#i really had to go inward cause why am i as a black person depending on white women for spiritual guidance

[thebloodredraven]

The "why are people criticizing romance tarot readers, I don't want to do shadow work readings" shit I saw on here a few months ago did a lot to my psyche, mostly make me realize I should not be consuming that content as much as I have been over the past few years.

I also learned that anyone who has a problem with doing shadow work or self reflection readings but obsesses over romance are probably suffering with limerence like me and that snapped me tf awake

Edit: also what the FUCK do you mean "if this pile just sounds like it's describing yourself, that just means your person is mirroring you!!" NO???? THAT MEANS YOU NEED TO FOCUS ON YOURSELF BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE WHY ARE WE SAYING THIS TO IMPRESSIONABLE PEOPLE

[bitchin-beskar]

Lost

Chapter 1: Foundling

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Heyo! It’s been a long time coming, and I swear, I kept trying to write so I can update my story on Wattpad, but this little idea just wouldn’t leave me alone. So, here I go, diving into the Mandalorian fandom! Funnily enough, this chapter doesn’t even have Mando in it, whoops. I literally just finished this chapter today (I’m also unbeta’d so whoohoo!), so we will see how long it takes me to get up the next chapter. I’m also posting this on Archive of Our Own under the username mindless__ramblings, so if you prefer that, feel free to head on over there! I hope you enjoy! 

Walking through the streets of the marketplace, in the middle of the throngs of people, two women stood out amongst the rest. The first, a tall, regal-looking woman, with deep auburn hair pulled up into an elaborate coiffure, her gown spotless and shimmering in the sunlight, was the perfect image of a Grand-Moff’s wife. She strode through the streets, pausing here and there at stalls, peering at the wares offered, before moving on to the next stall. 

The other woman drew just as much attention, for much the opposite reasons. She followed after the regal woman, but by comparison, her dress was made of cheap cotton, although just as spotless. Her head was held just as high, however her eyes were cast downwards, carefully avoiding any and all eye contact. Her brunette hair was pulled away from her face in a simple plait, and she carried a simple woven basket in front of her, which she placed her mistress’s purchases into. 

As they reached the marketplace center, the regal woman slowed, eyeing the display set up in the central square of the market. There, on a small stage, was the main reason she’d come to the marketplace today. For today was the first of the month, which meant there was a new assortment of slaves for purchasing. On Lyerra, slavery was not just allowed, but encouraged. The royal family had built their wealth on the backs of slaves, and it was considered a sign of status to own a slave, and the more you owned, the more important you were considered to be. 

As the wife to a Grand-Moff, it was of no surprise to anyone that she had come to the marketplace on this particular day. With twenty slaves already in their employ, the Grand-Moff and his wife were the only ones in the entire city to have just as many slaves as the royals. It was an open secret that the Grand-Moff kept a close eye on how many slaves were employed in the royal household, and whenever that number increased, he sent his wife to the market to purchase more. So, here she was, surveying the potential purchases.

Standing next to her mistress, the young woman was a picture of the perfect slave, perfect posture, but not so much that she drew attention, head slightly bowed, hands folded neatly over the basket she carried. But as she stood there, she slowly observed the slaves on display. There were the usual ones who stared angrily out at the crowd, defiant and obstinate. Then there were the few who were meek, beaten down, staring at their shackled limbs, those who had clearly become used to this life. To her sorrow, there were also three children, the metal shackles too big on their too-thin wrists.

Confusingly, there was also a basket on a pedestal on the stage as well. She couldn’t see into the basket, and before she could think about it too much, her mistress grabbed her attention. “Well Cerliah, what do you think?”

Cerliah looked over the slaves. She hated this part of the trip, she always had. “Well, M’Lady, there’s a fine selection today,” she said, tasting bile in the back of her throat as she forced the words out. Luckily, her mistress didn’t notice the pain in her voice.

“Mmm, yes indeed.” Ettela Tarrel, her mistress, stepped forward, critically eyeing each slave. “Cerliah, come here.” Ettela had stopped in front of the basket on the pedestal.

Cerliah jerked, quickly moving to stand next to, but just behind her mistress. “Yes, M’Lady?” She asked, praying that her mistress wouldn’t ask for her opinion on which slave to choose, as she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick. 

“I discussed with my husband the possibility of allowing you to pick a child, since you were denied yours.” Cerliah’s eyes widened, and it was only her years of servitude that prevented her from jerking her head up to meet her mistress's eyes. 

She felt tears well in her eyes, and she forced herself to take deep breaths. “M-M’lady?” Cerliah could feel her mistress’s eyes on her, and she struggled to keep her voice level.

“He has agreed to allow you a child of my choice, for the two years you would have been allowed to keep your own.” Ettela gestured to the basket. “While this child may not be your species, I trust you will accept this… gift?” 

Her mistress paused, and Cerliah knew what was being left unsaid. This was not a request, not something she could deny. Her only choice was to graciously agree, as for a slave to disagree with their master, and publicly no less, could see them executed. 

“Of course M’Lady, I would be honored to accept,” Cerliah told her mistress, watching as she turned, and after ordering the merchant to charge her husband’s household, gesturing for Cerliah to step forward. 

Slowly, she stepped forward, climbing up the stage, and peering into the basket. Staring up at her was the cutest life-form she’d ever seen. The child was small, about the size of a human infant, but that was where the similarities ended. Large black eyes peered up at her, perched above a comically small mouth and nose. The child’s skin was green and wrinkly, with fuzzy hair on top of its wrinkled little head. But the oddest thing about the child were its large, green, petal shaped ears. Letting the basket she carried hang in the crook of her arm, Cerliah reached down, picking the child up out of the basket, cradling it in her arms. 

She faintly noticed the merchant giving Ettela the trigger for the child’s transmitter, although she was far more focused on how the child had snuggled into her arms, burying its head in her neck and clutching onto the neckline of her dress with one small, three-fingered hand. She felt tears come to her eyes again, although for a much different reason than her mistress assumed. 

“I’m pleased it suits you.” Ettela eyed her servant with a critical eye. “Come now, there are still chores left to do for today.” 

Cerliah followed her mistress out of the square, weaving through the crowd as they made their way back to the mansion. She could hear the child sniffling against her neck, and she felt warm tears against her skin. Quietly, she began to hum a lullaby from her childhood, desperate to calm the child. Her mistress had been kind so far, but that was liable to change depending on her mood, and a crying baby was a surefire way to change that mood instantly.

Finally, they came to the base of the grand mansion that housed the Grand-Moff and his wife. Opulent and extravagant, the mansion was a thing to behold. A white marble staircase led to the front of the house, with grand pillars stretching all the way to the roof. Windows adorned the front of the mansion, allowing in light to dazzle off of the glass chandeliers and the marble floor. As they entered, Ettela dismissed Cerliah for a few hours, allowing her to make her way to the small servants bedroom that she called her own, branching off of the master bedroom. 

As the personal handmaid to the Lady of the Mansion, Cerliah had a slightly bigger room than most. Her bedroom door was hidden, a discreet cut out in the wall that swung inward from the master closet. She had to be close, so as to better serve her mistress' needs. She quickly made her way into her room, shutting the door behind her, and dropping onto her bed, careful to not jostle the child, which had fallen asleep in her arms. 

As she sat, she stared down as the sleeping baby, her trembling hand tracing its features. She hated that such a small, innocent baby had already been sold into slavery. No doubt he, or she, had parents out looking for them. Cerliah felt tears run down her cheeks. Even though this baby was not hers, she would care for them as though they were her flesh and blood. Anything she could do to protect this innocence for as long as possible. 

She let the baby rest on her bed, as she moved about her room, constructing a rudimentary cradle from her meager possessions. Once the cradle had been constructed, she placed the child inside, before quickly moving to her mistress’s room to put away the packages purchased that day. While she’d been given a few hours before her dinner, Cerliah was going to make sure that nothing she did angered her mistress, lest she take the child from her. 

Time passed rather quickly, and before she realized, it was time for dinner for the household staff. She made her way to the far end of her bedroom, where another hidden door led to a staircase, which spiraled down into the basement of the mansion, where the kitchens lay. As Cerliah entered, she was bombarded with questions from her fellow servants. 

“Cerliah, is it true, is it?” Aterra, a young Twi'lek serving girl, practically assaulted her as she walked into the kitchens. “Did the master really allow you to have a baby?” The word baby was said in a whisper, as though speaking of the child too loudly would cause it to disappear. 

All Cerliah could do was nod. “Yes, M’Lady picked out the child at the marketplace today. I am to be allowed to keep it for two years, the same amount of time my child would have been with me.” 

The young girls who had all crowded around Aterra oohed and awed, while the older servants just looked on fondly. But Aterra had a funny look on her face. “Why do you call the baby it? Don’t you know if its a boy or a girl?” 

The Matron, a no-nonsense older woman who was in charge of the kitchens, whacked Aterra on the back of the hand with a wooden serving spoon. “Girl, be quiet! You know better than to disrespect those older than you! Have you learned nothing?” Despite her stern tone, Matron allowed a small grin to grace her lips, eyes shining with amusement as Aterra tried to hide behind one of the other girls.

Cerliah laughed softly. “The baby isn’t a species I’ve ever seen before, Aterra. I’m not sure if its a boy or a girl, although they are very cute.” Immediately, all eyes were back on Cerliah, as she sat upon a small stool, and she began to answer as many questions as she could. 

Before long, the servant’s allotted time for dinner was over, and the kitchens emptied quickly as the staff dispersed to attend to their nightly duties. Cerliah stood from her stool, but before she could make her way to the door leading back to her chambers, a hand on her arm stopped her. Turning, she saw the Matron, a worried look in her eyes. 

“Are you okay Cerliah?” As she opened her mouth to voice her confusion, the Matron pierced her with a small glare. “Truly, child, are you alright? I know how much you hurt when you lost…” Matron trailed off, her hand moving from Cerliah’s arm to her belly, unable to speak it out loud. 

Cerliah’s eyes widened, and it was all she could do to not break down in the Matron’s arms. While it hadn’t been a secret that she’d been pregnant, the Matron was the only one Cerliah had ever talked with about her baby, the only one she’d ever shared her hopes and fears with.

“I wonder if the mistress truly meant for this child to be a boon, or if perhaps she had another reason for allowing you this child. I don’t want to see you broken, Cerliah, and I’m worried this child will have the power to do that.” 

The Matron drew Cerliah into her arms in a rare show of affection. Other than Cerliah, the Matron had been in the employ of the Grand-Moff the longest. She was the one who trained every new servant, and as such, they all looked up to her as the pseudo-mother of the household. 

Cerliah gripped the back of the Matron’s dress, burying her face in the Matron’s neck. She allowed herself a few moments of weakness before she straightened up. “Truthfully, I do not know what I will do when It comes time for the baby to leave,” she whispered, meeting the Matron’s gaze. “But for now, I will care for it as my own, and I will cherish the time I have.”

