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writefightandflightclub · 10 months

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Santi +/x AuDHD!reader headcanons

(could be platonic or romantic - but written as not co-habiting)

Author’s note: maybe this is too niche, idk, but sometimes I like to think about the blorbos and how they’d interact with an AuDHD reader (because that’s me, so for obvious reasons). I headcanon that Santi is particularly compatible with a neurodivergent reader, maybe because I’m being self-indulgent… but also because why on earth would he not be? So here are a few poorly written / cobbled together thoughts which have been rattling around in my brain.

PLEASE NOTE: These are written in as general a way as I could manage (which may make it slightly less fulfilling, sorry, as it’s therefore lost specificity) but please note: since everyone who is AuDHD is so completely and vastly different, I couldn’t possibly have made this “fit” everyone’s experiences. Sorry if there are things you don’t relate to, but I tried to include a few more common experiences in there so hopefully there’s at least something.

Also! If you have any hcs of your own (for any Oscar/Pedro characters) PLEASE share them because I want more ND!reader content out there! 😀🧡 (Will also consider ND!reader requests if you have them, provided I think I can do it justice!)

Warnings: brief mention of panic attacks / anxiety (Santi). Geared towards ways that Santi helps reader out - that’s where my head was at, so it is what it is. Broadly neuro-affirming, I’m not putting anyone down for any traits ofc, even if they do cause challenges sometimes! Hope that makes sense!

Santi is so organised and tidy. He can make a plan and execute it with great attention to detail (have you seen that storage locker?!). If you struggle to stay organised and keep the house tidy etc., Santiago will have no issue helping you out, whether it’s coming up with a routine, creating a system, or simply doing a quick blitz anytime he’s over at your house. He finds it sorta therapeutic anyway, and you never feel like he’s doing it because he judges you or the condition of your place. It’s just wired into him to find order. Hell, sometimes if you lose something around the place you call him to see if HE can remember where he last saw it, and usually he can. That military routine never really left him, even all those years later, so he’s a great constant for modelling structure!

Santi will FaceTime you to body-double whatever chores you want to complete. For example; you have a Wednesday evening tradition to call each other while you each fold the laundry, or do whatever else you need to get done. You do get things done, and he makes you laugh the whole time too. He sticks to this routine as much as he can, no matter what else he has going on, or which country he is in. He loves this quality time with you, and to him it’s just a bonus that it helps you out.

Running late to meet him? He’s learned to bring a book and a flask of coffee along. He’ll wait, you’re worth it.

Sensitive to noise? Santi can’t relate fully, but he knows what it’s like for some sounds to instil negative effects. (See how this veteran is feeling around the fireworks at 4th July and you’ll get it.) He will respect your need for quiet when you need it. Besides, he’s slowed down a lot since his younger years and more and more enjoys the little things like curling up and reading a book. That said, if you want some stimulation and fancy hitting a dive bar with blasting music, or wanna dance in the kitchen, he can also be convinced. He has the range to accommodate all of your sensory preferences, your routines and your impulsive ideas, and he’ll gladly follow your flow.

He’s a magician at regulating you. This man is observant and can read people like nobody’s business, so he knows when you’re getting overstimulated or overwhelmed - often before anyone else does. When he sees it happen he’s happy to help you calm your nervous system however you need. Whether that’s a soft / firm hug, distracting you by talking to you in his soothing voice, working-out with you, letting you fidget with him - his hands, bracelets, whatever - or borrowing a texture of his, like playing with his soft curls.

Better believe this guy sends you texts throughout the day to check that you’ve eaten / drank water.

If you’re running late to an appointment and he’s free he will 100% drive you.

He loves to cook and always “accidentally” makes extra, so that you always have a stock of tasty “emergency” meals in your freezer for days when you don’t have the energy / functioning to cook.

Don’t wanna make the phone call? Santi will do it for you. Besides, he can charm the socks off of anyone so it’s probably best he deals with it anyway.

Santi is charming but he also has the ability to be straight down the line in his communication, especially with you as he trusts you so much. That means you rarely have to guess what he’s thinking or feeling about any particular thing. He lays it out for you and that’s super helpful. Of course, he can be closed off about his more complex, deeper emotions, but that’s something you seem to bring out of him - at least, in ways that no-one else has managed. You’ve had plenty of deep heart-to-hearts with the man and you know you can count on each other in a pinch, whether you need comfort or to vent about something you have going on.

Santi experiences panic attacks and anxiety and can relate to some of the ways you also struggle. He gets that people’s brains work in different ways and he’s far from judgemental about that. You’ve never once made him feel lesser when he’s been struggling and he will NEVER do that to you either.

Your sense of humour cracks him up no end.

He loves that you can be “blunt” / direct / a little “too honest”. He always knows where he stands with you, and for someone as (secretly) insecure as Santi that’s no small thing.

If you indicate you are burnt-out… he BELIEVES you. No questions asked - except for what you need, of course.

Forgotten something? Santi has started carrying spares. This man is nothing if not prepared, and now that simply extends to you. Whatever day-to-day items you carry (or often lose) he makes a mental note of the item and brand and buys multiple - for his place, his truck, wherever.

This man has social skills galore, so you can lean on him at parties, or in whatever situation if you’re feeling uncomfy or want a “way in” to a conversation. You can even leave him to do all the talking if you like, though of course he will enable you to have the floor if he can see that you want it. On the flip side, if you talk a lot, he is absolutely listening and rapt with whatever you are coming out with.

Don’t always look him in the eye? That’s okay. The man is so beautiful he’s used to people not being able to stare directly at him 😝 Besides, he finds you and your mannerisms completely charming.

He’s deadly, sure, but overall he’s actually quite a calm and not hugely reactive person - especially in a crisis. That can be so helpful in balancing you out on some occasions where you may react in a heightened way, or be emotional or worried / catastrophising about something. Despite his ability to skip town at the drop of a hat - before deciding to stick around - he does have the ability to be pretty steady and stable and sometimes that’s what you need.

He appreciates you and everything you do for him. He helps you out sometimes but you never feel “in his debt”. He is endlessly praising all of your amazing strengths and attributes (amidst some fond teasing ofc) and appreciates all that you are as well as all you do for him, and he couldn’t ask for a better person to have in his corner.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #AuDHD!reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #neurodivergent!reader

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safetycar-restart · 11 months

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hiiii!!! i hope you’re having a wonderful day, my brain has been consumed by all things Oscar and Logan so here are some thoughts that i had (sorry if they aren’t very cohesive), my brain is being rotted by cramps

Logan loves to come home to you and Oscar after bad race and just help make dinner or do something that he feels like make him “worthy” of your love. (I think I’ve said before that I feel like Logan can struggle with feeling like he’s worthy after a bad race)

Logan likes to try and cook but he isn’t the greatest

Oscar likes to see you and Logan wearing his clothes (especially his dom, but that’s a different thought)

Logan and Oscar have to at least be touching during a scene (like holding hands)

The way to fix Oscar’s jealousy (sometimes, it’s not a fool proof plan) is to have scene that mainly focus’s on how much you and logan love and appreciate him

Oscar HAS to be the small spoon, Logan will get upset if he isnt

little! Logan and Oscar like to play dinosaurs together but Logan can struggle to keep his playing more calm so it can sometimes lead to melt downs

little! Oscar and Logan share toys, oscar is the only person he is willing to share with

and to close out, logan doesn’t like to really see you talking to another little that isn’t oscar (as mentioned with my logan ask when he got upset about you talking to mick)

sorry if this was a lot or didn’t make any sense, also did you see that Logan got 5th in free practice? I did a little dance for him I was so excited. Love, 🎾 anon

MORE OSCAR AND LOGAN!! I love Oscar and Logan so much and we need to discuss this more (honestly we need to discuss all poly couples more, we should do a poly night soon actually). I'm gonna split these thoughts with different headings to try and make it more organised :))

INSECURE LOGAN:

I definitely agree that Logan has trouble with feeling like he's worthy of you and Oscar. Cause to him, you and Oscar mean EVERYTHING to him, but he feels like he doesn't do enough for you two. I also think that Logan struggles to separate what happens on track to what he's worth in the relationship?

Obviously he could DNF in every single race and it would change nothing for you and Oscar, but Logan struggles with that. I also think that he especially struggles with getting help and comfort from you and Oscar for things like that? Because he feels like he's performed so badly that he doesn't deserve that.

Maybe him doing some acts of service for you and Oscar actually came from Oscar? Because Oscar, bless him, tends to just handle things from a very literal point of view.

Like Logan was in tears, saying he doesn't think he deserves comfort but he feels so upset and he doesn't know what to do. So Oscar just... tells Logan to go make him dinner. Logan asks what he's talking about, and Oscar goes "Make me dinner, then I'll comfort you. You say you don't deserve it, so make me dinner first and then I'll comfort you and you'll deserve that."

And it works??? Logan is like "Yeah, yeah okay" and makes you and Oscar dinner? And then afterwards he cuddles between you and Oscar and gets his comfort.

So yeah, Logan performs acts of service when he's upset and needs special attention. And the acts themselves actually helps? He really starts to calm down and he finds comfort in doing things for you and Oscar too.

POSSESSIVE/JEALOUS OSCAR:

The interesting thing about Oscar's jealously is that it's very intense but he never shows it at first? Like Logan will be very clearly unhappy when he feels jealous, and he'll grumble about it the moment you or Oscar speak to him again.

Oscar will stay silent at first, not saying a thing. And then he'll give you and Logan the cold shoulder. He'll also do this to both of you even if the jealously is only for one of you? Like he'll be jealous because Logan was talking to Alex the entire driver parade and touching Alex the whole time, but then that night he gives both you and Logan the cold shoulder, like somehow you were also to blame.

You and Logan pretty quickly realise what's going on, because it's really only jealousy that will make Oscar act like that. If anything else is wrong, then Oscar will generally come to you and Logan to talk about it because he likes to vent and hear your thoughts.

Except with jealousy, because jealousy makes Oscar turn away and then you and Logan have to push him to explain what's happening.

And yeah, the solution is really just to support Oscar and give him attention and love. Honestly I think Logan LOVES doing that? You'll often just sit back and tell Logan to make Oscar feel good, and Logan will go wild. He loves kissing every inch of Oscar while you hold him, loves mumbling praise against Oscar's skin.

So with all this in mind, of course Oscar is also the most possessive out of you three. He loves seeing you and Logan in his clothes, and he'll even buy bigger clothes so the clothes will fit properly.

And he'll always want to hold Logan's hand. Logan is more social between the two of them, but Oscar loves to just hold Logan's hand and listen to Logan chatting to others. But the hand holding is a requirement.

LITTLE!OSCAR AND LITTLE!LOGAN:

Firstly, I love the idea of Logan and Oscar playing with each other in little space!! Logan is such a good big brother for Oscar, and so of course they love playing with dinosaurs together!

I think that Logan is very talkative? He loves learning little facts about whatever he likes and sharing them, and he LOVES dinosaurs. So he keeps up a constant stream of info about dinosaurs! He's always explaining the name of the dinosaur toy he's holding and what they ate and some other info and it's so fucking cute.

Oscar loves listening to this, and even though he's so small that honestly he can barely understand Logan, he still loves listening to Logan's voice.

I do agree that it can sometimes cause meltdowns, because Oscar is very small and sometimes Logan gets too excited. Poor Logan used to blame himself and get to upset with himself for making Oscar cry, but he's starting to understand it isnt his fault. Oscar is a fussy little thing, and he'll pretty much always have at least one meltdown.

And once Oscar has stopped crying, he's always mumbling "Lo Lo" and looking for his big brother.

#poly!oscar/logan #oscarp #lsargeant #nsfw.#gn!reader #little!oscar #little!Logan #little!driver/rider #🎾

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sisterdivinium · 6 months

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Hi I'm AvMila anon. THANK YOU SO MUCH!! ❤️ AAAAAaaaaahhhhhhh sorry for screaming. But you inaugurating the Ava/Camila tag on ao3 with your own piece is just... It's top 5 one of the sweetest things someone has done for me. You truly looked at my crackship and said why not and went ahead and created the very first entry, and probably the only one lol, but that's so considerate. Thank you truly. I enjoyed it, and I loved DocSuperion's cameo. Jillian finding them cuddling and surely thinking to herself "well, aren't all of us at this house a little (a lot) fruity"

I read your elaboration on the "spam" thing. I get it now, I didn't understand what the issue was at first, but you explained it well. I have had something similar happen in other fandoms, I wasn't much into the main pairing and my ship was also just sort of floating around them as accessories to them. And yeah it's disappointing. It would be good and also kind of authors to mention, hey my main focus will be this ship or these 2 characters, all other tags point to support roles so they won't get much spotlight or development. Thank you again, you're very kind :) I loved what you wrote for my little crazy ship

Hello again!

Oh, I'm very, very happy to know that ficlet was to your liking <3 You're very much welcome.

I'm not exactly popular but hey, who knows, maybe someone else will look at it and get a little idea for a story to tell about Ava and Camila as well -- and perhaps give the tag a little push forward in the process. I hope so!

And, you know, I'd consider something like JC/Miguel more of a crackship than Ava/Cam. To me, only one out of those two pairings could have an internal logic with the correct build-up (although I wouldn't censor anyone willing to make JC/Miguel a thing, LOL. To each their own, but THAT's something I wouldn't touch!) I'm sure the avatrice diehards might disagree with me (and, to be fair, as a Jillian/Suzanne diehard, I'm myself irrationally protective of my OTP and wouldn't be caught near any other pairing that involved either Jillian or Superion -- I, too, have my childish shipping faults :)), but I can see something in there for Ava and Camila, it does makes sense. Even if just for a small little scene like the one I wrote -- why not, you know?

I sometimes wonder if people don't get a bit too attached to longfic. I imagine it has its charms, but as someone who prefers to write smaller but "tighter" stories, fooling around with other ships comes a lot easier. I'm not bound to a leviathan ninety-eight chapter story and can just play with different concepts in each little fic that comes to mind. And it's fun, what can I say? I had a blast writing Ava/Cam for you that day. It's not the greatest thing ever written in the history of English Literature, granted, but then it doesn't have to be which is a good reminder for myself as I struggle with my current doctor superion project... Ahem.

As for the "spam" deal, yeah, I thought it had just been miscommunication and you'd know what I meant if I just explained it a little better, so I'm glad that got cleared up as well. I don't think certain corners of the fandom will ever come across this series of posts that took place on my blog this week, so I'm not hopeful that the conversation will reach those it should reach as concerns tagging, but who knows. Fandoms were more organised once, perhaps they might again find it in their hearts to remember we don't all like the same things and that it would be a welcome courtesy to take us into consideration when tagging for alternative ships.

Anyway. Thanks for stopping by again! And let me reiterate how happy I am to know that you enjoyed my humble offering to your ship! <3

#chats with anon #correspondence #suppose i'll tag this with the meta tag as well since the longfic x shortfic comment could classify #meta fandom talk i guess #keeping my fingers crossed for more people to write some ava/cam so you don't feel so alone anon!#and ha you caught my total inability to write wn stuff without including jillian and suzanne in some capacity did you? :)

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knitting-with-norbert · 3 years

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Getting Through THOSE Nights

(taken from my blog, link in bio!)

