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bogkeep · 10 months

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stuck in the brain bog shallows today, stirring up some mud soup

hi it's more traumaposting

i wrote some time ago that i got like, Stalked and Harassed which is obviously very trauma. but then there's the trauma behind THAT trauma which is actually a lot harder to speak about, because that IS actually relatively easy to spin into You Are A Horrible Person And You Clearly Deserved What You Got

but i know i'm not the only one who's experienced this.

have you ever had a friend or acquaintance or someone who just. copies you. treats you like a blueprint for themselves. who slurps up your personality like juice. eats you like a whalefall? humans are a social species and copying others is a normal thing we do! of course we pick up mannerisms from our friends! of course we pick up habits from people we admire! everyone is a tapestry of the world we've absorbed. i can go poetic about it, you know, how we keep people alive by harbouring their memory in our daily lives. and yes obviously i am well aware of the zealous "how DARE you copy my art" digital artist archetype. i am very very aware of the precarious position i put myself in by speaking about this at all. but it wasn't really about art. it was - my interests. my mannerisms. my friends. my ideas. my goals. my way of speaking. my words. my memories. anything i shared where they could see, nothing was sacred. (they never created enough art to ever actually copy mine.) towards the end, i could predict what they would do next, only because i had done it. like a drinking game. i didn't get to keep anything for myself. is that selfish? is that greedy? to share a piece of my life on the internet and hoping it gets to stay my own? obviously i don't own everything. i don't own concepts or ideas or experiences. i can't stop other people from doing the same as me, even if i wanted to - which really, i don't. i don't know how to convince people that i really don't mind. it's just, there's a limit. i think the limit is where i start thinking "are you mixing up my tweets with your own memories?" "are you doing this on purpose or is your self-awareness really that lacking" or maybe the weird feeling of responsibility i get when someone clearly tries to solve their own problems by trying to be Me, Someone Who Obviously Has No Problems Ever, and i have to, somehow convince them that our lives are different and being me can't solve their problems because they're not actually me, or i try to let them know how i ACTUALLY solve my problems, or try to show them a way of solving problems that involves Not Doing Exactly What I Do, and it turns out all of these options are actually deeply uncomfortable to everyone involved. welp (i made grim jokes to myself about it being a form of cultural appropriation - to whisk off my surface level behaviours without understanding the deeper roots of why i act the way i do.) and i spent months trying to convince myself that it was wrong of me to be uncomfortable with this, that i just need to stop being so selfish and greedy and just relax about it. in fact i may just be mistaken and making the whole thing up! how self-absorbed am i for even having the THOUGHT this is what's happening! just a coincidence, just a coincidence, just a coincidence, just a coincidence, just a coincidence, just a coincidence - how do you even... talk about this. with anyone, much less the person doing this to you? because like the good outcome is that you go "hey i feel like you keep mimicking everything i do and it's starting to feel really weird" and they go "oh shit i did not realise" and then they walk on eggshells around you forever and you get bitch eating crackers disease about anything that even remotely resembles copying you and the bad outcome is that they go "whaaaaaaaat i didn't even notice but i'll TRY" and nothing changes, and then it becomes "well actually it's your fault for being so INFLUENTIAL, you're basically brain-washing people around you when you think about it" so you apologise for doing that (and nothing changes), and then it becomes "actually i have trauma and that's why you must let me keep doing this" and nothing changes until it must because there is no other way out of that. they can do it all they want but they can't be your Friend at the same time. you have to Leave.

i tried - i tried not saying anything, i tried saying anything, i tried Giving a lot so they would Take less, i tried keeping my distance. it was clumsy and desperate but they were attempts. a hard lock leave and burning down a dozen bridges was my only way out.

for a long time it made no sense - why were they so angry at me for leaving when they hated me so much? why did they follow me everywhere if they wanted nothing to do with me? a friend explained to me: i had left them cold turkey.

close to where i used to live, someone had spraypainted a phrase on a wall - "mitt liv er ikke et måltid." my life is not a meal. i gave it a salute every time i passed by.

#traumaposting under the cut #im doing okay! the fact that im able to write this means that i'm okay

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kairoseas · 4 months

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sukufushi r!au discord rp turned drabble.

"I feel like nothing that I do is enough... and if what I do isn't enough, if I'm not enough... then what's the point of my existence?" Ryomen raises a brow, a mere quirk of it as his eyes fall unto the figure of his attendant before him. At this time, Megumi Zen'in is a mere shroud, but otherwise he is unmistakable to the eye of a cursed spirit, due to a combination of already knowing what Megumi looks like in the daylight and knowing the residuals of Zen'in's cursed energy that radiates from his body at any given time. " ... is there really a necessity to exist? " Sukuna asks him, " Is it not enough for you to be ? " " ... I exist to help others, to protect those who can't protect themselves from the things they can't see. My life is not mine, it never has been. My life belongs to those that depend on the work that I do, on the work that the sorcerers do. " They say almost robotically, as if it's an answer he's been asked over and over. " ... If I can't do that... then I shouldn't exist... " "And who told you that ? " Sukuna questions simply, unmoving as a mountain, still as death in the middle of an otherwise lively forest. Megumi stand still for a moment— ... did someone tell them that? Is that what someone said while they were training? no, they didn't. " ... no one. i... i just believe it. " Megumi admits quietly to himself, coming to terms with the fact that it was true -- his life was conditional on what he could do for others, not anything else... "Someone said it to you. " Sukuna says, as authoritative as ever, as he, too, stops walking. When he does, he aims his head down to Megumi, "And if someone did not say it, then it was told to you by yourself, am I wrong? You've convinced yourself of this arbitrary condition to your existence, isn't that true? "

"... I told myself. " they clarify, looking up at Sukuna slowly— "If I can't protect people, if I can't help them... then I don't deserve to exist. i'm useless. " he admits to the curse with a sigh and a drop of their shoulders, crumbling little by little. The sight, as sad as it is, provokes a quiet outrage in Ryomen as he frowns deeply at the sight and their admittance.

"Then you can't be trusted to even think? truly, sorcerers amaze me. humans amaze me with their ineptitude. Rather ... " one of his four arms grip the boy's kimono, pulling him back to them before it presses them to a tree trunk, Sukuna turning completely to dwarf them, absorbing the attention now given to him by the attendant as they gaze up at him in moderate shock. After all, Sukuna rarely manhandles them in any way, so he pays rapt attention when they do. " I want your complete and absolute attention. Is that clear? You must understand what I'm going to tell you next, Fushiguro Megumi." Megumi feels themself being tugged and pushed up against a tree, stumbling a little from their strength that was otherwise foreign to them— their back resting against the trunk as they looked at the curse with wide eyes. "... I'm listening..." "Stop thinking. " Is what he starts off with before he leans in towards them a bit more, gathering absolute attention, getting close enough that Sukuna can see the reflection of their own face in Megumi's shiny, glassy eyes, " You exist for others? Don't make me laugh . You exist for me . Next time your pesky brain attempts to argue, I want you to replay these words. As many times as it takes to get it across. " Naturally, Megumi's face flushes at his closeness and his words?? looks him in the eyes, nodding slowly— " ... I, I... exist... for you... " "Now you're understanding it. " Sukuna, hence, seem satisfied, letting Megumi's kimono go with the one hand. Its always hard to tell what Sukuna is looking at with two sets of eyes, the second of which tends to move with his main pair. but he remains staring right through them. "Exclusively for me ."

#kore's posts #sukufushi r!au

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autismtana · 11 months

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time to talk about this insta post

(because i have time on my hands and i hate myself)

So I've seen a few people react to this post and wanted to add my thoughts as someone who identifies as part of the LGBTQ+ community (i'm a nonbinary ace lesbian).

I realise the person who made the insta post is probably very young but they're also a cishet person talking about queer stories and queer experiences in a somewhat insensitive way and I wanted to add my two cents as someone who joined this fandom as a fifteen-year-old and at 29 is now a fandom "elder".

(update: since writing this post, i have learned that not only is the original poster 22 years old of age, but also incredibly racist, antisemitic and insensitive about people's deaths, so yeah we're not gonna be charitable to them)

firstly, as the person who made the post is cishet, it's not their place to dictate what is and isn't "good" trans representation. it's also not their place to dictate whether or not they are "a transphobic". when discussing issues around trans representation, if you aren't a part of that community, you should sit back and listen to trans people (and you might learn something so you don't look so ignorant)

it's also super weird to say sheldon bieste shouldn't be trans because "they could have just focused on unique instead". you can have more than one trans character!!! ALL the characters could be trans if you want!

i can't believe i even need to say this but ... gay and bi trans men exist. non-heterosexual trans people of all genders exist.

"i know lots of people ship them and i'm not trying to cancel your opinions..." and yet here you are, trying and failing to convince people not to ship them.

listen friend - crackships exist. shippers gonna ship. sometimes people just don't like the canon ships and that's ok.

"Klaine may have some problems but it doesn't mean there is a need to ship them with another guy" - has it occurred to you that the people who ship Kurtbastian and Seblaine don't like Klaine?

*the next point is about Kurt in Laryngitis and I don't really have anything to say about it

this is the one that I sort of agree with but I didn't like Dani (she gave me Arielle Scarcella fan vibes and was probably a TERF) so I'm biased. at the risk of sounding like one of those people who defends their fave even when they're being kind of dickbags ... the biphobia started with Dani/Santana wanting to "impress" Dani who is (a) maybe the first out lesbian she's ever met and (b) openly biphobic. I also headcanon Santana as having ADHD and think Dani was kind of a hyperfixation of hers

...if quinn not into girls why dianna play her so gay?

"i always wondered what it would be like to be with a woman" is a very fruity thing for a straight person to say let's be real

here's a fun idea though: how about let's not just assume that everyone is straight?

(again, the above image was posted by a cis straight person)

😬

honestly this section to me feels like one big huge lump of text that my audhd brain is not absorbing in the way i want it to soooooo...

ok i'm gonna try here...

"i don't get why santana tries to get brittany while she is dating artie" ummmm because she has a crush on brittany ... what, is she supposed to just turn off her feelings just because brittany's dating someone else? she is neurodivergent and a minor a 16 year old child homie, give her a break jfc...

(obviously she didn't go about her feelings towards brittany in s2 or s4 in the best way but she was also young at the time and not great at communicating but i think it's important to recognise that she did get better as the series went on and brittana grew stronger as a couple in the long run)

as for "santana doesn't recognise brittany as bi" ... santana literally said in her proposal to brittany that doing it in front of the glee club would "upset all the single guys and gals" so obviously she is aware that brittany is attracted to people of different genders and openly acknowledges it.

i genuinely don't know what to say about this... i'm more of a casual klaine enjoyer so we're not at the level of deep philosophical analysis yet but if anyone wants to take this one (looking at you, scout) be my guest.

"i don't understand the hate towards klaine in s4 as a couple" ... i mean they weren't really a couple because they were broken up for most of season 4

blaine has really grown on me recently but "i needed you and you weren't there" wasn't much of an apology

the OP of the post has also said some sketchy things about race to a twitter mutual of mine, i.e. saying mercedes is racist against white people, which ......

so ... in summary

headcanons exist. webster defines headcanon as "something that a fan imagines to be true about a character even though no information supporting that belief is spelled out in the text"

while we live in a cisheteronormative society, we should refrain from assuming everyone is cis and/or straight.

it's okay for fans to prefer a crack couple over a canon couple (as long as they tag appropriately).

if you're a cishet person in a queer space, you need to approach queer stories with care and respect, and sometimes that involves not talking when you don't have experience with something

reverse racism doesn't exist

don't be racist or antisemitic, and definitely don't say insensitive shit about people's deaths

eat the rich and fuck the patriarchy

#glee #glee fandom #glee lgbtq

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Any fics coming soon? I love and miss your work.

Anon, just like the day I started this blog, I still have no idea what I'm doing with my life. My brain passively decides the stories, I just control the writing action to be fair. So, i really don't know whats next haha I have so many unfished things you have no idea.

Last week I thought about a harkness daughter reader, with villian tendencies 'cause i never wrote one before. Her personality would be a bit badgirl vibes. WandaVision Era of course. I'll leave it here for you to read, tell me what you think, but i have no idea if i'm ever finishing this, but i wanna share the idea.