The Matron laid a hand against her cheek, fingers brushing away the few remaining tears. They stood in silence for a moment longer, before Cerliah broke away, making her way to the stairwell, and ascending the many floors back to her chambers. 

Cerliah stepped into her room, and not a minute too soon, as the small bell that hung in her chambers began to ring, signaling that her mistress was summoning her. Pausing briefly at the cradle to check on the baby, she moved through the door, and into her mistress’s room. 

She stood quietly by the door to the fresher, head bowed as she waited for orders. After a few moments, her mistress called her over to the vanity, so that she could braid her hair before bed. As she stood behind her Ettela, her fingers moving through the auburn strands, forming them into one of the elaborate Nubian braids favored by her mistress, the bedroom door opened, and the master of the Mansion came into the room. 

Cerliah stiffened imperceptibly. While she was technically the slave to the wife of the Grand-Moff, she was still considered to be in his employ, and as such, he had final say over her fate. She was lucky, as she rarely had dealings with the man, but she still felt fear whenever she had to be in his presence. 

Grand-Moff Tarrel was a particularly intimidating man. He stood well over six feet tall, and while he spent most of his time in official dress, it was clear that he was just as comfortable and deadly with weapons as he was with words and orders. His greying hair did nothing to detract from his fearsome appearance, and the near permanent scowl on his face often sent slaves scurrying to stay out of his way. 

He stalked into the room, making his way to the other side of the room, where he began to disrobe. Cerliah pointedly looked at her mistress’s hair, finishing off the braid, and tying it neatly with some spare ribbon. She stepped back, standing next to the vanity, waiting until her dismissal. 

She nearly jumped in shock when, instead of dismissing her, the Grand-Moff called out for her. “Cerliah, I understand that my wife allowed you to pick your child today at the market?” She nodded, her breathing shaky. Was the Matron right? Was she to only have a few hours with the child before it was taken from her? Had she done something to anger them? Why- 

Her panicky thoughts were cut off by the Grand-Moff’s next words. “I understand that the child isn’t human? Would you permit me to see the babe?” Knowing she had no choice, no matter how the order was phrased, she nodded once again, making her way quickly to her adjoining room.

She peered into the cradle. The baby was laying on its back, its huge eyes closed as soft snores resonated from its tiny mouth. She hated to wake the child, but knew she couldn’t disobey the master’s orders. She lifted the child into her arms, rubbing her fingers against the soft skin of one of its ears, watching as the child blinked sleepily up at her. 

Cradling the child in her arms, she left her small quarters and returned to the master chambers. Entering, she moved to stand in front of the Grand-Moff, reluctantly handing over the child as he held his arms out. 

She watched as the Grand-Moff handled him with remarkable care, looking the child over for a tense minute, looking at the child while it stared back unblinkingly, before offering the child back to her. 

Gratefully, she took the baby back into her arms, bringing him to rest against her chest. She continued to keep her eyes lowered, as she curtseyed, before moving back to stand against the wall. The Grand-Moff chuckled, and she got the feeling she was being laughed at, although she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“Well, it's certainly an odd looking thing, I’ll grant you that.” He continued chuckling to himself. “You’re dismissed for the night, Cerliah.”

Feeling as though a weight had been lifted off her chest, Cerliah curtseyed, before quickly moving to her own chambers, dimming the lights along the way. Once she entered her room she shut the door, moving to sit on the bed with the baby still clutched in her arms. The child grinned up at her, little teeth peeking out of its tiny mouth. 

“I bet you’re hungry, huh?” Cerliah muttered, setting the child down as she moved over to the small tray that had been set on the table next to the staircase. “Looks like Matron wanted to make sure you got dinner.”

Grabbing the small tray, which had a small bowl of mashed fruit and some bread, Cerliah made her way back to the bed, where the small child had sat up eagerly, reaching out with tiny hands for the tray of food. Smiling softly, she sat on the bed, tearing up the bread into bite-sized pieces, and feeding the child one at a time. 

While the baby munched on its dinner, Cerliah’s thoughts drifted. While there were certainly worse households to be a part of, the life of a slave was no life for a child, especially one as little as the baby in front of her. But there was no way out, at least as far as Cerliah knew. As the servant to the Mistress of the Mansion, she knew certain things that other servants didn’t. Such as where all the slave triggers were kept, along with the secret stash of credits in case of an emergency. 

But the only reason she knew any of this was because her Mistress was confident that Cerliah had been broken. And she wasn’t wrong. There was no life for her outside of the Mansion, no family to return home to, the Imperials had made sure of that. She’d been a slave since she was a child, she knew nothing else. But now…

Now she had this sweet, innocent little baby relying on her. It wasn’t just her own interest she had to look out for, but this child’s as well. The baby didn’t deserve this, but she had no idea how to go about escaping. The mansion was crawling with security, and she’d never be able to grab the triggers before escaping, which would make the escape useless in the first place. 

Sighing deeply, Cerliah stood, moving the now empty tray back to the table, before tucking the child back into bed. As she went through her routine before bed, Cerliah resolved to continue thinking about a way to escape, at least when she was alone. It wouldn't be a good idea to think about being disobedient, at least in front of the mistress.

[norcumii]

Yet more meta from the prior tumblr, originally posted on 12/11/2017.

Mmkay. There’s this post floating around about Obi-Wan’s characterization (link coming up in a minute). I want it on the record that I am all for people characterizing fictional characters however they want, on whatever criteria they have including “because I was in the mood for it,” ‘cause going ‘there’s only one true interpretation’ is totally a dick move.

Nonetheless this post has been slowly driving me bonkers so I’m trying to do the polite thing and make my own post deconstructing it rather than adding to theirs.

Hell, it starts off with “Please can someone explain to me why there’s this fandom thing where Obi Wan is nothing but angst and sads for 20 straight years on Tatooine?”

You betcha.

First off, OP is basing character assessment on the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator. Look. I enjoy personality tests as much as the next person, but that thing is just as useful to behavior prediction as a Facebook quiz about which Disney Princess you are. Here’s a nice convenient article about why which a minimum of digging on Google netted me. MBTI presents archtypes that are sometimes useful for casual commentary, but that is not a diagnostic tool.

So let’s take a look at Obi-Wan, as we see in the movies (and Clone Wars), just after Revenge of the Sith. We have a man who is anywhere from 33 to 38 years old (depending on your version of canon), who has spent the last three years overworking himself at the heart of a hideous civil war that he was essentially drafted for, and oh yes, his side lost. Not only did his side lose, but it got massacred. Yoda was able to feel the death of the Jedi Order as it was happening, do not tell me that Obi-Wan had no idea what was going on too. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was also dealing with the betrayal of his closest friend (his brother), who tries to kill him. Meanwhile, said brother does kill his wife (pregnant wife) who is a close friend of Obi-Wan’s, right there in front of him. All this leads to Obi-Wan doing the unthinkable: mutilating and then killing his brother – or worse, not being able to kill Anakin, leaving him in torment for another two decades.

There is so much PTSD fodder here, and that doesn’t even touch the betrayals from the clones, nor the question of ‘did he feel the psychic backlash from the chips kicking in and twisting the clones’ minds?’, nor the mental trauma from The Phantom Menace wherein he was replaced, failed his teacher who died in his arms but only after saying ‘that kid what replaced you, you need to train him now,’ and then 10 years of raising a kid when he was literally just sorta-kinda-not-exactly declared an adult himself. He was not prepared for that.

So once Obi-Wan’s handed over Luke (the last remaining link to his brother, who he is now not allowed any contact with since Luke expresses he’s never really met Old Ben) – that’s the first time he’s had to really stop and breathe in over 13 years. Ten years to raise a responsibility he never asked for, was not prepared to handle, and was a reminder of his greatest failure. Three years of running at least a literal third of a galactic war that was stacked against him (did he realize that by the end? That they were being played, and could never have won?).

Yeah, he’s got 20 years to work at recovering from that, but without a skilled therapist that I don’t think you’re going to find on Tatooine, you’re going to be lucky to be functional. I know that Star Wars as a whole doesn’t concern itself with mental health (seriously, mind healers are becoming one of my most cherished additions that Re-Entry brings to the table). That doesn’t mean ignoring it will get you a good character assessment.

Depression and PTSD isn’t going to make someone “a sad, bitter, lonely man” nor does it mean that one will metaphorically “be playing All By Myself on repeat for 20 straight years while sobbing into a cup of Bantha milk.” Depression expresses itself in any number of ways. It can mute things, so that while you laugh and even enjoy life, that joy doesn’t linger, or pales quickly. It can add a haze to everything, so you feel numb and distant. It can make someone who once expressed themselves exuberantly seem calm instead of manic. It doesn’t have to affect one’s wit, or habits of cracking jokes even if those jokes might feel flat and hollow to the speaker.

Sometimes it just leads to going through the motions of living, how one would have approached things Before – but it’s just empty motions.

PTSD can express itself as flashbacks. It can look like nothing until it is reactions to a different time and trauma instead of what is now and present. It can be a person haunted by their past, it can be explosive, it can be quiet and turned inwards. There are days when it doesn’t hit you, there are days when it’s so heavy on your shoulders that it feels like all you can do is sit, stare at a wall, and hope your brain shuts off. Then there are the days when despite that weight, you still need to go get groceries, or make dinner, or fix a vaportator, or fight off wayward Tuskens or something.

Nothing says that depressed and traumatized Obi-Wan wouldn’t sometimes take delight in lightsaber play, or practical jokes. I just don’t think that it would overtake the depression and PTSD.

On top of all of that is what you get when you take a look at the EU. Obi-Wan’s been traumatized since he was a kid. He was bullied through his tweens. He was rejected by the ONLY teacher he could hope to have until the Order booted him to the AgroCorps, at least a week before the official deadline. Then that shuttle crashed, and he saw his first major battle which led to approximately FOUR HUNDRED dead.

At not quite 13. Over the next year (probably less, but let’s be generous), he had to deal with: kidnapping, enslavement and hard labor, an attempted mind wipe, an actual war accompanied by abandonment by his teacher, and his teacher’s prior student trying to blow up his home. By the time Phantom Menace rolls around, we can include: several more wars, 6 months to a year on the run across war-torn Mandalore trying to keep a teenage Satine alive, taking responsibility for the death of Qui-Gon’s Love Interest – and that’s just what’s off the top of my head.

Y’know what’s interesting? During Attack of the Clones, what I see is a man just barely holding his shit together. That scene in Dex’s Diner breaks me, because all I can think of is my time doing food service while going through my own PTSD and depression – and I recognize that empty smile he has for Dex. I know it’s all interpretation, but I can’t help but think he’s faking that smile. That sure, he means it: he’s happy to see a friend, he wants to reassure him, but that doesn’t change the hollow inside that he knows if he lets go and falls into it, he will never climb out.

The war provided an alternative focus. It gave him clear, concrete goals: beat back enemies here and here, keep as many of these people alive as possible, here are resources and here are the end goals. He could legitimately bond with brothers in arms who could grok black humor, who wouldn’t look askance at someone covering long-standing grief and discomfort with banter and flirting, “who winked and witticized his way out of death and imprisonment a million times, who always found something to laugh about or make fun of even in the most difficult situations” – regardless of how inappropriate or relevant that might be to the circumstances.