I’ve been having a lot of THOSE nights (capital let’s and italics very much needed)

It’s taken me years of getting through nights where I can’t sleep because I feel like I can’t breathe and I can’t be alone with my thoughts because holy shit that just not at all remotely what I need before I’ve gotten to this point where I have at least a small list of resources that consistently help me get through them

And just in case anyone out there reading this is having one of those nights themselves, here is that list. Please add on your own through comments or messaging me to add one – any suggestions are so, so appreciated if you think that they will help others in getting through those times

As far as I’m aware at the time of posting all of these resources are completely free to use and all the links work, if not let me know

Creativity

Free knitting patterns – Easy knitting patterns for beginners. Even if you’re experienced with knitting on those nights sometimes all you want is something easy that you can complete quickly. Lovecrafts also has a lot of more advanced free knitting patterns if you want more of a challenge

Word Sprints – They start every half an hour, just write as much as you can. Be it a short story, poem, novel chapter or anything. Write to get your thoughts out and don’t stop writing. You get a star for every 100 words and it’s very satisfying (Here’s a link to my room – Nifty-Frogs-153 if you want some company there’s a chance me or someone else might be in there, otherwise it’s very easy to join the global sprint or create your own room)

This is Sand – Create some art online using different coloured sand

Weave Silk – Creates beautiful patterns that are really satisfying to watch and look at

Write a Letter – This isn’t an online resource, just something that I do to alleviate a little of my anxiety, which is to write a letter to myself. It works in a similar way to the word sprints, but a bit different in that I am directly trying to talk to myself and make sense of my thoughts

Listening

Spotalike – Put in a song that you like and it’ll create you a playlist based off of that song

Chill music – There’s a load of these on YouTube that you can check out but this is the one that I tend to come back to

Rain for Me – Listening to the rain to relax

The Boy, The Mole, The Fox and The Horse Audio – Tim Uffindell reading the audiobook

Websites

Press this button – to make everything okay!

Neal.fun – This website is full of fun little mini-games and sites that serve as good distractions, I’ve linked a couple of my favourites below! Macaroni Draw – Paint with pasta Progress – Watch the progression of time Your Empire – Conquer the world based on the places you’ve visited

Picrew – I like to find fun-looking picrews to make either myself or just to mess around in!

Videos

Hermitcraft Season 7 – The playlist of all of Grian’s Hermitcraft videos from season 7. Even if you don’t typically watch Minecraft videos, Hermitcraft is the most relaxing thing to watch and season 7 Grian especially brought me a lot of comfort

Kitten Livestream – 24 hour livestream to watch kittens playing

Otter Livestream – 24 hour livestream to watch otters playing (there’s a load of other aquarium-based livestreams on here too: sharks, jellyfish, etc. it’s just that I love otters)

Twitch – You’ll always be able to find someone to watch as background noise on Twitch as a distraction, I’ve linked a couple of my favourites below

Organisations

The Butterfly Project – For when you feel the urge to self harm

Samaritans – I believe this is just a UK based project (other than the email service, though please don’t use this for emergencies) Call 116 123

The Trevor Project – A US-based project set up to help struggling LGBTQ+ teens Call 1-866-488-7386

7 Cups – Online support for those that need it

Please do add suggest some of your own coping tools to get through those nights, I hope that you’re all staying safe and keeping well

Freddie 🐸

#long post #anxiety #anxiety disorder #generalised anxiety disorder #coping mechanism #insomnia #anxiety tools #depression #depression tools #mental health #mental health sucks #mental health awareness #mental health suggestions

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ailuronymy · 3 years

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do you think every disabled character in wc is handled poorly? i understand theres def some cases of ableism but at the same time when i hear ppl say that its usually bc the disabled cat wasnt able to become a warrior due to their disability. and i feel like ppl forget, that not everyone irl CAN do what they want after they become disabled. ex. someone wants to be an athlete, but their legs have to be amputated. a cat like briarlight esp i feel is p realistic and could be a source of comfort

Hello there, thank you for writing in. I’m going to reply to this question with a series of questions I think are a bit more useful, given what you’re trying to ask me. I hope that’ll clarify what is a deeply complex, multilayered issue.

Do I think Erin Hunter handles anything in the series “well”? Not really. I don’t have a high opinion of the work of the collective and, broadly speaking, I think every right note they play, metaphorically speaking, is an instance of chance rather than effort, skill, or intention. Stopped clocks are right twice a day, mediocre writers will sometimes do something cool by accident, similar principle. That’s not to say Erin Hunter hasn’t ever done anything on purpose--just that overall the underlying drive of the series isn’t so much quality as it is quantity, and speed of production, and it shows.

Do I think Erin Hunter puts any significant research into how they portray disability? No. I do not think it is a priority for this series. They’re not trying to make a meaningful work of literature, or capture a realistic experience of disability, or tell especially impactful or thoughtful stories, or even make a particularly good or coherent fantasy world. Warriors is a specifically commercial product that was commissioned by HarperCollins to appeal to a particular demographic of drama-loving, cat-loving kids. It’s not really trying to do anything but sell books, because it’s a business, so the text in many ways reflects that. They’re not going for disability representation, in my opinion. They’re including disability in many cases as a plot-point or an obstacle.

Do I think this means that people can’t connect to these characters and narratives in meaningful ways? No. Often I say that a work is completed only when it is read. Before that point, it doesn’t have a meaning: a reader finishes the work through the act of reading, and interpretation, and filling in the spaces and resonance of the story with their own values and experiences. When people talk about subjectivity, this is what they are talking about. What this means in the context of disabled characters in Warriors is that these characters and their stories can be multiple, conflicting, even mutually exclusive things at the same time, to different people, for different reasons.

Do I think characters have to be “good” to be significant to someone? No. I think genuinely “bad” (i.e., not researched or poorly researched, cliche, thoughtlessly written, problematic, etc. etc.) characters can be deeply meaningful, and often are. Ditto above: for many people, and especially marginalised or stigmatised people, reading is almost always an act of translation, wherein the person is reading against the creative work of the dominant culture in a way that the author likely didn’t intend or didn’t even imagine. There’s a long documented history of this in queer culture, but it’s true for just about everyone who is rarely (or unfairly) represented in media. Disabled people often have to read deeply imperfect works of fiction featuring disability and reinterpret them in the process--whether to relate to a kind of disability they don’t experience themselves but which is the closest they’re offered to something familiar, or to turn positive and meaningful what is intended as narrative punishment, or simply to create what’s commonly called headcanon about “non-disabled” characters who echo their personal experiences.

Do I think everyone has to agree? Extremely no. As I said before, people will actually always disagree, because all people have different needs and different experiences. What can be interpreted as empowering to one person might be very othering and painful for another. There is no “right” answer, because, again, that is how subjectivity works. This is especially true because marginalised communities are often many different kinds of people with different lives and needs brought together over a trait or traits they share due to the need for solidarity as protection and power--but only in a broad sense. It’s why there is often intracommunity fighting over representation: there isn’t enough, there’s only scraps, and so each person’s personal interpretation can feel threatening to people whose needs are different. You can see examples of this especially when it comes to arguments over character sexuality: a queer female character might be interpreted as bisexual by bisexual people who relate to her and want her to be, while being interpreted as lesbian by lesbians who also relate to her and want her to be like them. Who is correct? Often these different interpretations based on different needs are presented as if one interpretation is theft from the other, when in fact the situation is indicative of the huge dearth of options for queer people. It becomes increasingly more intense when it comes to “canon” representations, because of the long history of having to read against the grain I mentioned above: there’s novelty and, for some people, validation in “canon” certainty. And again, all of this is also true for disabled people and other stigmatised groups.

Do I think this is a problem? Not exactly. It is what it is. It is the expected effect of the circumstances. Enforced scarcity creates both the need for community organising and solidarity and the oppressive pressure to prioritise one’s self first and leave everyone else in the dust (or else it might happen to you). The system will always pit suppressed people against each other constantly, because it actively benefits from intracommunity fighting. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these, and so on. A solution is absolutely for everyone in community to hold space for these different needs and values, and to uplift and support despite these differences, but it’s not anyone’s fault for feeling threatened or upset when you don’t have much and feel like the thing that you do have is being taken away. It’s a normal, if not really helpful, human response. But until people learn and internalised that the media is multifaceted and able to be many things at once, without any of those things being untrue or impacting your truth of the text, then there will be fighting.

Do I think my opinion on disability on Warriors is all that important? No, not really. I can relate to some characters in some moment through that translation, but my opinion on, say, Jayfeather is nowhere near as worthy of consideration than that of someone who is blind. I don’t have that experience and it’s not something I can bring meaningful thinking about, really. That’s true for all these characters. If you want to learn about disability, prioritise reading work about disabled rights and activism that is done by disabled people, and literary criticism from disabled people. And as I mentioned above, remember that community isn’t a monolith: it’s a survival tactic, that brings together many different people with disparate experiences of the world. So research widely.

Finally--do I think there’s only one kind of disabled narrative worth telling? No. For some people, a disabled character achieving a specific, ability-focused dream is a good story. For other people, a story that acknowledges and deals with the realities, and limitations, of disability is a good story. The same person might want both of those stories at different times, depending on their mood. That’s okay. Sometimes there’s power and delight in a fantasy of overcoming seemingly impossible obstacles and defying all expectations. Sometimes there’s value and catharsis in a narrative that delves into the challenges and grief and oppression experienced because of disability. There’s no one truth.

To round all this off, I’m going to give my favourite example of this, which is Cinderella. I think it’s a great and useful tool, since for many it’s familiar and it’s very simple. Not much happens. In the story, she is bullied and tormented, until a fairy godmother gifts her over several nights with the opportunity to go to a royal ball, where she dances with a prince. The prince eventually is able to find Cinderella, due to a shoe left behind, and they are married. In some versions, the family that mistreated her are killed. In others, they’re forgiven.

Some people hate the story of Cinderella, because she is seen as passive. She tolerates the bullying and never fights back. She does every chore she’s told. She is given an opportunity by a fairy godmother, and she doesn’t help herself go to the ball. She runs from the prince and he does the work to find her again. Eventually, she’s married and the prince, presumably, keeps her in happiness and comfort for the rest of her life.

For some, this story is infuriating, because Cinderella doesn’t “save herself”: she is largely saved by external forces. She is seen as a quintessential damsel-in-distress, and especially for people who have been bullied, infantalised, or made to feel less capable or weak, that can be a real point of personal pain and discomfort.

However, for some others, Cinderella is a figure of strength, because she is able to endure such hostile environments and terrible people and never gives up her gentle nature or her hope. She never becomes cruel, or bitter. She is brave in daring to go outside her tiny, trapped world, and she is brave to let the prince find her. She doesn’t have to fight or struggle to earn her reward of happiness and prove her worth, because she was always deserving of love and kindness. The prince recognises at once, narratively speaking, her goodness and virtue, and stops at nothing to deliver her a better life.

Depending on the version, the wicked family disfigure themselves for their own greed--or are punished, which for some is a revenge fantasy; or Cinderella forgives them and once again shows her tenacious kindness, which for others is a different revenge fantasy.

The point? Cinderella is the same character in the same story, but these are almost unrecognisable readings when you put them side-by-side. Which one is right? Which one is better? In my opinion, those are the wrong questions. I hope this (long, sorry) reply is a set of more useful ones.

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soukokuwu · 4 years

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what if chu's s/o escapes port mafia, leaving chuuya to think she left him like dazai did (but in reality, she was pregnant & didn't want the child to grow up in PM. though she has taken extra measures so her son will not be endangered, PM still managed to kidnap him and hold him hostage in exchange for her to come back to their ranks. it is when she comes to save their son that chu discovers that the child is his. you do your own take if you want, your writing, your choice! 💓💓

HIGH RISK, HIGH REWARDS. genre. hmmm,, i guess it’s fluffy synopsis. you reveal a secret you’ve kept to yourself for so long, it’s time you finally come clean. word count. 2,680 author notes. hi, thank you this was an interesting request, i tried not to make it too long. & i usually don’t put so much dialogue (if at all XD) so i hope you can still enjoy this <33

PRESENT.

“Boss, the VIPs are here to see you, they’re being held down at the lobby. Do you want to send them up here?”

The chair swirls around, revealing the man behind the table, a picture of perfect composure. A curt nod is all it takes for the goon to leave the room, ready to escort the guests up.

Once the doors are closed again, he puts the cigarette out on his ashtray, exhaling that last puff of smoke. Gloved fingers intertwine together as he ponders long and hard about how he should greet them later.

The man eyes the drawer under his table, the bottom leftmost one — the special drawer. He opens it languidly to unveil a stash of letters, too many to count at one glance. That’s not surprising though. After all, it’s twelve years’ worth of letters. He grabs the top one, beady eyes glossing over its contents. He folds it back along the same lines.

They all look the same. Made out to him, but with no return address.

TWELVE YEARS AGO.

“They found someone at the house. We have him right now.”

The man on the other line seems to still have something to say, but the redhead doesn’t allow him. It’s a matter that can’t wait.

“Keep him there, make sure he doesn’t leave.”

Chuuya leaves the rest of the torturing to his colleagues as he exits the premises. He recalls what his subordinate reported earlier. ‘Him’? He scoffs. It’s been six years since you left the mafia and basically vanished into thin air. Which is a considerably long time, but Chuuya still can’t wrap the possibility around there being a new guy in your life.

Besides, the redhead didn’t do anything wrong. Why did you have to leave without a word? Why did you feel the need to leave at all, even? It couldn’t be stress. No way. You worked at the Port Mafia casino, yes. You were in charge of it all, and it did anything but stress you out. You loved working there. You loved the gamble. You absolutely revelled in the risk.

They put you in charge of the casino for more reasons than one. You were very calculative, very meticulous. You always had your moves planned out beforehand and you were always able to tell your opponents’ hand without even having to cheat. The gambling was definitely one of the reasons why you were so good at manipulating people. It was also one of the reasons why even Mori asked for your help in some cases.

But your best quality as a mafioso?

Your unpredictability. Or, as Mori dubbed it, your insanity. In both gambling and in general. You had helped the mafia win favours over more than just a few officials by winning against them — be it in poker or any other games. You weren’t even below playing russian roulette. Sure, Chuuya had been worried at first, but after a while it was pretty clear you’d always make it out of it safe — was it luck or was it pure calculation, or a mixture of both perhaps? Chuuya doesn’t really question it. And when it came to planning missions, your unconventional methods always helped, because no one would ever see it coming.

That blew up in his face though. You left him without any clues pertaining to your whereabouts or why you left in the first place. He thought you left along with his ex-partner, that maybe it had something to do with him. But it was apparent that wasn’t the case. Not when you didn’t surface at all even when Dazai did. He couldn’t help but keep thinking of potential things that happened to you. Did you leave because you met someone else? Doubtful. But given how long it’s been, it’s certainly not out of the question that you already did meet someone else by now.

You’re beautiful, smart, fun. You’re everything anyone could wish for. You’re so understanding that sometimes Chuuya questions where you get your patience from. You were just perfect, in every sense of the word.

Chuuya groans just thinking of everything. Even after being kicked to the curb, why is it that now he is still attracted to you? Lucky he was, though. Because that’s the only reason he agreed with Mori’s plan to put all efforts into seeking you out. You were incredibly elusive, and a pain in the ass because of that. And had it not been for a certain intense war against an enemy organisation, they would’ve let you go on with your life, wherever you ended up. You’ve been very quiet, not spreading anything about the mafia, or else Mori would’ve picked up on it. Very well-behaved, and a pardon would’ve been your reward.

But even the best needs help sometimes. And Mori specifically wants yours. He probably figured Chuuya was the biggest factor that would tilt things in their favour, and he agrees. Which is why he heads this mission in the first place. Not only is he the biggest shot at getting you back, but he wants to see you. Wants to know exactly why you left him the way you did.

Closure. He wants closure.

Life is funny though. Because he ends up with more questions than answers when he opens the door to his office.

Suddenly all the idle chatter he passes by in the hallway makes sense. The ones that just skip past his ears because he’s too deep in thought about you. He remembers the gist of them though. Things like “he’s so cute, like a model,” and “right? I think he looks handsome” (to which Chuuya was slightly annoyed by because he thought it was referring to your new beau).

But no, he wasn’t greeted with a man. He opened his doors to find a boy with eyes as blue as the ocean sitting on his desk, fiddling with his pens. Eyes that remind him of the exact shade he looks at in the mirror everyday. Chuuya hurriedly shuts the door, locks it, and steps hesitantly toward the boy.

This boy… looks roughly about six years old. And Chuuya feels his breath hitching in his throat. That’s around the time you went missing. He feels everything closing in around him, the fear of why you left him finally being made clear to him.

