#It always struck me as odd that you can restrict the medicine used for your animals in rimworld but not the food

[pushing500]

Hi Gracie, I'm hoping you might have some advice for me. My colonists are starving, because I have more people than I know how to feed. Is there any way I can tell them to stop feeding their meals to the animals?

They keep cooking meals, feeding the meals to the animals, and then eating raw meat and being sad about it!

It's mostly the dogs they're feeding the meals to, too, because the haygrass finally grew enough for the pen animals. And dogs can eat raw meat just fine, so it would make way more sense to feed the dogs the meat instead.

(I am trying to solve the underlying problem by 1. assigning more people to plants so they will sow the fields my current farmers are apparently neglecting, and 2. increasing the population cap of my animals so that they produce more excess, but both these things take time and in the meantime they are constantly running out of food and I'm hunting pretty much every wild animal that wanders onto the map to keep my colonists alive.)

Hello! I have this issue a lot, too. Those silly colonists want to prioritise their beloved animals over their own comfort, which is sweet, but very airheaded of them.

I can usually stop animals from eating meals on their own by simply changing their allowed areas to prevent them from accessing the fancy "people food", but it gets trickier when tending to injured animals or training them.

I have found a mod called 'Animal Controls' on the Steam Workshop which says it adds animal food restrictions, however, I haven't had a chance to test it out myself yet so I'm afraid I can't vouch for its effectiveness. Perhaps I'll test it out in my next RimWorld game!

[barashikki-dialoversoc]

03. First Taste

Word Count: 1859

Warnings: infliction of pain, dub con (biting and kissing)

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The first few days of settling in were… interesting.

Bara was able to set up her room with her belongings. She had to start adjusting to a night school schedule. But the most difficult part was dealing with the brothers.

Some were tolerable, like being in the same room as Shu, Subaru, or Reiji was calm. Bara kept to her business and didn’t bother them if they had to share a space. Most of her time was spent in a chair or on a sofa reading her own book when moments like this happened.

But if one of the triplets entered, it was a whole other story.

Ayato constantly pestered her with continuous flirting and obnoxious behavior. Thankfully for her, she had a lot of patience and was able to bore Ayato quite quickly by ignoring him and not returning reactions he wanted from her. Kanato was sometimes annoying, but Bara found herself abandoning her book usually to converse with him since he wasn’t as forward as his brothers. Although she did find she isn’t a fan of his clinginess if he did happen to hug or lean against her. Laito… he was hell. Bara found herself having to remove herself completely from him and usually having to find another brother to get him to go away.

Thankfully today, the only one in the room with her was Shu. Both of them were in their own respective areas, Shu on the sofa with his earbuds in and Bara in an armchair reading one of her newer books on herbal medicine. From what she noted from when around Shu, she did her best to not verbally make comments to herself when reading.

It wasn’t until noise came from someone walking in the room did Bara pull her eyes off the pages of her book. She spotted the smaller figure and gave a small smile.

“What are you doing?” Kanato asked her.

“I’m currently reading a book. Did you want to see which one?”

His expression panned a bit, showing his interest faded. “You’re always reading. It’s boring.”

Bara’s smile weakened slightly. “Well, it’s my main hobby. And my other hobby I enjoy I don’t think I’d be allowed to do here.”

Kanato rolled his eyes at Bara’s reply. “I’m bored. I want to do something fun.”

A bit of frustration came from Bara as she tried to tolerate Kanato’s pestering nature. It’s obvious he wanted her attention, but she didn’t know how to do it right.

Then an idea struck her.

“What about yours, Kanato? Is there something you like to do for fun that multiple people can do?” She asked.

“I like spending time with Teddy… Sometimes he and I have our own little tea parties.” Kanato looked at his bear affectionately. His eyes then wandered to Bara before speaking again. “Say, you could have a tea party with us right now.”

Bara did a quick glance at the time, seeing it would still be a while before she had her planned sleep. She could do it, although she hadn’t had a tea party since she was a little girl. “I’m able to. Just let me take care of my book and then we can.” She got up and put her bookmark in the book as she did so. Kanato was hot on her heels as they made their way to her bedroom, where Bara tucked her book into the small nook she had made on the desk.

“So…” Bara began as she stood back up and began to turn around. “What type of drinks do you like at your…” She was stopped short when facing Kanato, finding him way too close to her for comfort and the immediate grip on her arms slightly painful.

His head dipped down to her neck, inhaling her scent. This time the nuisance of a scarf wasn’t there, so it was all free reign for Kanato to explore the smell coming from Bara.

“What’re you…”

“Shut up.” Bara could hear Kanato take in a deep inhale after his comment. Her skin tickled where his nose was at.

“For a drink… I’d rather have blood than some measly tea that’s going to be bitter.” Kanato scrunched his face up at the thought of something too dark touching his tongue. It had been a long time since there had been a sacrificial bride, he wanted fresh blood. The scent of Bara’s was enough to send him wanting to divulge in as much as he could.

“W-Wait…” Bara attempted to push against Kanato, gently, as she knew he was fast to anger. “Could you at least not bite hard? And maybe not somewhere that could prove dangerous to me?” She knew it was going to be inevitable that he would bite her, but she wanted some assurance she wouldn’t be completely uncomfortable or seriously injured if so.

Kanato only looked at her from his spot. She couldn’t see his gaze, but he sent one of irritation in her direction. A mere human girl would not change what he wanted. If he wanted to feast on her here, then he would. And why care about her comfort when he was the one who was hungry and suffering for so long?

His lips made connection with Bara’s skin, making the girl flinch away from the touch. She was scared, and rightfully so. But Kanato wasn’t having any of it, he wanted to drink now.

His arms went to wrap completely around her with one hand snaking up and grabbing the nape of her neck and also tangling his fingers in her hair there. The grip was hard and firm, restricting Bara from moving her head anymore. A small whimper came from Bara as she went to brace herself.

She had fended off others who had pestered her for her short time there, so she still had no idea how bad a bite would be. The grip alone from Kanato was already hurting her. She could feel the harshness of the yank on her hair, the steel tight-like grip of his arms also left her in a position of only shallow breaths as well.

In the next moment, it was only Bara’s cries of pain as Kanato dug into her flesh with his fangs. Blood pooled out rapidly, making Kanato latch his lips against Bara’s skin as well to trap any of the red liquid from escaping. The pain continued to radiate for the period Kanato had his fangs dug into Bara’s jugular. They left a stinging sensation as he pulled them out, but Kanato didn’t stop there. He kept his lips latched on, sucking on the skin the wound was put into, drawing out more blood and bruising the skin there.

In an attempt, Bara nudged her head slightly, only earning herself another bite from Kanato. She was not to move or else he would punish her for going against him, although it was also difficult to tell if it was more for his pleasure. Her body also was pulled even closer to him, tighter, and for more access to her neck and shoulder. More bites began to litter her neck and some went down onto her shoulder as her cardigan was pulled away.

There was no way to fend for herself, Bara had to endure it. Her grip began to loosen on Kanato’s shirt, fingers still clinging on, but not as secure as before. It was an odd feeling, her own self being drained from her, and the side effects of losing the blood being the weakening of her limbs and a small buzz begin in her head.

She could feel as they shifted, her back up against something flat and cold, probably her desk. Even if she was slightly dizzy, it was hard for her to understand what was going on when not in proper focus. Even when another whimper came from her lips, she wasn’t aware, not even with how it affected the vampire still taking his fill from her.

Kanato continued to suck on her flesh for a few more moments before turning to lick the wounds. They sealed up quickly, acting upon the abilities he had to keep a human from bleeding out. But not only that but the taste of this girl’s blood…

Slightly sour, but delectably sweet. The slight tingle on his tongue as he had drunk from her made him want more. The way it smoothly flowed, like a sweet and sugary drink, down his throat was a feeling he wanted to continue to taste. And he definitely didn’t want to share it with any of his brothers.

