#but it’s not linear and it’s hard in other ways i didn’t think it would be

[bestfluteninja]

i am so loved. i am so so loved.

#one of my best friends who is also one of my roommates made me dinner tonight #didn’t ask if i wanted dinner. just said what she was thinking of doing and then made it happen. i didn’t need to make a choice or do it #my tutor friends took all the writing tutees tonight. one did it with me barely having to ask #he just made eye contact with me and i said ‘please?’ and he said ‘of course’ #and then he made me laugh a lot later #my professors have all sent me really nice emails back #last night when i said it out loud—‘my grandma died’—my roommates hugged me immediately #just. immediately. they held me. #my favorite high school english teacher texted me today for the first time in like a year and a half #to say she’d heard and to say she was sorry #so yeah. grief sucks. i hurt a lot right now. i’m weirdly better in some ways than i thought i might be #but it’s not linear and it’s hard in other ways i didn’t think it would be #and also like she had dementia and she’s been in decline for a long time and it wasn’t totally unexpected #it was unexpected specifically yesterday. i kind of figured there would be a few more months at least. but no. #ouch. ouch ouch ouch. #but i have so many people who love me #and i am so grateful for them #personal #hannah does college

[matan4il]

Buddie 614 meta

What I find to be the loudest about Eddie’s arc here is that the whole ep is meant to show us everything that can go wrong when people try to live up to others’ expectations, and how much better it is when people are looking in and figuring out what’s right for them, which means they’re performing for and as themselves. That’s the context for Eddie’s date and story. He needs to figure out how to want a romantic relationship again without feeling like it’s a task he’s performing just to please others. That’s the place he gets to at the end of the ep, which is a good place for him to be. ~~

And this is essential to Eddie. Based on how little people talk about it, maybe many in fandom aren’t aware of how 911 implied back in 217 that he only married Shannon because she got pregnant. Eddie said explicitly he didn’t think he was ready to get married at the time, and he brought this up in the context of Shannon and him having Christopher. So I think it’s very meaningful that here, when his aunt wants to set him up, he jumps straight to the (wrong) conclusion that he’s expected to marry Vanessa. He was under this pressure to perform for others before, he knows how disastrous it can turn out, and you know what? Trauma totally triggers this kind of reaction. It tells us where he’s at emotionally, that there are still things he has to deal with. ~~

Speaking of trauma, another symptom of it can be denial, and we do see a bit of it from Eddie during this ep. Remember how he claimed he doesn’t panic back in 501? Right to a doctor’s face while she’s diagnosing him with panic attacks? He did it again in this ep. The thing is that healing isn’t linear. He was advancing with some things, but in 614, faced with his aunt’s ambush, he feels cornered back into a place he’s been in before, a place that left its scars on him, and Eddie regresses. Which is okay! But that’s one step back in order to take two steps forward. Before the ep ends, he will figure out that it’s better not closing himself off completely to the idea of getting into another relationship, even if Tia Pepa’s surprise blind dates are not the way to go about it. ~~

As a side note, I loved Bobby basically trying to trick his subordinates into giving him a review, and poor Buck stepping right into that one. I saw it coming and I almost choked laughing. This show is damn brilliant with comedy, too. We don’t give it enough credit for that! But it's also a moment when I was really proud of Buck. If Eddie's panic caused him to take a step back, we got to see his husband, who grew up so unloved that he needs every bit of approval he can get, being mature and able to point it out when Bobby was over-praising him in his evaluation. And you know what's more? Bobby knew it would go like this. He has seen Buck's growth and he knew his surrogate son would do the right thing and correct this. Bobby's set up wouldn't have worked otherwise. Excuse me while I get emotional over this. ~~

Fitting for an ep where 911 flexed its comical muscles, it was embarrassing how hard I laughed at Buck’s reaction to Eddie’s romantic woes. Remember when Buck heavily implied how hurtful it was to be ghosted by Abby, saying in 502 that he had been in Ana’s position, of being unwanted and led on instead of getting a clean break up? Well, look at how quick Buck was to suggest ghosting as a viable option for Eddie this time! It’s almost like Buck doesn’t even notice that he will offer whatever it takes to keep his husband away from these potential Love Interests, even if it contradicts stuff he has said in the past himself. The way Buck could be so calm making this suggestion, and take the “threat” in stride, because duh, he knows his husband wouldn’t want these LIs intruding on their marriage and family either, and it’s absolutely legit to just ghost this girl if she doesn’t get the memo, was hilarious. And honestly, who can blame Buck? He’s defending his hot man. ;p ~~

Which brings me to my weekly gif set, that I dedicated this time to Buck pointing out on Eddie’s failure to let Ana down easy. I mean, it already IS canon that these two talk about everything, it IS canon that Buck is someone who gets to hear all about Eddie’s romantic woes. But this proves that Eddie doesn’t just fill him in using broad strokes, stuff like just letting Buck know that he indeed broke up with Ana. No, they get down to the finer resolution as well, and Buck gets to hear every detail about how Eddie did it with the delicacy of a bull in a china shop. And clearly, Buck wasn’t about respecting either Ana or Eddie’s pain during that break up, at least not enough to stop Buck from teasing his husband about it. XD It’s so funny how naturally Buck’s staking his claim on his husband even while they’re discussing going on dates. I see you, Buck, and am totally with you! ~~

One last “made me laugh” point. I’m tempted to snicker about Pepa telling Eddie he should be shopping for antiques. I’m queer, so please excuse my dumb queer humor, but ummm. That’s not a very straight suggestion for your nephew, Tia. Or maybe that’s deliberate, maybe it’s implied she is trying to set up Eddie with anyone, girls or guys? After all, she did use gender neutral language during this ep... So we can’t know for sure, but something tells me Pepa just wants Eddie to officially have someone, and if she learns that Buck actually IS her nephew’s other half? (I can’t call either of these morons ‘better half’, sorry) Then she’d be the first one to throw them a party! And I love that, and I love her. Because after all, she’s not just a sassy queen, she’s not just incredibly loving and caring with her nephew, she was also willing to sacrifice her own image in his eyes, she was willing to be seen as herself, and not as what he expects, in order to help remind him that even if his first marriage failed miserably, he can find the courage, move on and re-commit himself to someone else. And soon maybe Eddie will realize and Pepa will find out who is that someone else that Eddie can have a beautiful committed r/s with...

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know  if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ Thank you so much for reading and for any reblog, like, comment or supportive tag! I really couldn't keep doing these without knowing people want to see them. Also, my eternal gratitude as always to @whosoldherout​. I'm always in awe of your giffing!

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #eddiediazedit #evanbuckleyedit #buddieedit #911gif #911edit #wm #buddie gifs #911 spoilers #911 #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

[lostloveletters]

I Left My Heart in San Francisco (John Brady x OC)

Summary: John's heart feels a thousand miles and just as many memories away in Stalag Luft III.

Note: Title comes from the song, of course (you don’t have to listen to it while reading, but I listened to it while writing this). Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff and angst, mostly introspective. Somewhat non-linear narrative, I guess.

“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” John insisted. 

Woody smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“

He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”

Woody braided her hair first thing in the morning, after hastily raking her fingers through it, tugging out any knots that formed overnight. By the heat of the afternoon, enough hair would come loose and stick to her sweaty skin that she’d have to redo her handiwork, already knowing to anticipate the black streaks of grease she’d have to scrub out of it at the end of each day.

Sometimes Holly would be around to give her an intricate and sturdy French braid, able to withstand sweat and hard work. But John had never braided hair before he asked to do hers one evening, and then with increasing frequency as time went on, desperately needing something to lose himself in. 

She sat between his legs, still and patient as he ran his fingers through her wavy hair. He parted it in two sections, letting the waterfall of blonde flow down one of her shoulders while he gathered the rest of her hair, silken to the touch compared to the standard blankets and bedsheets they were issued.

A shiver ran down her spine when his fingers gently brushed the nape of her neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine, honey.” Her voice was soft, almost a low purr that echoed in his ears. He couldn’t remember another time when she called him honey. Usually just Johnny, which sounded wrong coming from other people, even jokingly, since it became hers, but he wasn’t sure how to tell her he liked honey too. 

He carefully layered one thick strand of hair over the other until he finished a braid on one side. Looked good, but he knew at a glance he could do better. Woody braided her hair for utility, not just to look pretty, which was a bonus in his opinion, but not her priority.

He puffed on his pipe, shaking his head before setting it aside. “They’re not even. I’m gonna try again.”

“Go ahead, Johnny.”

John stroked her hair, thinking about how he wished they had met under different—better circumstances, where she wasn’t under constant threat of losing him. He used to figure that there was a proper way to get to a woman’s heart, the way god intended, or so he’d been told: meet a nice young lady, ask her father for permission to take her out on a date, get to know each other, bring her home on time. Rinse and repeat while trying not to get too handsy before getting a ring involved.

Then the war happened. 

Then Woody happened, who probably wouldn’t have described herself as a nice young lady in the first place. No father to ask permission to take her out on a date. He wasn’t quite sure they actually saved anything for marriage (besides the having kids part, thankfully). He figured god would be flexible, all things considered.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“There’s a knot,” he mumbled, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully pulled at strands of hair to free them from each other.

“When I was a kid, if I had a really bad knot I couldn’t get out myself, I’d just cut it with some kitchen scissors. My hair probably looked awful.”

He almost instinctively asked why she didn’t ask her mom to brush it out, but felt the slightest bit of rage burn in his chest when he caught himself and remembered. “I care enough about you to do this right.”

“You’re also pretty good with your hands.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I know so,” she said, “and thank you for always being attentive.”

“Are we still talking about your hair?” 

“Oh, of course.”

He snickered, working on braiding her hair again. “Of course.” 

Neither of them spoke of the future very much, but he knew he wanted one with her. Just wasn’t sure how to go about the discussion without scaring her off, if she’d even be open to settling down. Settling. The word weighed heavy in his mind. While Woody claimed no nostalgia for her native city, a sad fondness laced her voice when she spoke of it, of the excitement and freedom San Francisco had offered her when she needed those things most. Sometimes John wondered if Ithaca would be enough, if he would be enough when all was said and done.

He swallowed roughly. “Take a look and tell me what you think. Be as brutally honest as you need to be. I can take it.”

Woody half-turned to him, an amused smile spreading across her face. Made him feel like he was being let in on a secret the way her smile sometimes did. “You could make my hair look like a bird’s nest and I wouldn’t tell you.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before getting up. He followed, almost nervous as she inspected her appearance in the small mirror sitting nearby. She beamed at her reflection, turning excitedly to him. “Johnny, it’s perfect.”

She stood on her toes to kiss him, deep and real, the kind that made any lingering doubts dissolve. Her lips were soft, as if she put on lip balm before he got there. Everything about her was soft, except for her hands, always rough and calloused, but something would be wrong if he felt a smooth palm cradling his jaw, or gliding across the expanse of his shoulders, down his back to cling to him. But he was clothed. Or he thought he was. Lost himself for a moment before he found the sound of her voice again.

“Before I forget—” She slipped her hand into one of her pockets. “Here, I want you to have this. I don’t really have any other photos of me, but I wrote a little note on the back of it for you,” she said. Her cheeks flushed, eyes flicking away from him for a moment. “Just so, um, you know it’s yours.”

