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#i just . am sad and i do have a tendency to wallow in my feelings on here which isnt awful but i dont wanna do that rn bc im tired of
inkipri · 8 months ago
i envy to have the same energy and outlook on life as you!! it is so inspiring!! do you feel like you have always felt that way (being able to look at the good things, appreciate them genuinely, accepting life for what it is and just trying not to let fear control me.) if you feel like you haven’t always been there, what do you think helped you most? and do you still sometimes have days where everything just feels like it’s too much? how do you get through those times? i’ve struggled really bad with this for awhile 😔
(omg long essay ramble incoming) this is so nice but i just wanna remind everyone ... anything someone puts out on social media is selective and illusory in painting the big picture. the art which i choose to share is an assemblage of sentiments i've successfully made sense of. even the more sad achy ones ... they're glimmers of clarity. but what about the rest of it?  i struggle a lot with defeatist & pessimistic tendencies - a lot of the optimism/sentimentalisation in my art is a direct counteract against negative thinking patterns, rather than an extension of who i am. i have a long, long road ahead of me in my personal growth journey. also perspectives are not set in stone like i might have 1 moment of appreciation & acceptance, hold down that thought and share it online, the next moment be super bitter & wallow in my misery. for instance my day has been quite whack and i don’t feel any of the way listed at all rn, maybe tomorrow i will. and the day after? maybe not.  i think the best way to go through bad days is to really go THROUGH them ... feel shitty, confront it, rationalise it, reach out for help etc. hot take: recovery & the ‘going through shit’ process is so over-romanticised in our culture and sometimes i worry i contribute to that. so i don’t really want to give advice because it’s a highly individualistic thing you know??? just remember its not a pretty process but you’ll get there! the world can be a home bottom line is, if i somehow present as having my shit together it is with deep regret i inform you, i absolutely do not! there’s nothing to envy really - admire, adopt, be inspired by etc. all that is awesome ... but i don’t want anyone looking at a post of mine and seeing a lack of themselves, or an out-and-out ideal! this got so off tangent but thank you for this ask! i’m rooting for you anon <3
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eutaerpe · a year ago
the escapades (m)
pairing — jimin x reader
genre/warnings—  smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe
summary —  the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.
notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol
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The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.
You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.
You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.
Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.
The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.
In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.
With the baby talk comes the dick talk
Oh no the dick talk
man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???
option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you
we kissed ONE time
option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook
bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have
i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao
anyway I’ve had that D ;)
you’re officially cancelled
when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!
because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!
I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine
just say he got u off and go
anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.
hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are
I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get
are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink
no kink shaming in this house lady
option d: I listen to their complaints and run
option dick
man sorry I meant option d
you didn’t
ur right I didn’t
 Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.
You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.
You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.
Well. Scratch that. You can.
Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.
(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)
You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.
So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.
He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.
Ah, fuckboys.
“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”
“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”
He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.
“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”
“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”
“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.
“What do you think?”
He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.
“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”
“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”
He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”
Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.
“What’s your take, officer?”
He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.
“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”
“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”
He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”
“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”
You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.
“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”
You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.
 Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.
It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.
You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.
“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”
“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”
“He’s married. With kids.”
“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”
“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”
“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”
“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”
“Right, the fuckboys.”
He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.
“You don’t know us—”
“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”
“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.
The words hurt.
You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.
The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.
You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.
Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.
The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.
You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.
It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.
But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”
He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.
He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,
“Who says I wanna dance?”
Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.
“I want to apologize.”
He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”
“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”
He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.
To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.
“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?
“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”
“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.
“Uh, body rolls?”
“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”
“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.
His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”
“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”
“Hips rotation?”
“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”
He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.
“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”
“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”
“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”
“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”
“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”
“I have my moments.”
He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.
“I’m Jimin.”
“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”
“Jin never talked about you either.”
“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”
His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”
“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”
“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”
“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”
“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”
“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”
“You know what else is sweet?”
“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”
“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”
“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.
“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”
He raises a brow.
“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”
He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”
“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”
“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”
“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”
It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.
“I can be very quiet.”
He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”
“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”
He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”
“Not your dick?”
“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”
A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.
Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.
“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”
He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.
Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?
The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.
He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.
You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.
It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.
“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”
The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.
“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”
You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.
If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.
“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.
“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”
He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.
“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”
That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.
 The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.
Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.
Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.
“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”
“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”
“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”
“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”
“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”
“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”
“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”
“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”
“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.
“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”
“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”
“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”
wassup bitch
make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee
[location shared]
com n get me littl nuggrt
 Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.
Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.
It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.
“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”
You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.
“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”
“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”
“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”
“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”
You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”
He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.
“Maybe only some of us.”
He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.
“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”
“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”
“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”
“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”
You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”
“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”
You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”
“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.
“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”
“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”
“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”
“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”
“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”
“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.
“And whose fault is that, babe?”
Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.
“Let me make it up to you.”
“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.
“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”
His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.
“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”
His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.
 (“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)
 The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—
“Nice to see you here.”
It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.
“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.
(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)
He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.
It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—
“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”
Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.
“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”
You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.
“A latte and an iced americano, please.”
The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.
It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.
He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”
The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.
“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”
He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.
“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”
He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.
You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.
The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.
Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.
Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“
“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”
“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”
“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.
It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.
You also came.
Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.
Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.
In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.
It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.
Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.
“I’m getting you my clothes.”
“Wait, what?”
His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.
“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”
He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.
There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.
You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.
Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.
You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.
Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.
It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.
But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.
Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.
“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”
It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?
You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.
“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”
Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.
One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.
So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.
Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.
Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.
It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.
“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.
And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.
You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.
He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.
You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.
You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.
“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.
He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.
So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—
He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.
“You can stay.”
His voice falters. “What?”
You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”
His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”
You do.
(to be continued. ily)
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trashytoastboi · 11 months ago
May I please request an ABO AU scenario? I don’t know if you do them but I really hope you do! If not, then this can totally just be a regular request! Anyway! Could you make a scenario where Omega Aizawa sees that his Alpha s/o has been feeling kind of down lately because they have maladaptive daydreaming disorder and get mocked because of how they act? Like getting too loud, twitching and fidgeting, talking to themselves, pacing, getting really enthusiastic? Thank you love! ^^
Heyya!🍀 of course ^.^ my apologies for the delay on this and hope I did your request justice 🍀
(Gender Neutral)
Scenario: ABO AU! Omega! Aizawa x Alpha! S/O – Comforting his alpha, who has maladaptive daydreaming disorder and has been feeling down after being mocked for it.
Word count: 1, 075 words
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☕Aizawa Shota☕
Aizawa stood restlessly outside of {Name’s} workplace, waiting eagerly for his partner. He shifted over to lean against the wall, glancing at the time then towards the doors where he saw a few people exiting. Finally amongst the strangers he spotted them, his alpha. {Name} waved politely to a few people that had walked out alongside them, before turning their attention back to their feet seeming to watch every step as they trod along. Even from a distance he noticed {Name} seemed dejected, lifeless. Not at all their usual bright eyed self who carried that spring in their step and carried with them a contagious energy.
{Name} finally glanced up from their feet and noticed Aizawa, a smile spreading across their lips from the pleasant surprise, there was some semblance of their usual self, {Name} walked over, tenderly wrapping their arms around Aizawa and nuzzling into him, finding that small instance of comfort before the moment passed and had been replaced with the question “Are you ready to go?”
They nodded, grabbing Aizawa’s hand as the couple walked towards the station. Although, happy over the surprise of having Aizawa come and meet them, {Name} still remained silent, offering no excited chatter or stories about their day, just silence. Aizawa looked over at them, noticing that expression again. Somehow it didn’t seem to be anything new, it was something he had noticed over the last few days. {Name} had grown quiet and withdrawn, caught in a melancholic state. The journey home felt longer than it usually did, eventually arriving at home. Aizawa opened the door for {Name} as they thanked him before stepping inside and setting their things down. Hands going to rub their neck and stretching out the tension earned by sitting for such a long time, Aizawa stepped towards his mate, wrapping his arms around their waist and pulling them into a hug. “Shota?” {Name} inquired at the sudden feeling, turning around to see that expression of worry and that glint of concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong {Name}?” He asked, realizing that times like these were not the best for round about words that only seemed to pick and prod at the point without ever reaching it. His worry for them right now felt paramount and he wanted to help in anyway he possibly could, but in order to do that Aizawa needed to know what kinds of things were bothering {Name}. Those words left no room for error or misinterpretation, {Name} sighed “Nothing gets past you, does it?” the slight wavering in their voice only supported his suspicion. “Not when it’s this obvious, {Name} I’m worried about you.” His words were accentuated by the unintentional tightening of his arms around them, {Name} could feel that gentle warmth that radiated from his body. “I’m sorry Shota, I shouldn’t be making you worry like this.” {Name} placed their hand on his face, smiling as they spoke with a voice laced with gentleness. “I promise it’s nothing serious…just-“
“Just?” {Name} looked at Aizawa, his quick one word response serving to act as a nudge for answers. “Lately a lot of people have been commenting…on my daydreaming, they say it’s childish and hindering to my work and life.” {Name} averts their gaze, “Like I said, it’s not really serious but I just can’t help but wonder…would it be better if I wasn’t like this? Then it gets me thinking about everything else, it makes me insecure when I think that they’re right.”
Aizawa stood dumbfounded, knowing that {Name} had the tendency to daydream, but never once had he seen it as a bad thing. They way they would be completely enthralled and mesmerized with things that could only be created by their wonderful mind, telling him of these extravagant places, whole worlds that would sometimes be created in this one daydream. {Name} would always smile, getting increasingly excited while telling Aizawa about these dreams, the way that single dream could keep them joyous and inspired for days. However, he could not deny that many people didn’t understand that wonder or joy that came from seeing {Name} so elated, to them it was just another thing to mock or berate as childish behaviour or a waste of time. “There is nothing wrong {Name}. I understand you’re feeling down because of what they’re saying…but they simply don’t know. It’s nothing to feel bad or ashamed about. It’s beautiful, those stories you tell me about your dreams” Aizawa spoke with a purpose of reassurance and honesty, conveying the way in which he viewed their daydreaming tendencies. “But… I mean, think about when I fidget, or start laughing at random and sometimes mutter strange things…it’s not surprising they think I am so weird, doesn’t it embarrass you when I act like that?” {Name} couldn’t help but finally getting to the root of their saddened behaviour. Aizawa could feel his heart slightly tighten with a sad twinge, “You’re not strange {Name}, and how could I ever be embarrassed by you?” {Name} shook their head “It’s alright.”
{Name} turned their glance downwards, trying to avoid his gaze. He bolstered himself…if it was anyone else he would have let them wallow in sadness, but this wasn’t just anyone else…this was his lover, his partner, his mate…his alpha. The countless times {Name} had always been there for him, in various ways and aspects, he felt so much pride and love for them… which truthfully, knowing people were saying things that planted other ideas in their head made him angry. How people could be so malicious as to say things like that to {Name}.