Sometimes, that laughter is all that keeps you from breaking from all the pain.

Yes, people heal. Yes, he had 20 years to work through that trauma and injury. He’d also be doing it alone, with a legacy of stoicism and philosophies about releasing his emotions into the Force. The last major friendships he had ended in betrayal or in death, and people he depended on tended to either die or betray him.

That’s not something you blithely overcome to play pranks on the locals while watching over the kid of your best friend what you almost killed as he was trying to kill you, like he killed most everyone else you knew and loved. There is so much trauma and pain he’s had to see over the last 20 plus years, and Tatooine is the first time he ever gets to breathe and react.

If you want to write trickster archtype Obi-Wan, I applaud you. Without any sarcasm or mockery: you do you.

Meanwhile, I’ll be writing traumatized Old Ben.

(Many thanks to @morgynleri​ and @elegantmess-southernbelle​ who provided brilliant points and conversation, though I suspect I phrased it with much less grace and coherency than they did)

[sayofchains88]

Chapter Twelve: Alan trapped, failed plans by OrangeLetters88~

Alex and Alan shake hands upon their arrival. They all meet at an undisclosed small town deli. Alan looks around before he continues. "Anyways, things are going to hell. Please tell me you can protect my girlfriend if something happens."

"What's going on lately?" Alex questions.

"My brother is in this with the fang hunters and Samuel. They have a major deal going on with Samuel. I can't say much, but she is pregnant." Alan explains blushing. "But even more so...she is human."

"Are you insane?" Dr. Carol replies shocked. "She may have a very difficult birth. That baby might be still birth or deformed depending. What will you do if it's not a live birth?"

"Shh, no one can know. My brother doesn't know she is a human. He would have forbid if he knew. I never let him meet her." Alan confesses to the verge of tears.

"Sounds simple enough...you couldn't have said it on the phone? "Alex replies.

"Most phones are bugged right now at least for me...Samuel is planning something, but I ask you to pay attention to your surroundings maybe you will understand why I am for once am really paranoid. I must go for now. I will text you if I need you." Alan responds getting up and just walks away.

"Is the world going mad?" Alice reacts scared. They look around themselves confused.

"What is going around us?" Christian says looking upwards towards the sky.

"Look forward..." Dr. Carol replies pointing at a little girl crying.

"She said her teeth are hurting and she has a headache?" A mother tries to cuddle her child. The child collapses.

"I was listening on them before...those are symptoms that could be anything, but since we all turned purposely we gauge ourselves what is going on." Dr. Carol analyzes. He strides over to them.

"They are turning all in vampires?" Alex thinks out loud watching Dr. Carol confidently talking to them.

"Why would you do that to everyone in the world?" Christian replies pulling out a cigarette to nervously place in his mouth and lighting it with a couple furious puffs. Alice spots another one in the distance who just fell to the ground. They can register no breathing from afar and hear the screams.

"You need someone to ignite the life of a vampire though..." Alex interprets. "Unless something was able to make it artificially like the..."

"The blood tablets!" Alice chimes.

"But why would a human be buying them or consuming them?" Christian asks. "This isn't some larping session."

Dr. Carol sneaks up behind Alice to scare her. She shrieks. "Do you want to know regular humans are getting a hold of it? They are being sold as a different product. I heard you from way over there. I have already instructed the ambulance's on the way how to handle this. We can reverse half any population I think..."

"It's a good thing vampires aren't just mystic anymore." Christian spouts another puff.

"This is only a small portion..." Dr. Carol replies vexed.

"We have to make it to the event whether we like it or not. We have to stop Samuel." Alex responds with assurance. He gestures for Alice's phone. "Edwin...I think I need a favor..."

After Alex gets off the phone with Edwin he turns to Alice and Christian. "We need to talk later."

Dr.Carol pockets the free samples of the remodeled blood pills. Instead of going back they stay at a nearby motel. Mars shows up late. "Alex, Colleen can't make it yet. She told me to tell you she will be there at the event so not to worry..."

"That's fine to me. I am not forcing her hand. Making it to the event is good enough."

Dr. Carol has brought his full science kits along with beakers, chemicals along with him. Mars and Christian crowd him during his investigation. "Are these any different than the blood pills you been buying?" Mars asks.

"Will you two please refrain from bothering me please...I don't know yet." Dr. Carol says making a flicking motion with hand.

Alex takes another blood capsule. "You guys have nothing better to do then bug him?"

It starts to pour down rain. Alex and Alice bump heads trying to peek into the same window. Christian and Mars start going through television channels.

The doorbell rings. Alan is covered soaked in rain. He looks paler than before. They welcome him in and offer changes of clothes.

He sits on the edge of the bed like he had seen a ghost. "They learned, Sarah isn't picking up either...it could be the rain. It could be anything right?"

"Alan, do you want me to come with you? We can protect you both." Alex affirms Alan's worries.

Alan hugs Alex who trembles. Alex pulls his jacket on. "Dr. Carol, you need to watch this wild bunch. Please call me if something happens."

"Alex be careful please." Alice replies not sure what to say.

"Yeah man, stay safe." Christian responds. Mars waves to Alex who is following back behind Alan.

Alan shows Alex to go. They go in a hurry to notice no lights are on when they pull in. Glass is broken all over the ground. The door is open inwards.

"Her parents..." Alan whispers in shock.  He runs over to them shouting incoherent words. The father's hands twitch.  Alan holds him up.

"Please forgive me...Laura..." The man says closing his eyes. Alan starts to dial 911. Alex walks around through all the rubbish tossed around.

"Were they bit?" Alex shouts from another room.

"No...her mother is still breathing. An ambulance is coming though. My brother is going to pay for this."

"Looking around I feel like they wanted to make a scene, but I see cash still in wallets. Things are just tipped over or broken. I also see the fang hunter arrows here. So there might not have been any vampires here..."

"I can't be with Sarah now..." He says seeing the steak launcher from the ground from the fang hunters. "I can't live anymore!"

Alex dashes over when he hears the device to rustle it out of it hands, he hangs tight to the device putting all his pressure into making sure Alex can't take it easily till it activates. The wooden steak hits the wall ricocheting off Alex's face.

He dunks in pain covering his face. "Alan, what the fuck, why hit me in the face!"

Alan snaps out of it. The ambulance shows up. Alan scrambles outside to meet them. Alex slowly comes outside to get in the car. Alan sees them off and hops in the car.

On the highway the car is bombarded with jagged arrows causing them swerve in front of other cars. Alex grabs Alans hand to exit from the other side where they are met with a spray of bullets.  

Alex and Alan both run into the abandoned facility across the streets. They dunk inside to only hear quietness. Alex puts his finger to his mouth. They make sure to not make sound as glass crunches under their feet.

Alex's phone rings causing him freak out and automatically shut it off. He looks up slightly nervous. "They are after me..."

"You think? But anyways we need to make it back even if we walk." Alex whispers very low. Slowly he walks not to make much noise signaling for Alan to follow. It is very dark now. The rain temporarily stops before pouring down harder when the two get out.

The phone rings again. "Sorry about earlier, we ran into trouble...yeah...Clarence was able to track the phone? Will he pick us up? Sweet, also thank you. Alan Clarence my mate is on his way. Just stay put."

"I am sorry for putting you in danger."

"Nah, don't think anything of it. We just got to dodge them. Ten more days till we have that fancy shindig of his."

Out of nowhere a car does a sharp turn doing a doughnut. "Get In fast! They are so heavy laden down this way it's not funny." Clarence shouts. Taking the car through yards, dangerous shortcuts breaking the limits of his car till he is out of the area; Clarence hard breaks when he sees a blockade of vampire hunters and fang hunters in front of him making him refuse to get Clarence guns it in the sake of safety.

"Are you insane?" Alan screams.

"Can you not see the guns they are packing? They plan to kill us!" Clarence yells turning the car around to intimidate them to move more. His tires screech with every single sharp angle he comes into.

They roll their windows up when they start hitting the car. Another blockade up front dents Clarence's tires causing them to fully stop. "So I hope you guys like walking again."

"Were all in this together it seems. There is much too many of them to hold them down. I didn't bring my book..." Alex replies remorseful.

"But I did! I told you this would be dangerous." Alan sneers. He is the first one to get out holding his book in hand. "Great Andras I call on your power!"

The men all looked confused at each other. For a moment nothing happens. The very first man in front is instantly killed by the force of a very large blade. Humanoid shape, but head of an owl and white angel wings starts to hack down every single person in site while mounted on the back of a black wolf.

Clarence rips through the mounds of men that Andras hasn't tackled yet. Alex's bloodlust is through the roof since the pills do not fully work only enough to be sated. Alan and Clarence find themselves shocked seeing him rip their throats open.

He would jump one to another like a furious cat without fear of his life. He dodges bullets as well as taking bullets.

His fearlessness impresses them. Andras stops when Alan is on his knees too weak from too much energy being taken from its summon. "Alan pull Andras back now! Their numbers are low enough to take on now. Alex is handling them well."

"Clarence, do you have a spare tire?" Alan asks.

"Yes I do! Let me get it on now!"

Clarence gets the spare tire out and the jack to lift the car. Alex starts to bite into anyone near the car instinctively. Alan throws his book in the back of the seat. He gets the wheel on tossing the bad one at men getting close.

"Alex! You can stop!"  

"Alan, he is in a state of rage. We have to get him ourselves."

Clarence dashes over to Alex darting to and fro. He puts his hand on Alex's shoulder to be shot in the back from behind falling on top of him.  Alex snaps out of his bloodlust to see Alan waving from arm's length to get into the car. Alex is shot multiple times before going down. Alan gets into the car and drives off.

Alex wakes up looking up at a dingy cell covered in bandages. Clarence looks down at him from above. "Awake I finally see. Do you feel okay?"

"I can't move much at the moment...but I don't know how I feel..." Alex explains in pain.

A man walks over to them banging the bars. "Just so you know we caught Alan. I bet you feel stupid now."

"We tried our best. What can we say? We enjoyed our ride." Clarence justifies.

"Whatever..." He says walking off.

Clarence puts his hand on Alex's chest as he tries to sit up. Lifting his shirt he can tell he took many more hits than he did. The blood soaks his dressing. He lays him back down gently. "I only got hit a couple times compared to you...what do they want so badly with Alan?"

"His brother is working with Samuel...after all he is a celebrity vampire..."

Alex falls back to sleep easily. Clarence props himself back up against the wall with his legs crossed reclining back. A couple hours later a nurse comes by. "Is he doing okay?"

"He is soaking his gauze. I checked earlier. Do we get a blood ration?"

She pulls Alex forward without waking him re-wrapping his dressings. "Sure I can set you with up something. Are you doing okay? Last I remember you were limping in here." She responds bashful.

He lifts his shirt. "Would you like a feel?" He replies winking. She runs her hand his chiseled pecks.