Let's call it: WandaVision Series Draft?

Words: 962

Summary: Like I said, it's a draft of an idea. Just wanna know if that would be a nice story to follow or nah. So, just peak comedy no warnings haha

------///-------

"I don't know how she did it, but this whole town is under her control." Agatha narrates and you can almost hear the gears of her brain going a thousand by now, working out the possibilities of how the witch could have done all that. You haven't seen your mother so fascinated in a long time.

It was a counterpart to your posture. You had your legs splayed out on the couch, a bored expression on your face.

"You must see, dear, no one remembers anything. Everything here works the way she wants it to."

"And?"

Agatha finally looked at you, and frowned at your indifference. She gave an incredulous laugh.

"What do you mean 'and'?" She questioned in the same tone. "I just said that a single witch is-"

"I heard it the last few times." You cut in. "Just like I heard when you felt her magic. Mama, that's so much smaller than Dormammu."

Agatha shakes her head, moving closer. "No, you don't understand." She begins. "The level of magical illusion she is using, the way she is mastering minds and-"

"It's a fantasy, Mom." You interrupt again, settling down on the couch. "Whoever it is, it's just a world of lies. I've gone around, everything here is pathetic and mundane. You're looking for a rival, but this woman just needs help. It's like she's trying to have a happy life here."

"She is literally holding people hostage."

You roll your eyes, standing up as you speak, "But she's not torturing them. It doesn't seem like it at least."

Agatha stands up as well, walking you to the kitchen, where you start rummaging through the cupboards for decent food.

"You have a lot of faith in people, Y/N." Agatha accuses, and you laugh, shaking your head.

"That witch, she doesn't seem to know what she's doing." You continue, stooping down to check the bottom cabinets. "I've seen the extremes of the city. The people there are like ghosts, with no functions. She's really made a city like The Sims here."

"What's that?"

"It's an electronic game, it's not relevant." You quickly clarify as you see your mother's expression. "The point is, I don't think you'll find what you expect here, Mom. If she really is wasting such powerful magic to make a life of make-believe, she has no idea how much power she really has."

Agatha absorbs your words as you finally find some decent food outside of the typical 1960s dishes. When you turn your attention back to your mother, she seems even more pleased with herself.

"What?" you ask, and her smile only widens.

"If you're right, I win anyway." She says and you follow back to the couch. "I intended to manipulate her in my favor, but if she is not worthy of your magic, I may just take it for myself. That's great news."

" I guess it is." You mutter without interest, picking up the television remote. "Any chance of convincing her to move this place to the current years? The TV was pretty bad in '63."

Agatha moved closer only to take the control from your hand and turn it off, drawing an exclamation of annoyance.

"Get up, I have a task for you."

"What? That's not fair!" You complained. "You said I could take a vacation for a while."

"That was six months ago." She retorted, moving to look out the window. "The next narrative has already been started. I want you to get out of here, out of town I mean. Find out what you can about this Wanda woman outside."

You grumbled in irritation, but stood up.

"And you're staying here?"

"Of course I am." She says straightening her spell altered clothes. "I'm going to occupy an important character in this whole joke. The best friend of the main character."

You roll your eyes, moving toward the door. "Careful, Mrs. Harkness. It's not smart to underestimate someone who controls so many minds."

Your mother smiles, giving you a wink. You chuckle before you leave, wondering who you would interrogate first to find out who this Westview mystery witch was.

---------/-/-----------

Getting out of the spell field was comforting.

Your clothes immediately adjusted, but you had an unpleasant interaction.

As soon as you stepped outside, you noticed the parked police car. And it didn't take long for the cops to address you.

"Hey, you! Wait a minute!" Warned the tallest of them, dropping the radio before coming towards you, his colleague further back, his hand in his holster. "We need you to answer some questions."

"Oh, you're the one who's going to answer some questions for me, officer." You say, and your eyes sparkle as you invade his mind, and also his partner's.

Ordering them to stand still and be obedient, you sidestep the officer toward his car, and check the radio.

"Billy, do you copy?" The device echoes in the vehicle. "We're sending in a special team, the SWORD people are interested in the case."

You move your fingers to call the cop, who robotically walked back to the car, and sat down.

"Confirm that everything is okay and that you two are waiting." You say, and the policeman then obeys. When the radio is off, you lean on the vehicle.

"Billy, my man, tell me something, this Sword people, are they cops?"

"SWORD is a special security agency, ma'am." He replied. "It takes care of operations that fell under the old Sokovia treaty."

"Hmmm, super heroes, then." You mutter. "Do me a favor, Billy. When they arrive, call me."

You instruct, touching the man's forehead only to erase the last interaction and leave only the order and your phone number.

You just needed a drink now. Sure your mom wouldn’t mind.

#wanda maximoff x reader #unfinished #drafts #wandavision #wanda x reader #ask box #the scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #marvel imagines #wanda maximoff x you #wanda #harkness x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader

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diadraws · 3 years

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What's your inspiration for ur art?? :0

oopsie this got really long cuz i have a lot to say.. sorry!!! thanks for the opportunity to talk for a bit though haha.

honestly, i wanna say "everything" ... i'm very single track minded, so whenever im doing something my brain is always going "okay, but how can i USE this for art" , i see something cool and i take a pic so i can draw it later, i overhear something funny and i write it down to use as a joke in a comic. it's not always a 1:1 lifting , sometimes i just use that stuff as a jumping off point, and the end product is totally different. i know this approach doesnt really work for everyone, though. i just have a really "go, go, GO!" brain that is always wanting to make pictures and stories so its very natural for me to absorb things and then immediately go into thinking about how i could use it.

but if you mean like, media inspiration? guardians of ga'hoole, invader zim, homestuck, and steven universe are probably the biggest "foundational reading" for my stuff, i think theyve had the most influence on me in terms of the types of stories i like to tell, and how i tell them. amphibia is getting up there though, it really scratches a lot of funny critter and found family itches in my brain. i also like stuff that doesnt take itself TOO seriously, and has kind of dry or morbid humor. stupid stuff thats also frustratingly emotionally mature. i like tone whiplash, i think its funny

i also really like animals a lot. i'm by no means a scientist or any kind of professional, but speculative biology / xenobiology is my favorite aspect of worldbuilding, and i like to do a lot of research on human and animal biology to make stuff as accurate or believable as i can. i watch a lot of animal videos and documentaries, and pre-pandemic times i would go to the zoo and aquarium whenever i could, to take pictures and videos of the animals. art wise i do a lot of animal studies too, i think it shows in my drawings ha ha

i also really like.... sci fi dystopian short stories? none in particular, i just kinda.. enjoy reading a 12 page story written by some guy 50 years ago where the gist of it is just "wow. wouldnt it be messed up if that happened?"

another thing that helped me so much is just not caring what other people think. im making whatever i want. its my art, if people dont like it , they can make their own art where everything is how THEY want it to be. this is a mindset you have to practice , i still get insecure sometimes about how others think of me, or how "well" my stuff does, but in the end i have to convince myself to just let go, and have fun instead of worrying too much.

over all i would say ... my inspiration is to make stuff that i wanna see. i just like take everything i like and throw it in the pot and distill it till i get something that works. this tweet from alex hirsch is my modus operandi

i guess if theres any wisdom i wanna impart here, a midset i think you should adopt... the target audience is me. everyone else is a bonus.

#not art #answers #long post

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julietnterein · 3 years

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•| Violacea I. chp. 12 |•

A/U: I'm finally free from my uni assignments, so now I will try to be much more active here! I have one more story prepared for you and I was thinking giving you a little taste from a first chapter? What do you think? :)

Our training group grew over the days into a small amount of people. It wasn't just me and Clint anymore, now even Wanda and Pietro were regularly joining our group and sometimes Natasha came along, even though she wasn't able to train yet, and occasionally Bruce came as well, but it was always only for a couple of minutes. They never really left me and Pietro or Wanda alone in the gym, they always tried to supervise us with one of the agents.

Clint was teaching me how to shoot on the shooting range, which I always thought I was really getting better at, but when I was there with Natasha she always convinced me otherwise. The red haired woman always found something that I could have worked on and I was really glad that she was criticizing me and giving me some feedback, but it gets annoying with time and when it's only something like having my arms more stretched it gets on my nerves even more.

„A mistake like that, can cost you your own life.” She always says when she is giving me some feedback.

And exactly the same thing she did just now, when she skilfully sends me to the ground, because she was finally free from the cast one her hand, so she started training with us as soon as she could. I heard how Pietro's sucked his breath in when he saw my fall, again.

„Stand up.” Says Natasha, while I'm still on the ground, breathing through the pain.

„We are training for two hours already and-...” I try but she interrupts me quickly.

„And you are not even trying.” Natasha grabs her bottle that was lying next to the training mat.

„Excuse me?” I sit up and look up at her with an annoyed look.

„You heard me.” She takes a few sips from the bottle before she sets it down again. „C'mon, let's go.” She gestures towards me, so I have to stand up again.

I put on a fighting stance, that is probably the worst one I have ever done, I can feel all my sore muscles pulsing through my body.

„And try harder this time.” She winks at me when she is raising her fists. I make the first move, I'm throwing a punch, but she easily catches me and throws a low blow into my ribs. My breath hitch with pain and I staggered to the left, and that's when Natasha round kicked me from the left side that I left revealed when I staggered and I fell to my knees. She is not waiting for anything else, when she throws a punch in my revealed face, that sends me hard into the mat. I tried to pick myself up but when I see Natasha preparing for another punch I'm covering my head quickly and shout:

„That's enough! Red! Stop it!” It takes me a second to think of the safe word that we have to use, when something goes to the point where one of the trainees can't handle it anymore, and colors are probably the simplest thing.

„You are too afraid to be hit.” She snorts out a little.

„Well I wonder why?!” I bark in her direction and I can feel my blood boiling.

„Your stance sucks, you don't even think about your punches when you throw them and you don't even try to hit hard.” She names all the stuff. „A mistake like t-...”

„-That can cost me my life, I know!” I interrupt her quickly.

„Then why are you not trying?” She frowned at me.

Her voice is cold as ice and I can't help myself with my next comment:

„Not everyone here was trained to kill people!”

Her green eyes are turning dark really quickly and they are stabbing me like a knife right now. I know I shouldn't have said that but I'm so angry right now.

„Because some of us were literally developed just for that.” She whispers so quietly into the silence of the gym, but she knows damn right I will catch that. She knows that it will hit me into the right spot. That's when I can feel the weird warmth in my fingertips.

Pietro was probably the quickest one to notice the small amount of purple slightly glowing around my fingers, that's when he ran up to Natasha and grabbed her by the waist to pull her away from me. I can feel the lights flicker above our heads.

Wanda jumped right to me, creating quickly a red wall that would safe everyone on the outside from me causing them any harm.

„Andy, listen to me…” She says out my name, while my head is in complete haze and I can feel all the anger bubbling inside me, ready to be set free. She steps closer to me, slowly, one hand holding the red wall and the other slowly reached out for mine.

I'm trying to catch my own breath, holding myself on all four.

„I'm here with you.” She says quietly while she kneels in front of me slowly, because she doesn't want to startle me with any quick movements. I know that if I would have blown up again, like I did before with Natasha, she would be screwed, she put everyone into the safe zone except for herself. „You don't want to hurt anyone, right, Andy?” She was still talking to me, which felt really soothing to me as I had something to hold onto. „I know you can do this.” She finally grabbed my hand slowly into her hand, drawing small circles with her thumb over my hand. With every circle I felt my body slowly calming, like it was her touch that was pouring a iced water over my boiled nerves, that were ready to blow up.

All the lights above our heads went crazy as I felt my body absorbing their energy and there was this thick purple mist floating around my hands.

„I trust you.” She whispers. It takes her words a really long time before they start to make sense in my brain.

