I am a doll, round and poseable.  My skin is textured like a dainty glove.  My clit is a little rosebud of pale pink silk, vivid between legs stuffed to perfect plumpness.  When I’m naked and upright, it barely peeps out to be visible, but it’s so easy to spread my legs.  Every time a finger strokes that silky bud, or anything at all touches it, the feeling thrums through my soft body, but I am curiously weak and I cannot flinch away or hide myself from the touch.

Most of the time I’m dressed, though, and to get to that part, you have to lift or lower layer after frilly layer: pinafore, dress, petticoat, lacy bloomers, ruffled panties, snug little diaper.  With tight, tight panties pressing its thickness close to me, the diaper is taut and smooth and puts a constant, steady pressure on my ribbon-slick clit.

My face is re-painted regularly, making my mouth a rosebud the same color as my clit.  When you lay me down, my eyes close softly and I can’t reopen them until you sit me up.

When you don’t get your way in some other realm, you come to mine to relieve your feelings.  When you’re bored, you pull down my bloomers, panties, and diaper and you rub my clit absentmindedly until I can’t think.  You tie my hands with baby-blue yarn, turn my ragdoll body over the arm of the sofa and spank my round bottom with assorted implements.  I live in a dollhouse filled with the torture implements you’ve devised out of popsicle sticks, clothespins, little plastic hangers with lambs on them.  All the furniture in my dollhouse has little ribbon cuffs in which you can secure me in any position you like. I spend hours rubber-banded to a little china potty chair with my ruffles around my knees.  I live in silent fear of your shoelaces.  

You dress me however you like, always in absurd lace and layers. You’ve taken the belt from a toy soldier and put it around my neck as a collar.  It will always be a little too tight.

Today you came in with a bobby pin.  It’s as long as my stuffed forearm.  There’s nothing I can do.

Soo I’ve been sick all day because of not eating and my man is stressed that its morning sickness but I dont want to tell him that its because I haven’t really eaten.

*what.do.i.do*

I dont like anything about me.

Not a single thing.

And sometimes it gets hard to breathe due to the intense hatred.

♤♤♤not mine♤♤♤

Anon wrote: Hello, I’m a 19-year-old female INFJ and I have some problems with a friend. He seems to be an ESFP. I’m still practicing typing other people, so I’m not really sure about it. He uses Se a lot.

The problem I have is not about typing, but rather about his behaviour. Lately, whenever he has a problem with something, he becomes quiet, he doesn’t talk about it at all and he pretends that he’s fine. Then he tries to escape from his own mind by behaving carelessly and engaging in risky activities (drinking a lot of alcohol, smoking many cigarettes, gambling, etc).

I have noticed the risky behaviours only recently, but his tendency to isolate has been going on for a few months. Before, we used to talk a lot. I used to help him when he had problems and he used to do the same with me. Now the situation is different. He has been distancing himself from me, even though I haven’t done anything to him. He’s doing the same thing to two of his dearest friends as well. There are probably plenty of reasons for that, and I suspect that two of them are the war and his new girlfriend.

I don’t want that he talks necessarily to me. He can open up even with others. The only thing I care about is that he doesn’t put himself in danger and that he doesn’t cut off all the important people in his life (except the girlfriend). He doesn’t seem to understand that his behaviours can damage himself, nor that isolation is likely to just make things worse. In your opinion, is there anything that I can do? Thank you in advance.

——————-

The behavior you describe is indeed concerning. Without knowing the real reason for his withdrawal, there’s not much I can offer by way of solutions. It’s difficult to help someone who won’t open up, but it’s unclear whether he’s resistant or just sliding into passivity.

Withdrawal is a common warning sign of poor mental health. It may indicate that a person needs time and space to process negative feelings and emotions. It may indicate that they need help but don’t know how to get it. It may indicate that there is a difficult problem sapping their energy and they aren’t able to resolve it. It may indicate an existential crisis, in terms of being deeply unhappy about something in life and not knowing what to do about it. It may indicate some serious mental health problem with depression or anxiety.

Withdrawal is an unhealthy coping mechanism because it leads to isolation, feeling stuck, and being cut off from social support. Ideally, the person should be reaching out for help or talking about their problems rather than ruminating on them. However, it is sometimes difficult to get withdrawn people to open up. The first step would be to try to figure out 1) why exactly they’re withdrawing, and 2) whether there is some obstacle preventing them from reaching out or opening up. There are many possible obstacles, for example:

-Not knowing where to start: ESFPs are generally open, easygoing, and sociable. But they sometimes have difficulty confronting complexities and dissecting complicated situations. They might not know how to begin talking about a problem because their feelings seem soooo large, they have too many mixed emotions, and they feel oppressed and overwhelmed by the heaviness of it all. Under normal circumstances, ESFPs are naturally expressive and generally quite comfortable with opening up, which means that perhaps all you have to do is ask them the right questions and give them a chance to process their thoughts and feelings freely out loud. If you prod them to open up and they refuse, then they are making a conscious choice to close up and there is likely a deeper problem at play.