He was obsessed.

Kanato went to use his hand behind Bara’s neck to reposition her head so he could look at her face. She was still squinting from the pain, trying to endure how he was treating her. It was cute to him, seeing her suffer from his hand. But he also knew… that little noise she made was the first sign he could break her into what he wanted, to make her his perfect doll.

She had the features for it. The soft jawline, it was rounder instead of following the obsession over the v-shape, that those in the current country focused on. She had slender eyes, not wide, but just large enough to show off her grayish-green eyes, a rare trait for someone in this region as well. Small lips that were the right size for her face. A soft nose, strong enough to be prominent but still delicate in features. And the feel of her hair… was soft, completely straight if not tousled around too much. She looked like she could be a perfect living doll for Kanato.

While he wanted more of her blood, he wanted to taste another part of her. To see how innocent she truly was.

With a simple hoist, Kanato drew Bara back up towards him. She clung to him for safety, making the vampire enjoy the moment more. First going to him for protection, now relying on him so she didn’t possibly fall. It made him all too giddy.

“I want to taste more of you,” Kanato muttered as he pulled Bara’s face close to his.

She tried to look at him with as much focus as she could but struggled to properly comprehend. “What do you…” Bara was cut off with Kanato’s lips slipping and fitting against hers.

A small “chu” could be heard as Kanato disconnected, but like with the bites he didn’t stop at one. More kisses were placed against Bara’s lips as Kanato reveled in the taste of her flesh and small bits of her inner mouth he did delve into. He wanted more, to taste more of her.

The kisses became deeper, some sounds of squeaks and surprised gasps leaving Bara as Kanato continued to ravage her mouth. She had no experience and she wasn’t expecting someone to commit such an act with her for quite a while. It’s thanks to this that Kanato could break in so easily, enjoying every little bit he could explore of her mouth.

This taste…

It’s going to get addicting.

[dxmedstudent]

Thanks, Facebook!

I’ve been going through my facebook suggested friends list and I was struck by how... distinct the categories were. And how odd. I really wish it would just let me disappear people once and for all, because it feels like it is always trying to get me to add the same people. Or maybe it’s not the same people but it always seems to come up with so many. The first category was... people I have so many mutual friends with. But just because I have 32 friends i common with someone, doesn’t mean I know them. My year at med school had over 300 people in it, and I’m a faceblind introvert who minds her own business. There is no way I have had meaningful interactions with all these people, no matter how many mutual friends we have. Medicine, in particular is a small world, and we all know a lot of people, but I don’t see why I should add every person I shared a lecture theatre with, or shared a hospital with. I’m so glad that I block people I stop talking to, because I can foresee lots of now-defriended exes being recommended to people purely because of mutual friends. I can see why their algorithm would assume I must know these people, or even be very close with them, but the’res a difference between ‘these friends all hang out and therefore probably know each other’ and ‘these 40 people work or go to university together, so they’ll all want to ‘friend’ each other. Sometimes I really have no clue who these people are. Most of the time, actually. Occasionally, I do, but I know them so little that I might as well not know them at all. There are a lot of not-particularly-close-friends’ siblings, cousins, partners whoI have never met, and may never do so. And parents, though friends’ parents tend to the the kinds of people who love to add you on facebook, and you can’t say no because you do think they are OK but this is all sort of a bit weird.  Even if it’s a close friend, I may I love my friend and know their sister, doesn’t mean I need their grandmother or aunt or friend I’ve never met, on my facebook. Maybe we’ve met a few times, and they are a friend of a friend, but we’re not really close and I can’t imagine they need to see my hilarious museum photos ported from instagram. Sometimes it’s other people’s partners - who I’ve never met, even if we do have friends in common. I can’t really see any good coming of me adding everyone’s husbands who I don’t even know, no matter if we have a few mutuals. I’m fairly sure most people I know aren’t that weird kind of possessive jealous partner who vets their partner’s FB friendlist, but I can imagine that in friend circles things might get awkward. That reminds me of the threatened dating app feature of facebook; particulary the ‘crushes’ element where people can nominate people they know. Given that  if you’re a grownup avoiding confessing your feelings, it’s probably for a reason, it just seems really ill-thought out. And even if you are going to have an affair, it probably shouldn’t be conducted on social media sites with a patchy privacy history. It’s all just deeply weird and I hope facebook doesn’t try to integrate whatever they are planning in any intrusive fashion. There are also people I know but I’m not adding for a reason; people I don’t like, people I used to like but it wasn’t reciprocated, people I’ve had beef with and are now no longer in my life, and anyone who I might have gotten to know through them. The most awkward of these is an ex-friend’s current girlfriend. I’ve met them, and I’m sure they are a lovely person, but I really think that’d be more drama than I could handle. Others are just people I thought were OK, but just never gelled with well enough to let them in on my life. Or people who seemed OK in university, but after years of not really talking, there’s just... not much to say? To be honest, I’ve been having the strong urge to go on a bit of a social media cull and just... quietly restrict my circle to people who are meaningful to my life right now. I’ve been resisting, but really, I do want to pare things down. I do like when it picks up friends from work, though facebook often doesn’t pick up the people I necessarily want to add, rather, it picks up the people who seem to add everyone. The people I want to add are often a bit more reserved, and I am always left wondering if I’m intruding by ‘friending’ people from work, partly because I myself am quite a private person who doesn’t want to let many people in. People rarely make the cut these days, but every once in a while I make friends that I really want to carry with me after I’ve moved hospital and changed place. I’m a bit shy when it comes to adding colleagues on Facebook; I have to feel pretty comfortable with a colleague before they make the jump to a highly curated version of my profile. And consultants? Never make the cut. You do not make friends with your boss. There’s a whole slew of older relatives I’m very deliberately not adding. They can live their own life, but I don’t particularly want to be their entertainment when it comes to the rumor mill, I am fairly sure my cousins curate their facebooks even more rigidly, for the same reasons. When I can tell you that some of my relatives are known for being both extremely talkative, nosy and blunt to the point of offensiveness, you can see why I might not want them nosing around my every post; it’d just make things less fun. There are some relatives whose suggested profles or friend requests are currently being considered, as I try to work out if my current privacy setting for relatives is restrictive enough to make me happy to add them. It’s not even like I add anything particularly controversial or salacious on facebook, I am what most people would describe as a boring person.  I just don’t feel comfortable with opening up my profile to lots of people, and I don’t want to feel self-conscious if I put something up. I could say that it’s my issue, but given that my relatives are pretty blunt (see any of my ‘why aren’t you getting married?!’ posts), my self-consiousness with relatives has a pretty obvious cause. I do however, like to use facebook to keep up with some relatives and family friends; living abroad and doing my own thing means I don’t see some people who I really care about as much as I would like to. And whilst anyone who is really close to me is actually on my Whatsapp, there’s a place for people who aren’t my best friends or immediate family in my life. If I’m honest, my facebook mainly exists for keeping up with people like that; who I care enough about that I like to know they are doing well, and that I can catch up with them once in a while, but we’re not on whatsapping terms. And also for some of my best school friends who never seemed to get the hang of regular texting or  whatsapp or even email; for some of them, these only exist to arrange meetups, where real interaction happens. Being a busy person with a horrible timetable, that is personally the opposite of how I feel, but I try to keep up with their lives as best as I can. Facebook did pick up the guy that I’m seeing; no mutual friends so I was a bit surprised at first.  I assume it uses information from instagram and Whatsapp, which we prefer because unlike facebook they allow you to conduct your love life discreetly, rather than entertaining your friends and relatives like the local panda breeding programme. We discussed ages ago that we’re both not fussed about social media, and since update each other often and spend lots of time together IRL, it wouldn’t really add anything apart from old holiday photos, embarrassingly dorky comments and likes from 15 years ago and my slightly embarrassing fanart photo albums (Oh god, don’t dump me because of terrible, terrible Naruto fanart, I’m begging you! I can change!) there’s no rush. Thinking about it, I’ve already seen his old holiday photos, so I’m good for now, thanks. Don’t get me wrong; he’s wonderful and I’d have no issue with him being on my profile, he could see what he likes and I’d be happy to be ‘connected’ to him. But there’s no privacy on facebook from your extended social circles.  We’ve reached the point where the people in our lives have heard of the person, but haven’t gotten to know them, and I feel it’d be gentler to introduce each other in each others’ lives much more fully before our friends and family start judging the person we are dating due to their truly mediocre selfies or choice of likes on facebook. I avoid having my older relatives on facebook partly because I know they’d be tittering every time I added a male friend or (heavens!) a man wrote a comment, so.. just no. I just hope he doesn’t come up as a random suggested to anyone close to me; that seems the kind of thing FB’s creepy algorithms could throw up. That’s because for me, the weirdest category of recommended friends, by far is people who I do know but have no mutuals with, and who I’ve never interacted with on social media- I don’t even have their number. We’ve never shared so much as a whatsapp message. By reasonable standards, they should not be suggested to me, and yet, here they are by some dark force I cannot understand. I can sort of see how some of my distant cousins might be picked up by Facebook’s algorithms, but FB is also giving me colleagues who it really shouldn’t know I know. I don’t ever have my place of work on FB, don’t list my location (though it might be mentioned - not geotagged - on some photos) and we have no friends in common. It’s funny that I actually quite like some of these people, so occasionally they make the jump, but I just find it weird that FB has figured out we know each other. I wonder if it’s due to geographic location? It does make me a little afraid of how good the algorithms are getting. There’s also people it thinks I know that I do not. No mutual friends. No similar geography. I assume they must be people a couple of degrees of separation from either uni friends/ colleagues or relatives, but I fail to see why facebook even tries to sell you these people. Where do they come from? Who knows. Anyhow, I’d love to hear whatever awkwardness FB is selling everyone else, or if someone actually understands their friendship algorithms.

[ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade]

I want to apologize to my followers for spamming your dashes lately with fics featuring my original characters, since I know most of you likely started following me because of my headcanons and other non-OC offerings. I’d like to get back into writing headcaonons soon—I’ve had a questionably tasteful one I’ve been reticent to start kicking around in my head for some time—but if you’re hesitant to take the plunge reading my longer fics, do know that I’ve made a concerted effort to establish them firmly within the realm of canon compliancy (if that makes any difference in your leanings).

I’ve said this before, so take my predictions with a grain of salt, but I’m inclined to believe this really will be the last installment of The Strategist and the Redhead; in contrast to the, ahem, roughness of Part 7, Part 8 features copious amounts of fluffy angst, and takes place the night before the official prologue chapter Parting Ways. I drew yet another mostly-unfinished companion piece to go with it, but as Tumblr restricts the size of images placed beneath a cut, you’ll have to follow the link here to check out the full-resolution of it.

Click on the link up top or the cut below for the entirety of the text; Stunningly NSFW.

“Have you seen a doctor recently?”

She’s sitting on his living room couch nursing a cup of herbal tea when she hears his voice call out from inside the bathroom; Ebony would only exacerbate her upset stomach, the strategist had told her, so the redhead wrinkles her nose before attempting to choke down another sip of his bitter concoction.

“And when, pray tell, would I have had the time to do that?” she asks tartly, only barely managing to swallow the unpleasant tonic. “Some of us have had to work twelve-hour shifts this week, rather than enjoy the luxury of packing for a leisurely vacation.”

“The Citadel makes concessions for unexpected illnesses. You could’ve requested a sick day.”

“The peace talks aren’t going to organize themselves. I have explicit orders from The Immortal himself not to take any sudden leave of absences unless absolutely necessary.”

“Successful diplomacy between nations begins with the health of their constituents. You wouldn’t want to start a war because you accidentally vomited all over a foreign ambassador.”

She rolls her eyes when she sees his lanky figure returning from his expedition to the medicine cabinet, remedy vial in hand. “I’m sure it’s just a mild case of the flu. I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“It could be the flu, or it could be something else entirely. Best to know for certain what precisely it is you’re dealing with.” He stops beside her and peers down at the vial’s label through his spectacles. “Here, this ought to help.”

Her features crumple into a scowl as he presses the small bottle into her hand. “Are you generally this overbearing? No wonder the prince always has a sour look on his face whenever you’re around him.”

He levels her with a withering stare and nods at the vial; when she doesn’t immediately activate the curative, he wraps his fingers around her grip and crushes it for her. “Better?”

The medicinal properties in the remedy quickly work their way into her bloodstream, but she resists the urge to acknowledge the tension easing in her abdomen, lest she give him the satisfaction of being right. “Marginally.”

“I should’ve known something was amiss as early as yesterday,” he says, lowering himself next to her on the sofa. “I gave you no less than three opportunities to parry my lance on the sparring mat, and you fell for every one of my feigns.”

Her scowl deepens as he settles into the cushions. “I didn’t fall for anything. I was merely a little distracted, is all.”

She had been uncommonly preoccupied as of late; the redhead had always taken pride in her ability to disregard matters that did not explicitly concern her, but the gravity surrounding the upcoming peace accord had weighed heavily on everyone’s collective mind, and she’d found herself afflicted with heartburn and indigestion more days out of the week than not. Perhaps running repetitive military drills for hours on end—coupled with the distasteful notion of fraternizing with Niflheim dignitaries—had simply taken its toll on her immune system long enough for her to pick up an inconveniently-timed bug.

The strategist crosses one knee over the other, the concern in his stiff body language obvious. “Even if that were the case, had I known you were feeling under the weather tonight, I would’ve insisted you stay home.”

“And miss my chance to see you off on your testosterone-fueled road trip? I think not.” Her scowl is replaced by a cheeky grin. “What if you were struck down by an Astral before you returned to Insomnia? I’d never forgive myself for not telling you how I really feel.”

A wayward eyebrow appears over the top of his spectacles. “Which is?”

She lifts her teacup to her lips again and sips at it demurely. “I think that shirt you packed is hideous. You know—the one with the Coeurl print.”

“My purple shirt? You think it’s hideous?”

“I always have.”

His jaw slackens in bewilderment. “I love that shirt.”

She smiles at his feigned outrage, but in truth, there was something rather peculiar about being in the strategist’s presence like this; with intimacy likely out of the question—attempting to copulate between unpredictable bouts of nausea seemed like an exercise in poor judgment—and his constant fretting over every one of her aches and pains, their current rapport felt almost… domestic.

And while she might’ve allowed herself to relish in the experience of being doted on by him, or at the very least contemplate the significance behind this unusual display of attentiveness, the mild curative he had administered not moments before is already losing its effect. “Would you mind terribly fetching me another cup of tea?” she asks, pressing a hand to her abdomen as a second wave of queasiness washes over her. “I’m going to see if I can dig up something stronger out of your medicine cabinet.”

He’s already out of the sofa and gripping her gently by the elbow when she moves to gather herself to her feet. “I believe there’s a few hi-potions on the top shelf, if the remedy wasn’t sufficient enough to settle your stomach.”

She waves him off with an irritable hand and slinks toward the bathroom, but a third, more intense wave hits her senses like an angry Spiracorn before she can even make it a dozen paces. She steadies herself on a nearby chair and fights the urge to wretch all over his hardwood floors; he’s on her in an instant, supporting her waist with two firm hands as her legs begin to buckle beneath her.