"Are you flirting with them now?" Another nurse laughs. She reddens letting his shirt drop.

Later that night Alex groggily opens his eyes. "I guess it's nicer to be stuck with a friend than no one..."

"I am going nowhere if it helps."

"Thanks man. At the very least that helps how shitty I feel."

"Are you feeling thirsty yet?" Clarence asks.

"A little, but mainly tired, but this ground hurts a lot, but no way for me to move much so it's whatever."

"When did you start going all fours for attacks?"

"It just worked for me is all. Something about all fours feels more natural to me, like it opened a primal sense for me; maybe I was a house cat in my past life?" Alex laughs lightly. Clarence shows him three fingers.

"How many fingers do you see?" Clarence questions holding up three fingers.

"Four or five? I am too blurry for this. Why?"

"I thought so; we can't plan escape till you are able to sit up."  Clarence whispers.

"That whole thing was crazy. You are a madman in a car Clarence. What the actual fuck." Alex replies with his eyes closed.

"That fast and furious life were living is something else. Looks like I will try to get some shut eye too. Goodnight Alex..."

"Night man." Alex replies going back to sleep.

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/269037735/write/1069667402 Please support me on wattpad if you like my works please~

[jkgrl]

Coffee on me - chapter two

A Kwon Jiyong/ G-Dragon Fanfiction

Description: She moved to Seoul in search of stardom, but after one year all she has is a douche for a boyfriend, and a job at a cafe that pays minimum wage. after a particularly bad day she starts to wonderif she should pack her bags and head home, but when kwon jiyong strolls into her cafe she begins to wonder if things might start going her way… that is until she spills his coffee on him.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mentions of alcohol abuse, fluffy fluffy Jiyong

A/N: sorry it took literally forever for chapter two but here it is! and boy does this plot get thicc!

Another week came, and with each ring of the service bell I forgot more and more about the cute customer with a gummy smile. Focusing on making aesthetic latte designs while juggling angry customers makes it almost impossible to dream about a certain sunshine haired boy.

This shift is flowing past me, so much so that when I finally look at the clock I realize it’s almost time to go home to my empty apartment, and enjoy another frozen meal alone. Letting out a frustrated sigh as I grab my purse, I leave the break room, and am caught dead in my tracks when I see Junhoe shifting awkwardly in the doorway of the cafe. He nervously runs his fingers through his black quiff as his eyes dart around the room searching for me. The clear, alert look on his face tells me he’s sober for the first time in awhile, and a smile blossoms on my face, as I skip over to him. Standing on my very tip toes I press a chaste kiss to his cheek, and engulf him in a bone crushing hug.

“Yah, Jagi that really hurts!” He says through breathy laughs. My heart swells at the pet name, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He swings me back and forth in his arms, placing sweet kisses along my jaw, as I drink in his random showing of affection.

Thoughts crowd my mind, and I wonder why he can’t always be like this. The man who was currently hugging me was the person I fell in love with, not the drunken, aggressive, vomit spewing child who stumbles home every night. I slowly feel the warmth of his attention draining me, and I push him away slightly, peering up at him. “What are you doing here?” I question.“You never come to see me at work. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see you,” he says as he pushes out his lower lip in a cute pout. “and I wanted to know if you would let me take you out to dinner tonig-”

I cut him off with a loud squeal, and I wrap my arms around him kissing him soundly. Public display of affection has never really been my sort of thing, but a little kiss wouldn’t hurt right? It’s only when Junhoe’s hand starts to slowly slid down my back towards my bum that I pull away, and I almost miss the small flash of aggression in his eyes, before it’s quickly gone and replaced with a bright smile. Junhoe leans down and presses a short kiss to my temple “I know the perfect place! You’re gonna love it.” He whispers to me, making my heart leap.

—

I grasp Junhoe’s hand as I make my way out of his car and stare at the gaudy restaurant in absolute horror. It’s one of the nicest places in Seoul, and just looking at it makes me shake in my clearance rack shoes.

“Junhoe, we can’t go in there!” I hiss, stomping my feet into the ground preventing him from going any further.

“Why the hell can’t we?” He questions, his face contorting in slight irritation as he takes my comment as a personal offense. He notices me wince at his harsh tone and his face immediately softens. “I mean…why can’t we?” He says through clenched teeth, trying to control his anger.

“I won’t fit in,” I whimper out. “Please let’s just go to McDonald’s or someplace that I won’t stick out.” My face burns brightly, and I look down at my feet.

I’m not dumb. I know Junhoe is way out of my league, with his sharp features, and quiffed black hair. He’d look good in a paper bag, but me? No, no I can’t go in there. My anxiety is at a new level, and I pull down at the hem of the only dress I own. I’m so unbelievably uncomfortable that I feel suffocated.

Junhoe sighs deeply, letting go his hold of my hand, he frustratingly runs his fingers down his face. “Please for tonight can you just turn the anxiety off, yeah? I saved up for such a long time to take you here, and I want us to have a good time. God knows we haven’t in a long time.” He seems exasperated by the time he finishes, and it’s almost like he doesn’t know how his words twist a knife in my gut.

I take a deep breath that pushes out all my anger and frustration, plaster a fake smile on my face, and we walk into the restaurant hand in hand. Everything will be okay I repeat to myself feeling that fake reassurance that I always depend upon sink in.

Once seated at our little candlelit table, I grab the menu, and my jaw drops to the floor at the unbelievably high prices. “Are you sure we can afford this? I mean I’m pretty sure they’re charging us for the air we are breathing .” I whisper to Junhoe from across the table.

I see his jaw clench before he slowly lets his tension go, easing it from him and into the surrounding atmosphere. In that moment I think that I should keep a tally going of how many times I feel suffocated tonight.

“Jagi, it’s fine. Listen,” He grasps my hands in his leaning closer to me from the other side of the table. “I want to do this for you I’ve been…well I’ve been sort of nonexistent lately, and… I want to make it up to you.”  He fumbles over his words, very clearly uncomfortable with the subject of his alcoholism and not quite ready to admit its ramifications.

I avoid looking into his eyes in favor at staring at the plastic flowers on the table. Why does it all feel so fake?

“Baby? Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry.” He shakes my hands trying to get my attention.

I pull my gaze up to his familiar features,staring into his dark brown almost black eyes I reach my hand to his face cupping his cheek. “I know.” I say as I run my thumb over his cheekbone.

He smiles a smile I haven’t seen in a long time, one that I thought only existed in my memories. “I love you.” Junhoe whispers making my thumb still and my heart clench.

“I love you too.” I stutter out shifting in my seat. His eyebrows knit together and he takes a breath, ready to question my hesitation, but he’s interrupted by our waitress.

“Hi, what can I get to drink for you two?” She chirps while holding a pen and pad in her hand.

“A bottle of red wine please.” Junhoe says quickly without taking his eyes off me.

I can’t help the way my face crumbles in disappointment from his order. I hear the waitress complimenting us on how cute of a couple we are, but everything is muffled to me as I again stare at those fake flowers, completely zoned out as I feel sadness clawing at me.

Ever since his drinking problem started I avoided all alcohol like it was the plague, but in this moment I really, really needed a glass.

The wine bottle is soon placed on the table, and is very quickly replaced with another…and then another. I’ve only had two glasses which is enough to make me feel like dancing, but Junhoe has had two and a half bottles, and that’s enough to bring out his aggressive side.

“Where’s the damn check.” He grumbles mores so to himself than anyone in particular.

Giggling, I lean forward, and perch my chin on hands, peering at him from across the table. “June, you’re so cute when you’re angry.” I compliment him, calling him by the nickname I knows he hates

“And you’re annoying when you’re drunk.” Junhoe says while he pulls out his phone, a smile forming on his face as he reads whatever notification he got.

“Whatcha reading?” I ask, reverting to English because I know he hates that too, and I feel like getting under his skin tonight.

“It’s nothing.” He mumbles, the smile still stuck to his face as his thumbs fly across the keyboard.

“It’s gotta be something if it makes you smile that hard…Come on tell me.” I pester him as I feel anxiety bubble in my chest at the possibilities of who it could be.

“God damn, I said it’s nothing!” He shouts at me, slamming his fist on the table forcefully, shaking his near empty wine glass, and causing it to spill onto the white linen. Heads whip around to face us, and I can feel the intense gaze of the other costumers burning a hole through me.

“Jagi I -” He says after he calms his breathing enough to look up at me. His hooded eyes meeting my wide ones, and I think for the first time he sees the new found fear in them. “Let’s just go home okay?” He sighs out.

I nod my head quietly, and he soon pays the check, grabs my coat, and ushers me out of the restaurant, away from all the prying eyes, and whispers.

—

I feel the pain of my hangover before I hear my blaring alarm. Groaning I turn off my alarm and roll over in bed searching for the warmth of my boyfriend’s body but I come up with empty hands and cold sheets.

Getting dressed in the dark turns out to be quite a difficult task, and I end up being almost late to catch the bus ride to the cafe. I stumble into work with barely enough time to throw on my apron and get behind the counter to serve the throngs of customers.

My headache grows stronger with each venti Carmel frappe ordered and when it’s finally time for my lunch break I’ve now categorized it as the queen of all hangovers. Grumbling I plop down at a table in the very far back of the cafe to try and avoid communication. I’m about to bite into my delicious bagel when I hear the repeated ringing of the shrill service bell.

I bury my head in my hands and let out an inward groan. ‘Who rings a service bell literally five thousand times? What’s the point of that? What type of annoying and uncivilized person thinks that’s okay? What type of-’ My stream of irritation is cut off when realization hits me like a brick to the face. I know exactly what type of person would do that. The type of person who has obnoxious orange hair, and a bright gummy smile.

Peering through my fingers I look towards the counter to see Jiyong talking animatedly to the barista. He asks her something and her hand immediately flies up to point in my direction. “Shit.” I mumble as I duck under the table quickly, in an attempt to hide from his line of sight.

I hear boots click closer to me. They pause right in front of my hiding spot, and I keep my eyes shut as I send a silent prayer hoping he doesn’t see me.

The table jolts,and I feel a body bump into me as they try to squeeze under the table with me. “Yah, coffee girl! How’d you even fit under this table in the first place? You must have really not wanted to see me!” He laughs loudly making my headache ring in my head.

I open my eyes and slowly turn to the body that’s squeezed under the table next to me. Jiyong smiles so brightly at me that for a second I confuse him with the actual sun. I feel religious, suddenly.

Once I get over the initial shock of his absolute beauty I realize how close our bodies are. His strong thighs are brushing up against mine and his face is a mere millimeter away from me. He stares down at me. An emotion I can’t quite pin point flickers through his eyes and he shuffles even closer to me.

“You caught me.” I confess, quickly crawling out from under the table on all fours, leaving Jiyong sat dumbly on the floor in his expensive clothing. There was no way I was going to kiss a beautiful stranger under a table when I had a perfectly good boyfriend at home. ‘Perfectly good’ I repeated to myself for emphasis.