He smiled at being handed the photo, a little shadowy and out of focus, but her nevertheless. To Johnny, all my love and more, your sweetheart, Woody. She had drawn a little heart next to his name, Xs and Os after hers. “You look beautiful. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead, the tip of his nose brushing against her skin. “I’ll keep it with me.”

And he did. All the way to Stalag Luft III. Looked at the photo and tried to remember the feeling of her hair between his fingers.

He nearly tore Hambone a new one for taking the photo from his hands without asking, not that he would have let him touch it in the first place even if he had. While far from salacious, having other eyes besides his own on Woody’s photo felt almost sacrilegious. After all, he kept it in the same pocket as the St. Christopher card his mother had given him before he left for basic, its laminated corners curled from his incessant toying with it for reassurance. He hardly looked at it since they bailed. Patron saint of travelers. Some good St. Chris did him.

Buck stepped in and got John his photo back before the situation could escalate further. But the cat was out of the bag. As if it even mattered then, anyway. He did take some pride in everyone’s shock at him and Woody managing to keep their relationship under wraps for nearly four months.

He didn’t expect it to come up again, but he wasn’t exactly expecting Bucky to be alive either. In the midst of Bucky's bittersweet reunion with the other members of the 100th who’d been taken prisoner by the Germans, it was mentioned among the updates everyone was clamoring to give him after he relayed what he could muster of how he survived and ended up there.

Hardly relevant, but Bucky fixated on it after John let one small detail slip out.

“You and Woody? How the hell did I not know this?” Bucky asked. 

“No one knew, except for Holly,” he said.

“Holly knew?”

“It wasn’t my idea, but Woody tells her everything. Told her about us the night you two made the bet on that baseball game.”

“That was back in June!" Bucky exclaimed, a strange combination of disbelief and slight betrayal that felt almost out of place compared to everything else going on. "She’s known for four months and didn't tell me?”

“Woody swore her to secrecy or something.”

Bucky shook his head. “You sly dog. Under everyone’s noses…” Clapped him proudly on the shoulder. “Good on you, buddy.”

John smiled. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“Don’t expect any details,” Murph mumbled.

“I’m not telling any of you about my sex life.”

“But there was one?” Bucky asked.

He sighed, resisting the urge to glare at his friend, who up until a few hours prior, he wasn’t even sure was still alive. “We didn’t sneak around for four months just to hold hands.” 

Even if that was all they’d done, his relationship with Woody wouldn’t have been any less important to him. Still, it was nice to have actual experiences to pull from, build fantasies that could get him through some of the lonelier nights when he wished he were with her, just about anywhere in the world but Stalag Luft III. The four months that were all theirs became his lifeline.

Four months. Maybe that was long enough for him to ask her to marry him. After writing to his family, that’d be his first order of business. Woody already had his heart, so he’d promise her everything else on top of that he could think of. Let her point anywhere on a map and take her there on a month-long honeymoon. Move all the way out to San Francisco with her. If she said ‘no’ or sent the letter back unopened, at least he could say he tried.

He laid back on his bunk that night, doing his best to ignore the shouting outside. Like the night guards did it on purpose to keep them exhausted. Closed his eyes. Kept her photo pressed against his chest. Tried to remember what her hair felt like between his fingers. Silk compared to the threadbare blankets the Germans gave them for the rapidly approaching winter.

“I won’t get any good if I don’t practice,” he insisted.

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “Alright, but you watch that pipe of yours. If I smell burning hair—“

He grinned, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You won’t, sweetheart, I promise.”

#john brady x oc #john brady #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air #mota x oc #mota #mota fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war x oc #ch: woody

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 16 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Spencer has to make a decision about his sobriety. You find unique ways to help him deal with his cravings.

A/N - some mentions of 3.16 Elephants Memory

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - mentions of NA meetings, swearing, drugs, thoughts of self-harm, masturbation (male) and brief mentions of fem masturbation, brief mention of penetrative sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, getting caught.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 16 - The Needle and the Damage Done

When he opened his eyes he was in a nondescript hall, sitting in a hard plastic chair. Usually all the other chairs surrounding him would be full of people, listening to a speaker at the podium. 

It had been a long time since Spencer found himself here. Beltway Clean Cops. Only this time he appeared to be alone. But he wasn’t. A figure appeared at the podium, and before their face came into view he knew who it was. 

“Hi everyone. My name is John and I’m an addict.” The man Spencer hadn’t seen in some ten years spoke to a crowd of one. 

John had been there when Spencer had his last crisis of faith, it wasn’t a surprise he was here now. He’d helped Spencer through his first few meetings at Beltway and was probably one of the reasons he’d stayed sober as long as he had. John didn’t say another word, he simply stared at Spencer, making Spencer feel uncomfortable. 

Spencer averted his gaze and looked down. His sleeve was still rolled up and the tie still in place. In his right hand he held the needle full of dilaudid. 

“Do you really want to give up your sobriety so easily, Reid?” 

Spencer looked back up and John was now right in front of him, giving him a disapproving look. 

“I’ve only been sober for five weeks. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.” Spencer shrugged. 

“But how long will it take you to get sober again? Six months? A year? Two? Maybe you’ll never get sober again.” John folded his arms across his chest. 

“Maybe I wasn’t meant to be sober.” He toyed with the needle. 

“If you’d really wanted to take it, you would have done it by now.” John slid into the seat next to him. 

“Or maybe I’m just waiting for the best time.” Spencer countered. 

“There’s never a best time to take drugs. You know that. You’re not thinking like an addict anymore Spencer. You’re speaking like a man who values his sobriety.” John’s voice was calm and levelled exactly how Spencer remembered it. 

“I haven’t seen you in over ten years. There is no possible way you can know that.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“That might be, but I know addicts. Trust me when I say you don’t want to take them. You could have easily taken them at the prison but you didn’t and then again when you got back to the institute. But you hesitated. If you really wanted to get high, you would have done it by now.” John smiled meekly at him. 

“I don’t want to let her win.” He confessed, running his finger over his pulsing vein. 

“Then don’t.” John told him like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

“I don’t want to take them. But I’m sure I will. I’m trying to put it off but I don’t know how long I can do that for.” He started gnawing on his lip. 

“How long were you sober before you relapse?” 

Spencer looked up at John with a frown. 

“What? I don’t see why that-“

“How long?” He cut Spencer off. 

Spencer looked back at the needle with a sigh. 

“Ten years.” He grinded his teeth. “Ten years, five months and eight days.” 

“And how many attempts did you make to stay sober before that?” 

“At least five.” 

“Exactly.” John chuckled lightly. “Healing from an addiction isn’t linear Spencer. Sometimes we take a step forward to take two back. Hell, sometimes it’s two forward and five back.��� 

Spencer frowned deeply, remembering George saying the exact same thing to him. He guessed it made sense, George’s words had stuck with him and were seeping over to his unconscious. 

“So you’re saying it’s not the end of the world if I relapse?” Spencer smiled wryly at him. 

“That's not what I’m saying and you know it.” John rolled his eyes. “But if you did relapse, then you just get sober again. But it will be harder every time you try. The slope gets more and more slippery every time. There will be more obstacles standing in your way after every relapse. And eventually…eventually the road to recovery will be too difficult and you’ll give up trying.” 

“Maybe this is just who I am. Maybe I’m destined to be an addict.” Spencer huffed like a small child, making John laugh. 

“You don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“I kind of do.” John chuckled. “I’m your subconscious.” 

Spencer groaned a little, still running his fingers over his vein while the needle sat in his lap. He saw John fishing around his pocket for a second before he procured something in his hand. 

“Here take this.” He held his hand out to offer Spencer the small gold coin. “That's my one year medallion, took me six years to get it. For the past thirteen years I’ve never left home without it. Because I know if I forget that, I’ll lose my gun, my credentials, my home. Everything. Hold onto it.” 

Spencer took it from his open palm, remembering ten years ago when John had given him the chip and said the exact same thing. At this point it would have been well over twenty years but he’d carried it but apparently his subconscious wasn’t up to that kind of math. 

“I only have five weeks.” Spencer rolled the coin around in his hand. 

“I know.” John pushed himself up from his chair. 

“It’s your most prized possession.” Spencer repeated the way he had all those years ago. 

“It is.” John smiled. 

“You’re just giving it to me?” Spencer knew exactly what John would say next. 

“No. In a couple of months when you get your year, give it back to me.” He turned and started walking away. 

Spencer cupped the coin in his hand. He had given that coin back to John. He’d been ten months sober when he’d given it to him and two months later he’d proudly handed the chip back to John when he received his own. Where was that chip now? He could really use that chip as a reminder to stay sober. 

“Thanks.” Spencer finally looked up from his hand but when he did, John was nowhere to be seen. 

***

Spencer woke in a fit, sweating and panting and gasping for air as though he’d been underwater. The tie was still snug around his bicep and the needle full of dilaudid was next to him on the bed. 

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t cut out for being sober. So what if it meant Cat won? Who fucking cares? Surely if he was high again that would make him a winner. 

The hesitation of last night was all but gone and

silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he sat up a little in the bed. He grabbed the needle, pressed it against the vein at the crook of his arm. Everything would be ok once he was high. Nothing else would matter anymore. Fuck sobriety. Fuck rehabilitation. Fuck everything and everyone. 

As he was about to pierce his skin with the needle, the chess set on his desk caught his eye. He narrowed his eyes on it, looking at it clearly for the first time in weeks. 

Gideon had bestowed that particular set on him as a birthday gift years and years ago. It was one that had belonged to Gideon’s father, one he’d had custom made. The chess board had small drawers underneath to house all the pieces in transport so nothing got lost. It was one of Spencer’s most prized possessions. Second only to his one year chip. 

He let the needle fall to the bed and quickly jumped to his feet. He cautiously moved towards his desk, anticipation and fear flooding over him. If it was there it was a sign not to go through with this. If by some stroke of luck it was still there then it meant he wasn’t supposed to relapse. 

But the odds of it not being there were high. He’d thrown that chess set around his apartment and it had probably rolled out somewhere and was lost under his couch or something. 

He ran his fingers cautiously over the little hidden drawer, hand shaking as he did so. He took a deep breath and pulled open the drawer just to be met with the wooden insides. He closed his eyes as tears continued to fall and shook his head. 

Of course it’s not there. It’s long gone. That’s your sign, Reid. That’s your sign to get high. 

Before he gave up and went back to his needle, he let his fingers wander inside the drawer. He ran his fingertips over the smooth wood until he reached the back corner. And his fingers brushed against cool metal. 

His heart leapt into his throat as he gripped it and withdrew it from the drawer. His tears started falling even heavier as he looked down at his open palm and the item now laying it. 

His one year sober chip. 

He clutched it tightly in his hand as he started to sob. He fell back to the bed and held the chip close to his heart. 

You can do this. You can get there again. You did it once, you can do it again. 

Don’t let her win. 

He barely had a chance to remove his tourniquet and hide the needle and vial before he heard the nurse's trolley scattering down the corridor outside his room. 

He put the paraphernalia in one pocket and his chip in the other, drying his tears on his sleeves the best he could before the door opened. If the nurse noticed he’d been crying, she didn’t say anything as she handed him his medication and waited for him to take it. 

At her instance he showered but he bypassed breakfast, having more important things to take care of. He knocked on the door, not even sure if she’d be there but after a few seconds her voice carried through the door. 

“Come in.”

Spencer took a deep breath before gripping the handle and pushing the door open. She looked up as he entered, a soft, yet confused smile on her face. 