„You heard me. That's right.” She continues as she reads my mind. I could felt my muscles slowly loosen it's flexed position. „You are my family now.” She whispers so quietly but she knows damn right that I can hear it. „And I know you don't want to hurt any of us. We are all in this together.” With really deep breaths I'm raising my head up, looking for her eyes, that are following my every movement. She smiles at me. „You can do it.” She grabs me and pulls me into a huge hug when she starts hearing my thoughts much more clearly than before. My body fell into her hug, exhausted from all the energy it took from the lights and then how much energy it took me to put it right back in instead of blowing up into every direction. Everything is coming back into the picture with each and every breath in and out. Wanda no longer holds the red wall around us, but she holds me really close to her chest, understanding what I'm going through right now.

„It's okay. Deep breaths in and out, exactly like that.” She rubs my back soothingly. I can see all the purple mist finally disappearing from around my palms and that's when I return her the hug properly, burying my face into her shoulder.

„She did it.” I hear Pietro in the background. „She didn't blow up.” I can see him coming towards us with a huge smile on his face.

„Only thanks to Wanda.” I smile at her, as I slowly pull myself from her hug.

„But you hold it in yourself.” She squeezes my shoulder. „And that's progress.” She smiles at me.

I nod and then I frown at Natasha standing a couple meters away from us. „I know, I know.” She raises her arms in a defensive gesture. „But you could be a little nicer yourself.”

„I'm sorry.” I nod at her.

„So am I, I didn't mean for this to happen.” She says and before I can say anything else, Pietro quickly ruffle my hair before he heads back to his own training. Wanda just waves at me as she gives me and Natasha space to talk this through.

„Do you want to continue?” Asks Natasha carefully.

„No, because I would have to broke your arm again to feel a little better.” I roll my eyes.

„Whoa, whoa… hold up…” She stops me when I'm about to leave the gym. „Now it's my turn to break you something.”

„Try me and next time it's going to be a brick wall instead of glass.” I look at her seriously but can't hold it any longer as my ruin this up.

She can't help herself and smiles at me as well: „I call red on that.”

Chp. 13

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geniusgub · 3 years

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north//chapter twenty

genre: fluff, angst

warnings: mentions of canonical violence and deaths, lmk if I missed anything

word count: 4k

summary: Spencer is getting reacquainted with life outside of prison, and he gets a not-so-great phone call.

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x oc

please remember to comment, like, and reblog!!

AMELIA

Spencer and I managed to sleep through the entire day and the majority of the night. After all, the previous day was probably one of the most eventful of my entire life and it left me absolutely exhausted. I can't quite speak for Spencer because I'm sure he's had much longer days than yesterday, especially when he has been away for cases, but it was still stressful and way too long for both of us.

I wake up before Spencer as the sun starts to rise the next day, the sunlight pouring in through the opened window on the other side of the room. Before I even consider getting out of bed or looking at my phone, I look to my side to check on Spencer. He's sleeping soundly, his cheek pressed against his pillow and his hand on my side of the bed, no longer wrapped around mine. He looks absolutely angelic at this moment, his mouth hanging open and his body completely relaxed.

I promised Spencer that I'd be here for him and that I wouldn't leave the bed without him. I've never broken a promise to him before and I don't plan on starting now. So, moving as little as possible so I don't disturb him, I sit up against the headboard, reaching into my bedside table for my journal. I pop open the top and start furiously scribbling down everything I can remember from the last two or so days and how I feel about it, how excited I am to have Spencer home again, and how terrified I am to have Spencer home again.

I barely even notice it when Spencer starts squirming beside me, and my attention is only taken away from my journal when his hand grabs onto my thigh. I smile down at his suddenly tiny figure, finding that he's already looking up at me with a tired gaze.

"Good morning, love," I chirp, tossing my journal onto the floor and sinking back under the duvet in an attempt to absorb some of his radiating body heat. Since he already touched me and he's seemingly feeling okay in the morning sun, I let my hand stray and trail through his flat curls. "Did you sleep well? You didn't wake me up."

Spencer sucks his lips between his teeth, shrugging softly. "I woke up a few times. I just--" he wiggles his hips as he tries to come up with an excuse, "I didn't need to wake you up. I didn't need to bother you. Having you here was enough."

I bring my hand to the back of Spencer's neck, huffing with some slight annoyance, "You're not a bother. You never have and you never will be," Spencer just shrugs dismissively in response, and reaches his hands up to rub his eyes. Spencer has never been good at these kinds of conversations and I imagine he's far too tired to entertain a lecture about how important he is. So I make a mental note to bring this topic back up as I sit up and stretch. "Alright, well, do you want some breakfast? I can make us something to eat."

"Yeah, sure," he nods, ducking away from my grasp and quickly sliding out of bed, putting on a pair of shoes I hadn't realized he set up on his side of the bed.

I reach for a pair of sweatpants but when I look up to find Spencer frozen in his spot, staring at the bed, I drop the pants and sit up on my knees. The sheets are rustled and the duvet is in a heap under me, and he's very fixated on this. His arms are glued to his side but his fingers are twitching like he's dying to use them.

"Spence? Everything okay?" I ask gently, and like the other instances where he gets lost in a daydream, he doesn't react to me. "Spencer?" I call again in hopes of getting some sort of response. But his fingers just twitch and he takes a long, frustrated breath. "Talk to me," I don't know if pressing the issue will help, but if I don't at least try to get him to talk, then I'll never figure out what his issue is. "I just wanna help you, but I can't do that if you don't talk to me."

Spencer quickly covers his face with his hands, his breathing becoming labored and heavy, chest heaving. "The bed. It's the bed. It's-- I need-- it's the bed."

It looks like a bed to me. It's a messy bed, sure, but it's just a bed to me. I pause for a second to try to get my brain to match Spencer's. I try to see what he is seeing, but all I see is a bed that we just used for its intended purpose. It just needs to be made, that's all. I can't see into Spencer's brain so I have to resort to asking. "What about the bed?"

"I--" he drops his hands, balling them up into fists again, "The bed is supposed to be made. I need to make the bed. It needs to be made or else they're gonna come and I'll get in trouble. It-- the-- the bed needs to be made."

Oh, this poor baby. My heart aches for him. Not all of him made it out of that prison cell. Part of him is still there. He's not here with me. He didn't really come home.

"Spencer, you're not gonna get in trouble here. It's just me. It's just Lia," My voice shakes as I try to speak, my hands pressed to my cheeks to continuously wipe the tears that start to fall. "I'm never gonna yell at you or hurt you or get mad because you didn't make your bed. Dove, you can make the bed if you want to, but you don't have to. It's okay. I'm not gonna be mad. You won't get in trouble. It's just me."

Spencer stares at me, his eyes wide and his lips parted. His hands aren't twitching anymore but they're still reaching towards the bed. He doesn't say anything, he just stares at me in bewilderment.

I compose myself with a deep breath, wiping my cheeks quickly and climbing off the bed. "Dove, make the bed, please. I want you to do anything that makes you feel better. But if you choose not to, I'm not gonna be mad," I step towards Spencer, holding my hands out in front of me and not expecting him to grab them. "I'm gonna go downstairs and I'm gonna start cooking, and you come down when you're ready, okay?"

I give Spencer one more attempt at a convincing smile before turning and going downstairs. My first stop is to the living room, and I pop the record into the player that Spencer had put on yesterday. If it did something to comfort him yesterday, hopefully it will do the same today. I grab both of our phones and start cooking breakfast.

I mix batter for waffles in a bowl as I check my notifications, sifting through a whole load of texts. My groupchat with my friends has a couple hundred texts, starting off with lots of questions and concerns about Spencer from yesterday, asking if he's okay, if he's home, wondering how happy we are. I have other texts from Wendy and Mike, asking the same types of questions that my friends did. I send some quick responses to all of them and let them know that we're home, we slept for a very long time, and that I'll contact them later with more updates.

Spencer's quiet footsteps approach and I turn to face him, breathing a sigh of relief when I find he's not so worked up anymore. "I hope waffles are okay."

Once I've closed the waffle maker and let it start cooking, I glance over my shoulder to ee what Spencer is doing. He's sitting gingerly at the island, placing his elbows on the granite and eyes darting around the room. Honestly, I don't even know why he sat there. He absolutely hated sitting there and eating yesterday, and it made him have some sort of flashback. Maybe it's because he started off the morning with the prison-bed situation, and now the natural order of events in the day is to be transported right to prison-breakfast.

"Hey, bub, you don't have to sit at the table," I say casually, trying not to bring too much attention to it. "You didn't like that yesterday. But you seemed better when we sat on the floor so we can do that again, or we can go on the couch or the balcony." I don't even have time to see his reaction before the waffle maker beeps, and I have to whip around to pull the waffle out.

I can hear Spencer shuffling behind me, and then I feel his shoulder brushing against my leg as he slides down to the floor beside me. I put the waffle onto the plate and hand it down to him, then open the drawer above his head to grab a fork.

"Thank you," Spencer mumbles, catching my free hand in his and pressing his lips to the back of my hand. It's clearly a thank you for more than just handing him a fork, or making him breakfast, or sleeping with him, or showering with him, or anything of that. It's a thank you for being so patient with him, but I couldn't fathom not being there for him in the way he needs. I want to tell him that he doesn't need to thank me, but in his mind, it is something he needs to do, so I decide to let it happen for a while before I start to refuse his thanks.

The next week functions almost identical to this. Spencer is quiet, keeping to himself and eating his meals on the floor and making the bed perfectly in the morning, cleaning the bedroom floor every night, wearing a tee shirt to bed. I get just a few glimpses of the man he was, but not many.

Emily had called later that day to let Spencer know that the entire BAU was placed on a mandatory six week leave, but also that he had to be evaluated for reinstatement. A whole slew of people have to review Spencer's actions, have to interview him, have to test him to see if he's fit to return to work, and he didn't take this news well. He didn't talk to me for a hours and just curled up on the floor of the bedroom, staring out the window with the drawn-back curtains. I tried, for so long, to get him to talk to me, but he didn't budge and he didn't even look at me. So I just grabbed whatever book was inside his go-bag from the last case he went on and sat beside him, reading aloud in an attempt to bring him back down to earth. And when he did, he went off to shower and then straight to bed.

Spencer's work is his life and there's few things he loves more than his work. I know that he would be lost without the BAU and that he would have absolutely no clue what to do with his life if he couldn't keep working there. So hearing that there's a chance that he may not be reinstated to the BAU is absolutely crushing.

On the other end of the spectrum, the prospect of Spencer not being reinstated isn't all bad to me. In his line of work, there are always going to be enemies. There's always going to be another Cat and another Lindsay. He's always going to have guns pointed at him and bombs blowing up beside him and people wanting to kill him. If he's not reinstated, I get to have him home every morning and night and I won't stare at the wall at lunch with Jenna, wondering if Spencer has just been shot or if he has a knife to his neck. I know that he would absolutely hate not being reinstated, but it would save me so much heartache.

That's an incredibly selfish thought, I know. I'm happy and willing to strip Spencer of one of the things that makes him happiest in his life just so I can sleep at night. But all I've wanted from the moment I met him is for him to be safe and to be happy and if he's not chasing serial killers, I know that he will at least be safe. Happy? I can't help but imagine he wouldn't be.

After a tense week at home, I convince Spencer to let me take him back to his apartment. He insists that he doesn't want for stay there and would rather stay with me, even though I said I would stay at his apartment with him, but I'm happy to let him keep with me. I just want him to be happy.

So I drove him over to his apartment, picked up most of his clothes and whatever else he was needing, and he rounds up an entire duffle bag full of books that I'm sure he would read in just one day. But we collect whatever he could possibly need and shove it in my car, then go straight back to my apartment. I'm starting to get a little stir crazy, being trapped in my apartment, but Spencer doesn't want to go out anywhere yet and the last thing on my mind is forcing him into things he's uncomfortable with.

"So what do you wanna do today?" I unzip the bag full of books and start making a few small piles against the wall, glancing over my shoulder at Spencer. He shrugs gently, too distracted with picking a record to properly respond to my question. Sighing, I return my attention to the books.