He scrambles after me, bumping his head on the table in the process. “Ow, you know some people would love to have coffee with the great Kwon Jiyong.” He says smugly while he dusts dirt off of his behind.

I let out a loud snort and crossing my arms over my chest “I highly doubt that.” I sass right back.

“Did you just speak informally to me?” He asks, his tone implying that he was most certainly amused, as he runs his fingers through his sunshine hair.

“What if I’m older than you? That would make me your noona, and I can speak to you however I please.”  I finish with a satisfactory smirk on my lips.

He took a step towards me, closing the gap between us. “There’s no way you’re older than me.” He bends down so we are face to face. “I’m definitely older, which makes me your oppa.” He whispers the last word, letting his breath fan over me.

“Like I’d call you my oppa! I don’t even call my own boyfriend that!” I scoff, trailing off when I realize what I’ve said. I see his face fall immediately, that signature smile gone within a moment, and it makes my heart hurt.

Before I can even say anything the other barista, Jisoo, comes barrelling towards us with a scowl on her face.  “Your lunch break was over ten minutes ago. If you don’t get behind the counter soon Taewoo is gonna kill you.” she says annoyedly as she flicks a piece of her hair behind her ear and turns to Jiyong. “Oppa, can I please have your autograph..” Her demeanor changing in an instant when she’s talking to him, her bottom lip jutted out as she sways on both heels.

I’m not quite sure why, but something burns deep in my chest when I see Jiyong give her his gummy smile and get ready to sign the pad she was holding. Confusion washes over me, and I wonder why all these girls are  literally throwing themselves at him.

He pauses though, and glances up at Jisoo, his voice soft as he asks her, “Could you do me a favor first?”

Jisoo vigorously nods her head. “I’ll do anything!” She nearly screams.

“Great.” He says giving her such a wide smile it scrunches his eyes shut. “Could you get someone to cover the rest of my friends shift?” He says as he casually throws his arm around my shoulder. “We have somewhere very very important to be.”

Jisoo stands with her mouth open, catching flies as she’s completely flabbergasted. “Ye-Yeah of course I can!” She stumbles over her words and it comes out a little more chipper than it should.

“Thanks beautiful.” He whispers to her as he signs her paper and she shuffles away with the brightest shade of red painted across her face.

Irritation rears its ugly head at me. I shouldn’t be upset, but I am. I have a boyfriend, and this is just some random stranger who asked me out one time, but for some random reason when he called her beautiful it made me feel like I was suffocating. Why do all men make me feel suffocated?

Sighing deeply I pick up my purse and start to walk towards the door, but I’m suddenly stopped by a hand gripping my wrist pulling me back.

“What do you exactly want?” I bite at Jiyong. Surprise and hurt are etched into his face as he stares down at me.

“I just got you off work so we could hang out, and now you’re leaving me?” He seems dejected, and it bothers me that I feel the need to make him feel better.

“I told you Jiyong I have a boyfriend…” I trail off, hoping he’d just get the point and leave me be.

“Ah! So thats what you’re worried about!” He teases as he pokes my sides. The cutest little blush peeking out on his high cheekbones. “Don’t worry this is just two friends hanging out. Come on!” He grasps my hand tightly and pulls me out the door of the cafe. “I know the perfect place! You’re gonna love it.” He screams into the air making my heart leap.

T.b.c

[loki-zen]

The Impracticality of Feminine Attire

@osberend I’m splitting this off so it’s more readable and we’re not reposting @ silver-and-ivory’s face and half a dozen pictures of Gackt every time we make a reply. The chain so far is [here].

also I’m adding a cut because this turned out to be loooong

Thanks for the info, and I have no objections to tangenting at all. My thoughts, some in agreement, some in tentative disagreement or confusion (and some perhaps simply reflecting different priorities or personality) follow. Feel more than free to point out anything incorrect.

The lack of pockets is definitely a thing. I think my mental model of a “typical” black tie event tends to have flat surfaces that one could readily set a handbag on, but this may be factually incorrect.

I mean, depends on the event, but unless it’s a closed one and I know everyone there, I’m unlikely to be okay leaving my valuables lying around. 

(My own typical solution to the no-pockets problem, when wearing a skirt (which I’ve never done in a remotely formal setting) without a jacket is to wear around my neck a lanyard with my keys, ID, credit cards, and sometimes one or more of pocket-knife, cell-phone, and and mini-flashlight all dangling off of it on rings. But that’s obviously not compatible with dressing at all formally.)

My solution is usually a trade-off with my partner and usual date: in casual settings, where I am invariably carrying a (small backpack or messenger-style) bag and he isn’t, I will carry things too big to fit in his pockets, within reason. In return, when we’re dressed formally and my practical hands-free bags are not appropriate, he will put my wallet/keys etc in his pockets. Obviously, this is not ideal as it requires a date, and means anything I need to take into the bathroom with me (period supplies, makeup for retouching) I need to get off him and carry there in my hands. (That doesn’t sound like I big deal until you consider that many women are embarrassed to be seen with period supplies, and tangent 1 below.)

Regarding jackets vs. wraps, I suspect that my (possibly autistic?) aversion to restrictive clothing is a factor here. I’m inclined to to view greater freedom of movement for my arms at the expense of having to make greater use of my hands as a net win, unless I’m doing something highly active (in which case, why would I be wearing semi-formal attire at all?).

Try wearing one? The trade-off could be positive for you. It’s not for me. You don’t need to be doing anything active - basic black-tie event activities like ‘moving your arms at all in any way’ can cause wraps to slip, often while simultaneously requiring the use of your hands so you can’t use one to hold the wrap on. E.g.:

Reaching out to take a canape or buffet food with a plate in the other hand

Sipping from your drink while holding your clutch/wrist chain bag

Shaking someone’s hand while holding your drink or clutch/wrist chain bag

Using the bathroom (which can also be an operation due to manoeuvring awkwardly tight or voluminous skirts and shapewear or tights)

Fixing your hair/makeup

The actual result for me/women with whom I have discussed this is the opposite of freedom of movement - you end up keeping your arms and shoulders as still as you possibly can, to keep it on. Also, I feel like it bears repeating, where I’m from (UK) you will do all of this to keep your outer layer on and probably still be cold.

I have had some success on the holding it on problems by securing the wrap with a brooch of some kind. This reduces but does not eliminate slippage. I do always wonder if I look wrong because most people don’t do this, but it feels elegant enough and being able to move is worth the worry. The problem here, and possibly the reason more people don’t do it, is that wraps are frequently made of a fabric that can’t take a brooch without developing permanent holes.

Heels are certainly a thing. My admittedly vague and possibly baseless impression was that the range of acceptable shoes for semi-formal wear included some flat or at least low-heeled options. Is this incorrect?

Like, sort of. Flats are just inherently not as Fancy, so unless you’re super style-confident or otherwise uncaring of what people think, you’re probably trading foot comfort for a nagging feeling of being under-dressed all night. I’ll admit this is more one where on average the women’s option is much more uncomfortable, but if you’re willing to throw time and money after finding the comfiest formality-compliant shoe imaginable, you’ll only come in a bit more awkward and less comfortable than the male default. (Also, unlike the men, you may have to seek out this rare shoe more than once, because of the thing I mentioned in the last post where women can’t get away with wearing the same outfit to every black-tie event they go to. And the shoes have to go with your outfit, of course.)

Low heels (and wedges) are better than high ones, but still uncomfortable. Fancy/evening attire has the added bonus that the dressiest, most formal styles are usually the ones lacking in the support that makes a heel more wearable - which can make as much difference as the height of the heel.

For instance, a boot - the maximum amount of support for a heel - is not really black tie appropriate, depending on how formal of a black tie event it is. Oxfords, Mary Janes, mules and shoes with lots of big wide straps are considered less formal - more business or casual wear than black tie.

Perhaps not coincidentally (see Tangent 2), these are also the styles most women find more comfortable, and the styles that are the least damaging to the feet and legs. A lot of fancy, black tie-appropriate shoes - inho, especially, the less high ones - will be more like this:

The lack of any straps or top to the shoe make it more uncomfortable to wear, because your foot is not supported in controlling the heel. This tends to lead to subconscious ‘scrunching’ as my physiotherapist mother calls it - bending the toes inward to help keep the shoe on - which can result in pain following a few hours of wear, and repetitive strain type injuries from long term wear.

Flats won’t save you from this, as the most common style of formal flats is the ballet pump, which is not beloved of physios - it has the same problems with scrunching, and zero arch support.

Now, this shoe is so ubiquitous that if you want flats, it’s too cold or formal for sandals, and you’re under 40 and want to dress in a way that isn’t butch or really old for you, it can take a lot of shopping to find an alternative. (For a demonstration, google image search ‘comfortable formal flats’ and take note of every shoe on that page that’s a) actually flat and b) not a ballet pump.)

So in conclusion on the heels section; yes, there are alternatives, but they’re either pretty bad too but not as bad (ballet pumps) or incredibly hard to find. I tried to find the one example I own - a pair of flat Mary-Janes that have both a decent sole and an evening-appropriate look (where most flat Mary-Janes have one or the other) - online so I could show you a picture, and I literally can’t find them even knowing exactly what I’m looking for. Tangent number 3 at the bottom is on heels.

You have a good point regarding breast management, although my impression was that there were at least some evening gowns for which this was not an issue? Again, I recognize that I could be incorrect. Similarly, slinkiness is standard, not universal, right? Wikipedia includes Empire Silhouette in its list of evening gown styles, and the illustrations in the linked article seem unlikely to require shapewear; is this wrong, or misleading?

Yes, you’re correct here, and I think I remembered to use words like ‘many’ and ‘most’ in my post. If you set your mind to it, you can find an evening dress you can wear a normal bra with, though you’ll probably have to ditch your mentioned specification of ‘sleeveless’. However slinky the dress, nobody’s making you wear shapewear, and there are definitely styles that are more forgiving. So this one is actually a little better than the shoes; this is a case where if you try really hard and your only criterea is comfort, you might actually be as comfy as you would be in the menswear. Provided it isn’t cold.

A few caveats though:

1: This requires you to prioritise comfort over all else. A full-coverage top on an evening dress is unusual, and selecting your dress on this basis will probably make you stand out and might have unintended style implications. Unless this style happens to be in when you go dress-shopping, you’ll probably end up with something quite ‘Mother of the Bride’ (i.e. an older woman’s style) and/or (based on the thing where every outfit is read as advertising your sexual mores) prudish-seeming. Men can be this comfortable and not feel at all self-concious because they’re dressed like everybody else. 2: I mentioned before about how tough it can be to find clothes that fit properly. Depending on your location and shopping tolerance ‘I like it okay and it fits me’ might be tough enough to find, never mind ‘I like it okay and it fits me and I can wear a normal bra with it and it’s Empire-waist and cut high enough that I don’t have to wear heels*). ‘It fits but the neckline is a bit off and a normal bra would show’ is a common way for a dress to be ‘good enough’, especially when you’re an unusual size, tired of shopping, and the dress is quite cheap. 3: The standard thing everybody wears is so much cheaper.