“Spencer,” Maggie put down the file she was reading and came out from behind her desk. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you until this afternoon.”

“This was kind of an emergency.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, running over fingers over the vial and coin respectively. 

“Things didn’t go well yesterday?” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Not exactly.” He chewed his lip to try and stop from crying. 

He left the chip in his left pocket but pulled out the items inhabiting the right. He held the vial and still full needle in his palm for her to see. He saw the moment the air left Maggie lungs and he hadn’t realised until that moment how much she genuinely cared. 

“Spencer,” she inhaled deeply as she said his name. 

“I didn’t take it.” He was quick to say. “I wanted to. I almost did. But I didn’t.” 

He cautiously stepped closer to her and she instinctively held her hand out and Spencer placed the vial and needle in her palm. 

“That shows some excellent growth, Spencer.” She took the items and set them down on her desk to destroy later. 

She motioned Spencer to the couch before she took a seat opposite him. 

“I’m proud of you, you know?” She folded her hands in her lap, for the first time not taking notes. 

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” His hands were shaking as he raked them through his hair. 

“I can imagine.” She spoke softly, as though she was speaking to a child. “Can you explain to me why you didn’t take it?” 

“Why does that matter?” He frowned a little. 

“Because the next time you’re craving, you’re going to remind yourself of why you didn’t relapse. I need you to know why you made that decision.” 

He sniffed loudly, reaching into his sweater sleeve and toying with your bracelet. 

“I guess I’m not thinking like an addict anymore. I’m thinking like a man who values his sobriety.” He repeated the words John had spoken to him in his dream. “And I found this.” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his chip. He rolled it around in his fingers while Maggie watched. 

“How long?” She nodded at the chip. 

“A year. I’ve had it for over ten years. I used to carry it with me everywhere I went but I guess over the years I thought I didn’t need to anymore. After I was sober for long enough I assumed the battle was over. It’s never really over.” He wrapped his fingers around it and held it tightly in his palm.

“That’s very true. It becomes manageable in the sense you don’t think about using every day or every week or even every year. But you know it never goes away.” She replied. 

“I came so close to relapsing. I wanted to relapse. I hate being sober.” His first tear betrayed him and rolled down his cheek. “At least right now I do. But I know I won’t forever. I know one day I’m going to wake up and be grateful for getting clean. And I want to get to that point no matter how hard it is. I want to be happy being sober again.” 

Maggie smiled at him as a few more tears escaped his eyes. 

“I really am very proud of you, Spencer. I don’t know if that means anything to you or helps anyway, but I am.” 

“It means a lot.” He nodded, gnawing on his lip, still clutching his coin tightly. “I need all the impetus I can get.” 

They sat in silence after that. Maggie knew Spencer just needed a moment of reflection before he faced the rest of his day and she was happy to give it to him. After nearly twenty minutes of sitting in silence, he heaved a sigh and slotted his chip back in his pocket. 

“Thanks for this. I know you must be busy.” He pushed himself up from the couch. 

“Anytime.” Maggie stood as well. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

“Bye.” He offered her a wave, keeping his other hand in his pocket on the chip as he left her office. 

He went about his day in a daze for the most part. It was reminiscent of his first week here when he was still combating the haziness in his brain from his heavy drug use. 

He didn’t speak much to anyone aside from Maggie in his afternoon therapy session. He knew what he had to do and he was trying to build himself up to it all day. 

He refused to let Cat go to her grave thinking he’d taken the drugs. He had to speak to her one last time before she was put to death. 

After dinner he hung around by the bank of phones building up the nerve to make the call. It was the last time he’d ever have to speak to her. One last call and it really would all be over. 

After a few minutes of pacing back and forth he grabbed up the receiver and dialled the number for Mount Pleasant he’d memorised a long time ago. He knew exactly what he needed to say to get to speak to her. 

“Mount Pleasant Correctional Facility. Governor Clements speaking.” The official voice carried down the line. 

Spencer took a few deep breaths hoping this wouldn’t get back to anyone on his old team. 

“Good evening. This is SSA Luke Alvez with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I wondered if it would be possible to speak with Catherine Adam’s. We had a few final questions to ask her before her execution and no free manpower to make the trip again.” He held his breath. 

“Weren’t you just here yesterday?” Clements had a frown to his voice. 

“Yes, that's correct. But I promise it will only take a moment.” 

“Currently Ms Adam’s is at dinner. I can arrange for us to call you back later this evening? The inmates usually get phone time around eight.” Clements informed him. 

“Uh…sure.” Spencer chewed on his lip.

He’d built himself up to making this call and didn’t want to wait any longer but he guessed he didn’t have a choice. He reeled off the phone number that was written on all the phones in the corridor and hoped Clements didn’t give much thought to the fact it wasn’t a cell phone number. 

“Thank you SSA Alvez. I hope she cooperates with you.” Clements spoke after jotting down the number.

“Me too. Thank you for your time Governor.” Spencer hung up the phone before he said anything to incriminate himself. 

If he’d been honest about who he was it was unlikely he would get the chance to talk to her. And he needed her to know she hadn’t won. He checked the clock on the wall, it was a little after six thirty. He just had to occupy himself for an hour and a half. 

Easier said than done. 

He went back to his room and sat on his bed staring at the wall. Time was going to pass painfully slowly if this was all he planned on doing. He twisted the chip around in his hand hoping it would stem the cravings that were still coursing through his veins. 

He wished he’d taken the drugs. He really wished he’d taken the drugs. He felt itchy all over and started scratching at his skin with his free hand but his nails still weren’t quite long enough to do any damage. 

He wanted to burrow into his skin, scratch off chunks of flesh and watch himself bleed in the hopes of stopping his urges. 

He closed his eyes and squeezed the chip tightly in his palm. He couldn’t sit here for the rest of the night, he’d surely do something stupid. He could smash his head against the corner of the desk until he caused intracranial bleeding. 

He could use his tie like a noose, tie around his neck and to the light on the ceiling and hang himself. 

He could smother himself with his pillow. He could go to the pool and drown himself or even the fountain in the courtyard. 

He could snap every one of his fingers until they were all broken so he couldn’t use again even if he wanted to. 

If he got creative enough he could probably kill himself in any number of ways. But if he did that, Cat really did win. Killing himself was worse than if he’d taken the drugs she’d given him. 

He was not letting her have the satisfaction of his death on her hands. He didn’t believe in the afterlife, but knowing his luck he’d end up in hell right next to her for all of eternity. But what was he supposed to do? How did normal people cope with their emotions? 

His eyes snapped open suddenly and he felt his chest tighten. He thought back to a session with Maggie a little while ago and her suggested coping mechanism. 

Masturbation. Masturbation as a form of recovery. 

As soon as he started thinking about masturbation, he started naturally thinking about you. And when he thought about you, his dick almost immediately started to harden. 

He chewed on his lip and glanced at the closed door. He didn’t have any other obligations today, no one should be looking for him. He should be able to relieve himself without being disturbed. 

He was already semi-erect as he laid back against the pillows, placing his chip on the nightstand before covering himself with the bedsheet. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, trying to block out all the external stimuli so he could pretend he was in the privacy of his own apartment. 

He took his brain back to his hazy memories of the night in the alleyway. You had him pressed up against the wall, he could feel the cool brick through his shirt if he thought hard enough. He remembered the way the air caressed his erection when you freed it from his pants. 

He worked his hand under the sheet and unbuttoned his slacks, rolling them down enough to free his now fully hard cock. He wrapped his hand around the base and his toes curled as he imagined your small, delicate hand stroking him instead of his own. 

As he started his movements, behind his closed lids he found himself on his back in a large plush bed that wasn’t his own. You were on top of him, both of you were naked and you bowed your head to kiss him. His hard cock nestled between your legs and glided through your slickness as you kissed him deeply. 

He stroked up and down his length, wishing he was between your legs right now but this would have to do. He heard your voice in his ears as you sat back and rolled a condom over his length. 

“Are you going to show me a good time?”

“Trust me when I say you don’t know a good time until you’ve been with me.”

He bit his lip to stifle a moan as he increased his speed, imagining you lowering yourself down on him. He could feel your tight pussy stretching to accommodate him as slowly filled you up inch by inch. 

“Fuck, you’re big.” 

He could hear your soft giggle, he could imagine so clearly the way it felt to be sheathed inside of you while you did it. He could feel your hands on his chest, steadying yourself and your gold and purple bracelet was adorned around your wrist. 

His head started leaking precome on his hand as he pictured the way it felt when he bottomed out inside of you, your walls fluttering around him. 

“Fuck,” he whined, swiping his thumb through his precome and using it as lubrication. 

He saw your tits bouncing above him as you started riding him, feel the way his cock slammed against your cervix with each thrust. 

His toes curled and he screwed the bedsheet up with his free hand. His breathing became heightened and he desperately tried to keep his moans of pleasure quiet. 

“God fucking damn you’re so tight.” 

He could hear his own panted words, see himself reaching up to fondle your nipples. He heard the moan that erupted from your lungs and felt how you clenched around him. 

He was so close to his orgasm already. He slowed his strokes a little, wanting to draw it out as much as possible. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fucking come!”

Your scream turned into a moan and he envisioned the way your whole body trembled on top of him when your orgasm took route. 

“Fucking Christ.” Spencer panted and although he wasn’t ready to let his orgasm consume him, his other hand slipped beneath the sheet. 

He massaged his balls between his fingers while he continued pumping his shaft, chest heaving with his breaths. He wasn’t sure what forced his eyes to open but when they did he wasn’t alone. 

For a moment he thought he was still imagining you and the night he thought he’d spent with you. But it became clear very quickly that he was in his bed at the institute.

“Fuck!” He yelped, pulling his hands out from under the sheet and holding them up in defeat. “Shit. Fuck. I wasn’t…I mean I was but I uh…”

His cheeks burned with embarrassment but you simply smiled at him. You moved closer to the bed and Spencer felt his chest constricting more the closer you got. 

“Craving huh?” You smirked as you hopped up onto the bed. 

Spencer tried to shuffle up the pillows to create distance between you. 

“Y-yeah.” He nodded, painfully aware he was still hard and hanging out of his slacks with only the thin sheet covering him. 

“Me too.” You shuffled closer and Spencer suddenly couldn’t breathe. “I masturbated too but it didn’t help much.” 

“Fuck Y/N.” He whined, his cock twitching. “Don’t say things like that.” 

You giggled and he swore he could feel it the way he was sure he could feel it when you were wrapped around his cock. If in fact that memory was real. He didn’t exactly trust his memories these days. 

“It could be beneficial to both of us if we…combine our resources, you know?” You shuffled even closer and his cock throbbed when you placed your hands on his thighs. 

“W-what are you s-suggesting?” He swallowed. 

“I’m pretty certain if I had something else to focus on it would take my mind off my cravings.” Your voice was low and breathy. 

“L-like what?” 

You smirked wildly at him, pupils blown out. You quickly moved the sheet aside, revealing his erection and Spencer whimpered pathetically as he was exposed. Your eyes got darker and you moved even closer, between his legs, and gripping his thighs. 

“Choking on a cock should do it.” You chuckled at the way your words made Spencer whine and bowed your head a little closer to his crotch. “Do you want me to stop?”

“N-no.” He shook his head, more precome leaking from his head and you hadn’t even touched him. 