Weirdly enough, the boy isn’t the tiniest bit scared. His head is tilted, fingers still fiddling with Chuuya’s fountain pen, and waiting for Chuuya to reach him. He blinks his little eyes, before finally smiling up at him after a while. He opens his mouth, a simple word leaving his delicate lips.

“Daddy!”

Chuuya isn’t even allowed a further minute to process it before he hears knocking on the ceiling and someone falls through the vent onto the floor; one with an all-too-familiar figure. And who flashes an all-too-familiar grin.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Half an hour later Chuuya finds himself struggling to process all the information you’ve unloaded on him. He observes as his son draws on a random piece of paper he’s found lying around, in the other side of the room.

“You let them think they’ve captured our son, when in reality you were waiting for them to?”

You nod. Chuuya internally facepalms himself. How is it that you’re able to gamble with this, too? With your — and his — son’s life on the line? You basically left him there to be abducted, knowing that they won’t do anything without Chuuya’s permission (who’s to say he wouldn’t have allowed them to torture the kid? Well, he wouldn’t, but still…) and then sneak yourself past security and into his office, all in the hopes of letting him know he has a son?

Then again, you wouldn’t bet something like that if you didn’t believe that things would absolutely go your way. He’s been with you for so long before, he’s familiar with your moves and the way you think. Not completely, but good enough.

It was so brilliantly simple. (Also, you used to sneak into his office through the vents when your relationship was still under wraps, so it really wasn’t a surprise to him that you chose to sneak in through there now.)

“Why now, after all this time? Why tell me now?”

For a moment he catches a brief look of guilt wash over your face. You lie back on the couch on your spot next to him, and close your eyes, as though bracing for an outburst as his response.

“I didn’t want to tell you at all, at first…” you trail off, the guilt completely taking over you now. “I only came now because… I want you to get Mori off my back.”

Now Chuuya understands why.

So, you didn’t even intend to give him a chance to meet his son, let alone let him be involved in any part of your life. But you only appeared because you knew Mori would come after you, demand for your help. The only reason you showed yourself today… was to convince Chuuya to help you. Because if there’s anyone who could convince Mori to back off, Chuuya could. And you understood that all too well.

Chuuya can just laugh at himself right now. How foolish is he, to think that you came back because you still harboured feelings for him. How pathetic of him.

He can sense his expression growing grim. Not that he’ll make any attempts to conceal it. His cerulean eyes travel from his son to you. You seem a little less guilty now, though. You look… at peace, somehow.

“What makes you think I’ll do what you want?”

“Because you want to prove me wrong.”

Your answer catches him off guard, and his anger is replaced by utter confusion. You take his silence as your cue to explain.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t think you’d make a good father and do what’s right for our son. Prove me wrong. Keep our son away from this. Do what a good father would and give him a chance to grow up normal.”

Chuuya scoffs. So that’s why you didn’t tell him anything. Never told him you were pregnant. Never hinted at a goodbye. You’d rather be branded a traitor like Dazai instead of having to make Chuuya choose between you and the mafia. He knows; if you set your mind on something, it’s hard to change it. And in other situations it might’ve been negotiable, but not with your baby.

You know Chuuya would never betray the mafia. That’s why you think he’d never make a good father. Because he can’t put you or the baby first. And now… Now you come with good faith. You’re trying to believe that he can learn to be a good father.

Starting with this choice.

This impossible choice.

Except not really. He knows what he’ll end up choosing anyway. You were right. If he knew you were pregnant he’d have convinced you to stay with the mafia, convinced you that he’d make sure the baby is well-protected. But then he’d be missing the point of your whole argument. You grew up in the mafia, and technically, so did he. You knew how it didn’t allow a chance at normalcy, and you didn’t want to strip your baby of that choice. You wanted your child to at least have a taste of what being normal is like, before you ultimately let them choose what they want.

Now, even if he gives an unfavourable reply, he knows you’d do anything to keep his son away from the mafia. It’s only a question of whether or not you’d have to struggle against Chuuya for it.

Silently, he stretches a hand out to you as he gets up from the couch. He can see the subtle surprise on your face. You’re impressed, aren’t you? He has on the best poker face since you’ve met him. You can’t guess what he’s thinking, this being the first of such instance since you’ve met him. He doesn’t say a thing when you ask him what he’s up to, only continuing to offer his hand to you, keeping mum.

A gamble, a risk you’d have to take. You can either take his hand and see where he leads you, which could lead to you getting your way or it could just lead to total destruction. Or, you can refuse, and then you’d have to figure a way out on your own. Which Chuuya doesn’t doubt you’d already have ingrained in your head.

But he knows you’ll choose the former. Why? It’s the only one where an inherent risk is present. Because you’d be totally in his mercy.

And that’s why you find yourself flown out of the headquarters, onto some random building’s rooftop. A perfect view of the setting sun and an even more perfect view of your old lover, striking crimson locks imitating the beauty of the orange sunset.

Looks like it paid off.

“Will you let me know where you’re staying? A child needs his father,” Chuuya asks you, your fingers intertwined in his, and you forgot just how much you missed this; him.

“And the mafia needs you.”

A swift rejection, but he’s not going to give up so easily.

“I have a right to know. He’s my son too.”

You inch closer to him and he feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest. It’s been six years since he’s been this close to you, and he can’t believe he has to let you go again. With your son in tow, too. Without so much as a clue as to where you’re going to move to. No way to find out. Given that they only managed to find you in the first place because you wanted to be found.

“Maybe if you’re the boss or something.”

PRESENT.

Now here he is, sitting in the office, new king of the Port Mafia. And his two very important guests are making their way up here. Chuuya hurriedly puts the letters back away. They were how you communicated with him, updated him on you and your son. Though you never put any return address, so Chuuya couldn’t send one back even if he wanted to. Also, you didn’t include any photos, so Chuuya is curious how his son has turned out.

Your timing is impeccable, to choose to visit him just as he’s taken over the office. He suspects maybe you have your ways, what with the vast amount of officials you have wrapped around your finger.

But as the doors open, every other thought he has is thrown out the window. You enter first, and his face lights up, seeing those familiar pair of eyes, so warm, so inviting now. And behind you, your son, now slightly taller than you (and probably Chuuya but he refuses to think of that), greeting him with a polite nod and a smirk on his face.

A wave of understanding washes across his child’s face when he spots something hanging on the wall behind his father.

“Hey! You kept the drawing I did when I first came here!”

He had drawn the three of you together, with himself in the middle, his parents on either side of him, holding his hands and walking in a park.

Chuuya chuckles. “Of course, it was the only thing your mom let me remember you by.” He shifts his gaze over to you as your son gets the hint, moving to admire another far corner of the room.

You let yourself fall into his arms, and Chuuya hugs you tight. Because it’s taken eighteen years. A long, torturous eighteen years apart, which honestly was a run in circles, though it was a necessary one. But now finally, he can be together with you, and his son. Chuuya looks down at you with the warmest gaze you’ve ever seen, wet eyes threatening to spill with tears any moment now.

“Welcome home, my love.”

tags. @yokelish @gogolparadise @fyowyn-writes @animatedarchives

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sunsetcurveofficial · 3 years

Note

idk if i should ask through here??? but for the prompts you were taking: i thought 10 with merthur?? and 13 with reggie/luke ;))) love your work <3<3<3

thank you for sending them in!! i did peterpatter first, and i’ll do the merthur one in a separate post.

i think this is the first time i ever used present tense in a fic, since this is all about enhancing my writing horizon. was interesting. also idk what this is. it developed a life of its own.

13. “Don’t be sorry… it was kind of cute, actually.”

______

Here’s the thing. Luke Patterson isn’t the tidiest person, exactly. His room tends to be messy, his things tend to be scattered all around the studio, and he can never find the shirt he’s looking for. Sometimes he wakes up in a Nirvana mood and all he can find are Green Day shirts. Sometimes he puts his journal down somewhere, because he has to grab a guitar before the riff in his head leaves him again. And then he forgets where he put it and searches for hours until Reggie, Alex, or Bobby hand it to him as if it was right there all along.

It’s just that he gets so into his music that he forgets things sometimes. He also forgets time a lot and then he doesn’t have any left to clean or bring organise his stuff. It drives his Mom rather mad, but Luke can’t help it. He tries, really, but two days later his room always seems to be back to its original state of chaos.

So imagine his surprise when he gets home after practice one night and finds his room all tidy and clean with small notes pinned to random objects, commenting things like ‘Do you really need this, Luke?’ or just ‘Hahaha.’ or ‘Omg, you kept this.’ in what he identifies as Reggie’s handwriting. He’s read enough of his country songs to know. Smiling, he picks up a stuffed bear Reggie once won for him at a fair they went to together when Alex and Bobby were both busy with their own families. Reggie pinned a note to it, saying ‘Nice to see you keeping the tokens of my affection.’

He hugs the bear close to his chest and keeps looking around his room for more of Reggie’s inane commentary. He finds dozens of notes, and decides to keep them where they are. They make something flutter beneath his ribcage, and fill him with warmth and a sense of comfort he only knows from playing his music. He’s not sure how he feels about Reggie coming to his house when he’s not there and rummaging through his things, but at the same time he knows there aren’t any secrets he’s keeping from him anyway, and Reggie knew about his latest fight with his mother. It was pretty bad, so Luke spent the night at the studio where his friend found him in the morning. So, Reggie knew he struggles with keeping his room clean again, causing him to fight with Emily and feel miserable about it, and he decided to help, apparently.

“I’m sorry for not asking first,” Reggie says suddenly, and Luke spins around to find him standing in the doorway, smiling a little sheepishly. “Your mom let me in,” he answers Luke’s unasked question.

“Don’t be sorry,” Luke says softly, gesturing around his room. “This… it was kind of cute, actually.”

Reggie leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms in front of his chest as he raises a suggestive eyebrow and smiles so brightly, Luke feels himself physically react to the sight.

“Aw, you think I’m cute, do you?”

Luke snorts.

“Yeah, man. The cutest.” He’s not lying. Reggie is… the best friend in the world, but he’s also beautiful, and funny, and Luke loves him so much, really.

Oh. Well, okay. That’s a new thought.

Luke hums curiously as he turns away from Reggie to hide the blush rising to his cheeks. He spots another note at the foot of his bed. ‘Remember when we used to pretend your bed is a stage and performed really bad versions of Queen songs on your first guitar?’

Luke does remember. And he feels warm all over again. Oh. So, Reggie? It’s Reggie for him? The decision is quickly made. Luke has always been an impulsive person, and if he wants something, he goes for it. Apparently he wants Reggie now.

He’s about to turn around when he feels Reggie wrap his arms around his waist from behind and rest his chin on Luke’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to hide your pretty blush, you know?” Reggie says, voice lower than usual. Luke feels it right down to his bones.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty, do you?” Luke says, matching Reggie’s tone from before and grinning as he turns his head. It’s an awkward angle, but they’re so close, their noses almost touching, and Luke suddenly has trouble breathing.

“Yeah, man. The prettiest,” Reggie replies, imitating Luke from before, but sounding no less sincere.

Luke hums again.

“This is new. I have to admit I did not see this one coming,” he says softly, curiously glancing at Reggie’s lips. “You and I?”

Reggie leans a little closer, and his lips are ghosting over Luke’s, almost touching, but not quite yet.

“Neither did I. But I had an epiphany while cleaning your room and finding all these memories of us,” Reggie says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He chuckles. “Well, there goes my heterosexuality.”

And then he kisses Luke, and Luke drops the bear he was still holding to turn in his arms and kiss him back, arms coming around his neck to keep him close.

“That’s overrated anyway,” he comments in between kisses, just before they fall onto Luke’s bed together. The very same one they used to play rockstars on when they were 11.

Later that night, Luke finds more notes as he happily sings ABBA songs to himself. ‘Hello pretty boy. What’s up?’ is written on a small yellow note on the corner of his mirror. On his CD copy of The Other Side of the Mirror by Stevie Nicks, Reggie left a note saying ‘I hope I get to kiss you one day just for owning this. Not sure if I mean that platonically… We should probably talk. I hope you don’t find this before I get a chance to talk to you. If you do… well. Surprise? Reggie is having a sexuality crisis and it’s all your fault.’

And when he picks out a fresh shirt from his closet, a note falls out informing him that Luke’s lack of sleeves on most of his shirts played a significant role in Reggie’s crisis about his sexuality.

“You dork,” he mumbles to himself, putting on a Fleetwood Mac shirt for good measure and singing Super Trouper as he dances down the stairs to help his mother with dinner.

“Aren’t you chipper today?” Emily says with a smile when she spots him. “I think Reggie was humming Dancing Queen when he left earlier. May I ask what put you two into such a delightful mood?”

Luke beams at her, shrugging as he does a pirouette.

“I think we’re in love, Mom,” he tells her honestly. He figures there is no need to lie to her, and he’s feeling way too happy to keep it to himself. Emily only looks a little surprised.

“With each other?” she asks.

Luke nods. “Yeah.”

Emily smiles and reaches out to squeeze Luke’s arm.

“Well, that’s lovely. He’s a fine young man, I’ve always thought so.”

Luke hugs her, just because he can and he doesn’t know why they fight so much when they also frequently have moments like this, when he feels so blessed to have her.

The next day, when Luke walks into the studio and finds his friends already gathered and ready with their instruments, he feels all warm and fluttery again as soon as he spots Reggie, so he walks right over to him and kisses him right on the mouth.

Bobby hoots, Alex claps, and Reggie is eager to kiss back.

“Sorry,” Luke murmurs against his lips.

“Luke?” Reggie says as he pulls back. “If you ever apologise for kissing me again, I’m gonna write a hundred country songs about you, and I will get famous with them, and you’ll forever be known as that weird queer country dude’s boyfriend.”

Luke laughs and raises his hands in surrender.

“What a horrible fate. Alright, no apologies from now on.”

He kisses Reggie again, and this time he doesn’t say sorry. He’s not actually sorry, anyway.

#peterpatter #ruke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #prompts #my fic #my writing #jatp #Anonymous

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bubblemiya · 3 years

Text

Ace of Spades ~ Natsuo Todoroki x Reader

Chapter 1 : First day disaster

Next | Masterlist

Warnings: blood mention, abduction mention

word count: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first fic on my new blog and I am so excited about it! I hope you enjoy

**************************

You knew hero work wasn't going to be easy but there was still a tiny part of you that thought you'd be snatched up by a top agency right away with your flashy suit and unique quirk. That wasn't quite the case.

In fact the opposite happened, your strong quirk had very little drawbacks and many people saw it as dangerous, the nature of your quirk drew villain organisations to you. You defeated them, reported, even 'disposed' of some of them but there was one organisation you couldn't quite shake.

It was your loyalty to the side of heroes and your impressive skill set showcased in your fights that caught the eye of the Endeavour agency. Today was your first day at the agency, it had been a full year since your graduation from shiketsu, and it hadn't properly sank in yet until you were pulling on your hero suit in the women's changing room and a fiery haired sidekick basically pounced on you.

"Aren't you the new girl? I'm Moe Kamiji, my hero name is Burnin'"

She was beautiful, her hair was unique and her loud personality made you envy her. Her inquisitive staring distracted you and you almost tripped pulling up your body suit. She chuckled and helped steady you before offering to help you zip up.

"I'm y/n l/n, my hero name is Phantom Light"

"from what I've seen of your quirk, you're like a ghost type pokemon! that's so cool"

If she sensed your nervousness or felt the heat rising in your face, she didn't mention it. She instead just waited for you to tug on your boots and rambled about how much she loves working at the agency. Her bright attitude was nowhere near what you expected walking into a workplace run by the most intimidating man you've ever seen. She had a natural warmth to her that seemed to calm your fears. You guessed that they sic her on all the newbies at the agency because of that.

"well I'll show you around, newbie"

She looked confident and comfortable as she showed you around the main floors and you only hoped to feel the same way soon. You had already seen the reception and social media/pr team offices as they were on the way to the changing room but Moe had shown you the gyms with in-house saunas, break rooms, conferences rooms, and investigation rooms. The place was huge and despite being full of people, felt empty. It was terrifying, but still exactly what you expected from the new number one. Moe's phone beeped as you passed into another hallway and she pulled it from her bra to check.

