Just stop it! You treat people’s hearts like bottles on a shelf, but they’re not! Hearts are made of the people we meet, and how we feel about them. They’re what ties us together, even when we’re apart. They’re what… make me strong!
I always believed that Black Sails is about Flint’s tragedy. But the more I think about it and the more I recapitulate the whole series, I come to realization that it’s actually about Silver’s tragedy.
Dr. Strange is here and he's insanely evil!
Nygma's falling apart!
Butch is King of Gotham!
Tabitha's doing something!
Mr. Freeze is here and he's tragic!
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!? ARE YOU READY FOR THE MOST TWISTED HALF-SEASON YET!?!
But, like... Is Bruce getting to bed on time? Eating his vegetables? What about Selina? Is she okay? She's got a place to sleep tonight, right? A warm blanket? Enough food? Are her and Bruce talking? Are they friends again? Are they happy right now?
... but the darkness? the violence? the drama?
Note: this is kind of a funny thing and not serious at all. It’s just here for the lols :) and few things will be different from the original story.
The breeze floating in through the window was warm, offering no respite from the heat of a summer’s day. Sunlight painted the wall in a soft shade of yellow and dappled over the curtains that swayed softly and brushed against the wooden floor. Despite it’s simple beauty, Mare wished she was anywhere else but here. This town, simple and sweet, was a little too quaint for her liking. Everyone was ridiculously happy here and it annoyed her to no end.
She wished for adventure, like the heroine’s in her books. The fearless ones who met any challenge head on. Being a thief was surely worth a good rush of adrenaline, but the people in this town didn’t mind much if she swiped at roll sitting on the baker’s window, or snatched up a few bolts of thread for Gisa. Once, the baker gave her an extra roll when he caught her dangling from the windowsill with her spoils still in her grip. It was ridiculous. When she had lived in the Stilts, thieving was dangerous. You risked death whenever you slipped your finger in a pocket.
But still, as strange as it sounded, Mare had enjoyed the chase. It gave her day purpose. Now living in the French countryside, life had become dull and quiet. Sure there was the stupid chirping of those birds every morning and the happily whistled tunes from the market, but Mare had learned to tune those out lest she scream in some poor farmer’s face.
I’ve noticed that I can categorize the typical negative manifestations of my Ni into three rather distinct states: hopeless existentialism, paranoia, or obsessive visualization. This is written entirely from my own perspective and experience as an ISTP, but I’d assume this applies in varying degrees to other Ni-users.
Hopeless existentialism tends to be, “Nothing I do has any purpose because the ultimate end is death, which is unchangeable.” It seems that Ni overpowers my Se in this scenario, deeming life as ‘meaningless’ because there is no ‘ultimate underlying meaning’. Se can’t pop in and say “c’mon now, look at things realistically”, because, well, death is reality. Se can’t find a way around it, so it reinforces Ni’s negative spin on reality.
Note that Ni could just as easily be like, “Hey look, there’s no fixed, ultimate meaning to life… which means I have the freedom to derive my own meaning.” That would be a healthy perspective produced by Ni and Se.
Paranoia is more like, “There are so many hidden meanings everywhere. These people have hidden motivations and I have a hard time trusting their words at face-value. For example, I believe this person has bad intentions and is trying to smother me and take away my freedom… even though I have no evidence.” The thought process is never that specific, mind you. I experience those words as more of a baseless gut instinct or figurative alarm bells. But my point is that I derive certain meanings from my environment without solid proof. This is Ni quickly glancing at the information provided by Se and prematurely perceiving meaning. It happens when Se fails to give proper balance to Ni. I get stuck seeing subjective implications and fail to see that what’s actually in front of me really has no inherent / unquestionable deeper meaning.
Most Ni-users should be able to know the reason or source of their distrust (though INxJs and maybe a few ENxJs would naturally have trouble with this, due to lower Se).
Healthy Se/Ni would clue them into what isn’t immediately obvious, based on specific environmental cues.
Obsessive visualization is something along the lines of, “I feel insecure about my ability to perform this task even though, in the back of my mind, I know I can realistically get through it. I must analyze and visualize every single step I will take in order to complete this task well. I don’t have confidence in my abilities to improvise and adapt to the situation.” This is is an example of what happens during some of my Ti-Ni loops. Se is pushed completely out of the picture. I fail to take a step back and perceive the situation objectively. I often become uncharacteristically focused on rehearsing my future actions. I’m so focused on searching ahead that I fail to operate effectively in the moment. The loop typically lasts until I have completed the task and have nothing else for which to mentally prepare.
Visualization to a certain degree is your typical Ni, but not when it surpasses reason. If an Ni-user knows beyond a doubt that they absolutely can accomplish something without excessive planning… and yet they still obsessively focus purely on what they believe will happen and lose total focus on the present moment… that’s not healthy Ni.
Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Rating: M Warnings: Smut, language. Summary: You haven’t seen Dean in over a year, and the sudden scruff he’s got lining his jaw is doing things to you. Author’s Notes: I’m almost at 100 followers and I’m so grateful for all of you. I’ve only had this blog for a few months and already the feedback has been amazing. So, as a thank you: here’s this.
It’s been forever since you’ve been to the bunker. You jumped at the chance to take a vacation when Dean called, saying that it’s been too long since they’ve seen you, and that he and Sam had some major stuff to fill you in on.
