#to contrast: also the meme of the dog sitting in a room on fire and saying ‘this is fine’

[psychelis-new]

Hi lys. Thank you for answering my previous ask. I saw a weird dream and as far as i remember i was in bathroom and suddenly i saw few leeches, then i tried to drain them with water, a few more showed and i did the same thing again but then the started increasing i poured water on all of them but they got stuck in one place and more kept on coming from behind me. They were very disgusting but they sort of had a doodle face like two eyes drawn over their face and a mouth. It looked like someone drawed their face with a pencil lol.

Thank you so much for this in advance. I hope you're doing great

Hi again! No prob

I think you may be in a situation/emotional state or around people that you feel like may not value you or not respect your space/privacy and this is getting pretty stressful and overwhelming. You may also feel used or something like that, like you may be giving them a lot of yourself and your attention/emotions/care, but you also feel it's not enough/not appreciated (you're not getting a proper feedback or a contrasting one, or are judged often) and it's kinda draining you. Maybe they also order you around and you feel like you are not free. It could be many things tbh... It seems you're trying to look at the brighter side of this and to pretend things are fine (I suddenly got the image/meme of that dog sitting and drinking tea in a room on fire) but honestly... maybe it's time to pay attention to yourself and your needs, and to balance things out. To be more in control of your fears or of what you cannot really see (maybe you just fear being taken advantage of/betrayed cause of past experiences), to put up boundaries and create your own (safe/private) space, and to give yourself more love. The type you deserve.

Since you mentioned "disgusting" as the main emotion, I felt the need to check further. It could be just me overthinking here ofc and that emotion may just relate to the leeches in the dream and not with an outside situation as well (I mean, not ALL that we dream or feel in a dream has to have an outer meaning as well, it may just be there to make the dream more "realistic" or sth) but, just in case: Disgust often comes up in response to poisonous or toxic people, where deep trust and love has been betrayed. We naturally feel disgusted in response to someone who has abused (abuse comes in many forms, not just physical -js) us. Validating disgust can decrease anxiety and shame from trauma.

Take care and all the best<3

[permanentreverie]

How am I supposed to live laugh love in these conditions :(

[fight-surrender]

The One About the Hermit Crabs

I haven’t really posted anything original lately. Life took a big dump on me back in January & I’m just starting to crawl out of the rubble. I’m not sure where I’d be without the kind and generous support of my friends @vkelleyart @argylefetish & @carryonsimoncarryonbaz. You guys were a rainbow spark of light in a pretty dark time. The rest of you: fic writers, artists, meme posters, rebloggers and the like. You helped too. Opportunities to focus on something besides drowning. 

Anyway. Enough about that. 

Here’s a lil’ uni AU Snowbaz fic that I wrote. It was inspired by a prompt from @carryonsimoncarryonbaz. Her prompt brought back memories of my 90′s dorm room, and my 2000′s hermit crab phase. The fic and some bonus material are beneath the cut ;) 

The One About the Hermit Crabs

Word Count: 1315

Summary: It was a routine room inspection. Typically, I just look around for contraband. A quick scan for illegal cooking devices, alcohol stashes and the like. “This room is a shit show, Snow. Are you hiding a body in here?" Simon and Baz are suitemates in their uni dorm. Just to notch up the tension a bit, Baz is also the RA and he's got a job to do.What will Simon do to convince Baz to let him keep his illegal but beloved pets?

Read on AO3 

Baz:

It was a routine room inspection. Typically, I just look around for contraband. A quick scan for illegal cooking devices, alcohol stashes and the like. Simon’s room is a deplorable disaster as usual. The only clean area is a path on the floor from the bed, to the bathroom, to the wardrobe, to the door. Every other horizontal surface in this room is strewn with clothes, paper and books. The walls are a nonsensical hodgepodge of band posters, concert flyers, newspaper comics, and photos. He lives like an animal.

Simon is splayed across his bed, pencil behind his ear, eating salt and vinegar crisps (Are those mine? WTF?). He glances up from his physics book, “To what do I owe this honor Mr. Baz?”

I’m pretty sure he’s being sincere with the “Mr. Baz” shit. Not a trace of snark or sarcasm. I’m his age for snake’s sake, I just happen to the RA of this god-forsaken shithole dorm. It’s not like I’m the queen.

