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the-starry-seas · 3 months

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for however many ocs as you wanna answer this for

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

oh good I get to talk about clones to you, you will regret this

Nox: That's the neat part, they don't. Memes aside, they've never been completely alone (I mean, you try finding true solitude when you're one of millions of clones, yeesh). Also they're clingy and if they are alone they will change that pronto because they can't stand that shit, they cannot be alone, not physically capable. And the way they act around others, and when it's just themself, is pretty much the same! They're annoying, affectionate, and fond of making random and/or loud noises for no good reason. Just sitting by themself on the floor, quacking like a duck to see if they're good at it, putting some of their neon pink hair dye in Harlow's shampoo.

Tally: He fucking freaks. He's also never been alone (re: millions of clones) and he hates the silence and stillness. He needs background noise, he needs people around, he starts feeling real weird if he's not directly in sight of at least two or three other people, clones or not. He does a lot of nervous pacing when he's alone, because he doesn't like it and when do Nox and Harlow come back, this sucks. But there are times where he likes to chill and read a book while listening to whatever noisy nonsense is going on in the barracks.

Harlow: He stays level-headed because if he doesn't, who will? He's a lieutenant and that means he does not have the luxury of emotional distress (lol. lmao even.) or panicking over things. He doesn't mind being alone, in and of itself, but it does tend to make him a little bit nervous these days because if he's not there to tell Nox to behave, what the fuck are they up to now? Who's gonna protect his shinies if he's not there? But if he has someone to babysit them, he's doing a full spa day with cucumber slices and harp music and everything.

Blue: He likes being alone for short periods of time because it gives him some quiet and peace. He needs something to focus on though so it's like, idle games and crosswords to keep him occupied instead of meditation-style quiet. Loneliness, on the other hand, is different from being alone and he hates that shit. He gets restless and mopey and he just wants his idiot siblings back because they're his anchor even if they also often drive him nuts. I think being in stasis for thirty years counts as being completely alone? He did not care for that shit at all, he would do anything to not have to face that again.

Ember: He tries to make himself very small when he's alone so that nobody notices him. Being alone scares him because he knows that he'll be decommissioned if the GAR ever finds out that he can't hear any more. Even after getting away from them, old habits die hard, and being alone means not being with his family, so he'd really just rather not. So when he is alone, like Tally, he's nervous (but he freezes up instead of pacing). He likes being alone with his husband there are many benefits to being married to a marine biologist because they're adorable and Cam will play with his hair and infodump about their mutual favourite animal, the cownose stingray. (bonus camber picrew from a few years ago when kmerolzzzz's was still around)

Star: Being completely alone makes him shut down. He's a Force-sensitive clone and the Kaminoans were hellbent on reproducing that so he often got pulled out of training for tests and experiments. Being alone, to him, means he's going to be a lab rat again and probably hurt somehow along the way. He prefers being alone with one or two others, also preferably clones. Namely Winter who's the oldest of the squad and also their father figure, they call him buir and everything. He naps a lot when he's alone with a friend, chronic fatigue and all. But when it's just him and his squad, he's also more open with his facial expressions and looks them in the eyes more (GAR Jedi tended to be uh, less than kind when seeing a Force sensitive clone with golden eyes, he doesn't look strangers in the eyes very often).

Silver and Sky: A package deal. If they're not together, the world is ending. They've been inseparable from the moment they were ‘born’ less than a minute apart and everyone calls them the twins, so while most clones have an answer of "never been completely alone due to millions of clones", they've barely ever been out of each others' sight for more than five minutes. Shelter cat bonded, through and through. They're always grinning in cahoots about something, love that for them <3 They stay silly, whether they're on their own, or with the rest of the squad. They're well aware that they're disposable weapons, but they're also twins, and as long as twins have each other, what could go wrong? They stick together even more closely when it's just them because it's all about protecting each other.

#don't look at my 'crossword answer bank' of tags down here it's fine don't worry about it #ghost squad #ct nox #ct tally #cl harlow #the aces #cs blue #ct ember #clone force m #ct star #ct silver #ct sky

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wolverina2002 · 10 months

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"You´re not my brother" - "No, the asshole just wore my face"

Crosshair is not the brother Hunter remembers from their short time together. Crosshair would say Hunter only ever met a mask named CT-9904. Reconnecting is hard, but they try.

Tags Crosshair & Hunter | Crosshair & Tech (mentioned) | Crosshair & Wrecker (mentioned)

Crosshair | Hunter

Crosshair is not the brother Hunter remembers.

Not that there´s much to remember, if Hunter is honest with himself. A few months they spend together, at most. Three months? Maybe. Not much time.

And yet, Hunter thinks, enough time to get to know somebody.

Enough to know that they´re changed, now, four months after a desastrous fight Hunter only realized much later was the last drop in the barrel.

"You´re one of us now, not one of Them."

"Maybe I want to be."

Three months. Two on Kamino, one at war. Enough to know a person?

Hunter isn´t sure anymore.

The Crosshair Hunter remembers is stiff, rigid spine clenched jaw permanent frown stiff. Not a muscle twitching, not a stray hair out of place.

The Crosshair in front of him is not slouching, but relaxed, shoulders devoid of tension, a slight smile on lips no longer pressed thin with strain. Toothpick between his teeth.

Somewhere, someone shrieks. Might be Torrent´s batshit crazy togruta tagalong. Might be local wildlife. Hunter´s head snaps up, body tense, coiled to spring into action.

Crosshair doesn´t even flinch. Doesn´t dignify the jowled protest of a reg, cut off by the soft forest floor colliding with their face, with a single glance. Just dumps more cleaning solution onto a rag and reaches for another part of the rifle on the tarp in front of him.

A piece of familiarity, almost. Crosshair spending hours cleaning a weapon, taking it apart and putting it back together. The smile is that of a stranger, to Hunter.

The Crosshair he remembers is a man with a mask like face. Impassive, blank, unreadable. Wrecker earned a grimace, or a raised eyebrow sometimes. Tech might get an indulgent smile that never reached his eyes, eyes sharp as shattered glass and burning ember. Hunter himself earns a disdained sneer if he´s lucky.

A smile flashes over Crosshair´s face. An eyeroll, fond or Hunter will eat his helmet. Not even micrexpressions, but out in the open, carefree, easy. A hand run over short, tussled hair.