“Easy does it,” he says softly, locking an elbow behind her knees and hoisting her up with a gracefulness that belied a remarkable amount of athleticism. “Perhaps it might be best if you waited in the bedroom and left the potion wrangling to me.”

“Really, Ignis—I can walk on my own.” She makes a halfhearted attempt at wiggling out of his arms, but her flailing serves only to encourage the strategist to reinforce his grip over her. “I’ll have you know this is utterly humiliating.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Darling. You wouldn’t be the first nauseated houseguest I’ve had to carry out of my living room—remind me to tell you about the time Prompto devoured one too many slices of my fluffy chiffon cake in a single hour.”

His anecdote does little to improve her spirits, but her waning stamina scarcely stands a chance against his superior strength, so she heaves a disgruntled sigh and resigns to leaning her cheek against his shoulder. He navigates a path across the apartment to an open door on the other side, easing her carefully through the threshold before setting her down gently on the edge of the bed; he then disappears into the attached bathroom, only to return a short while later with yet another curative in tow.

She’s sitting upright and averting his gaze when he seats himself next to her. “I’d generally administer an elixir only when severe physical trauma is involved,” he says, offering the vial in her direction, “but with emesis as acute as yours, it may be just the thing needed to take the edge off.”

She doesn’t bother asking him to clarify his fancy medical terminology for a lowly commoner like herself, nor does she protest his incessant hovering like before; she simply crushes the capsule as quickly as her trembling fingers will allow for, her face relaxing visibly as the healing properties in the restorative take immediate effect.

“You should’ve given me an elixir from the start,” she says, slumping her shoulders forward as the muscles in her lower abdomen mercifully begin to unclench, “unless you enjoy the prospect of mopping your floors at midnight.”

“One has to be extremely cautious when dealing with high level curatives. Their effects can be rather potent to the unsuspecting.” He plucks a hand from her lap and presses two fingers to her wrist, turning his gaze toward the analog clock resting on the nightstand. “I still think you should arrange a doctor’s appointment at your earliest convenience.”

She realizes as he takes her pulse that she is witnessing yet another facet of the strategist; he may have been hailed as the Citadel’s greatest tactical mind, but he had another nickname—The Grand Chamberlain. “Maybe coming over tonight was a bad idea, after all,” she concedes. “I’m sure holding my hair back is only appealing when I’m kneeling in front of your trousers, rather than the toilet.”

His gaze drifts from the second hand on the clock to meet her own. “That’s not true.”

A wry smirk tugs on the corner of her lips. “Why else do you keep me around?”

She is unable to quite decipher the odd expression that crosses his features just then; he’d never gone out of his way to make her feel like she was unworthy of his respect, but there was admittedly only one motivating factor behind their perpetual agreement, and it certainly didn’t stem from a source of devotion.

So why he looks like she had just hurt his feelings with a remark she’d made in jest—truthfulness notwithstanding—gives her pause. “Any other unusual symptoms?” he asks, evidently content with his observations and returning her wrist to her lap. “Fever, perhaps?”

The sudden indifference in his tone makes her heart wince slightly. “No.”

“Rashes? Cotton mouth? Fainting spells?”

“Just a little fatigue.”

“Any changes in your menstrual cycle?”

Her eyes narrow in mild irritation. “What are you, my gynecologist?”

“I’m simply trying to rule out any commonly occurring ailments by process of elimination.”

She purses her lips for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m not sure. I’d have to look at my calendar.”

The way he stares at her a few seconds longer than would normally be considered polite leaves her feeling strangely vulnerable. “Any soreness?”

“Some.”

“Where?”

“Oh, you know—here and there.”

“Could you be more specific?”

His unyielding interrogation is beginning to wear down on her patience, and she grits her teeth in frustration. “If you absolutely must know, my breasts have been rather tender as of late.”

“Well then, let’s have a look.”

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it from bubbling out of her throat. “I beg your pardon?”

He’s already fluffing a pillow and gesturing for her to remove her blouse. “Massage therapy has been shown to release endorphins into the bloodstream, thereby improving the body’s sense of wellbeing.”

He isn’t wrong, exactly—whatever chemical it was that flooded her mind whenever he traced his hands lightly over her nipples had never failed to put a skip in her step in the past. But her fingers hesitate when she moves to tackle the top closure of her shirt, and it’s only when she notes his expression of clinical seriousness that she swallows her reticence and unbuttons the rest of them. “I’m not sure if this is entirely necessary, but I suppose I’ll try anything at this point.”

He rises from the bed and disappears into the attached bath once again, and she can hear the sound of cabinet doors opening and bottles clinking as she discards her blouse on the floor. “Go ahead and lie down,” he calls out. “Feel free to take your pants off, if you’ll be more comfortable.”

Had she known the evening would end with her winding up naked in his bed regardless, the redhead might’ve politely excused herself from his apartment the moment he’d inquired about the state of her fertility. But the waistband of her trousers is admittedly putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on her bloated abdomen, so she peels out of her pants before slipping under the sheets of his bed.

He’s carrying a bottle of scented oil and pouring a small dollop into his palms when he returns to her side. “Your brassier as well, if you would.”

When the tart expression souring her features elicits nothing more than a blank stare from him, she reaches around her back and releases the clasp of the constricting undergarment; the strategist scarcely even blinks at the sight of her exposed torso, rubbing the oil in his hands together with all the erotic sensuality of an elderly urologist. She then lowers herself gingerly into a reclining position and stretches out beneath the sheets, relaxing into the pillow he had fluffed earlier as he runs a warm hand across her sternum.

But she flinches in mild discomfort when his fingers graze the tops of her breasts. “Too much?” he asks.

She resorts to pressing her eyes shut and shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

His hands maneuver away from the sore spot he had just touched, but he doesn’t move to adjust the pressure bearing down on her; if anything, his caresses strengthen when he glides his oiled palms across her collarbones and down the sides of her chest. He works his fingers into the muscles between her ribs, pushing and pulling at the tight knots that had taken up residence there with his thumbs, then sweeps them across her torso before stopping to cup her breasts softly with gentle hands.

A moan leaves her lungs her when his fingers find her nipples, a whispered cry of pain mingled with relief. The tenderness in her chest had grown increasingly persistent over the last several days, but it was no match against the circular motions he was administering with pinpoint accuracy; as the last of her soreness melts away, the redhead surmises only a man as straight-laced as Ignis Scientia could fondle a woman’s breasts without any lecherous intentions whatsoever.

She sees his brow furrowed in concentration when she opens her eyes again; it was just like the strategist to apply himself with as much dedication as he committed to any other task, and it’s only when she runs her hand up his forearm that his focus breaks long enough for him to meet her gaze. “That feels nice,” she murmurs.

“Perhaps it’s best if we stop there,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t want to further aggravate any inflamed tissue.”

His hands slow to a halt, but hers continues to wander up his arm until it reaches the skull pendant peeking out of his shirt. “Wearing your necklace after all, I see.”

He glances down at the fingers she is presently entwining around the delicate chain. “Indeed.”

In contrast to the rest of his wardrobe, it was actually a rather tacky accessory; she’d given it to him last night—before he had brewed her one final cup of Ebony on her way out the door, but after she’d cleaned his genetic material from out of her hair—and the dubious expression on his face when he’d opened the box it came in made her think he might pawn it off online for a few measly Crown City credits as soon as she left his apartment.

But she’d wanted to give him something to remember her by—if his prediction of being trapped on the island archipelago of Altissia against his will for months on end ultimately came to fruition—even if he didn’t appreciate the joke of ‘designer clothes before death’ it represented. “I thought you made it fairly obvious pewter clashed with your fashion sensibilities.”

“Yes. Well. I can’t exactly formulate an objective opinion about it if I don’t try wearing it around a little.”

