boulder-river

Enneagram Types As

What I Think Of When I Hear Each Enneagram Type 

What I think of when I hear 1: 

The brave white knight, valiantly pursuing his cause, the smell of a freshly sharpened pencil, pointy graphite tip just waiting to eagerly touch paper, a freshly washed shirt with the wrinkles being slowly ironed out until it’s smooth, perfectly cooked, crisp bacon with the edges curling up slightly, the frustration an artist feels when they’re just on the edge of the piece being the best it can be but it’s not quite there, the moment before they can declare it a masterpiece, a 5 year old child trying to get the angle on his drawing right and he keeps erasing until the paper is almost ripped, and smudges are everywhere until he tosses it aside and gets a new paper, starting over, a neatly written list with a slender check mark besides each completed duty, the scent of mint gum, a paper airplane soaring above someone’s head and landing on its intended target

What I think of when I hear 2:

A slender girl, helping an elderly woman sit down, the scent of freshly baked cookies, a family event, where it’s loud and raucous and everyone is arguing but there’s so much love that you do it again every year, two children whispering to each other and pinky promising that they’ll always be best friends and wearing matching charm necklaces, years later, still friends, one comforting the other as she cries over a break up, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, laughing so hard with your loved ones that your stomach begins to hurt, a pretend annoyed smile filled with affection as you watch your significant other do something silly, a mother beaming as she holds her newborn child, finally, love overflowing as she stares in awe at its tiny face and flailing fists, desperately holding onto a loved one’s hand and worrying frantically as they’re on their death bed, the bond of siblings who shout and argue all the time but in the end curl up beside each other and fall asleep when the love wins out

What I think of when I hear 3: 

Shiny trophies, the reflection of gelled back hair and a winning smile glinting back at you from the shelf on which they’re presented, a man standing in a mirror, fixing his tie just right and adjusting the sleeves of his suit, overflowing confidence, sipping expensive wine, a woman in a bold, red dress whose heels click on the floor with every step, an athlete who won the race by just a few seconds, bent over panting, hands on his knees, the most popular girl in elementary school affixing a bow to her blonde hair before she strides out the door, a couple at a carnival, a guy just won his girlfriend a stuffed animal and she’s hugging it to her chest, it took him three tries but he finally got it, a burning face when you stumble on stage, a perfectly exacted ballet performance, everyone bows at the end before the curtains slide closed, and then they all sag, exhausted and panting, but so, so proud. 

What I think of when I hear 4: 

The quirky eccentricity of an oddball. The mad musician, playing furiously, pounding their heart out upon those violin strings, sawing away viciously, the dreamer who lies in the grass and stares at the stars, streaks of unusually colored hair, polka dots and stripes combined together boldly, splashes of paint upon an unsuspecting canvas, a quirky, offhanded comment delivered that makes everyone giggle at the oddness of it, earnest expression, a girl sitting on a boulder by a rushing river, dipping her feet in, as she doodles idly in her notebook, multicolored lipstick, focused eyes speaking with depth, staring at a rainbow and believing there really is a pot of gold with a leprechaun at the end, and believing aliens could abduct you at any moment, and not caring, the old man who wears his tin hat proudly, not caring that others believe he is crazy, mismatched knee high socks combined with flip flops, lemonade on a hot summer day through a bendy straw, and walking on the moon, and walking on the ceiling, and the fizz of soda right after you take a sip

What I think of when I hear 5: 

A person fiddling at a Rubik’s Cube and right when they figure it out, twist it all out of place again, causing others to gasp, as they try all over again, a notebook filled with messy scrawl and notes, tossed carelessly onto a desk, pen flung alongside it, a dark cabin, a serious tone, curtains drawn shut as an eye peeks out from the crack between them, curiosity winning out, the nerd in the corner of class who stares out into space, stacks and stacks of thick books with cramped notes in the margins, sweats and hoodies with glasses that are askew, lying awake at night trying to solve a problem one of your friends is having as if it were a mathematical equation, matte everything, sitting in a coffee shop alone with your laptop, sitting alone in a quiet forest, sitting still enough that wild animals come close enough to sniff you, still pond water only ripples ever so slightly, a professor in his element as he begins to lecture the class, slowly gaining confidence and speeding up, the furrow of your brow when you’re trying to remember something and finally do, a black cat sitting on a fence quietly observing