“Alpha…” Aizawa called out sweetly, noticing that slight shift in {Name’s} demeanour at hearing the word. “Alpha, look at me?” he said, imploring {Name} who finally looked up at him, noticing that slight smile he had. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
{Name} pouted slightly “Darn you Shota, having to be so cute like that” {Name} attacked him with a hug before planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I get it…Don’t listen to the non dreamers”
“So what kind of daydreams did you have today?” Aizawa asked, watching {Name’s} eyes gain that little spark, before telling him about their dreams. Once again leaving him to marvel in the world that was created from their mind in just a few minutes “You have such a beautiful mind {Name} never let people try to discourage you away from that.”
Food for thought: You ever consider that Alice had maladaptive daydreaming disorder and Wonderland was simply one of the more vivid dreams she had?
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kattythingz · a year ago
Motherghost #1
Brought to you by @squishywritings​ and I’s genius fluffy brains.
New Normal
Summary: Local Hero Danny Fenton is already overworked, so being adopted by two ghosts who are apparently his kids by ghostly standards isn’t exactly helping his case. Aka Dan and Dani.
Words: 1,434
The sound of loud bantering echoed in the Fenton household. In the kitchen, two youths sighed simultaneously in annoyed exasperation, one louder than the other.
Jazz gave Danny a sympathetic smile, “How long have they been at that?”
“Since the morning,” he groaned. He curled into his arms on the table, “Last night they kept arguing about who could sleep with me, so I didn’t get much sleep.”
“And they slept like babies after that?”
Danny glared at his traitorous sister as she laughed. “It’s not funny! I was being suffocated and overheated, and I have an ice core. I didn’t even know I could get overheated!”
“You brought this upon yourself, Danny,” Jazz giggled. She took in his messy hair, tired eyes, and his lazy-day clothes that consisted of an oversized NASA hoodie and black shorts. She smiled as she realized something.
“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re laughing about something. What is it?”
“Sorry, it’s just-”
The screaming neared the kitchen, and Danny groaned louder, smacking his head against the table.
Jazz grinned as she continued, “-you look like an overworked parent.”
“What gave it away?” He glared from his arms.
“Oh, not much. Aside from your overall outfit and physical condition, it’s definitely-”
“-not the two kids calling you mom.”
Before he could defend his case, the source of the two voices walked in. Now, if Jazz hadn’t witnessed the day this started, she would’ve been very confused by the sight before her. Because there is nothing normal about a 6’0 tall ‘man’ (details she didn’t feel like going into) and a 4’11 short girl calling a 5’5 fifteen-year-old boy “mom”. 
Jazz stifled another laugh as the duo marched up to the poor groaning form of her little brother.
“Mom, tell Dan to stop calling me short!” Dani pouted. At least, that’s what it looked like to Jazz. She tried so hard to be angry, but all she ended up looking was pouty.
“But you are short,” Dan grinned down at her. “Girls your age are at least 5 feet tall, but you can’t even manage that.”
Dani’s fists glowed green. “Wanna say that again?”
“Sure thing sho-”
“Guys!” Danny yelled, stepping in between the two before a fight could break out. “If you want to fight, take it somewhere empty and uninhabited. I am sick of cleaning after your messes!”
“I’m not the one that blows up buildings,” Dani crossed her arms. She pointed an accusing finger at Dan. “He always does the destroying!”
Danny gave her a stern look that Jazz has come to label as his ‘disappointed mom’ look. He frowned, “Dani, it’s Dan. You’re above indulging his petty whims.”
“Oh lighten up, it’s not her fault she can barely reach the height limit of being ‘above’,” Dan smirked.
“Danielle!” Danny pulled her ear before her fist could meet Dan’s face. “Stop this right now!”
“Mooom,” she whined. “You’re just letting him mock me like this?”
“I know a lost cause when I see one, Dani,” Danny briefly glanced at Dan with a smile that screamed “prove me wrong”. Jazz hid a smile behind her hand. She knew this tactic all too well…
“Hey!” Dan frowned. “I’m getting better!”
“Are you?” Danny raised a brow. “So it wasn’t you that nearly blew off Dash’s head the other day?”
Dan faltered slightly. “That wasn’t my fault. He was calling you names again, it would slander my reputation if people actually start to believe Danny Fenton is a weakling.”
“And that has nothing to do with you being overprotective and angry in his honor,” Dani snorted.
“I am not!” He growled. “I was just protecting my own name by protecting his.”
Jazz watched on in amusement. She took in the way Danny’s cheeks flushed a little, and she knew he was flattered by the implied meaning behind Dan’s words. Danny might be dense, but over the few months that he’s spent with Dan, he’s learned to recognize Dan’s body language. Jazz has too, because what kind of self-respecting aunt would she be if she didn’t know something so simple?
“Anyway,” Danny cleared his throat, trying to sound stern again. “I appreciate your defense, Dan, but maybe next time don’t resort to nearly killing him.”
Dan’s chest puffed slightly, and Dani pouted beside him. Oh my, Jazz grinned. Was Dan preening?
“Can we play pranks on him?” Dani put her hands together as though to beg him.
Danny paused, considering this. Dani and Dan had a nasty tendency to blast first and ask questions later, so this was a pretty non-violent suggestion coming from them. It would be funny to watch, he mused.
“Alright,” he conceded. 
Dani cheered, and Danny cut in quickly, “But no violence is to be involved. None. Got it?”
Dan huffed. “You’re so boring.”
Interestingly, he didn’t argue further, so Danny took that as a reluctant “okay”. That’s as much as you can get from Dan. It was amazing he even got so far in the first place.
“Fine,” Dani rolled her eyes. “But don’t blame me if he has a bad hair day involving lots of hair dye.”
“That’s so level one, Twerp. But I can’t blame you, it’s as far as you can reach after all.”
Danny sighed as the loud bickering returned. He felt an incoming headache. That’s been happening a lot since they came into his life. “Alright, take it to the Ghost Zone, you two.”
Dani grinned. “Winner gets to spend tomorrow with Mom.”
“Deal,” Dan smirked. “Prepare to wallow in jealousy.”
“If you mean yourself, sure.”
That snapped them out of it, and they turned simultaneously to see Danny’s frown had turned into an annoyed one.
“One more word out of you and none of you get tomorrow,” Danny warned. “Now go settle this petty argument like good ghosts.”
“Fine,” they grumbled. 
They phased through the floor, and peaceful silence filled the room once more.
Danny sighed, rubbing his aching head. “Honestly, those gremlins will be the second death of me.”
“Hey, you decided to adopt them,” Jazz shrugged.
“I didn’t adopt them, Jazz!” Danny glared.
“No, you’re right. They adopted you as their parent.”
Danny glowered at her. “You suck at this whole moral support thing.”
“You’re just annoyed they settled with mom and not dad,” she laughed.
“I still don’t get that, by the way. I’m a boy, shouldn’t I be ‘Dad’?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” Jazz hummed. “You’re nurturing, you talk to them when they’re sad, you cuddle them regularly, you clean behind their messes…”
“Isn’t that sexist to women or something?” he frowned.
“Not really, studies show that most mothers tend to be the nurturing one between parents. It’s just what people associate with the word now,” she explained. Besides, she thought, you’re not exactly the buffest guy out there.
And while some people might take this offensively, Jazz knew Danny didn’t mind the title as much as he said he did. He thought she couldn’t see the small smiles and flush to his cheeks, but Jazz has always had a keen eye, especially when it concerned her brother.
Danny mumbled incomprehensibly, but he finally settled on, “Whatever.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. They’ve learned to appreciate the silence now; when their parents’ racket was gone for the day (out for “ghost hunting”, even if they thankfully never catch anything), the silence that was usually there became replaced with the bickering of two children that Danny definitely adopted.
Not that she wanted things to change. She’s grown fond of those two, and she couldn’t imagine her days without them now. Still, the occasional silence was nice.
Jazz sighed, “I can’t believe how much things have changed. I mean, ghost kids?”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Danny laughed. “It’s kind of insane when I think about it. The logistics are way beyond me, but somehow I ended up parenting two kids that are somehow related to me.”
“How does that work again?” she frowned, trying to remember. She hated forgetting things.
“Something about them having part of my ghost core,” Danny answered. “Not that the 'genetics' matter.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” She pressed.
Danny grinned. “It means: that’s for me to know and you to obsess over.”
With a laugh that sounded more like a cackle to her, Danny walked out, leaving her to stew in her curiosity and frustration. And he wondered where the kids got their attitudes, she rolled her eyes. Nonetheless, a small fond smile crossed her lips.
Well, like mother like child.
The end (?)
(Maybe if this gets enough attention I’ll continue this lil’ series.)
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seireinocookies · 10 months ago
Unpopular Typings (2)
Elsa – ISFP
How do we know? Well she gives us Fi and Ni vibes, that's why. Yeah~ so anyway, the creators said she's an INFJ and an INFP, and then, people on the net say she's ISTJ. So let's break that down. I'm a start with ISTJ.
Not an ISTJ
So ISTJ has Si as its dominant function. It loops through Fi and grips through Ne. So why don't I think Elsa is an ISTJ? Well that's because... I don't see the Si in her. People on the net says she's Si because she's stuck in the past, but that's trauma, not Si, folks. That's like saying other types can't be traumatized. Si is gathers concrete details to form a blueprint that can be used to know what to expect and to ground the self. Si-Te looks for things it can use in its environment to achieve the individual’s goals, and Si-Fi wallows in self-pity and may express injustices through Te (trying to change the “rules”). TJ users are not the type to "sit and take it". Though STJ types in particular are known to "go by the book", what is usually overlooked is that TJ types are the typically first to speak out if the "rules" are unjust or oppressive to oneself. Moreover, STJs are also generally good at self-discipline, as they tend to know their natural inclinations well due to Si. Elsa also does not show signs of Ne grip. In Ne grip, Si users abandon the familiarity of Si and haphazardly try new things in an attempt to regain control. Many people argue that Elsa's "let it go" song is Ne grip, but I think that is unlikely—she is letting go of control, not reasserting it.
I don't know about you, but Elsa doesn't give me ISTJ impressions in the first or second movie. She doesn't rebel against her parents, accepts her fate and doesn't seem to be good at self-discipline and isn't even at least obsessive compulsive, the way Si users get when they believe something needs to be rigidly controlled. Actually, the way Elsa deals with her situation is through internalizing the shame and guilt of hurting her sister and believing that she deserves her situation. She never rebels and doesn't try to leave her room, even when their parents die (leaving her technically free to do whatever she wants). This tendency is more typical of F types.