*yes, that’s a thing. If a dress is supposed to be floor-length, it might be designed on the assumption that you’ve got three or so inches of heel going on.

The above questions probably reflect an unusual (autistic?) way of looking at things: I tend to make a strong distinction between rules and expectations. So that, for example, a man attending a “black tie” event while wearing neither a waistcoat nor a cummerbund is Objectively Wrong, while a woman who attends in suitable clothing, wearing no makeup and with unshaven legs and armpits, is Objectively Correct, even if most likely Socially Disapproved. This applies to most of the “unspoken but expected” items you mention, although jewelry is sort of an edge case. But that’s generally not awkward or time-consuming, as opposed to just expensive, right? Or wrong?

So given that I tend to view Social Disapproval — or, at least, the kinds of Social Disapproval that my mental model suggests (perhaps incorrectly) are meaningful risks in this sort of context — with less concern and more contempt than most people, I suspect that my sense of “how comfortable (or expensive, or any number of other things) is dress code X” is defined a good deal more by “how comfortable (or whatever) an outfit could I construct that fits the technical requirements of dress code X and that looks good by my standards” (given, when considering female dress codes, a more suitable anatomy; finding an evening gown that looks good by my standards despite my complete lack of tits would probably be fairly difficult) and less by “how comfortable of an outfit could I construct that most people would view approvingly in the context of an event for which dress code X was specified” than is typical.

I think that also applies heavily to the “sexual scrutiny” issue, the “multiple outfits” issue (unless you go to black tie events all the damn time, at least), and possibly also to the “casual date“ question.

I think that given the premise of this attitude, your conclusion can make sense. There are more items of clothing that are explicitly listed as Necessary For Dress Code in the men’s list, and one could technically fulfil the letter of the women’s code in comfortable clothing and without hair, makeup, hair removal, jewellery etc.

(And yeah, not generally time-consuming, awkward or expensive - just another item that’s not listed but is typically expected. Dangly earrings can be awkward to wear, but non-dangly ones that are every bit as black-tie appropriate are not at all uncommon.)

I just think... so what? Most of the time an invitation won’t list items of clothing for either gender, just ‘black tie’. All the expectations I’ve gone into will still be in place, and it is expected that you know the rules, and that 'bra showing’ or ‘visible armpit hair’ is every bit as unacceptable as not wearing a cummerbund, and more likely to be noticed and disapproved of. 

The way that these things work is not about strict adherence to stated rules, it’s about looking appropriate and fitting in. If you break the rules a little - no waistcoat or cummerbund, different coloured tie or shirt, different style of dressy shoes - but succeed at fitting in and being judged smart and appropriate, at worst you may face slight social disapproval, and at best you will be praised for your original style. If you adhere to the letter of the rules but stand out and are judged not to be smart and appropriate - to follow your example, visible armpit and leg hair, unstyled hair, no makeup etc - you will have followed the rules but the consequences of social disapproval* will still follow. The only logical conclusion here is that the important thing regarding consequences (which to me is really all that can matter) is not whether or not you follow the stated rules.

* and possibly more. If social disapproval doesn’t bother you (tangent 4), remember it can have tangible consequences. If you are socialising with people in your workplace or field of work, as people often do, social disapproval can hurt your job prospects - people who are judged to be incompetent at fitting in and following unspoken social rules can be judged as less competent generally. Plus, if you’re judged not to fit in in the social scene, you may not be invited again, which is dangerous for any profession where advancement can rely on networking. Becoming regarded as a social misfit is also unlikely to help a person’s romantic prospects.

* additional note: there are particularly strict venues or events where a significant deviation from the stated formality rules - trainers, for instance, or no tie - can result in being refused entry. This is the consequence that I think would probably be applied to stated-rule deviation and not unspoken-expectation deviation. But even in this case, I would maintain that adherence to the stated rules is necessary but not sufficient to avoid consequences - unspoken-expectation deviation will still result in the consequences above.

Of course, to me - I’m also autistic - part of why our current set up is such a good deal for men is that we both have stated rules and unspoken expectations, but so much more of what is expected from women falls under unspoken expectations.

As a man, you need to wear what it says on the list, and figure out that you’re probably also supposed to wear trousers and underwear and whatnot. You need to make sure those clothes aren’t dirty or visibly damaged, then shave and probably run a comb through your hair. Boom, you’re black-tie-ready.

Women don’t just have all these other things to do - they also have to intuit that they are expected of them. Plus, as I said before, they need to correctly choose a black-tie-appropriate outfit, in colours that match, with no option to instead just wear the exact items and colours that are listed under ‘black tie’.

You’re 100% right about the weird lack of sane pockets on women’s pants. Also about the greater difficulty of finding clothes that fit, which I think is partly a result of the factors you mention, but is also clearly greatly exacerbated by the “one dress” vs. “pants + shirt” issue, at levels of formality where wearing a separate skirt and top is not acceptable, since that means trying to find a single garment that fits all of one’s (ankle-to-neck) measurements, rather than two that each fit half of them.

That’s definitely part of it, though for me the major problems are bust size versus back size, bust size versus waist size, and a short shoulder-to-bust measurement, which makes anything cut for an average height woman very low cut. But then, I wear fit and flare dresses because they flatter my figure, so I don’t have to worry about any below-the-waist measurement beyond overall length. So some of these problems can be routed around via choice of dress shape. You can also buy a tiny selection of very expensive dresses that are designed for people with large breasts relative to the rest of them, and many stores have a small selection of their clothes available in ‘petite’ (for shorter women). This includes the UK store that does big boob dresses, so there’s like, three whole dresses out there that ought to solve both my bust size and short torso issues! I’m going into this to illustrate just how difficult it can be to avoid the bra/shapewear issues - what are the chances one of those is an evening gown in an empire or fit and flare cut with enough coverage at the top to allow for a normal bra? What are the chances I even like any of them? (update: for funzies, I checked their current selection. Their online shop, at least, no longer seems to have petites.)

I feel like I should tag @funereal-disease into this conversation, as she probably has some interesting things to add. (I have difficulty predicting what things, but that’s part of what makes me anticipate that they’ll be interesting.)

Approved!

So in conclusion, the original question that prompted this text mountain was:

Are girl clothes really consistently more awkward, time consuming, and uncomfortable than boy clothes, at a consistent level of formality? (Like, the median item on the racks at a store probably is, but I’m thinking more of the easy and comfortable end of what one can reasonably easily find at a given level, if one cares to do so.)

I would say yes, given the assumption that 'level of formality’ involves fulfilling the social function of formality levels* and thereby avoiding negative social consequences, rather than just meeting the technical demands.

* it’s a bit more complicated, but basically signalling belonging in a given social set via the ability to afford and select appropriate clothing, and willingness to wear it when asked.

The second half of the question depends on what your definition of ‘reasonably’ is. The median item is much more awkward, time consuming, and uncomfortable. The most comfortable and easy possible outfit that meets requirements probably approaches average male levels of comfort, but is still inescapably more awkward (pockets if nothing else) and can’t possibly compete on ‘time consuming’ because the components are so difficult to find. 

This level of comfort also requires a number of compromises the man doesn’t have to make: foremost, a willingness to stand out because of your non-standard choices, which can in themselves have social consequences: being read as making some kind of feminist statement, or as being a lesbian, or as just generally being a bit weird and not quite fitting in with the other girls.

Tangent 1: It bothers me particularly because I have OCD-like twitches concerning the cleanliness of public spaces, particularly bathrooms, but using the facilities will probably necessitate leaving my makeup on the wet counter by the sinks - especially if I’m also trying to hold a goddamn wrap on. I once had a corner of the wrap slip off my shoulder as I moved my arm to get toilet paper, and fall into the used toilet water. Given my twitches, plus the fact that the wrap cost less than £15 and was dry-clean only, my solution was to abandon it on the toilet floor.

Tangent 2: There’s a theory that suggests women’s formal/fancy/high-status looks are impractical and leave the wearer requiring assistance with basic tasks by design. Basically, like a low-key version of footbinding, things like stupid long manicured nails, high heels and hobble skirts are all supposed to be ostentatiously incompatible with doing any real work, and thus serve as an advert that says ‘I’m so rich my wife/daughter doesn’t have to work.’

It could plausibly serve as wealth signalling even today. The girl who can afford a cab to and from the party can wear less practical shoes than the woman who has to get the bus.

Tangent 3: You may have met women who seem to have no problem whatsoever with heels and perhaps even say that they prefer them. That’s because there are two main ways of wearing high heels:

wear them all the time, which means you’re super agile in them and don’t find them that uncomfortable, but are causing permanent damage to your ligaments

wear them occasionally, which spares your ligaments, but you walk like a baby deer and it hurts like hell after a couple hours

Tangent 4: It’s possible that some kinds of autistic people feel less strong emotions in response to social disapproval, and feel less anxiety over whether they are approved of. I also think that women as a rule feel social disapproval more keenly, worry about it more, and are more likely to be aware of it. I have no position at this time on how much of the latter is the result of social conditioning.

Personally, I think I started out not caring, learned how social disapproval works and how it has consequences beyond ‘feeling bad/embarrassed’, and this somehow led to me not only rationally avoiding social disapproval where possible/not overly incompatible with my other goals, but has actually led to me having the ‘feeling bad/embarrassed’ response to it that I used to lack.

Incidentally do you mind if at some point I turn this into a proper blog post? I just did so much typing it seems a waste otherwise.

[rogue-one-drinks-coffee]

Get to Know Me

I was tagged by @rlc19 (Thank you Buddy!)

Warning: This is very long. Enjoy or scroll past at your leisure

1) What images do you have set for your desktop/cell phone wallpapers?

My laptop has the TARDIS in space and my phone has a quote for my lock screen “Always be yourself unless you can be Felicity Smoak then always be Felicity Smoak”, and my home screen is Stephen Amell shirtless because why not?

2) Have you ever had a crush on a teacher? 

Yes.

3) What was your last text message? 

“Thank you” with a bunch of emojis

4) What do you see yourself doing in 10 year

I’m an English major that doesn’t want to teach so probably nothing fun

5) If you could be anywhere else right now, where would you be? 

Home with Buddy

6) What was your coolest Halloween costume?

I’m pretty generic when it comes to costumes but when I was little I was Aurora and I was really excited because she was extremely rare then.

7) What was your favorite 90′s show?

It’s a tie between Friends and Buffy?

8) Who was your last kiss?

Never been kissed (and no I’ve never seen that movie)

9) Have you ever been stood up?

No, but to be fair I don’t date. If I did I’m guessing probably all the time.

10) Favorite ice cream flavor?

Depends on my mood, but coffee or chocolate.

11) Have you been to Las Vegas?

Lots of times but interestingly enough not since I turn 21

12) Your favorite pair of shoes?

My black slip on Vans

13) Honestly, have you ever cheated on your significant other?

Never had anyone to cheat on

14) What is your favorite fruit?

Apples (red not green)

15) Have you talked to anyone on tumblr that you could see yourself dating/having sex with? If possible?