What I think of when I hear 6:

The gaze of a frightened rabbit, not sure if it’s a fox or something completely harmless, a shout as you slip on something you didn’t notice before, the relief you feel when a storm passes, the rumble of thunder in the sky, but it doesn’t rain and you let out a relaxed sigh, taking steps gingerly, staring out at the vast, blue ocean, the strengthened kick of something struggling to live as its fight or flight response kicks in, visiting an old friend years later, the content you feel when your pet lies in your lap as you sit on the couch, flipping through the channels on tv, old, familiar pajamas you slip into on a Saturday, sips of hot chocolate grasped between freezing fingertips, fuzzy, pink bunny slippers, giving your significant other a kiss on the cheek and just reveling in your relationship, the justified anger you feel when one of your friends is being targeted, when you stick beside them no matter what, getting a reassuring hug from someone you trust, an old tattered stuffed animal you’ve had forever, hugging it as you fall asleep

What I think of when I hear 7: 

The loud “WHOOP,” you shout as you go skydiving or a rollercoaster starts, dancing wildly and laughing hard as you hold your hands on your stomach, the curiosity of a child who asks, “Why?” to everything until it just ends up in the answer, “Because.” Rolling down a hill at full speed, tumbling down and getting all messy and having grass stains all over you, the excited bark of a pet dog as its tail wags, ready to play, the guilty faces of children who just colored on the wall because they didn’t like how blank and boring it seemed but they’re now realizing that they’ll also be in trouble, the big, bright yellow sun every child seems to universally draw in the corner of every drawing, neon colored clothing, making best friends with a stranger in a day, and getting lost and then ending up in an even better situation, the sly gaze of people who have known each other forever and are mischievously planning something when they both make eye contact, and it’s as if an invisible light bulb has popped up above each of their heads

What I think of when I hear 8: 

The sharp bark of a medic who knows what they’re doing when they see someone injured, the heavy sigh of someone who knows the difference between what they want to do and what they have to do and does what they have to, the clang of armor and swords clashing together, the confident stride of someone who can get what they want, and if they don’t, they’ll just take it instead, the clenched fists of someone who’s just seen one of their loved ones be hurt and is taking names, the determined gaze of someone who’s dying when they make their death wish, feeble and wheezing but still manages to grasp their loved one’s hand firmly, the scent of a letter written in pure black ink when it’s still wet and barely drying, applying red lipstick with a wicked grin, the flick of your wrist when you’re drawing on your eyeliner wing, slamming your fist down on a table and demanding justice as you stand, a towering building, still majestic, even in its old age as it begins to crumble, the reverberating echo of a clock after it strikes the hour

What I think of when I hear 9: 

A tinkling laugh, a flowing, white dress, twirling in a circle and flopping down, a shy smile, the scent of your favorite candle, flickering, rain that’s not heavy, but just barely sprinkling and bringing your face up to the sky and closing your eyes, the twinkling of the stars in the night sky, lacing your fingers through someone else’s and feeling their fingertips link through yours, sipping tea on your porch in a sweater, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, going to an aquarium and watching the fish swim by majestically in awe, with your face up close to the glass and hands pressed to it. A romantic loveletter, a quiet, muffled giggle, talking on the phone for hours, and hanging upside down with your feet on the wall while you do so, drifting off into a daydream, closing a good book with a contented sigh, a concerned, shifting gaze between two friends who have begun to argue, falling asleep and not quite realizing you have yet as you bury your face into your pillow and pull your blanket tighter

On the Fifth Day

by Jane Hirshfield

On the fifth day
the scientists who studied the rivers
were forbidden to speak
or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air
were told not to speak of the air,
and the ones who worked for the farmers
were silenced,
and the ones who worked for the bees.

Someone, from deep in the Badlands,
began posting facts.

The facts were told not to speak
and were taken away.
The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent.

Now it was only the rivers
that spoke of the rivers,
and only the wind that spoke of its bees,

while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees
continued to move toward their fruit.