The record turns on and this time, I recognize it to be a record full of Christmas music. We've been listening to nothing but Taylor Swift, Frank Sinatra, and Christmas music this past week, and while that's my favorite music and I have no problem with it, it's odd. Spencer never really listened to that music, whether we were together or not. He always managed to convince me to put on some cello concerto that wound up being fifteen minutes long. I thought he would rather listen to that and not Christmas music when it's almost the summer, but I haven't questioned this yet.

"Could we," Spencer starts speaking after a moment, tearing my attention from the books, "maybe watch a movie?"

It's the first time he's suggested anything like that. Honestly, it's one of the first times he's suggested that we do anything. He's just been staying quiet and following me around like a puppy dog, watching me attempt to draw in a sketchbook or watching me cook or watching me do the laundry. He's stuck to my side, even if he hasn't been touching me much. So now that he's suggesting that we do something, I'm not about to pass up this development.

"Yeah, of course. You can choose whatever you want. I'll be over there when I'm done," Spencer nods and turns his back to me, and I pick up my pace in emptying the books from the duffle bag. I don't want to lose this momentum of him, maybe, feeling just a little bit better.

Once I've stacked all the books, I fold up the duffle bag nicely and put it in a place where it won't bother Spencer, and then head into the living room. He's sitting on the couch with a DVD case in his lap, and he holds it out to me when I approach. Always a technophobe, he never goes near the DVD player and lets me do it.

"Polar Express?" I raise my eyebrows, but that's as far as my questioning goes. I pop the DVD out of the case and put it into the player, then grab the remote and press play.

I settle onto the couch with my favorite plaid blanket, draping it over my lap. As the movie starts and the title screen shows, I feel cold. I'm completely covered and under my trusty blanket, but I'm cold. Absolutely freezing. I pull the blanket tighter around me and when my temperature doesn't shift, I quickly realize where the cold is coming from.

Spencer and I are a very physical couple. Despite his aversion to touch, he never seemed to have the problem when it came to me. Especially when we watched movies, we were always touching. Legs, hands, shoulders and heads, laps and heads. There was always a connection, but now there's none. I'm left on my own couch cushion, not sharing Spencer's cushion and continuously pushing closer and closer until we're squished together. A shiver runs down my spine.

We watch the movie in silence for a little while, all the way up until the three main characters are singing a song at the back of the train. And while they're singing, I feel Spencer reaching over, grabbing the edge of the blanket, tugging it closer to him. "You can come closer," he tells me, looking up at me through his lashes, fingers grasping the fuzz of the blanket.

Happy to comply with this request, I scoot closer to him until our legs are touching. I think that's enough for now, but then Spencer slings his arm over my legs and tugs me closer until my knees collapse over his legs and I'm laying my head on his chest. It's a position that I'm so familiar with and I've been dying to be in, but he hasn't been up for lately. My body warms up. The shivers stop.

I completely melt into his embrace, pressing my ear against his chest to listen for the steady beat of his heart as I wrap my arm around his stomach. I let my eyelids flutter closed and relax into him. The movie isn't important anymore, at least not to me.

///

SPENCER

///

Today is a good day, one of the first I've actually had since being home since my prison release. I thought that actually leaving Amelia's apartment would make me nervous, but returning home wasn't as horrible as it seemed like it would be. For once, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm even feeling well enough to watch a movie and cuddle with Amelia on the couch, just like we used to do. She still can't creep up behind me or touch me without showing me her hands first and I still can't eat at a table, but it's an improvement. Albeit a tiny one, but it's there nonetheless.

By the time the movie is coming to an end, Amelia has slid down to rest her head on my lap, her curls sprawled out and her hands pulled up to her chin. She looks ridiculously adorable like this, and even though it's a sight that I've seen many times and I've committed to memory, I wish I could sit and stare at her forever.

But that plan is foiled when my phone starts buzzing on the coffee table. My first instinct is to look down to check that Amelia is still sleeping, and all she does is scrunch up her nose a bit before relaxing. Adorable.

I grab a pillow from beside me and slide it under her head when I slip out from under her. Thankfully, she doesn't notice and she doesn't wake up. Pleased with this, I grab my phone and rush onto the balcony. I don't have time to check who it is before I answer. "Reid."

"Hey, Reid," Rossi's voice comes through the phone. "How's it going?"

"It's-" I ponder my answer for a moment, double-checking that the door is closed as I sink into one of Amelia's adirondack chairs, "um, it's a good day today."

"Good, I'm glad. And I'm glad you've got Amelia to look after you. You've got a good one there. She really cares about you," Rossi says, and his words prompt me to turn and peer into the window at her sleeping form, curled up on the couch and holding the blanket to her chest. "Where-- uh-- where is she right now?"

"She's sleeping right now. I'm on the balcony," Honestly, this is already some of the most talking I've done in the last week and I'm exhausted. I'd rather be talking to Amelia, but Rossi called me for a reason, plus I know that Amelia needs to get some sleep. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah. I'm afraid I may need to bring your day down a bit," Rossi sighs, and my heart drops down to my feet. "I feel horrible calling you now, after everything you went through and while the BAU is on leave, but you need to know the situation."

I furrow my eyebrows, balling my free hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm to give the pain somewhere to go. "What situation?"

"Damian Kelsey's signature popped up on two bodies in LA."

I didn't think that I would have to face a day where Damian Kelsey's signature reappears. I admit that I have stayed late at work many times just to look at Damian's case file and rememorize the details and try to predict what his next murder would have been all while ignoring the chilling family photos that contain my girlfriend as a horribly abused child.

And this is the worst possible time for this to happen. I can barely go a day without flashing back to prison or almost yelling at my amazing and patient girlfriend. How can I possibly tack on dealing with her serial killer father's signature resurfacing, all while trying to keep it a secret from her? It's nearly impossible. I thought that I could just take these stupid six weeks off to spend time with Amelia and try to rest comfortably, but I guess that's not possible.

"I'm heading to LA as we speak. I'm getting on a plane right now. And while we both know what his signature coming up again could mean, the good thing is that these are male victims and they're not surrogates for Amelia. I know that's what you're worried about. The other good thing is that this is across the country and obviously nowhere near Virginia. So--"

"Spencer?" Amelia's sweet voice comes from the balcony doors, the blanket disregarded on the couch and her hair messy on the top of her head.

"Gotta go," I mumble, hanging up my phone and tossing it aside, not even waiting to say goodbye to my coworker.

Amelia steps onto the balcony, her bare feet silent as she approaches me slowly, rubbing her eyes like a small child. "Everything okay?"

I reach my hands out for her and she smiles, placing her hands in mine and slowly sinking onto my lap, resting her head on my chest, similar to the position we had been in before. Amelia runs a hand over my chest and it takes everything in me not to let out a sound akin to a cat purring.

I just hold her tightly in my arms, probably the tightest I have since I saw her for the first time in the parking lot of my correctional facility. Rossi swears that Damian Kelsey won't come after Amelia but I just hold her tighter, as if that will protect her from the horrors of the world. I have a lot of holding to make up for from when I was gone, and I suppose that time starts now.

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samtheflamingomain · 3 years

Text

25.21%

I've been sober for 3 months today. 92 days. 25.21% of 2021.

I could've posted more updates, more milestones (it took a LOT not to post on Day 69) but I wanted to kind of save it up for a Big Day. It was also a decent way to continue to incentivize my continued sobriety: a full pass to do a shameless, hardcore bragging sesh.

Anyway, this post comes in 2 parts: the TL;DR for those who only want the gist, then more in depth on my ability to stay sober, the lasting effects of rehab, etc.

I tried my damnedest to pare this absolute novel down, but it's long, so feel free to dip out if you just get bored. Onward!

TL;DR: I went to rehab the beginning of July for 3 weeks and haven't had a drop of alcohol since. I've lost weight, I'm more healthy, my daily anxiety level went from 8 to 2, I haven't had an anxiety attack in 3 months, and everything generally just seems... easier. My memory and concentration have improved. I've been productive and I've been meditating every day. I'm saving money, and while I sometimes fantasize about getting drunk, that's usually all it is.

Honestly, it's been much easier than I expected, but I think a lot of that is because for the first 3 weeks, the time in which I would usually break down and start drinking again when trying to get sober myself, was spent behind a locked door. So far I haven't had any days where I was close to giving in. I haven't had many days where I've been depressed about it, missing it or really tempted. Maybe 3-4. I've basically just gotten on with my life as if alcohol doesn't exist.

To wrap up the short version for those ready to peace out, I'll leave it with a bit of advice.

I don't feel qualified to give any specific advice, because my story feels very unique to me, and I honestly don't think what worked for me will work for MOST people. Sometimes people spend a year in rehab and still drive straight to the liquor store on their way home.

That said, there's one thing that I've found pretty universally true: you have to really want it. For a while, I floated about without much of a "reason" to stay sober. I don't have a spouse, kids or a job I've been fired from, so I didn't see the point.

It's taken me a while, but after not being "convinced" by a few superficial "reasons" like weight loss and saving money, I thought I needed something more... permanent? Consequential? I now realize that my "reason" for getting sober at a young age after only a few years of alcoholism is that I don't want it to get to a point where I'm hurting other people, drinking myself into multiple lasting health problems... I don't want it to become permanent or consequential.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you do have something like kids or trouble keeping a job, definitely use that as your reason. But for anyone who's a pretty "functional" alcoholic like I was, "not letting it go on long enough to become disfunctional" is a good enough reason.

This is going to get stupid long, so feel free to walk away now, just glad you read this much and it really does mean the world when people listen to what I have to say.

Now some more things in depth. I'll go in chronological order: what made me get sober, what I took from rehab (and what I left), and how it's been the past few months.

I started drinking when I got kicked out, manic out of my mind and homeless unable to sleep. It took a while until I was able to sleep without alcohol, but by then the addict brain had taken over. I'd tried a few times to get sober myself, but I never made it more than a week without, and always got back to daily drinking after a few months maximum.

Some people need a "wake up call", a "last straw" or a "rock bottom". Something external to make them realize they can't go on as they are. For me, the catalyst was my health, which is more of an internal reason I suppose. I didn't have a heart attack or liver failure, but my anxiety was getting uncontrollable and I knew it was directly tied to my drinking.

My life had been starting to feel tolerable, and I was more financially secure than ever before. Things were looking up... except for the alcoholism. This is a weird analogy but the only one that makes sense to express why, if I was doing so well on paper, I decided to go to rehab: you have to sweep before you mop. If I hadn't been in the place I was, I don't think I would've been successful at rehab. I had to sweep up the cat turds from the floor of my life before I was able to mop up the shit stains with sobriety. I know, I'm a true wordsmith.

When I finally called the hotline that hooked me up with a bunch of different rehabs, I knew I was in for a wait. It was about 5 months from that call to checking in, which isn't too bad considering I've been on the waitlist for a neuropsychiatrist in ALL OF CANADA for 4 years.

That brings us to July 12th, Rehab Day One. I've gone in depth in multiple other posts but to touch on it briefly, if I had to describe my experience in a sentence I'd say "the place I went to got very lucky with me".

What this means is that, of the 5 people in my group, I think this exact program was only ever going to help me. At the same time, I didn't even know what I would need, but this exact program was 90% of it. I didn't think 3 weeks would be long enough, but for me it was. The hours-long, repetitive, basic-ass CBT groups held 5 times a day 7 days a week was absolute torture for everyone but myself. While it was a drag to spend an hour on defining what a cognitive distortion is, the routine and repetition, something I've never gotten out of any outpatient program, helped me to really absorb the information and let it rewire my brain.

I've always said that I'm someone who should be spending an hour a day with a therapist for the rest of my life, and while that's not even remotely feasible, this was as close as it's ever gotten, and it proved me right, because it worked. I've done biweekly therapy for a short time but even that didn't come close to the way my brain changed in those 3 short weeks.

This program required absolute commitment and open-mindedness. This isn't because it was hard work or difficult concepts, but quite the opposite. While I hate the entire concept of art therapy being used as a cure-all for mental illness, I willingly got out of my bed, went downstairs and tried doing a dot mandala for an hour because I'm willing to try anything to get better. A lot of people might think they are, but really aren't. To use the mandala as an example, one guy was really into it, I wasn't, but we both finished. The other 3 tried, messed up a few times, and then scrolled through their phones. When I say this program necessitates complete engagement, that's not a compliment. It shouldn't be a chore to engage with the program. It shouldn't take me actively saying "I know I've known this basic concept since 4th grade, but maybe hearing it again will help" to get something out of a rehab program. So again, in every way, I got lucky, and so did they.