“Is the chain too short? I could probably find you a longer one before you leave.”

“Maybe a tad. Although I must say, the bright shade of purple my face turned when I went to adjust the clasp complimented my Coeurl-print shirt quite nicely.”

She knocks him playfully in the shoulder, then reaches for the brassier she had abandoned along with her blouse. “If you can’t take my generosity seriously, then I suppose there’s no reason for me to linger here any longer.”

His teasing expression turns earnest, and he seizes her wrist before she can push herself upright on the bed. “Stay a while. Get some rest.”

Her eyebrows knits together in confusion. “What about the guards?”

“Don’t worry about the guards. I’ll find a way to sneak you past them in the morning.”

The redhead had admittedly bent the rules of their arrangement on more than one occasion, but this was the first time in memory Ignis had ever explicitly allowed her the freedom to remain at his apartment past their mutually agreed-upon hours. “Are you feeling all right?” she asks. “Perhaps a bit of my illness has rubbed off on you.”

His gaze is directed at the wrist held in his grasp; after a moment, he releases it and slides his hand across her palm. “I feel fine. It’s just—it’s going to be a rather long time before I see you again.”

The slight hitch his voice pierces her heart like an arrow, and she closes her fingers around his own. “You’ll be back before you know it. You said as much yourself.”

“While I’d like to believe in my own assessment, plans have an annoying way of falling through sometimes.”

She isn’t sure how much longer the elixir’s effects will soothe her temperamental stomach, but the look of melancholy suddenly befalling his features overrides any fear she might’ve had about dry heaving into his sheets, and she is unable to resist the impulse to reach absentmindedly for his face. “Will you lay with me?”

His gaze shifts to her emerald orbs as her fingers trace the outline of his jaw. “I’m not sure if that’s in your best interest right now.”

“Maybe not. Or maybe it’ll promote my body’s sense of wellbeing, as you so eloquently implied.”

“A light massage is one thing. Intimacy may raise your heart rate to unsafe levels.”

“I’ve taken greater risks.”

They’re the same words he’d used to enrapture her the very first night they spend together, what felt like an eternity ago; a inkling of recognition flickers behind his spectacled eyes, and he presses his lips together into a thin line as the wheels of deliberation turn in his mind. After a moment, he nods wordlessly, shifting his weight against the edge of the bed as his hands drift to his chest.

She studies his movements, absorbing every minute detail; the long fingers that tackle the buttons of his dress shirt with quick dexterity, his tawny hair that floats like seaweed being carried along a tranquil ocean tide, the way he plucks his glasses off the bridge of his nose and sets them carefully down on the nightstand. When he moves to extinguish the lamp perched beside the bed, she stays his hand. “Leave it on. I like seeing your face.”

He hesitates, then quietly shrugs out of his shirt. She shimmies out of her remaining smallclothes as he unbuckles his trousers, sliding over on the bed to make room for him once he’s removed the last of his wardrobe. It’s not his stark nakedness that makes her heart suddenly pound inside her chest, nor is it the fingers he glides up her leg beneath the sheets, but the way he looks at her; his bare face is an unreadable mask, the resignation in his voice from earlier at odds with the expression of unusual intensity presently veiling his features.

When he’s made himself comfortable beside her, and she can feel the beginnings of his arousal pressing up against her thigh, he brushes a lock of red hair away from her cheek and touches his lips to hers. His caress is gentle, the breath exhaling slowly from his nostrils warm on her skin, and she reaches up to capture his face in her small hands. His own hand is traveling down her neck, grazing past her collarbone, circling over the curves of her breasts, before finally coming to a stop at her belly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispers. “We can fall asleep together, if you’d rather.”

For a moment, the redhead contemplates his offer; she’s never allowed herself to pretend there was anything more to their arrangement that what it ultimately was, and the notion of abandoning all reality—if only for an instant—in favor of drifting peacefully to sleep in his arms is more than a little intriguing.

But the moment passes, the fantasy of a life just beyond her grasp evaporating with the heat rising from her skin, and she resigns herself to tracing her fingers lightly over his cheeks. “I want this. I want you.”

His face darkens and he returns his lips return to hers once more, but it’s not a chaste kiss like it was before, and she can almost taste the desire flooding through him when she feels his tongue slither between her teeth. The hand he has resting on her belly moves southward, and she opens her mouth against his own when he buries his fingers in her heat; the wetness he finds there seems only to ignite his ardor, the erection pressed firmly against her thigh growing more and more rigid with each passing second, and she is unable to entirely stifle a moan as he probes her walls with increasing intensity.

His lips then drift to her neck, and she runs her fingers through his feathery hair as he nibbles softly at her collarbone. But his mouth doesn’t linger for very long, because there was too much territory he had evidently hoped to cover in a single night, and he’s behaving as if this is the first time he’s ever sampled the bounties of what her body had to offer. He grazes his lips over her shoulders, her breasts, her abdomen, trailing light kisses along her arms and the insides of her wrists, dragging his teeth across her hips and upper thighs, before finally withdrawing his fingers from her warmth and settling his head in between her legs.

The redhead would’ve felt guilty for not reciprocating the attention he was lavishing on her, but it becomes rather difficult to return the favor when he locks his hands around hers and pins her wrists to the bed. All she can do is flinch helplessly beneath him as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against her pulsing nub, and her writhing intensifies when she feels his rough tongue glide across her flesh. A sharp hiss escapes her lungs and she draws her knees up around his shoulders, ensnaring his head firmly between her thighs; his grip over her wrists tightens and he drinks in the flavor of her sex, raking his teeth over her sensitive hood as she arches herself hard against his mouth.

It might’ve been worth it to turn out the lights just to save on electricity—her eyelids are pressed tightly shut and the only thing she can see anyway are white stars dancing across her mind’s eye—although if the energy flowing through her veins could be captured in a bottle, a talented mage could craft a limitless number of Electon spells and still have enough left over to power all of Insomnia. He’s channeling his focus entirely on her nub now, circling his teeth around the frenzied nerve endings and teasing her hood with a delightful tongue. She claws desperately at the strong hands that are trapping her wrists to the bed to little avail; his grip is relentless, the agonizingly slow caresses directed against her sex unyielding.

“Darling,” she pants, her knees clenching ever tighter around his neck, “please—this isn’t how I wanted this to end.”

For a moment, it appears as if the strategist’s ears are not working properly; he continues his sinful torture, pushing her closer over the edge with each passing stroke of his tongue. The redhead has her knees wrapped so tightly around his neck now it’s a wonder he can even breathe properly, and it’s only when the inferno raging in her lower abdomen reaches nearly its tipping point that he eases the pressure off her nub and plants a light kiss against the inside of her thigh.

He then releases her wrists and untangles the legs that are wrapped around his neck like deadly Coeurl whiskers, and the redhead breathes a small sigh of relief when the roaring in her belly mercifully subsides. Her eyes open tentatively and she watches as he gathers himself to his knees, his palm gliding across the smooth skin of her abdomen as he positions himself above her; she moves to touch his face, trailing gentle fingers along his jaw and lower lip, and he reaches up to capture her hand with his own.

But she can see the hint of sorrow disturbing his features even in the dim light of the bedroom, and she tilts her head in concern. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispers.

He turns his face and presses his mouth to her fingertips. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m not made of glass. You can do as you please.”

“You may be more fragile than you think.”

“It’s just the flu, Ignis. You have enough to worry about without overanalyzing the color of my snot.”

He snorts softly, but she is unable to quite shake the bizarre feeling of melancholy she can sense emanating from him. Instead of responding to her quip, however, he simply leans down and touches his lips to her own, the weight of his body settling in on hers like a comfortable blanket; he then reaches down between their legs, and soon she can feel the head of his shaft pressing hard against her folds.