“This room is a shit show, Snow. Are you hiding a body in here?”

Did Simon’s eyes just widen a little?

In the ensuing silence, there’s a pop, like a pebble thrown at glass.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, scanning the room.

Simon sits up in his bed, eyes definitely wide. “What was what?” He stammers.

Well, this just got interesting.

I hear a brief crunching sound, like gravel shifting.

The color drains from Simons face, turning his skin a lighter shade of tawny, his moles lonely sentinels in stark contrast to the surrounding skin. It’s lovely, really, like tiny archipelagos in a sunset sea.

Focus, Baz.

I shoot Simon my finest glare, “What. The fuck. Are you hiding, Snow?”

Now that I think about it, does this room smell fishy? I had initially attributed the scent to masculine funk, but this has a marine edge to it. Fishy and gamey.

Snow has jumped to his feet and is in my face now. Well, technically three inches below my face, but somehow his presence seems to inhabit the space. He just fills it with sheer will, and I want to melt.

My heart races as I take a deep breath, I fucking hate conflict in general. Conflict with Simon is particularly difficult because it’s simultaneously edged with, well, an overwhelming desire to knock him down and snog the living daylights out of him.

“Don’t you need a warrant to search this room?” Simon exclaims.

I exhale. Slowly. I growl (probably a little louder than necessary) “No, you imbecile. This is uni, not the real world. I’m the RA here, and I get to do what I wish.” I stretch to my full height and glower down at Simon for full threatening effect. Truth be told, I just want to run away and let him be, but I have a job to do.

I reluctantly turn my back to Snow and search for the source of the noise.

“Can we just talk about this, Baz?” Simon changes tack, imploring now.

I ignore him and eye a particularly large pile of clothes on the dresser.

He grabs my shoulder as I make my way to the pile.

“Baz, STOP.”

I whirl on him, my shoulder on fire where he touched it. Fuck this. “The university has a strict no animals in the dorm rooms policy. It is my responsibility to enforce such policy, so back the fuck off and let me do my job.”

I sweep aside the pile of clothes to reveal an aquarium, over half filled with dirt, with a glass lid. The surface of the dirt consists of a lovingly arranged warren of sticks and plants, a wide, shallow bowl of clean water and a bowl of what looks like dead shrimp and egg shells.

“Dammit Snow, what is this, a terrarium?”

Simon’s cheeks redden. He looks at his feet.

“It’s a crabitat.” He replies.

“A what?”

Simon shoves his hands into his pockets, looks up at the popcorn ceiling, and takes a breath.

“Crabitat. For Calvin and Hobbes.” He exhales.

“Are you even speaking English?” I ask

He looks at me now. His eyes are blue. The color of a clear spring sky after a week of rain. A brilliant blue that I want to dive into, get lost in. Fuck. Are those tears?

“Calvin and Hobbes are my pet hermit crabs. I’ve had them for months, and I love them. They’re actually really cool, and for fucks sake Baz, can you please get your head out of your ass and just pretend you never saw this?”

I think he’s actually about to cry. He looks adorable right now. Full stop.

I cock my eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” (What am I even doing right now? I’m resorting to bribery. What’s next? A life of crime?)

Simon brightens. “I’ll help you with your calculus homework. I see you working on it all the time in the library. You don’t seem to enjoy it.”

“Nobody enjoys calculus, you dolt.”

“I do.”

I curve my lips up and down and scrunch my eyebrows at him incredulously. “There’s something wrong with you.”

I allow myself to think, yes! Fuck yes! Teach me math. In your bed. Or mine (fewer crumbs). All night, until we fall asleep together and I wake up in your arms and smooth the ruffled curls off your forehead. Then you kiss me with your moles and your morning breath and call me darling. We skip class and snog all day, until our lips are sore. Rinse and repeat.

I do not allow myself to think about Simon noticing me at the library. Intuiting that I absolutely abhor calculus and anything having to do with math. Hours spent, trying to make sense of it all. What did he notice? Why did he notice?

“I know.” Simon interrupts my reverie. He smiles. “I love math. It just makes sense. It’s constant and predictable.” He looks away, “Unlike pretty much everything else in my life.”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about. He’s the golden child, here on a full academic scholarship. Internet famous for pulling a bunch of kids out of a fire at a care home years ago. He’s charming, devastatingly handsome, kind, and everybody loves him. Including me (in case you haven’t figured that out yet).