Four months, Hunter thinks. I should know you. And yet all I see is a stranger.

A stranger wearing lower armor in charcoal-black like the Batch, but with bold deep blue instead of red. Navy-sea-sky-summer-blue. Torrent blue.

A stranger wearing sleeveless blacks, revealing the multicolored, intricate tattoo covering his left arm, wrist to shoulder. Last time Hunter has seen it, it only went up to his elbow.

"Traditional mandalorian art style", Tech said when he saw it. "Although not done the traditional mandalorian way. Meant to spiritualy provide support and strenghen a permanently injured limb."

An injury caused by Crosshair being handed a fully powered sniper rifle way too early. Colorfull rings frame Crosshair´s wrist, ellbow, shoulder, runes and intertwining lines between them. Crosshair never told them what the colors mean, or where he got the ink done.

Well, he never told Hunter. Tech might know, close as they are.

Three months, since they´ve last seen each other. Three months have made a stranger out of Hunter´s taciturn squadmate.

And yet, Crosshair tolerates him. Even sought him out to settle down next to him, in the sun, to clean the arsenal of weapons stored in his pack.

Another difference. The Crosshair Hunter thought he knew scoffed at Wrecker when he asked Crosshair to help him with his weapons, and followed up with snide comments.

"You gonna do something about that?"

Hunter glances down at the decee, half taken apart on a tarp in front of him, long abandoned in favor of trying to piece together the puzzle that is the man in front of him.

"You´re not a reg, Crosshair! You´re one of us!"

"I never was anything but a reg and I´m done lying to myself!"

Crosshair meets his eyes, now. Steady, bright, clear. No pain, no rage, no bitterness, no darkness deep enough to swallow Hunter whole. Only Tech knows the reason Crosshair takes medication. Hunter asked once and got a brawl for it. He hopes it´s the medication that´s making Crosshair look more like a person and less like a vengefull wraith.

Because if it wasn´t sickness, it´s the team that was the problem. And Hunter isn´t sure how to handle that.

(He knows it wasn´t the team, per se. Crosshair wrangled with Wrecker cheerfully enough and adored Tech. Hunter was the problem, although Hunter isn´t sure what he did.)

(That´s a lie. He knows, but he can´t put it into words. The regs. Crosshair´s health. Their last fight.)

"It´s either us or them, Crosshair. You can´t have both."

"I really hope I´ll be there when you find out what you just said, Sergeant Hunter."

"Hunter?"

"You´re not my brother."

It slips out, escapes unbidden, puts voice to the coiled, confused thing in Hunter´s chest. He flinches, ducks his head, waits for the strike. Knowing Crosshair, it´ll be deadly.

It doesn´t come. Hunter looks up, finds Crosshair´s eyes. Steady, so steady.

"No, the asshole just wore my face."

Hunter has heard that joke before, from countless regs just at the edge of his hearing. It´s old, so old, and worn out. He doesn´t laugh, feeling like he´s looking through a window at another world. Crosshair smirks, an easy thing. Tech used to be the only one able to coax that out of him. Hunter shouldn´t miss those times, not when Crosshair was in so much pain.

Pain Hunter only sees now, when it´s gone from the sniper´s spine, shoulders and face and he´s smiling like a man actually comfortable in his skin, white splotches, purple strechmarks, tattoos and all. Hunter´s jealous, a little.

"You weren´t happy", he says softly, talking to his neglected blaster rather than Crosshair. "I just ... I never figured out what I did wrong."

Even with his eyes averted, he knows Crosshair´s eyes never leave him. That, at least, didn´t change. Crosshair´s focus is all-encompassing and impossible to escape. It used to make Hunter´s skin crawl.

Somewhere, Wrecker laughs over the shouts of Torrent playing some weird game of chase. Crosshair´s gaze doesn´t budge.

"You really want an answer to that?"

Steady, calm, measured. No sneer, no sarcasm. Officer tones, for all that Crosshair wears the rank of private with a weird sort of pride. Hunter wonders who taught him that.

"Please. I ... I´m scared I´ll repeat my mistake."

Crosshair had somewhere to go when Hunter messed up. Had a whole squad of ARCs willing to throw down for him. Wrecker and Tech don´t have that.

"Stop listening to Nala Se."

Hunter´s head snaps up, staring at Crosshair. The sniper´s steady gaze refuses to waver.

"What does she have to do with anything?"

"All that talk about you three being superior to the regs. Special. Flawless. That´s bullshit, Hunter."

"It´s not."

It comes out on instinct, automatic. A truth Hunter clings to. Crosshair shakes his head, puts down the pipe cleaner and the small rifle part and with one swift move pulls his shirt over his head.

There´s new ink on his chest, a strill in the unique geometric style of mandalorian tattoos curled up over his heart, in deep blue and light green and cinnamon brown and pale yellow. Hunter is surprised to see that it´s tail is done in dark red. Batch red. Their red. It´s important, in a way Hunter can´t fully grasp.

"Look at me", Crosshair says softly. "And ignore the ink for a moment."

His tone is steady, coaxing. The tone he used when teaching Wrecker a basic card game and Tech how to card count. Hunter looks.

The white splotches haven´t grown, but they´re more noticable now. Crosshair has a slight tan, the strechmarks have faded and he´s put on weight and muscle.

"I´m not perfect. I´m too tall, I have a genetic predisposition for anxiety and vitiligo, not to talk about my whole batch being defective in one way or the other."

He meets Hunter´s eyes, straight on, serious. Sniper´s eyes, sharp and impossible to escape, impossible to avoid.

"I´m the best sniper in this entire army. The best Vhonte Tervho has ever seen. And the only reason I ever lived longer than two hours past decanting is that Nala Se thought I´d be more interesting to study alive than dead. If I hadn´t gone to see a medic at the time I did I´d be blind by now. I´m a reg, by your own definition of not having been enhanced deliberatly, bred in a standard tube on a standard CC template, and I could wipe the floor with all three of you. I know several ARCs who could do the same, no enhancements needed."

Hunter. Hunter needs to breathe. Breathe, and then focus. Slowly, he pieces together what Crosshair just said. The vibrant, calm, steady sniper in front of him ... dead but for something as simple as splotches on his skin.