Before I finish with the rehab section, having had a few months to reflect on the whole thing, I now have an endless list of things wrong with it. I arrived, greeted by the most jaded and disillusioned of staff, and quickly became disturbed and at points concerned with just how negligent the staff are.

Maybe it's because I've been on the psych ward where they won't even let you have shoelaces and shine a flashlight on your face every half hour through the night, but it could've been so incredibly easy to sneak in alcohol. I brought 2 full water bottles, fully expecting to have to dump them out upon arrival, but they said "nah it's fine". Is it though?

Then there were actual counsellors there who were... okay. I recall one, the one I thought was the smartest, reading a handout aloud and coming across the word "delve" as in "let's delve into..." and stumbled, then said she doesn't know that word. The room was silent. As she pulled up Google on the screen I said, "it means to dive into it". She Googled it anyway. Synonyms include "dive in". If that was the only example I wouldn't mention it, but this was the first of at least 10 words she had do Google, none past a 10th grade level, from HER OWN MATERIAL. From that point on it became clear that they had no fucking idea what they were doing.

We had one last one-on-one counselling session before we left and the counsellor just filled in boxes to questions on her computer, rephrasing everything I said to fit into the buzzwords and "lessons" we'd "learned". Example. Me: I do think I'm better able to catch myself thinking 'oh I can just have one drink' and say 'no I can't'." Her: "Okay, so would you say that you can recognize negative cognitive distortions like permission-giving thoughts and counter them with a more rational and less emotional mind?" Like girl, blink twice if your boss is holding your family hostage. She gave me some papers, detailing all the online courses they were signing me up for and options for more treatment they'd be sending me, a phone number to call and a phone appointment for the next Monday. I never got that call, the phone number is a hotline, I never got a single email from them, and given how shitty they really are at their jobs, I didn't feel the inclination to try and get those resources. If they even exist in the first place.

In summation, it was a place where it was physically impossible to get alcohol. That's really all I can say in its favor. Oh, and they let you have your cell phone.

Now on our timeline I'm back home. I want to kind of analyze why it's been easy for me.

I often said that my main goal of going to rehab was to lock me away from alcohol long enough for it to reset my brain. Most people thought that was naïve, but that's exactly what happened. But I'm well aware that my experience of "instantly became sober and literally hasn't had a single hard day in 3 months" is absurdly unusual.

I put this down to a few things. Firstly, I'm on seven different meds for my mental health. Almost all of them have their effects dulled or even eliminated when you drink. So when I noticed my mood, fatigue, memory, concentration etc all getting better at once - right about as I left rehab, I don't think it would be a stretch to say that all those meds started working properly.

Secondly, I've been keeping myself busy, but that's something I've always been good at. Now I specifically choose to undertake projects that will eat up a lot my time and put me in a state of flow. I recently made an entire card game from scratch, and let me tell you, I didn't think of alcohol for a week.

Thirdly, my other goals now get in the way of alcohol. I'm getting old and my body is deteriorating. But I've always wanted to do just one last season of gymnastics. Well, I need to lose weight for that to happen. I've already lost 35 pounds, and after another 20 I'll be ready to go. Also, I used to spend more on alcohol per month than rent. Even though I've done a few shopping sprees lately, I haven't come remotely close to how much I was spending before.

I want it more than anything. I want to be sober more than I want one night of "fun" that will more likely than not lead me back to where I was a year ago. I never want to need anything as much as I needed alcohol.

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

A lot of people, myself included, worried about the fact that I work at a bar as a cook, but honestly the entire time I'm there I'm thinking about food, not alcohol. If I'm hanging out with some regulars before/after, I can watch them drink and be perfectly fine with my coffee, because the coffee is $2, and I used to spend $20 after every work shift.

I also decided in rehab to start taking better care of myself as best I could. This started with getting my second vax which I'd been putting off, then an eye appointment, then new glasses, then a dentist appointment where I was informed I need to do $3000 worth of work on my implant that's erroding my bone matter, so that sucks, but I caught it early. I've also been meditating every day. In just 3 months, I've made pretty big improvements to my self-care and my daily routine.

One of my fears about sobriety was "missing out" on "having fun". A few days ago, all my housemates got together to play Mario Party, and it was kind of my first night doing something social while sober. It was a breath of fresh air - I wasn't constantly running to piss, I didn't worry about running out of alcohol, I didn't get sloppy and obnoxious as I can sometimes do. I even came very very close to winning my first game of MP. When I reflected on the night, I realized that, if I'd been getting drunk the whole time, I would've sucked at the minigames, been a hindrance to anyone unfortunate enough to be teamed with me, and likely would've stopped caring about the game itself after the first few turns.

Yesterday I was making my 4th pot of coffee of the day when I realized there was a full glass of wine just sitting on the counter. I had absolutely no idea where the hell it came from - nobody in my house drinks wine. I shrugged and poured that sweet sweet bean juice. It was only when I sat down and took a sip of coffee did I find myself thinking automatically, "this tastes so much better than wine". I only realized then that it had been rose wine, the only kind I've ever been able to tolerate. It was the ultimate moment of possible temptation, and the thought of just chugging that glass - as I may've done in the past - didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so glad to be where I am. I'm about to undergo some serious financial changes - i.e. going absolutely broke - but drinking isn't gonna help that, so I'm cautiously optimistic.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

#rehab #alcoholism #alcohol tw #sam #recovery #sobriety

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 4 years

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what do you think the winx's biggest character flaws are? like, not in their writing, just like how someone can come off as cold or standoffish accidentally or don't have a brain-to-mouth filter or any insecurities really (not for the au, i'm geniunely interested on your take on their characters)

I think once you disregard all of the stuff that's a side effect of the writing you do lose quite a few flaws which are primarily just writers making characters dumb and obtuse for The Drama, but the flaws left are still pretty connected to the writing.

It's been a while since I've re-watched the show, (I'll have to make time for that at some point this year (happy 2020 btw)) so I'm kind of at the point where I'm forgetting how the canon characterisation is, so some of this might be the fanon slipping in. Apologies.

But primary flaws from my POV?:

Stella is pretty self-absorbed, she's very focused on her image to the point where she can say some hurtful stuff because she's forgotten how to empathise with the people around her in her pursuit of 'the perfect 'it' girl'. I feel like that comes from a childhood we only get hints about, she's spent so long trying to become what people want, she's failed to become someone people like.

She's not unlikable, she's just given up substance for style, and it can make her act childish and spoiled at times, and she can't (or won't bother to) read the room before speaking.

It's something she was getting over in the earlier seasons, being around the Winx she was learning to tone down her need to be The Popular Girl and empathise more, but unfortunately, the writing is intrinsically linked, and this trait became Flanderised to the point of parody by season 7.

Bloom is incredibly self-righteous, she believes she's always in the right, even when she's not. Despite some early self-doubt, she believes she knows better than everyone else to a dangerous degree. Within minutes of passing Diaspro in the hall at Red Fountain, she'd decided with no evidence but her hunch that Diaspro was Icy in disguise. Rather than ask around about the young woman sitting with royals who didn't seem to find her presence odd or suspicious, Bloom tricked Diaspro into a private place and attacked her with no further questioning. Despite the fact that Bloom had asked 'Icy' under false pretences that 'Icy' would have absolutely every reason to doubt, Bloom decided she was right and went full steam ahead.

The problem isn't that she's self assured and confident, it's that The Drama, Bloom never considers the possibility that she could be wrong about something, and most of the time she's right about things, which makes the whole thing worse because it lets the confidence become arrogance with no one the wiser until things go Wrong.

But the writing likes to sweep that under the rug. It also feeds into part of her Drama with Sky, she's convinced that X is happening to affect their relationship and they're doomed and blah blah blah, and rather than consider the possibilities and even try to wait until she talks to Sky she stews and works herself into a (self justified) anger which makes it harder for the duo to communicate. (The relationship Drama is not all on her, but it's not entirely on Sky either. Just mostly, because he's a jealous cheater type.)

Aisha is kind of a mix of Stella and Bloom, she's selfish. No, that's the wrong word, she's very 'my way or the highway, you're with me or against me' in her world view, she's convinced a lot of the time that her way is the 'best' way. But again I think that was a product of her youth that was being tempered until the writing got in the way.

She spent so much of her life having to 'go it alone' I don't think she ever entirely got out of that mind set, a small part of her always had that instinct of 'how do I do this by myself, what's best for me,' rather than 'how do I help this get done, what's best for us'.

Not to say she was uncooperative, she integrated to the team really well, (and this is where the 'I haven't watched the show in ages' really starts being a problem because) but I feel like by the time she was finally letting go of this completely, she was being forced face first into “my boyfriend is dead now, time to rage for a few hours and then spend a season or two being angry and hating all male life”.

Musa had a similar problem, she was also so quick to anger. And yes that came from a place of deep hurt and trauma, but she never really got over that. Someone does something that might be considered a slight against her (or her friends) and boom: rage time.

Again the writing brushed it off or justified it, but Musa has anger issues that sit pretty tight with trust issues. She and Riven have been dating for a few years, she sees him talking with another girl and 'he's cheating there's no other explanation, he is about to be sorry!'

It doesn't help that the writing is always pulling that shit, but the fact that it always turns out to be nothing, or nothing more than foot-in-mouth disease, this shouldn't be her first assumption.

Tecna and Flora are a little harder to talk about because they feel like they're edged out a little for the louder personalities, and even up front, they feel like they're not as in the spotlight as the other girls.

Flora has self-confidence issues, but she's also a big sister, it has this weird clashing effect of Flora being almost a doormat at times, giving way to whatever everyone else is doing, and at others she's very much a caregiver. When Flora does put her foot down on an issue the, the writing almost seems to go out of its way to make her irrational about it.

I feel like the writers wanted a mediator type personality – how do I de-escalate this situation, how can I make sure this works out for the most number of people, how do we find a compromise – but they just gave her a 'yes man' personality instead of a 'I will go this far but you have to meet me half way' type.

Tecna's flaw, until the writing decided to disregard personality for boys, was that she was a very logical person, her entire world was run on strict rules and regulations, it was a safe environment. She comes to Alfea and bam, all the chaos and she couldn't quite get the hang of it. It runs parallel to Aisha's flaw, in that Tecna's upbringing has embedded this sense of restrain and regulation in her, and when this runs counter to how she's certain they should be, she digs her heels in and doesn't let up.

Basically she's very stubborn, and if she's convinced she's right she'll need in-arguable proof to change her mind.

For the most part, their flaws are positive traits that were done wrong, or taken too far in the wrong direction. (from my perspective at least.)

#winx #winx club #winx alt con #kind of?#busy-saving-the-universe #I got an Ask!#Asking Alternix #personality flaws #headcanon #meta #I guess?

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words-writ-in-starlight · 6 years

Note

starlight! starlight!!! you're one of the few people I know who reads toby daye and pls I need to yell with someone about night and silence because IT WAS SO GOOD I'M DYING I HAD TO PUT THE BOOK DOWN AND WALK AWAY SEVERAL TIMES

@maelace asked:

Have you read the new October Daye book yet? Because oh my goodness I must know what you think!

Y’ALL

Y A L L

LET’S HAVE A CHAT

OKAY FOLKS

So, some FAIRLY INCOHERENT thoughts about Night and Silence, which I keep calling Nights and Silences because my brain really likes them plurals I guess:

FUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! FUUUUUUUCK AMANDINE!!!!!! I HATE HER SO MUCH!!!!!! SHE DOES NOT APPEAR ONCE AND YET I AM CONSUMED WITH RAGE

Seanan does such amazing work on all kinds of mental illness stuff, which I think I’ve discussed before re: Toby Daye and her ongoing upward mobility, but fuck the entire Tybalt plotline was so crushing. That’s what it’s like, is the thing, to watch someone you love retreating from you and not be able to do anything about it because you don’t want to hurt them worse, and I cheered out loud when he came back, and asking Ginevra to come stand in as regent was such a bittersweet scene because on the one hand yes Tybalt my love take care of yourself, but on the other hand I just want him to be okay. (FUCK Amandine, by the way)

I would die for Quentin, just kind of in general, but I’m specifically really delighted with the subplot of “Quentin thinks Toby could do better than this arrogant tomcat,” and I’m so proud of my best bisexual prince son for calling Tybalt and apparently just ripping into a King with all the worst swears Toby has ever taught him. I can’t goddamn wait for the King of the Westlands to be this charming, kind-hearted knight-ling whose impeccable etiquette and noble bearing is deeply and profoundly at odds with the fact that he has really kind of absorbed Toby’s problem-solving techniques.