Not an INFJ
But I don't believe Elsa is an INFJ either. I don't know as much about the typical habits of Ni doms as I do about Si doms, but I'm fairly certain that Elsa doesn't use Ni at a high level. To my understanding, Ni leads a person to search for a deeper meaning in their reality—Ni doms have a vision and are out to fulfill it. Admittedly, we do see this in Frozen 2 where, Elsa wants to know the meaning behind her existence, but her manner is more explorative (going out into the unknown) as opposed to introspective (sitting and thinking/researching about it). Ni-Fe also means that an INFJ's primary mode for finding meaning is Fe, which largely depends on interacting with people and managing feelings. But Elsa is very private and even defensive of her feelings. She'd rather hide them than share them. While INFJs are also private, she does not actively try to manage others' feelings. Instead, she is more preoccupied with her own feelings and what she wants. (Note: I am not saying that she doesn’t care about other people’s feelings; I am just saying she is more inclined to manage her own feelings than others’.) This points more to Fi than to Fe.
Not an INFP
Which leads us to the INFP. While I agree that Elsa is dom Fi, I do not think she is auxiliary Ne. Ne is considered the most introverted extraverted function as it can be engaged through reading and other introverted pursuits. Moreover, it is paired with Si, which makes the user more inclined to stick with the familiar when it comes to their surroundings. But Elsa wants to go out there and explore. We also cannot forget that in the second movie, she is essentially searching for the meaning behind her existence, a purpose, which indicates Ni. Though as mentioned earlier, she seeks out this purpose via exploration (Se-Ni), not introspection and then decisive action (Ni-/Fe/Te).
So She’s an ISFP
So I actually think she's an ISFP. That explains the Fi and the Ni, which would be tertiary. There is additional evidence for ISFP as well. In the first movie, Elsa's self-expression is stifled. She deals with that by running away and singing her "Let it go" song. I think "Let it go" is her finally being able to express herself through Se. I do not think it was a grip reaction because people in the grip are either sad, stressed or angry. She was happy. Also, as mentioned before, she was letting go of control and exploring herself, while people in the grip are trying to reassert control. We can see that when Elsa tries to reassert control, it is through Te. She acts out when she's stressed and makes bad decisions. This is shown when Anna comes to her in the first movie and tells her she froze Arendelle and needs to come back. She refuses to go with her and ends up freezing her heart (admittedly, lashing out is typical of most grips). 
So in the first movie, she gets in touch with Se. And in the second movie, she starts to get in touch with Ni. However, we know that Ni is lower down because she favors physical exploration (Se) over introspection. And the Fi is too strong so... I think she's an ISFP. That's the conclusion. Yay. 
(This analysis helped me understand Elsa more:
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Uhm, my day was decent? I mean aside from the fact that mornings exist and I did not want to wake up in time for my shift at work. But. And the end of the day when I have literal hours to do stuff after.. it works out cuz. Usually I get off and its oh shit I have enough time to halfway emotionally recharge and then its time for bed.
But. I got in and E^2 had put like. My name down on the schedule, and. That was great really. And we had this sheet for sign up of, basically what areas you want to be personally responsible for. And I signed light and it was great. And I dont think anyone really noticed cuz the manager wasn't there and no one else really looked at the schedule or anything else. But. It made me happy.
Still haven't gotten my name tag changed and honestly I dont think I'm going to. Cuz. I feel like I'm just being a bother asking again. But. It is what it is I guess.
I got off at five and its now nine and ive just been vibing in the car listening and singing to Spotify since I got off just trying to keep the sad at bay. And I should probably go home but. I dont want to. Cuz I know I'm just gonna wallow in the sad and self destructive tendencies if i go home.. If I ask nicely will the fae take me in as one of their own and I can become a cryptid in the woods?????
I have a three day weekend coming up and im considering doing a touch up on my hair since its really washed out. But I cant decide if I wanna keep it fully red or try and do like an ombre double tone thingy.. but I'm not sure what other color I'd try to do to the tips? Idk
I kinda wish my hair was longer so I could do like. The galaxy hair thing? Where its various shades of purple and blue and some pink and it looks different depending on how you style it. But I also know attempting to grow my hair out longer than I already plan to is a bad idea, cuz the sides and back are already getting too long and I hate it. But I wish I could do fun stuff with it too
Oh well. The duality of man i guess..
Uhm. I bought a giant plastic egg the other day, that reminds me of a dragons egg kinda. And I'm trying to decide if I should keep a hoard of dice in there or a hoard of crystals. Cuz. Dice and the clacky math rocks. But. Also shiny crystally gems
Speaking of dice I also really kinda want to try and get into a dnd group, but social anxiety and I have zero idea where to start with that so. That's fun.
Im currently resisting the urge to go and get more holes and metal in my head too. I just. The red hair makes me feel cool and powerful and I wanna look punk and
Sorry I've been rambling for like half a novel. I'll stop now before I get annoying. I mean I definitely already am. But you asked for asks and distractions and 👉👈 I love you
Id ask about your day but you seem to want a distraction from that sooo. How about, got any fun headcanons to share??
Thats awesome on the name front!!! I saw that and I got really excited for you when you posted the picture this morning, honestly I think you should bring up the nametag again, esspecially if its showing up on the schedule too. (Oddly enough I kicked around the idea of using a new name with friends and sruff today which is weird mostly bc like i like my name irl, its fairly androgynous and it makes me happy and i love my online name bc it means me :))
My vote is two tone!! I almost did a pink/purple ombre with my hair this round so I say do ittttt (that's also what I say about the extra holes and metal. Do itttttrrr)
That would be a hard choice but u do really like the idea of a giant dragons egg full of dice ngl. I need to find some people to play with too. I'm trying to get b and c in on something but idk if its ever really gonna pan out the way I want it too. My town actually has a pretty active dnd community but I am way too new and way too socially anxious to ever join something like that so I feel you there.
100% not annoying, each paragraph made me smile more. :)
My day was actually mostly ok, i just sorta ruined it with Danny at home. I just pointed out that the idealized dream band life that I wanted and thought I had was what she got and that it made me kinda jealous and she pointed out (correctly) that I'm jealous of so many aspects of her life that she now has a list of things she can't talk to me about for fear of setting me into a spiral and just. Yeah. That wasnt fun.
But work was ok. The kids all were really tierd so there was a fair bit of crying going on, but the weather was really nice so we got to go outside with them for a long time and that was very nice. I also got some really sweet cuddles from a few of them that made me very happy.
Oh! I also have a funny story about them!! So I was squatting (my main position is almost like Spiderman bc I'm down on the kids' level but i can also get up and move if I need to pretty quick) and one of the girls goes and gets a book, then stands right in front of me and points at the floor and says "sit" in the most authoritative voice I have ever hear from a 1 1/2 year old 😂 as soon as I sat down she was in my lap and opening the book so I could read to her.
As far as headcanons.... Sadly my brain is bouncimg mostly art ideas for the Tamgled au and not anything of substance so I may take a crack at that later. Otherwise I keep thinking about whumped up Will crying on the floor and Maurie finding him. Really I'm just thinking about Maurie and Will being bros. A lot. So much. God I love them.
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funkymbtifiction · a year ago
So i remember a while ago you said you didn’t have a 4 fix because your feelings weren’t the basis of your identity, and that instead you were really good at repressing your feelings like a 2 or 3 fix (do you think this is actually a w5 thing?). So my question is, how do you recognize a 4 fix if not by their wallowing in emotions and perpetual sadness like naranjo’s profile says? This was my only way of recognizing 4 fix because other things don’t seem to work (i mistyped people as 4 fix but they were just teenagers going through a rebellious and “nobody understands me, i feel alienated from everyone else” phase, and a lot of people want to be authentic). So if none of this works, what’s a true way to figure out if someone has 4 and not 2/3 fix? How did you figure out yours?
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Shh! I didn’t want to bring this up again and get teased about changing my image fix… again. It’s a Ne-dom embarrassment to waffle on it all the time. ;)
I think that 4 cores or fixers are always miserable is an over-generalization – but they do suffer from longing for things that are no longer there and/or envy of other people having things they do not, which they turn around into elitism to compensate (I wish I could be as easily pleased as that, but I can’t be, so it’s Basic and that person is Basic for being so easily pleased). I think Rose from Titanic is a good example of a 4, because she shows the happiness a 4 can find in life (she loved Jack, they had fun together, she went on to do a ton of fun things and live a full life after losing him) but it also hints at the 4s longing for what is gone – at the end of the movie, she didn’t find her dead husband in the afterlife, she found Jack, which shows that she was longing for him – what she had lost – even throughout all her adventures and her later marriage, which is very… 4.
But I do identify with that. In some painful ways. And I’ll talk about them here, but first I want to say that I have always identified with 4, but me choosing the other types was a combination of fear of outside judgment that came from 6 anxiety (what if I pick 4 as my image type and other people challenge it, or say that I am not a 4?) and Ne-dom ‘other-consideration.’ Being a 6, I already doubt myself and when you have friends also learning the Enneagram who are telling you “nah, you act more like a 2…. you are generous to others… you are a 3 fixer because you work so hard all the time…” you tend to look sadly at the 4 and try on other types for awhile, even though they don’t quite fit.
The social 4 is the 4 who makes a big deal out of their angst but never fixes it or tries to fix it, because then there would be nothing to complain about, which gets them attention from other people. Much to my shame, guilty. I make it a sick habit of finding fault with the people closest to me, so I can complain about it to others and gain attention. The 4 also has a tendency to nitpick and criticize those closest to them, while longing for ‘better’ and more idealized people, and then missing their much-hated friends once they finally leave. Also guilty. A 4 might choose to dwell on how good they had it and how badly they treated that other person to make them leave like that, and long to rekindle that relationship rather than moving on to a new one, but … if that person turned up tomorrow, the 4 probably would not want them back. Also guilty. I have spent 12 years wishing I had my best friend back rather than finding a new one, because I tend to pull away from potential new best friends and live in my memories. Like Rose.
And it makes me cringe, because it really shames me in front of all of you to admit this. It’s like being exposed and now you’re all going to think less of me. :P
The other day I also caught myself envying other writers (something that happens often) and wishing I had their writing style and here is the kick – I HATE THEIR WRITING STYLE. I THINK IT SUCKS. BUT I STILL WANT IT. WTF? I literally look for things to feel miserable about!! I gave myself a good mental slap, told myself I was being an idiot, and went on with my day.
This is how I knew not only am I a 4, but it’s higher than 9, because I do this crap way more often than I do 9 things, although overall my tritype (being ‘triple doubting’) does make me amenable, considerate of others, self-critical, and constantly searching for depth and truth. So, I feel a little better about that. ;) (I am mostly focusing on the shameful things about the 4, because... I’m a negative person who enjoys picking on herself ;) but there are good 4 things about me too; the desire to explore all kinds of emotions, the constant search for depth and truth, the wish to see things ‘better’ and a longing for perfection, the joy that I can find even in sad things, because in a way, sadness is beautiful.)
Regarding other people and knowing if they have a 4… one of the easiest ways to tell is how willing they are to ‘reach out’ to people. 3s are easier to spot from the outside due to their (ahem) arrogance. They are quite proud people and will want to impress you, and you can often tell once you know what to look for. The 3 will want to impress you. The 2 will be helpful and generous to you. The 4 will be evasive and hard to befriend in some ways, since they tend to want you to come to them. 2s move toward people, eager for more friends, 4s do not.