"I regret not asking for pockets on this thing" she growled "shit, I'm being called to a villain attack not far from here, you're on your own for now, newbie." she turned to run down the hallway.

"Thank you Kami-"

"Call me Moe!" and before you could even respond she was gone. Your nerves suddenly came flooding back without your new friend there to ease them. With your 'almost fall' in the changing room and Moe leaving when you needed her most, it seemed lady luck was not on your side today. Right as you turned the corner you smacked right into someone exiting an office and they spilled their coffee down your shirt.

“Oh i’m so sorry!”

“It's ok, my hero suit is quite thick so it's not that bad” you attempted to laugh it off but paused as you finally looked up. Your blood ran cold as you realised who you bumped into. The six foot five figure of your boss loomed over you. On your first day you just so happened to bump into Endeavour's son and cause a coffee spill right in front of the man himself. “I-it was my fault any-”

“You just started today and you’re already causing problems, we scouted you because of your impressive skill set but -”

“Shut up, old man” Endeavour's face immediately twitched in anger but he listened to his son, not wanting to cause a scene with him. “It was an accident and it was both of our faults” Endeavour looked embarrassed but grunted something inaudible under his breath. “I'm Natsuo, I'm sorry about your suit, take this” he held his jacket out to you.

“Its ok, it's just a stain”

“Please I insist”

You took it, not wanting him to be offended, and you got a chance to get a proper look at him. He awkwardly scratched his neck as you put on the jacket. There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Endeavour pushed Natsuo past you and carried on walking down the hall. You shook your head to try and rid you of your shame, you hoped you had not just ruined your big shot in the hero world. You walked back down to the offices, keeping your head down as you passed Endeavour and Natsuo to avoid the awkward eye contact. Endeavour was immensely intimidating so you wanted to avoid getting further onto his bad side as much as possible. You filled out the last of your paperwork and set out on your daily patrol.

You kept the jacket on during your patrol and kept in mind that you should take it off to fight but hoped that wouldn't be necessary. You wandered your designated streets, taking in the general hustle and bustle of the town. Bike bells and shop doors opening were sounds you considered comforting. You nodded at people as you passed them, even stopping to say hi to some kids, and stopped at a cafe for a drink. You walked with your drink, hoping for a peaceful end to your work day, until the bird chirping and happy kids turned to screams for help. Your feet, as if on autopilot, followed the sounds until you turned a corner and came face to face with a guy harassing a group of high school girls. You recognised his face from the news, he was a low level villain who had abducted some high school students over the last 3 weeks. He didn't have any strong quirk that you knew of so you went straight in with a strong punch. However, in your haste, you failed to notice the knife he had concealed until he swung it in your direction and he caught your stomach. It wasn't so deep that it needed immediate attention so you continued to fight him off. you had shouted at the girls to leave the alley but they were frozen in place. Fear sometimes acts as an invisible paralytic,

one that we can't or struggle to fight against.

He had gotten in a couple of good swings but once you knocked the knife out of his hand he was pretty much useless. You gave him a harsh elbow to the nose that definitely broke it, a noise that you didn't wanna admit made you feel good and all but knocked him out with the hardest punch you could throw. While he was incapacitated you leaned down to slip him under your control into his body to possess him to make him easier to carry. Your quirk was called 'ghost' which not only gave you the ghostly ability to walk through walls but also to possess people and communicate with the dead. Your possession ability works like a telepathically controlled puppet instead of a typical spirit possession. Once you had his unconscious form up and ready to walk himself to the nearby police you made an attempt to calm the girls and make sure they followed you to the police so police could do safety checks and collect statements. You found it was easy to keep them distracted from their feelings by talking to them and answering questions they might have. You learned one of the girls, a short girl with black hair and black bunny ears, was named Hoshi.

"Are you a pro hero?"

"yup! I started at the Endeavour agency today!"

"Saturday is a weird day to start a new job"

"There's no such thing as weekends when you're a hero" you chuckled at the way she rolled her eyes.

"Don't I know it. My dad is a pro too"

"oh really?"

"yeah but he's away visiting my stepdad"

Your conversation abruptly stopped when police arrived on the scene and took both the unconscious villain and Hoshi away from your custody. The only thing left to do now was find where you had left Natsuo's jacket and head back to the agency to get stitched up. You ran back to a bench you passed to luckily find Natsuo's jacket still there. you didn't wanna get blood on it so you carried it back to the agency instead.

When you walked back in the agency building, Endeavour was standing in the office, handing paperwork to the receptionist, and he noticed you almost immediately.

"Phantom Light, what happened?"

"I got that guy who was abducting high school kids, the one that's been all over local news" Your chest felt heavy as you struggled to pant out your sentence. You were holding your free hand over the wound, putting as much pressure as possible on it to reduce bleeding.

"You're gonna need stitches, I'll take you to our in house doctor" He seemed a lot less tense than he did earlier and Natsuo was nowhere to be seen. You muttered a thank you and slowly walked behind him. He led you to a white door with a black metal name plate on it reading 'Dr.Kita'. You thanked Endeavour again and wandered into the room.

"Good work today, Phantom Light'' was the last thing he said before he shut the door behind you. He was being a lot nicer and even attempting to be encouraging which you figured was his own way of apologising for yelling at you earlier.

The doctor was a tall guy around forty with yellow eyes and brunette hair that was already starting to grey. He welcomed you and got you to lie down on the bench so that he could stitch you back up. He was very talkative, as most doctors are as a way to distract from pain, and he asked about a couple other visible scars to focus your mind elsewhere.

"I got the skin graft about a year ago, I got in a fight with some villain who had a fire quirk. I wasn't even at an agency yet, I was still looking to get scouted, but I walked past him harassing this man for money and I couldn't just walk past it" The doctor nodded as you told the story of the man with white hair and some nasty facial scars who burned you last year. You hissed as the final stitch went through and the doctor clasped his hands together.

"that's you all fixed up, now you just need to change and go home" he said, helping you off the bench and shaking your hand.

You walked back to the changing room and shoved your coffee and blood stained clothes in a bag and changed into your normal clothes. On your way out the building you passed Moe who all but begged for your phone number before you left.

The walk home was quiet and peaceful, The sunset was pretty and nice to watch as you made your way to the train station. The subway ride home had very few people and it was nice to have some time to yourself. You almost missed your stop though because your mind kept drifting back to white fluffy hair and pretty grey eyes. Natsuo was all you could think about. It didn't help that you had his jacket wrapped around you. The smell of an expensive cologne lingered around the collar, it was faint and softer than the cologne you expected him to wear. It was nice and comforting, a smell you could get used to.

Once you got back to your house you used your quirk to pass through the door - which is always locked because you used your quirk and had no reason to open it unless you were expecting food delivery. When you turned around to kick off your shoes you noticed the chain lock had been busted open. You quickly looked around the entrance to your house to check if anything was missing but everything was exactly as you left it in the morning. You dumped your duffle bag full of dirty clothes on the floor and went to check around the rest of the house. You upturned cushions, sifted through cupboards and looked underneath your copious number of house plants but everything seemed normal and in its right place. The only place left to check was your bedroom. Your hand shook as you grasped the door handle nervous to see if anything had been taken but when you walked in you couldn't see anything out of place until you turned your head to the dresser and there it was. Tucked into the frame of a photo of you and your brother sat a playing card, the ace of spades to be exact, with a time written on it.

"2:30 pm"

#bubble.natsuo #bubble.aceofspades #bubble.fic #natsuo todoroki x reader #natsuo x reader #natsuo todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha #mha #bnha angst #bnha fluff #x reader #bnha fic #natsuo #my hero academia

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bracefacefreak · 3 years

Text

So I just finished the first fic I have written in AGES and the first thing I’ve ever written for TMA, so I thought I’d post it here.

It’s an alternate take on S3 from about MAG 98 in which Nikola kidnaps Martin, not Jon. Basically very angsty with some realisation of feelings and implied canon-typical violence because I like to make my boys suffer apparently. May write more if I feel like it but for now this is just a peek at my idea.

CW: implied violence, knife violence, strongly implied graphic violence, implied blood, implied skinning, captivity and kidnapping, restraints, stalking.

I cut you a piece of me

also available on ao3

“Martin? Tim?”

Jon pokes his head out of his office, tired eyes squinting through murky lenses to try and make out anything moving amongst the shelves and teetering boxes. A chill creeps up his spine, the sensation akin to the slow tickle of spider’s legs over his skin. It makes his stomach turn; the sour taste of bile rises at the back of his throat. A light flickers somewhere on the other side of the archives. It is brief, likely nothing more than some dodgy wiring - or a plastic body passing in front of a bulb. Jon bites down, catching his tongue between his teeth.

His fingers twist in the wool of the cardigan he wears, tugging at the well-worn fibres as if they are some sort of lifeline. The garment is too big on him, the fabric spilling over his shoulders and bunching in thick folds around his wrists. He had found it shoved under a shelving unit in document storage, the crumpled, butter-yellow lump too inviting to ignore. It has quickly become a comfort for him during long nights in his office poring over statements, something soft and warm to counteract the increasingly dark world he finds himself inhabiting. He pulls it tight around him, but finds today it offers little more than a thin veneer of safety.

CLUNK.

He starts.

His eyes flick towards the stacks to his left, scouring the shadows that rest heavily between the shelves. The noise comes again, more drawn out this time and followed by a series of metallic taps. It doesn’t take much imagination to hear the snap of huge, mechanical jaws in the rhythmic sound.

Jon swallows thickly.

“Martin? I-is that you?”

The hollow clang comes again; this time Jon is able to trace it to somewhere above. Lifting his eyes, he half-expects to see a grinning plastic face staring down at him from the highest shelves. Instead, he is met by the sight of decrepit pipes, quivering slightly as the ancient heating system struggles against the pervasive chill. His shoulders droop as the pipes rattle in reassurance.

Slowly, he turns back to the original source of his suspicion, staring down the narrow walkway that leads to the assistant’s office and break-room.

Beneath the occasional clang of the heating, the archive is silent, still.

But he could have sworn he’d heard footsteps earlier: the soft shuffle of shoes over carpet and the squeak of the bottom stair that no-one seems bothered enough to fix, despite the numerous emails Jon has sent to maintenance. He had been recording a statement, one from the early 2000s about disappearances from a travelling funhouse, when he had heard it. He was certain. But then again…He takes a shaking breath; could this just be his rearing its ugly head?

No.

NO.

He was over that.

He knew what he had heard. Jon squares his shoulders, knowing that his small stature and bright yellow cardigan will hardly strike fear into the heart of any evil creature that has managed to get into the Institute. He pulls the pen out of his hair anyway. It will not be much use if it comes to a struggle, but it is better than nothing.

Measured steps lead Jon across the archive floor.

He calls out in a tight voice, rising to shrill at the end.

“Melanie?”

His pulse thuds in his ears.

“Tim? Basira?"

Sweat coats his palms and pools in the well of his clavicle, turning cold and tacky.

“Martin?”

He rounds a corner and is greeted by three empty desks.

Since arriving, Melanie has settled at Sasha’s old desk; it no longer bears its previous look of organised chaos but is strewn with shredded paper, a few crumpled fast-food wrappers, and pages covered in black scribbles that are indecipherable to Jon. It sends a pang of grief through him that echoes around the empty space where Sasha’s memory should be.

Tim’s desk is clear, no work having been done there in months.

And Martin’s is….

Jon frowns.

Next to an empty mug and a collection of pastel fine-liners Martin sometimes uses to make notes, is a cassette tape. It is unmarked, the brand different from any he has seen before in the archive. Jon reaches for it, hesitates, and then snatches it up. He turns it over in his hands, the shape and weight familiar. Something is building beneath his skin, fizzing, crackling, a flurry of static that rises and rises the longer he holds the tape. It calls to him. The white noise is a siren song drawing him in until he is moving towards his office and the tape recorder he keeps on his desk. His hands shake as he pushes the tape into place and snaps the recorder shut. For a moment the world narrows down to the feeling of the play button beneath his finger, its weight as he presses down, the soft whir-like a sigh-as the tape begins to play.

“Hello, my dear archivist.”

The saccharine voice that spews from the tape washes away the frantic desperation that had sent him scurrying to his office like a starving dog. He shivers, the memory of hard plastic hands around his throat making it hard to breathe.

The Eye drinks in this flash of terror, consuming it with abandon.

“It’s so luvely to be able to talk again. I was hoping to see you in person but ….I’m sure we’ll get to that later.”

There’s a tinkling laugh; the sound of fairground chimes, or blood dripping on porcelain.

“I thought now would be a good time to check in about that old skin you’re supposed to be getting for us. Not that I really need to. I am having you followed. It’s not because I don’t trust you but…well, I don’t trust you and I want to be sure that when you find it you don’t do anything silly. It is very powerful after all. I have to say, little archivist, I’m mighty….disappointed….by your lack of progress. It’s been a week now and nothing and I am on a bit of a deadline, you know. The world won’t dance itself new on its own.”

Nikola stops with a breathy gasp.

Jon waits, fingers clenched in the sleeves of his too-big cardigan.

He can make out the creak of plastic, followed by what sounds like a heavy door being opened. He leans in, straining to hear the dull thud of feet on stone. The jaunty melody of carousel music lingers in the background, ever-present and just flat enough to set his teeth on edge.

“Unfortunately for you, that means I need to up the stakes a little. We can’t have you getting complacent, that just won’t do.”

Another grating sound, metal against concrete and then a jumble of muffled grunts, almost as if someone is trying to speak against restraints.

“Do try and keep him quiet.”

Nikola hisses to someone whose response Jon cannot hear.

Something coils in his gut, cold and heavy.

“He spotted one of us outside the Institute one evening, tried to follow us. A rather stupid move if you ask me. You may want to rethink your hiring strategy.”

The mumbling intensifies.

Jon feels sick. His stomach churns, a deep sense that something is very wrong knotting up his insides.

“He seems awfully fond of you, I must say, putting himself in all that danger to try and keep you safe. What on earth did you ever do to deserve such devotion, little archivist?”

He shakes his head, trying to speak around the hard lump in his throat even though he knows Nikola can not hear him.

“P-pl…”

“Would you like to say hello?”

There is a painful ripping sound, then a scraping and a few ragged breaths.

The cold dread in Jon’s gut begins to unfurl, spreading out, freezing him to his chair.

“Jon?”

His heart stutters.

“Jon, p-please….please…d-don’t…”

Martin’s familiar voice, shaking and edged with panic, erupts from the speaker like a scream.

The copper tang of blood spills over his tongue. He looks down, realising he’s been biting his knuckle so hard his skin has split. Even as he watches the blood pool and trickle down his fingers, he feels no pain.

Nikola laughs again, something knife-sharp behind the sweetness.

Jon is cold, so cold, even beneath his tea-scented cardigan. His hands are like ice as he claws at the tape recorder, smearing blood over the plastic casing. He is not sure what he’s trying to do, his thoughts too muddled. He thinks he may be trying to reach through to wherever they are, to wherever Martin is.

“You see archivist, now we have some collateral. So, if you don’t manage to find that ancient relic, well….shall we have a demonstration?”

A strangled whimper is all Jon can manage as he listens to the squeak of plastic fingers, the tearing of fabric, the clear zhing of a blade. His eyes lock onto the tape recorder, transfixed with horror as he hears Martin grunt and then…..

Jon has never heard screaming like that before.

It cuts through him, reverberating down to his bones and settling in his marrow, so deep he will never be rid of it.

At the same time, it drowns him. Each new cry washes over him, relentless, never giving him time to breathe. He is suffocating beneath the sound, helpless and guilt-ridden, hands twitching as if trying to pull himself up for air. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe – chest too tight, pulse racing. His vision swims, blackness creeping in from the edges as Martin screams and screams and screams.

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, cold tears spilling down his cheeks. He presses his hands over his ears, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot escape it.