No

16) Are you into hookups? Short or long term relationships?

Hell if I know. I have issues.

17) Do you smoke? If so, what?

Nope

18) What do you do to get over your anger?

Talk/write it out to myself. My journal is not a happy place.

19) Do you believe in God? 

As a physical being no.

20) Does the person you’re in love with know it?

I’m not in love with anyone so there’s nothing to know

21) Favorite position?

Curled up with coffee and a good book.

22) What’s your horoscope sign?

Pisces

23) Your fears?

Failing and hurting the people I love.

24) How many pets do you have? What kind?

A cat and a dog

25) What never fails to turn you on?

Middle-aged actors

26) Your idea of a perfect first date?

Talking

27) What is something most people don’t know about you?

I actually do warm up the longer you know me.

28) What makes you feel the happiest?

Spending the night alone.

29) What store do you shop at most often?

Target

30) How do you feel about oral? Giving and/or receiving?

I’m a virgin so I have no idea

31) Do you believe in karma?

Mostly

32) Are you single?

So single. So so single.

33) Do you think flowers or candy are a better way to apologize?

I think you should buy something specific to the person you’re apologizing to. For me that’s books.

34) Are you a good swimmer?

Decent.

35) Coffee or tea?

I like both. Dark roast for coffee and green tea for tea

36) Online shopping or shopping in person?

Depends. Since moving to a city I shop online a lot. Outside is too people-y.

37) Would you rather be older or younger than your current age?

Younger as long as I can retain my current knowledge otherwise…I guess still younger. Give myself another shot to not suck.

38) Cats or Dogs?

I have both and I love both.

39) Are you a competitive person? Depends but not usually

40) Do you believe in aliens?

Yes.

41) Do you like dancing?

With and/or around others? No. Alone? Yes.

42) What kind of music do you listen to?

I listen to basically everything. I’ve been into soundtracks lately (Thank you Hamilton) Yay Hamlet!

43) What is your favorite cartoon character?

Elsa from Frozen

44) Where are you from?

Arizona, but I was born in California. I don’t remember that though.

45) Eat at home or eat out?

Home. I can’t eat when there’s too many people around me.

46) How much more social are you when you’re drunk?

A little. I don’t morph into a socialite or anything but it dampens my anxiety to the point I don’t feel the need to die.

47) What was the last thing you bought for yourself?

I’m a student without a job.

48) Why do you think your followers follow you?

Who knows. I’m a horrible human.

49) How many hours do you sleep at night?

As much as possible. It’s death, without the commitment.

50) What worries you most about the future?

Everything. Literally everything.

51) If you had a friend that spoke to you the same way you speak to yourself, how long would you be friends?

I don’t know. I am a doormat so it’s possible I’d be friends with them until they got bored and found a new punching bag.

52) Are you happy with yourself?

No, not in the least.

53) What do you wish you didn’t know?

I could stand to forget some family stories I’ve heard over the years.

54) What big lesson could people learn from your life?

Be honest. Avoiding things doesn’t make them go away. It makes you forget and then you’re lost in the dark abyss unaware of how you got there or how to get out.

55) If you could live in any home on a television series, what would it be?

Does the Bunker from Supernatural count? What’s not to love about a Bunker with a library? You’d have to wheel my corpse out on a stretcher to get me to leave that place.

56) What’s your favorite website?

Tie between Tumblr and YouTube

57) What’s the habit you’re proudest of breaking?

I’m pretty much a walking collection of habits that need to be broken.

58) What was your most recent trip of more than 50 miles?

I’m pretty sure it was in October when I went to Palm Springs.

59) What’s the best bargain you’ve ever found at a garage sale or thrift store?

I don’t know.

60) What do you order when you eat Chinese food?

An appetizer assortment mostly. I love eggrolls and rangoons.

61) If you had to be named after one of the 50 states, which would it be?

Virginia.  

62) If you had to teach a subject to a class, what would it be?

My authority over subjects is limited so…something fiction/fandom related.

63) Favorite kind of chips?

Banana chips.

64) Favorite kind of sandwich?

Turkey with Brie and spicy mustard.

65) Which do you use more often, the dictionary or the thesaurus?

Thesaurus.

66) Have you ever been stung by a bee?

Proud to say, no I have not. I live in fear though so *knocks on wood*

67) What’s your favorite form of exercise?

Used to be weightlifting but my anxiety and my bank account don’t allow that anymore so I’m sad about it.

68) Are you afraid of heights?

Theoretically yes. I have dreams all the time about being afraid of heights and when I think about it I’m afraid but if I go stand on something tall I’m fine.

69) What’s the most memorable class you’ve ever taken?

British Lit.

70) What’s your favorite breakfast?

Tropical smoothie.

71) Do you like guacamole?

YES.

72) Have you ever been in a physical fight?

No.

73) What/who are you thinking about right now?

Buddy because he said he’s been in a physical fight and I did not know that so now I am retroactively worrying.

74) Do you like cuddling?

No. Don’t touch me.

75) Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?

Yes. All the yes. All the things. Just—so many.

76) Have you ever experienced one of your biggest fears?

No, but I face it every semester when I sure I’m going to fail.

77) Favorite city you’ve been to?

Not a fan of cities in general. I didn’t hate Munich or Seattle though.

78) Would you break the law to save a family member?

Yes.

79) Talk about an embarrassing moment?

My whole life is an embarrassing moment.

80) Are there any causes you strongly believe in?

I believe people need to rationally and intelligently be able to speak to one another in order to find common ground and make the world a better place but considering the news I don’t think that’s ever going to happen so my belief does nothing I’m afraid.

81) What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

I can’t think of anything. I have a high pain tolerance and have never broken anything.

82) Favorite day of the week?

The day I don’t have to go anywhere. This semester happens to be Friday.

83) Do you consider yourself sexually open minded?

Yes.

84) How do you feel about porn?

Indifferent. Don’t care to watch it, don’t care that others do.

85) Which living celebrity would you like to know?

I don’t know. I feel like that’s not a fair question because for me to know them they’d have to know me and that’s kinda mean.

86) Who was your hottest ex?

I don’t have any ex’s to consider hot. I’m generally an ignored human.

87) Do you want/have kids?

No. The world is a shitty place why would I do that to an innocent?

88) Has anyone ever told you that they wanted to marry you?

Haha no.

89) Do you get easily distracted?

Yeah kinda

90) Ass or titties?

Ass.

91) What is your favorite word?

Kerfuffle. <-- yes. Thank you Buddy

92) How do you feel about tattoos?

I like them. I have one.

93) Do you have any pets?

Yes.

94) How tall are you?

5′3”

95) How old are you?

22

96) 3 physical features you get complimented on a lot?

My eyes. That’s it.

97) Is there anything you’re really passionate about? Fiction

98) Do you have trust issues?

Yes.

99) Do you believe in love at first sight?

Not even a little.

100) What are some words that you live by? Why?

I don’t know if they’re specific words, but I just try to remember to look inward and not outward because if you’re looking for something, chances are you’re not going to get it from someone else. You have to be ok with you before you can add other people to the mix. For better or worse, at the end of the day you’re all you have.

Alright, that was fun. I’m tagging anyone who sees this and wants to. It’s really fun I highly recommend it. I was quite upset and this made me feel way better :)

[drennalynspast]

[ Searching within Myself ]

Tuesday, Jun. 24, 2014

"Kneel to your own self. Honor and worship your own being. God dwells within you as You."

" You don't have to 'do' anything to be God-realized or Self-realized, it is already your true and natural state." Just drop all seeking, turn your attention inward, and sacrifice your mind to the One Self radiating in the Heart of your very being. For this to be your own presently lived experience, Self-Inquiry is the one direct and immediate way." I had my first trip experience.  The location was a room that happened to be a brother of my ex.  His brother and I have gotten along just talking to each other and have been cool with just being friends.  Apparently it is taboo to be friends with your ex's brother.  But despite what other people think, I chose and did what I wanted to. I expressed interest in trying shrooms.  I am in no way, a drug user of any sort.  I don't believe in relying on a chemical to sustain myself on a frequent periodic time.  I hear stories about shrooms however and how it is an experience like no other.  That trip.  It is able to alter your mind and body a different way and present you a different or changed outlook in life.  That is what I read anyway.  Sometimes it can alter or change a person's personality.  It may be little and not permanent, but it depends on the person and how they will take what they learn and remember the trip and apply It to their daily life. As we know, I think and worry too much.-- Too much where it causes me stress, fear, anxiety, reluctance, guilt, sadness.   It is as if I am holding back and repressing something of myself for an attempt others.  I think to much,  in my head, I tell myself to stop.  But no matter how I try to talk to myself, I just can't get rid of that feeling of something denying my true wants and feelings.