Tritype descriptions can also be useful, because, as it turns out, a lot of them are true. I know someone who is a 146 and she really IS a triple perfectionist. She will ‘correct’ you without hesitation and insist it is the morally correct thing to do and bend over backwards to be ‘appropriate.’ This is because 6 and 1 both cling to moral standards and 4 also has high standards. A 9 fixer will be more tolerant.
I have a friend who does a weird ‘disappearing act’ on me all the time and I had a hard time figuring out why until I reasoned that she might be the ‘escape artist’ (479) instead of the eager to connect 279. It fits her bouts of moodiness, too, when her 7-9 optimism fails, and explains why right now she’s retreating into a shell rather than finding ways to connect to more people during the pandemic (a connection that would allow her to be less bored, but she’s… avoiding people).
That is a pattern I have noticed speaking to other 4 fixers and watching them; for some reason they don’t go toward people and a lot of them have a self-defeating attitude about it, due to their inability to move on from things. “I tried making a friend once, it didn’t work, it proves no one wants me, so I won’t bother trying.” I fall into this apathy myself once in awhile and ‘give up’ before I have even tried.
Please, 4s and 4 fixers… don’t do this to yourself. Defeat the shame monster inside you that says “I am not worthy of love, I am not worthy of friends” and put effort into finding them and being a good friend, because you are wonderful and deep and you allow yourself and others to go through even the painful things and validate all feelings and have much to share and teach the world.
- ENFP Mod
PS: Regarding me knowing I was not a 2 – everything I do for others is soc 9. And my confusion over being a 1 actually comes from soc 6 rigidity. Who knew?
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howyoustudythestars · a year ago
Exactly 4 years and 4 months ago, I posted this...
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(Side note: Don’t let the low number of notes fool you... I got more replies, reblogs, and messages of support from plenty of people.  My guess is they have since deactivated their Tumblr.)
I am since in a better place, and that is why I wanted to make this post.  If you didn’t know, this week is suicide prevention week.  I figured now would be a good time to share where I was at when I made that post, how I made it through, and where I am at today.
Trigger Warning: Depression, suicidal thoughts
Over a year prior to this post, I made a new friend through Tumblr.  For the purposes of this approach, I’ll call this friend Maddie.  Maddie shared my love for Owl City, and we soon discovered we actually didn’t live all that far apart from each other.  Early on in our first interactions, she had hinted that she had liked me as more than just friends, and we had agreed it was best to take it slow and not rush into anything.
Around this time, I was getting over a crush who didn’t feel the same way.  With the help of a counselor who was helping me deal with this situation, I discovered that I had a tendency to fall fast.  With this realization, I wanted to try a different approach with Maddie.  That summer, when I was certain that I was romantically interested in her, I decided I would wait to act on these feelings.
Come that fall, when I felt it was appropriate to act on these feelings, Maddie was going through something, and I decided it wasn’t the right time.  We did, though, go to an Owl City concert together.  As it approached a year since she had first messaged me, I decided I would try asking her out then.  I had a plan to do it.  Within weeks of this plan, she strangely grew quiet.  A few days prior to the date of the plan, she messaged me indicating that she was more or less no longer interested romantically.  She had since moved a bit further away than when we had first met, and although she still lived (and still does live) in Wisconsin, she felt the distance was just too great to make it work.
But I wasn’t ready to give up.  I felt there was a way I could make it work for the both of us.  I just had to show her how, and I had a plan to do just that.  I wrote and recorded a song about the situation.  I got a slot scheduled for me to appear on my college’s internet radio station for extra credit in my digital audio class.  It was my intent to send Maddie the link to the radio station beforehand, play the song on the air, and explain part of the meaning on the air.  Afterward, I would FaceTime with Maddie, and explain more of myself, with the hope of asking her out.  However, apart from playing the song on the radio show, none of that would ever happen.
I had been Facebook friends with Maddie for a while at this point.  Late Friday night, with less than a week before my scheduled radio show appearance, I logged in to check Facebook before heading to bed.  At the top of my news feed was something that shattered my heart into a million pieces: Maddie had just entered a relationship with someone else.  To say I was devastated would be an understatement.
If that wasn’t bad enough, this was the first year I was a full-time college student (I was only a part-time college student the year prior).  I had taken out a student loan so I could buy a MacBook Pro for school.  But because of my investment in rectifying things with Maddie (and a handful of other issues in my life at the time), I was falling behind in nearly all of my classes.  I had a lot of work to do to ensure I would pass all my classes.  With this news of Maddie’s new relationship, I had a hard time focusing on anything else.  And if I failed even just 1 class, I would default on my student loan, and I would have to pay the full amount back right away.  And I had no other source of income to pay back the loan if that happened.
I tried nearly everything to take my mind off of it, including listening to music.  Owl City songs, sad songs, uplifting songs, breakup songs, love songs, Christian songs, and everything in between.  Nothing helped.  Almost all of Saturday was wasted.  It was the end of the school year, and all I would have to show for it was a debt I wouldn’t be able to pay.
That night, my suicidal thoughts started to come back.  (You can read more about a time before this that I was suicidal here.)  The ironic thing was that evening, Maddie shared one of those post saying they would stay up all night talking to someone to prevent them from committing suicide, and she was the last person I wanted to talk to about this.  I was at my second family’s house (who lived in a trailer park at the time), and I was crying in the shower for so long, I ran out of hot water.  I also usually listen to music when I’m in the shower (it helps me keep track of time so I don’t stay in the shower forever), and I wasn’t even done washing myself when the playlist ended.  And I didn’t care about any of that.  This was the first time I cried over a girl, and like before, the music wasn’t helping my mood.  At all.  If a sad song came on, I wallowed in my misery.  If an uplifting song came on, I considered every lyric a lie.
I truly felt there was no way I could get out of this mess I was in.  I remember praying to Jesus for answers, and all I heard was silence.  I wanted to reach out to someone to talk about this, but I felt there was no one I could talk to.  I thought about making a post like the above post on Facebook, but the last time I posted about my depression (which at that time wasn’t even as bad as this), my family called my mom to make sure I was okay, and my mom more or less made me feel guilty for posting that.  I didn’t want to do that again.  So, I decided to make that post on Tumblr.
Over the next few days, though, I managed to muster up the energy to finish my school work.  I even pulled an all-nighter leading up to my last day that semester.  Not only did I manage to pass my classes, but I passed them with A’s.  And by the time I graduated from college, I graduated with highest honors.  As for my love life, well... That’s another story.
Maddie and the guy she started dating at the time broke up by the end of the summer.  Even though I did try again with her, nothing ever came of it.  Within a few months, Maddie entered a relationship with another guy, and they’re still together to this day.
But as for me, I started dating my girlfriend Ashley this year, right before the pandemic hit.  Ashley is also autistic, and within a few days of this being posted, it’ll be our 7-month anniversary.  Ashley and I met years ago through the Friendship Group (a local group for autistic people, with a group for teens and another for young adults).  I actually left the group within a few months, but we later reconnected when I rejoined the group last year.
And that is the main point I want to get across: It WILL get better.  Had you told me in the moment I made my post that I would pass my classes that semester with A’s, I would go on to graduate with highest honors, and in less than 5 years, I would be falling in love with another girl I would reconnect with from the Friendship Group, I would have said you were crazy and not believe you... just like I didn’t believe the lyrics to a song on my shower playlist: “Bang My Head” by David Guetta featuring Sia.
Keep in mind that this is NOT the remixed version featuring Fetty Wap.  In the second verse, Sia sings the most encouraging words that I now believe, even if I didn’t at the time:
When you think you're giving up, just know You might think you're dying but you won't And you feel the life stepping out of you But when you think of giving up, don't
That emphasis at the end may be mine, but that’s how I feel and experience the song now.  Many songs have come and gone off my shower playlist over the years, but this song is still on there.  It’s now one of the many songs that mean so much to me, especially those lyrics.
Above all, if anyone needs someone to talk to, my inbox is always open.  I’m not sure how to end this rambling post, but I hope it helps someone who may be going through something similar.  Thank you so much for everyone who made it through this entire post!
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x--comeback-x-kid-xx · a year ago
4: The Ocean of Emotion
“I’ll stop wearing black when you make a darker color.”
— Fall Out Boy
“I feel too much. That’s what’s going on.’ ‘Do you think one can feel too much? Or just feel in the wrong ways?’ ‘My insides don’t match up with my outsides.’ ‘Do anyone’s insides and outsides match up?’ ‘I don’t know. I’m only me.’ ‘Maybe that’s what a person’s personality is: the difference between the inside and outside.’ ‘But it’s worse for me.’ ‘I wonder if everyone thinks it’s worse for him.’ ‘Probably. But it really is worse for me.”
― Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Type Four in Integration – Health
Enneagram Type Fours swim in a deep sea of emotion. They are in the Heart Triad and on a daily basis their fast emotions, the ones that crash over them moment by moment, are waves—truer, more authentic emotions are the ocean itself. In health, Fours know how to ride the waves and become emotionally adept, able to attune with precision to what’s happening inside of them and to what others are feeling, as well. They can be some of the wisest, most attentive listeners, empowering others in a way that brings to light each person’s specialness. Fours also have a talent for making space for pain; you will want them by your side during trials because they will be the ones to sit and cry with you—not trying to fix or solve your problems like many others would do.
Type Fours are often quite creative; the artists and writers and musicians and photographers and dreamers of the world. Though any type may be an artist, Fours are the most common because they desire authenticity and unique expression above all else. They want to be the truest version of themselves and bring an idiosyncratic perspective to whatever they do. This can show up in their outward appearance; Fours usually have a certain aesthetic in the way they dress. They will have kooky, artsy, or highly fashionable clothes or an avant-garde hairstyle—whatever they feel expresses their inner-self best. Some Fours go through a “goth” phase, being drawn to dark makeup and clothing.
At their best they can be amiable, affirming, empathetic, and very nurturing, almost as nurturing as a Type Two. They search for answers to the complex questions in life like: why we are here, what is the purpose of life, and what are people supposed to do? They “have a natural gift for understanding the deeper emotional level of experience and [see] the beauty in darker emotions that other types would rather not feel, much less acknowledge.” (The Complete Enneagram, Beatrice Chestnut, pg. 268) They use engaging language and symbols to express whatever they turn their energy towards.
A Four working on integration will be actively seeking to regulate how they perceive reality. They stop focusing on lack and instead trend toward a more optimistic outlook on life. Positivity frees them from the hold that their constantly moving emotions has on them and allows Fours to actually produce the art, writing, music, etc. they dream about all the time. Optimism also helps them to accept the mundane aspects of life, which is helpful because a productive creative process is usually very disciplined and routine.