It feels like a lifetime before the screaming begins to quiet and an eternity until Nikola speaks again, high and airy.

“Impressive. That was even through a gag. What fun we’re going to have!”

A sob fills the silence, faint and broken. Jon matches it with his own.

Somewhere the Eye swells and glows in gluttonous satisfaction. Jon can feel it preening, brimming over with stolen terror. He shoves it away in disgust.

“Lucky for us there’s plenty of him to use.”

Something slaps wetly. There’s a squelch, like fingers being shoved into dough.

Jon retches.

“This will make a luvely pair of gloves, don’t you think?”

He doubles over, heaving dryly into his wastepaper bin, for once glad he didn’t have lunch. Sweat beads at his hairline, spots dancing in front of his eyes as he gasps around the convulsions of his nauseated body.

“Now now archivist, no point getting upset. The sooner you find us the gorilla skin the more of your assistant there will be left. I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you. Goodbye.”

The voice fades, leaving only panting breaths and pained groans before the recording ends with an abrupt click.

Jon lets it run on while he struggles to find a rhythm to his breathing. The background whir is a comfort, something to dampen the horrific shrieking that still rings in his ears.

Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, a deadweight. First Sasha and now Martin. How many more people will he fail before the end? Who else will have to suffer because of him? He curls himself up in his chair and tries to consider what he should do, but his thoughts either will not come or fly past too fast to crystalise into an actual plan. Eventually, he gives in to the lingering heaviness of his limbs and the hollowness in his chest and he cries.

---

He isn’t sure how long he sits there.

The tape finally finishes and cuts off with a burst of static and the pop of the play button.

He is sat in silence when Basira finds him, folded up and trying to ignore the screams in his head. Her firm footsteps alert Jon to her presence as he can barely see out of his tear-swollen eyes. Her breathing pauses as she takes a moment to assess the situation.

Jon can picture the scene clearly: he sits, knees to his chest, hands tangled in his greying hair. The tape recorder perches haphazardly on the edge of his desk, smeared with blood that has dried a rich, rust colour. There are gouges in the surface of his desk and matching splinters beneath his fingernails.

“Jon?”

He thrusts out an arm, knocking Basira’s hand out of the way. The tape recorder falls to the floor with a crack, the cassette flies out, magnetic tape spooling on the floor. He stares at it for a moment. At least now she cannot….will not….and he does not have to either.

“Jon!?”

Her voice is clipped, hard. There is no room for argument or bullshit, no hint of concern. He would expect nothing less of Basira, and he has always respected her bluntness and the ability to bury her emotions so she can get the job done. As much as he would like to believe he can do the same, he knows it is a lie. Today has just proven that.

“Jon!?”

He opens his mouth to answer but only manages a strangled whine, which devolves into a sob. He takes a shuddering breath before trying again.

“M-“

It hurts. His throat is raw, almost as if he has been the one screaming. He is not entirely sure he hasn’t been. No one would have heard him all the way down here. He thinks Elias meant for it to be that way.

“Ma-“

The name sticks in his throat, coats his tongue with a sour taste, and lodges itself behind his teeth. He can not say it….does not deserve to say it…Nikola’s words repeat in his head, over and over.

What on earth did you ever do to deserve such devotion?

Jon thinks of all the times he has berated Martin, the mornings he has purposefully left his tea undrunk just to spite him, the cold manner he has used to decline every offer of help or comfort. And still, Martin had smiled, had rinsed out his mug and stubbornly left another on his desk made to his exact taste, had even pushed himself to research the Vittery case, almost risking his life just to try and get a good word out of his boss.

Martin, who writes poetry that overflows with tender melancholy. Martin, who had stayed up into the early hours with Jon while he had been staying in the archives, somehow aware that Jon was alone and afraid. Martin, who had persuaded the ECDC to hand over a jar of Prentiss’ ashes so he would feel safe. Martin, who had made it his mission to ensure Jon got at least one hot meal a day. Martin, who had lied on his CV to help his ailing mum. Martin, with his mop of curls and goofy smile and stupid hipster glasses and…oh…Martin....

Jon buries his nose into the yellow wool at his shoulder, inhaling the faded scent of Early Grey and spearmint toothpaste and lavender laundry detergent. It only leaves him feeling emptier.

Nothing, he wants to shout in reply to Nikola’s question, less than nothing!

“JON! What's going on?”

He sniffs, lifting his eyes to stare blankly down at the ruined tape recorder.

Basira’s gaze flicks to the device, before landing back on Jon.

He shivers, licking his parched lips and forcing the words out, voice cracked and tight.

“M-Martin….I-I need to f-find Martin.”

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wexhappyxfew · 3 years

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i literally choked on my pizza when i saw your writing and analyzing questions post, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!! first of all, what sort of process do you go through when creating characters? what kind of things do you take into consideration when creating them? i’m fascinated because creating characters is far from easy, especially when you’re creating someone like agent mortem! i’m always interested to know what the writer’s thought process was when creating a new character!

okay, so secondly, i wouldn’t say i’m having trouble with keeping all my planning organised and ‘precise’ in a way, but it’s really not easy 😅 i was wondering what kind of processes you go through when planning, whether you have like a specific structure or a set of steps to follow, or if you just kind of roll with it? at the moment when i plan it’s okay and it makes sense, but it’s literally just 4 or 5 pages of really chunky paragraphs which makes it really difficult to pick out the events again when i come to needing the plan to help me. i don’t really know if you do anything different, but if there is any way you know of that i could keep it more organised and easy to follow, that would be great :)

i’ll keep the last ones a little shorter because this ask is already looking veryyy long — what have you enjoyed writing about natia, what struggles have you faced and what have you learned? and basically the same with agent mortem if that’s possible :) i have asked a LOT of questions in this, so don’t feel like you have to answer them all because it will probably take quite a while 😅 anyway, thank you for putting up with my endless questions, and i hope you have a good day <33

ROSE AH HELLO MY FRIEND!!!! <333 sorry ive just gotten to this omg! it’s been sitting here for a little while but i’ve just had so much going on right now and wanted to make sure when i answered that my *full attention* was put on this! (because i’ve been very excited to answer this ESPECIALLY as i see agent mortem questions poking up on here and that just makes me even more hype!!! :D enjoy! <3

Ooooo this is a cool question! I’ve been asked it before but I feel with different characters and such, it always seems to fluctuate for me at least? In the sense, it’s almost never the same process for me in the developmental stages of a character haha! Sometimes I get characteristics first hand, or sometimes a certain scene pops up that just makes the character click and I can build from there, or sometimes, it’s just a last name or a first name that I work with and suddenly have an idea for!

For example, since we’re on the general topic of Landslide, I’ll talk about some things I did when creating specifically Natia. The “Natia” who is currently portrayed in the fic, was not always really like that. Natia initially was not a SOE Agent/Polish Resistance Fighter and instead a Dutch Resistance Member who would meet with Easy in Episode 4. I always sort of knew Natia, in whatever form she was, would meet Easy in Episode 4, but I wasn’t sure how, so the building in the first 17 chapters was the toughest part to come.

I did heavily feel the Polish were underrepresented in terms of the situation of the war along with everything that happened in the Warsaw Uprising and so I felt it was important to see if I could do something with that and that’s really where Natia came into play!

Natia means “hope” essentially and something I really like doing with her character is to parallel or juxtapose different ideas together, to continue on this sort of theme of her being a quite ominous and ambiguous character — you get the general sense of what her morals are, but in certain points it’s questionable. Morally-ambiguous characters have always been fascinating to me, especially female morally-ambiguous characters and so creating Natia in that respect I felt would be interesting to see what I could do!

Something major that I’ve slowly began to take into consideration with characters more and more, is the sort of general theme I want to be present with them — what’s that goal i that they are moving towards in the end and what’s the them surrounding it? For Natia it’s a multitude of things; family, revenge, being silenced, numb, grief, mentor vs protégé, lone wolf etc….the list could truly go on! And with these basic sort of ideas and themes, I can then move on from there and expand.

Why did she want REVENGE? Because the enemy killed her FAMILY, which is extremely important to her, and she wants to feel some sort of REDEMPTION for them.

Why was she BEING SILENCED? Because of the *past* conflict of the HARMFUL MENTOR VS SILENCED PROTÉGÉ situation that occurred between Agent Mortem and herself, where she allowed herself to be silenced by someone who abused the SUDDEN POWER he never had before in his life, ultimately leading to her continued issues of TRUST that she would meet throughout.

Why is she NUMB? Because at a fairly young age she experienced heavy and intense GRIEF that struck unforgivably at a time where it seemed things were safe. To rip something from a character, especially the main character, like FAMILY which is extremely important, you pull at the heart strings and it makes that character move forward on a quest for that in a way, ultimately by the end of the fic. (Basically you up they are least get a semblance of that lost thing, found again by the end)

Why is she a LONE WOLF? Because of the MENTOR VS PROTÉGÉ situation yet again, where she was taught to rely strictly on herself and no one else and so when TRUST and COMPANIONSHIP and TEAMWORK were introduced to her character, she didn’t know how to cope because she had been so desensitized to the ways of Agent Mortem that working back in the morals of family and friends was a challenge in its own respect.

It’s sort of a like a ripple effect if you think about it and that’s what helps me eventually move forward and develop the character arc I want to take place. She’s this way because of this — sort of like cause and effect. It’s really helped me out with major scenes or plot holes that have risen throughout the fic!

AGREED! Writing in general is not an easy feat and now including mind you ORIGINAL CHARACTERS, you’re literally, essentially, creating human beings from scratch and giving them characteristics, a backstory, trauma if you wish, friends and family, people they love, people they hate, morals, standards EVERYTHING! ITS INSANE! AH AND AGENT MORTEM! I’m so very glad that you brought him up, because his creation definitely stemmed directly from the want to experiment with the relationship of failed mentor vs protégé, entirely. I wanted a foil to Natia that was not directly with her all the time. Mortem plays such a MASSIVE role in her story and yet any interactions between the two are either from her mind or from memories and that’s just such a fun way to play around with their dynamic! (I just finished the creation of his backstory and character arc I want him to take and it’s only made me even more excited for what’s to ultimately come for him as well as Natia!)

A song that HEAVILY represents their dynamic is Ghost by Marvin Brooks (2WEI) and I’ll explain why. Even though Mortem is not always inherently *with* Natia, he still is a huge factor of her life, and still heavily controlling many aspects of her life such as recurring memories, reactions, and how she is also conditioned to react to certain things as well. He is essentially a “ghost” who is “haunting” Natia and I feel that’s an interesting take on their connection because they’re two people who clearly had a power struggle and a difference of opinions of multiple things and that just makes it so incredibly interesting to write!

song:

OOOOOO good question!!! So many people have such different ways of approaching story writing and planning and drafting and writing and editing and it’s honestly amazing!! I will say, I’m not an excessive planner or even a real great planner with writing, I never really have, and even as I’ve developed my writing and learned that “it’s okay to slow down”, or “it’s okay to take time for different portions to provide a deeper focus”, I still have not been someone to plan out every bit of my writing.

Reason being is I enjoy seeing where I can take the story in that time and place. Maybe if I’m doing a quick little writing segment and suddenly this idea just appears and hits me, I work it into the fic and it takes it a whole new direction and I end up not being super upset about it because it just…it works! And of course, this is not how other people operate and I have every respect for people who plan and have every detail laid out and figured out and just….completely and utterly planned to the dot. Lile kudos to people who genuinely get the planning all cleaned up before even writing, truly.

I just finalized Agent Mortem’s backstory and where I want his character arc to go and I’ve had him as a character since August of last year LOL! But ya know sometimes, I sit and I think back and go, maybe I wasn’t ready at that time to develop him completely yet because I, the writer, didn’t understand him enough to and I had to write more of him to be able to get a grasp of who he was and his character (and just about everything else!) and that’s okay!!! :)

Going with this idea I just stated above — the 4 or 5 pages of info — KEEP IT MY FRIEND!!! I swear, half the reason ideas even come to me is simply because I just write a big info dump that has all my little ideas somewhere inside and will ALWAYS be there. I recommend maybe taking a day though - away from focusing on writing or editing - and just picking that apart. (That’s what I did the other day and it helped me out MAJORLY! and it was worth it in the end!) Maybe keep the original 4-5 pages and then copy and paste the same thing in another doc so you always have the original!

And then just go through and split ideas apart! If you start reading and see it moving into another realm of headspace of ideas, just press enter and separate the two — you didn’t delete it, it’s still there and still intact! It’s just easier to look at now because instead of two, jumbled and completely different ideas, you now have two paragraphs and portions of text that relate to their own respective idea. It definitely makes it an easier pill to swallow when trying to get yourself organized!!

This really helped me when I was in my beginning stages of figuring out Landslide ESPECIALLY the first 17ish chapter where Natia was not in contact with Easy yet. I’ve explained it before but those chapters are there because we are seeing her final days with the resistance in Warsaw and how she ultimately ends up with Easy PLUS we see who she is as a character by herself and how she is not merely an extension off of Easy, but her own character, her own person. She has her own story and her own morals and ways of going about her life that don’t even relate to Easy. Their paths just happened to cross!! :)

By getting those first 17ish chapters planned, not extreme planning though I will admit, half the scenes were very much thought up on the spot for example like Natia driving to Munich in disguise or the introduction of Zdzich — two very important scenes that show us something about Natia. (1) She’s willing to go to extreme lengths for the people she loves to ensure that in the end they are safe, even if it means sacrificing herself and (2) she has trouble realizing that there are people out there that genuinely care for her, a connection to her ultimate, unruly and upsetting past. And the best part about it is THESE WEREN’T EVEN PLANNED! So sometimes, just let the story take the reigns and your mind and just guide you through it. Sometimes it is for the best :)

If you have your basic ideas and concepts and themes for how you want your fic to eventually go, the scenes for me most of the time just appear I guess when they should. Sometimes even in the times I'm not writing, I sit theorizing and questioning and thinking and developing ideas in my mind and it's a real good exercise, so when you get back to writing, you already know where you want the fic leading in the end!

MAN I LOVE THIS QUESTION. Anytime I can provide some meta or give some insight to Natia who is just one of the best characters I’ve gotten the pleasure of working with, I’ll gladly answer!

The thing I enjoy writing about Natia the most I feel, and I’ll probably always say this, is her complexity — as a writer, her character orders a healthy challenge for me that I gladly have accepted! You don’t know everything about her as a reader and as you read each chapter, that’s how you slowly uncover and discover what she hid about herself to protect herself. There’s so many different aspects of her that I could discuss truly!! (There has been so many parts that I’ve scrapped because I read through and just think “Man this doesn’t seem like Natia!”. She’s tricky sometimes to stake down exactly how she would react because of her past and her trauma and how long she’s been in war, but I just LOVE it!)

Many different aspects of her character though, come from her past and that’s what makes her interesting. I’ve really enjoyed working with the ideology of “Chekov’s Gun”, a writing device that can be used, with how I will mentioned something and it almost might seem out of the blue, yet later it all just makes sense?! When the flashback is revealed or a small portion of her past is finally allowing *light* in. It's a device I've used with Natia that has just really helped to develop her story at the pace I want it to be revealed! :D

For example, the OCEAN is mentioned many times. I make constant reference to the WAVES, the RECESSION of them from time to time, the comparison of the OCEAN both ABOVE and BELOW surface — all of that sorta stuff! For her character, it seems a bit out of place. She’s COLD. She’s NUMB. She’s BROKEN. What does an open body of water consuming at least 70% of the Earth have to do with an OC based in Warsaw, Poland?

This is where the importance of her PAST will play it’s role, as it has a major INFLUENCE on her and her CHARACTER and her MORALS. One of the main reasons the OCEAN is inherently connected to Natia is because of her PAST and one of those main reasons is AGENT MORTEM and her TRAINING, especially WATER training. I can’t comment further on this though as readers have only touched the tip of the iceberg for the use of the OCEAN and it’s IMPORTANCE so far in this fic! (Ask me again about it once this fic is finished up for the most part, unless….by Part 4 readers understand why!)