My friend said I need to learn to calm down and not worry so much, relax.  And maybe this is something that would help me see things clearer.  I don't proclaim this to be a life solver or wonder drug, but in my personal experience, it is definitely worth the experience to try.   I don't know if I will permanently change for the better, but at least I have a memory burned in my head of what state I was in, the images I saw and how I felt.  Maybe I can go back and just think about that moment and remember that this is how I was and I felt: safe, calm, content.   The actual hallucination and haziness lasted for about 4 and half hours.  After that was just this lightheaded, tired, and lazy feeling that lingered for a while.  I was still calm afterwards.  I wanted to do my trip in the daytime so I could have time to sleep for the night and not disrupt my pattern.  We made sure to have plenty of food around as well as drinks for us.  I made sure to have a small amount for my first time.  I have a small body, so I wanted to play it safe.  My goal of the trip was to just try to experience some form of self discussion or self realization.  I didn't really care about trying to see different weird hallucinations. I also didn't want to have a bad trip where I felt terrible or scared for my first time.After about 20-30 minutes of chewing the shroom and swallowing it, I began my trip. I had this weird feeling in my stomach.  It was nauseated and I felt panicky or irritable, like any small thing would bother me.  I felt lightheaded and weightless.  My heart felt like it was pounding fast, but it wasn't really pumping a lot.  My friend pointed out a picture on the wall, it was a black and white picture of a skyline bridge.  He said he was moving.  I could not see it move.  I later looked at my surroundings; there were stenciled shadows along the walls. Some of them looked like ripple patterns.  I looked at this rolling work chair with a red polka dotted blanket over it.  I stared at it, and I could see the chair breathing and pulsating.  It was like it was a still object emanating life.  Some objects began to be blurry and hazy.   My friend would ask me something like, "are you okay? Do you need anything? Do you want to talk about what you see?"  and I said I was fine.  I didn't like talking about it.  I felt like talking about things out loud made me snap back to a more reality state of mind.  I would lose that hallucinated vision for a second when I would have to focus talking to him, and I just wanted to continue experiencing my experience for myself. I looked at the top of this hallway entrance and wall corridor.  I could see the top of the wood edge frame glowing.  It was a emitting a hazy blue smoke.  There were other colors around that glowed around it, making it look more interesting.   Another moment I felt like I had some tunnel vision or hazy vision where I was seeing double.  I looked at the right side of the room, and the objects started to have a mirror image of itself.  I was seeing two of each object.  The objects looked very bright, vibrant, also had a jelly/gummy/gelatinous texture to it.   I looked at his bicycle next to the wall.  I could see the shadows around the wheel spokes move and sway about.  I could see the bicycle frame bend and move, the pedal also moved.   It was interesting, and I kept staring at it. I closed my eyes, and I immediately saw shapes and colors in my mind.  They were free flowing about. I had no control of what I wanted to see. My mind drifted off and I carried along with it.  That feeling of closing my eyes and seeing images and listening to the Voice was more interesting to me than looking at the real life items with my eyes open.  I felt like I was transcended on a different level, and I wanted to go deeper and explore my thoughts. As I was starting to just enjoy or think about my closed visions, my friend stopped me and asked if I was sleeping, and I said no.  I didn't want to worry him. I was concerned that he wanted to talk about things, but the Voice was telling me not worry about what he thinks.  I should focus on myself and do this for myself.  Experience this trip for yourself and not talk about it right now.  Just focus on feeling.  I was glad that he didn't try to bother me too much or talk to me.   He was just making sure I was okay. He sat on the opposite side of the couch to observe me. While I was in my closed eyes state, I kept asking things, "what about, why am I, who is this, ?" The Voice told me not to ask questions.  The questions would complicate things, interfere with my feelings.   The Voice was a neutral tone. It was calm, not scary. It did not judge or criticize. It only guided me , I felt. I still had reluctance and doubt on things.  The Voice firmly told me, "Don't fight".   And so I tried not to fight.  I let go.   Throughout my discussion with the Voice,  I had visions in my mind of colors and shapes, lights, all shifting and changing its form.  It is like a kaleidoscope or a trippy screen saver you would see on a computer.  But some of these visions were more ethereal in a way, not of a solid nature.  It was like a liquid freeflowing feeling where you just bathe it.  It wasn't heavy or light.  It felt neutral, safe, calm.  I could see shapes and objects being deconstructed and reconstructed into new shapes/images.I had tears rolling down my cheeks.  I asked the Voice why am I crying.  The Voice told me to not question it. It told me I didn't have to be sad or happy, I was just crying. I did not feel sad in anyway.  IT wasn't extreme bliss either I don't think.   And the Voice continued to guide me about my life, who am I am, why I do it, what I should work towards, what the reality of it is.  The Voice told me I have too many boundaries. But those boundaries are fake and unnecessary.  It inhibits what I truly feel and want to think.  But I forget to establish my own true healthy boundaries.  I try to be something or someone that other people want me to be. I haven't been happy, because I was never who I truly was.  But I try to make other people happy.  My mind was just showing me to forget what they think and do what I should do for myself. Choose yourself.  Learn to be yourself. The Voice talked about time, past, present, and future.   The past, when I think about it, it hurts. But during this trip, I thought about the concept of the idea of a past and the word, and I didn't feel hurt. I felt nothing, just calmness. It was okay. The past doesn't have to mean anything as much as I make it seem like.  I thought about the future, and the Voice told me, "the future is empty."  I see an image of a tall scaffold right next to a building skyscraper window side.  The scaffold represented the idea of the future contained in a space.  It was next to the window. The window had a reflection of the cityscape building around it. 

 I could see the sunlight glowing around, the shapes of the buildings, the colors and highlights of the edges.  The scaffold was tall, high, an object. It wasn't filled up with anything.  It had a metal frame.   It was empty, weightless.  But that scene was able to project its own majestic beauty in its own way by having a window that showed a reflection of a breathtaking view.  It was simple, but it was still able to hold meaning in its way.  And that is what the Voice was trying to tell /show me.  When I think of the future, I think of this ominous heavy weight. There is fear, doubt, uncertainty.  I have to fill up that future with something, but it could feel unpleasant. I might have a to work on a status, title, and if I fail, my future would be nothing and meaningless.   I thought of an object like a black heavy ball to relate to my concept of the future.  Seeing the scaffold as the future made me feel inspired, calm, happy.   We all work to a future where we try to be happy, where we think we have to work or do something to make it meaningful.  But the future is already meaningful and beautiful as it is -- empty.  I don't have to be scared or worry.  What I need to do is just enjoy my life now. Make the most of it.  Because if I can't be happy now and know what joy is now, then the future will mean nothing.  It will just be the same as the present.  The future is empty and it is waiting to be filled.  But we already try to make a plan where it must be filled now with our actions and behavior.   The future is always changing and unpredictable. We can't fight or struggle. Sometimes we just need to appreciate things as they simply are and slowly build things up as time progresses. The Voice told me about time. How it can be a thing that causes stress with just the name and concept of itself. We are a slave to time.  It creates barriers and restrictions by limiting things. Time dictates what we must do or have complete.  And that adds stress. It is important to be mindful of time. We cannot control how it flows and cannot stop it. It controls us.   But what we can do is to learn to make use of how we exist in time. I learned about confidence and labels.  The Voice asked me if I was confident.  I said I don't have a lot. And then the Voice asked me, "do you trust yourself?" and then I started to think about myself, but my mind would drift off to the thought of "others". The Voice told me I need to learn to trust myself more.  Even if I am wrong or offend others, that feeling of having a trust in yourself is what makes you feel stronger.  It isn't about right or wrong. Eliminate all barriers of right/wrong, good/bad.  There is no terms -- Just feeling and feelings are Truth.  Trust is confidence.  Trust is what I need to gain, it isn't confidence.  I overcomplicate things by associating a term to automatically label how I should feel based on how other people use it.  People say confidence is a good thing.  But confidence is something that is hard to obtain for people and it can be seen as weak if you don't exhibit it.  But trust is something that is a core, important component.   It is hard to describe, it was like trust was a better label for me that didn't intimidate what I needed to learn.   If you learn to trust and love yourself more,  you will be strong.  The ability to love yourself no matter what you do, right or wrong, able to forgive yourself and still carry on is what is important.   Words have such a profound impact in how I think and feel.  They can be like knives stabbing into me.  I started thinking about the people I've had interactions with and what they would think and feel of me.  The Voice told me to stop fighting, stop thinking.  They are all the same when it comes to the core concept of just words.  Words are just words. They can hurt.  It hurts to hear hurtful words for someone you know and care about than from someone with a stranger.  But my trip helped show and make me realize that a stranger and loved one can say the same hurtful thing.  It hurts less to hear it from the stranger.  There was an image that was trying to erase a picture of a person in my mind. They were being dissipated. Words, are just words. They can be said from anyone.  The person who says it doesn't have to matter.  Don't think about one person. Anyone can say it.  But other people don't matter. My mind helped me just erase things and just focus on myself more, appreciate myself.  It is okay to be myself.  

It kept reminding me that when I eliminate labels, it makes everything better. They are just simple feelings.  And feelings don't have to have a label.  These feelings are your own.  No one can control or take away from you.  You choose to have these feelings when people say things to you.  They might not have ill intentions or trying to hurt me, but I perceive myself feeling hurt in some way based on what or how they said it.  I can just let the words, concrete concept of words, not bother me.  Don't worry. Don't care so much about it. Throughout the trip experience my friend and I changed the location to go to his room.  I looked at the curtains and bed.  I saw that there were so many defined wrinkles.  It was very surreal, 3d prominent, floating. The curtain looked like it was breathing.  There was a black and white picture of a different cityscape bridge on his night stand.  I could see the colors and shapes in the image swirl, bleed, glow, and twinkle in a way.  It was like the picture was depicting its night life in real time. He told me not to look at myself in the bathroom mirror because it tends to freak people out if they see themselves in a trip.  I went with what he said and didn't look at it.  When I was in the bathroom, I asked myself if I should look in the mirror.  The Voice said, "no don't look in the mirror. You will be scared, trust me".   I replied to the Voice, "okay, I won't look".  I laid on his bed. My friend asked if it was okay if he could lay down too on it. I said it was okay.  He asked if he could cuddle with me, and I was in this relaxed and "whatever, don't care mode".  He laid his arm around me.  I didn't feel anything. I felt comfort, but it didn't have to have a meaning and I for once, didn't try to find a meaning in it.  The whole thing made me question the Voice about physical touch and intimacy. Sex and relationships seem to be sticky thing for me as well.  When I have sex or even if I hug or touch someone, it feels emotional.  Like I want a connection with the person or I am expecting the person to have a connection with me -- like they have to be with me longer and be committed.  But I just learn to enjoy the moment now, don't worry about if it turns into something, if it means something.  Touching is just a touch -- no feelings, no thinking. I thought about myself and how, even with my friend and roommate, how I preferred to have moments where I just am by myself.  Like I just want to be in this room by myself or just close my eyes and think only by myself and for myself.  I find comfort and peace with this solaced solitude.  The Voice was telling me, "see you like being alone. You are happy alone.  You are okay being alone.  This is what peace and comfort is like. Yet you try to invite other people or seek other people into your life that disrupts what peace and comfort you feel.  Why do you need to do that? Is it necessary? You already are able to find happiness within yourself and you don't have to seek other people as  a way to provide or show you happiness."   I eventually got to a feeling where things were less freeflowing.  I wasn't swimming around as much in my mind.  Hallucinations in the present were diminished. The Voice that was present in my mind was slowly fading.  I was fighting to keep it in.  The Voice told me that it is okay.  I am ready to let go and remember the ideas and concepts of what I saw today.  Focus on feeling, not thinking so much. Don't fight.  Focus on loving and trusting myself.  Don't worry so much. Doesn't care as much as you think you should, but it is unhealthy that sometimes I don't care about things that I should be concerned about.  Like having an opinion for myself or doing things for myself that is in my better interest.  I told myself I had to pee. The Voice told me that it is okay to look in the mirror. It told me that I was ready to look at it now.  And when I do look at it, I need tell myself that, "I am ready.  It starts with Me today. I need to love myself". I think about the quote, "God dwells within you, as You", People may say that they have been having conversations with God in their trip.  But the Voice that I experienced --  it was My voice.  It was like an ancient repressed side of me that was suddenly channeled and awakened. It was all knowing.  It never judged or condemned me.   It wasn't worried about me or scared about me.  It was loving me, caressing me, saying that it is okay to have thoughts about things, but it was there to help explain and show things in a different way.  I told myself that I was weak and scared, worried.  But my voice was trying to calm me saying that I wasn't weak.  "You are strong and a good person."  It didn't say that to just try to make me feel better. When I heard it tell me it, I felt comforted. I didn't question it or deny it. I just accepted it and believed it at the time.  It told me it was okay to cry and to just let things go.  Like all this balled up stress, crush it and let it go.  So I was laying in bed shaking and tears were rolling down my cheeks.  I didn't feel scared though. I felt fine. I felt safe and okay.  Like that feeling of understanding that I do have strength.  I am not weak.   I felt like there is a part of me that is true, honest, real that is hibernating deep within me.  It cares about me.  It loves about me. It trusts me and watches over me.  And I need to protect and honor that being --- Myself.