Her hands slip around his waist when he pushes himself slowly inside of her, but she doesn’t cry out like she usually does; her throat tightens abruptly almost to the point of asphyxiation, her fingernails digging into the thickest part of his buttocks, and her vision blurs as tears begin to pool in her eyes. The warmth in her belly is nothing compared to the searing heat of the man touched by fire, and she has to force an exhale through flared nostrils just to accommodate the full length of himself scorching every fiber of her being.

It’s a small mercy that he takes a moment to settle his hips against her pelvis; her breath returns to her lungs when he presses a hand to her forehead, nuzzling his nose in her hair and nibbling at her earlobe. She isn’t sure if this brief interlude is for her benefit or his own, but she notices a slight trembling in the biceps he has braced on either side of her head, as well as the flexing of his jaw when she feels his shaft pulse faintly inside of her.

She tilts her chin up in search of his mouth, and it’s only when their lips meet again that he quells the vibration afflicting his arms and begins to move. His cadence is unhurried, his hips almost lazy in their wanton efforts, and he deepens their kiss with each agonizingly slow thrust. Her fingers relax around his buttocks and glide up the taut muscles of his back, and she arches herself against the sword he has sheathed fully inside of her; as their bodies fall into a familiar rhythm, the redhead can almost envision the image of his shaft grinding hard against her nub.

There is a method to his movements, she knows, because the strategist had a method for practically everything; in this instance, they had both discovered quite serendipitously that the slenderness of his waist met the angle of her hips in such a way as to fit together like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle. Penetrate her sex just so, and the pressure on her hood intensified; withdraw slightly, and the tension eased. Slow motions gave way to a steady momentum—rather like pushing a large boulder up a steep incline—and it takes Ignis all of one minute of concentrated effort for her to feel the beginnings of her climax hovering on the periphery of her mind.

So she stays his motions by wrapping her thighs around his waist, because if it were to be months before they would be able to meet like this again, she’d damned if she didn’t at the very least try to draw this evening out as long as she could. The forged iron inside of her is proving to be somewhat of a challenge to her willpower, however, since her screaming nub refuses be ignored; as a last resort, she moves her hands from his back to clutch desperately at his face.

“Wait,” she breathes. “Just—I need a moment.”

His cheeks are dotted with a thin layer of perspiration, the product of his exertion evidently taking its toll on his own discipline. He nods and presses his lips to hers once more, exploring her mouth with tentative inquisitiveness; she yields to his kiss and rakes her hands through his hair, chasing the lingering taste of herself on his tongue with the fervor of an addict in dire need of a fix. His manhood buried deep within her walls like a pike impaling a target is pulsing harder now, his hips shuddering against the shackles of his restraint, and he grips at the sheets beneath her as her wetness trickles down around both their thighs.

But even in the stillness of their embrace, her aching nub will not be denied its singular desire for release, and when his hips resume their slow drives into her heat, she feels the threads of her resolve slipping through her fingers one by one. The redhead isn’t the only living entity losing control over herself, however; for a man seemingly defined by his enduring stoicism, the strategist is uncharacteristically expressive, the quiet grunts that pass through his lips as he draws ever nearer to the edge ringing audibly in her ears.

It’s inevitable what will happen if they keep this pace up, but the she no longer cares about prolonging their ecstasy; she no longer cares about anything, for that matter, other than the man holding her tightly in his arms, the one who had taken her under his wing and schooled her in the art of warfare, who had both seduced her at her haughtiest and comforted her at her most vulnerable, the man who—despite the explicit terms of their agreement—she cherished beyond all measure of reason. He could at times be tender and witty and utterly infuriating all at once, and although the strategist and the redhead had made love more times that she could count, he somehow felt closer to her now than he had ever felt before.

She can sense the culmination of his ardor drawing precariously close to its terminus; the hard tissues of his shaft are engorged nearly to their saturation point, his back slick with perspiration, his breath ragged in his lungs. The pressure in her own abdomen feels likely to burst at any given moment, the nerve endings in her nub firing electrical impulses from one end of her body to the other as if she were touched by the Fulgurian himself. She makes one last attempt at extending their rapture by covering his mouth with her own; what she was hoping to accomplish with this futile distraction, she isn’t sure, but it’s too late now, because the dam bracing the tide of her resolve is already crumbling, and it was only a matter of milliseconds before one of their bodies would betray them.

The strategist breaks first. “Darling,” he groans, his hips trembling against her sex, “I—I can’t—”

“I can’t either,” she gasps. “Don’t you dare stop.”

She tightens her legs around his waist and urges him onward, and the redhead has but a heartbeat to glimpse the expression of surrender enshrouding his features before he lowers his forehead to hers and grudgingly heeds her command. His eyes are closed, his biceps flexing under the weight of his exertion as he pushes them both past the brink, and her walls clench tightly around him when the first crest of her orgasm crashes over her like a torrential wave. She lifts her head off the pillow in an effort to draw oxygen into her lungs, but the sensation of drowning only intensifies when she feels him thrusting furiously through his final throes and filling her belly with his seed.

A second wave is followed by a third, then a fourth, then a fifth; by the sixth wave, her body is shivering like a newborn Anak calf, the vice hold she has over his waist weakening as she loses her grip on reality. His thrusts are growing less erratic now, his strength fleeing his body like an exodus, and it’s only when she starts to feel his fluid trickling down the back of her thighs and onto the sheets that his movements finally cease altogether.

For a long moment, the redhead is unable to discern where precisely the strategist’s body ends and hers begins; their hearts beat as one in the stillness of the bedroom, their lungs expanding and contracting quietly against the others’ chests. His head is still pressed to her forehead, his eyelids sealed firmly shut, his soft exhales warm against her damp cheeks, and as she traces a hand across the planes of his chiseled face, she wonders briefly if there might not be a way to stay here with Ignis forever and never move again.

But then he does move, pushing himself upright on shaky elbows and slowly withdrawing from her. She rolls onto her side and drags the comforter up around her breasts, bracing herself against the chill of the evening wind she knows is forthcoming; rather than immediately bolting from the bed to open a window like he usually does, however, the strategist simply sidles up alongside her beneath the blanket and circles his arms around her smaller form.

She can’t help but frown at his peculiar show of tenderness; once the deed was done, he generally resumed a more aloof air of indifference, at least until his libido had recharged enough for another round of intimacy. Cuddling and pillow talk had never been one of the expectations of their arrangement—much like pet names and public displays of affection—and the redhead begins to seriously consider whether her illness really had rubbed off on him, after all.

“Are you all right?” she asks, turning her head over her shoulder toward him. “You’re not often this—er, attentive.”

His hand traces the outline of her thigh before stopping at her belly, and she can feel the cold metal of his necklace pressing up against her spine. “Apologies. Perhaps I haven’t been as considerate of your needs in the past as I should have.”

“I wouldn’t say that. And besides—I like to think I’m not a particularly needy person.”

“It’s a funny thing, neediness,” he whispers. “Sometimes you never know how much you really needed something until it’s too late, and you’re already running off on some grand adventure.”

His hold over her belly tightens as an odd silence befalls them; it was hard to tell whether the familiar twinge in her lower abdomen was a direct response to the distress in his voice, or merely the effects of the medicinal he had administered earlier losing its strength. “Speaking of running off,” she says carefully, “I really ought to be going soon. That elixir isn’t going to settle my stomach forever, and I’d rather not throw up in the bushes on my walk home.”

“I told you, I’ll deal with the guards. Stay the night.”

Her bewilderment finally gets the better of her, and she rolls over to face him. “Don’t you have to help the prince clean out his apartment first thing in the morning? You’re not going to want to field his burning questions if he spots me sneaking out of your flat like a thief.”