"My abilities happend entirely by accident due to the genetic melting pot that is Manda'yaim, and you want to tell me things like your senses, Wrecker´s strengh or Tech´s smarts can´t happen too? The only difference between you guys and mutated regs is that you have the privilege of not getting any drawbacks."

"Wait", Hunter croaks out, overwhelmed. "We don´t ... there are drawbacks."

It rushes out of him like it wants to run, and shame follows on the words like a familiar friend. Crosshair looks at him, steady, unwavering.

"Then what´s the difference?"

Hunter ... Hunter´s sure there is one. There has to be, right?

But does it matter if there is or isn´t a difference? Crosshair isn´t Tech, for all that they always seemed the closest. This isn´t about definitions and technicalities. But about what then?

Once, Hunter would´ve known. Or thought he knew.

"Does it matter?"

It´s a whisper, a question never dared to be uttered anywhere near the white halls and dark rooms of Kamino. Hunter almost expects it to echo in their small secluded clearing, loud and damning.

But the only thing that echoes is Crosshair´s laughter, small but bright and so, so full of life.

"No!", he barks, eyes dancing with light.

It doesn´t matter. Not when whatever Hunter just breathed into existance, what he´s just beginning to grasp, makes Crosshair laugh like that. Makes him sound alive.

They fall silent. Birds twitter in the trees. Torrent cheers and laughs in the distance. Hunter lets the silence linger, lets it sit between them, there but comfortable. That´s new too, silence never used to be comfortable between them.

"I´m sorry", Hunter finally says, carefully choosing his words. "That I didn´t know how to be a good Sergeant to you. Or a good brother either. I ... I still don´t know how to be either of those things."

He´s talking to the parts of his blaster again, unable to look at Crosshair. Suddenly, familiar slender fingers appear in his field of vision, finish taking apart his DC-17m in seconds. He glances up.

Crosshair´s eyes are sharp, like a knife´s blade instead of shards of glass. His face is all determination and something Hunter can´t parse, not yet.

Maybe he will, one day.

"Help me finish cleaning these guns", Crosshair says, a faint spark of something in his voice. "And then I´ll introduce you to a few people who helped me figure out how to be a functional human being."

A smirk, a taunting head tilt.

"Who knows, they might repeat the miracle. Insane enough to try."

The laugh is punched out of Hunter´s chest and a lot more watery than he´d like, but he smiles and gets to work.

He´s still not sure what exactly is wrong, still can´t put words to all the things that are different now and that he doesn´t understand, still isn´t sure what exactly he said that day, but ... Crosshair is no longer a distant stranger.

Hunter feels like he might be able to get to know this brother, now. Figure out who Crosshair really is, and who they can be, outside of Kamino.

Clone Force 99´s Sergeant and Torrent´s ARC sniper.

It´s not going to be easy, but then again, nothing ever is.

#fanfiction #crosshair #hunter tbb #emotions

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chilligyu · 1 year

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cursebound | magic au | fantasy, drama, romance fic preview | jeonghan/reader | 3.5k status: 20% finished based heavily upon howl's moving castle, ella enchanted, and embers by ethan hibbs

He looked back at her from the treeline, a mysterious glint to his eyes. "The Wastelands aren't safe for humans, especially not damsels desperate to be freed from curses." "I'm aware." She said, steeled to his thinly veiled threats. He shrugged. "Fine then. But be mindful of your footprints, if you lose them it'll be too late for you Cursebound."

anticipated final word ct: 12-15k

#jeonghan moodboard #svt moodboard #seventeen moodboard #forest aesthetic #magic aesthetic #fantasy aesthetic #cottagecore #mine:mb #mb:yjh #chilligyu #svt #seventeen #jeonghan #hannie

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witch-ix · 2 months

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The Guardians

Every year one graduating student from each of the three Magic Colleges in Magix City can become a Guardian.

Guardians last three years in their respective schools to help guide new students along in their first three years and serve as a bridge between them and the teachers.

There are always three Guardians at the same time at each of the colleges.

The guardians' duties:

First and foremost, they have to look out for their students - help them out with school related problems, or if they have private troubles. It is no rarity to see some students become great friends with their year's guardian. At the end of their first year in Red Fountain, this colleges' guardian helps with putting together the teams of Specialists for the next year. Second- and third-year guardians additionally make sure to enroll their students in the electives they choose.

- Guardians in the year of the Trix (third year):

Alfea – Sefira, Fairy of Snow Cloud Tower – Darko, Witcher of Asteroids Red Fountain – Thoren, Wizard of Earthquakes

- in the year of the Boys (second year):

Alfea – Jade, Fairy of Earth Cloud Tower – Kira, Witch of Madness Red Fountain – Vyke, Paladin with ice magic

- in the year of the Winx (first year):

Alfea – Ember, Fairy of Warmth Cloud Tower – Triss, Witch of Lightning Red Fountain – Mana, Paladin with mind magic

- in the year of the Terrestrials (first year, as of season 2)

A – Diana, Fairy of Forests CT – Aurora, Witch of Light Flares RF – Nebula, Paladin with mist magic

#au-ix #reusing characters from later seasons #and renaming characters from fate #so smart if i do say so myself #oh and the winxsonas #but only Vyke will really be of importance #winx club thoren #winx club rewrite #winx club au #winx club #winx darko #winx thoren #winx diana #winx aurora #winx nebula

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cinnamonfm · 9 months

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{ SAVANNAH LEE SMITH, 22, CISWOMAN, SHE/HER } Is that HENRIETTA ASTOR? A JUNIOR originally from GREENWICH, CT they decided to come to Ogden College to study GOVERNMENT. They’re THE FALLEN PRINCESS on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

001 – the basics.

full name: henrietta pearl kennedy-astor (no relation to the kennedys, other than name) nickname(s): heni, hen, etta, ettie, hettie date of birth: 01 november 2000 place of birth: greenwich, ct hometown: manhattan, new york sexuality: bisexual, though i’m pretty sure she thinks she’s mostly straight religion: agnostic, lapsed catholic

002 – the girl.