Fuck, what’s that look? He seems…sad? Thoughtful? This conversation is quickly leaning towards relational. The last thing I need is to talk about his feelings.

Time to change the subject.

“Aren’t crabs insects? You can’t love an insect, Snow. Get rid of them.”

Simon lowers his eyebrows, “They’re arthropods. They’re funny and cute, and I do love them, so you can fuck right off.”

Then he takes my hands. Why is he taking my hands? I should punch him. (I won’t punch him. I won’t hurt him.)

He’s looking into my eyes again. I can’t escape his piercing, devastating gaze. I lean away. Can he see my pulse racing? I’ll do anything for him. Anything.

“Baz. You’re right, they’re just glorified bugs. They’re not causing any trouble.” His voice is like butter and honey, “Nobody will notice them.” He actually smirks at me, “It’s not like they’re going to shit on the rug or chew up the furniture.”

“It’s against the rules.” I respond. Weakly.

“Please, Baz.”

Puppy dog eyes.

Fuck.

“Fine. Keep your disgusting creatures, but you will help me with my calculus homework.”

“Deal,” Simon proclaims.

He’s still holding my hands. Has he forgotten that he’s holding my hands? Has he forgotten what it means to hold hands?  He smells like bacon and intensity and looks like something I want to lick. Everywhere. I’m going to let him keep his ridiculous comic strip hermit crabs and he’s going to tutor me in math.

Crawley, what have I gotten myself into?

Bonus content: 

A photo of my actual dorm room in the 90′s, the inspiration for Simon’s:

[citialiin]

ooc ; thank u for tagging me in fun memes and stuff! ヽ(　･∀･)ﾉ so i dont flood ppls dashes i just wait until i have a few & put them under readmores.

HORROR ARCHETYPE AESTHETICS tagged by: @ betelguide

GOTHIC HORROR.

gaslights.   corsets.   ballrooms.   candlelight.   mist.   starless nights.   full moons.  cobbled streets.   horse-drawn carriages.   mysterious strangers.   bogs.   moors.  forests.   mountains.   castles.   velvet.   silver.   brass.   gold.   jewels.   domino masks.   the opera.  dangerous romances.   tragic romances.   violins.   roses.   lilies.   empty graves.   crosses.   cemeteries.   snow.   ice.   the gallows.   crows.   milk-white skin.  ambiguous illness.  fangs.   pointed nails.   something howling in the night.   capes.   gloves.   top hats.   straight razors.   lightning.   pipe organs.   underground caverns.   bats.   mice.   rats.   ravens.   cats.   pearls.   attics.   talismans.   axes.   wood.  isolation in a room full of people.   vampires.   werewolves.   ghosts.   coffins.   western europe.   eastern europe.   bones.   churches.   catacombs.   mausoleums.   spiders.   books.

CLASSIC HORROR.

black   &   white.   powder puffs.   red lipstick.   winged eyeliner.   white kitten heels.  black lace lingerie.   icy blue eyes.   rain.   abandoned cars.   skeletons.   acid.  poison.   voyeurism.   switchblades.   strangling.   overcoats.   looking over your shoulder.   trans-atlantic accents.   private detectives.   dinner parties.   haunted mansions.   alcohol in glass decanters.   cobwebs.   perfect blonde curls.   kitchen knives.   shock.   cellars.  dust.  dark alleys.   empty streets.   driving at night.   horn-rimmed glasses.   radiation.  zombies.   serial murder.   paranoia.   the city.   witches.  the devil.   cannibalism.  conspiracies.   amulets.   abject terror.   the american south.   the american northeast.    england.   analog cameras.

SLASHERS.

bloodbaths.   massacres.   wanton nudity.   newspapers.   leather jackets.   letterman jackets.   converse sneakers.   obscured faces.   social unrest.   bonfires.   lakes.  babysitters.   suburbia.   high school.   lockers.   dead leaves in the fall.   jack-o’-lanterns.   outdated television sets.   nightmares.   psychiatrists.   hospitals.  unstoppable forces.   gunfire.   police.   landline telephones.   household objects turned into improvised weapons.   halloween.   secrets.   revelations.   character masks.  scrunchies.   queerness.   wild curls.   morbid humor.   jeering children.  parties.   fire.   swearing.  revulsion.   california.   the american midwest.   ambulances.