When you get to the giant front door, you’re suddenly overcome with nerves. What if something’s really, really wrong? What if one of them is going back to hell? What if– no, you stop yourself. You don’t want to worry yourself too much. Besides, Dean sounded fine on the phone.
You’re pulled from your thoughts when the door creaks open, and Sam grins when he sees you. “Hey.” He says, and he grips you in a hug before you can react. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you too.” You say, hugging him back. “God. You guys still haven’t spruced this place up?” You tease as he takes your bag and leads you inside.
“Been a little busy.” Sam says, sheepishly.
You haven’t seen Dean yet and you don’t– you don’t want to seem too eager. It’s just… he’s the one that called. And you miss him, okay. You’ve always been a bit closer to Dean than Sam. You love them both, so much, but you and Dean are two sides of the same coin.
“Dean’s in the kitchen,” he says, like he can read your mind.
You smile a little sheepishly. “That obvious?”
“Only to me. I’ll take your bag to your room, you go down. He’s been a little anxious.”
You follow the familiar path to the kitchen, and stop just inside the doorway when you see Dean sitting at the table, fidgeting. He’s got his laptop in front of him and he drums his fingers on the tabletop, then on his cheek as he shifts his weight and puts his head in his hand.
I love the way you write the Clones and Obi Wan. I was wondering if you'd write something where Omega Obi Wan mates with one of the clones but because they're all biologically identical oops turns out Obi Wan is now technically mated to every clone in the galaxy!
“Is it true?” Rex dropped down in
the chair in front of Cody, staring at the other man with wide eyes.
“Its all over the barracks but is it true?” He hissed quietly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about.” The commander offered in return as he took a sip of caff
then ate more of his food, raising an eyebrow at the captain.
“Cut the crap vod, is it true that
you mated with General Kenobi and now every clone feels like he’s
their mate?” Rex pressed the issue.
And then he sat back in surprise as
Cody nodded. “Fucking little stars.” He breathed out. “Really?”
“Personality wise and spiritually
we’re all our own people but genetically…we’re alike down to
the wire with minor tweaks that comes out in how we look.” Cody
sighed, setting his fork down to look at his vod. It was best to get
this out of the way. “The Medic says that Obi-Wan will recognize
every clone he meets as mate and react to them accordingly.”
“Oh that can’t make the high
“They weren’t happy from the
start.” Cody snorted. “But there’s not a lot you can do when
you’ve been locked into a room with an omega going into heat. I
don’t have an iron will.” And his general had always been
gorgeous, even before he hit his heat in front of Cody.
“But…what does that mean for the
General and the 212, you’re the ones who interact with him the
most…” Rex blinked.
“Don’t rightly know yet. I don’t
feel like fighting every vod for trying to poach my mate so there’s
something at least.”
“I guess…first light.” Rex rubbed
his hand over his hair. “I mean don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice
lap full but I kind of wished to choose my own ma-mate…” He took
a deep breath and then turned, looking to the doors when a sweet
smell reached his nose.
The general was standing at the
threshold of the dining hall doors, looking around with his hands
clasped behind his back.
Cody gave a low curse and got to his
feet, moving towards him quickly.
The Jedi gave a relieved smile when he
saw Cody and nodded. “Commander, I was hoping to find you quickly.”
He said when the other reached him.
“Have you been here long?” Cody
demanded and surprised himself. Koth he was already acting like some
kind of hormonal alpha!
Obi-Wan however didn’t seem to care
as he shook his head. “No, not long. I couldn’t reach you through
the comms. The Healers back at the temple would like to see you.
Something about tweaking the mating bond or so they hope.”
It didn’t work.
Obi-Wan still registered every vod he
meet as his mate and every vod reacted to Obi-Wan.
Cody halfway wanted to drown himself in
whiskey just to not feel embarrassed about having basically tied the
Jedi to millions of men.
Or he was until those very instincts
started to save the General on the battlefield, the 212 more attuned
to the General, his moods and his tactics then ever.
Still had some minor issue when he
found Obi-Wan pinned against a solid surface with a trooper against
him but sacrifices to be made in hindsight to keep the Jedi safe
because Jedi were fucking insane loons.
His general more then any.
Skywalker had certainly learned from
the master of reckless behavior.
sometimes i want to like, actually talk about how i have a fairly complicated relationship to being a women in science because, as a fairly butch woman, i don’t get a lot of the flack that more feminine women get. like i’ve seen it happen to people, and i don’t doubt it when people tell me about the stuff they experience, but most of the time i can’t relate, and i think that probably says a lot about how we devalue the feminine and shit
but like, i’m always afraid that people will either use it to say that sexism in science isn’t a problem (which it very much is) or that like, butch privilege is a thing, which is also something i don’t want to wade into and like, idk
i also just don’t have anything particularly articulate to say about it yet so
is anyone here okay with me talking through feels and stuff? im trans/demiboy and having some dysphoric and anxious feelings :0 I’ve kinda had to bottle up stuff for a while and it’d be nice to have a friend to talk to
Their shirts tended to go missing whenever Cloud spent the night. He’d never brought anything to sleep in when he came and they might have wondered if he didn’t go without if he hadn’t kept swiping their day old tees for the night, or to wander out to breakfast in the morning and then shamelessly leave with them. They tried buying him a few of his own to stem the tide if nothing else, but it didn’t help.
“They don’t smell like you,” Cloud murmurs one day into the laundered stack he’s returning, feigned nonchalance failing.
Angeal smiles at him as he accepts the pile, and no one comments when another pair is gone the next day.