#...loneliness is not a sign of being lesser. it's a part of the human condition and it's natural... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stusbunker · 6 years

Text

Questions: Why?

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Setting: Starts in Season 9, Ends in Season 10

Chapter 3 of my Questions Series

A/N: Blood and violence this chapter, our reader is one tough cookie! This is a long one, it could have been two chapters, forgive me? These are being posted out of order due to Chapter 4: What If? being part of @ericaprice2008‘s Fluff Challenge. I hope you guys like how their story unfolds. Back to the reader’s POV. xoxo Stu

This was not your mess, even if the whole world was broke, you weren’t compelled to do the fixing. It was too much. Then why couldn’t you just stay away?

***

You didn’t hear anything from Sam or Dean after you left the Bunker. You couldn’t decide if it was such a bad thing; having left with sound reasoning. But knowing them and the life, silence and with it the unknown, never came up in your favor. After two weeks you suckered your way into a beat up Geo Prizm and hit the road, putting Lebanon and the Winchesters far behind you.

The grumble of an engine set your nerves on edge. You shook your head and got back to clearing tables. You had been waitressing for a few weeks to cover your hotel bill in nowhere Minnesota. The haunting you came to town to cover was remedied after two days. Though you hadn’t felt compelled to clear town just yet.

Watching the news with a hunter’s insight proved that circumstances with the angels had reached a tipping point and you found yourself silently reaching out to Castiel. Thoughts you couldn’t articulate and worries sent out to the unknown. You hadn’t known the angel like you had the boys, but his presence had eased you in a way you hadn’t felt since childhood. Even if Cas was working on borrowed Grace, you felt him hear you. He must have loved those pig headed fools too.

An impatient cough spun you on your heels and the saccharine smile you plastered on for customers immediately turned sour. A familiar face beckoned from the corner booth.

“Ah, there she is! Still putting the B-I-T-C-H in resting bitch face, I see,” Crowley jeered at you.

“Crowley.” You tilted your head, “how awful it is to see you again.”

“Now, now! Paying customer here,” the Demon tutted at you.

“Of course, what do you want?” You pulled out your order pad and pretended to take his order. Your stomach clenched as he took a sip of water, watching bemusedly as you tried to remain calm.

“Insurance,” Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly two demons had your arms, while a third shoved a bag over your head before knocking you out cold.

***

Waking up in an unremarkable room bound and gagged felt like every hunters’ cliche, only adding to your annoyance and self-flagellation. Crowley had gotten the jump on you and now you had to deal with third string demons until you broke or they burned off your tattoo and rode you around like a free shuttle with curbside service.

Except, nothing really happened. A generic white dude that reeked of sulfur, (like he used it as conditioner) knocked you out once more. But when you came to, you were untied and a bag of fast food had been left behind. It went on like this for days. Food came sporadically and you made use of a bucket in the corner. You weren’t knocked out anymore and the wounds from your bindings began to heal. No one seemed to care about your presence one way or another. After a week of boredom and insanity-inducing silence, you heard a voice.

It wasn’t clear or loud, but it sounded like Kevin. That was the first day you cried. The loneliness was driving you to the brink and yet your old friend regret had decided to stick around.

Another week passed and you had lost your voice from screaming and singing old television intros, horribly off key. You would get an unamused thumping on the bulky door if you kept at it too long and once you even got one of the scumbags to open the door and face you. You were getting close to initiating your exit strategy. Another day and your pipes would be right as rain and then the real dramatics could start.

You never got your chance.

The screaming woke you from your nightmares. The ground rattling beneath your weakened body as chaos erupted behind the hidden walls of your prison. You hadn’t realized how many minions were wandering beyond those four walls until you heard each one die. One after another cries for mercy punctuated by the shocking crackle of a corrupted soul dissipating.

The voices began to thin out, movements getting closer to where you stood with your ear to the door.

“It’s not what you think lady!” your guard pleaded, reasonably. “It’s just some chic Crowley wanted to keep around. Not really top billing if-” a muffled groan ended in his throat. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to defend yourself with besides a small stash of salt packets you had saved from your various bagged meals. Terrified and curious, you crouched behind the heavy door and waited.

A voice like maple syrup called to you, “Don’t be shy. I just want a good look at you.” You rolled your eyes at the terrible placation. Two clipped steps later and she had stopped in the open doorway.

“Eh,” she whined disgusted at the condition of your cell.

