction

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call-me-maggie13 · 11 months

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Once a month, Shannon and Beatrice have a night out. They go see a movie or visit a museum or check out a new restaurant. It’s a very important part of their relationship, their way of ensuring they keep making memories together. Ensuring the other stays a priority in their lives.

Shannon, like she has her entire life, has spent the evening trying to get Beatrice drunk. Beatrice doesn’t drink often, and never in excess. She doesn’t like the way being drunk makes her feel, like her feet are on backwards and her head is submerged under water.

Out of control.

Defenseless.

But Shannon, as she has their entire lives, can convince Beatrice of anything. She could convince Beatrice to give up water in a drought, to buy ice in a snowstorm.

To go one for one with her at the new queer owned bar downtown.

The bartender is kind, his smile is warm and his eyes are soft and he asks Beatrice if she’s okay when Shannon goes to put on their song — she did not select "their song," Shannon chooses a song that Beatrice has never heard in her life. He offers to start substituting her shots with water, but Beatrice is warm and buzzing around the edges and Shannon will keep her safe. Shannon has always kept her safe. So she thanks him but tells him no and leaves him a fifty dollar tip when Shannon drags her onto the dance floor.

The lights swirl and shimmer and the world rocks uneasily, but Shannon’s hand is strong in her own and Shannon’s eyes scan the crowd around them even while she bounces with Beatrice. A guy stumbles and his elbow clips Beatrice and Shannon is pulling her away and shouting at him to be more attentive of his surroundings.

She checks Beatrice over intently. Nothing exists to Shannon in this moment but Beatrice’s possible injury. She spins Beatrice and lifts her limbs and inspects her skin with so much attention Beatrice burns hotter than the liquor on her tongue could explain.

"Are you okay?" Shannon has to shout to be heard over the thumping baseline and the thrumming in Beatrice’s head, she rubs the pad of her thumb over the spot where the man had run into her. Beatrice nods and the crowd melts away when Shannon pulls her into a hug, squeezes her tight and rubs her biceps when she breaks away. "Do you wanna go home?"

Home. Where is that, Beatrice wonders.

When she was a child, she didn’t have a home. She didn’t know what home meant. She thought home was her father’s admonishing her top marks and her mother’s heavy sigh when she’d ask for anything.

Then she lost it all. Her home burnt to the ground and she was trapped in the attic inhaling the smoke until it charred her through.

But she found Shannon in the ashes, face turned to the sky with her eyes closed as the ashes fell around her like confetti. You can convince yourself it’s snow, if you try.

Shannon built Beatrice a house in the desolate wasteland her parents had left her. Shannon taught her what home meant.

Home is snowball fights and arguing over who gets the front seat and sneaking out the side window for a party she doesn’t even want to attend. Home is rock, paper, scissors over the last slice of pizza and stolen shirts and pictures on the mantle. Home is rooftop stargazing and beach front sunrises and missed curfew races.

Shannon is home. Shannon is Beatrice’s home.

But her home is growing now. Home is crayon scribbles on the backs of her essays and stickers in her hair and rewatching the same cartoons. Home is chestnut brown eyes and crooked smiles and soft hands. Home is golden mornings and honeyed whispers and quiet evenings.

Fuck.

The night air makes her shiver, raises goosebumps on her clammy skin. She doesn’t remember if they paid for their drinks. Shannon links their arms and they stagger down the block to Beatrice’s car.

"Shan," Beatrice digs her heels into the sidewalk and yanks them to a stop. She almost topples over from the abrupt change in motion. "I’m not driving."

"No shit, Sherlock. Mary’s right there." Shannon points to the running car parked directly next to Beatrice, Mary waves from where she’s leaned against the side, and Beatrice’s face tingles. "Come on, Bea."

Mary catches Shannon by the waist, steadies her when Beatrice tumbles into her side.

"Jesus Christ. Did you swim in it?" Mary scrunches her nose when Shannon leans to press a kiss against her mouth. She helps them into the backseat, kisses Shannon’s forehead before she closes the door.