Aside: there’s nothing I want more than for this series to go on long enough for the Court of the Westlands to be scandalized by their young king jumping up from his throne and hugging a grumpy changeling dressed in a blood-drenched leather coat without regard for his fine silk shirt. Even more than that, picture the scene. It’s the coronation of High King Quentin Sollys, attended by royalty and the highest celebrities of Faerie, Sir October Daye grinning fit to split her face with her husband Tybalt and her adopted nephew, the recently ascended King of Dreaming Cats, all looking ready to die from pride. Quentin’s parents are both crying perfect beautiful tears, as Daoine Sidhe do, and he’s about to be crowned and presented to the people and it’s great and then-- The ceremony is already underway when the door opens again to admit the Luidaeg, as her most terrifyingly Firstborn self, scowling like a storm cloud and gowned like a hurricane, and everyone is fucking terrified for a moment as she sweeps up the aisle toward the dais. And then she breaks into a smile and holds out her hands to the Crown Prince, and Quentin laughs and rushes into her arms as he cries “I thought you said couldn’t make it!” And everyone has a moment of religious fear when the sea witch pets his hair fondly and straightens his shirt and then presses a kiss to his forehead and declares to the room at large “You will be a king like none that Faerie has seen in many centuries, because you have a heart as strong and fair and kind as any I have ever seen.”

No one’s sure if it’s a blessing or a prophecy or just a moment of deeply unforeseen maternal affection from the goddamn Luidaeg, but suddenly the sea witch comes to visit the High King on a semi-regular basis and Quentin is delighted and...well, she was right.

Speaking of people I love, I love Danny? The best rock boy? He just wants Toby to talk about her feelings, it’s so sweet, I hope they invite him to the wedding so I can read about an eight-foot suit-wearing granite troll sobbing into a handkerchief about how proud he is of Toby.

I ALSO LOVE MAY, God, give me her and Jazz getting married please. Also I would love to know more about Jazz--maybe a book with the core mystery including Jazz’s flock of Ravenmays?

SOME TAM LIN SHIT GOIN’ DOWN IN THIS BOOK, I GOT A LOT TO SAY

We all know I’m a fucking weak bitch for Tam Lin retellings. Tam Lin being a lying piece of shit isn’t especially novel, but I LOVE the idea of Janet being the villain of the piece, however unintentionally? I’m honestly enthralled. Bitch...give me a novel...make the Luidaeg the main character and let me weep bitter tears for my beloved sea witch....

You know how I just had a whole bit about “Fuck Amandine” up there? I stand by it. Furthermore, FUCK JANET. Every time she gets nasty with Toby I puff up like an angry cat.

Incidentally, both Janet and Amandine had a (terrible) daughter they doted on, and when their daughter slipped away, they went out and got a replacement that they tried to force to be completely and entirely mortal, without regard for what their replacement wanted or what would be best for them--and ultimately, the person who took the most damage as a result of their selfishness was Toby both times. Janet is, I guess, slightly better because she seems to at least care about Gillian, but she’s still...weirdly possessive? She focuses a lot on how Gillian is hers, and hottest of hot takes, love and possession are not the same thing.

Sign me up for front row seats to all of Toby’s family losing their shit over how Janet treats her. Sign me up for seats in the goddamn orchestra pit when, having started to realize that, actually, Toby did not bail on her, and that Toby is actually a great person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship on Gillian’s terms, and that Janet actively arranged events to drive Toby out of Gillian’s life and then convinced Gillian that Toby didn’t love her, Gillian fucking Comes For Janet’s Whole Life.

Again, the Luidaeg is dear to my heart beyond words, so honestly the fact that she saved Toby all the way back in An Artificial Night by breaking Michael’s Ride like Janet broke Maeve’s, right down to singing the ballad of Tam Lin to hold the magic in place...not to sound like a little old white lady, but that shit is breathtaking, yo. Talk to me forever about how Toby is the first family the Luidaeg has loved and been loved by in a long time, about how the Luidaeg used the same ancient magic that destroyed her life to save this woman who wasn’t yet her favorite niece from the man who used to be her beloved brother, about how the Luidaeg’s entire life is about taking the skins of tragedies and making something new.

Anyway, on to non-Tam Lin things. Gillian...honey...you’ve been so lied to by so many people. Toby is the only parent who ever gave Gillian a choice in which life she wanted to live, and it’s so sad. All Gillian focuses on in the blood memories Toby sees is how much her car represents freedom and safety and...oh honey. Oh baby girl. If Janet and Cliff aren’t careful, now that Gillian knows that they manipulated the truth about Toby to completely take her away from Gillian, she’s going to straight up buck their rules and leave. (I...want Gillian to live with the Luidaeg? The only full Selkie in history to have the blessing of the sea witch, living with both feet in Faerie and getting coffee with her mother on weekends, turning the full count of Small Children Who Adore The Luidaeg from one to two. Let the Luidaeg be Gillian’s weird aunt.)

LET TOBY HAVE HER DAUGHTER BACK. On Gillian’s terms, because Toby wouldn’t want it any other way, but God, just let them have a relationship. Let Gillian meet someone who doesn’t have Jocelyn’s blind hero worship or the Luidaeg’s ingrained sense of honor and who will tell her that her mom, A, did not voluntarily leave her, and, B, is legitimately rad as fuck. And then let them start with awkward weekly coffee dates that turn into an awkward dinner at Toby’s house that turns into a slightly less awkward trip to the movies or something and so on and so forth until they’re close and Gillian understands how much Toby loves her and Toby understands that sometimes it’s okay to push for a relationship. Because Toby’s willing to do the work, but she’s not willing to push for the relationship because she believes Gillian doesn’t want her around, but Gillian only thinks that way because she believes Toby abandoned her, and the only way that vicious loop is going to change is if Toby actually pushes the boundaries for long enough to explain.

It’s so adorable how Toby thinks Quentin’s gonna be her last squire. My boy’s going to be gone for two months before Toby comes back to the house with a baker’s dozen children and a mulish expression. Within a hundred pages she goes from “I’m never having another squire because I’m so unfit for this” to “I should reopen Home and run it myself” and I just. I love her so much. She’s so dumb. She has such a good heart and she’s so dumb. I’d die for her. Every fifteen pages in any Toby Daye book I just end up crooning “You’re so stupid, I love you so much” to the pages while Toby fails to notice, again, what an incredible person she is. I’ve loved watching her grow so much, I’m getting weepy here.

OH MY GOD, AND THE NOVELLA?

HOLY SHIT, THAT JUST. DESTROYED MY WHOLE SOUL. EXACTLY EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED FROM A STORY ABOUT A NEW SELKIE. I FEEL LIKE THIS GIVES A LOT OF SUPPORT TO MY HEADCANON THAT SELKIES HAVE TERRIBLE DREAMS ABOUT BEING CLUTCHED IN BLOODY HANDS WHILE A VOICE WEEPS FOR THEIR MOTHER IN THEIR EAR. I WANT FIRTHA AND GILLIAN TO BE BEST FRIENDS. I LOVE HOW DIFFERENTLY FIRTHA OBVIOUSLY TREATS GILLIAN, THE FIRST SELKIE IN HISTORY WHO DID NOT CHOOSE THIS. I LOVE HOW MUCH ATTENTION IS GIVEN TO THE CHOICE THAT SELKIES MAKE, TO TAKE THE SKIN AND ALL IT CARRIES OR DIE.

I LOVE SELKIES IN THIS UNIVERSE. I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE LUIDAEG CALL IN THAT FUCKING DEBT. HOLY SHIT.

#october daye #night and silence #toby daye #obviously this is all spoilers so don't come crying to me if you read it before the book #also: i said i wasn't going to be cogent ahead of time so don't @ me #i need to write a fic about liz after she becomes a full selkie because...y'all #i'm so married to that headcanon it's not even funny #it means so much to me that gillian is the world's first truly innocent selkie #the only selkie in the WORLD who has the true and unflinching love of the sea witch #the luidaeg loves all the selkies in a way--loves them for keeping her children alive and hates them for her children's sake #but gillian...with gillian it isn't complicated #gillian is the daughter of the only close relative the luidaeg has who loves her #true and unflinching #and gillian is her mother's daughter so of course the luidaeg loves her #and gillian's hands are clean and she speaks with firtha and she has firtha's skin on her back #and the luidaeg can't help but love her for all those things #god y'all i got A LOT of feelings about these folks #thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to just yell profusely about this book goddamn #idiot teenagers with a queue #redjayson #asked and answered

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

Text

Snow Storm

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers/Loki

Rating: PG

Original Idea: I wrote this a couple days before Thanksgiving when this was going around Tumblr and picked one that would feasibly work.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I very rarely write Loki one-shots on this blog. Often I submit them to Imagine Loki with one of their imagines, but this one was just all me without any of their inspiration. This is one of the longest one-shots I’ve ever written for this blog, just over 3,000 words. Because I felt the need to have context *blows raspberry*

^^^^^

Loki and I wrapped our coats tighter around our bodies and ran out of the store to my car, feeling snow lightly strike our faces. I unlocked the SUV from a few feet away and we piled in. I jammed the key in the ignition, turned it, and cranked up the heater. “Is this you?” I asked him as I struggled to find my seatbelt behind me, referring to the weather.

“I thought it was you,” he commented.

I gave him a sarcastic look. “I'm not a Frost Giant!” I retorted sarcastically.

If anyone else had said that to him, he probably would have unsheathed his dagger and stabbed them remorselessly. As it was, I said it—and for some reason he had a soft spot for me—so he actually grinned. “Alright, fair point,” he conceded.

“C’mon, let’s get this stuff over to Tony and Pepper before this storm gets any worse,” I said, backing out of the parking space and beginning the drive over to the secret Stark apartment near where Queens, Brooklyn, and Manhattan were closest to each other, but on the Queens/Brooklyn side of the river. In fact, the large apartment was in Queens but Brooklyn was close.

“I thought you were skilled at driving in the snow,” Loki pointed out. “You grew up in a place with bad winters, yes?”

“Oh yeah. I'm great at driving in the snow—even without four-wheel drive. I've been driving in the snow almost every winter since I was sixteen so I'm used to it. The problem is, a lot of other people in this city aren’t as used to it. And New York is so crammed that they don’t really have anywhere to put all the snow once it’s been plowed. That’s what worries me,” I replied, gripping my steering wheel so tight my knuckles were probably white under my gloves.

“Fair point,” Loki repeated.

I drove through the borough, hating every second of it. I was more comfortable that I wasn’t in Manhattan, but that didn’t mean I liked driving in New York. I really didn’t. I avoided it whenever possible.

We reached the secret New York side residence of Tony and his fiancée and dropped off several tote bags-worth of party supplies that he’d asked me to pick up for an event he refused to share any information for. I was guessing it was the Avengers Holiday Party. Tony thanked us and sent us on our way.

“I’ll take you back to your place,” I told Loki as we got in the car. In the last several minutes of unloading alone the snow had gotten heavier, now sticking more firmly to the ground.

“Alright,” Loki said as he did up his seatbelt.

Loki maintained an apartment in Queens that was as close to Manhattan as it could be—and he’d had it since before the Battle of New York several years before. I wasn’t sure why he had it, but he visited Earth enough to warrant keeping it, I guessed.

I pulled into his parking space—since he didn’t have a car and told me to—and parked the car. “Well, thanks for running so many errands with me today. I’ll see you… tomorrow, right?”