Natia just remains a character who constantly is developing and changing inside my head - where I want her path to ultimately end up leading by the end of the fic, where I want both her mental head space vs emotional head space should be and etc. So many portions of this fic are dealt specifically on her internal monologue and how she calculates and problem solves from that portion of her sort of *engagement* within the conflict. There never seems to be a dull moment when writing her!

Another thing I really have enjoyed about writing Natia is her clashing personality traits that make her interesting to write in both different scenarios and reactions. She's stubborn yet humble. She's numb and cold but internally extremely caring and giving and filled with these bottled up emotions. She's mentally strong yet she's been through so much and let the war take so much. She never complains about what she's doing, but she's lost nearly everyone she loves. She's a fighter in this war and refuses to back down from a battle she know she can wage, but the second she is pulled from the aspect of war, things crash and burn around her. Just even these few combating sort of things, really show her character and what, through writing, has slowly developed! They always lay around in the back of my mind and it's one of the main things I remind myself when I write Natia all the tme.

I think one of the most important things I've learned from both writing and creating a character like Natia is that (1) it's okay to ask for help, about anything, literally anything. You don't have to confine everything to yourself and build up this immense pressure to do what you must to continue moving forward. It's okay to have people there to help you and support you. (2) It's okay to be strong alone and even if you seem to be the only one on the current path you're are on, it does not mean you are wrong. it can still lead to the right destination in the end!

Oooo okay! AGENT MORTEM!! I am totally down to chat about some things I've loved to write with him with and some challenges I've discovered, but as far as what I've learned from him, I will be holding off and could answer that when the entire fic is both completed and then updated on platforms....just because ;) don't want to give away any spoilers haha! <3

Something I've enjoyed about writing and crafting Agent Mortem is letting him remain as mysterious and secretive as he is for so long. Initially, I can't even begin to recall what his character would be like even a year ago, but seeing where he has developed now, I'm really happy with where he is. He's mysterious, he's shadowed, he seems like a figure in the background, a past mentor who is half deranged and lost his mind with a background with so substance. It makes for such a fascinating way to begin to reveal his past! (something I've began to insert into part 4 of Landslide and man I'm just so HYPE!)

I feel I'm excited simply because he's finally getting the time and moment he deserves to finally explain and show himself as to what has occurred. There's so many fractured and disconnected parts of what is currently going on with Natia and her connection to both Agent Mortem and then Death is tossed in the mix and it seems this big complicated mess of 'how' Agent Mortem got to be this way, 'why' he does a thing such as this, just different and varying aspects such as that. it makes for those big final reveals to all be even more worth it!

He has been quite the challenge though I will admit. There's so many perspectives he could quite possibly be viewed from and his *character* + morals/values could be pulled in a various amount of ways as well. Making sure he accurately comes across the way I want him to both appear and come across to the reader and to myself has definitely been tricky. He's not as easy as suspected, you know, not just a 'dude who had a bad day and went insane in the end', there's a whole multitude of levels and reasons and a deep, heavy and traumatizing background starting from his birth really (which is a whole other story). Managing and balancing that all in one has definitely been something I've had to keep on top of and monitor but I feel has really been worth the challenge in the end. Because at the end of the day, I'm someone looking to constantly challenge myself.

And a good challenge, whether it be writing or academics or a workout, is healthy and GOOD! That's what Landslide in a whole has really shown me, to challenge yourself daily to see where you can push yourself and your imagination and creativity, just to see where you can even go!! it's exciting and refreshing!

Thank you so much for this wonderful ask Rose! I appreciate it more than ANYTHING as you well know, and I know it's taken me *quite* some time to answer, but I've been working on it for weeks now and finally got it out because it was ready! I really wanted to take my time with it and develop it to its full potential in the end and I feel I have (without giving away any spoilers haha!) As always, please know if you have any further questions regarding Natia Filipska, Agent Mortem, Death (along with other characters of Landslide), writing, the process (my own included), tips for writing/planning, or just anything else in general, I will always be happy to help in anyway I can! You're always welcome, anyone always is!!! <3333 Thank you again, I had so much fun doing this more than anything! :D

#writing #writing tips #band of brothers #bob fic #band of brothers fic #also hello landslide day tmr and it’s a good one hehe :d #natia filipska #agent mortem #death (character)#basic aid on characters + writing/planning #plus gathering thoughts #thank you again for this rose! i had so much fun! <3333

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otome0heart · 3 years

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[Fanfic] MLQC Secret Santa 2020: The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Victor)

A little late but this is my belated present for @mrs-victor-li for the MLQC Secret Santa ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁) I really hope that you like it.

Also, a big thank you to @ginkgowritings for organising this and being patient with my delay. I really, really appreciated it (灬ºωº灬)♡

Title: The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Genre: Fluff/Romance

Words: 3786

Notes: Even though I tried to merge it in the Dates timeline, in the end the story diverts from the canon, though it’s set after the Rooftop Date (possible spoilers if you haven’t read it). Also, this was partly inspired by the wonderful analysis of Victor’s character “Waiting for your consent” by @sharinluna. I just had time to revise and edit it once so please, forgive any big mistakes that you see and point them to me so I can correct them ^^ Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

THE LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

The curtain closed for the last time that evening and the clapping died little by little in the great hall. The audience started gathering their things and the young woman looked at her companion, her joyful expression turning into a puzzled one, as he sat down again. Victor returned her gaze with a tiny smile playing on his lips and she did the same, beside him.

“Are we waiting for something?”

He crossed his legs, making himself comfortable.

“The corridors are crowded right now, we’ll take the same amount of time to get out whether we’re there or stay here for a while.”

She hummed, a brief musical sound emerging from her throat, just like the ones she had enjoyed not so long ago, her eyes turning back to the now quiet stage and her feet moving in a spontaneous dance to a melody only she knew. At that moment, Victor would have given anything to know what was on her mind. She seemed to have gone to a world of her own though she was just at an arm’s reach and that unsettled him. He studied her profile in the warm-lit box partly hidden from prying eyes by a dark red curtain that framed her delicate features. They were in an impasse in their relationship which made him unsure of where he stood. He had told her of his feelings for her some weeks before but she had not answered him yet. However, as they had continued seeing each other outside work, he had noticed very little changes in her attitude towards him, mixed signals that sometimes led him to think she felt the same, others that gave away a sense of an inner struggle. And he knew why. The fact that his corporation was the main and only investor on hers made her tiptoe around him, not getting closer but not wanting to offend him either.

He pressed his lips in a thin line. He was not blind to the fact of other men appreciating her as well, she was a fine young lady with plenty of good qualities and the owner of a company; but he was also a mature man who separated work and personal clearly, and if she were in love with someone else, he would retire like the gentleman he considered himself to be. And if she thought that he was so petty as to retire his investment because of that, then, maybe she was truly a silly girl.

He breathed a silent sigh, shooking his head and relaxing his features, as the sounds of conversation in the hall started to fade. Whatever the future held for both of them, he was not going to waste his time dwelling in what-ifs. He would enjoy every single occasion he had to be with her at work or out of it until she made her mind up, starting from the fact that that meaningful evening was his alone.

The hall was almost empty by then, and he looked at his watch.

“Shall we go?”

Deeply lost in her thoughts, she startled a little upon hearing his voice.

“Yes, sorry” she smiled lightly and stood up just after him, grabbing the white coat on the back of her chair.

He extended his hand and she doubted for a few seconds just before giving it to him and turning around. As he helped her, he admired her exposed neck and upper back, normally covered by her hair, this time styled up in a braided low bun where she had held a hairpin with some poinsettia flowers. He could not help a smile. She had gone all out for the festivity and wore a dark green knee-length satin dress with some applique work on the body and sleeves, and red ankle-strapped shoes. She could pass as a very elegant dressed elf. A lovely one, he had to admit.

He put on his black coat too, and together, they left the box seat. There were only a few people in the corridors who had probably had the same idea as Victor. Some of them greeted them, glancing curiously at her as they exchanged a few courtesy words with Victor.

Finally, they exited the theatre, a cold gust of wind greeting them. It had snowed heavily while they had been inside and there was a thin layer of white covering the dark coloured pavement and the road. She let out an excited laugh and bounced on her heels, enjoying the sound of the crushed snow under her feet. He shook his head slightly, an amused smile drawing across his mouth and then, offered her his arm, which he was surprised to see she took without hesitation. Probably, she was more worried about falling down and making a fool of herself than about her confused feelings towards him.

At a leisure pace, they walked down the steps of the building and headed to the parking lot where he had left his car, a few blocks from there. They made their way in silence at the beginning, watching some scattered snowflakes fall from the trees lining the road, profusely decorated. From time to time, Victor stole glances at her, enjoying the Christmas lights reflected in her pupils and the expression of awe in her features, as if she saw them for the first time.

‘Childish’ he thought, aware that precisely that earnestness she possessed was one of the things that attracted him to her deeply.

And then, a soft hum reached his ears. Distracted as she was with the ornamentation, she had unconsciously started to sing disconnected fragments of the melodies she had listened to at the theatre, happy ballet songs about sweets and fairies, and dancing snowflakes and flowers. A pleasant feeling filled him inside and he breathed satisfied, focusing on her lovely voice.

No matter how many years she had seen Loveland’s Christmas illumination, it managed to amaze her every single one of them. Beautiful figures, curtains of stars, snowflakes projected on buildings and Christmas trees in the squares, they were all different from the previous ones, bigger and more colourful.

Without barely realising, she had started to hum, the familiar songs that she had heard so many times before that night finding their way from her mind and heart to her throat. Her father had brought her to see The Nutcracker ballet for several years in that same building they had been to that night. When Victor had suggested going to the theatre on Christmas Eve, she had hesitated a bit. Even though they had had lunch and dinner together a few times after his confession, it had never sounded as much as a date as that one, especially given the romantic connotations the day held for most people. It had been when he had told her that he had tickets to attend to The Nutcracker ballet that all her doubts had vanished, replaced by nostalgia and excitement and, as she had watched the dancers on the stage and heard the beautiful, happy melodies of the dances, warm feelings and memories from her childhood had filled her.

The streets were crowded with people of all ages, walking busily from shop to shop in search of a last-minute present or watching the decorations. Here and there, they also passed couples hand in hand, and she wondered if they looked the same to them, holding arms and strolling so close together. She lowered her head a bit, hiding her chin in the fuzzy neck of her coat. Victor declaring his feelings for her so straightforwardly that night a few weeks ago on the roof of LFG had left her confused and unsure. With his fiercely demanding attitude and his mighty position, she had never suspected that he could see her as something more than a “dummy”, a silly girl that stood up to him and that most of the time was never up to his standards at work. In very few moments, he had let her see what was behind his poker face and his tyrannical ways, allowing her to discover a fiercely loyal and protective man with a warm heart who loved his family dearly. And during those glimpses, she had felt closer to him, that the walls between them cracked and collapsed bit by bit, though sometimes, they were rebuilt again in the blink of an eye. She had wondered then if all that was in her imagination and his affection, just a dream. However, his words were deeply engraved in her heart, and his voice, loud and clear like that day, resounded in her mind once again.

I wouldn’t go near another woman. All I want is you…

Heat flushed her cheeks and she side glanced at Victor to see if he had noticed, but he was looking ahead, at the entrance of the car park just a few metres in front of them, across a square, and she breathed, relieved.

He had not mentioned the matter again. Unlike the idea she had of suitors from what she had heard from her friends or watched in films, he had left her space to think, not trying to be a constant presence in her daily life or influence her feelings in any way, not meddling in her bonds with the men who were important to her. His attitude towards her had been the same, overbearing and not giving her a special treatment, and at the same time, considerate and lenient with her whims. True to his word, he was waiting for her to see the light, even at the risk of that never happening.

The atmosphere in the square was very similar to the one in the bustling streets, though the decorations and colours were much subtler, giving the place a cosy, intimate glow, so different from when they had crossed it in the late afternoon on their way to the restaurant where they had a reservation for an early dinner before heading to the theatre, with the hot shades of the sunset reflecting on the glass windows of the nearby buildings, tinting the world as if it was on fire.

“Everything is so beautiful…” the girl sighed looking at a group of reindeers made with small white lights, except for one which was red. “It’s like stepping into a winter wonderland.”

“Well, I agree that it has its charm and that people feel compelled to spend is a great incentive for business.”

She lifted a brow, regarding him with an incredulous stare.

“I can’t believe you said that… Where’s your Christmas spirit? Don’t you feel anything special seeing so many awesome and creative things made with just garlands and trees and lights, the families walking together and the children so thrilled?”

“Like the one I have beside me?” he replied jokingly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

She pouted despite clearly seeing that he was trying to provoke her, and turned her head away. However, a second later she forgot about it as her eyes fell on the loveliest decorative ensemble she had seen that day.

“VIctor, look!” the young woman exclaimed as she left him with fast steps, walking to a space between two trees where a string of bulbs in the shape of a holly branch hung. On top of it, two robins, also made with fairy lights were perched, looking at each other, one with its wings slightly opened, the other giving it what looked like a sprout of leaves and small white balls.

A young couple a few meters away from her laughed and she turned in time to see them kiss fully on the mouth, making her flush upon realising what that little sprig in the bird’s beak was.

The two teenagers parted from each other and glanced at her, giggling again and walking away. She looked at Victor, panicked but unable to move from her spot, not knowing what to do. He was just a few meters away, watching her with an unreadable expression that stirred an unknown feeling inside her.

Then, suddenly, everything stilled and there was no more sound of chiming bells moved by the cold breeze, no more rumour of excited voices and nervous chuckles. As if he had decided something, he walked to her, slowly, like a majestic lion, but at the same time, she had the impression that he was giving her a chance to escape, that just a step back would stop him completely, as the suspended time. But for some unknown reason, she could not do it. Her heart was beating strongly in her chest, almost deafening her, her breath coming in short puffs of steam between her slightly parted lips. She lifted her gaze as he stopped in front of her. His mauve eyes, always crystal clear, were darkened by the night and the emotion that glimmered deep inside them. But there was more, a flicker of uncertainty that surprised her. She had never had the impression that he could be insecure about something, and yet, there was so much she did not know about him.

And also, there was her. She could see herself reflected in his pupils and she felt that she was the only one that mattered in his world. That thought alone made her feel an inexplicable spark of happiness and warmth spread inside her chest.

He lifted his hand and slipped it gently behind her head cupping the nape of her neck, and his thumb swept over her cheek, feeling the heat of her skin. She was looking at him with her big eyes, shiny under the Christmas lights and confused at his actions. How he longed to cross the distance, physical and emotional, that separated them and feel finally complete, silence the yearn that surged in his heart each time he saw her. But he had promised her to wait, to leave her space so she could see him as the man who desperately loved her instead of just the powerful CEO that held her future and that of those under her in his hands. So, he would have to settle for just a little display of affection, just for the two of them.

He leant forward and, as she lowered her lids not knowing what to expect, he brushed her forehead with his lips tenderly, lingering just enough to breathe in the floral fragrance of her hair and feel the softness of her skin.

He let go just after his kiss, taking a step back, and suddenly, the young woman found herself missing the heat radiating from him, protective and comforting.

“Shall we go?” he asked, bending his elbow for her to slip her hand around again, as the little bulbs clinked together in the breeze and the atmosphere filled with laughter and noise once again.

The girl nodded, not really trusting her voice, and took his arm, both of them walking straight to the parking lot entrance.

Once they paid and found the car, he opened the door for her, waiting until she had taken off her coat and sat down comfortably to close it. Then, he did the same, leaving his garment on the back seat and took his place on the driver’s seat.

She leant her head back on the headrest as he drove carefully along the snow-covered roads, one of her hands folded over the other, where she still could feel his warmth, as if it wanted to keep it as much as possible. Her mind had been wandering to him quite often during those weeks, when she was not working, trying to decipher what she felt for him, but until that moment, she had not got a clear answer. It was difficult for her to separate the authoritative figure he represented from the caring man whom she was so precious for, as she understood that seventeen years ago, she had made a strong impression on him while she had completely forgotten about his existence. However, he was becoming a crucial figure in her life now, someone who pushed her past her limits and encouraged her to do her best; someone who she could count on and spoiled her just enough to make her feel happy again on a bad day. She was not sure if it was the light he was expecting or not, but the only conclusion she had reached was that she wanted to know more about him, to uncover layer after layer of the pragmatic LFG CEO and see the man behind the finance emperor.