The night air feels amazing on Beatrice’s face. Her body is too warm and her stomach is sloshing and Shannon says something that she doesn’t quite understand but she laughs with her anyways. Mary asks a question, Beatrice doesn’t know what it is, but they’re both looking at her for an answer.

The light changes colors and they’re moving again, Mary’s turned back to the street but Shannon’s still waiting for her to answer. Beatrice murmurs something, throws a random slur of sounds together and hopes it makes sense.

"You drank her stupid, Shannon." Mary’s teasing, her laugh cracking and clashing like cymbals. It booms in Beatrice’s chest and tickles the inside of her head. Shannon smacks her shoulder anyways, her glare glimmering and bright.

"Digo… muchas pen… pendejadas." Beatrice’s tongue feels too big for her mouth, her words slurred and twisted and wrong. She drops her forehead onto the space where the window should be.

"I took French, don’t look at me." Shannon gathers the hair sticking to Beatrice’s neck and retwists her bun, her fingers scratching lightly at the base when she’s done. "Are you okay, bumble Bea?"

Beatrice hums. She’s hot and sticky and twisted up inside.

They help her from the backseat, Shannon supporting most of her weight while Beatrice tries not to fall asleep. Mary catches her when she tumbles, barely maneuvers her from hitting her head against the edge of the hall table.

Beatrice could sleep here. Right here, in the middle of the entryway. Or is she in the hallway? She’s in the doorway of the living room.

Maybe.

She blinks and she’s in their guest room. She blinks again and her shoes are gone and she’s tucked under the blanket. She blinks again and Shannon is brushing the hair out of her face and wishing her sweet dreams.

She blinks again and she’s alone in the dark.

Beatrice has never been scared of the dark. Nothing that lurked in the shadows could’ve been worse than what was in her head. The dark was a welcome peace. A warm cloak that wrapped around her and buried her away. Soft and safe and all consuming. Nothing existed in the shadows. Nothing but her heartbeat and her steady breaths.

But tonight, her pickled brain won’t slow down enough for her to enjoy it.

Her mind is racing like a slot car speeding around its track. Only, that makes sense. This? Beatrice only gets muddled fragments of thoughts before they’re gone.

- too good too long -

She needs to find Shannon.

- going to fail -

She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to drown the noise out.

- always worthless -

Her heartbeat is as unsteady as her feet when she tries to stumble to the hallway.

- leave without -

The wall is cold and bumpy beneath her palm, she tries to focus on that. Focus on that instead of the maelstrom swirling the room at the edges. Focus. Focus.

- break her heart -

She thumps into the wall next to Shannon’s door. Her fingers brush the handle before she falls. Crumples. Folds like a house of cards.

- alone dying in -

Mary groans behind the door, a quick shuffle and a murmur before it opens.

"Beatrice?" Shannon’s breath is heavy, ragged like she’s been running. Her cheeks flushed and hair shuffled. Mary straightens her backwards and inside out shirt and says something.

- too much -

She tries to apologize, but the words stick in her throat. Mary’s shirt was on correctly when she picked them up.

- no love can -

"Hey, Bea. Sit up with me, yeah?" Beatrice’s cheek is wet when Shannon brushes her fingers across it, cradling the back of her head while she helps her sit up. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. She rubs her thumb over Beatrice’s knuckles and scratches the back of Beatrice’s head like a cat.

Beatrice flinches away from Jasper’s cold nose when he presses it into the side of her face. Shannon laughs softly and sends Jasper to bed, his paws dragging lazily across the wooden floor.

Scrrrr thump… scrrrr thump… scrrrr thump…

He plops down with a huff, his greying tail thudding against the floorboards when Beatrice turns to him.

"What do you need, Bea?" They’re going to have to talk about it. Beatrice knows it. Hopefully she won’t remember in the morning.

Hopefully neither of them will remember in the morning.

"Where do you want me?" Mary kneels beside Shannon, bumps their shoulders.