“You sure?” 

“V-very fucking sure. I have n-never been more sure about anything in my l-life.” His stuttering showed his nerves but his steady gaze told you he was sure. 

You smirked up at him before closing the gap between your face and his crotch and wrapped your lips around his head. Spencer moaned louder than was appropriate for the setting and quickly brought his hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckles. His other hand found your hair as you started slowly descending his shaft, taking him in your mouth inch by inch. 

Spencer couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt another person's touch, let alone their mouth in such a way. And the fact that it was you made it even more incredible. You took him entirely in your mouth and didn’t make a sound as he hit the back of your throat. You looked up at him through your lashes as his fingers nestled in your hair. 

“You look like a fucking work of art right now.” He panted and felt you smile around him as you started moving back up. 

Soon you were moving faster, bobbing up and down on his cock with ferocity. He’d been close before you started but he really didn’t want this to be over so soon. This was all too similar to a dream he’d had of you after your night at the pool. But he knew with resounding clarity that this was real. The way you were making him feel was better than even his wildest dreams.

You could taste his precome on your tongue so you started playing with his balls in your hand. He moaned around his knuckles, bucking his hips up into your mouth and slamming into the back of your throat. 

“Fuck, I’m close. God I wish I wasn’t but I haven’t been sucked off like this in so long.” He whined and he felt you laugh around him. 

When you gave his balls a tight squeeze at the same time you ran your tongue over his head, he knew it was over for him. He tugged on your hair a little as his stomach tightened. 

“I’m gonna come, gonna come!” He tried to pull you off him but you stood your ground, taking him all the way inside your mouth once more just as he came. 

His come hit the back of your throat in hot streams as he wriggled beneath you and a string of slurs left his lips. You swallowed every tiny drop of his orgasm and kept him inside your mouth until you were sure he was spent. 

His hand fell from your hair as he whined and rocked in the bed. You smiled to yourself as you came off of him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Spencer looked up at you with black eyes and a dopey smirk on his lips. 

Before you could say anything he sat up a little and gripped you by the back of the neck. He pulled you down next to him in the bed and smashed his lips against yours. You gasped as his tongue plunged into your mouth and he moaned at the way he tasted on your tongue. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he held your face delicately in his large hands. You grinded against him, moaning at the slight friction it caused but needing more. 

As if sensing this, one of Spencer’s hands left your face and grazed down your side. He expertly undid the button of your jeans and within seconds his hand was slipping inside them and your panties. He hissed against your lips at how wet you were. 

He pressed his thumb against your clit and started to rub it while his index and middle fingers were soon pushing inside of you. You moaned into his mouth, letting him absorb your sounds. His long, nimble fingers dove in and out of you while he never let up his work on your clit.

He was growing hard again, you could feel it against your thigh. Instinctively you took hold of his shaft and started to stroke him, the kiss turning slightly sloppy. 

Your pants echoed around the room as well as the sound of Spencer’s fingers as they moved inside your wet cunt. You were rocking against him, trying to tell him you needed more. You felt him smile against your lips before he pulled them away and looked at you with lust filled eyes.

“Use your words, angel.” He mumbled, scissoring his fingers inside of you and making you whine. 

“F-fuck,” you felt tears pricking your eyes. 

“Not so brazen now are we?” He smirked. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart? Do you want me to ruin you?” 

“P-please!” You gasped as he pressed hard against your clit. 

Your strokes on his dick were becoming lazy as he was drawing you close to your edge. Spencer chuckled, suddenly withdrawing his fingers from inside your pants and making you whine loudly. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet.” He kissed you again and rolled you so you were on top of him. 

He helped you manoeuvre out of your jeans and tossed them aside. He grinded against you, the rough fabric of your lace panties causing him to hiss. He moved them aside and nestled his cock between your legs but didn’t enter you. 

He relished in the feeling of just running his cock between your legs a few times whilst holding tightly to your hips in an attempt to keep you upright. Tears had snuck out of your eyes and were rolling softly down your cheeks.

“Please?” You begged pathetically, moving back and forth on him. 

Spencer smiled to himself. Oh how the tables had turned. He gripped your neck again and pulled you down for another kiss before taking hold of your hips again. He lifted you by your waist so he could line himself up while he hungrily explored your mouth. 

Just as he was about to push inside of you, the sound of someone clearing their throat caused you both to spring apart. You were quick to cover both you and Spencer with the discarded sheet and you buried your head into the pillow in embarrassment. Spencer’s cheeks turned bright red as he pulled the sheet up to his chin as if it would help the situation. 

“Uh…George? What are you doing here?” Spencer chewed on his lip. 

You curled into his side, as if trying to disappear altogether. 

“I was just leaving when a phone call came in through one of the patient phones. SSA Luke Alvez.” He cocked his eyebrow at Spencer. 

“How did you know that’s for me?” Spencer swallowed, trying to tuck himself away under the sheet. 

“Because when I told your collect caller from Mount Pleasant Correctional Facility that she had the wrong number and that she’d gotten through to the Psychiatric Institute of Washington she laughed before telling me she was looking for you.” He folded his arms across his chest, looking throughly unamused. 

“Right.” Spencer buttoned his pants but you still clung to him. “Tell her I’ll be right there.” 

“I’m not your secretary.” He scoffed. “And if I catch the two of you like this again, I will have to report you.” 

Spencer frowned at George’s frostiness. He’d never acted like this towards Spencer before. But before Spencer could comment on it, George was turning on his heels and walking away. When you heard the door close, you looked up at Spencer, cheeks still red with embarrassment. 

“You have to go?” You whispered, chewing on your lip. 

“I just need to put an end to something. I won’t be long if you want to stay a while?” He smiled softly at you and you nodded against the pillow. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before slipping out of the bed. He grabbed his chip and left the room, twirling it over in his hand as he walked, the doomed feeling setting in. 

He felt his hands start to shake as he neared the phones. He couldn’t let himself get sucked back in. He had to end this, shut it down before she got her claws in again. Taking a deep breath he picked up the phone and put it to his ear. 

“Hello.” He swallowed. 

“Spencie! Or should I say SSA Luke Alvez?” Cat chuckled darkly. “Didn’t get enough of me yesterday? How did you enjoy your gift?” 

He took another deep breath to ensure his voice was steady when he spoke. He needed this to be clear. He had to end this now. 

“It’s over Cat.” He spoke sternly. “I didn’t take the drugs. I win.” 

Before she could respond he yanked the phone away from his ear.  And as he hung it back in its cradle, he swore he heard Cat Adam’s screaming down the line.

@andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @muffin-cup @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[fifia-writes]

Pillow Talk

Human Reader x Neteyam

Warnings: microscopic spice, Neteyam is aged up to 20 :P

Enjoy :)

Tip tip tip tip tip tip tip tip… We were in my room, small but cozy and despite the rain outside having ruined our camping plans we had a fine night of doing “human stuff” as Neteyam liked to call it. He didn't like the word camping because it implied that I didn't really live in tune with Pandora, that nature was to be visited and not lived in long term, and even though I agreed with him for the most part nothing could beat the feeling of stepping into the air conditioning after a long hot shower, the feeling of cool sheets on my fresh skin. Safe to say I liked my “human stuff”. We laid on my bed, that he just barely fit wholly onto, and listened to the pitter patter on my window as the storm worsened. It had been hours since eclipse had made the forest go dark and we were both slowly coming to the realization that Neteyam was not going to make it back home tonight.

“My father is going to skin me you know” He mumbled, eyes closed with a smile creeping its way up the corners of his lips.

“Mmmmm” I respond half asleep and unable to form coherent sentences with his arms around my waist, encasing me in his warmth.

“I’m serious y/n, if I don't find a way home soon you might never see me alive again” sarcasm and fake worry coat his tone.

Forcing my eyes open I take in his peaceful face, if he stopped going on about his father needing him home tonight I might’ve thought he was sleeping. “Unfortunately for your father the rain is holding you hostage here tonight”

Opening his eyes half way he lets out a light chuckle “Is it the rain or you keeping me here?”

“The rain” I retort, bringing my hand to the side of his jaw “Close your eyes again”

He obeys. Moving my hand from his jaw to trace my fingers over his lips, then up the finely built column of his nose and over his brow. I make sure to trace both sides keeping my invisible patterns symmetrical. I lift my hand for the first time since starting and make contact with a freckle just under his eye but above the apple of his cheek and softly trail my finger up over his eyelid.

“You know my mother used to do this for me when I was little, when I had trouble sleeping” I tell him.

“Mmmmm”

A soft smile pricks my lips at his sleepy response, he's always so serious around others. I mean I understand it, we're so young and while I’m traipsing around the lab with the science guys helping me with my studies he has the weight of an entire people on his shoulders. Expectations to be met. It's nice to see him soften, to be able to provide him a space to leave his tension behind.

“She called it painting my face, and would go from my head to my toe telling me how my toes were falling asleep, then my legs, and knees. And she would go on in this voice so hushed it sounded like it might have been a recording, and by the time she got back to my face I would be out cold” My brows and nose scrunch at the memory.

The rain came down harder as I continued mapping out his face with my fingers tracing the constellation of freckles that made their way up and down his face in linear patterns, making sure to pay attention to each and every one before moving on to the next, but before I can finish my rounds he tells me. “I bet our kids will love this”

I stop completely and stare up to him as his eyes snap open in realization “W-wait your* I mean-” he stutters out.

A smile that had been sprouting on my face grew big and before he got too flustered I stopped his sputtering and reassured him “I think our kids will like it too…if it's possible for humans and na’vi to have kids that is” Looking up into his wide eyes.

“I think we’ll manage just fine.” He responds, bringing a plush hand to my face. That's one thing that surprised me about Neteyam in the beginning, with all his training and hunting I expected his hands to be rough and calloused, with scars and such running across them as trophies for his hard work. But the first time I felt them, one on each of my arms, they were soft and warm. His hands were home.

“So you said I had to touch you all over to get you to fall asleep?” He questioned in a tone strikingly more playful than before.

My mouth dropped open in his change of pace and I grabbed a pillow from behind me and made quick contact with his face. “Teyam!”

A/N: 

eeehihihihiii idk If anyone will read this but I’ve had this scene playing in my head non stop for weeks and I had to write it down lmaoo. This is one of my first attempts at writing fanfic so I hope you enjoyed!! Lmk what else u wanna see and any feedback u have for me :) 

#neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam avatar #neteyam atwow #atwow #atwow x reader #avatartwow #kiri #atokirina #atwow kiri #neytiri #jake sully #loak #loak sully #neteyam sully #dad neteyam #neteyam fanfiction

[ofstoriesandstardust]

and i can wish all that i want but it won't bring us together (n.p.t.)

note: this is my Christmas present to @cottagecori who listens to everything i have to say

summary: How it began.

the waiting room series

warnings: quote unquote affairs, swearing, alcohol, bisexual reader, non-linear storytelling, told from multiple perspectives, this may not be your cup of tea and that's okay!

word count: 3.9k

December 2021

Your hand shakes as you move to wipe away the tear that began to fall down your face. Sam’s hand finds yours, squeezing. 

“I’m sorry.” You hear your best friend whisper. “You didn’t deserve this. I’m sorry.” 

-

May 2021

Meeting Natasha had been like coming home after a long day, warm and safe. 