The silence spoke loudly of silence,
and the rivers kept speaking,
of rivers, of boulders and air.

Bound to gravity, earless and tongueless,
the untested rivers kept speaking.

Bus drivers, shelf stockers,
code writers, machinists, accountants,
lab techs, cellists kept speaking.

They spoke, the fifth day,
of silence.

2

A granite is born

At first glance these rocks snapped while wandering around some old mountain roots in the Sierras de Cordoba in Argentina don’t seem like much, but they record the moment in high grade metamorphism when old rocks turn into new, with nothing but a few zircons left behind to testify to their previous history. The first photo shows a mass of fine-ish grained ‘baby’ granite, and floating within it a large rounded chunk (in the rough centre and a few attendant blebs) of the grey and white banded gneiss from which it formed, that was still floating unmelted in the magma when it froze (and by then probably some distance from its source rock). In the second photo the act of birth is even more intimately caught. The chunks of gneiss are picked out with a white outline of fresh quartz rich melt, also frozen in place.

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Honey & Venom || Slytherin!Tom

pairing: Slytherin!Tom x Hufflepuff!OC
warnings: language
word count: 3.7k
a/n: oh my god these chapters are getting longer lmaoo. Happy November, lil beans! I hope your halloween was good. I watched Fantastic Beasts last night bc I’ve been on an Eddie Redmayne kick lately lol. Did you guys see Tom’s livestream on Halloween? What a fuckin’ nerd amirite?! xx

P.s. another canon!player has been introduced in this chapter. In this fic they’re poc bc the poc!version of this HP character is 10/10 quality shit.

parts: [ 1 | 2 |3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ]


CHAPTER 6: BUTTERNUT SQUASH SOUP

The jungles of India were beautiful and terrifying place to behold. The sheer brilliance of it all was overwhelming for the man as he trekked through uncharted territory. Bursts of colorful fruits and flowers. The vivid tittering of magical wildlife unseen in the plush greenery that surrounded him. He wiped his handkerchief on his sweaty forehead and adjusted his cokebottle glasses. The air here was so thick, he could almost taste it. He readjusted the straps on his lucky rucksack and continued forward, scribbling in his little journal along the way. He logged everything and anything he could. Tiger-like creatures who could shift colors to blend in with the environment. Naaglya Python, a serpent with tons of heads whose venom had amazing paralyzing power. The Makra, a giant toad the size of a boulder, resided near rivers and often blended among the rocks. It’s cry when provoked was said to sound like the rolling thunder. He also managed to find a gorgeous feathered serpent. Bursting with vivid hues of violet and cerulean, little did he know that this wonderous creature would later be known as an Occamy.

“It was thanks to this discovery that the great wizard Jenkins is celebrated in India to this day,” Oswin proclaimed, her eyes glued to her scroll of parchment as she read. She tried to ignore her fellow History of Magic classmates as they sat slumped over on their desks, looking at her with lidded eyes. After Marcus Belby droned on about how his Uncle invented the Wolfsbane potion, the rest of the class was teetering between sleepy and bored. Malfoy and a few of his housemates seemed to be the only ones paying remote attention, and not in a good way. They were making odd faces and scoffing at her as she presented her share of the assignment themed ‘Family History’. For her paper, she decided to write about her most beloved relative, and to her, the greatest explorer of all time.

However, the others in the room were having a hard time with that claim.

“He was able to influence a great number of magizoologists such as—”

“Excuse me, Miss Sodhi,” Professor Binns raised a pale, transparent hand and stopped her flat. “I’m sorry, but…who is this man, again?”

A couple of the students were starting to perk up. The girl looked up from her paper and frowned.

“E…Emmett P. Jenkins, famous explorer?” She said. The ghost of her Professor shook his head at her and shrugged, “His finds made a huge impact on the discovery of magical creatures in the jungles of India and South America.”

A couple of students around the room snickered and shook their heads. The professor did as well.

“I’m not lying,” She insisted, “If it wasn’t for him, there wouldn’t even be an in-depth analysis on the behavioral patterns of Hippogriffs!”