-Lack of emotional vocabulary: It is natural for Fi to seek private time for emotional processing but, being extraverted, it is essential for ESFPs to let their feelings out, the sooner, the better, otherwise, the negativity will eat them up inside. However, people who don’t have a good relationship with their emotional life won’t feel free/safe enough to let their feelings out. Gender is an important factor to take into consideration because men are socially discouraged from being emotional. If someone is emotionally repressed and has spent many years burying their vulnerability, it might take a lot of empathy, patience, encouragement, and reassurance on your part to get them to open up. Sometimes, all you can do is provide social support by creating a safe, warm, and supportive environment. Remember that you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.

-Feeling like no one will understand: If an ESFP feels alone and, for whatever reason, believes that you won’t validate their feelings and experiences, they won’t open up to you. Ideally, they should talk to someone with some similar experience so that they feel less alone. It’s easier to open up to someone who has been through a similar situation and can offer useful and practical insights about how to get through it. If you’re not the person with the right experience, then offer to help them find the right person to talk to.

-Feeling too ashamed: ESFPs tend to be prideful, so it can be difficult for them to confront a problem/mistake that is tied to their sense of self and affects their self-esteem. They are prone to beating themselves up for not having done better. Reassure them that you’re willing to hear everything they say without any judgment whatsoever. Express your compassion and put their emotional well-being above all other concerns. If appropriate, share one of your own sources of shame in order to help establish trust and get the ball rolling.

-Hopelessness: To lose hope is difficult for anyone but especially for ExFPs, since a positive attitude is integral to their way of being. It’s difficult to instill hope in someone who is determined to be pessimistic. It’s difficult to persuade someone to have hope in a truly dire situation such as war. Perhaps all you can do is remind them of the good things in life to feel appreciative of and/or help them find something positive to look forward to or work towards.

-Helplessness:Being naturally proactive, it is unlike ESFPs to be passive in the face of a problem. However, anyone can fall into helplessness when they lack the knowledge, skills, or resources to solve a difficult problem. They might need a mentor to teach them the knowledge and skills required to overcome their challenges. You can try to point them toward good learning resources. ESFPs learn best with practical advice and/or a respected role model to emulate. Once ESFPs have a concrete plan for moving forward in life, their mood should improve quickly.

-Not wanting to be a pain or a burden: If an ESFP really cares about you and sees that you have a lot on your plate, they will not want to bother you, so they’ll try to work things out on their own. Reassure them that you’re truly there for them. Tell them that you can handle sharing whatever emotional load they are carrying. Examine which mental, emotional, spiritual, or material needs of theirs are going unfulfilled and provide an idea or method to get them fulfilled.

While you see his reckless behavior as harmful, admonishing his behavior isn’t the right way to go about helping him, because it will only give him more to get frustrated about (and feel defensive about). Remember that the recklessness is only a symptom of the problem, so it should be forgiven in order to get to the actual underlying problem itself.

Quinlan’s tone is lighthearted, the only way he knows how to be in these situations. “Hey Kenobi,” he calls as he knocks on the door. “Anybody home?”

Anakin answers the door in pajamas. “Hello, Knight Vos,” the little padawan says politely.

“Hey kiddo, I heard from Tachi that you weren’t in your classes today or yesterday,” says Quinlan.

“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Anakin mumbles.

“Is there a reason why?”

Anakin shrugs. “Obi-Wan is in the living room.”

Quinlan takes off his boots at the door, because old Kenobi has always had strong opinions about the tracking of mud and the cleanliness of living spaces. But looking around, it strikes him that the place is not up to Obi-Wan’s usual standards.

“Hey Kenobi,” Quinlan says as he enters the living room. Obi-Wan is curled up in a ball, staring out the window with a blank expression. “Everything going alright?”

Obi-Wan ignores him.

“Buddy, nobody’s seen or heard from you two in a few days. What’s going on here?”

Obi-Wan’s head tilts slightly, glancing towards Quinlan and then quickly away again. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“Areyou feeling alright?” Quinlan falls silent when Obi-Wan meets his gaze again. “I’m sorry, Obes.”

Quinlan knows what this is about. The same thing it’s always about. In the first few months after Qui-Gon’s death, it had been dark and incessant. In the past month or so, Obi-Wan had become less open about his grief, maybe starting to wonder if the socially acceptable period for mourning had passed, but they all knew it was still a heavy weight on him.