Loki peered out the window. “It’s really coming down out there,” he observed. “Why don’t you come in for a while? See if the storm slows down.”

“Nah. I'm fine,” I dismissed, convincing myself more than him.

“No. Seriously. I have a bad feeling about you driving all alone in the dark in a storm.”

“Loki—”

“Please,” he interrupted.

I blinked in surprise. Manners? From Loki? Well, that wasn’t too uncommon since he’d… reformed, for lack of a better word, but he sounded so sincere and genuinely concerned that it completely threw me off.

“I’ll make some cocoa too,” he added as an afterthought.

I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Okay. I’ll come in and wait for it to lighten up,” I relented.

As I turned the car off and searched the backseat for my bag with one arm bent awkwardly backward, Loki circled around the front of the car and opened my door for me. “My lady,” he said.

I snorted as I let him help me out so I wouldn’t fall. “Thank you, Your Highness,” I replied as I locked my car.

We both chuckled as he held my hand on the way inside since I nearly slipped on my car’s wet foothold. Once we were through the door a blast of heat hit us. I sighed with relief at the sensation of my skin thawing out. Loki let go of my hand to allow me to take off my gloves—and to press the call button for the elevator.

Up in his apartment, we shed our coats and Loki made cocoa—heating the milk on the stove instead of in the microwave. Which I thought was strange but decided not to say anything about. Some people just made hot cocoa that way. I'd seen it before but it was still strange.

While the milk was heating up he dug out a wonderfully soft green blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Your face is red,” he observed, leaning against the counter across from me.

“Just cold,” I replied with a shrug.

When he finished the cocoa, he handed me a mug. I wrapped my hands around it, absorbing as much heat from it as I could.

He held up the TV remote. “You don’t mind do you? Just want to check the weather.”

“Not at all. Go ahead.”

He turned on the TV and flicked it over to the ten o’clock news. “—freak snowstorm that’s currently hitting New York City. The worst of it seems to be in Queens, which is great for all those in Manhattan, Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Staten Island, but not so much for those in Queens. Since this one sprang from nowhere, we can’t estimate an inch-amount, but given how hard it’s coming down right now, I'd say we might reach over a foot of snow. I hope everyone’s home and safe or following reasonable precautions. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up at all tonight, so sorry to anyone who had plans,” the weather lady said.

Loki turned the TV off. “That doesn’t sound good,” he remarked nonchalantly.

I chewed my lip, nervous. “Maybe I should head home before it gets any worse,” I muttered.

“No. Just wait and see if it lets up a little. If it doesn’t, you're more than welcome to stay here.”

“Thanks Loki, but really, I should get home.”

“You just got here. At least finish your cocoa first,” he protested.

I took a sip of the mostly-full mug. “Okay,” I relented.

“While you're here, is it alright if I pick your brain a bit?” he asked.

“Sure. Can’t guarantee I’ll be any help, but sure.”

He grinned. “Thank you. I, er, I was wondering how you maintain your relationship with your family. Mine is just sort of… always in chaos. And since my mother died a few years ago… nothing’s been the same.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, taking a sip of the cocoa—which was delicious—to give myself a moment to think. “Really the best way is open communication and unconditional love.”

Loki scoffed. “Open communication has never been my family’s forte,” he informed me.

“That explains why it’s so chaotic,” I said, punctuating my point with another drink.

We talked a while more while I drank my cocoa. Loki sipped at his but didn’t seem too invested in it. I guessed it was because he was a Frost Giant under his Asgardian appearance and too much heat was probably uncomfortable for him. I didn’t ask if I was right or not, because no one was allowed to ask him about being a Frost Giant, not even me.

At some point we migrated from the kitchen to the living room, sitting next to each other on the sofa almost too close for anyone else’s comfort. We just always had done so since we felt safe in each other’s company—neither of us would judge the other.

Loki wrapped his arm around me as we stared out the window. If anything, the snow was just falling harder.

“Why did you choose me?” Loki asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you first joined the Avengers, you made friends with everyone, and yet time and again you choose to spend your time with me—the maniac who destroyed half of Manhattan. Why?”

I made a face. “We’re more alike than you think,” I admitted.

Loki snorted. “I don’t think we could be any more different, darling. You're kind and sweet and gentle. And I'm—”

“Cold and bitter?” I suggested. Loki nodded. I scoffed. “Perhaps you are. But Thor has told me many stories of your childhood. You were undoubtedly the nicer of the two of you. I know what it’s like to be the younger sibling of a person who takes up all the attention of everyone else, trust me. I may not be as broken as you are, but I'm not as whole as you think.” I brushed my hair out of my face. The snow had made the top of it slightly damp. Then I set my hand on Loki’s knee. “We’re not as different as you think. You haven't seen me in a battle yet. And let’s just say I'm an Avenger for a reason.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yup.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I always figured you pitied me.”

“Maybe I did once. But you're smart and have a better heart than you let the others see, and I liked that more than I like the others. Don’t get me wrong I love the team, but I can get a little fed up with Captain Boy Scout, Iron Arrogant, Prince Dramasgard, Cryptic Widow, Dr. BanNerd, and Hawkdry. How refreshing to have someone more like me around.”

We lapsed into silence, watching the snow fall.

I ran out of hot chocolate and glanced at my watch. 11PM. “Oh boy it’s late. I should really be getting home.”

As I moved to get up, Loki took my hand—not my wrist as he usually would. “Don’t go. It’s dangerous. I have a really bad feeling about you driving this late in this storm. Please. Just stay the night.”

“I don’t have… like, pajamas or a toothbrush or anything.”

He smirked. “Lucky you I have extras.”

“Oh yeah—like your pajamas would fit me,” I remarked sarcastically.

Loki chuckled. “Don’t worry, they will. They’ll just be a little long.” He stood up and guided me by the hand to his bedroom. I'd been in his room a few times. It was painted a pale goldenrod with a rich maroon bedspread and armchair and mahogany furniture. It never failed to make me feel slightly awkward to be in his room. I didn’t belong in there.

He rifled through the top drawer of his dresser and extracted some pajamas—or sleeping clothes as he’d called them once. He passed them to me. “Try these on. They should fit.”

I went into the bathroom and stripped out of my jeans and sweater and pulled the pajamas on, leaving my bra on underneath.

The shirt was so long it fell to my knees. It was green and softer than any clothing I'd ever worn before—softer than anything had a right to be. It made me sleepy just to put it on. The loose brown-and-green plaid trousers were way too long on me, but at least they fit even though I was nowhere near as slim as Loki was.

Once I left the bathroom, Loki offered me a brand-new toothbrush still in the packaging. “There’s toothpaste in the drawer on the right,” he informed me. I accepted it, brushed my teeth, and then went out into the living room, readying a throw pillow on the sofa and the blanket he’d given me before searching for a few more blankets. He was a Frost Giant—he kept his apartment pretty cold. I did too at night, but I liked being bundled up.

He was so quiet and I was so wrapped up in my quest for blankets that I didn’t realize he’d returned.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

“Getting ready for bed,” I answered confusedly.

He pointed over his shoulder. “No, you're staying in the bedroom,” he countered.

“No I'm not,” I replied. “I'm sleeping on the couch.”

“No you're not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Darling, you are going to stay in the bedroom. It’s just one night.”

“But that’s your room.”

“That I rarely stay in.”

“But it’s still your bedroom—and I'd be lying if I didn’t admit that would make me feel a little weird.”

“Well would it help you if we just shared the bedroom?” Loki exclaimed in frustration.

“Yes,” I said decisively. My eyebrows scrunched. “Wait… what?”

“It’s settled then. We’ll just share.”

Filthy manipulator, I thought angrily to myself. “No,” I pressed. “I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

But Loki wasn’t listening. He’d already grabbed my wrist—and I realized he was in pajamas remarkably similar to the ones I was borrowing—and was dragging me gently back to the bedroom. “Too bad. You’ve already settled the matter,” he argued.

“Loki…” I warned.

“Look, darling, it’s one night and I doubt I’ll even touch you—especially not without your consent. The bed is far more comfortable than the sofa anyway.” As he spoke, he pulled open the bedroom door and let me go, inviting me in with a sweep of his hand. I screwed up my face in frustration. If I tried to go back to the sofa, he’d just catch me and pull me back, and he was so stubborn that I wouldn’t be able to talk him out of this—for some reason—so I debated for a moment before crossing the threshold.

He came in too. “Which side would you prefer?” he asked, leaving the door open.

“Don’t care. Farthest from the window is fine,” I answered.

“Alright then.” He flung the covers on the side I'd chosen down, circled the bed, and crawled in on the side next to the window. I rolled my eyes, turned off the light, and got in.

I felt far more comfortable in the darkness. Like he couldn’t judge me if he couldn’t see me. Wearing his pajamas—which were ridiculously comfortable—was a bit odd, but I was getting so tired that I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I rolled onto my left side, so I was facing his back, and closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep.

^^^^^

Loki sensed her go to sleep as her body relaxed. A grin tugged on the corners of his face as he gently rolled onto his other side to look at her.

In sleep she was peaceful. She looked adorably small in her borrowed Asgardian pajamas—which were also too long on him—and her long eyelashes looked like wisps of shadows on her face. Her gentle breathing made her chest and side rise and fall.

She had no idea. It was kind of adorable.

Loki wasn’t the God of Lies for nothing. Of course it was his Frost Giant powers that were making the snow storm so severe. He just… he just wanted her to stay. She was the only Midgardian he enjoyed being around. He felt like she never judged him. He liked her company more than any other currently-alive being’s—even his brother’s. She was just bright—both in the smart way and the happy way—and smiley. It made him feel better.

The God of Mischief grinned as he closed his eyes, adjusted his position slightly, and also fell asleep.

^^^^^

Warmth surrounded me when I woke up. Through my closed eyelids I could see morning light. Some sort of pressure was on my right arm—the side exposed to the air—and my forehead was brushing something soft.

I was really comfortable. The pajama trousers I was wearing were bunched up around my knees and the overlong shirt I wore was twisted around my body, but other than that, I didn’t even want to move. I could feel my hair under my face and my arm under a pillow that was too cushy to be mine. I used a firm pillow because otherwise my neck would ache.

Where was I? What was that pressure? I didn’t want to move—or wake up—but I was curious.

I peeled my eyes open—

And it took everything I had not to shriek from being startled.

Loki was peacefully sleeping only an inch from my face. My forehead had been brushing a lock of his hair. His arm was flung over my shoulder and his eyes were closed. I realized, up-close-and-personal, that his eyelashes were almost as long as mine.

Slowly, I eased out from under his arm, trying to keep him asleep.

Fail.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Morning beautiful,” he greeted.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me endearments when we’re just friends,” I commented.

“Are we, though? Just friends?”

“Um… yeah. I think we are.”

“Would you be open to more?”

“I'm not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” he asked blearily.

“Because we just woke up. I don’t make good choices when I just barely woke up,” I retorted, moving to climb out of the bed.

Loki gently took my hand and tugged me back. “Nooo,” he complained. “Stay. You're so warm.”

I snorted. “No I'm not. I generate so little body heat I get cold the second the temperature dips lower than seventy-three degrees.”

“And I'm a Frost Giant who generates little body heat myself, love. But together we’re nice and cozy.”

“If I wasn’t with you all night last night I'd wonder if you had a hangover or something,” I remarked. “You very nearly sound drunk. Honestly, where is this all coming from? Why are you asking me if I'd be open to more now?”

“Because sleeping next to someone for a long time promotes trust—and I've been mildly in love with you for months.”

“What?!”

#Snow Storm #Loki #Loki Imagine #Loki FanFiction #Avengers #Avengers Imagine #Avengers FanFiction #Marvel Imagine #Marvel #Marvel FanFiction

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tjay-writes · 4 years

Text

~BuckyXElina~

✍🏻 Author’s note: All MARVEL characters’ credit goes to marvel. Elina is a character I came up with. The stories from this series are from Elina’s POV. Thank you for giving it a read!

- Part 1 -

Bucky opened the door, looking tired but happy. He had recently bought the new apartment for us to shift in and was doing both of our work alone. I had helped him as much as I possibly could without him getting all over protective about me being 4 and a half months pregnant.