Before she could see you, you slammed the door back at her with all the force your weakened body could muster. Your hand slipped down the rusty metal, leaving you to shoulder through. In your free hand you held the handful of tiny paper tubes, tossing them blindly at whatever the interloper was.

Then you were frozen.

And slammed against the wall like a fly after a swatting.

“Let me guess... Abaddon?” You spat out from clenched teeth. A million possibilities raced through your head, all with the same finish line, your funeral pyre. Crowley was a reasonable adversary, while Abaddon radiated evil. You closed your eyes and waited to see your family once more. To hear Rafe’s laugh and feel your mother’s embrace. Suddenly Sam’s wide smile flashed against your surrender and your eyes shot open. Ready to face the end with the courage of someone far bolder than you felt.

“That’s better, now you’re going to tell me every dirty thing Crowley kept you for, every thing that sap muttered in the dark and then I’ll end you. Almost painlessly.” Her beauty made her mirth all the more venomous.

“Almost? Not much for greasing palms are you, bitch?” All oxygen left your lungs and your eyes began to flood with red. What could have been two minutes felt like a month and then the infamous Knight of Hell released you.

“Humans, always so mouthy. You’re going to keep talking because a girl has a schedule to keep.”

***

You weren’t dead. The brokenness of your body and the pressure on your brain insisted that pain meant something.

Or you were and you hadn’t earned your reunion.

Okay, fair enough, if this anguish meant Hell. You knew what to expect. And Hunters were given the gold star treatment, even lesser known ones like you.

And yet, it still smelled the same. Sam and Dean had agreed that hell was like garbage and rancid meat, death, old fish and sweat all in one nauseating stench. You inhaled the same stale cement flooring and urine you had been smelling for weeks. There was a bit of copper in the air, but as you moved your mouth you realized it was just your own blood pooled and dried beneath your face. However you had kept breathing; you had been out for longer than was healthy.

Eventually you rolled over and sat up. Your elbow was shattered and the opposite leg was broken, she must have done it manually because there were deep nail-like gashes along your calf. You couldn’t remember everything you had spilled, but whatever it was, it was enough to leave you close enough to death to not bother finishing you off. You sniffled and started to crawl. It was one long hallway with a small set of stairs leading to a standard windowless Exit door, the red glow of the sign taunting and tantalizing.

You muttered to yourself, cursing everything from building design to demons to the cut of your eviscerated jeans. Jaw clenched, eyes dimming with blood loss and muscles screaming; you inched on. You shoved bodies of old vessels aside as you made your way toward the outside world. And then a haughty voice quipped behind you.

“Oh dear, she really did know how to throw a tantrum.” Crowley tisked as he looked at all of his dead henchmen. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

“Don’t touch me you bastard!” You barked, voice throbbing in your dry throat.

“Fine, hands free,” Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

***

You awoke in your old bed in the Winchesters’ Bunker, still broken and doubled over in pain. Something wasn’t right, Crowley didn’t just do you favors. You sat up, dragging yourself to stand. Fuck, it hurt, hopping towards the door jostled every injury into focus. You grabbed the door knob like a life raft and screamed.

“Sam! Dean! Fucking Winchesters you better be home!”

You waited a minute, listening to the hollowness of the subterranean walls. Just as you inhaled for another round of bellowing, the door down the hall opened. Sam stepped out, gun drawn, hair matted and eyes puffy.

“Y/N?”

“Sam!” You winced, trying to meet him. He crossed the distance in four dizzying strides. “Oh thank God,” You fell into his arms, ignoring the way your body protested or the butt of the gun in your back.

He held you tightly, “How did you get here? Where have you been?” Looking over your defeated form, hand lingering near your cheek.

The questions were forgotten when you returned the once over, “What happened?”

He straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Dean’s dead.”

***

The weeks after losing Dean were quiet, with the exception of Sam disappearing whenever the hint of a demon came onto the radar. You knew Crowley had used you as a consolation prize, one that Sam was not going to accept gracefully. If you hadn’t missed Dean or knew the boys so well, you may have been hurt. But nothing came between them, not really. You knew Sam would never stop when it came to Dean and you respected him all the more for it.

But it was lonely in the Bunker, days spent healing when you could have been of use. To Sam, to Cas, to finding Dean. You should have been used to the solitude after your weeks in Crowley’s hostel. Now you felt encroaching and lost. You felt Sam’s weariness like a lingering rainfall. He never looked at you anymore, which was one of the things he did best, listen with his whole face. You had built that wall between you. He had no idea what to do with you after your trust talk and you weren’t sure you could improve the situation either. An impasse.