+ intelligent, loyal, resourceful, quick-witted, eloquent, cunning, astute, observant - fault-finding, rigid, insincere, scheming, unyielding, vindictive enneagram: 3w4 mbti: esfj temperament: choleric-melancholic

character inspiration(s): blair waldorf (gossip girl), cordelia chase (buffy the vampire slayer), paris geller (gilmore girls), quinn fabray (glee), summer roberts (the o.c), heather ratner (chuck), claire standish (the breakfast club), heather duke (heathers), regina george (mean girls), mini mcguinness (skins), lucille bluth (arrested development), alex russo (wizards of waverly place), amber mariens (clueless), sharpay evans (high school musical)

primary trope: the fallen princess secondary tropes: lovable alpha bitch, always second best, manipulative bitch, deadpan snarker, death glare, defrosting ice queen, good all along, bitch in sheep’s clothing, anti-hero, moral myopia, stepford snarker, jerk with a heart of gold, inferiority complex

how they embody their trope:

(brief neglect mention tw) Facades, facades, facades. In hindsight, it’s a wonder her first words as a toddler hadn’t been scripted for her and pre-approved by the Astor PR team. She’s the only child of two lawyers - with her mother serving her second term as New York’s attorney general and her father ensuring that multi-million dollar corporations were able to skirt around their social, environmental and fiscal obligations. They’re not American royalty, not by any means, but the Astor name carries a certain weight, and her parents would sooner give up all their worldly possessions than let her forget it. It wasn’t her parents who brought her up, so much as their expectations. Perfect grades, perfectly behaved, perfectly aligned with their wants and needs. The Astors hadn’t really wanted a child. What they’d been in the market for was a trophy. Henrietta, by virtue of her upbringing, is a perfectionist. Nothing she ever did as a child was good enough for her parents (not that they’d ever say that, but she could sense it), and nothing she ever does as a young adult is enough to meet her own impossible standards. She’s spent considerable time and effort constructing a vision of herself that she feels comfortable portraying to others, a thin veneer to keep herself hidden from onlookers - a never-ending performance. And part of that was being Greer’s best friend. After all, you’re only as good as the company you keep. She’s yet to take an actual tumble, but with Greer missing, the paint job on the facade that is Henrietta is slowly starting to crack. It’s only a matter of time before it starts chipping, too.

general personality:

Were I to use one word to describe Henrietta, it would have to be sharp. It’s her defining characteristic - she’s all edges, all the time. Sharp wit, sharper tongue. At least that’s the curated version of her. The one you’d get to see. Beneath the high school mean-girl persona, behind the rolling eyes and raised brows, she’s genuine and vulnerable and has the capacity for care. But she’s been raised to believe that kindness is a weakness, something for others to exploit, and so she’s extinguished that flamed. Stubbed the embers into the ground with her foot. Because it’s easier to keep people at a comfortable distance this way. This way, they won’t get too close. They won’t be able to see her for the lonely, insecure person she’s tried so desperately to keep under wraps.

003 – greer.

If there is such a thing as a universal truth, it is that teenage girls exercise cruelty rarely seen outside of cartoony depictions of hell. And if the Manolo-toting schemers of gossip girl were anything to go by, Manhattan girls were the absolute worst. Henrietta had thrown an uncharacteristic fit when her parents had broached the subject of moving (in the middle of the school year, no less) - tears wiped on the back of cashmere sleeves, voice choked with adolescent desperation. Were they trying to ostracise her from her peers? Ensure she’d stand out like a sore thumb? How did they expect her to find friends, when social hierarchies and cliques had already fully solidified by now? The answer to the latter was, unsurprisingly, Greer. Henrietta had hardly set foot on the grounds of her new alma mater, before Greer had linked elbows with her, flashed her a bright smile, and announced to anyone who’d listen that this, this was her best friend now. Maybe, she’d told herself as she returned home from that first day, moving hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. Ever since that first meeting, the two of them had been practically joined at the hip. If Greer was there, you could place a pretty safe bet that Henrietta was there. Joint birthday parties in their early teens, trips abroad over the summer holiday, secrets shared behind walk-in-closet doors. They were inseparable. It was the sort of friendship others looked at through either a lens of envy or aspiration. Or both. Perhaps that’s why Henrietta feels so guilty over how restricted she’d felt since traipsing in Greer’s footsteps all the way to Ogden. It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Greer in that platonic way a best friend does, because she really, really did, but college had just highlighted just how much her existence had been fashioned as an extension of Greer. It wasn’t like the power dynamic had ever been even, not even back in New York, but something about the new backdrop to their relationship had lit up its flaws like a starry night sky. Getting to bask in Greer’s light also meant existing in her shadow. It was always Greer, and then Henrietta, half a step behind. It was hard not to feel like an afterthought. An asterisk at the end of a lengthy paragraph. 004 – family.

(see here) To say that Henrietta’s relationship with her family teethers on being strained, would be an understatement. Everything she does is with the express intent of getting their approval, and yet, she’s never so much as gotten a nod in recognition. Everything she achieves, her brother (four years her senior) has already done. And better at that. During her formative years, they were too concerned with getting Evangeline elected as attorney general to let their children be children. And now they’re too concerned with getting her re-elected to see the damage that did to them.

005 – brief summary of events.

coming soon.

006 - wanted connections.

exes (derogatory) - these two used to date, and now they can barely stand to be in the same room as each other. can they even remember why? who knows, but that doesn't stop them from bickering all the same.

what could have been - what's worse than almost being something, but never quite getting there? these two never had the timing thing figured out

academic rival - the nelly yuki to her blair waldorf. someone heni feels like she has to outperform, all the time. could even be one-sided.

the project - no idle rich girl is complete without someone to take under her wing.

behind closed doors - someone heni gets on with, and likes spending time with, but for social reasons (and because she's the worst) she doesn't want to be seen with publicly

the light feminine to her dark feminine - she's always been a pack animal, and now that greer's off somewhere? being her counterpart is up for grabs.

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harpywritesfic · 1 year

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three is the most perfedt number i do not take crtiticism. three is the perfe ct number of:

drinks

pizza

friend group ,embers

hours of naptime per day

hours of productivty

protafongists

threesome participants

a secret other thing that deserves menting but should not be names

#harpy overshares #ues imm vrfy sleepy rn and pc has no autocorrect

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thetaelmeny · 2 years

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Az érintés hiánya...