You’d only been back in San Diego for a week and a half when you’d run into her on your first day volunteering at the U.S.S. Midway. They’d been having an event for certain Navy personnel and needed extra hands, which is how you'd ended up meeting her. 

Even dressed in her formal blues and her hair pinned back in a tight bun, you’d been left more than a little flustered by her striking beauty, much to the amusement of the other volunteer you’d been working with. 

She’d been kind, chatting with you as there was a delay in the program, her nimble fingers brushing yours as she takes a booklet from you. 

You’ll blame the redness of your cheeks on the beaming sun atop the retired Naval aircraft carrier before you’d ever admit such a short interaction had left you feeling so much. 

But Sofia knows, as you will come to learn that she always does, and mentions that a bunch of the younger volunteers, kids of Navy officers, are headed to a local Navy bar for the evening. Invites you along with the promise of a good evening. 

And you know, in your soul, that you don’t typically enjoy nights out. Not in packed, crowded bars, certainly not surrounded by drunken military men. 

But this part of your life is supposed to be different and it will never be different if you don’t make decisions you normally wouldn’t. 

So with a twinkle in Sofia’s eye and a warm smile on her face, you link your arm with her and follow her off the looming ship on the shores of La Jolla. 

-

In hindsight, you should’ve known. Should’ve taken the twinkle in Sofia’s eye for mirth and laughter and trouble, but you can hardly bring yourself to care as Natasha’s mouth slots against yours. As one hand rests in your belt loops and the other soft yet firm against your cheek. 

The loud music in the bar seems to drown out in the corner you’re tucked away in, any and all thoughts fleeting as Natasha’s surprisingly soft lips press against yours again and again. She’s all you can focus on, the warmth spreading through your body as you think about how good it feels to be doing this again, to be doing this with her. 

-

Falling in love with Natasha is simple. 

It’s easy, like falling asleep. 

She’s as kind as she is strong-willed, a duality that shouldn’t exist together but does. 

You can see, even from easy conversation, how much she cares about this team that she’s stationed with, how much they’re family to her. 

She’s older than you, not by much, but enough to make you feel like she’s one of those real adults you always joke about with your friends. It’s something that should make you insecure, dating someone who had their life and shit together but never does. Natasha isn’t like that, would never make you feel small. 

Her friends might, a few of them making teasing comments about if you’re even of legal drinking age the first time she brings you back to the Hard Deck, but you know that you have always looked younger than you are. 

(You’d worked with middle schoolers in your freshman year of college and they all thought you were 14. You knew.)

But still, Natasha is there, warding them off with a witty comeback and a hand on your back, something that settles your nerves more than any amount of alcohol ever could. She didn’t have to do this, you knew, remembering the way your ex had let you sit there as you got torn apart by his friends. 

But Natasha isn’t him. She’s kind, and warm, and light. She listens to you on your good days and your bad days, makes you coffee on late nights as you slouch over books and an open Google Doc, and brings you groceries when she knows you’ll be too busy to remember to do it yourself. 

She makes sure you always feel seen and heard. She goes to the airport with you to pick up Sam and Fran when they move back to San Diego and joins you on game nights with your cohort and your friends from the Midway. She supports all your dreams, no matter how small they may seem to other people. She has your friends from college giggling over a margarita about how they’re impressed you finally managed to date someone who’s nice to you. She makes it a point to be at all your presentations and always read through the drafts of your thesis when it feels like your eyes might melt. 

In short, Natasha loves you. To her, it’s simple and honestly, how could you not love her in return? 

Natasha knows you and loves you. She loves you because she knows you.

Which is why it feels like a dagger cut so deep when Natasha admits to you that she knew. 

-

November 2017

His fingers tremble with rage as he sets the paper down, barely breathing as he struggles to meet his partner’s eye. 

“How long?” He whispers. 

“Tom-” 

“How. long.” He grits out. 

Pete sighs. “Since August.” 

“Three months.” He whispers. “Three months and you hid this from me the whole time?” 

“You were sick Tom, I needed you to get better. You never would if you had known. And- And I hardly know anything as it is-” 

“You know enough.” He spits out, eyes unable to look at just one piece of information on the papers scattered out in front of him. “And this girl? What do you plan to do?”

Pete sighs again. “She’s my daughter, Tom. I have to know her. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t.” He whispers, a fact that is making bile rise in his still-healing throat. 

“No.” He says with a quick shake of his head. “No. If you want to stay married to me, she stays out of our life.” 

-

July 2021

“Okay, thoughts?” You say, stepping out into the living room. 

“You look pretty!” Fran exclaims as Sam nods his head in agreement. 

You weren’t sure what was appropriate attire to meet Natasha’s friends, other than Natasha telling you to wear whatever made you most comfortable. You’d been through six different outfits, each one being pulled off faster than the last. 

“But we’ve said that about all of them.” 

You heave a sigh, flattening out the skirt of the dress. “I know but-” 

“No buts. You look incredibly pretty and Nat is going to like you just as much as she did yesterday.” Sam says firmly. 

You sigh again, glancing ​​at him. “I wish you guys were coming with me.” You admit quietly before plopping down on the couch next to Fran. 

Fran leans over to straighten the straps of​​ the dress, as she offers you a knowing smile. “You’re gonna have a good time. Sam and I can entertain ourselves for an evening, you know.” 

“I did live here for a while, remember!” Sam shouts from the kitchen.

When had he gone into the kitchen?

You hum as a knock sounds at the door, signaling Natasha’s arrival. You push yourself off the couch to answer her, unable to swallow the smile that spreads when you realize she’s brought you flowers. 

“You didn’t have to.” You whisper, taking the bunches of sunflowers from her. 

“I wanted to.” She says, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you can go far. She shuts the door behind her, following you into the foyer and then the living room. Fran brightens as she sees Natasha. 

“Let me take these from you.” Fran offers, before extending her other hand to Natasha. “You must be Natasha. I’m Fran. Sam’s in the kitchen. Babe, do you have a vase?” 

“I don’t know.” He calls back. “Why would we need a- oh.” Sam gives you a grin as he appears. “Yeah, let me see if I can rustle something up. Why don’t you kids get out of here?” You roll your eyes, ignoring the flaming of your cheeks as Natasha takes your hand, bidding your friends farewell. 

Nat’s right hand finds your thigh, drawing circles into your skin with her thumb as she pulls out of your driveway. 

“So remind me how you know Sam and Fran?” 

“Sam and I had a mutual friend, his old co-worker and a friend of mine from college. We ended up really hitting it off and ended up dropping the friend that introduced us, as awful as that makes me sound. They’re just visiting for the weekend and I’m actually staying in his family’s place right now.” 

She hums. “That’s very kind of him.” 

You huff out a little laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

-

The Hard Deck is less noisy this time around, although your eyes still struggle to adjust to the dim light of the bar as you push your sunglasses up to the top of your head. 

Natasha guides you past the bar, promising to return later as she directs you to the pool table in the back. Her hands are firm against your shoulder blades as you walk. 

“Boys.” She calls, earning the attention of the men crowded around the pool table. They all turn, catching sight of you and you have to fight not to curl into Natasha. “This is my girlfriend.” 

The tall one, the blond, grins, being a little too sharp around the edges for your liking. “Are you sure she should even be in here Phoenix?” 

Her thumbs press into your shoulders as if to say breathe, relax, i got this. 

“Pretty sure you’re the one that likes them below the legal drinking age Bagman.” 

“Back off, Seresin.” A brunette says, pushing him out of the way. “I’m Bradley.” He says, extending his hand to you. You take it, giving him a soft smile. 

You’d heard about Rooster, Nat’s best friend. “Nice to meet you.” 

“This is Bob and Fanboy.” Nat says, pointing to your left. “Behind them is Payback and Coyote. The irritating blond is Bagman.”

“Hangman-” 

“The rest of the crew will be in shortly.” You wave to the boys, struggling to not make yourself feel small in their looming presence. “It looks like Mav is over at the bar, why don’t you come with me? I want to introduce the two of you.” 

You nod, intertwining your fingers with her as the two of you walk back towards the bar.

“Mav.” She calls, earning the attention of a shorter man.  A fond smile blooms on his weary face, turning from his conversation with the bartender. 

“Lieutenant Trace, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Mav, this is my girlfriend. This is Captain Pete Mtichell, my commanding officer.” 

Pete’s smile almost seems to fade at the sight of you, but he must think better of any immediate negative thoughts as he extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You too.”

Mav lets your hand go, turning to the person sitting next to him, an older man with graying hair. “Tom, this is Phoenix’s girlfriend.” 

The man, Tom, frowns at Pete. “I can hear Pete.” 

Natasha lets out a little laugh. “This is Tom Kazansky, Captain Mitchell’s husband.” 

Tom tips his head in greeting. “Good to meet you.”

-

October 2020

He watches the careful rise and fall of his husband’s chest. 

Up. Down. 

Up. Down.

Up. Down. 

He can tell by the stillness of his body his husband is nearing sleep, even though the bruising from two different emergency ejections had left him favoring his left side and sleeping in an awkward position. 

He swallows at the reminder at the near loss of his husband. 

The seed that had been planted when the Darkstar crashed - which felt ages ago by now - had bloomed, its ivy wrapping tight around his lungs. 

It choked his lungs every time he breathed, thorns cutting deep, the thought that Pete might die and die resenting him for never being able to know his daughter. 

“Pete?” He whispers. 

His husband stirs, blearily looking at him in the dim light of the bedroom. 

The dim light of their bedroom in their nice house by the ocean. The dim light of their bedroom in their nice house by the ocean, where they had comfortably lived and loved and laughed, something she had never known. 

“Tom? What is it?” 

“I changed my mind.” 

He catches on to the shine of Pete’s wedding band, even as he tries to move, letting out a low hiss as he does. 

“Changed your mind? Changed your mind about what, baby?” 

“I’ve changed my mind. If- If you want to know her. If you want to find her again, I’d be okay with that, I think. I want you to be able to know your daughter.” 

-

April 2021

His brain is swimming with information, his heart clenching every time a portion of it gets processed. 

“So, you found her?” Ice says quietly. 

Mav hums in affirmation. “She’s graduating college this year. In a month.” 

“It’s crazy to me Pete, really it is. That you have a daughter out there.” His Mom says after a minute.

“And I could know her.” 

Pete’s trying to explain it to him, the private investigator, the affair, the daughter, and all he can feel is that ache in his chest where the scar of betrayal still sits, unhealed and raw. 

A daughter.

“You- you’re fucking with me, right Mav? A daughter?” 

Mav’s face falls in that way that it does, his shoulders deflating a bit before shaking his head. “No, B. This is real. I have a daughter and I’m trying to find her. I- I think we did.” 

Bradley has to bite his cheek to keep his initial words from leaving his mouth. “This is bullshit.” 

“B, I understand that this is all new, especially with the mission having not been that long ago-” 

“No, it’s bullshit Mav. You knew where I was for over a decade and you never once tried to find me or contact me. You’ve known about her for five minutes and suddenly you’re hiring a PI to try and find her?”

Mav lets out a little breath. “I’ve known since 2017.” 

Bradley chokes on his spit. “And what the fuck makes now such a great time?” 

“Well, for starters, she was a minor when I first found out about her existence. Her Mom never would have let me anywhere near her. Plus, Tom was not on board with the idea of having her in our lives-” 

“Oh, and he is now?” Mav opens his mouth to keep talking but he beats him to the punch. “I mean, we don’t even know that she wants you in her life, Mav! For fuck’s sake Mav, you’d probably screw her over before you ever got a chance to pretend to be her Dad, given your track record. You’ll be two for two fucking up your pseudo kids before they hit 30.” 