“I’ll… figure something out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certainly. But do me a favor, won’t you? Schedule an appointment with a physician as soon as possible, I beg of you.”

The odd look of remorse on his bare face gives her pause, and she narrows her eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Ignis?”

He loosens his grip over her belly and traces his fingers lightly over the soft skin there. “There’s always something I’m not telling you. Just like yourself.”

She knows what he’s referring to; it’s that word, just one little word, the word that wholly defined the meaning of their relationship even though they’d never uttered it aloud in one another’s presence before. But they’d expressed it in other ways—be it in the shower, or on the breakfast table, or in the front seat of the Regalia—and it had never occurred to the redhead to verbalize what he truly meant to her until now.

But maybe it was worth mentioning after all, addressing the sentiments left unspoken on the eve of his departure. “Would you like to talk about things? Maybe there’s something I could say that would put your mind at ease.”

His fingers continue circling her navel, his forehead furrowed in deep thought. “There’ll be time enough later, Astrals willing,” he says finally, pressing his lips gently to her cheek. “For now, get some rest.”

[jonigirard3]

how to fall asleep fast and sleep through the night?

how to fall asleep fast and sleep through the night?

Translator: Tijana Mihajlović Reviewer: Denise RQ The early part of my career as a clinical psychologist was spent in addiction research and treatment, and now I treat sleep. So when I reflect on my path, I feel as if I can legitimately say that I went from helping people become conscious to helping people become unconscious. (Laughter) I love sleep treatment. I think that sleep is so fascinating and it's exquisitely complex. For people navigating that sleep treatment world, though, trying to figure out what to do can be very daunting. I was even surprised to find out that some of the most effective treatments for insomnia were over 20 years old. When I shared this with one of my clients, his response caught me off-guard. He said, "Why is it then that you are my last stop when you should have been my first stop?" The night of sleeplessness here and there is actually normal. Losing sleep over a broken heart - normal. Losing sleep because your mind pops awake with one more idea to add it to your big presentation tomorrow - normal. But hopefully, we also know how great it feels to have a really good night of sleep. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNj1Y11t_x8 Because I know how great it is to have a good night of sleep, I am always struck with wonder that sleep only recently has joined the conversation when you talk about health and overall longevity. People even sometimes ask me, "Isn't there some way I can hack into my sleep, to somehow squeeze it down significantly, so that I can just maybe go straight into, you know, the good stages, where the benefits are?" Fair enough. Good question. The answer is no. (Laughter) It turns out a great deal of housekeeping is taking place while we sleep. And sleep is much more complex than just a lack of consciousness. When you get into bed, and you pull up the covers, and you rest your head on the pillow, with your exhale of all the concerns for the day, as you close your eyes, sleep begins to unfold in a series of stages that increase in depths as the night goes on. All those stages work together to orchestrate all the processes that are needed to derive all the benefits of sleep. For example, we know that sleep is incredibly important for immune functioning. Get a lot of consistent sleep - you're more likely to resist infection. If you get sleep while you're sick, you're more likely to recover. Recent evidence suggest that your brain even has its own dedicated waste removal system, the glymphatic system, and this is the system that works primarily while we're asleep to remove the gunk out of our brains that seem to contribute to diseases such as dementia. So really there is no consensus about why we sleep. We don't really know why we spend the third of our life doing it, but one thing that I can tell you is just as the three trimesters of pregnancy can't be whittled down to a convenient three months, it seems like sleep and the benefits of it also have an optimum period of gestation, which appears to be about 7-9 hours. So, while some people are looking to get rid of sleep, there are other people that would do anything to get more of it. To them, sleep is not consistently rejuvenating, satisfying, it doesn't leave them ready to go. This is insomnia. Now, that word doesn't always resonate with people. If you ask them, they're saying, "No, no, I don't have insomnia. I just don't sleep. I don't look like this guy, so how bad off can I be?" It turns out a diagnosis of insomnia doesn't depend on how bleary-eyed you are, or even on the number of hours of sleep that you get. If you consistently don't feel as if your sleep is rejuvenating, or if more days that not you feel as if you're having a hard time falling asleep, staying asleep, or you're unintentionally waking up too early, maybe you should get it checked out. And don't fall into the trap of thinking that whatever is happening with you, that it makes sense that you have some chronic sleep loss. Until recently, sleep problems that occurred in the context of major life stress, or medical or psychiatric conditions was largely ignored. It was thought that if some sort of medical issue would be resolved, that eventually sleep would fall into place. That is clearly not what happens. Sometimes, even when the primary issue is resolved, insomnia persists. And the reason for that is that insomnia and a lot of other symptoms are mutually exacerbating. What that means is that they're intertwined. Take, for example, that half of the 18 million Americans who have major depressive disorder, also have insomnia. If you intervene at the level of depression, you might get symptom relief, and yet, the insomnia can persist. But the evidence linking the relationship between insomnia and depression suggest that if you intervene on the level of sleep, that people can get relief from those symptoms of depression, and you can even prevent further episodes. Insomnia is not just a symptom; insomnia is a disorder. And when it occurs, it should be assessed and treated as the first-line problem. Now, when people do seek treatment, they usually receive a medication, and medications are great. If you have a stressful meeting with your boss tomorrow, pop a pill; you're going to sleep tonight. But oftentimes, people don't want to have to rely on anything, especially over the long term, in order to get a good night of sleep. I have good news, and that is that healthy sleep is largely shaped by the things that we do: by our choices, by our behaviors. So in this way, the best sleep medicine is our behavior, behavioral medicine. Cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia, which is a really long name for a treatment, let's just call it CBTI, has a substantial evidenced-base for the treatment of insomnia. And we know that not only does it work for most people, there are several different patient populations that can derive benefit: cancer survivors, people with PTSD, chronic pain, fibromyalgia, major depression. Here, there is consensus: CBTI should be the first line of treatment when it comes to insomnia. And why is that? Why would something like therapy cure something that feels like a very physiological need? Well, in order to understand why CBTI works, you need to know a little bit about why acute insomnia becomes chronic, and has a lot to do with our behaviors. The seemingly benign decisions we make in order to try to fix insomnia, actually perpetuate it. I blame our instincts. Let me give you an example. If you sustain an injury, you automatically apply pressure to any sort of bleeding wound. In this case, your instincts are helpful. But let's say you're going on a hike, and it's a beautiful Colorado day, and you run into a bear. Every cell in your body mobilizes to react to your instinct to turn around and run. Your instincts are wrong. The bear will chase you, the bear will outrun you, the bear will catch you, and then… Well, it turns out the way your instincts should have told you to do is to make yourself look bigger, to stand tall, to puff out your chest, and talk to it on a loud voice, and in the very unlikely scenario where the bear actually attacks you, what you're supposed to do is pick up a stick and fight back. So… (Laughter) So this is the same thing that happens with sleep loss: we compensate for sleep loss because it tends to make sense to us. So what do we do? We doze off on the couch, we go to bed early, we sleep in late, we have an irregular sleep schedule, we become really preoccupied with whether or not we'll be able to sleep, whether we've lost the ability to sleep, and this leads to a lot of hyper arousal, which is where CBTI comes in. So there are several different components of CBTI that are tailored to each individual person, but in brief, what happens with sleep restriction is it takes someone's existing sleep debt and grows it a little bit in order to consolidate sleep, so that people fall asleep faster, and they're less likely to wake up. Stimulus control likes to strengthen the relationship between bed being a place for sleep, rather than other engaging activities, such as checking your email, plotting revenge, worrying, stress, or whatever else it might be. (Laughter) Cognitive therapy helps people identify strategies that might be able to help them distance themselves from a mind that doesn't seem to be able to turn off. How do they stuck up? How do medications and cognitive behavioral therapy compare with one another? Well, the evidence is in, and the results are clear. In the short run, CBTI and medications are equivalent, but in the long run, CBTI is the clear winner. The problem with behavioral therapies is not a lack of evidence that they work; it is a lack of awareness that they exist. You could probably rattle off the names