Mary will remember in the morning.

Beatrice shakes her head and the world sloshes, her vision swishing and swirling and - she’s going to puke. Mary’s yanked her from the ground before she finishes her thought, practically carries her the three steps to their bathroom before depositing her in front of the toilet.

"Shannon, go." Shannon gags in the doorway but she doesn’t move. "Shannon, I love you and I know you love Beatrice but if you vomit too, I will divorce you. I’ve got her."

The tile floor is cold against her sticky skin, cold and hard and Beatrice wants to sprawl across it until she the fire in her bloodstream burns out. Beatrice’s throat and eyes burn, she wonders if dragons ache like this when their flames lick the back of their throats. Mary pats her back, offers a muttered condolence before leaning against the cabinet behind her. She kicks her feet out and taps Beatrice’s knee with her toes when she rocks them side to side.

She doesn’t help. Doesn’t offer any comfort. She drops her head against the cabinet door and tilts her head to the ceiling, watches the overhead light flicker. Beatrice turns to her and frowns, flicks Mary’s shin.

"What?" Beatrice almost flinches away, shakes her head quickly and turns back to the toilet. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that."

She tucks a loose curl behind Beatrice’s ear and settles her hand on her shoulder, warm and steady and grounding.

"‘m sorry…" Beatrice slurs, closes her eyes to try to still the way the room rocks around her. It ebbs and flows, pushes and pulls her like the ocean waves against the shore.

The taste on her tongue makes her stomach churn. Mary digs through a drawer next to her head, shuffling and sighing before she hands Beatrice a travel container of mouthwash. Beatrice smiles, limp and shaking.

Mary laughs, tousles Beatrice’s hair. "Don’t apologize, kiddo. It’s your sister’s fault for trying to pickle you."

"That… sounds so good right now…"

"Pickles?" Beatrice nods and Mary stands, offers her hand to pull her upright. "I think we have some, let’s go."

Beatrice has her legs about her now, her footing more sure though Mary still holds her steady. At the end of the hall, Shannon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and foot tapping. She smiles when she looks up, cups Beatrice’s face and rubs her thumbs over her cheeks.

"You okay?" Beatrice feels like a buoy adrift at sea, untethered and completely out of control. She hates getting drunk, she doesn’t think she’ll do it ever again.

"We are getting pickles, if you want to join us." Mary motions down the hallway when she says it, laughs when Shannon rolls her eyes.

Beatrice sinks to the floor when they reach the kitchen, presses her back into the cabinets while Mary digs through the fridge. She clings to Shannon’s hand like a child on a busy street intersection.

Shannon doesn’t let go.

Mary offers the pickle jar only for Shannon to push it away.

"Nope, uh-uh, we are not eating on the floor. We’re not sixteen anymore." Shannon tugs on her arm and Beatrice whines. "No ma’am. Come on. Up, up, Speedy."

Beatrice lets herself be pulled from the floor, groans until she’s sagging against the counter. Beatrice tries to push herself onto the countertop with her free hand.

"Here." Shannon helps her up, pats her knee, offers her a pickle and a kiss on the forehead. The light above the sink bathes them in a golden glow, soaks the moment in warm amber. The world is crooked and shimmering and rocking around them, burning bright like a lighthouse in the harbor.

Shannon smiles softly when Beatrice tilts into her, rests her head against her shoulder. Mary whispers something in a language Beatrice is certain doesn’t exist, a random assortment of sounds like Diana babbling to her stuffed monkey. Shannon seems to understand, because she nods and makes an affirming noise in the back of her throat.

Beatrice doesn’t ask.

Mary is gone when Beatrice sits up. Saltwater cheeks and pickled lips and bloodshot eyes. Shannon offers a reassuring half-smile and a comforting squeeze of her fingers.