“Bradley.” His Mom says sternly, coming into his swimming vision. He presses the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes, wondering when he had started crying. “Bradley, baby, I think you’re a little sensitive to the situation, you’re not seeing it from Pete’s point of view-” 

“I don’t need to. I hope for that girl’s sake you stay away from her.”

-

December 2021

Nat plays with the strap of your nice dress as you both watch the blond pilot amble his way towards the two of you at Pete and Tom’s small holiday get-together. 

Your head rests on her collarbone as she appears before you, grinning like he has a secret. 

“I think I found out why Roo has been fighting with Pops.” 

Coyote and Fanboy overhear Jake, leaning in to hear him as they crowd around the armchair you and Natasha are sitting in. 

“Eavesdropping, are we Bagman?” Nat asks, fingertips moving from your strap to your shoulder to begin grazing your arm. You snort, leaning further into your girlfriend. 

“Maybe.” He says hurriedly before waving her off. “Apparently, dear old Maverick had some kind of illicit affair back in the day and has a daughter as a result.” 

Javy chokes on his drink as Mickey’s eyes widen. Natasha rolls her eyes. “You need to get your ears checked.” 

Jake shakes his head. “No, no, I’m serious. Mav has been trying to find her since last year after the mission happened. I guess he did and is trying to get in contact with her.” 

“So how is any of this Bradshaw’s problem?” Javy asks. 

Jake shrugs. “Not a clue. But, I mean-” 

Speaking of him, Bradley appears in your vision rather abruptly. 

“Why did your parents get a divorce?” 

You blink, beginning to feel confused at the sharp question from the boy in front of you. “Um, my mom cheated.” 

“So, you know then.” 

“Know what? Know that my Mom’s a piece of shit?” You let out a nervous laugh, starting to feel unsteady as you pull away from Natasha. “Yeah, I’ve known that.” 

“So then you know Mav is your biological father.” 

You blink again. “What- is this some kind of like- prank?” 

Bradley’s gaze hardens. “Why the hell would I joke about this?” 

“Rooster, man, what are you even talking about?” Coyote asks. 

“I mean, are you just like- pretending to like my friend so you can get closer to Mav?” 

“Bradshaw, whoa-” Natasha says, pushing herself off the chair. 

“No, Nat! She’s probably just using you to get closer to Mav and that’s so fucked up.” 

It feels like the room is spinning as the yelling catches Pete’s attention, bringing him across the living room as people have begun to watch what's unfolding. 

“Hey, cut it out, all of you. What is going on?” 

“Is it true?” 

You hear yourself ask the words, suddenly feeling too big for your own body. 

It takes Pete a moment to understand but when he does his face falls and it’s enough. 

It’s enough. 

“Oh my god.” You mumble. “Oh my god. I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

You push yourself off the chair, pushing at your sternum as if it will relieve the pressure there. 

Natasha grabs your arm. “Hey-” 

“Did you know?” 

The hesitance in her eyes answers your question but the whispered “I had my suspicions.” takes your breath clean from you. 

You don’t remember leaving the party. 

You do remember pressing at your sternum over and over, pressing harder with each ring on your phone that passed. 

You remember collapsing on to the curb of a sidewalk blocks from the party, the grief insurmountable. 

You remember begging Sam to come pick you up and choking on sobs as Fran whispered soothing words through the phone. 

You don’t remember much after that.

#natasha phoenix trace #natasha phoenix trace fic #natasha phoenix trace x reader #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #the waiting room series

[tackytigerfic]

hiiii tacky!!! idk if you're comfortable sharing, but if your are... what is your writing process like? are you a more like linear narrative person where you come up with an idea followed by a plot line or do you come up with like a piece of dialogue first and then write around that? do you use music, shows, other fics, real life for inspo or is it all kinda just ur imagination? lol i personally just adore your fics so i would love to hear how they come about :))

hello Anon! First of all, thanks so much for sending this ask. I always love reading other people's posts about their process so this was a really interesting one for me to think about. And I'd be delighted to share, though I can't promise it'll be anything profound!

I'm the opposite of a linear narrative planner type tbh. Whenever I try that approach, it always feels really flat and uninspired. I have a WIP at the moment that came to me in quite a plotty, formal way—it's a fic where there's an emergency at Hogwarts and Albus and Scorpius go missing, and Harry and Draco go there together and have to get their sons back (and fight the Giant Squid). I had an overarching idea, and a flashback/flashforward format with all the scenes I needed. But when I went to write it, it dragged and dragged. I hope to go back to it but I think it really needs to be shaken up!

Normally however, every fic I write begins with an idea for one particular moment or scene. It's almost like a camera flash, like an illumination, a moment of clarity where I can just grasp the mood of this tiny snapshot within the narrative. So everything I write becomes about getting to that moment and capturing the feel of it as truly as I can. It's hard because sometimes, as I write, there's a slippage between what I have in my head and what comes out on paper. My best fics (in my opinion) are the ones where the finished piece matches up with the vision/feel I had in my head.

So in Modern Love, that scene was the kiss in the church. Which, if you've read the fic you'll know, comes almost at the very end. So i basically wrote 60k to get to that: "Draco presses into him, and Harry can feel the answering press of the altar rail behind his thighs, and Draco bends him backwards so his body is a tightly-strung bow, and Draco is leaning over him, holding him up, and they’re still kissing, kissing, kissing."

In Unpin, it was the scene where Harry and Draco are getting into their uniforms in the changing room, and Draco can hear Harry unbuttoning his robes: "The buttons are tiny, impossibly delicate-looking, but he tells me they’re virtually indestructible. I can actually hear the whisper of the buttons as he nudges them shut, that gentle sussurating scratch of the edge of each one as he eases them through the buttonholes.'The kirin horn has protective properties, Malfoy,' he told me smugly when he bought them. 'And,' he added, like the sanctimonious prick he is, 'they look great.'"

In Power Lines, it was the scene with Draco floating in the sea: "They swam every afternoon, Harry mostly floating, blinking up at the flat blue sky, Malfoy with his shoulders pink and peeling and his wet hair bleached like bone from the sun. His Mark had faded over the years, though it was still ugly, and he had a ropey, reddened scar curling around the bracket of his left ribcage right up to the hollow below his Adam’s apple. Harry determinedly didn’t think about how odd it was that he suddenly knew Malfoy’s body like this, so casually and easily."

In Lick, it was Harry with his hand on the Hogwarts wall, talking to the building (and that scene comes right at the start, so in a way that was easier because I had the whole fic to play with afterwards!): "As he touches the wood, leans his forehead against the wall, he whispers under his breath, "Please." And as easily as that, at just one word from him, there's a click—the shockingly mundane sound of a lock turning."

In Our Little Life, it was Draco in a toga: "Harry’s fingers went to the fibula at Malfoy’s shoulder, but Malfoy murmured something about how he should leave it unless he was prepared to redrape it, and anyway Harry found he could get at almost all of Malfoy’s skin by going in from the hem up, and when the dream started to fade, Harry woke with the memory of Malfoy’s ribcage shuddering beneath his fingers."

In Howl, it was an almost jokey recreation of the rain scene in the newer Pride and Prejudice film: "“It worked out okay in the end,” Harry said, voice rough under the patter of the rain that had crept up on them, moving in sheets across the wide bowl of the valley below, wrinkling the surface of the lake. “You’re here, aren’t you? You came to get me.”"

In Countdown to a Life it was Harry thinking he'd enjoy being tied up and realising he didn't like it: ""I think," Harry says, so much later that Draco thought he was already asleep. "I think I'd prefer if it was just you. Keeping me still, I mean. I'd be so good for you. I wouldn't move at all, if you told me not to.""

in Take the Moon, it was Harry bringing Scorpius to the supermarket in the middle of the night and seeing his own reflection in the freezer doors: "Sometimes Harry could hardly see how three years had passed, could barely remember a time before Scorpius, definitely couldn’t count how many nights he had spent here in this particular Sainsbury’s, first with Scorpius in the sling, then as he got bigger, the trolley seat, walking up and down the aisles under the artificial lights that made it feel as though it could be any time of the day or night, Harry’s own warped reflection flickering back at him from the foggy glass doors of the freezer cabinets, rows and rows of chilly ghosts."

You get the idea! This is just a selection from random fics, I could probably go through every single fic and pinpoint that moment/scene that prompted me to start writing. Some are more successful than others in the way they turn out, of course—and I do think it's one of the reasons I think my microfics/oneshots are my best writing. It's because they usually are the essence of that one scene, distilled! So I can really indulge that purity of vision.

I'm not inspired by media like films/songs/books at all really, though I do greedily consume a lot of those (books in particular) and of course every single thing I read/watch has an impact in some way. I definitely write better when I've been reading really good books. This year, reading things like The Bee Sting or Close to Home or Open Water... they all really inspired me to think about craft and style and tone in a very considered way.

And on a final note, I've been writing a lot of original work this year and i've learned that I find it even harder to capture the feel of that one moment when I'm also trying to juggle characterisation and plot!

Thanks so much again for the ask and for giving me a chance to chat about my fics. Was lovely to revist them. Would also love to hear other people talking about their own processes if anyone fancies sharing.

#drarry #drarry fic #rowing and chatting #this fandom life

[writing-for-life]

As It Was Before The Otherness Came

A one-shot fic for #sandmanfemslashweekend (also on Ao3 if you prefer to read there, chapters are linked), chapters only for structure.

Chapters: 13 (3,773 words) Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Mature  Warnings: Major Character Death  Relationships: Modern Johanna Constantine/Rachel Moodie  Characters: Modern Johanna Constantine (The Sandman TV), Rachel Moodie, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless  Additional Tags: Falling In Love, Developing Relationship, Sex, Moving In Together, Break Up, Emotional Baggage, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Canon Compliant, Canon, Swearing

Johanna Constantine and Rachel Moodie are recounting their developing and failing relationship in short, intercutting scenes. Johanna tells her story from end to beginning (she is starting with Rachel's death), and Rachel from beginning to end (she starts with how they met). There are only two scenes in third person (at the exact midpoint and the very end), the rest is written in first person POV by the individual character.

If you find the intercutting, non-linear structure hard to follow, you could try to read Johanna and Rachel separately before putting them back together.

The song inspiration is "As it was" by Hozier.

Sex in ch. 2 but not particularly explicit language, so I don’t think we need a community label. Let me know if you prefer I put one on.

Chapter 1: Demons (Johanna)

It was pissing down in a way I hadn’t experienced for a while. I mean, it’s London, but on that night, it was something else.

As I stood there, waiting for him, I couldn’t help but think that she really was a good person.

And that’s the fucking unfairness of it all. Would be easier to say I didn’t care about her, and maybe it’s true. Maybe I didn’t care enough. It’s me who isn’t a good person. People just get hurt if they get too close to me. Too much darkness, inside and out.

I let her get close. At least for a while. Until I felt it—the dimming of light. The expectations. The domestic shit. And I told myself that’s all it was—feeling tied down. She wanted the happily ever after. I couldn’t give her any of that. Too many demons. Not the real ones, although they’re part of the problem. Sort of. But the demons I’m talking about are mine, and mine alone. And when she looked at me that final time before I left her with him, I wished I’d never let her close enough to see them. Because once she had, she wanted to get to the bottom of it all, and she kept on trying. But that’s not how it works. It never does because it’s true:

I ruin everything I touch.