Amikor megérintünk valakit, megváltozik a megérintett fizikai érzete - csökken a feszültséget okozó hormonok szintje, csökken az idegrendszer feszültsége, javul az immunrendszer állapota és ez kihatással van a viselkedésünkre, hangulatunkra.

A szerelmesek azért szárnyalnak, mert átlagosan négyszer több érintést, ölelést, simogatást adnak egymásnak, mint a többi ember.

Kutatások igazolják, hogy az az ember, akit valaki gyakran a karjába zár, magához ölel, a szívéhez szorít, kevésbé frusztrált, kevésbé szorong, a félelemérzete csökken. Az ölelés oldja a stresszt.

A kutatások szerint az érintés szükséglete sokkal erősebb a táplálék iránti szükségletnél.

A testi kontaktus szükséglete folyamatosan jelen van az életünkben, de a társadalmi szabályok a legtöbbször megakadályozzák az érintések vágyát.

Pedig az érintésnek hihetetlen nagy, mondhatni csodát tevő energiája van. Az érintés, a simogatás felülírja a fájdalomérzést.

Ugyanis a bőrünkben a simogatás érzékelésére külön idegrostok találhatók, ezek a CT-idegek, s minden egyes ilyen idegrost körülbelül 1 négyzetcentméternyi területről továbbítja a simogatás hatását.

Virginia Satir pszichológus szerint napi négy ölelés kell a túléléshez, nyolc a szinten tartáshoz és tizenkettő a gyarapodáshoz. Érdemes tehát elgondolkodnunk azon, mi hány ölelést adunk és hány ölelést kapunk naponta?

Az ölelés szempontjából éppen csak túléljük-e az életünket, vagy gyarapodunk-e általa? Családtagjainkat az anyagi javakon kívül ellátjuk-e elegendő testi érintéssel, hogy az egészségüket is megtámogassuk?

Az érintésben hihetetlen erő lakozik. Összeolvasztja az embereket, ledönti a közöttük lévő falakat, jobban mint bármi más, és mindannyian reagálunk rá.

Az érintésben energia van, csodát tévő energia. Az érintés a szeretet egyik legerősebb megnyilvánulása, amely legyőzi a gátlásokat és megerősíti a kapcsolatokat.

A szeretet a legerősebb gyógyító erő.

Az érintés, az ölelés és a kézzel való kontaktus - amikor szeretetet adunk vagy kapunk - fizikai, szellemi és érzelmi változást idéz elő bennünk. Nagyon kevés az érintés és az ölelés.

Hozzáérni valakihez és megölelni, nem is olyan egyszerű… Nem lehet tudni, hogy a másik ember hogyan reagál. Lehet, hogy ellök magától és ellenségesen viszonyul a közeledéshez.

Ez eggyel több ok, hogy megpróbáljuk feloldani a gátlásait.A szeretethez bátorság kell.

Készen állni, megkockáztatni, hogy ellökjenek maguktól, hogy fájdalmat okozzanak, de leggyakrabban mégis győzni fogunk.

Érdemes megpróbálni… Az emberek előbb-utóbb megnyílnak nekünk. Ha mindannyian arra várnánk, hogy a másik ember teszi meg az első lépést, akkor mi lenne velünk?

Csak ölelésre kell tárni karjainkat, és ezzel megnyitjuk a szívüket. Akkor majd megérzik a szeretet energiáját, melyet az érintés ereje lobbant lángra...

És újra... ❤

"Az ölelést orvosnak kellene felírnia.

Van egy gyógyító erő az ölelésben, amit még nem ismerünk...

Egy ölelés ❤️ gyógyítja a gyűlöletet.

Egy ölelés ❤️ gyógyítja a haragot.

Egy ölelés ❤️ gyógyítja a fáradtságot.

Egy ölelés ❤️ gyógyítja a szomorúságot.

Amikor megöleljük egymást, elengedjük a kötelékeket.

Egy pillanatra elveszítjük azokat a dolgokat, amik elvették a nyugalmunkat, békénket, lelkünket.

Amikor átöleljük egymást, leengedjük a védelmünket, és engedjük, hogy a másik közeledjen a szívünkhöz. ❤️ A karok kitárva, s a szívek egyedülálló módon ölelkeznek.💞

Mert semmi sem fogható egy öleléshez...

💕Ölelés a "szeretlek"-ből.

💕Ölelés a "milyen jó, hogy itt vagy" érzésből.

💕Ölelés a "Segíts nekem".

💕Ölelés a "Hamarosan találkozunk"-ból.

💕Vagy átölellek, mert "Hiányoztál!"

Ölelés...

Amikor megöleljük egymást, többek vagyunk, mint kettő; család vagyunk, tervek vagyunk, álmok vagyunk!

Igen, az ölelést orvosnak kellene felírnia, mert megfiatalítja a lelket és a testet."

(Forrás: Sprüche und Lebensweisheiten oldal

és Házi természetgyógyász)

#szerelem #relationship goals #tantra #érzelmek #hianyzol

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songofsutarima · 2 years

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More 5 minute or Work Writes

The second part of the list

———————————

11) Write a poem where each line ends with a word that doesn't rhyme with anything. (Orange, silver, purple, month, angel, dangerous, etc.)

As someone who depends on rhyme like money used to count on silver

It truly drives me mad that half the time a similar sound cannot be glimpsed.

Rhyme is sort of my favorite thing, and when I can’t, I’m filled with angst.

When there’s nothing for me to bring, it’s kind of when I pop my fifth.

That’s only in the hopes that in pursuit of sleep or writing, my mind may oblige.

That’s why I’m wrapping up with this line; this poem feels weird; like sinking into depths.

12) Write a poem with twelve lines, where each line represents a month of the year.

Breathe in, cold, crisp, full of hope

Exhale short, from time cut and you cope.

Step, heel-toe, one foot leading the other

And play not the fool, spare embarrassment for mother.

Let it be that you come home

And ‘Juin’ not they that roam

Do not lie, you would not return

I’d guessed you’d rather simply burn.

‘Xcept embers sting, have cause me be one burnt

Awk though over years, heat hasn’t caused me one turnt.

As turkey time approaches, and we have a bird roasted

I hope we know…not even Christmas for this stressfulness should have boasted.