Castiel was failing and despite his best efforts he was unable to help in locating Crowley or Dean. His weakened form was hard to swallow, for everyone. You had another week of casts before you were useful, so you spent your time silently reading news articles and attempting to keep the bunker livable. When Sam came home with his arm in a sling, you couldn’t help but laugh in his face. You had become quite the haphazard and frustrated pair. If only the Dean sized hole wasn’t felt within every room.

***

Sam’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. He was dragging a body, one whose tanned arms and fitted jeans you knew in an instant. Dean. You sprinted with your freshly healed freedom up to help him. Christ was Dean solid. Sam grunted out the story of his past few days, having kept you in the dark until he was certain. Which translated until he had to tell you. Your stomach pitched as the realization of what Crowley did hit you. He had bastardized your friend into this, manipulative and cunning to the last. He had won his war and took Dean as a boy toy trophy. The Mark of Cain as his right hand man. Fucking demons.

And now that was Dean. After you got him tied up and Sam caught his breath, you worked out what you needed to cure him. Sam was hopeful, which made you even more apprehensive, but you wouldn’t push him off his game. Not now. You couldn’t pose as a doctor, you had spent too much time as a patient at the local hospital. Which left Sam, who figured an early morning shift would be the best time to slip in to the blood bank for enough doses to do the job.

“Listen, Y/N, he doesn’t know you’re here. I am going to do this, alone.” He spoke so formally it almost bit.

“Sure, yeah, except he knows every button you have Sam. Demon or not, that’s Dean. He’s going to rile you up.” With your challenge, hoping he would let you help. Needing him to admit you were right, to admit he was scared, to admit anything.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not throwing you at another one of Crowley’s goons, Y/N. Even if it wears the face of my brother.”

You inhaled sharply, that’s what this was about. “Okay, but I’ll be out here if something so much as inches the wrong way. You tag me in, got it?”

“I forget how much you act like him sometimes,” Sam smirked, catching your eye and softening your resolve.

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to keep you in check. Go get the Real McCoy back already,” you patted Sam’s good arm and he straightened, marching into the dungeon.

***

The walls rattled with a sound like a feral tiger, or a gorilla call. Whatever was inside Dean, Sam was facing the monstrous nature of it. You paced outside the store room where the dungeon door was hid. It went on all day, Sam disappearing behind the shelves every hour. After the sixth dose you saw him flinch, his jaw was slipping and it burned your chest to see him like this.

“Hey, I’ll go in for the next one. Give him a shock, keep him guessing.”

Sam was shaking his head as he squinted away his tears, “no.”

“I can’t sit by and watch him make you feel like this.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, his breath rattling through his rib cage.

“Y/N. I can take it. I’m not putting this on you.”

“Would you stop?” You stepped towards him as he sat on the tabletop, legs barely holding him up. Your boots kissing, your eyes unable to meet his. “Stop trying to protect me, Sam. I spent weeks with demons, a few minutes isn't going to break me.”

“Do you think I am doubting you?” Sam’s voice shifted. “You’re one of the best damn hunters I have ever seen, Y/N/N. I just can’t put you both in this position. Dean would hate to have you see him like that, whatever he is now. And if it is killing him, I can’t put that on your conscience.”

It came out on a whisper, “Okay, fine, you win.” A genial roll of the eyes and a brush of finger tips over his calloused hand. There were too many words in his glance to reply. The heat from your chest had spread and your cheeks burned with a grin you hadn’t shared in too long. “Be safe.”

“Right.” With a smirk that could make a nun squirm.

***

After Cas showed up, the terror subsided as well as Sam’s restrictions. You were allowed in to help with more doses, and you were there when Dean resurfaced. He was shaky and processing, but he was back. Sam’s burdens were left at the door, despite Cas’s worry over the Mark.

You picked through the left over fries at the bottom of the grease soaked bag as Sam poured you both some stiff ones. Dean had called it an early night and his snoring could be heard from his room.

“So? What’s next on the Winchester shit meter? Angels? The Mark of Cain? New hair care regimen?” You teased, letting the golden liquid coat your tongue and trail down your throat. Sam chuckled, playing with his hair slightly as he thought. You shoved his chair with your foot as he gulped down the rest of his glass, a few drops falling down his chin.