Type Four in Disintegration – Autopilot
“Fours have huge hearts, encompassing all the emotions that could possibly be contained within a heart. Yet the heart of the Four is a paradox; it can seem remarkably present to itself while simultaneously seeming to be cut off from itself. The near-yet-distant heart of the Four fuels the lie ‘I am what other people think or say about me’.” (The Sacred Enneagram, Chris Heuertz, pg. 214)
Fours in autopilot get lost in longing. They long for love above all else and feel that there is something broken or missing inside of them that prevents them from finding or keeping love. They fabricate an ideal of love and can lose themselves in fantasies about it. This fantasizing fulfills them—but just for a while—and then the need for real love takes over and they search for it in others. The tricky thing is that they’re almost addicted to this longing; it’s like a cat and mouse game inside their hearts. The longing itself is what feels special, but once they find love, they quickly become dissatisfied with messy reality and push their lovers away. Back and forth, around and around they go.
The inner landscape of a Four is an intense focus on their own emotions and the ever-present feeling of not being enough or having enough. They can easily shift into melancholy or dark moods, wallowing in shame for not living up to their own imagined ideal. They deal with envy a lot. Their emotions shift rapidly, moving from ecstasy to despair in a matter of minutes. This constant ebb and flow can make the Four think their emotions are unmanageable, wild, or out of control.
Body Language and Speech
In conversation, a Four is recognized by how often they look down to the right or left—this is a sign of being stuck in an inner dialogue or processing emotions as one speaks. A Four will give off signs of their base-level melancholic tendency by their shaded eyelids, sometimes watering eyes, slack shoulders, draped bodies, and a head nearly always tilted to the side. They smile but in a sad way.  A Four in autopilot likes to converse about the finer things of life; about art, beauty, design, and fashion. They desire to look unique; one of a kind. When talking they will often pause for long periods of time, or sigh, to give themselves time to contemplate the exact right words to express their inner emotional landscape.  A big tell that someone is a Four is a special talent they possess to steer a conversation so it always comes back to them. They come across as self-absorbed and arrogant and can manipulate any topic so that either it relates to them or so that they seem to be the expert on the topic.
A Type Four will either have a Three Wing or Five Wing—or both.
Arrow to Two in Stress
Entitlement and feelings of uniqueness become worse. Put themselves on a self-righteous pedestal.
Loved ones move away from the Four as they become more self-absorbed and in response the Four experiences longing. They then take on the “giving to get” mindset in order to manipulate others back into a relationship.
Intrude into other people’s lives with the attitude that they know better and are “helping” the person.
Have emotional rages like a Two, sudden onset of crying bouts, bursts of anger—and they cease to take responsibility for their own feelings. It is always the other person’s fault.
Arrow to One in Health
Their emotions and thinking become clearer, they communicate less in metaphor and more in precise ways that others can understand.
Become more practical, less lost in the sea of emotion and more focused on daily tasks and what actually needs to get done to accomplish goals.
More neat and methodical. They care about the proper way things are done and are less lost in fantasy.
Feelings of “otherness” dissipate and the Four can engage in life according to their will. Their moods cease to dictate their actions.
Less apt to hog the conversation and speak only about themselves. They become more interested in others.
They do more and become attuned to their bodies.
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grief-is-a-noun · a year ago
what love would sound like for us
put your headphones in, close your eyes, and place the volume at highest it can go. think of me as you let every song take you to each stage of love we never lived out. here, and only here, love exists for us. falling in love with you would, without a shadow of a doubt, would sound like “infinity” by jaymes young. i don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like this song. starting out at 47 seconds ending at 1:18. this sound, that sound is love. it’s not happy, its high. it’s the confusion of us shown through every beat
having sex with you would sound like two songs. first, “mount everest” by labrinth. this whole song screams red lit sex. the kind of anger and aggression released only by fucking it out. my god the things i’d do to you and let you do to me. you’d make me crazed, craving the extremes. always keep me coming back to you. bite me. leave marks on my body, claiming me to be yours. for a split second of time, i don’t mind being owned by you. your dominance consumes me. i become more hungry for you each time; but what i am left with is a song, our song, holding the essence of you starved within the lyrics. the second song is...*drum roll please* “daddy issues” by the neighborhood. god i know what you’re thinking, but how? well listen, not every sexual encounter can be filled with hot temperament (although every instance would probably be counted, by others, as salacious) some moments need soft passion. this is our passion. i’d straddle you, our bodies intertwined in the most intimate way. move my hips back n forth, just the way you like. gentle whisper. soft lips. our hindrances would be forgotten. you think of me, i think of you, we are the only people in the world. it’s beautiful. i cannot get any physically closer to you and wouldn’t want to be this close with anyone else. i’m sure there’s more songs we could relate our sex too but these are just represent the height of them.
ok, we already know I have feral tendencies, so yes there are going to be times where you piss me off and i piss you off as well. my inner bitch would resurface and when that happens, she’s always out for blood. my vengeance would sound like “daisy” by ashnikko. that song screams bad bitch energy, lemme tell ya. when you feel the urge to get back at me, i imagine it sounding like breezeblocks by alt-j. because although i may contain the urge to runaway, you’d hold me down with soggy clothes and breezeblocks. metaphorically drowning me. the pain you cause me, doubles as my pleasure. I have the capability to send you into a frenzy, which i’m sure would sound like the first 30 seconds of twisted nerve by bernard herrmann. i drive you absolutely mad, but you can’t find anyone else that is able to put up with your bullshit and simultaneously be just as fucking insane as you are. we are already carbon copies of the worst versions of each other, but when together, somehow balance out the frenzy. it’s euphoric.
not every time that you hurt me i become irate. sometimes I get sad. hell, sometimes you won’t even have to hurt me for me to become sad, it’ll just happen when i’m unsure of where we stand. the song i have in mind is “trouble” by halsey (ep-version). no amount of tragedy could outweigh my eagerness to return to you. when you’re feeling the same, (because i’m far from perfect) it would sound like “BITE” by troye sivan. kiss me on the mouth and set me free, but please don’t bite. i think a deep part of you yearns to escape me but neither of us ever take each other’s sadness out of context, and we both know that’s really fucking hard to find.
other people don’t understand us, we get it. they’re too busy wasting their time on pointless questions that don’t have definitive answers. putting their faith everywhere but themselves, driving them to reach a point where they either become delusional or suicidal. when asked why you love me, i imagine you responding with the song “drew barrymore” by bryce vine. you’re the next drew barry and I want more, and all theses other girls keep wondering what i fuck with you for. i love that, they don’t get us, hell, we don’t even get us. but here we are, reveling in the essence of one another. I could name so many songs that properly execute why i love you, but i’ll keep it simple, “i think you’re really cool” by guardian. you are really fucking cool, even though you don’t see it and that’s more than enough.
uh oh, here we have almost reached the end. now i already know that if one of us leaves the other it will be you leaving me. although you will make this decision i know it will pain you in some ways. our goodbye sounds like “one last time” by jaymes young. (i know, i am a huge fan of his music). but before i have to say goodbye and before i crawl up and die, kiss me one last time. one last fucking time. our moments together paved roadways that led us to this exact destination. and although the highs sounded like “la la land” by bryce vine, or “are you bored yet?” by wallows ciaro, no high could ever compare to the way we feel depth. the way we hold onto our thoughts, good or bad. the way we make decisions that don’t make sense and leave us crawling back to each other in search for answers with even more pieces of ourselves reserved, than the time previous. i don’t just want to be in love with you, i want your mania to be my muse. and even though you’ll say goodbye to me, even though it’ll be the closest i’ve ever felt to dying, i’m happy that our time together can be reflected by listening to this music. it keeps a piece of us alive, forever 
*this is now the part where i’d play “forever” by labrinth* 
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sellmedoves · a year ago
my college experience
College. I started college in 2016. I was excited that whole summer because I got to have a fresh start and leave high school behind me. I moved into a dorm with 3 girls I didn’t know. I chose to live with random girls that year because I wanted to meet new people. I rushed a sorority at the beginning of the school year, and I met a lot of fun and kind people throughout that week. I got into a seemingly great sorority at the end of rush week and then class began the following week. I really liked my schedule; I didn’t have any 8am classes and I didn’t have any classes at all on Friday’s. It felt like I was finally moving on and starting a new, positive chapter of my life. There was always something in the back of my mind that I felt like was holding me back, though…
I was extremely homesick. My school was only about 30 minutes away from my hometown, but I’m so close to my family, especially my mom, so it was hard for me. I have 3 half siblings, but I grew up as an only child, so it was a difficult transition from always having privacy and my own space to having to share my space with 3 other girls, random girls at that. They were sweet and I actually feel lucky that I got paired with normal people, but it was still hard regardless. I began coming home on weekends and then going back to my dorm during the week. As the first semester went on, I began to isolate myself more and I didn’t have as much ambition and excitement as I used to. By the time I came back from Christmas break and started the second semester, I lost touch with most of the friends that I made, and I felt as if I was the loneliest person in the world. I ended up leaving my sorority right before spring break, isolating myself even further.
Aside from being homesick and lonely, something else I was struggling with was a fear of gaining weight. I was terrified of gaining the “freshman fifteen” that year. I feel like I’ve always had a warped perception of what my body looks like. I’m not sure why that is. Anyways, because of this fear, I barely ate. And by barely ate, I mean I would eat one of those “on the go” sized cups of Cheerios during the day, and that would be it except for when I would go home on the weekends where I’d eat real food with my family. I would look in the mirror and I was never satisfied. I don’t want to say I had an eating disorder as I feel like it’d be disrespectful to people who struggle with life-altering eating disorders for years, but I think it was a result of genuine misery and extremely deep depression. I lost almost 20 pounds that year.
I finally made it through the year and summer began. I was able to move back home, and I got a job. I loved that summer because I was finally free from my freshman year shackles. I began to see a therapist to talk through what I went through mentally and emotionally in the past year and it seemed to have helped me for the time being. I also got diagnosed with ADD that summer which makes...too much sense. I’ve struggled in school my whole life and because of the diagnosis, I now understand why. I have over-focused ADD with OCD tendencies. I tend to obsess over and hang on to things well after others have moved on from it. I’ve been that way my whole life, and now I had an answer as to why. It also causes me to experience mood swings but the Adderall (a God send) I was prescribed helped me to control them, Anyways summer passed by quickly, and I ended up moving into an apartment with 3 girls I was friends with from high school. Sophomore year started and it was great. I was so happy, and it felt like my horrific freshman year was a lifetime ago. There are no “buts” coming about this year. It truly was a wonderful year in my life and it’s something I’ll always cherish when I look back on my hellish college experience as a whole. The next year, though, is a different story.
It’s a story I’m not going to get into. It’s personal and it involves others besides myself, but I respect their privacy and lives since we’ve moved on, so I won’t be going into detail. What I will say is that I have many regrets from this year. I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of and would give anything to go back and change them. I didn’t like the person I was that year looking back, and I still don’t understand why I began to revert back to my misery, maybe it never truly went away like I thought it did. Instead of taking it out on myself like my freshman year, I took it out on others. I now take full responsibility for what I did and the people I hurt as a result and that’s something that I feel like took me a long time to do. It was cruel and it’s something I don’t and won’t try to justify anymore. I’m proud to say that I learned from that experience and the person I was then, isn’t who I am now.