13) Interview a mundane object in your home.

Hey, Merida, glad to have you with us today,

“Glad to be here” I’m sure she’d say.

Tell us, I’m sure some would like to know

What makes you happy, gives you glow?

“Maybe that my owners always find time to blow

Sometimes using me quickly, often taking time, burning with me slow.”

Do they take care of you? Treat you well?

“I would say yes from what I can tell,

Though..since I’ve been cleaned it’s been a spell.”

What is your favorite memory from what you recall?

“Mom choosing me from the shops glass stall!”

What about scary? What struck you with fear?

“Losing some brothers and sisters, some colored, some clear.”

Okay, finally, just for clarity for our readers,

Do you mind specifying what you happen to be?

“Oh sure! I’m a favorite glass, used quite often

Thought I prefer “water pipe”, there are other words that also define me”

14) Write about your earliest memory.

I feel I should start with a disclaimer small.

I’m not going to like writing this. Not much at all.

But the earliest fragment I can claim

Is one where I was slightly maimed.

I want to say it was a Friday evening, possibly the day that follows.

Regardless, it’s an eve that causes hard swallows.

I was having a good day, not much was wrong

Mom was getting ready for Im guessing clubbing all night long.

Feeling happy, more or less dancing on air

Stepping into Mom’s room to say I love you and I care.

“Mom! Hug!” With arms up and hands out

Perhaps it was rude and a little demanding

I still don’t really know what she was angry about

I just know what rings feel like from someone backhanding.

The sting was small, I think I was mostly in shock.

Like..did I annoy you with the way I talk?

I remember just standing still for what seemed a moment eternal.

And that’s basically it, the earliest entry in my memory journal.

15) If you found out you weren't filled with the normal things (blood, guts, etc.), what do you think would be inside you?

I was bored once

And being of curious mind

I set out to do some tests

To see what I might find.

I started with CT’s

To put the hidden in clear view

And it may shock you to know

Instead of a heart, I found a crew.

A dozen or so beings

All of emotional name

To throw me in different corners

All working furiously the same.

An MRI is the scan that followed

I needed to see the shape of my brain

I just had to know what was in control

Who had the supreme reign.

The scan revealed nothing,

To me it made no sense

I needed fresh eyes inside

And had to convince a friend off his fence.

Just a small window

Enough to see

And shine a light

Into apparently cavernous me.

Smoke and water

All things in clouds

Whispers and murmurings

Words dressed in shrouds.

X-rays I suppose

Was the most logical thing.

Hoping what holds me up is iron and bone

But at this point expecting wood and string.

Showing up on the scan

Something I didn’t believe at first pass

To see that even that is hollow

As my bones are music and glass.

The next part was just me

Something just I needed to know.

Something a little gruesome

To find what really really flows.

Just a small incision

I mean…it’s certainly what I meant

But I couldn’t waste the time

As it was already being spent.

It was odd to see what flowed

To see once cut what would be the river.

Silver, and gold, light and happiness

And hopeless blackness, greys that made me shiver.

One thing that was unexpected

I didn’t look for and so didn’t think I’d see the sight.

When I wanted to see what life had made me,

I didn’t think my soul would still show any shimmering light.

16) Write a poem in which you forgive yourself.

Do you not know or understand

The fires I’ve caused and fanned?

“Forgive yourself” I have heard them say

But that seems for someone else on another day.

The blood on my hands, the ink blackness of a heart

I’d love to forgive. But how do I get there? Where do I start?

Listen well, please, as it’s said another time

A past can stay past without repeated crime.

Yes, I saw what happened, what you did and said.

I see the things that cause the daymares constant in your head.

I understand you failed, you aren’t who you could have been,

That does not mean you don’t deserve your zen.

It has been quite long enough; there is something that must truly be learned.

It’s time to just let go, be forgiven; it isn’t as though it can be earned.

17) Write about what kind of poetry different animals would write. (Would small creatures write shortpoems? Would beautiful creatures write beautiful poems? Or would it be entirely different?)

If you listen in nature, and can read,

Poetry is every creature, from bee to stallion steed.

Buzzing little friends writing circular and square.

Swans writing love sonnets to show their care.

While mighty beasts like wolves, lion, or bear

Write ballads of battles where they crush those that dare

Challenge their power, prowess, and strength.

Doves singing psalms at unending length.

Owls and elephants with proverbs to spread wisdom with words.

Haikus hidden in the chirps, whistles, and singing of birds.

Rhyming important for spiders who like all things in order.

While dolphins push more of a free verse border.

All things in nature have poetry, some song.

One of my favorite things is to listen and read-sing along.

18) Write about an object you've lost. Where might it be now?

I lost it when I was a child

I set it down, but should have filed

Something somewhere to remind me where it went

Before I had hours and hours searching spent.

It was late at night, so I feel only so much blame.

And it wasn’t me that stripped innocence from my name.

19) Try to write a"square poem", in the style of Lewis Carroll.

If I love you forever

Will you forever return?

When the last lights all go out

Will our fire continue burn?

Will you, in this journey life,

Hold my hand at every turn?

Or be a lesson to learn?

20) Write about sounds you might encounter in outer space.

Floating in a vacuum, you might find

Something that really should not shock your mind.

The things you might actually hear floating in the vast emptiness of space

Would be your skin freezing, your lungs cracking, as life leaves your body without a trace.

—————————————-

The top of the list

https://at.tumblr.com/songofsutarima/694676390289801216/h2m67dcfyk48

#new poem #poems on tumblr #poetry #prompt poetry #tumblr inspired

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heidelberger · 10 days

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53 %!

Ha hegyet másznék, akkor most érnék fel a csúcsra, hiszen még le is kell jönni. Ez azért kicsit más, de innen is le kell még jönni épségben ....

Reinhold Messner mondta egyszer, hogy a " A jó hegymászó nem az, aki fiatal. A jó hegymászó az, aki nyugdíjas, de még mindig mászik."

Ez az én filozófiám is.

A szó legszorosabb értelmében is, mert nyugdíjasan is hegyeket szeretnék mászni. És átvitt értelemben is. Én nagyon szeretnék megöregedni. Bárkinek ajánlom figyelmébe, aki fél megöregedni, hogy van más is, amitől félhet az ember. Más vágyam sincs, mint az öregedéstől félni.