The sound of his steps took me out of my thoughts.

“She died in peace. In her sleep…”

Chapter 2: It was all it took (Rachel)

It all happened so fast. And it was clichéd:

She cut in right in front of me like a complete bitch, I said, “Excuse me?!”

The side-eye. The husky laugh. The, “Sorry, love…” mixed with a raised eyebrow.

The glances across tables that finally made me burst out laughing. Her confused look, quickly replaced with an inappropriate grin. Only that I didn’t find it inappropriate.

Her wiping everything off my kitchen table before pinning me down.

My legs around her hips.

That hoarse voice of hers that had been driving me insane for the last couple of hours. “Tell me what you want.”

“Show me what you’ve got…” I put my hands on her hips and began to direct her.

She closed her eyes for a second and exhaled before opening them again. Those brown eyes that were blazing like all the fires of hell.

One of her hands moved down my flanks. When she reached my hip, she ran it between our bodies and began touching both of us.

“Trying to make me come first?” I moaned.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t…” I could hardly control my voice.

“Better do something about it, then.”

I ran both of my hands between us and put them on hers.

“Like this?”

“Fuck…” She moved with me, touching me, touching herself. I felt the dampness between us, my own stickiness on my hands.

The table creaked, and its surface was hard and unforgiving. It was uncomfortable, and I didn’t care.

She pulled her hand away and propped herself up on her elbows, cupping my face. No, not cupping. Clasping. Hard. “Keep on doing what you’re doing.”

I bent my knees and pushed my feet into the table. I felt her and myself. I heard her and myself. But alI could see was her. The little frown between her eyebrows. The colour of her eyes that seemed to change from brown to black right in front of me. The mouth I wanted to kiss but didn’t because I was too busy looking at her and feeling her.

Creaking, rubbing, pressing, sensing. My mind was clouded, my body aware. I touched, she pushed. Her breath hitched, her eyes closed.

Speeding up, the sound of her voice, the feeling of her breath.

A moment of stillness, slowing down.

Her hand reached down and rested on my hands for the briefest of moments before she removed them. “Put your hands over your head and let me touch you.” Her voice was breathless.

She finally kissed me while holding my hands in place with her left and touching me with her right. She breathed into me, I breathed into her. It only took her seconds to make me come. It was sweet, it was painful, it made me tighten and open up at once.

It was all it took. I knew I wanted more of it. More of her, even if she hadn’t shown me much. I wanted to find out…

Chapter 3: Save the light (Johanna)

She was asleep. I lay awake. And I had been for the last 3 hours.

I couldn’t take it anymore. The nightmares were worse than ever. Her light would fade if she stayed with me.

I’d tried to provoke her far too many times over the last couple of days, and I hated myself for it. Honestly, I wanted her to break up with me. But she didn’t get the hint. She didn’t mind arguing. She always said it was “healthy”. Fuck no, nothing that involves me is healthy. And that’s why I needed to let her go. And if she wouldn’t leave me, I’d have to leave her to save her light. She meant something to me, whatever it was, and I couldn’t afford that. Neither did she deserve to go down with me.

I got up and got dressed, grabbed a few things and left the rest. For a moment, I thought I should have taken everything I had brought into her flat over the past months, but then she’d immediately know. And I didn’t want her on my back. Or maybe I lied to myself and, for a split-second, thought it was a way back in if I changed my mind.

But when I quietly closed the door behind me, I already knew I wouldn’t…

Chapter 4: Moving fast (Rachel)

She was so beautiful when she laughed, and it’s not that she never did. But it was usually some sort of sneer, a grin with an underlying hint of jadedness, a smile that looked like it was covering up some kind of hurt. But this one was real.

“I should go home soon,” she said, a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

I leaned forward and kissed one corner. “You could stay tonight.” Then the other. “Or you could just…stay?”

She immediately moved back and looked at me like only Jo looks at you. As if you’ve got two heads. As if you’ve completely lost the plot.

“Woah, moving a bit fast, aren’t we?”

And there it was. The sneer. But I was having none of it and just kissed her again. I felt a tiny bit of resistance at first, but not as much as I had feared. She finally gave in.

“Just stay tonight,” I mumbled against her lips. “We could cook together, maybe watch a film, and you could just pretend to be my girlfriend for once.”

She snorted. “I’m not pretending, it’s just…”

“Well, that’s it settled then,” I interrupted with a grin.

She smiled back, and that one was real…

Chapter 5: My nightmares, her dreams (Johanna)

I felt exhausted and drained. Seen things no human should ever see, and it had been a close one. Again.

When I opened the door to her flat, a part of me hoped to find comfort in her arms, felt like talking about what had happened tonight.

Past the point, not her stuff to worry about. What was I even thinking?

And in any case, she was waiting for me with a face like thunder.

“Where have you been?”

“Come on, Rach, not that shit again.” For fuck’s sake, she’d been crying, I could see it in her eyes.

“Well, yes, that shit again. What do you expect me to say if I’m worried sick about you? I can't take the constant worry. And you’re never honest with me!”

“When did I ever lie to you?”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “When were you ever honest when you get calls in the middle of the night, when you just disappear, when you come back stinking of god-knows-what?”

I felt a surge of pain and anger, but I quickly swallowed it. It wasn’t her fault. How could she even remotely understand?

Deep down, I knew she was right. I would never be able to be truly honest with her, not as long as my world was one of demons and nightmares while hers was one of humans and dreams.

So I turned on my heel and just said, “I’ll let you cool off a bit and come back later.”

“Yeah, just run away, like every time things get too close!” she called after me.

And once again, she was right…

Chapter 6: Light is armour (Rachel)

She had this funny little ritual. Every night, before we went to sleep, Jo told me a bedtime story. She was really great at it, spinning tales of adventure and slaying demons—always demons. And of course she was always the heroine of her stories (even if she pretended she wasn’t), and sometimes, she would even save me (even if she pretended it was someone else).

I found it hilarious and endearing—here was the woman I loved, who always seemed so tough, but she was like a little kid when she described epic battles against terrifying creatures that threatened the peace of some random kingdom.

She would talk about wielding a magical sword that could cut through any darkness, and wearing armour made of pure light.

“How does that even work?” I snorted. “You must be butt-naked under that.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not me!”

“Okay, then whoever she is, she’s still starkers. Light isn’t armour.”

She looked at me, and her expression changed. “Maybe it is.”

And of course I knew they were more than just bedtime stories. That there were struggles behind it all, disguised as fantasy. That Jo had hopes and dreams, hidden under a mountain of fear and insecurity. And I didn’t know how to help her through it all because she still wouldn’t let me.

But right then, as we lay in bed together, wrapped in each other's arms, I felt a sense of peace, and I’m sure she felt it, too.

Chapter 7: Pulling the drawstrings (Johanna & Rachel)

Johanna rang the doorbell and waited. It took Rachel a while to buzz her in, and it took Jo an even longer while to get up the stairs. When Rachel opened the flat door, she was soaking, a towel wrapped around her. It didn’t stop her from leaning in to kiss Jo and getting her wet in the process.

“Oy,” Johanna grinned.

Rachel’s gaze dropped to the bags that lay on the floor. “Moving in?” She smirked.

“Well, I need to keep some stuff close by and might as well just leave it here at the moment.”

“Right.” Rach raised her eyebrow and couldn’t stop grinning. “Come in then. Want me to take any of that?”

“Nah, just get yourself dried and decent.”

“As if.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, I need to unpack a few things.”

Rachel petted her lip in mock-disappointment. “Okay, just get started, I’ll be with you in a few…”

“What’s that?” Rachel asked, dressed in jeans and a jumper, a towel still wrapped around her head.

“I’ve no clue, honestly, It’s some old pouch I got while…” She hesitated. “Can’t remember where I got it, but I never even managed to pull the drawstrings open.”

“Let me…”

Johanna threw the leather pouch at Rachel, who nearly dropped it.

“Careful,” she grinned.

“I always am, aren’t I?”

Chapter 8: Sand (Rachel)

She’d just left me standing there like an idiot. It was the first real argument.

No, it wasn’t even that because we hadn’t exactly been fighting. I had asked questions. Okay, maybe I had raised my voice a little, but I had been sitting at home for hours, feeling worried about her, not knowing where she was. And it hadn’t been the first time. Her phone was always switched off. In fact, it was near always switched off. It was sometimes impossible to get a hold of her. And when I had told her that she wasn’t honest with me, she had completely stonewalled me before running away.

I felt my eyes welling up with tears again, and it annoyed me. So I got ready for bed. I lay there for hours, tossing and turning, and couldn’t get to sleep. I wandered back into the living room and switched on the TV. When I sat down on the couch, the leather pouch on the coffee table caught my attention. We both hadn’t managed to open it, even after trying repeatedly, but I didn’t have anything better to do, so I tried again. But no matter how hard I tried, it didn’t work.

“Honestly, I will just pretend I can open you with sheer willpower and belief, you stupid thing. Abracadabra,” I joked. And believe it or not, all of a sudden, the pouch was open. Just a tiny crack, maybe the size of a shirt button. But it was enough to take a peek. It was hard to tell what it was, so I turned it over gently.

Sand?

I brought my hand up to my face and carefully sniffed it to make sure that’s what it was.

I can’t remember what happened after, but I do remember I woke up the next morning, and that I hadn’t had such nice dreams in ages…

Chapter 9: Just a few bags (Johanna)

I honestly spent a lot of time with her, which wasn’t like me at all. And it just felt so fucking nice to have someone to come home to for once. But was I truly coming home to her?

Emotionally, maybe. But I was still only staying overnight. Well, on the nights I could. Big step for me though.

I second-guessed myself. Too rash? Too cautious? Missing out on something I knew I shouldn’t really allow myself?

For a brief moment, I actually thought, “Shit, Jo, you’re really getting in too deep.”

And the very next moment, she encroached on my mind like a flippin’ vision. Her smile, her laugh, her kindness, her passion.

How we spent time together. Me, doing shit like cuddling on the sofa and cooking. And of course we were fucking each other senseless, but that wasn’t it. I was always able to get that somewhere if I really wanted to. It was the way she made me feel. When I was with her, I was happy for a moment. I took a glance at the shitty photo booth shots of us, and I even looked it.

Was I ready for this?

Not really because it wasn’t just about me. It was about her.

Maybe I was overthinking it, letting fear get the better of me. And honestly, I should have.

It wasn’t moving in to just dump a couple of bags to make life easier, was it?

Chapter 10: As it was (Rachel)

It was okay for a short while. She’d come back, but she became more and more distant. The smiles were sneers again. The bedtime stories stopped.

Well, most of the time, she wasn’t even around at bedtime. If she was, the sex was still great, but I sometimes thought that was the problem. Because everything else had stopped. The real conversations, the watching stupid comedies together, the actual closeness.

I woke up at half past three, and she was gone. Again. And I was so fucking tired of it all. 

Tired and unable to sleep.

The pouch of sand was in the drawer of my bedside table. It helped me sleep. I didn’t have the faintest clue what this stuff was because it honestly just looked like sand. Maybe I just made up things in my mind, maybe it was true what they said about placebos: If you really believe something works, it will.

So whatever this stuff was, it worked.