The carefree mood felt indulgent and you knew Sam was trying to hover in the surface emotions for as long as possible. You shouldn’t have asked, but it was in your nature to be prepared.

“Just take it one day at a time. I guess?” Sam cleaned up the spill you caused and poured another round.

“Hey, thanks, by the way. After Crowley left me, like he did, it couldn’t have been easy dealing with my mess and looking for Dean. And I haven’t really been able to admit how much that meant to me. So, thank you, Sam, for being there when a demon, or two, left me for dead.” You raised your etched glass and toasted your long-term host.

“What are friends for?” Sam shrugged. “Anytime, you know?”

“Right, friends.” You nodded, plastering on a fake smile as the hope that had been winding through your gut deflated. You were just friends.

@dontshootmespence @ericaprice2008 @chucksnotonanyflatbread @madlu45 @sophieasaurus @veroinnumera @reid-fiction

Chapter 4: What If?

Please let me know if you want to be tagged! (Or removed) xoxo Stu

#sam winchester #questions #questions: why #sam x you #sam x reader #angst #violence #blood #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #spn #spn fanfic #sam angst #spn angst #sam winchester fanfic #fanfic series #spn fanfic series

40 notes · View notes

kendrixtermina · 7 years

Text

Extra Typology Vol #3 - Part , A: 12. - The Solitary Style (Basics)

The sort of person who might have wound up as a monk or hermit when those were still a major thing. The stoic, spockesque loner-by-choice, unmoved by the madding crowd, liberated from the drive to impress and please, remarkably free of the emotions and involvements that distract many others - what they may give up in terms of sentiment and intimacy however, they may gain in clarity of vision.

In terms of equivalents... well this is rather extreme in a way, even for moderate amounts of this, anyone other than enneagram 5 IxTxs and cosmic horror writers need not apply.

The Six Domains

Self

Solitary individuals are self-contained, that is, they are their own truest, most trusted companions, providing the most important ressources they need. They require no one else to guide, admire or entertain them, share their experiences or to provide emotional sustenance -

Though they may marry and otherwise become involved with others at heart they remain separate and they find greatest comfort, reassurance and freedom alone with themselves - and this desire for solitude is not an apparent reaction or avoidance. While some Sensitive people may avoid others because they just can’t be themselves around them and some idiosyncratic folks might seclude themselves because they can’t conform to conventional rules, Solitary types simply prefer their own company - They like to be alone and certainly don’t need anyone to buttress their self-esteem or rescue them from their boredom - They can be remarkably free of loneliness.

One telltale sign that this style is present in someone’s pattern iis when a person can’t figure out why others cannot do things alone, or what bringing someone else to an experience, such as a theatre play or a trip to a foreign city, has to do with one’s enjoyment of it - If others lament that they have no one with whom to do activities, they might not understand why they don’t go alone or even think that such concern don’t make any sense - they don’t understand people who always need to be in relationships, in groups they keep to themselves and stand aside and on tours or museums they might walk off to explore on their own while everyone else clusters around the tour guide. At meals, they may well be friendly and responsive if surrounded by people but they will be perfectly glad to dine on their own even in places like school or university cantinas, and they may do stuff like buy single opera tickets or ear out alone.

Emotions

Many Solitary individuals aren’t really natural romantics - they’re not big feelers or emoters and can generally be counted upon to deliver dispassionate observations. They can be quite impertubable, seemingly not experiencing emotions as intensely as most others on this planet, and strongly Solitary individuals have very little need of emotional intimacy, though individuals in which the trait is more moderate may feel frustrated with their inability to connect to anyone on a deep feeling level.

this doesn’t mean that Solitary people are necessarily unhappy - as long as others don’t demand more of them than they can give. People are often pushing Solitary types to reveal themselves and express their feelings, trying to get a rise out of them, as if (like som Conscientious people), they are keeping them hidden and not sharing what is actually there - but for many Solitary people who have no compensating emotional styles, the repertoire of feelings may truly be small - or at least, they do not really speak the language of emotions, which may be hard for many to comprehend.

Solitary individuals are, in a word, dispassionate, and in some ways they may be richer for it - They may not be feelers, but they are doers and watchers and, free of the passionate desire for others that often clouds our minds, they can stand back and watch the courious things people do and observe the world around them in strikingly clear focus - Gifted Solitary individuals can be highly creative (if reclusive) poets, scientists and intellectuals.