After my junior year, I got an internship working at a consulting company. I LOVED this job. I loved the people I met there and made more friends there than what felt like I had in the entirety of my college experience. Real friendships where we could actually bond over something other than just being in the same class like at school. I realized that I was much happier working in a professional environment than I had ever been at school which made me even more excited to graduate. At the end of the summer, the company offered to extend my internship throughout the school year, and I was THRILLED. I was so happy that I was going to be able to leave school and go somewhere where I actually wanted to be during the week.
My senior year started soon after this and it was just…fine. Not bad but not great either. Just fine. Like I said, I was just grateful to be able to have somewhere to go after class that wasn’t just my apartment or somewhere on campus because of my job. My job began to be where I was the happiest, but, of course, school had to FUCK me over one more time. My class schedule for the second semester was Hitler on paper. I had signed up for the maximum amount of classes my school allows students to take, and just looking at it was overwhelming. I wanted to graduate on time in May and this was the only way to do it. I was forced to quit my job that I loved, and I was devastated. I continued to work there all of Christmas break up until the very last weekend before school started. I hugged my friends at work goodbye and began what would be the hardest semester of my entire life.
When I say this is the hardest semester of my life, I don’t mean it’s been hard like my freshman year was hard. I mean that my entire life is consumed with CLASSES. I feel like I never get a break and I’m always dreading tomorrow. I miss my job, and I miss when my thoughts weren’t filled with overwhelming amounts of assignments and due dates. I guess I should say I MISSED these things actually considering that all of my classes have been converted to online because of the virus terrorizing our planet. As sick as this may sound, if I could choose any semester for something like this to happen, I’m glad it was this one. I hate that a virus that is affecting so many people had to be the reason though. I’m typing this THESIS the day after my school announced it was converting to online classes and it feels like a 10,000-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It felt like I was two assignments away from having a legitimate breakdown. This wasn’t at all how I imagined my last day on campus would be like, but…I’m (kinda) done with college. At least in person. Wow. 
I’m not exactly sure what prompted me to write this. I think I wanted to do it for myself as a way to finally let go of the of pain and anger I’ve experienced through college. I want to move on with my life now that I’m less than two months away from graduation and stop hanging on to things from the past and regrets that I’ve had that I just can’t change. I tend to act like I have a tough exterior, but behind that, there’s been a lot of pain and insecurity. Some of which I’ve kept to myself. Sometimes, I look back at that 18 year old girl who was burdened with so much sadness and cry. However, I want to let go of all of it. I have to. I also wanted people to know that not every college experience is the same and they’re not always going to be like what people tell you they are or what you see in the movies. I wish someone would’ve told me that. The lows I’ve felt throughout my time in college are things I wouldn’t wish on anyone especially young people experiencing their freedom and independence for the first time. I hope anyone that might read this who hasn’t started college or who is already in college make the most of their time there. Don’t compare yourself to others and don’t allow yourself to wallow and fall so deep into a hole that you feel like you can’t get out. Get help if you need it, there’s never any shame in doing so. I’m proud of myself for pushing through and I’m ready to start the life I’ve always wanted for myself. Thank you for making it through a 2 and a half page paper of my woes. 
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zayashmaya · 2 years ago
Gamzee x Reader; SFWish
And we could run away Before the light of day You know we always could The mountains say, the mountains say - Message to Bears
Gamzee was idling around at the shoreline again, gazing out into the great expanse of Alternia’s murky sea as the wind ruffled his untamed hair. With his back turned to you, you could not see his expression. Judging by the hunched shoulders and the downward tilt of his horns, you could make a guess.
You didn’t want to let him wallow in his moods for too long. Gamzee had a tendency to slip under at the most random moments, but you promised yourself that you would always be there to pick him back up. As such, you stepped through the threshold of his hive and let the twin moons’ warm rays light your path. You padded barefoot through the dark-colored sand. It was secretly one of the few things you enjoyed on this planet, feeling its soft, mud-like texture between your toes. Sometimes, when you had taken walks by yourself along this very beach, you liked to imagine you were back home again.
The salty breeze grew insistent as it guided you towards him, licking at your bare thighs and skimming the exposed love bites along your neck. With nothing but his oversized shirt offering you modest protection, you felt encompassed by his presence, even when he wasn’t physically near you yet. But you were drawn to him in no time, coming to a halt beside his sitting form.
“Hey, baby,” you greeted, running your fingers through the tufts of hair near one of his horns.
Gamzee leaned into your touch with a rumbling purr and smiled lazily at you. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he was making an effort nonetheless. You could work with that. “wHaT’s GoT yOu AlL uP iN jOiNiNg Me OuT hErE, sIs?”
You grazed the base of his horn before stepping in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he reached up to grasp your hips. “Nothing much. Just wondering what you’re getting up to all by your lonesome.”
“JuSt KiCkInG iT bAcK, yOu KnOw HoW iT iS,” he lightly replied. You quirked a brow at him, your telltale sign that you weren’t buying his bullshit. After a momentary stare-off, Gamzee sighed and maneuvered you to sit in his lap with your back to his front. Once satisfied with nestling you into his hold, he placed his chin on your shoulder and muttered, “i GuEsS i’Ve AlSo BeEn ThInKiNg AbOuT tHe OlD gOaT. aNd, LiKe, AlL tHe OtHeR sHiT.”
Oh, you knew very well. Any mention of Gamzee’s lusus had your insides twisted into a knot. Whether it was out of anger or bitter understanding, you did not know. It was at these moments when you remembered the few times you had ever seen the custodian, when the tides were high and the water grew calm from an eerie stillness pervading the night. His ethereal, pale form could be seen through the waves whenever he had appeared, as though Earth’s own moon had colored the glistening water.
All of that seemed so long ago. You haven’t seen the old goat in a while.
“Sounds like you’re not kicking it back much, then.”
“aHaHa,” Gamzee weakly laughed. “No, I aIn’T. bUt WhAt’S a MoThErFuCkEr SuPpOsEd To Do WhEn He’S gEtTiNg AlL aBoUt To Be ThInKiNg SaD sHiT.” You felt his breath puff out in a sigh and ruffle your hair. “sOrRy, DoN’t WaNnA bUm YoU oUt LiL mAmA.”
You stroked his forearm and turned to kiss his cheek, carefully so as to not rub off any facepaint. “Please don’t apologize. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“yEaH … “ You felt his hold on you tighten. “yOu KnOw, It’S kInDa FuNnY hOw I aIn’T nEvEr AcTuAlLy SeEn A sEaDwElLeR oUt HeRe.”
“Really? But didn’t your lusus tell you it was dangerous to stay out on the beach for too long for that very reason?”
Gamzee nodded slowly, as though he were mulling over something. “MaKeS mE wOnDeR aLl KiNdS oF mOtHeRfUcKiN iDeAs StIRrInG uP iN mY tHiNkPaN.”
“Like what?”
“uMmMm … LiKe MaYbE iT wAs AlL a SiCk LiE.”
You twisted around in his arms. “What do you mean? Why would he lie about that?”
Gamzee shrugged, looking past your shoulder as he frowned sullenly. “mIgHt HaVe BeEn SoMe KiNd Of MiNd GaMe To GeT mE uSeD tO bEiNg StUcK iN tHe HiVe AlL tHe TiMe So LeAvInG mE aLoNe WoUlD bE eAsIeR.”
You felt your heart shatter. That couldn’t possibly be the reason, could it? Tricking Gamzee into hiding just to make him accustomed to loneliness while the goat lived freely at sea was simply too much for your mind to comprehend.
You pulled him in for a tight hug and peppered the side of his neck with kisses. He returned your hug after a moment of hesitation, and all at once he slumped into you, holding you with enough restraint to keep from crushing you. “I refuse to believe that,” you emphatically said, stroking his hair soothingly. “He came back from time to time, didn’t he? He tried, Gamzee. We don’t know what was going on with him, but he tried in his own way. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”
The rumbling waves answered you first, until Gamzee finally nodded. You were unsatisfied with his lackluster response. Pushing him away just enough that you were able to look at him, you tried to muster up a convincing smile and stroked errant strands of curly hair away from his face. This time, he finally looked at you.
“I’m here with you. And I always will be,” you said with conviction.
He searched your eyes for a moment before breaking into a dopy smile, cupping your cheek in his cold hand. “yOu’Re My MiRaClE, yOu KnOw ThAt?”
You blushed and kissed the palm of his hand. “I love you, too,” you shyly replied. He pulled you back into a tight embrace, and this time, you felt the tension in his frame dissipate.
You closed your eyes and focused on the sound of the ocean, letting its familiar song lull you into a state of comfortable bliss.
"Listen to the waves,” you softly said, starting to slowly sway in his grasp like the push and pull of the tide until the momentum brought him with you. ”Shhhh. Sounds like a moirail’s shoosh, doesn’t it?”
“Oh ShIt, It MoThErFuCkIn Do Be LiKe ThAt,” Gamzee murmured, the lilt in his voice a familiar indication of his genuine shock. You felt a firm kiss pressed to your temple and smiled. “SeE, mY mOsT mIrAcUlOuS wIcKeD sIs, ThIs Is WhY i’M nEvEr BeInG gEtTiNg CeAsEd tO bE aMaZeD bY yOu — CaUsE yOu AlWaYs Be CoOkIn Up SoMe BeAuTiFuL tHoUgHtS.”
You giggled. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me. It was just a silly observation, though.”
“bUt It’S tHe LiTtLe ThInGs ThAt HiDe ThE mOsT rIgHtEoUs TrUtHs.”
“I happen to be a little thing myself, you know,” you cheekily said. “And if that’s the case, then I do always have the right answers!”
“WhOa, DoN’t Go StArTiNg To Be ToO mOtHeRfUcKiNg HuMbLe ThErE.”
“Gonna start serving up some humble pies around here, that’s how humble I am.”
Gamzee chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating through your chest. One of his hands started traveling down your spine, making its way to your bare thigh. “sO lOnG aS iT aInT a SlImE pIe CaUsE yOu KnOw HoW i GeTs To Be WiTh ThAt NoIsE.”
“I am so glad the days of you eating your own bedding are over.”
“hUmAn WoRdS aRe A mOtHeRfUcKiN tRiP aNd A hAlF.”
“Mhm.” His fingers were precariously close to the area where your upper thigh ended and your ass began, tracing inconsequential patterns into your skin. Knowing Gamzee, he probably had entirely innocent intentions with his wandering touch. You, however, were not inclined to have innocent thoughts.
Your lips grazed his neck in a sensitive place you had once discovered, starting off with soft kisses before escalating to teasing nips and gentle sucking. You heard his breathing quicken as he tilted his head to give you more lee-way, purring shamelessly all the while.
When you rolled your hips against him, his hands grabbed your sides and halted your movement. You pulled back and pouted at him. Gamzee grinned apologetically. “nOt To AlL bEiNg LiKe To RuIn ThE mOoD oR aNyThInG, bUt We’Re GoNnA hAvE tO gEt BaCk InSiDe If YoU wAnNa Be GeTtInG aT sOmE fUn. I mIgHt NeVeR hAvE cAuGhT a GaNdEr At No SeAdWelLeR bUt I dOn’T wAnNa Be StArTiNg NoW.”