"What happened?" Beatrice doesn’t have to answer, Shannon would never make her, but she wants to. Because - well because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know why the lights turned off and her mind took off like a racehorse in the Kentucky derby. She doesn’t know, but Shannon will. Shannon knows everything, Beatrice is nearly certain of it. She might’ve failed math three times and she might not understand the difference between an opamp and a capacitor, but she knows these types of things. She knows the insides of Beatrice’s brain. Usually better than Beatrice herself.

"Is it Ava?" Beatrice rolls her eyes and shakes her head, Shannon flicks her forehead. "I think it’s Ava, at least a little bit. Maybe there’s a like huge, massive, writhing mass of issues, but Ava’s definitely in there somewhere."

"Why would you say that?" Beatrice watches silently as Shannon lifts herself onto the counter beside her, knocks their knees together and wraps an arm over Beatrice’s shoulder.

"Because I think - okay actually, you gotta let me finish before you say anything, deal?" Beatrice narrows her eyes but nods regardless. "I think you’re at least a little bit in love with her and I think that scares you. You like to get in your head about stuff, like to twist things until they break then you like to look at the broken pieces and get all like I knew it, I was right, I’m Beatrice and I’m never wrong about anything ever, my middle name is actually Never Wrong in Latin or something. You know what I mean?"

"You think my middle name is Numquam Iniuriam?" Shannon groans and drops her head into the cabinet door behind her, playfully slapping Beatrice’s thigh with a grin.

"Can you focus on literally anything else I said? It gets annoying every time I’m trying to mock you and you still somehow make me feel stupid."

"That wasn’t my inten - "

"Oh my god, are you in love with Ava or no? And don’t lie to me because I already know the answer." Shannon interrupts, eyebrows raising and head tilting.

"I don’t know." Beatrice doesn’t want the pickles anymore, she removes her hand from the jar and replaces the lid.

"You do know. You’re just scared to say it." Shannon stares up at a water stain shaped vaguely like squirrel. "It’s okay to be scared, Bea. It’s not okay to lie to yourself about it though."

"I said it. Last week. I was running late and Diana was having a fit and I just - I said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world."

"Maybe it is." Beatrice sighs and quirks an eyebrow, lips pressed into a thin white line. "Okay fine. Maybe it’s not that simple. But it’s also not as complicated as you’re trying to make it."

"I’m not trying - "

"Yes you are, Bea. I know you." Shannon slides off the counter and steps in front of Beatrice’s, cups her cheeks and levels their eyes. "You’re allowed to love her, bumble Bea. Full stop. You’re allowed to want to love her. You don’t have to play four dimensional chess with God to convince yourself otherwise. Stop twisting yourself up inside about it. It can be simple if you let it."

"What if I hurt her?" Beatrice’s stomach is churning again.

"What if she hurts you? What if the world ends tomorrow? What if the pope is a lizard person? What if, what if, what if. You know how much I hate the what if game."

"Shannon…"

"Okay fine. You wanna play? Let’s go. What if you two get married and have like three million kids and a half dozen dumpster cats and every stray dog you see? What if you tell her how you feel and she says it back? What if she kisses you and she loves you and she’s the last face you see every night and the first you see every morning for the rest of your life? What if it’s simple? What if it’s easy? What if you love her and she loves you back and what if that’s enough? What then, Bea? Will you burn the world down trying to deny it? You see the way she looks at you, don’t you?" Shannon takes a half step back, drops her hands to Beatrice’s shoulders and gives her a gentle shake. Beatrice turns away, stares at the golden kitchen light. "Dude, she looks at you like nothing else exists, Bea. She gets that shiny, glossy look in her eyes where you can just tell the rest of the world just fell away."

Beatrice slides off the counter, cold tiles sending a shock through her bare feet.

"I’m tired."

"Bea - "

"I’ll see you in the morning."

"Beatrice."

"Goodnight, Shannon." Shannon follows her down the hallway, catches the door when Beatrice tries to swing it closed. "Shannon, I just want to sleep."

"Okay. I’m not going to keep you. I just…" Shannon sighs and shakes her head. Beatrice sighs and flips into the bed, curls onto her side with her back to Shannon. "Can I stay? I don’t know where your head is right now and I’d like to be here in case - "

"I’m not ten years old anymore, Shannon. I can sleep on my own."