of several different sleep medications, but how many commercials have you seen for CBTI? If you have insomnia, take heart. The odds are squarely in your favor. Your sleep can get better. You can wake up rejuvenated, with mental clarity, who knows, maybe even enough energy to stand up to a bear. (Laughter) But here, I think that what I'll do is I will heed the advice of a great mind, who says that it's more important to know what sort of person has a disease than to know what sort of a disease a person has. So, I know sleep science, but I don't know you. We just met. I don't know you or the relevant medical history that would have helped me design a treatment to help you cure your insomnia, but I can leave you with this: eat healthy, exercise, take care of your body, and do all that you can do to cap it all off with a night of great sleep. Thank you. (Applause) the early part of my career as a clinical psychologist was spent in addiction research treatment and now I treat sleep so when I reflect on my path I feel as if I can legitimately say that I went from helping people become conscious to helping people become unconscious I love sleep treatment I think that sleep is so fascinating and it's exquisitely complex for people navigating the sleep treatment world though trying to figure out what to do can be very daunting I was even surprised to find out that some of the most effective treatments for insomnia were over 20 years old. when I shared this with one of my clients his response caught me off guard he said why is it then that you are my last stop when you should have been my first stop the night of sleeplessness here and there is actually normal losing sleep over a broken heart normal losing sleep because your mind pops awake with one more idea to add your to your big presentation tomorrow normal but hopefully we also know how great it feels to have a really good night of sleep and because I know how great it is to have a good night of sleep I always am struck and with wonder that sleep only recently has joined the conversation when you talk about health and overall longevity people even sometimes ask me isn't there some way I can hack into my sleep to somehow squeeze it down significantly so that I can just maybe go straight into you know the good stages where the benefits are fair enough good question the answer is No so it turns out a great deal of housekeeping is taking place while we sleep and sleep is much more complex than just a lack of consciousness when you get into bed and you pull up the covers and you rest your head on the pillow with your exhale of all the concerns for the day as you close your eyes sleep begins to unfold in a series of stages that increase in depth as the night goes on and all those stages work together to orchestrate all the processes that are needed to derive all the benefits of sleep for example we know that sleep is incredibly important for immune functioning get a lot of consistent sleep you're more likely to resist infection if you get sleep while you're sick you're more likely to recover recent evidence suggests that your brain even has its own dedicated waste removal system the glymphatic system and this is the system that works primarily while we're asleep to remove the gunk out of our brains that seem to contribute to diseases such as dementia so really there is no consensus about why we sleep we don't really know why we spend a third of our life doing it but one thing that I can tell you is just as the three trimesters of pregnancy can be whittled down to a convenient three months it seems like sleep and the benefits of it also have an optimum period of gestation which appears to be about seven to nine hours so while some people are looking to get rid of sleep there are other people that other people that would do anything to get more of it to them sleep is not consistently rejuvenating satisfying it doesn't leave them ready to go this is insomnia now that word doesn't always resonate with people if you ask them they say nah no I don't even saamiya I just don't sleep I don't look like this guy so how bad off can I be it turns out a diagnosis of insomnia doesn't depend on how bleary-eyed you are or even on the number of hours of sleep that you get if you consistently don't feel as if your sleep is rejuvenating or if more days than not you feel as if you're having a hard time falling asleep staying asleep or you're unintentionally waking up too early maybe you should get it checked out and don't fall into the trap of thinking that whatever is happening with you that it makes sense that you have some chronic sleep loss until recently sleep problems that occurred in the context of major life stress or medical or psychiatric conditions was largely ignored it was thought that if some sort of medical issue were resolved that eventually sleep would fall into place that is clearly not what happens sometimes even when the primary issue is resolved insomnia persists and the reason for that is that insomnia and a lot of other symptoms are mutually exacerbating and what that means is that they're intertwined take for example that half of the 18 million Americans who have major depressive disorder also have insomnia if you intervene at the level of depression you might get symptom relief and yet the insomnia can persist but the evidence linking the relationship between insomnia and depression suggests that if you intervene on the level of sleep that people can get relief from those symptoms of depression and you can even prevent further episodes insomnia is not just a symptom insomnia is a disorder and when it occurs it should be assessed and treated as a first-line problem now when people do seek treatment they usually receive a medication and medications are great if you have a stressful meeting with your boss tomorrow pop a pill you're going to sleep tonight but oftentimes people don't want to have to rely on anything especially over the long term in order to get a good night of sleep I have good news and that is that healthy sleep is largely shaped by the things that we do by our choices by our behaviors so in this way the best sleep medicine is our behavior behavioral medicine cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia which is a really long name for a treatment so let's just call it CBT It has a substantial evidence base for the treatment of insomnia and we know that not only does it work for most people there are several different patient populations that can derive benefit cancer survivors people with PTSD chronic pain fibromyalgia major depression here there is consensus CBT I should be the first line of treatment when it comes to insomnia now why is that why would something like therapy cure something that feels like a very physiological need well in order to understand why CBT I works you need to know a little bit about why acute insomnia becomes chronic and has a lot to do with our behaviors the seemingly benign decisions we make in order to try to fix insomnia actually perpetuate it I blame our instincts let me give you an example if you sustained an injury you automatically apply pressure to any sort of bleeding wound in this case your instincts are helpful but let's say you're going on a hike and it's a beautiful Colorado day and you run into a bear every cell in your body mobilizes to react to your instinct to turn around and run your instincts are wrong the bear will chase you the bear will outrun you the bear will catch you and then well it turns out that what your instincts should have told you to do is to make yourself look bigger to stand tall to puff out your chest and talk to on a loud voice and in the very unlikely scenario where the bear actually attacks you what you're supposed to do is pick up a stick and fight back so so this is the same thing that happens with sleep loss we compensate for sleep loss because it tends to make sense it makes sense us so what do we do we does off on the couch we go to bed early we sleep in late we have an irregular sleep schedule we become really preoccupied with whether or not we'll be able to sleep whether we've lost the ability to sleep and this leads to a lot of hyper arousal which is where cbt-i comes in so there are several different components of cbt-i that are tailored to each individual person but in brief what happens with sleep restriction is it takes someone's existing sleep debt and grows it a little bit in order to consolidate sleep so that people fall asleep faster and they're less likely to wake up stimulus control likes to strengthen the relationship between bed being a place for sleep rather than other engaging activities such as checking your email plotting revenge worrying stress or whatever else it might be cognitive therapy helps people identify strategies that might be able to help them distance themselves from a mind that doesn't seem to be able to to turn off how do they stack up how do medications and cognitive behavioral therapy and compare with one another well the evidence is in and the results are clear in the short run CBT eye and medications are equivalent but in the long run CBT eye is the clear winner the problem with behavioral therapies is not a lack of evidence that they work it is a lack of awareness that they exist you could probably rattle off the names of several different sleep medications but how many commercials have you seen for CBT i if you have insomnia take heart the odds are squarely in your favor your sleep can get better you can wake up rejuvenated with mental clarity who knows maybe even enough energy to stand up to a bear but here I think that what I'll do is I will heed the advice of a great mind who says it's more important to know what sort of person has a disease than to know what sort of a disease a person has so I know sleep science but I don't know you we just met I don't know you or the relevant medical history that wouldn't it help me design a treatment to help you cure in your insomnia but I can leave you with this eat healthy exercise take care of your body and do all that you can do to cap it all off with a night of great sleep thank you you Source : Youtube

https://www.yourvibration.com/sleep/89 Sleep Rescue, Sleep Remedy, Sleep Aid