Holnap sűrű napom lesz, 14:00 kor CT, utána rögtön kezelés.

Mondták, hogy menet közben lesz CT, úgyhogy legyen, ezen nem múlik. Ha jól értettem meg, kialakulhat agyi ödéma is, de ezzel úgy vagyok, hogy érezném. Mivel nem érzem, ezért nincs. Az orvosok meg nézzék csak a fejemet belülről, ha ezt kell tenni.

Mindezt a 0.99 -en, nem is 7-8000 m felett...

Ezen apropóból teszem ide az egyik kedvenc képemet (saját fotó, 2023.08.11. Grossglockner Havasi gyopárral) Hasaltam érte elég sokat, mire meglett a jó szög.

Előzménynemolvasóknak megsúgom halkan, hogy a HIT az alagsorban van (el van ásva), magyarul ez mondjuk -1 lenne a liftben, itt 0.99. Imádom....

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warsamongstthestar-keen · 3 months

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Chapter Forty

Once everyone's done eating, they each begin to move around the ship, gathering up their gear, personal effects. All the leftover food, and water. They each grab an empty pack, filling it with the stuff lying around the ship. Oati and Ember make their way over to the helmets hanging from the zip cord. Without turning to look at them, Ari'abel calls back, "We're taking those plants with us, and that's an order."

Ember looks at his brother, and states quickly, "Sir, yes Sir."

They carefully take the makeshift planters down, tucking them under their arms. Eh walks over, his helmet that is still painted the orange of the 87th battalion sitting securely on his head. Once everyone is ready they venture out onto the planet's dusty surface. Jeff glances up to the precipice of the cavern wall. "How, exactly, are we getting up there? We don't have nearly enough zip cord for that."

Cody sighs, because he knows the answer, but, internally begs that Keen has another option. His worst fears are made manifest when she leaps up, landing just outside the canyon.

Hotrod and Ember are the first to be Force-lifted to liberation by their Jedi Saviour, followed by Oati and Jeff. Cody tries to prepare himself, but he still wasn't ready for the weird sensation of being lifted by an unseen entity.

Once everyone's up, the Jedi Master leads them to where her ship sits, nestled amongst a few outcroppings of rocks. The second Eh's eyes land on the Corundum he smirks. "I remember some good nights aboard this ship."

"Yeah, well. Marginally nice I guess is more accurate."

In mock pain he raises a hand to his chest, and indignantly states, "You wound me."

She rolls her eyes, as she boards her ship. "I got a few more planets to check out, whether or not you want to. You can either stay on the ship, or you can come with, I don't care."

The Troopers glance at each other as she walks onto the ship, and shrug, following her. Getting into the cockpit, the Clones relax. Hotrod leans forward, reaching out for the controls, only to have his hand slapped away by the Jedi. He pulls the hand back, turning to look at Ember with a pout on his face.

Cody rolls his eyes, reaching around the Jedi in the pilot's seat, easing open a compartment. He grabs a laser pen and immediately removes the cap, leaning back to write a quick thank you on the cockpit's ceiling. Keen can sense the confusion from the other Clones gathered around the Marshall Commander. Leaning back in her seat, she half turns her head to address the other boys.

"It was a tradition before each mission that whatever Clones, or Jedi, were on board the ship, they could leave a message. It sort of spread, so that, whether it was a mission or not, I'd always find a Trooper or two writing, or doodling, on the ceiling. Feel free to take advantage of it."

Without further prompting, Hotrod grabs the pen from Cody, shooting up to his feet. He reaches up, carefully leaning over his vode to draw a picture of a Republic Bomber. Eh steps around the others, as they wrestle for the pen, choosing instead to admire all the graffiti he didn't see during the war. Most of the messages are standard things like, 'Wrecker was here' or 'Plo's Bros', one even says '501st is the best'. He smiles, admiring everything, until his eyes land on a drawing in the corner. It's quite large, and detailed, surrounded by small messages. It's a woman with short hair, in what are basically her skivvies, posing, "Is this a pin-up drawing of you?"

Ari'abel glances at where he stands, "Yeah. Um, CT-5555, or Fives, of the 501st division, was trying to hide from someone, I think it was Cody, or Rex, but it could've been Echo.... Anyway, I guess he thought my ship was the safest place. Must've been here for hours, given how detailed that drawing is." She gestures with her head to it. "Rex was pissed when he saw it, and I'm surprised he didn't shoot Fives. He calls me to my ship, and it's the middle of the night. And when I get to the Corundum, I just stand there as he yells at Fives. Then, dear sweet Rex, he turns to me, and he offers to have Fives scrub it off," She spins around in her chair, facing the other Clones. "But, you know me, Eh, I didn't like ever removing a note, cause, it always made the boys happy to think that someone cared, so, I made a deal with Fives. The drawing can stay, on the condition he adds the funniest mustache he can think of, which is why I have a handlebar mustache in that drawing."

Cody, who had leaned against the wall opposite the art, says, "I'm pretty sure there was more to that deal, though, General."

The Jedi Master quickly spins her chair around to face the Commander, "Look, what Fives chose to wear in the privacy of 79's is his own business. Just don't ask me why the standard punishment for misbehaviour in the 501st was to wear a frilly pink dress. I will deny any, and all involvement."

Jeff was clearly the winner in the fight for the pen, because a mere moment later, he launches to his feet in triumph. Keen watches, as, in a neat, tight scrawl, he writes, 'It was murky, dusty, and sandy, Cody was being a dandy. We crashed our ship, and I almost broke my hip. We thought we were done for, till a Jedi came to our door. She took us away, and we shouted hooray!'

Cody, who had also been watching him write, crosses his arms, grumbling "I am not a dandy!"

"Yes,you are. But it's alright, you're a sweet dandy."

He turns his glare to Keen, "I am not a dandy!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

#wars amongst the stars #ari'abel quinara #wats #star wars rebels #au fix it fic

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kjsadd · 4 months

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Your brain develops based on sensory input—sight, hearing, sight, touch, etc. Eg, as a child you learn the language spoken around you, regardless of your genetic background. The EDS population moves “a little funky” due to joint instability. Gives them different input than the non-EDS population, which affects how the brain is formed and how it functions.