"I never said you were." Her words are sharp and soft, hard and tender. Beatrice glances at her over her shoulder, finds her jaw clenched and her ears red. "Don’t put words in my mouth just because you’re pissed, Beatrice. You’re not thirteen anymore, either."

"Fine."

"Fine." Shannon mocks indignantly. Beatrice buried her head in her pillow.

"Is everything alright?" The door creaks when Mary pushes it open, her shadow moves across the wall opposite Beatrice.

"We’re fine," Beatrice grumbles and smashes her pillow over her head, muffling their voices. When she pulls the pillow away, she’s alone again and her chest twinges at the realization.

She’s fine, though.

Her mind isn’t racing and her heart isn’t clenching and her chest isn’t tight. She’s fine.

Except -

Except she’s not.

Shannon’s right and Beatrice hates it.

Find more here!

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darkcomedies · 1 year

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Enneagram 9 Proberbs (1-9)— Jenny Slate, enneagramer.com, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Mary Oliver, Jackson Browne, Beatrice Chestnut, Hannah Haifsch, Michael Cunningham , Fiona Apple

#i’ve gotten really into the enneagram if you can’t tell #9’s are like. personality typing system????!!?!?? REAL SHIT.#enneagram #9posting #enneagram 9 #social 9 #9w1 #web weaving

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dustbunnybell · 4 months

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The Enneagram 6 Subtypes Showcased by Characters in Attack on Titan

Armin Arlert: Self-preservation Six

This subtype is warm and friendly. They disguise their fear by being soft and kind, and not aggressive. They feel fear as separation anxiety and try to attract strong protectors and allies to feel more protected. They are actively fearful and often “phobic,” running away from danger (flight, not fight). They experience the most doubt and uncertainty, and trust others more than themselves. They are the most fearful of being angry, and they hesitate the most and ask the most questions. But they don’t answer any.

Eren Yeager: Sexual Six

Sexual Sixes express fear by going against fear—by becoming strong and intimidating. Trusting themselves more than others, these Sixes have the inner programming that when you are afraid, the best defense is a good offense. They take on a powerful stance, both in what they do and how they look, as a way of holding the enemy at a distance. Their anxiety is allayed through skill and readiness in the face of an attack.

Mikasa Ackerman: Social Six

This subtype copes with fear by finding a good authority. They think the way to be safe is to follow the rules of their chosen authority, whether a person, a system, or an ideology. They tend to be dutiful, legalistic, intellectual, responsible, and efficient, and they rely on following guidelines or reference points to feel secure. For them, uncertainty and ambiguity equal anxiety. They display a mixture of “phobic” (fearful) and “counterphobic” (confronting fear with strength) behaviors. They see the world in terms of black and white, rather than gray.

Descriptions written by Beatrice Chestnut

#enneagram #enneagram six #sp6 #sx6 #so6 #attack on titan #aot

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jon-withnoh · 5 months

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soft prompts: 5 or 13 :)

“I never apologised to you,” Beatrice said suddenly, “for that comment I made when we met. About you having no family. I really am sorry.”

We had stretched out in the grass under the chestnut tree. Above us, pale blue patches of sky peeked through gaps in the branches. A gentle wind sent the leaves rustling. Maxim was in London and for a few blissful hours, Manderley belonged only to us.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” I meant it. I turned my head and reached for her hand. My fingers closed around hers. “You’re all the family I need.”