They can be superb observers of nature and even of relationships between people because they do not identify with their feelings, and as they do not become lonely, they can do as they please and say spend days working on a book or mathematical formula, or go off into the mountains by themselves - in any case, books, notebooks and food are generally enough to sustain them for a prolonged time, are comfortable with Silence and feel Satisfied just watching everything around them, taking notes and learning.

Self-Control

It’s hard to tempt a Solitary person to overindulge in their visceral appetites. Impulses, hngers and delight in the pleasures of the flesh are all driven by spontaneous emotion which is not this type’s strong suit.

They may also discover a high tolerance, or stoic disregard for pain or discomfort, being able to work through injuries or harsh conditions through sheer force of will. They would seem to be protected from the usual excesses and weaknesses of the human condition by their very nature.

This might be different if they experiment with potentially addictive substances to help the relate or intensify their emotional experience, or if they have a competitive streak of a pleasure-seeking or emotional style such as Dramatic or Leisurely... or idiosyncratic for that matter (that would be me) - In that case, sorry, no superhuman discipline for you, you’re just very, very introverted.

Meh. I suppose i can deal.

Relationships

Without other-directed pesonality styles to offset the Solitary tendency, the individual will be more or less indifferent to the emotional ties that bind others together - Extremly Solitary types will not be likely to pair up or involve themselves intensely with others, not even as friends. While they may have a rather detached interest in people, they will not be naturally responsive to many of them or wish to draw them intimately close.

It’s not that Solitary people don’t like them humans - They’re not hostile or angry ar anyone. They may enjoy the company of others in many of their activities and some, especially those with a mixed personality pattern, may even marry - but they will need much time for themselves in their relationships and there will always be a wall of greater or lesser thickness between them.

Some may be quite content with arrangements infrequent meetings & separate homes, but those can end in drama if the other person wants more or perhaps suspects some nefarious agenda such as having something withheld from them or being used, if if the Solitary partner is doing the best they can.

Some predominantly solitary individuals may eventually commit to marriage because they think they should, for pracical reasons or because of family pressure, especially if they’re women. Although it may not prove easy for these individuals to feel emotionally connected to their mates, they may grow attached to their marital responsibilites and roles and, as long as no one expects fireworks or a social network around the family, these unions can survive.

Work

Solitary types can function very well in the work domain - they get down to work, concentrate, don’t waste time with personal calls and concerns, and are not easily bored. Characteristically self-contained, they do no require a lot of feedback and can take criticism - the setting is the crucial factor for their performance, however - Extremly Solitary individuals are not team players and do not relate well to the public - It’ not that they are uncooperative, rather, they can be clumsy with the give-and-take necessary to mantain most types of relationships and don’t tend to be sensitive, diplomatic or responsive to subtle and indirect forms of communication.

But when left alone to do their work (and this goes for leisure time activities as well) they can put their mind to it without any distraction and, say, fix cars, write poetry, deliver mails, or study for exams with eqanimity, and their previously mentioned ability to observe and collect information would seve them well in a lot of undertakings - and they can be sent far away to do their work and be expected to cope with repairing a offhore oil rig, manning a remote lighthouse, watch for forest fires or dig for ancient artifacts without feeling lonely, bored or isolated. Or they can retrat from society and work productively without much thought of recognition.

Worldview

In a way, the Solitary individual may feel like they have been transported awy from their home planet - In their ideal world, there would be very few people who go about their business without bothering one anoher. But the actual world is regrettably overpopulated with intrusive aliens who spend the majority of their time impeding each other’s progress - So, Solitary folks try their best to create little pockets of Solitude around themselves and try to spend as much time in them as they can.

Life Choices

Leadership

.Solitary individuals have little patience for office politics - as managers tend not to understand their subordinate’s personalities and usually can’t hande personal problems - they may be brilliant at their work, but sucess and promotons may elude them because they cannot deal comfortably with the political framework, besides, the more one wishes to take on in their career, the more people they may have to deal with, and they might find themselves forced to decide between small projects they can do basically by themselves and larger ones where they are to lead many others... and prefer the former.

This can be the sort of tough decisions that may come with this syle; Ultimately they may be far more suited to freelance careers than being a boss.

Job Recomendations

Unless you have other-directed styles like Dramatic in your pattern, avoid careers that involve you deeply with others than you have to be responsive towards - Do not hesitate to remove yourself from the fray - Reroute yourself towards autonomy & work from your own home, ofice or lab. You may be able to work with clients who expct nothing more than the service you provide - as an accountant for example. Freelance Careers my also work.