Her eyes fell on her hands again, and a light colour appeared on her cheeks. It had also been the first time they had stood so close together since his confession, making her aware of her masculine presence and his status as a possible lover, someone who would have access to her most private thoughts and feelings, who would expect more than a platonic bond. Her face turned scarlet red at the mere idea of Victor and her crossing the invisible line that until that night had been clearly drawn between them. She recalled the warmth of his hand on her skin and the slight shiver that had run down her spine at the brush of his lips, awakening on its course a million of unfamiliar but thrilling sensations and she bit her lower lip.

“You're normally not so quiet” he said in a soft voice, his eyes on the road, and she turned her head to him, brusquely brought back to reality, which made silence fall between them for a moment. “Did you not like the performance?”

“I loved it!” he side-glanced at her briefly just enough to see if she was feigning her sudden enthusiasm. “Sorry if it seemed the other way…” she doubted briefly and then, she continued, her nervousness at being caught in her recollections set aside. “You know, my father brought me there several times when I was a child and a teen. it was like a Christmas tradition to see The Nutcracker together around this time. Then, I spent the rest of the winter playing the different melodies on the piano. In spring, I put the scores away until the following December, when we started the circle again. Tonight’s ballet has brought me many memories of those times” she looked at her fingers, still laced together. “It’s been long since I played them, I’ve been too busy…”

He kept silent, but she saw that his brows were knitted together in a frown and she knew that he was doubting his choice.

“I’m glad to have reminisced about those moments. It made me appreciate the dancing and the music much more and keep my memories of my father alive” she turned towards him and that grabbed his attention. “Thank you for taking me there, Victor.”

His posture relaxed visibly and the thin line in his forehead disappeared.

“You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, he parked his car in front of her building. Despite the slight tension still tangible in the cabin, the young woman felt comfortable and wished she could enjoy his company for a while longer. Then, a sudden idea came to her mind.

“Do you want to come up to my place and have some hot chocolate?” she asked on a whim, surprising him.

His slightly widened eyes watched her for a few seconds, his features not revealing any of his thoughts, making her squirm awkwardly and then, shook his head.

“No, thank you. I have a meeting early in the morning.”

She seemed surprised by his rejection but did not feel discouraged and tried again.

“It won’t take long, and it’ll warm you-”

“You don’t need to do this” he interrupted her words, trying to end her struggle and laying his cards on the table.

“What?”

“To feel pressured. I told you I’d be patient so take all the time you need to sort out your feelings about us. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable or obliged with me, so I apologise if I overstepped-”

“I know” she replied with a light nod, interrupting him. “You can be imposing and a tyrant but also, respectful and considerate so I know that you’d never force or rush me to do anything I’m not completely sure about” she stared into his eyes with a serious expression which took him slightly aback. “I trust you.”

Those words reached the deepest part of his thundering heart. Never in his life had he felt so relieved and so right, reassured that his actions were correct and that she appreciated them. He had feared so many times that his confession had only made things between them even more difficult but she was too afraid of offending him. And at the same time, he had been worried about interpreting her acceptance of his advances as something more meaningful than it really was. Knowing that she was considering his feelings carefully and maybe taking baby steps towards a relationship between them filled his chest with even more love for her.

“Thank you for this evening, Victor” she smiled unfastening her seatbelt. “It’s been wonderful.”

He nodded, his features softening upon seeing her returning to her normal self.

“Goodnight.”

And then, she leant forward, putting her hand on his arm to bring him to her and kissed his cheek, a silent touch in the darkness of the enclosed space they were in which left him breathless for a second.

“Goodnight” she whispered, her eyes gazing at him briefly before turning and opening the door of the car.

He watched her run towards the entrance of her building, her coat still in her arms and her green skirt fluttering behind her, still puzzled by how fast everything had happened. She reached the gate and just before disappearing, she looked over her shoulder with a small smile playing on her lips and her cheeks flushed. Then, she was gone.

Victor brought his hand to his face and brushed his cheek with his fingertips. He still could feel the warm pressure of her soft lips on his skin and the caress of her breath sweeping his ear, the subtle fragrance of her perfume surrounding him, giving him a glimpse of what it would be like to have her in his arms.

He closed his eyes and swallowed, breathing deeply trying to calm himself down and focus on the road. He started the car and, using his turn signal, joined the traffic on his way home, a soft smile curving his lips as he started to hum under his breath one of The Nutcracker’s melodies.

It seemed that, even though there was still a long way to go, she was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

THE END

#otome games #mr love queen's choice #mlqc #MLQCSanta20 #mlqc victor #fanfic

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weltenwellen · 3 years

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Hey, hope you're doing good :)

I'm someone who struggles with my mental health now and then and I'm planning to apply for Social Work. I've seen you post about related field. Do you think it would be a mentally demanding career option for someone like me? Can you share your thoughts on this please?

that’s an interesting and equally difficult question to answer. my first thought was, what if you would go the opposite way? what would happen to your mental health if you would approach a career that would not be in a social field? ultimately it would come down for me to two things: of course where you see yourself working & furthermore how you approach / handle your mental health struggles. i think a lot of people who struggled or have deeply struggled with their mental health, work in the social and psychology field. they bring an understanding & a kind of empathy that might be more difficult to achieve for people who are fairly stable in their mental health. i struggled with the question when i started uni & then again when i went back to therapy in my second year at uni. it was not only the question if I could handle working there that kept coming back to me but more importantly if i could even be of any help to people. i don’t think i can confidently say every day that i am confident in my choice but i keep choosing it & i keep working on my own development and on my level of knowledge to be good in the career i want to get into & secure and trusting enough in my own mental health. there is doubt but i am also changing through my studies and through working on my mental health. i am still of the opinion that the more you get to know yourself, the better you will become at holding yourself accountable, of asking for help when you need it & you’re also more capable of honest self reflection. so do i think it will mentally demanding to work in the social field? yes, but it’s also healing in my opinion as vulnerability always opens new doors to healing. while it hurts sometimes, i think we connect to other people through the wounds and scars we have. of course it depends then on your specific job, on the people around you and also how you organise and build your personal life? i think the difficulty is that the work demands a high level of self-knowledge and self-reflection as you try to balance the development and readjustments of healthy boundaries in order to take care of yourself and being vulnerable and caring in situation in order to connect at times. does that make sense? but all that stuff you will be able to learn through your studies, through internships and then again and again when you start working. a big part would be about willingness for me personally. we all struggle with stuff. yes, mental health struggles are difficult as they impact all areas of your life & they can be challenging & i don’t know you personally and how you handle your own struggles but if this is the career you want to pursue, i would push you lightly towards it.

#Anonymous

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piratewithvigor · 3 years

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Out Of Sight, Out Of Our Minds: Chapter 1

Summary: After a freak accident lighting a stove, Hawkeye suffered severe flash burns that have left him blinded. Most people recover within a week or so, but as the days drag on, BJ becomes more convinced that Hawkeye isn’t most people.

Word Count: 2050

A/N: This is a birthday present for the wonderful @the--blackdahlia who inspired me to get back into a writing groove after months of inactivity. It’s a retelling of the season 5 episode “Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind”, so there will definitely be spoilers ahead.

BJ had never liked baseball all that much. He was a little too scrawny as a kid to play with the others and listening to games on the radio bored him senseless. That never stopped Peg from dragging him to Seals Stadium on the weekends he couldn’t come up with any work-related excuse. She’d been a fan ever since the AAGPBL had established a team in her hometown of Kenosha and though her loyalties changed upon her move to San Francisco with BJ, her craze for the game had never wavered. BJ never exactly wanted to spend his afternoons in a ballpark that was too hot and sunny, watching a game that always felt just a little too long, but watching Peg get so thrilled was worth the three dollars he spent on the tickets.

Of course, it wasn’t late in the afternoon, nor was it warm, and he wasn’t seated in the plastic chairs of the ball park. It was nearly three in the morning, with a chill breezing through his tent in Korea and Peg wasn’t there making the sounds of baseball bearable. He’d heard Hawkeye mumble at Frank to turn off the radio at least a dozen times and no matter how firmly he pressed his thin pillow against his ears, information about the bout between the Dodgers and the Giants kept leaking in. It didn’t even seem like Frank actually cared who won. Just what the score was. He never cheered, not even the little hissed ‘yes’ when either team scored like Peg did. It sounded more like he was just listening to know. Especially when BJ heard the tell-tale scratch of a pencil against paper. Probably some kind of slimy scheme to get ahead in life, as Frank was known to do. But this late at night, BJ couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing he heard that made him smile was the announcement of the 4-3 concluding score and the promise of a rebroadcast at noon.

“Shut it off, Frank,” Hawkeye mumbled, pulling his thin blankets further over himself. “It’s 4-3 in the morning.”

“Stop dreaming and go back to sleep,” Frank shot back, switching off the little radio as he moved around in bed, assumedly trying to find a position on the cot that would retain body heat, but also fit between the limits.

“That makes good nonsense.”

BJ loved Hawkeye, really, he did, but the man had a serious problem with always needing the last word.

Now that the static-filled broadcast had been shut off, the tent seemed almost quiet. Korea was never dead silent, BJ had learned, but he took what he could where he could get it. As long as they weren’t being actively fired upon and there were no choppers going overhead, it was quiet in his books. He was finally starting to doze off when the door to the Swamp opened and at least two pairs of feet scuttled in. BJ hoped to God they were just very large rats. Rats didn’t make much noise besides the occasional squeak of fright.

“Hawkeye?”

Rats didn’t ask for doctors by name.

Rats.

“Wake up, Hawkeye, the stove in our tent went out.”

“Again?”

This wasn’t the first time the nurses had had issues with their stove this winter. It only happened once or twice when it first started getting cold, but when the winds got more violent, the stove seemed to be going out once a night. If BJ didn’t know any better, he’d think the nurses were just scheming to get Hawkeye alone in a room full of nurses and not have his wits about him.

“It’s freezing in there.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“There are four of us.”

BJ nearly chuckled at the resignation in Hawkeye’s voice as he pulled off his blanket to stand.

“I knew I should have gotten a bigger bed.”

“Could you people hold it down?” Frank piped up, his voice grating at BJ’s nerves. “I mean, show some consideration.”

“I don’t remember leaving a wake-up scream,” BJ grumbled. Consideration, his ass.

“Thanks, Hawkeye, you’re the only one who can fix it.” BJ was pretty sure that wasn’t true and given Hawkeye’s tired mutters of disdain, he felt safe in assuming the feeling was mutual.

“BJ?”

“Hmm?”

“If I’m not back in five minutes, don’t come get me.” If he wasn’t so tired, BJ might have chuckled.

Out of the corner of his partially-opened eye, he watched the light above Hawkeye’s cot shut off and his roommate shuffle out of the tent behind two nurses who were bundled up as tightly as they could be to avoid what had to be a bitter chill outside.

BJ stretched out a little as he turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling. Sleep was evading him all-too-rudely and likely would continue to until Hawkeye was back and snoring quietly. Ever since Peg and he had started sharing a bed all those years ago, BJ had begun to find it impossible to sleep without someone nearby. Frank was all the way across the tent and there was a stove between them; impossible to hear. He’d been worried coming over- there had been plenty of stories of what MASH units were like back home, but no details of the sleeping arrangements. He’d breathed an enormous sigh of relief when Hawkeye told him they’d be bunking together and an even larger one that evening when he realised his bunkmate snored loudly enough to drown out the distant sounds of gunfire. If he ever needed it, he just pretended the lanky man ten feet away was his beautiful wife, ten inches away. And if the homesickness was especially bad, he pretended Frank’s little fidgets during the night were Erin rustling in her crib. Sometimes it worked well enough to soothe him back to sleep. Other times, it left him in worse shape than he’d began. Korea had proven itself time and time again to be a lonely place, but knowing that he had people around him made it somewhat more bearable.

Between the stove warming the air around his feet and the thoughts of his family swirling around his head, the sleep that had been struggling to overtake him was finally succeeding in pulling BJ’s eyes closed. Until an explosion close enough to shake him out of any sleep he could have gotten rang through the camp. That would have been plenty to set him upright and his heart racing, but it was the collective screaming that got BJ out of bed (thank God he’d had the sense to wear shoes to bed). He paused in his scrambling just long enough to throw on his bathrobe before bolting to the nurse’s quarters. Hawkeye was stumbling out of the tent as he arrived, palms pressed to his eyes and screaming, all the while surrounded by nurses who were screaming just as shrilly. As worrisome as it was, at least Hawkeye was still able to walk. Plenty of soldiers had come through their OR who never learned of such luxury.

BJ reached him the same moment Colonel Potter did, but Potter, ever the leader, backed away from the forming posse to organise them. Flash burns were serious business and it was necessary to get Hawkeye to the OR as quickly as possible. BJ knew he heard Potter say something about an ophthalmologist, but it was hard to hear over Hawkeye’s screams of pain, the nurses’ screams of panic and the sound of his own heart pumping in his ears.

The next few hours were a blur to say the least. The sleep deprivation was already messing with his head, but hearing Hawkeye in so much pain was what was really knocking BJ out of his rhythm. He’d never seen anyone in that much pain without there being a substantial amount of blood involved. As much as he hated it, BJ had grown comfortable with blood. It was easy to fix: if it was where it wasn’t supposed to be, he had to stop it from getting there. Sometimes that involved stitching, or removing parts that were too broken to be fixed, or just removing things that weren’t supposed to be there, but there was almost always blood. In this case, there was absolutely none. The closest thing to red was Hawkeye’s bathrobe and the toasted skin around his eyes. The worst part about the whole situation was that there was nothing he could do to help. He was no ophthalmologist- didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the eyes beyond what he learned in first year biology.

BJ wasn’t sure how Radar accomplished it, but the ophthalmologist in question, Major Overman, arrived long before the sun was up and true to the reputation BJ had gathered of him, was swift in his examination and bandaging. It was awful, but the truth of the matter was that it was all there was to be done. Padding the eyes and wrapping a long length of bandage around the patient’s head so the padding wouldn’t move. It would let the eyes rest and after a week or so, if vision came back, everything would be okay. If not…

“How’s that feel?”

“Blind.”

BJ would have probably chuckled if the situation was different. The mood of the room seemed to express the same feelings. The Major didn’t even crack a smile.

“Okay, Hawkeye, you take it easy for a couple of days. I’ll be back Friday.”

Nearly a week away. As nervous as he was, BJ could only imagine the terror Hawkeye was feeling. But he never showed it. Never showed it unless you knew him, that is. He always told jokes to keep the atmosphere lighter, but he laughed at them. There was no laughter here. Not even a smile.

“Listen, one important question. Will I get to keep my nickname?”

“Let’s hope so.” The Major spoke for everyone there. They called him ‘Pierce’ often enough, That was different. Too impersonal. His name, but never his name.

“Just wondering if I should rent a seeing-eye dog or buy one.” The joking was getting weaker. Hawkeye was slowly accepting what had happened and it looked like everyone who had gathered around his cot could feel it too.

“See you Friday.”

Major Overman packed his gear and was escorted out of the post-op by Potter, asking something about a General O'Reilly. If BJ hadn’t been so on-edge, he would have maybe even laughed at the idea of Radar being a General, let alone a General who was so mad that he scared a clerk into a rushed shipment of an ophthalmologist. But instead, he was leaning on the end posts of Hawkeye’s cot, watching a nurse yell her sympathies at him. There was something about the injured and sick that made people forget what their actual ailments were and caused them to be treated as invalids. Based on Hawkeye’s wince, it was clear his partner-in-crime was already feeling the sting of the different treatment.

“You don’t have to shout, the sides still work.”