Connective tissue disorders, the input you get from joints moving funny / inappropriately rewires the brain differently than someone who doesn’t have a CTD. Eg, for all people, if you put your arm in a cast, parts of your brain literally shut down because you don’t activate it enough and don’t get feedback from your arm. We function in a feedback loop from sensory input to motor output, and your whole system, including autonomic and gut, is connected in that cycle. The biggest and most constant input is from resisting gravity and moving your body. We’re always doing both those things, so if your feedback loop is funky, your system is never working quite the way it should. And movement / gravity feedback “kisses” autonomic systems on the way to the brain, hence gut issues, hand mottling, POTS, etc. Do what you can to counteract that, get that feedback loop to improve via other systems.

DMX (digital motion x-ray) scans can help see what the impact of your daily activities are, eg if you always sleep on one side. Shows what cervical spine does in 9-12 planes of motion. Upright MRIs or CTS may be less clear. Can tell what the neck is doing when they move.

Romberg’s test. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romberg's_test

A body with EDS is like a house built with weak mortar.

Dysautonomic issues with raised heart rate. 90, 100 beats a minute. If you take a beta blocker, you’ve altered the beta receptors on your heart and slowed the heart down, but that doesn’t stop the brain from telling the heart to beat at 100 beats a minute. All your sensory input is still sending odd readings

At night, most people don’t taste or smell very well; shut them down. (Some are hyper sensitive.) But the proprioceptive is still active—if your arm is at a weird angle, it’s sending that message back to your brain.

If you’re on a treadmill, and blood isn’t being delivered because you’re “biased toward higher sympathetic tone,” and you’re asking biggest muscles to work, but have vasal constriction going on in your peripheral veins, you’re going to fatigue pretty quickly. You go into anaerobic metabolism: your cells don’t have enough oxygen to work correctly, so you start to break muscle down to get a little fuel—that’s anaerobic. You start firing pain fibers, mostly C fibers, which is what your sympathetic nervous system uses to transmit. So you’re putting lighter fluid on the embers you’re trying to calm. That’s why when you hit your thumb with your hammer, your heart rate goes up; pain fires sympathetic. So we look at the autonomic first and get that under control, then try easy exercises.

EDSers are often “cut down in their prime”—lots of drive when young, almost superhuman, but that eventually fails, then steep decline.

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the-starry-seas · 5 days

Note

Ember

What smells bring back specific memories to your oc? What are those memories like?

One of the Aces' first deployments was to a prairie planet that was covered in sweetgrass. Ember hasn't smelled it since, but it was the first time he Experienced Nature or left Kamino so it's a good memory for him.

He also loves the smell of peanut butter because Fury makes the best possible peanut butter cookies and always shares them.

He does not like the smell of isopropyl alcohol because he only smells that when he or one of the other Aces are injured. Also it makes him sneeze and he always feels like he's gotta say something about not being sick, just sneezy.

He also doesn't like the smell of popcorn because the one time he smelled it, Racer burned it to a crisp and also blew up the microwave a little, and they all got in trouble for it.

#ct ember

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awigglycultist · 4 months

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Idk how to feel about the hc that Travis Coulson is the Cineplex Teen bc like I absolutely get it!! Like yes ok character we've seen with no name, and a name with no face, put then together, makes sense.

But also in my mind his name is Cyrus Toby bc I made up the name Cyrus for him and EMBER made up the name Toby and put them together and that's CT, and also several ppl have been calling Toby bc of Ember so it's like. No that's just Toby wdym.

I want both but I can't have both

#hatchetfield #chloe says shit

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localizee · 9 months

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We take pride in bringing that vision to life.

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cinnamonfm · 1 year

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001 – the basics.

002 – the girl.

how they embody their trope:

general personality:

003 – greer.

005 – brief summary of events.

coming soon.

#ogdenintro #– introduction.

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finishinglinepress · 1 year

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NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving by Shellie Harwood

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/sleepwalkers-guide-to-grieving-by-shellie-harwood/

Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving is a collection of poems about #loss–through the death or vanishing of loved ones—but also as we bear witness to the tragedies heaped one upon the other in an increasingly turbulent world. Shakespeare wrote, “#Grief makes one hour ten”, for the path of bereavement can feel endless and hopeless to navigate. As we struggle sleeplessly through our sorrows, grief is that reflection of acute and shifting distress that accompanies our losses. If grief can darken the path through loss, so can it suddenly illuminate. Harwood writes: “From a distance grief moves like any other shadow–caressing first, then smothering the light”. This book is a poignant journey through loss and longing, punctuated by the dying friend whose beloved racehorse presses her head against his own…”She makes a sound deep in her throat. Grief sounds that way”.

Shellie Harwood is a poet, playwright, actress and teacher with a varied background in writing and theatre. She has taught Acting, Communication, and Poetry/Literature at universities, colleges and theatres in California, Idaho, Utah, Tennessee, and Connecticut. She has an MA in playwrighting, and has written several plays, including Ember Days, Vicious Union, and Another Bite of the Moon. Shellie has worked as an actress, performing throughout the country in regional and repertory theatres. She was born and raised in Idaho, but has spent much of her life moving about the country with her family. She is married, has one daughter, Morgan, and a son, Nicholas.

PRAISE FOR Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving by Shellie Harwood

In Sleepwalker’s Guide to Grieving, Shellie Harwood mines every conceivable form of grief for meaning: the suicide of one friend and the murder of another by a domestic partner, the death of a man after vandals ransack his beloved beehives, a child who disappears from his room, black children murdered by vigilantes or the police, a dying sister held in a mother’s arms, a lover left behind, war victims, a suffocating planet—even the poet’s heart, damaged by a blood clot. To Harwood, “Something’s always coming for us, / some pain we’d neglected to rehearse for.” Do those periods of darkness make the light times shine more brightly? Not that we see in these elegiac, often-startling poems. To the one, they express a yearning that all of us who grieve must unwillingly share: “Take me away to the world’s edge, far from the host of sorrows”—if only such a place could be found.

–B. Fulton Jennes, author of Blinded Birds (Finishing Line Press, 2022), Poet Laureate of Ridgefield, CT.

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry #grief #life

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