Your ability to concentrate in solitude and be completely comfortable in your inner sanctuary can also come in handy - in creative & scientific exploration, reseach, technological & mechanical work, or security jobs in which you are paid to watch and wait.

Stress Sources

Even moderately Solitary people may not intuitively comprehend other’s feelings or respond to emotional cues. They might find their partners lamenting that they don’t love them, as they may not express themselves in the same ‘language’ that is often expected in classical romantic relationships - but the more the partner pushes for emotional reactions and a depth of intimate feeling, the greater will be the stress on the Solitary partner and the Solitary person’s coping mechanism will often be to retreat.

A person with a more mixed style may feel frustrated and in conflict about their relationships, being motivated toward people on the one hand, but still having so strong a need to protect their solitude as to prevent any deeply immediate relationship.

Parenting

The birth of a child is one of those extraordinary life experiences that can trigger a person’s unrealized genetic potential - especially for the mother, once bonding occurs, love comes and the is forever changed. Without pairing up, the Solitary individual is of course unlikely to have this experience, moreover, many Solitary individuals are not interested in having children.

However, Solitary individuals who do become parents often dicover a path to emotionl experience and “togetherness” that they never perceived before - Not that they will cast off a lifetim of personality patterns and be ‘reborn’. They will continue to experience at least some difficulty in meeting and responding to the child’s many emotional needs. The other parent may be able to fill in what’s missing. In any case, Solitary individuals with the usual autonomous competence, will be reliable and can be expected to privide at least for the material needs.

(My mom does tell me that the hormonal reprogramming will kick in but personally I think that sound kinda creepy. )

Romantic Compatibility

Relationships are difficult for predominantly Solitary people - they do not naturally gravitate towards or stick with others. If you have this style in your pattern you will need a partner who is high on acceptance and forbearance and low on emotional need.

A Conscientious person will likely be your best bet considering that style’s lack of emotionality & high regard for marriage as an institution

Some moderately Self-Confident people may be attracted to your sel-containment and competence and may be able to tolerate your aloofness. (A/N: a combi of these two is currently working fine enough for me, not that I don’t experience difficulty - people who work a lot in genera may lower social needs a feature instead of a bug, at least some of the time, it has to be mentioned that these types kinda care about being presentable)

But stay clear of types that are highly emotionally driven, emotionally needy or sociable, including the Dramatic, Mercurial, Adventurous, Devoted, Leisurely and Idiosyncratic. (Dats like half of them, thanks genetic lottery. Some of these don’t interest me anyway but my Artistic side finds some of these appealing as a concept, but at the same time I don’t see how it could happen to be / be made to work IRL, we’d probably share each other away.)

Sensitive types may seem as unsocial as you are, but they need mates that make it easier, not harder, to be with people. (Pity. They’re cute.)

You might be attracted to a Vigilant person but you’re probably not the type for them - Vigilant types need mates who stay within their watchful eye and you need to go your own way. (They’re a mixed bag anyway I suppose. Like the wokeness not so much the jealousy)

Two moderately Solitary types would be able to respect each other’s privacy (Tried that. Only time I met a person more reclusive than me IRL. Would recomend.)

A match with a Serious person may last in a dull, uninspired, don’t rock the boat way (But does he actually mean “boring” or just “drama free”?)

Specific Issues

The Pleasures of the Flesh

While they may appear quite confident & competent when in their element, they might be far less comfortable when faced with, say, a passionate person with a random crush on them who perhaps saw them once, liked their butt and suddenly feels they should start a relationship, putting them of the position of having to be the reasonable ones & tell the other person that they might not be compatible - they’re human beings and will be sad when relationships don’t work out, but may find the demand that others place on them in a relationship even worse.

Regardless of orientation or preference, sex is not an overwhelming force in their lives even if they’re run-of-the-mill heterosexuals - they may enjoy it but they can generally do without for longer periods of time,and their need for closeness and intimacy (be they physical or emotionally) is just substantially lower than most people’s, and this disparity in needs can make relationships difficult - Some might end up not even want relationships, others may stick to ONS, or may lament that no one wants them as they are but, in their usual stoic manner, they won’t be overly preoccupied with it.

#oldham #oldham personality #personality #typology #extraTypology #Solitary

4 notes · View notes