“We’re sorry,” she corrected herself, lowering her voice to a library-esque whisper.

“That’s alright. Next time, get a union man.”

“Hawk, if there’s anything you need…” It was generally said as a passing sympathy that didn’t really mean anything, but BJ wasn’t sure what else to say. He was a caretaker deep down and lord knew Hawkeye was going to need some help during the next few days.

“Well, if you’re going by the PX, you could get me a colouring book and some crayons.” Hawkeye’s head was angled towards him, but he wasn’t facing him by a long shot. Whether because it didn’t matter or because he didn’t care, BJ wasn’t sure. Nor was he sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I think you’re sick enough to qualify for the big box. I gotta go.” He was smiling, but BJ was sure Hawkeye could hear the worry in his voice. He tried to keep calm and carry on, no matter what the war threw, but this wasn’t something he could just walk away from. He wanted to be there.

“BJ?”

“Yeah?”

“Visit me a couple hundred times, will ya?” The request was small and quiet, almost desperate.

“At least.”

#Writing #Out Of Sight Out Of Our Minds #MASH #Fanfiction #Hawkeye Pierce #BJ Hunnicutt

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mallorytaylorblog · 3 years

Text

Asking for help, struggling to receive it.

31st March, 2021.

I started writing this post on 19th February and it’s taken me until now to revisit it. And everything I wrote just wasn’t quite right.

The reason for that is I like to write when I’m going through something, while the pain, desire to be better, and the lessons are fresh - literally, while I’m moving through it. I write to organise my thoughts and to gain further clarity on my conditioning and state of mind when I read it back a few days or weeks later, and also to provide insight into my train of thought in the hope that it will give others who relate a sense of relief; that they’re not alone in how they feel whilst going through something similar. It’s a self growth tool I like to employ, but sometimes it doesn’t always work because I can get too caught in the pain and the desire to grow escapes me. So I stop writing.

What I was originally writing about detailed a recent period of about a month where I was stuck in a habit of waking up, playing video games, napping and eating, rarely moving from the couch, then going to bed with an overwhelming sense of disappointment. My self worth had taken a hit, and these new habits had me wondering where my productivity, energy and zest for life had disappeared to. Every night, it was, “Okay, I’ll be productive tomorrow”, and I’d create a mental action list before I hit the pillow. And every morning I’d wake up and head straight to the couch, telling myself I’d only play video games for an hour, “then I’ll be productive”. I’ll let you guess how that turned out.

I felt horrible about my situation, knowing I put myself there. All the choices I’d made up until that point had culminated in my self imposed isolation. It wasn’t until difficult conversations around my financial and emotional states couldn’t be avoided that I knew I had to take action. My low self worth and apathy toward changing my situation had started to affect others, so I couldn’t ignore the way I felt any more. I had to ask for help.

I’ve reflected on my struggle to ask for help before, having felt that my emotional needs not being met as child meant that I wasn’t important enough or worthy of help, or that I was burdensome for advocating for myself. I learned to be resourceful and asking for help didn’t fit into my learned independence. I’m getting much better at it, so I’m proud of the fact that I could muster the courage to text the group chat and ask my girlfriends if anyone was free for a phone call, as I was having a hard time. And even as I hit send on that message I was immediately flooded with doubts.

“You’ll be left on read. No one’s going to reply.” “Everyone is too busy with their own shit to help you with yours.” “These women are mothers, business owners and entrepreneurs! And you want to bother them because you can’t stop playing video games? Grow up.” “They’re rolling their eyes and laughing at you. Stop being such a loser!”

Conditioning and limiting beliefs can be powerful. This is the subconscious mind at play here. These thoughts stem from a belief that my authenticity isn’t enough to be accepted. Except I know that I am exactly who I am meant to be, and that has always been good enough. Consciously, I know this, but the conscious mind isn’t what’s running the show - our subconscious is. So this hidden script, this belief that my cells have embodied to be “true” is what’s in the driver’s seat. And the way we change that script is by showing ourselves through action that there is another way; by proving the belief wrong.

As a kid I had to learn how to soothe myself when I was emotional because not only was emotional literacy never modelled for me, I felt that it wasn’t safe to express my emotions around my family. So if I didn’t bottle them up, I learned other ways to express them - some healthy (music, sports, art), and others not so much. My desire to be accepted turned me into a people pleaser, eager to dissolve any part of my personality that could be deemed “bothersome” or “disappointing” just so I would be liked and included. But my lack of emotional regulation made me volatile and my inability to express myself made me depressed. The first thing that made me realise I could change this idea that I absolutely had to be independent at all costs came when I made some friends who truly accepted me as I was. They made it safe for me to open up because they valued authenticity and communication. And it was really hard for me at first - warmth and a desire to listen were not the usual responses to my crying or frustration, so it felt alien and scary. I didn’t have a handle on my emotions so they were extreme and explosive at times. But they held me in that space, and they listened to me without judgement. They asked me questions that helped me explore the way I was feeling and didn’t leave when I got too “difficult”. They allowed the emotional charge within my cells to diffuse in a controlled way, enough to give me a glimpse of what it would be like to be totally held and safe in all my sadness and rage. These friends made it safe for me to be. And the more I open up to these friends the more they show me, time and time again, that it’s okay to be exactly who I am. That I am whole, and loved, and respected, and wonderful - exactly as I am.

It wasn’t easy for me to ask for help that day. The voice in my head telling me to delete the message and figure this problem out for myself was pretty loud, but my desire to move through and transform this belief was stronger. And I’m so glad I asked. I received the quality time from loved ones that I wouldn’t have been able to give myself, alone in my shame hole.

I’m getting much better at admitting when I need help even if I am a bit slow at times. Now that I know I have safe people to turn to, my focus is on accepting the help I ask for. This ability to receive doesn’t start and stop with advice and guidance. It affects every part of my life - my ability to receive pleasure, compliments, gifts, criticism, other peoples sadness and rage - it’s something I know is is encapsulated in the “Self Worth” bubble. Getting comfortable with receiving is something I invite and work on every day. It makes sense to be able to receive something once you’ve asked for it! I’m not about to cock block my own pleasure.

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academiadaisies · 3 years

Text

my struggles with studying

I don’t expect a lot of people to read this, and I’ll probably end up embarrassed to have typed this all up and posted it by tomorrow, but I think it’s important for me to get this out and away from myself.

I appreciate anyone who reads this, and welcome completely anyone who is/has been in a similar situation to me and wants to talk about it or has some tips. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to about it, I definitely feel like anyone I’m close to will not be a lot of help, and I don’t want to be a mental burden, with them knowing my problem, wanting to help, but not knowing what to do, and blah blah blah... Just know, anyone is completely welcome to reach out to me. I know a lot of people say that online, but I’m just a little cancer moon, cancer rising ;). I’ve got ears and struggles too. Sometimes things are difficult. :)) <3

School has always been my demise. I was basically a corpse just going class to class, making little contribution and writing down what the powerpoint said. I would zone out - not realising at all, come back to myself and suddenly the whole class was doing work, and I would have to swallow my pride, interrupt the person next to me and ask what we were supposed to do.

But my nights were wasted too. I guess I was never really taught to study, and everything I had tried for myself never seemed to work. But I didn’t try often. I remember coming home and turning on my computer to watch the next episodes of my show of the week, my mind in a dull and empty buzz, and next thing I knew it was midnight.

Growing up there was no schedule or routine. No one was really checking I had done my homework, no one checking I was showered or that I had brushed hair. There were no rules either. No specific screen time, no food rules, no bedtime. I know why, my mum was a very hard worker, having a daughter, a job, and university, and I am so grateful for her. She was busy. But it just meant I never knew much discipline. There was no structure, but I wasn’t forgotten. There was no food in the house, but there was money, and I - having no sense of diet - would spend more than was good for me on junk; a six pack of crisps a day, frozen pizza... and today that has never ended, it’s something of an addiction now. The lack of restraint and discipline is apparent everywhere in my life.

In school is where it is at it’s absolute worst. It’s not even an issue of my intelligence. The absolute last thing I want to come across as is conceited, but I did better than I deserved my first two years of high school exams having never studied for them, except maybe a bit of rereading and desperate attempts to memorise the night before. I passed everything, bar one, and sometimes with A’s.

But last year was inarguably my worst year ever, and it has bled into this year too. My attendance was below 50%, I came in maybe two or three days a week, sometimes only finally getting the motivation to show up in the afternoon, and even then I would hide away in pupil support classes, still not doing any work. My mum phoning me and screaming down the line as soon as she got the absent text. Me not knowing how to explain that I just couldn’t physically force myself to get up and ready. I started with 5 subjects and finished with 2, both of which I initially failed, but those grades were redacted because people argued the SQA were not grading fairly, basing grades on location instead of merit, and so I scraped by with two C’s. I absolutely would not have passed if not for the pandemic.

This year is hard to tell where I would be in a normal situation. I like to believe it was going to be so much better. The idea of leaving high school and entering college*. It was a fresh start. I was supposed to get my work done the day it was handed out, I was supposed to be more extroverted, and become a leader like I always wanted. But, of course, it’s all online. I think a major benefit of it is I don’t have much excuse not to be in class anymore. I can (and usually do) wake up minutes before the class starts, and do it all from bed, so if I was left to my own devices to get myself there and back, I’d bet my attendance has skyrocketed from what I it would have been. Though, my college is quite far, and I think my mum seeing to that I was on a bus, or even not in the house when she has to leave, would have been enough to ensure I was there too. If it was in person I would have no where to hide too. I wouldn’t get to have my camera off and play games during classes and not take notes, the lecturers would see. I’d have to take notes and I don’t usually do that. I wish I had. But then that just begs the question of would it be a repeat of high school? Would I be a corpse that goes through college classes blankly instead of high school ones? I really don’t know what to think. But today my college work is suffering. I have seven vital pieces of work long overdue, and I think the weight of all of them on my brain stops me from doing even one.

*If you’re not familiar with the system here, college is basically a stage after high school but below university in Scotland, that not everybody goes to. I’m not sure the school systems everywhere in the world but it’s not the equivalent of sixth form college in England, or what’s called college in the US, which would be university here. I’m sorry if this sounds dumb because there’s probably this everywhere in the world but I just want to clarify what stage I’m at exactly. I’m taking a HNC which is kind of the equivalent of first year university.

And so it leads me to believe I have ADD/ADHD. I really am not about to self diagnose. Although it might be enough for some, I often worry I’m a bit of a paranoid person, and that I like to jump to the most “extreme” conclusions, but I don’t think my livelihood makes it totally unlikely.

I find myself devoting my time and what motivation I have to things that just don’t matter. I’ve memorised maps of the US, Europe, Scotland and Ireland. I took up interests in religion and astrology, buying crystals as if they were coming to save me like all the TikToks say. I’ve taught myself bits of piano, British Sign Language, chess, Teeline shorthand and Morse code, just to give up. I even made it to 100 days on Duolingo learning Scottish Gaelic before I stopped that too. Engrossed in wide varieties of things that I’d love to be great at, abandoning it because I’ve decided I’m bored.

But the worst waste of my time is always spent on my phone. I am a huge advocate for downtime, not every single second has to be productive. But it’s never good to have a 12 hour daily screen time average.

I can never concentrate either. I can’t force myself to. As I write this I have an essay due I’ve had for a month, and I’m going to have to do it all tomorrow. I don’t understand why I can’t physically force myself to get it done. I always think, “why am I on TikTok when I have an essay due?” And I never really have a reason. Even my driving instructor told me to get tested because, especially nearing the end of the lessons, my attention starts to waver, and I find her having to change gears for me sometimes, and warning me to stop looking at whatever might pass by.

I have a little list of priorities in my mind too. I keep reminding myself that I have this essay and this assignment to do, but I also have ideas of starting a blog or reading a book. The school work is first in the list of priorities, I know it needs to be done first and so I take it to the extreme and can’t seem to do anything meaningful at all until it’s gone. Of course, it never is gone, I never do it, and I find myself scrolling social medias all day, a perfectly anodyne time waster. No substance and no thoughts.

But I’m a perfectionist too, with very little confidence. I can tell part of me puts it off because it needs to be as good as it possibly can be, and another part tells me I’ll start it later, I’ll feel better about it later. I have big ideas, that if only I could force myself to do, would be great, but the idea of it not being good enough only puts me off. I’d not do the work until it’s at the point where the excuse is “it’s only bad because I didn’t give myself enough time to do it,” because of the fear of the possibility “it’s bad because I’m bad at it.”

Part of my inability to really do anything I think also had to do with depression. ADD/ADHD makes my life chaos. My room is a mess, there is no organisation or structure in my day, there is no motivation to fix it, no understanding of how to fix it. I’m a very intuitive person, because I have to be. Any decision I make is unknown to me until it’s happening really. I can’t plan when I’m starting work, sometimes I just have to hope I get the motivation to open my laptop. I think depression feeds off the ADD/ADHD symptoms. My room is messy because I can’t be organised, then my mindset worsens because I have such a terrible, unlivable space with no motivation to do anything about it, and it just stays that way. I can’t concentrate long enough to do work, then my mindset worsens because it means I have work overdue, that will have bad consequences, people disappointed in me, and etc, etc. I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m articulating myself well here. I’m intuitive in decisions but I’m also an overthinker. Or maybe just more of a worrier. I don’t do the work and so, every time my phone pings I jump and check cautiously because I fear it’s my lecturer messaging me that I’m off the course. The depression really took a terrible toll on my life. I won’t get too into it but I can hardly talk to friends, find the motivation to shower, or even go outside. All I find myself doing is lying in bed staring at a screen. I don’t know what else I can really do about it.

And the worst part is, in my mind, I have myself convinced that it’s not even that bad. That it’ll be okay tomorrow, I’ll change tomorrow, as if I’m not long past the point of this just being a little off day.

But one thing I do I know is a symptom of ADD/ADHD, which consumes my whole mind, is my hyperfixation. I won’t go too deep but basically for just over a year it’s been an honestly unsubstantial book I read. Loved by many, but nothing special, in comparison. I’ve only read it maybe twice all the way through but it never leaves my mind. I relish in any and all fan works, stalking the ao3 works, refreshing the tumblr tag. I can just stand and jump and pace, while listening to one song on repeat, thinking about the characters in all kinds of scenarios for hours on end. I can imagine the main character as me in everything I do; as I pick up a book from my bookshelf, as I walk my dog, as I lay down at night. I constantly compare myself to him too, feeling bad that I’m not as similar or good. I hate it. I don’t know if I even like the book anymore, I don’t think it’s possible to tell, I’m just obsessed with it.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it really. The NHS don’t diagnose ADHD in adults, and I’m only 18. I’ve been this way my whole life but no one ever paid much attention to it. When I told my mum I think I have depression, she laughed at me, then got really angry, saying I’m not depressed just lazy, before buying me flowers and telling me she was worried I was going to hurt myself. Now I feel like I can’t speak about anything serious like this rationally because she looks for every reason that there is no problem, and if there is it’s the worst possible case, and “oh I’ve been a terrible mum.”

I don’t understand my problem. I have big dreams and goals for my life, I know what I am doing now will never get me anywhere but still that knowledge is not enough to get me to do what I need to. I’ve even written this post over eight days, for all the distractions and lack of motivation I’ve had to finish it. It’s a never ending cycle, but I really hope having this out there now will spark something in me. I’m sure this will make someone feel better about their situation now too, and that’s totally okay! If it can help someone, right? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’m sorry I probably brought up a lot of completely irrelevant stuff, and went into tangents at times, but I just wanted to stress how it all plays into each other. They’re all connected, which brings a lack of motivation and discipline to my life and my work. I just want to let it all go.

Again, I really don’t think many people will read this but anyone is completely welcome to message. If anyone has some tips for people who can just never concentrate, or also anyone who is in social sciencey type courses (psychology, sociology, politics esp) and has some tips for doing that too I’d be so grateful. :) <3 (also this is a repost because I tried posting last night but it wouldn’t go to the tag, hope it works this time)

#studyblr #study #studying #student

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