More snickers rolled through the room, followed on by a few laughs as a couple students muttered about her paper being rubbish. Tom only looked around the room and eyed a couple of the ones who were full-on laughing. The professor told them all to hush and spoke directly to her.

“Miss Sodhi, I have never in my years of learning and teaching magical history crossed a name such as Emmett P. Jenkins,”

“…Okay, but—”

“Do you remember me telling you that for this assignment, you were to dig into your family history and make a report?”

“Yes sir,” said Oswin stiffly.

“And do you remember me telling you the report had to be as accurate as possible?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“I have studied thousands upon thousands of history books, and this so-called ‘Great Explorer’ isn’t in any of them. Therefore…”

“Therefore, you didn’t read everything then, did you?”

The words had escaped her before she knew what she was saying. The entire class erupted into a drawn-out gasp before falling into a mess of talking over one another at what had just happened. Behind the bug-eyed professor, however, Tom smirked appreciatively.

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Crossing the Kunhar River en route to Lulusar Lake, Pakistan.

Unadulterated Crack Part 12

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word Count: 1,475

warnings: Angst, Humor, slight violence, Thorin being a diddly dumb ass, Implied smut, Shunning, attempted blackmail, Thranduil being an ass, and alcohol usage

A/N: I know I said you’d get the next chapter in November, but I didn’t want to wait, plus I’m feeling motivated for once.

Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9Part 10 Part 11— Part 12 (here)—

Originally posted by silmarile


    It took Thorin two hours to realize he had over looked you, and left you without reassurance that he was alright. He sought you out, and when he found you leaning up against a boulder on the river bank with Dwalin lurking not far from you. He realized that Dwalin had been more than a little clingy and protective of you then he had in the past. But Thorin thought nothing of it, he assumed that Dwalin was just protecting you because you had Thorin’s braids in your hair. He approached you, and once you were in arm’s reach he took a hold of your waist between his hands. He cooed, “I am sorry I did not come to you earlier.” Much to Thorin’s surprise you did not receive him as he had hoped. He had wanted you to hug and kiss him, and ask if he was alright while looking at him with concerned eyes filled with love. Instead you slapped him, hard, across the face and glared at him with cold eyes. You screamed, “What were you thinking! How could you be so reckless, and stupid!”

     Thorin held his stinging right cheek, and stuttered, “W-what do you mean!”     You seized him by the front of his coat, and yelled, “You went charging into a fight by yourself when you were out numbered, and your enemy had the high ground! You are damn lucky that Bilbo acted when he did or you’d be dead! You are also lucky that I didn’t get a chance to get my hands on you sooner cause I would have done more than just slap you! Your people are relying on you to reclaim Erebor and you can’t do that if you are dead! Do you know how scared I was that I’d loose you! If you ever do something so stupid again you better hope they kill you or that I don’t find out you did, cause if the latter happens I will kill you my own damn self!” throwing your arms around him and sobbing into his shoulder. 


    After Gandalf told all of you that the viscous bear outside was their host, Beorn, everyone went to settle down for the night. As Bifur, Bofur, Dwalin, Bilbo, and Fili and Kili headed to the barn to sleep you looked over at them and said, “Remember boys, even,” Then you bleated like a goat, and continued, “Means no.”

     The rest of the company burst out laughing, as Thorin rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned at your bestiality joke. Thorin then led you to a pile of hay in the stables, he wrapped his arms around you, and said, “I want you.” kissing your neck.

      You chuckled, “I’m not quite sure I have forgiven you for nearly getting yourself killed.” leaning your head back to expose more of your throat to him.     “Then let me make it up to you.” He hummed, as his hands began to knead your rear.


    At the Elvish Gate, as Gandalf demanded they not free his horse, you grabbed him, pulled him down to your level, and hissed, “You better bring Thrain back alive and in one piece or I swear I will tell everyone about your true nature Olorin!” in his ear.

    After he left, you stuck with Thorin and Dwalin, and tried to keep the whole together as they descended into the delirious madness that the forest engenders, which didn’t really seem to have any effect on you. You felt like you were a shepherd trying to keep a flock of drunken toddlers together. When the spiders came you didn’t stand a chance with the Company being so goofy. When Bilbo cut all of you down, he made sure to do you last so you didn’t get squished by your Dwarven companions. 