Too heavy to lift himself off the couch, some days.

“I’ll make us some tea, would that be alright?”

Obi-Wan gives no response, which is a yes as far as Quinlan is concerned.

Anakin hovers in the kitchenette while Quinlan puts water on to boil.

“You had lunch yet, kid?” he asks over his shoulder.

“No.”

The afternoon is quickly waning into evening; it’s going to be a very late lunch indeed. Quinlan opens the refrigeration unit, and there really isn’t much inside. He files that away under concerning observations about Obi-Wan’s current mental state, but decides he’ll think about it later. He checks a few cupboards before he finds one with some dehydrated soup packets.

“Hey Anakin, is there anything in here that both of you like?” he asks, inviting the young padawan to come pick one out. Anakin frowns over the choices.

“What does this word mean?” he asks, pointing to one of the boxes.

“Haranfruit. It’s a savory vegetable, like a squash.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose and puts the box back. He picks up another one that is just rice and roast nerf.

“This?” he offers.

Quinlan nods. “Sure thing. Do you want to go put on some daytime clothes? I assume those are last night’s pajamas,” he says.

“Okay!” Anakin scurries away.

The tea is ready before the soup. Quinlan sets a cup down on the coffee table in front of Obi-Wan.

“Hey, far be it from me to judge whatever’s going on here,” he says. “I get it. I do. Sometimes you just need to sit in a pile of blankets in yesterday’s clothes. But if you need help, especially with Anakin, you know you can ask any of us, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers.

“You don’t owe any apologies tome,” Quinlan says pointedly. “Do you mind if I take him out into the city this afternoon? It’ll give you a little break, and him some fresh air. We can ride up to that huge supermarket, the one where you found Tatooine food that one time.”

In his mind, Quinlan is already brainstorming ideas for simple meals that don’t require a stove or anything that Anakin shouldn’t be operating unsupervised. As a harm-reduction strategy, there should at least be food in the apartment that Anakin could prepare for himself if he got hungry.

Obi-Wan only manages to nod. When the soup is ready, Quinlan sets a bowl next to the teacup, but doesn’t press the issue. Anakin eats his at the kitchen table.

Grief is like this, sometimes. It leaves Obi-Wan feeling helpless.

They’re getting to be old friends now (honestly, Quin feels like they’re getting to be old, period.) Quinlan knows how to provide what comfort he can, same as they would do for any of their friends. He’ll spread the word, and Bant will probably stop by the next morning to offer to take some laundry to the quartermaster and walk Anakin to his morning class. Garen can’t often call from the Starfighter Corps, but he’ll reach out and leave Obi-Wan a message even if Obi-Wan doesn’t pick up.

“It’s okay,” he says, just as a reminder while he’s cleaning up the dishes and getting ready for his outing with Anakin. Obi-Wan doesn’t respond, but Quinlan doesn’t expect him to. “It sucks. But we’re here for you.”

No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING

@whumptober2021

@whumptober-archive

helplessness | numbness | blindness

Finn still wasn’t used to his flares, and he certainly wasn’t used to dealing with them on his own.

Living with Fao was great, but he missed the constant availability of his parents, as much as he’d hate to admit it.

He’d been putting off giving into his flare for several days, too busy with uni to allow himself to rest. When he woke up with another migraine, he didn’t have a choice but to reconsider. That didn’t stop him from trying to ignore it, of course it didn’t. He made it to the edge of the bed, sitting up shakily. The nausea was horrendous and overwhelmed him, growing worse with each breath.

He couldn’t be sick in his room, the panic rising quickly. It was Fao’s flat, he’d tell him off, not to mention he was an adult and he shouldn’t do that.

Finn let out a quiet whine, torn between crying out for Fao and just letting it all overwhelm him and giving in. After fighting with himself for a few minutes, he gave in, calling for Fao.

No response.

His phone wasn’t in his bed either, so he couldn’t call him, or his parents, or Jess. He was stranded.

The dizziness overwhelmed him as he stood, immediately stumbling into the wall. He kept muttering to himself, trying to encourage his body to work, to let him get to Fao.

His feet felt like ice, numb and barely under his control. It was spreading too, he was sure of it.

Electric shocks jarred his brain with every step, the pain making the dizziness worse. He stumbled, falling to his knees with a cry. With his arms outstretched, he caught his wrists as he fell, instinctively pulling them to his chest and overbalancing. He tipped, shoulder slamming into the wall and then the floor.

He couldn’t get back up, his body no longer under control. His vision was starting to go too, a seizure definitely looming. Slurred and barely there, he cried out, desperately calling for his brother. He needed help, needed anyone.

Nobody came, and he curled up, helpless and alone, stranded on the landing.