#Ask games #rebecca das musical #my fic #soft prompts #tumblr oneshots #prompt 5: family #this took me so so so long #but I hope you still enjoy it #Beatrice Lacy #fluff

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madmensideblog · 2 years

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Mad Men + The Enneagram

Don Draper: Type 3

“The personality type Three exemplifies the search for the validation of the self, and so Threes look to esteemed others to determine who they must be, what they must do, in order to feel valuable and worthwhile as human beings. With this particular focus, Threes frequently become successful in the eyes of their society because they make it their business to achieve those things which their peers find valuable. This is no less true in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand than in a fast-track corporate culture. Threes will strive to exemplify whatever qualities are honored in their given milieu. Thus, in an unhealthy society which manipulates such fears and motivations, Threes stand to gain the most attention and success from the society, but also end up among its greatest victims – estranged from their own heart’s desire, empty, and emotionally isolated, while never knowing what has gone wrong.” – Personality Types by Don Richard Riso with Russ Hudson

Quotes 1 and 3 come from The Wisdom of the Enneagram by Don Richard Riso. Quotes 2 and 4 come from The Complete Enneagram by Beatrice Chestnut.

#mad men #madmenedit #don draper #enneagram #if there's a typo i'll kms don't tell me #3w4 to be more specific

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kieraplaysthesims · 7 months

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Judith: How does it feel having your sisters married?

Florence: Isn't it weird how Lizzie moved all the way to Colorado? I mean who would want to live out west? And with that guy? What is he? 40?

Beatrice: Mister Robles is 38 I believe, and well, Lizzie, you know how she is, always moping around. There wasn't much of a match for her here, so my parents used their connections from growing up in Chestnut Ridge.

J: And Clara marrying the heir of the Brindleton family! That is shocking. I mean you all are rich, but you're new money, they're old money.

B: Well I think Clara's million dollar inheritance probably sweetened the deal for Stuart's parents.

F: So Lizzie just dropped out of college? Are there even colleges in Colorado?

B: Well I think Lizzie cares more about having a family and having babies than she did about getting a degree. Plus you don't exactly need a degree to look enticing to a man who is single and thirty eight. Plus...you know...the million dollars and everything...

J: Who will you marry Beatrice? *Judith says teasingly*

B: Oh my parents are already working on it. Apparently the front runner is a vineyard owner in Italy. They know the family through my cousin Pearl that ran away there with her husband.

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 #ts4 historical #sims 4 gameplay #the sims 4 #ts4 legacy #simblr #s4 #decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades #decades legacy #finchlegacy #finchlegacy1

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funkymbtifiction · 2 years

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2ish inner behaviors

Been talking to various people about the rejection element of 2, and it really boils down to -- "do you need me? if you don't need me, I won't stay. if you don't need what I have to offer, there's nothing for me here. and if I can't bring what I know to this relationship, what I have to offer in terms of care, advice, or knowledge, then I don't know how to just 'be' with you."

There's an element of control and desiring the upper hand. Of "I am the mentor here, but I don't need or want YOU to mentor ME." The pride is there in being needed, but not in needing others. You need me, but I don't need you. You would fall apart without me, but I would be fine without you. Mostly self-lies, of course, due to the 2 rejecting their own need for others, disowning it, and instead, offering others the love and support they wish they could receive -- but at the same time, they won't open themselves up to receiving it, because it makes them "needy" in their own eyes.

This is one reason Beatrice Chestnut's sp2 description is off; being the needy one, wanting others to care for me, being cute to disarm them and earn a protector, is anti-the nature of 2, which is to reject and disown their own neediness and seek power through being the strong, protective one in the relationship. The one who is needed, not the one who needs. Her description is more 6ish -- I am not a threat, just a nice person; someone, please take care of me, I'm afraid to do it for myself. Ironically enough, you know who would step in and rescue this person? A 2, who sees a need they can fill...

#enneagram #enneagram 2

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silent-dragon · 6 months

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TWST Student OC Profile ~ Celestria Solace

Personal Info

Name: Celestria Solace

Gender: Female

Physical Age: 19

Species: Umbra Witch

Birthday: ??

Zodiac: ?