“But we never get to do it out here,” you mumbled, looping your arms around his neck as he effortlessly stood up while cradling your bottom.
Gamzee kissed your cheek. “dOn’T bE gEtTiNg AlL dIsApPoInTeD. yOu WaNt SaNd Up YoUr NoOk BaBe?"
“Gross,” you said with a giggle. “So are we going for the horn pile again?”
“MoThErFuCk No. AlL tHaT hOnKiNg GeTs To Be StRaIgHt Up LuDiCrOuS.” You stifled a laugh as you remembered how startled Gamzee once was after you accidentally honked a horn mid climax. “i WaS tHiNkInG iT’s TiMe To ReViSiT tHe CoUcH."
“Ah, a fine choice!”
“oNlY tHe BeSt FoR mY rIgHtEoUs HoNeY,” he proudly declared, and you nuzzled him in adoration as he crossed the hive’s threshold.
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deltaengineering · 3 years ago
Summer Anime 2018 Part 1: Nurupo
I feel bad for calling last season weak now, since that turned out okay, what with Megalobox, Hinamatsuri and Rokuhoudou (the best show you didn’t watch). Maybe this is a lesson to not be so negative, but all the positivity in the world can’t make this season look good. To balance it out, I’ll be bringing along some hot opinions from people getting paid to see the bright side this time.
P.S. Part 2 is here.
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What: A very Frontwing version of When They Cry, apparently. Awesome McCooldude wakes up on an island full of pliant girls and/or dark secrets.
✅  looks alright
❌ story is tryhard mystery nonsense based on convenient amnesia, very unlikely to deliver
❌❌ an absolutely terrible cast of generic VN characters, enjoy your common route hijinks with them
❌❌ Frontwing being Frontwing, please see picture.
ANN sez: “This episode accomplishes the two things that it absolutely must for the series to have a chance of succeeding: it makes the main trio of girls endearing enough and layers on some intriguing mysteries.”
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What: Some girls take badminton very seriously. Somewhere between genocide and extinction level event seriously.
✅  well animated and directed
✅  there appears to be more to the characters than nothing at all, so the overbearing presence of the drama llama might actually pay off
❌ has a tendency to wallow in ostentatious KyoAni-style presentational kitsch
❌ speaking of which, making the cast of Euphonium look like a bunch of carefree slackers by comparison is not a good thing
ANN sez: “From the lush colors of their school's flowers to the alienating saturation and long shots of their gym hallways, every mood HANEBADO strives for is captured perfectly through its visual storytelling, and solidified through fundamentally sturdy dialogue and plotting.”
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What: Touken Ranbu with firearms.
❌ This is a cute boys doing cute things anime set against a backdrop of global thermonuclear war and combining the ultra seriousness of ufotable TR with the slice of life tone of Doga Kobo TR makes for a very, let’s say, “uneven” experience. 
❌  Unsurprisingly, it has the production values of neither of the above and looks like crap instead.
❌❌ The localized title is “The Thousand Musketeers” and given the reckless pace in which it introduces pointless characters, it might actually hit that number in 12 episodes.
❌❌ Mobile game character designs must be stopped, for fuck’s sake
ANN sez: “The story itself has some promise, especially if you're a fan of antique guns.“
Shichisei no Subaru
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What: VRMMO light novel garbage about MMO newtypes.
❌ High tier light novel tropes like “u die in the game u die 4 real”, grade schooler magical girlfriends and demigod abilities
❌ Yes, the characters start as grade schoolers and then there’s a timeskip where they become high schoolers. They don’t change at all, which is either cutting commentary on arrested development or an indication of how good this show’s writing is.
❌ Ideas like permadeath in an MMO and giving good players a stake in the game company are hilariously stupid even by this genre’s standards.
❌ You’ve seen this exact cast of characters before, likely in better shows.
❌❌ There’s really no single egregiously bad aspect, but the stank of mediocrity is so overwhelming as to deserve a double minus all of its own.
ANN sez: “This episode banks heavily on the appeal of its mysteries, but those mysteries actually are pretty appealing, and I ultimately respect this episode's choice to introduce so much of its world and characters before getting to the real conceit.”
Banana Fish
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What: A well regarded classic manga about New York’s seedy gang underbelly of drugs and violence. And BL.
✅ ✅   Looks good. Like actually, legitimately good. Animation, character design, directing, this show is quality.
❌ Updating the setting to contemporary times seems like a not so great idea since everything about this is deeply steeped in the mid-80s gang violence and drugs panic, no matter how many smartphones get used.
♎ The pacing is ultra fast. While I will admit that I’ll take that over a snoozefest (especially in a seasonal rundown), if this wants to be a legitimate high tier anime it needs to let the atmosphere breathe more. 24 episodes isn’t much for a 19-volume manga.
❌ I’ve praised MAPPA for promising first episodes before, and then I got the likes of Yuri on Ice and Virgin Soul out of it. This is not an anime original so it will be harder to fuck up, but life finds a way - especially given the need for condensing the story as noted above.
❌ Ultimately, just being a classy production with proven writing isn’t the be-all-end-all; quality aside, I still have to like what it does, and I’m not sure what amounts to a homoerotic 80s crime B-thriller is exactly in my wheelhouse.
✅ What else are you gonna watch this season?
ANN sez: “The one negative I can foresee is that one character is portrayed as a fairly stereotypical gay sexual predator, and this story pitches itself consistently as a seedier exploration of its boys' love subject matter, so it's reasonable to expect these kinds of details going forward.”
Yume Oukoku to Nemureru 100-nin no Ouji-sama
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What: Girls get their wish-fulfilment isekai nonsense too, it’s just a pretty pointless definition when you can just say “basic otome harem” instead. But sure, nondescript girl wakes up in fantasy dream universe where she has a magical trait that makes a large number of princes desire her. Call it what you like.
♎ Successfully avoids the most obnoxious otome harem and isekai tropes, but that just makes it even more bland
❌ lots of exposition about an universe that is hardly complicated and transparently an excuse anyway
❌ Main character is agreeable but exceptionally boring
❌ The princes are all generically princely and very little else
❌❌ combine that with sluggish pacing and this might be the most boring show so far, which is not an easy feat
ANN sez: “There were also some neat details here and there that I particularly appreciated, like the fact that our heroine is actually a working adult, as well as the idea that rather than being “trapped in a new world” she's in truth been returned to her home.”
Back Street Girls
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What: A trio of yakuza thugs get a forced sex change because their boss wants to be an idol producer. It’s funny, laugh.
❌ This is not the warm, fuzzy trans acceptance anime you’ve been looking for, to put it mildly. I am not easily offended, but it would have to be pretty darn good to outrun this premise. Yeah, about that...
❌❌ runs its one joke (idols are not supposed to be thugs, like, at all!) into the ground before it exceeds a 3-minute short runtime; is actually 24 minutes long anyway. Hope you really like that joke.
❌❌ the execution of said joke is the pits of anime comedy, nothing but reaction faces and shouting
❌❌ production values are basically non-existent, at most you can say that they took the time to color in those manga panels
❌ learning that Chiaki Kon is directing this pile is just sad, put THAT in your auteur pipe and smoke it.
ANN sez: Nothing, since western licensors mysteriously chose to skip this one. Really a shame because I was looking forward to the outrage.
Isekai Maou to Shoukan Shoujo no Dorei Majutsu
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What: It has “Isekai” and “Maou” in the title so what do you fucking think. What it doesn’t tell you is that it’s also about an MMO, for the full LN shitter nuclear triad.
❌❌ It’s about a loser otaku who gets trapped in his MMO wherein he has the mostest hax, complete with complementary slave pettan catgirl and slave oppai elf
❌❌ This is meant to be funny because he’s too much of a dweeb to put his penis where his mouth is.
❌ Technically better executed than Death March or Isekai Smartphone, so it gets one single minus for effort.
ANN sez: “The idea that Takuma is so insecure about talking to other people that he can only comfortably speak in the voice of his demon lord character is ingenious in a dramatic sense and endearing in a personal one, while Takuma's clear understanding of his personal failings makes him far more sympathetic than the genre's usual snarky protagonists.”
Satsuriku no Tenshi
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What: Early teen girl checks herself into Silent Hill General Hospital for grief counselling.
✅  Atmosphere works reasonably well; it’s creepy where it needs to be, which is everywhere and all the time.
❌ The girl is a nonfactor blob and the tough guy she gets paired up with is an annoying chuuni edgelord (it is called 𝔄𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 after all), which is not promising for the long run
❌ So obviously based on a run-of-the-mill spoopy RPGmaker freeware game you can practically see the floor tiles.
❌❌ 24 solid minutes of Getting Cornered By A Rape Metaphor quickly goes from unsettling to incredibly tedious.
❌❌ There’s really nowhere for this to go, given how unoriginal everything is; at best it’s going to be “it was all a dream”, at worst “everyone was dead all along, please feel sad now”.
ANN sez: “The design of the facility is one of those fanciful every-level-is-a-different-setting worlds, but the artistic effort strongly pushes the creepiness factor with a design aesthetic that suggests age, decay, and neglect.“
Harukana Receive
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What: Girls play beach volleyball in scenic Okinawa, some light sports drama seems to be on the horizon.
✅  Looks just good enough
✅  Girls are just cute and likeable enough
❌ the sports aspect is weak; maybe I’m just spoiled on Emiya-san’s incredible beach volleyball scene right now, but even when not compared to a top tier studio ostentatiously flaunting the budget of their fucking cooking short the match here isn’t very compelling.
♎ where Hanebad has a bad case of the cereals, this may have the opposite problem of being too cotton candy to be worth it
✅  “good enough” is not a ringing endorsement, but counts for something when being just okay will net you a third or possibly second place of the season.
ANN sez: “This is, of course, all just conjecture right now. ”
Chio-chan no Tsuugakuro
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What: We took Nichijou and replaced the surrealism with video game references and the production values with donkey dung. Let’s see if delta notices!
❌❌ Production values are not optional when you want to be Nichijou; it being astoundingly over the top and imbued with impeccable timing is a (or even the) main part of Nichijou’s appeal. Without them you’re left with basic reactionface manzai over awkward situations, the king of comedy.
❌❌ Suffice it to say, this show is 100% trying to be funny, while also 100% not succeeding at being funny.
❌Asscreed is a more original tentpole to rotate your first episode around than the usual Dragon Quest, but not by much.
♎ neurotic nerd main character that is little more than a bundle of social anxieties will be #relatable to anime professionals, observe:
ANN sez: “Chio's overthinking in this situation is both hilarious and painfully true-to-life, with her furious strategizing coming across as both absurd and very familiar to anyone who's not comfortable in conversation.”
Planet With
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Wat: Appears to be a tokusatsu/crypto-mecha show aimed at the younger set, with the gimmick being that our protagonist is (initially?) on the side of the villains(?).