    After Thranduil had spoke to Thorin, he sent for you for some odd reason. When you entered the throne room, Thranduil was pouring himself a goblet of wine. He said, “Tell me, what is a child of man doing traveling with a group of Dwarves with a death wish?”

     “Death wish? What death wish?” you mocked innocence. 

    Thranduil glared at you, and states, “The wish to slay a dragon and reclaim a home land.”

     “Well we’re not here to fuck spiders.” You sneer.     He points at you and firmly whispered, “Do not speak to me in such a manner, I am a king.”

     “Well I didn’t vote for you.” you quip.

     Thranduil says, “That’s not how that works.”

     “You are a king amongst elves Thrandy, and I am not an elf, so do not expect me to kiss your ass like everyone else with pointless formalities. I am not a child, saying that you have a born right to rule just because of your lineage will not work with me.” you snap.

     He stared at you for a moment, before smiling softly and saying, “You are a strange girl, but you amuse me. Would you like some wine, it’s the very best my halls can offer." 

        Your mind shoots to the baby, and you huff, "I should not, now did you bring me here merely to get a look at the odd ball, and waste my time. Or did you want something?”


     Thranduil examined you closely, his eyes wandering over your form. After a few minutes, his eyes grew wide, and he breathed, “You’re pregnant?”

     “That is besides the point.” You growl, “are you done wasting my time with your games?”

     Thranduil said, “It is a child of Durin, is it not?”

     “That is none of your business. Now tell me what you want, or I’ll go back to the dungeons my own damn self.” you puff.

     Thranduil sighed, “very well,” dramatically, he said, “When I mentioned you to your foolish leader, and he became rather defensive. I wished to know what makes you so unique that you managed to worm your way into that oaf’s heart.”

     “I like to think it’s my perky nipples.” You snort.

      Thranduil laughed, “I see why he seems so fond of you now, you are lively. Tell me does he know you are carrying his child?” You avoided eye contact, with the Elf king, after a minute, Thranduil hummed, “Do you fear that he would not accept your child due to its mixed blood? Is that why you hide it from Thorin?”

     “No, I do it to protect him, he has enough to worry about already. He does not need to fret over it now, I will tell him when December rolls around.” You admit having been found out.


    Thranduil said, “I will make you a deal, if you get me the gems of star light that I desire, I will keep your secret from Thorin.”

     “I have a counter offer, you even think of opening your big mouth to Thorin, I will take those gems and throw them into the deepest part of the lake.” You retort.

     His eyes widened as he breathed, “you would not dare.”

     “Wanna bet?” You huffed.

     He looked you up and down before muttered, “I see why Thorin likes you.” before saying, “I will not tell your beloved fool that you are with his child, but I require that you at least attempt to convince him to return the gems to me.”

     “That will not be possible at least until after November twenty third.” You shrug.

     He eyed you curiously, and asked, “Do pray tell as to why that is?”

     “He’s been falling deeper into the dragon sickness the nearer we get to Erebor. By the time we actually reach the mountain it will be in full control. But Thorin is not like his grandfather, he will beat it on his own on the twenty third and he will fight in the battle. After then, if he survives, and I do as well, I will help you try to negotiate with him. He’s usually more receptive to something when I am around. You will also have to compromise with him, you can’t just demand he return them without offering something in return. The mere fact that you foolishly revealed how desperate you are for the return of your wife’s jewels means he has the advantage. However I make no promises that I will succeed, I am just one woman Thranduil. I alone cannot undo thousands of years of hate and mistrust between the Dwarves and Elves. Also I do not know if I myself will survive the battle, so do not get your hopes up. However you need to arrive at Erebor after you hear Smaug is dead, with two thousand armed elves, and plenty of food and medical supplies to share amongst Dwarves, men, and elves.” You caution.

     Thranduil nods his head, and assures, “We have a deal, now I will return you to your cell.”

Originally posted by biobiopsy


Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4Part 5Part 6Part 7Part 8Part 9Part 10 Part 11— Part 12 (here)—


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