Height: 208cm/6ft'8in

Orientation: Omnisexual

Eye Color: Gray

Hair Color: Blonde with Pink & Purple Streaks

Homeland: Planet Goaret

Family: ?? - Mother

Twist of Viola from Bayonetta 3

College Info

School: Hourglass Station Academy

Dorm: Tetravania

School Year: 3rd

Occupation: Time Traveler,Swordswoman

Club: Dance

Best Subject: Monster/Animal Culture & Weapon Class

Other Info

Dominant Hand: Left

Favorite Food: Sour Lollipops

Least Favorite Food: Plain Donut

Dislikes: Deserts,Sand,Too Cutesy Stuff,Being Restricted

Likes: Cats,Lollipops,Punk Style,Rock & Pop Music,Butterflies,Cosplay,Beatrice

Talents: Swordplay,Monster Summoning,Dancing

Unique Magic: Meow Pow - Can combine with her cat familiar and becomes an Anthropomorphic Feline creature. Highly Dangerous yet only used to protect those she loves.

Personality: Is a good but rough around the edges type girl yet she has temper and will let you have it. Hates being told what to do from know it all’s/popular people. Earn her trust and will see a side where she is friendly and cool with you.

Fun Facts: Celestria is a time traveler and has been stuck for awhile now so has just adjusted to this timeline. She may or may not find a way back or want to,it's unsure.

Has a golden red gem round object embedded into her chest that she says is the source of her magic. Often doesn't want to cover it up but if has to she will. Doesn't say anything else about it.

Has a temper and it shows as if making her upset she will threaten with her katana or sic her freaky cat familiar on you.

Cat familiar is a patchwork doll looking cat which looks like just a doll she brought to life with magic but it is so real like a cat. Its name is Chestnut and all it does is sleep somewhere nearby her or comes over when she calls em.

Always has her sword with her even when told not to bring it as she can shrink it to be a pin on her outfit. The charm on it looks like Chestnut.

Some of the people she sees she actually knows back in her time but has made a vow not to acknowledge that for their safety as she feels she is a bad omen.

Doesn't wanna make too many friendships as a chance she may have to leave though she is pretty lonely as she is on her own mostly with just Chestnut to comfort her.

Has small outbrusts if talk bad about the nurse.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twst fanschool #tetravania #oc profile #celestria #bayonetta 3 #viola #viola bayonetta

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aggressivelyaverage21 · 8 months

Text

Chapter 15

Bea gets some time alone, though, not for long. Lilith gets put on her ass. Shannon wrecks some donuts. Bea takes a nap in the sun. Shannon shares what brought her to the order and plays some football. Mother Superion gets a gift.

The streets were buzzing, people out and about, waving to each other as they exchanged pleasantries and confections. Flower stands were set up on every block with a line forming at each one.

Shannon glanced over. Beatrice was in awe, her jaw was unhinged. Beatrice hadn’t thought so many colors could fill these streets when she’d first arrived, so nervous she hardly noticed anything about the town. “Beautiful, right?”

It was all Beatrice could do to nod as she continued to take it in. It felt like something off of a calendar page or a postcard, or maybe even a movie. Like Beatrice was here to experience it by observing, but here she was, inside it all—the smell of roasted chestnuts swirling around her with the breeze. The colors danced to life around her in the morning sun.

Beatrice simply nodded, still taking it all in as she followed Shannon around the corner, the smell of fresh pastries nearly smacking her in the face in the best way. It smelled wonderful, a little bit like comfort. Not only that, Beatrice was thrilled, but it meant her sinuses were clearing.

She hadn’t been out of Cat’s Cradle since she’d arrived, but she did recognize this bakery. The one with the nice man, the first person to call her ‘Sister.’ The one who sent her in the direction of these women Beatrice so painfully hoped were her family now, with the lingering taste of the sweet dough on her tongue.

Shannon had been so excited to take Beatrice to the bakery. Juan David was one of the nicest men with the best pastries. He often would bring them to mass to sell, always bringing extras for several sisters. It always made Shannon smile to see him, plus he would always give her a little treat, often one for Mary and Lilith as well.