PARANORMAL HORROR.

malevolent spirits.   seances.   spells.   missing bodies.   hidden graves.   white noise.   static.   flickering lights.   rings of salt.   demons.   poltergeists.   dark histories.   old buildings.  cold air.   mausoleums.   wells.   urban exploration.   a dog barking at something you can’t see.   black ooze.   old photographs.   faces you can swear you’ve seen before  but can’t for the life of you figure out where.   dark bodies of water.   crucifixes.   priests.   possession.   exorcisms.   dolls.   jump scares.

CRYPTID   &   URBAN LEGEND HORROR.

ALIENS.  blinding light.   dark woods.   driving at night.   claw-marks.   bite-marks.   men in black.   memory loss.  dismembered bodies.   sewers.   flashlights.   cell phones.   video cameras.   cars with tinted windows.   abandoned houses.   unlabeled cassette tapes.  bugs.   big cities.   urban crimes.  clowns.   something rustling outside your window. glowing light.   unsolved mysteries.   suburbia.   mirrors.   the american pacific northwest.   the american midwest.   the american east coast.   hiking   /   backpacking.

THRILLERS.

daylight.   fluorescent lighting.   morgues.   asylums.   unwavering eye contact.  tension.   lit rooms with no one inside them.   a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed.  steely gazes.   paperwork.   anagrams.   codes.   convicted killers.  missing persons.  law enforcement.   federal agents.  small towns.   suspicion.   paranoia.   subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

CLASSIC NOVELIST AESTHETICS tagged by: @ finestprize

JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds,  lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books,  fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold,  loving someone so exquisite,  soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass,  the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD.   crisp winter skies with cold bright stars,  mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog,  empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room,  bruised arms reaching out into the darkness,  cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol,  a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment,  your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow,  a purple split lip oozing blood,  black eyes fading to blue to pale skin,  the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries,  the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA.  the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future,  decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there,  the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs,  shattered bones,  raindrops on the tongue,  rusting metal, nostalgia that aches,  the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT.   the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave,  pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark,  thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean,  the silence of three a.m.,  ouija boards and urban legends. (WHO WROTE THIS???? HAVE YOU EVER OBSESSIVELY POURED OVER HP LOVECRAFT LIKE I HAVE??? THIS SUCKS!!! THESE ARE NOT HP LOVECRAFT AT ALL WHERE IS THE SECTION ABOUT CLIMBING UP MOUNTAINS TO SUMMON ELDER GODS AND HOWLING AT THE MOON LIKE A MADMAN AND HAVING A WIZARD BEAT YOU TO DEATH IN YOUR OWN HOUSE)

JACK KEROUAC.   the brisk pine air of being on a mountain,  travels without a destination,  those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory,  screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive,  coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun,  novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life,  wind through hair,  depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise,  walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE.   the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog,  hollow bones,  a preserved heart held in hands,  twinkling stars above an old graveyard,  the way everything turns to dust,  silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames,  perfection depicted as a rotting corpse,  death as bricks in the heart,  lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes,  biting into a lemon,  heart-shaped bruises,  rotting flowers on a grave,  dried blood and spilled liquor,  the hush of dusk when it begins raining,  the intimacy of a secret.

LITERARY ARCHETYPE MEME tagged by: @ manenimittliv

HOMERIC EPITHET:  You are THE GREAT TELLER OF TALES

The Greek hero Odysseus had many epithets ascribed to him (others included “much-enduring,” “cunning,” and “man of twists and turns”), and this was one of them, so you’re in good company.

FATAL FLAW: YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH THE IDEA OF A PERSON.

And then I deleted the rest of this because it didn’t really apply to him. Oh well

LITERARY SETTING: GATSBY'S MANSION

You got Gatsby’s mansion! This larger-than-life crib is the perfect place for a party animal like yourself. It’s located on the Long Island Sound (ideal for swimming, lounging, obsessively staring across the water with a LaCroix in your hand and unattainable fantasies on your mind, etc.), but it’s also just a train ride away from New York City (city of dreams and $1 pizza). But let’s not forget the best part: it’s got a library that’ll make you wanna grab a fluffy blanket and a chai latte and literally never see the light of day again.

this is a lot of useless information. steal them if youd like