✅  Pretty wacky, actually. It definitely doesn’t neatly fit in your square notions of what an anime is, man (unless you’ve watched FLCL).
❌ It seems very uncertain whether the wackiness is in service of anything. It might be To Be Heroine, or it might just be Heybot with fewer fart jokes.
♎ Furthermore, it wants to be intriguing and sort of is, but merely being intriguing is not that hard - you just make no sense and hope for the best. This has the not making sense part down, do you feel lucky?
❌ tries to build up characters by immediately going for the sad flashbacks, which I never like, especially if the rest of the show is eIDLIVE-level nonsense.
❌ Looks mostly fiiiiiine, but is also full of subpar CG
ANN sez: “So if the heroes are fighting against someone who just wants peace, then what does that make them? And more importantly, if they find out that the bears aren't evil, will they stop?”
Hataraku Saibou
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What: A cutesy educational comedy about the workings of a human body.
✅  Well made, characters are cute, topic is interesting.
❌ Educational aspect can get in the way; I’m not suddenly giving heavy exposition a pass just because it’s trying to teach me something, especially if it’s things I basically already know.
♎ Will have to show if it can keep coming up with good scenarios. The lung infection in episode 1 was alright and so will probably be the skin cut in the preview, but beyond that I’m not sure what’s left for red and white blood cells to do. I’m not expecting a show with this tone to tackle things like retroviruses, if you know what I mean.
♎ An actual storyline seems like too much to expect, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but not a positive either.
✅  Doesn’t rock my socks off but is an easily watchable show with a fine idea and high production values, which again is hard to say no to right now.
ANN sez: “But since it culminates in one of my favorite scenes from the manga, visualizing sneezing as shooting a torpedo out your nose, I can forgive the random gendering of cells.”
Ongaku Shoujo
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What: DEEN are getting in on the idol mobile game anime biz too.
✅  The main character’s gimmick is that apart from being A Honk, she can’t sing for shit; this is moderately funny.
❌ It might have counted for more if that hadn’t come out seconds before the episode ended. Even if it isn’t a momentous twist, it was more of a point of interest than the incredibly bland leadup to it had.
❌  Yeah, “Ongaku Shoujo” is an entirely indicative name of how generic this show is: Music + girls, indeed. I assume “Idols” was taken.
❌ I’m still not sure what the ideal cast size of a show like this is, but 12 idols is Idolmaster turf and as such too many. They have personalities? I think?
❌ a very small handful of cuts aside, woeful production quality; I know picking on DEEN is 2ez but this is not their finest work. Animation snobs can feel proud that there’s no CG dancing here, for the rest of us it’s an object lesson on why CG is the lesser of two evils.
✅  Tumbling SR cards in the ED (which is probably actually the OP) made me laugh; this show can’t even afford URs.
❌❌ Overall, just another idol show. Large cast plus presence of a P-san marks it as Im@s-type – but if you're in the market for an Idolmaster clone with bad looks, I would recommend Wake Up Girls instead because that’s at least pretty real at points.
ANN sez: They’re out for the weekend, ask again later. I suspect it’s nothing funny.
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absynthe--minded · 3 years ago
No. The antis in She-Ra fandom are the VERY SAME ones who appaluded their little "Friends" who did all of the bad things you mentioned and who used "pedophilia!!!!!" as a battle cry when it never applied. these people enabled that behavior, and they ABSOLUTELY DESERVE WHAT THEY GET. I hope they are miserable and suffering becuase that's the culture they built. They deserve no kindness. I hope they fucking cry themselves to sleep and don't have any goddamn fannish friends. FUCK THEM.
Newsflash, anon.
I know they’re the same ones who did the applauding, who screamed about how everything under the sun qualified as some kind of dark and twisted sexual perversion, who watched in silence as their friends suicide baited and doxxed and harassed. I get it. I’m not operating in some kind of bubble where I think the whole world is perfect and pure and harmless. I also have more reasons than most to be angry about the conflation of every type of toxic relationship with pedophilia. My friends will tell you I’ve gone on hours-long rants about how ridiculous antis are and how twisted and sad their behavior is.
But here’s the thing: I pity them. I pity them because they do genuinely think they’re doing the right thing. They think that the world will be made better through authoritarian violence and censorship. They think that what their peer group is doing is actively improving the world. They’re fundamentalists, and they’ve been taken in by fundamentalist groupthink, and I get that, and in fact the more that I read their posts and see their presence in the tags the more I feel bad for them, because if this is what they think activism is? If this is what they think morality is? Then they’re going to grow old and die alone and alienated from any other humans, either because they’ve cast out those around them for ideological impurity or because they themselves have been cast out.
I want them to grow up, and change, and become better people. I want them to develop morally, and find the confidence to say “here are my beliefs and here are my lines in the sand, but I don’t have to scream them to the heavens to know they matter”. I want them to improve, anon, not wallow in their misery. Both because I believe that shame never helped anyone and because I don’t wish bad things on people. I have that tendency in me, a deep and violent and ugly vine twined about my heart, but I choose not to feed it.
I didn’t even wish that the guy who told me to drink bleach along with all the other good little autistic children cried himself to sleep at night. You can, all you like, but I’m not the person to vent your anger to. Am I sorry that they’ve hurt you, and harmed you? Yes. Do I think they should face consequences? Also yes.
But I’m just not the person to come to if what you’re looking for is a fellow She-Ra fan who’s invested in hating people.
It’s not who I’m trying to be.
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dearvoidwhatsleft · 2 years ago
A little over a year ago I created this blog for myself just so I could have some outlet to get all the gooey darkness out of my body. I’ve struggled with depression since I was a young child and now I’m nearing my mid 20’s and things have definitely changed. I still have depression, if that’s not obvious, but it’s 2019 now. I know New Years resolutions are silly and very seldom do I actually follow through, but I am trying my damndest this year to beat depression. Recently, whenever I feel an intense wave coming on, I make it a point to do something productive instead of letting that despair overwhelm and consume me. I watch Reiki videos, take a cleansing bath, make lists of things I like, just anything besides what I usually let myself do. I’m also trying to change my mindset and be more positive. I’m trying to construct my negative thoughts into challenges that I can work to overcome. For example, if I’m feeling very unloved, I try to determine and analyze whether or not I’m projecting or dramatizing the situation. It’s all about filtering out what’s real and what’s not. It’s really hard but I’m trying, and that’s more than I did before. Another part of beating depression starts with this blog. I started it because I needed somewhere to let it all out, but I fear that it instead has been unhelpful as it gives me allowance to just wallow and spiral, making everything worse. Though I know it’s ok to feel sad and down and let myself feel that, this blog gave me reminders and reason to feel nothing else. I want to change that. Starting now I will still use this blog when I’m feeling down, but I’ll instead fill it with things that are going to help me out of my dark state and get me back on track. I may fall back on old tendencies, but I’m really going to give it my best effort to not let depression take this year from me.
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roomalthoughts · 3 years ago
09.26.2018: music can save lives
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A magical word that helps bring everyone together when you are singing out loud while doing chores or when you are at a concert and you feel your throat burning up because of how loud you have been singing. The feeling of relief and happiness comes flooding through as you hear your favorite song play on the stereo. You sing along and probably dance along (I am guilty of doing that) and forget about your worries. Sometimes, you put on your favorite song, playlist or band to help you get through the night. When you are sitting alone in your bedroom while your thoughts are eating you alive, you play that one song that gives you hope and strength. You know you will feel better soon. 
That is the magical thing about music. It can be an escape for us who struggle with mental illness and we have the tendency to find songs that can help us feel better when we are depressed, anxious, suicidal, etc. Music can help one’s soul feel better and push us to keep going. To keep staying alive because we all know deep down that it does get better eventually. We latch on to the hidden messages of our songs that nail on how we feel about life. We have it on repeat for several days until we say, “okay, I think I feel better now.” We will show that one specific song to a friend and tell them, “hey, to better understand how I feel, listen to this song.” 
We all have that one favorite song that describes us who we are without us saying anything. 
Music did save my life and will continue to do so. Of course, there are other reasons that are keeping me alive, but music will always give me the feeling that I’m not alone in my battle. I know there are people out there who are fantastic on creating a masterpiece and be able to say the things that others cannot find the words to do so. They know how it feels to be depressed and tired of life...they know how to describe their suicidal thoughts in ways that one can never imagine. They are able to capture the audience’s attention and put the message out there... They know the right things to say and describe how mental illness can affect one’s life. They have a way with words and hope that their music can heal someone’s broken soul. 
I had people tell me that I shouldn’t listen to music that relate to my depression/anxiety/anorexia because it will make me feel worse. That’s not true because in a way, it makes me feel better and helps me understand that I’m not alone. I’m not the only one who cries at night and think, “What is the point of living?” I’m not the only one who hates looking at themselves in the mirror and wishes they were someone else. I’m not the only one who will walk down the trials and scream, “Why am I still living?” I’m not the only one who has grabbed a razor blade and pressed against my weak skin. 
I’m not the only one with a war in my mind. 
When I feel down, I will dig up songs that matches with my blues. I will listen to those songs over and over again until I’m done wallowing in it. I will listen to those songs for several days until the blues passes by. It makes me feel better in ways that I cannot describe. There are no words to describe the feeling when I listen to certain songs that help me love that part of me. The part that loves to torture me with thoughts and memories of the past. The part that gets lonely and suicidal when life gets rough. The part where I cry all the time at night, thinking if it truly does get better. 
The part that makes up who I am. The other half of me. 
I know I’ve said that I will not define myself by my mental illness, but it does have a small part of my personality. Because I am pessimist, I always see the world in black and white. Because I am a nocturnal person, I always see the sun peeking through the window and think, “I made it through another night.” Because I’m a hopeless romantic, I always love people more than I should... Because I have a caring heart, I care for others more than I should... That’s just who I am. 
Do not be ashamed of yourself if you do catch yourself listening to “sad” songs. Do not be ashamed of yourself if you start to cry while singing alone...or when you feel that burning sensation in your throat. Do not be ashamed of yourself when you shake your head to avoid crying in public and most importantly, do not let anyone tell you otherwise. You are human and you are supposed to feel all those emotions. You are supposed to cry, laugh, smile, etc. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, please. 
If you have a bad day, listen to the songs that bring a smile to your face. If you want to wallow in your depression/anxiety, listen to the songs that describe the feelings and love yourself a little more during that process. If you want to share the songs that have saved your life, do it. There is no shame in sharing our gems to the world and say, “These are the few reasons why I’m still alive.” 
Even though I have already shared my list of songs that help me get through life in the post, “22 songs that have metaphorically saved my life” I will finish this post with my favorite all-time lyrics from Truce by twenty one pilots: 
Now the night is coming to an end The sun will rise and we will try again
Stay alive, stay alive for me You will die, but now your life is free Take pride in what is sure to die
I will fear the night again I hope I'm not my only friend
Stay alive, stay alive for me You will die, but now your life is free Take pride in what is sure to die
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