He wanted to go with me to the doctor but, I made him promise that he will stay at home as his arm surgery's pain kept on coming back again and again. I should've made him sleep somehow because he's up working again.

" Hey.. Come on in. I'm almost done getting the furniture and stuff in their places. Steve will be sending in some people to get the painting of the walls done. What did the doctor say? "

" Why are you working again? I heard you wincing in your sleep so, I told you to stay at home for resting, not for moving things around Buck. “ I crossed my arms and gave him a stern look. All it did was make him laugh quietly and that melted me, well almost.

" Yeah yeah, I know but, it's not hurting anymore. So, relax." He held my arms and nodded, " So, what did the doctor say about the test reports? “

I could feel the colour vanish from my face hearing his question. Thankfully, he had turned around to bring two chairs for us to sit.

" Well, we are having triplets and not twins. Two girls and a boy! The ultrasound before was confusing, apparently. " I forced my excitement.

" What?!? Seriously? ... I'm ... " He hugged me as delicately as he could, " I'm so happy! Thank you, Elina...I love you so much.. so much. “

My emotions were going to betray me but, I suppressed them back. This wall of mine has been up for a week almost now. Somehow, I had managed to convince Bucky that I was alright. Maybe, he thought it was one of the mood swings or something. He has been reading all about pregnancy lately. Almost too much.

" Buck... I need to tell you something.. " It was getting harder and harder for me to tell him, especially with him looking so happy. I firmly held my lower abdomen - which was now a visible bump.

" Yeah go on.. First sit. I'll go get some lemonade. "

I sat down and breathed deeply, trying hard to calm myself down. This could have been the best moment of my life; I'm having three babies and it’s with the love of my life, who is more happy than I’ve ever seen him.

" Here you go. " He swiftly took a sip of lemonade from his cup and handed me another. " I think we should call up our friends and let them know. Right? "

" Bucky... There is a complication. "

This seemed to slightly suck out the happiness from the room. He frowned, " What do you mean? “

" Remember while we were travelling, I almost fainted because of my headaches? “

" Yes... But, that was 'cause you were dehydrated.. right?"

I took a deep breath and blurted it out, " We thought so but,...well, I got a full body check-up done last week to be extra careful, and the tests detected a cyst in my brain."

I could see the shock clearly on his face as he tried to absorb it. Before he could ask something, I spoke again suddenly.

" A cyst could potentially turn into a tumour. Last week's test results located the cyst so, the doctor asked me to do a further test to see if it’s malignant or not. "

" And what did it say? " He asked quietly as he stood in front of me.

" It isn’t a tumour yet but it has a possibility of turning into a malignant one. The more time it's in there, the higher chance of it becoming more dangerous. That's why I was having those terrible headaches. " My voice was slightly shaking as I tried not to cry.

" Okay I mean um.. the doctor must have suggested something right? "

" The doctor said that removal of the cyst could turn out to be a major operation and wouldn't be healthy for our babies at this point. "

Bucky stood in silence - his chest heaving.

" Buck.. " I stood up and held his shoulders, " I'm not up for any operation until our babies are born. "

Bucky still didn't respond. He just clenched his teeth.

I went on, " I don't know whether you will support me in my decision or not but, this is what I’ve decided. There are three lives inside me and there’s you and trust me, that’s my strength to survive... I haven't ever loved anyone as much as I've loved you and now, our babies...Just say something please. ”

Bucky turned away and didn't say anything. My heart was sinking. Maybe I was wrong to believe that his love for me and my babies would be stronger than his fear of losing me. I could feel the tears streaming down my face. My head was already feeling heavy. I held my stomach tighter. My back was starting to hurt too.

" I understand..-" I swallowed to push back the tears, " that you don't want to talk about this. I .. had some work to get done anyway... "

" Wait..." His voice was quavering.

He looked at me and I could see his eyes - red with hurt.

I couldn't take it anymore. I held the chair with one hand, in hopes that it would slow down the pain, and I bursted out sobbing, covering my face with the other. Then, I felt two strong arms wound around me, slowly lifting the weight off of me. My face was right below his neck. I buried my face in his chest as our breaths started to calm each other down. It felt like eons before he broke the silence.

" I will support you no matter what. I swear. I'm so sorry I made you feel bad, even for a moment... this is a lot.. and I was angry because you waited for an entire week before telling me... "

" I just didn't know how or when to tell you...I couldn’t be the reason why you break down again. “

He dipped his head and said softly, " You are the one who held me together. How can you ever break me? I am stronger today because of you and I am never leaving your side. Never."

I couldn't help but, beam at him through my tears.

He continued, " We will get your operation done right after the delivery... Okay? And the doctor said that everything should be alright after the operation, right? "

" Yeah. " I genuinely was feeling lighter and my back was feeling better too since he was literally holding me up.

He pushed me away slightly to wipe off my tears first and then his own. " We should get you to lie down for a while. I’ll see if we can get some second opinions about this but we can do all that a little later. For now, I've got some name suggestions for our babies. " He weakly smiled.

I nodded as he ushered me into our future bedroom and made me lie down, with him sitting beside me.

He stroked my forehead and said, " I was thinking of Lily Hunter Barnes and Rosella Hunter Barnes for the girls. Steve Hunter Barnes for the boy... What do you think? "

I lightly touched his cheek and smiled, " Perfect. "

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dandystones · 5 years

Text

Yes means no.

***There are two parts to this long ass post because I didn't realise I had so much to say oops***

Setting boundaries, I recently learnt I've been terrible at that for most of my life.

I hate when people tell me what to do, to the point I'd do the exact opposite, but I always wanted validation. I sought it from everyone and their mothers because I never got it from myself.

The internet seems to talk a big game about how the universe will keep on sending you lessons in all it's glorious forms if we don't pick up on it; like how we always encounter the same toxic people and relationships, one after another.

It's funny when I recall them now.

***PART 1***

I like to think I've been very blessed when it came to friendship. All through my life, I've always felt that I made friends easily and had plenty of platonic support. However at different stages of my life, I've also noticed that despite all the good friends I surrounded myself with, I've always had that one person in my life who was just a little too self absorbed, borderline narcisstic and treaded way too close for comfort.

For reference, I'm going to list some people but not their whole names: my mum >> X >> O >> H >> C

The most coincidental thing I've come to realise is 1) that each person had a specific time in my life where they rose to prominence, or in other words, where they suffocated me the most 2) the end of each 'stage of prominence' was the start of the next. For example, when I thought I'd finally stepped out of my mum's narcissistic shadow, X stepped and morphed into that narcisstic figure until I'd decided it was time to cut ties. Around the same time, I met O and she slowly morphed into that person.

Continously, I realise I've always had that one presence in my life and each person would stay for many years until a breaking point, after which I would draw the line and keep my distance. As a rough estimate, I took about 25 years to understand that this exhausting cycle of going through toxic loved one after another is simply a lesson of setting boundaries.

I came to this realization in the past 6-12 months because I was having a particular hard time adjusting at work and it was really tough to master the art of stakeholder management. I won't say I'm an expert now, but I've gotten much better at putting my foot down and helping people to understand how their basic (read: brainless) actions are making my job unnecessarily difficult and defying my work ethics. I started to understand the importance of setting my own boundaries because we can never assume anyone would know them if we don't speak it.

Around the same time, I noticed the last person in this cycle, C had started to transition out of her role as the narcisstic shadow in my life entirely on her own. I've never had that happen to me without having to ruthlessly cut ties before. It's like something just clicked. On hindsight, the lesson just made sense and perhaps because I understand what it is now, there was no longer a need for the lesson to remain.

I always thought I was good at saying no to people, because I didn't care what they think which is true for the most part, I don't care what strangers think. What I came to realise about myself was that I needed help saying no to non strangers, people I care about, the people I need in my life.

***PART 2***

The word 'no' carried too much grief and associated history with abuse and neglect. My parents never made it easy for me growing up; affection was a competition between myself and both my younger sisters. My father could never find balance at work, so he overcompensated by trying to take control of everything at home. Nothing I said nor did could ever please him, he was always angry about the tiniest thing.

Everything was someone else's fault; between denying me any help with school work because I didn't go to a school of his choice and completely beating my self esteem down because I dare ask him for any help to a seemingly insignificant act like him accidentally stepping on my toes at the supermarket, he would twist and mold all my words until they made him looked like a hero in his own fantasy, that I was beneath him, and that everything bad that happened in his life was my fault and no one else's.

You couldn't fight him with reason even if you tried to, because he wasn't fighting for anything, he just wanted to win and he would say anything to wear you down. Every night would end in the same way, a disgustingly heated verbal mess between him, myself and my mom; abuse of any kind is simply the cheap power you get when you destroy people for the sake of your ego.

My mum was completely helpless in that regard, she stayed the hell out of his way whenever he had an outburst, even if it meant leaving me to fend for myself. I refused to back down from the injustice and his words dug its claws deeper in my gut, every quarrel we had made me sick with anger because no matter how hard I tried to defend myself, every takeaway was how each of his mistakes were the result of my failures even if it had nothing to do with it.

This went on for years. I knew I couldn't run away because I was underage, financially unstable and still needed a roof above my head. I felt absolutely helpless and remember crying myself to sleep all the time, praying to God to take me away - away from here, away from being the family's punching bag, away to another universe where parents actually protected their children, built them up and supported them.

Growing up in an environment where your survival thrived from avoiding all the stressors that could result in rage meant that I became extremely cautious in expressing my needs and opinions out of a fear of of displeasing my parents. Every subsequent outburst was a slap in the face, a painful reminder of how abandoned and unsupported I was in this family.

This led to a series of bad behaviors where I was desperate to please and longed for a life devoid of rejection. For the parts of myself who had endured so much neglect, I just couldn't bare the same devastation over again. Putting myself second and others first was easy as long as they were happy. I had this belief that if I accidently let myself be honest, people wouldn't accept me and I couldn't risk letting my guard down again.

Over time, I started saying yes to everything I wanted to say no to. Yes means no, no came with a '... but I'll do this for you instead' to overcompensate my fear. Slowly but surely, I became exhausted from pleasing people all the time. I said yes to social events I didn't care to be at, I patiently listened to every word of every person who needed me even if they didn't care to be there for me, I helped every toxic person who saw an opportunity to exploit my time and kindness. Without realizing, I was unnecessarily deriving a form of validation from being a yes-girl, I didn't know how to say no. Beyond that I'd lost my sense of self because I didn't know if anyone would care about me if I stopped doing all these things.

This obviously manifested in many unhealthy coping mechanisms and constantly wanting to be alone because I felt that everyone around me wanted something from me I couldn't give. It became a toxic cycle of self harm, feeling absolutely hopeless and finding sick joy in dreaming about the many different ways to end my life. At age 17, I've never felt more alone.

Ive had to see a counsellor for prolonged periods of my life and thisemotional abuse was one of the key moments that contributed to it.

Recovery was one hella of a slippery slope and had relapsed so many times I've lost count. I was convinced my abuse had rewired my body's ability to understand what love was, all I felt was the fire of resentment, burning my insides with the anxiety of having to live out the rest of my life in a bubble of 'my mistakes'.

Through my counsellor, we had to un-learnt the act of being too harsh of myself, as a result of the years I spent projecting my dad's expectations on myself. Rewiring your brain to calm itself down when you're triggered is difficult but not impossible. There were many scenarios where I became aware of the fact that the voice in my head mimicked my dad's in giving all but bone crushing criticism, guilt tripping my every move and spiralling myself into depression again.

Re-learning the notion of 'giving myself to others' whilst being 'unapologetically myself' was interesting and refreshing. Mostly, my subconscious got better at unlearning the act of constantly censoring myself for the sake of others; how to live freely & become a more honest version of myself regardless of the people around me. Not in any manner that might be of harm to others though, just in a way that allows me to stop relying on other people’s validation to keep my spirits lifted.

Every relapse back then sunk me into my depression, harder. Looking back now, I'm glad I didn't give up even though the chance was present and tempting every step of the way. Everyday still feels like a challenge, but I get it now when people say it gets easier

#wfth #getting stronger

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