The bell clangs off the door when Shannon holds it open for Beatrice, a fresh wave of the smell wafting through the air as she does. The warmth wrapped around them and soothed the sting of the cool morning air against Beatrice’s cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Ah, Hermana Shannon, me preguntaba cuándo vendrías. ¡Feliz día de todos los santos! ”

“¡Hola, Juan David! ¡Feliz día de todos los santos! He traído una amiga.” Shannon squeezed Beatrice’s shoulder as she ushered her further into the bakery. It was almost like Shannon was presenting Beatrice to the man. She held the young sister in front of her so he could see her, like someone would introduce a child. “ Ella es la Hermana Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinked up at Shannon, surprised. It shouldn’t have come as one, but hearing the Spanish roll so effortlessly off Shannon’s tongue for the first time was unexpected. Her American accent was hardly what Beatrice would call thick, but between her and Mary at a convent full of other sisters from all corners of the world, the abrupt vowels and rounded consonants seemed to stand out.

“¡La Nueva Hermana! Me alegra que pudiera encontrar el convento.” The man's smile was fonder than it had any right to be as he shot her a wink like they shared some sort of secret. Beatrice hadn’t interacted with him but the once, months ago. He had been kind then, but she hadn’t thought much about him since.

“ Hola ,” Beatrice greeted quietly as she ducked her head to hide the blush like she’d somehow been caught with a secret, especially when Shannon leaned over her with a questioning quirk to her eyebrow, requesting an explanation. It wouldn’t be coming from Beatrice, though. She stood shyly at Shannon’s side, her hands buried in her pockets so she didn’t need to fight the fidgeting so hard under Shannon’s inquisitive gaze.

Beatrice’s shyness didn’t delay Shannon’s silent request long. Juan David jumped on the opportunity almost immediately with a deep chuckle. He swung that same towel over his shoulder, momentarily planting his hands on the glass when he started explaining. It was a much more lively story than their brief interaction deserved, but as the story shifted into conversation, Beatrice was content just to listen, warm in the little bakery as her eyes tracked the variety of pastries and breads in the glass. The artistry of them all.

Beatrice wasn’t sure; it could have been anywhere between five and twenty minutes of listening to Shannon and Juan David's chatter as he filled box after box of pastries. Buñuelos de viento. Huesos de Santo. Panellets. He even told Shannon he would be out after his son took over the bakery to fry fresh pestiños and roast chestnuts.

With a smile, Shannon told him she called the first pestiños when he finally made it out. One of the little traditions they had developed over the years. Shannon’s first year, she’d been so sad. So reflective as she sat at the edge of the football field adjacent to the church, just watching. Juan David had come bearing a plate stacked with some pastries, claiming the first of the day was always the best. Slightly more gooey. He had been right, and every year since she’d received the first one and a hug, “de un padre.”

Juan David was closing the last box of pastries when Shannon turned back to Beatrice, that warm glint in her eye to match the bakery. “Ready, Trouble?”

Beatrice nodded as she stood leaning heavily on the counter, waiting for Shannon to tell her it was time to move on. Shannon passed her a pox of the pastries as a silent request for her to carry it.

Beatrice knew what it was. She knew what Shannon was doing. She wasn’t stupid.

It was only one out of 6 boxes. Shannon wasn’t letting her do much but clearly didn’t want Beatrice to feel like she wasn’t helping at all. It was nice of her; Beatrice understood that much, but it also took some wind out of her sails. Even when Juan David handed her a smaller pastry box with his toothy grin, “ Para Madre Superion .”

“ Gracias ,” Beatrice nodded with a smile as she held the door open for Shannon.

“ Hasta luego, Hermana Beatrice .” His grin was cheeky in a way Beatrice couldn’t make sense of. Like she was missing the joke's punch line, though she did have the vague inclination that it was some sort of strange “I told you so.”

KEEP READING

#warrior nun #sister beatrice #save warrior nun #beatrice no last name #sister shannon #wn #shannon masters #shotgun mary #sister lilith #mother superion #mary x shannon #shotgun mary x sister shannon #this one is fluffy as hell you have been warned

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