I took a small amount and probably inhaled a bit too deeply because I immediately knew something was off.

When I came to, I was shaking, but I remembered the dream. It had been of her. Of us in a photo booth, and going on a walk together that ended up having her pin me against a tree, kissing me, letting her hands wander a bit too much and only stopping when a few people passed. 

And while it had been a dream, it was also real. Because that’s what we had done.

And I cried, and I wanted it all back.

I took a bit more sand and held on to the pouch. Maybe if I did it again, I could finally get to sleep…

Chapter 11: Snapshots (Johanna)

I don’t really have good days that often, I admit it. But that day was one of them. I had just decided to take her out. Properly, in a sort of old-fashioned way, because I knew she was into it, and I liked that about her to be honest.

We had lunch, and I, the woman who usually eats like a horse and doesn’t look too dignified while she’s at it, could hardly eat at all. All I could do was stare at her like some idiot, and it was fucking ridiculous.

As we entered the park (she wanted to “walk off the calories”, I just asked, “Why would you even say that?”), we stumbled across a vintage VW camper van that had been converted into a photo booth.

And of course she wanted to give it a try. I said no, probably 20 times, but she ultimately won.

Lots of funky props and costumes, and I honestly couldn’t believe she roped me into that shit—hats and sunglasses, feather boas and tiaras.

“Come on, Rach, let’s at least have a few shots without all the crap.”

“Okay,” she smiled, and we tried to get a few serious ones. Not that it worked.

Anyway, we ended up with a few I really liked and wanted to keep. She, of course, also wanted all the other ones, so we ultimately walked out with two sets of four prints.

When we walked home, I just pulled her off the path and kissed her. Well, maybe something else, too. But I remember clear as day it was the first time I actually felt I liked her a lot more than I wanted to let on…

Chapter 12: Whatever here that's left of me is yours (Rachel)

It hurt.

I couldn't even remember when I last got out of bed.

At first, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to sleep, get over the fact that she really didn’t come back this time. That she had left me without even having the guts to tell me. But it was impossible to get to sleep without the sand. And the more I took, the more I needed. To get rest, and to keep the nightmares at bay. Those nightmares that got a hold of me because of it but would also go away with it.

And then, I couldn’t get out of bed physically. Whenever I tried, the pain was so severe that I immediately had to lie back down. I stopped eating at some point, which didn’t help. But whenever I managed to get rest and dream of her, it didn’t matter. At some point, the hunger just stopped.

It was waking up that was agony, not sleeping. It was not dreaming that parched me, not the fact that I didn't drink.

I couldn’t remember when I’d last been to work. The phone had rung non-stop for a while, but I physically couldn’t answer. Maybe there were people at the door at some point. Maybe I’d let them in, maybe I hadn’t, because I couldn’t remember if I'd even managed to get up at any point. It was all a haze.

I lay there, wondering where it all went wrong. What had gotten me into this state. Why I couldn't breathe, why I was in so much pain. But it would all ebb back when the dreams came.

I counted to 100…

Chapter 13: Stark sights and dark nights (Johanna, Rachel & Dream)

“Jo, is that you?” Rachel’s voice sounded thin and brittle. “That’s such a wonderful dream.”

Johanna stepped towards the bed. “It’s me Rach. It’s going to be okay.” She took her hand, but the mere touch made Rachel whimper in pain. She looked at him. “What’s happened to her?”

“It’s the sand, it wasn’t meant for humans.”

He carefully removed the pouch from Rachel’s hand. The desperation that washed over her was so immediate that Johanna had to close her eyes for a second.

“No, no, no, give it back. Please, it hurts.”

He turned around almost immediately. “We can go.”

“What? We can’t go, we can’t leave her like this!” Johanna called after him.

“We can’t help her, the sand was the only thing keeping her alive.”

“You have to do something. If it wasn't for your sand, she wouldn't be like this!”

His expression was completely emotionless. “I'm not the one who left her with it.”

It was the moment Johanna lost all composure. “What is wrong with you? You want your sand back so you can save all of humanity? Well, here she is! But we're all just like Roderick Burgess to you. All you care about is your sand, your power. What is the point of you?” She swallowed hard and was back in control. “Well, you got your sand back. Why are you still here if you won't help?” And with that, she turned her back on him.

He hesitated before stepping closer to the bed. “Wait outside.”

Johanna looked at him briefly with an almost imperceptible nod.

Rachel was shaking violently, and Johanna sat down on the bed. “Rach…”

“I’m so sorry, Jo.”

She stroked Rachel’s head. “It’s my fault, all of it. I should never have left it with you.” She held and steadied her hands. “I should never have left.”

Rachel looked at her with glazed eyes. “You came back though, didn’t you?

Johanna gave her a small smile. One of the real ones. When she kissed her lightly, it all got too much. She got up and began to make her way out. As she reached the bedroom door, she heard that little voice in her head: 

No matter what he said, you really should stay.

And as always, she was good at ignoring it…

Tagging @sandmanfemslashfans @honeyteacakes @two-hands-toward-the-sun @lucienne-thee-librarian @seiya-starsniper

#sandmanfemslashweekend #johanna x rachel #Johanna Constantine x Rachel Moodie #johanna constantine #rachel moodie #dream of the endless #sandman fanfiction #sandman fanfic #not as in-depth as I would have liked #but i finished it

[perplexingluciddreams]

how did you become aware the trauma was trauma especially when not full remember

- 🍋 (may not be able read when first post this topic s blocked tag

This is a really hard question and I am not sure I really know the answer. I will try my best.

I have had a lot of experiences in my life that I think would be generally considered traumatic. Some are specific one-time events, some are very long term situations that I was trapped in. This includes abuse, but that is not the only thing. And aside from the long-term abuse from one specific person, I was also treated badly by a lot of people, even if I interacted with them only once. It is not necessarily about every single person included in that, but the pattern of bad treatment adds up over time and causes harm. I am a very easy person to mistreat or abuse or hurt, I am very vulnerable - and unfortunately lots of people have taken advantage of that over my lifetime.

I would also say that the lack of communication that I had for a lot of my life is something traumatic to experience in itself, and often lead to me being in situations where it was easy for people to cause me harm. I also think that just being so disabled, so unwell, so limited, so isolated, is a traumatic thing too.

All of my memories are scattered and jumbled and in fragments. Out of order. And I can’t recall things “on command”, mostly. It is like water currents. Not linear. If a memory comes to me, it just happens out of my control. I think sometimes there is something to pull up that memory, but because I don’t process things well, I can’t usually know what the “trigger” is. It is hard to even know where there is gaps in my memory, because so jumbled.

When one memory comes, usually my brain gets loud with many memories all making a lot of “noise” in there all at once. Because it is all interlinked somehow. One water current comes up to the surface, and pulls many other undercurrents up with it. This is true for any memory, bad or not. But even if a good/neutral memory comes to the surface, it can quickly pull up very bad memories along with it.

Then my body reaction is of full intense fear. Not any other word to describe. Just like my body thinks I am in Danger. And that is the same feeling of my body that I always had pretty much all day every day for my whole childhood. Constant survival mode. And only way to try cope is constant “disconnect” from everything. Which is the mode I am in most of the time - avoid avoid avoid, distract distract distract. When brain gets loud, I must fight my way back to this “blank” state.

After I manage to calm down, the water currents settle back to underneath. And the top goes mostly flat and calmer again. Less like storm, more like gentle waves and thoughts like rain make ripples. I can place distractions on top of the water like boats or leaves or sticks, which takes attention away from the chaos beneath.

Every time this “storm” happens, I get to hold on to more and more bits and pieces that get left over, stay floating at the surface like driftwood. So over time I can slowly slowly piece together more and more, to better understand the things that happened to me.

It is also complicated due to the fact that I mostly didn’t understand what was happening at the time. (Especially if the memory is from a much younger Ezra). For example, I used to have more access to memories of abuse when I was younger, because I simply didn’t know that it was even bad, at all. When I started understanding that more, my brain blocked it off stronger and stronger so I have less access to those memories now.

I also didn’t understand my own feelings or reactions or what that meant. So, even though I always had horrible awful feelings in my body, like twisty sick-y clenching feelings in my tummy constantly, or always right about to cry, or awful awful headaches… I just thought that is how my body feels. Because it was always like that. I couldn’t make connections that it was worse at certain times or near certain people, I just knew it was bad. But still didn’t connect that with the word “bad”.

My understanding and awareness of all this is improving over time. So I now at least connect these bad body feelings with the bad memories, and link it with the fact that my body always felt that way. I still don’t have words for the emotions, I don’t understand that part yet. And I am aware that the bad memories are there, just buried deep under the surface, blocked away by my brain. And I understand more and more just how bad it was.

Now that I can tell other people tiny fragments of it, they also tell me how awful it is (not to upset me, just to make me aware of the awfulness level). It helps me better understand the scale of it. There is still much that I can’t get out in words, but I work hard on that.

This is the answer I can come up with, I hope it is helpful. And hope I understood the question correctly. The short summary is: my body reactions is the strongest indicator that lets me know that something was traumatic, even when I don’t have full access to memories.

Thank you for this ask, friend. It made me think about this and organise my thoughts into words, which helps me a lot. I hope you have a calm, content, and comfortable day/night. 💜💚

#🍋 anon #from the chaos of my mind #memory #memory attack #bad memories #loud brain #trauma #abuse

[blissfullyabsurd]

ATSV SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

ok listen. i love miguel. his character is absolutely phenomenal. but he is so incredibly wrong with his theory.

there are like… so many things that just don’t make sense going after his logic. IF we assumed that miles was the ‚original anomaly‘ then:

wouldn’t the whole universe of earth-42 be collapsing as we speak??? because aside from the fact that there is no spiderman, it seems to be fine. no holes. no glitching. no nothing. the spider was supposed to bite someone there. but it didn’t. canon disrupted right? NOTHING HAPPENED.

mayday wouldn’t be allowed to exist. which like… this makes so much sense why miguel is trying so hard to ignore her here:

according to his theory, she would disappear just like his daughter (i bet the fact that shes alive and well is eating him up inside) and i really doubt he has told any of this to peter b. bc he would definitely lose his support then.

miles universe wouldn’t be unaffected right? like all of the universal disturbances happening (including what’s happening in pav‘s universe) are caused by spot. or more generally: by people messing around with this stuff in the first place. WHAT CAUSED ALL THIS MESS WAS KINGPIN TRYING TO BRING BACK HIS FAMILY. HE WAS TRYING TO PERMANENTLY BRING THEM INTO HIS UNIVERSE. now correct me if i’m wrong but that is VASTLY different from just… saving someone that was „supposed to die“. AND MIGUEL DID SOMETHING EXTREMELY SIMILAR BY TRYING TO PERMANENTLY PLACE HIMSELF IN A UNIVERSE THAT WASNT HIS.

THAT is what made the universe collapse. THAT is what miles and the others prevented from happening when they stopped kingpin. SPEAKING OF: wasn’t penny losing her robot like a canon event? now how could a canon event be triggered in a fight that, considering that miles is an ‚anomaly‘ in the first place, shouldn’t have happened that way?

it’s such incredibly flawed logic and i can’t wait to see miguel realise that in btsv. it hurts sm knowing that he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that… what he is doing won’t prevent any of this from happening again. this whole ‚protecting the multiverse‘ thing is him trying to repent in a way for what happened to his family. but he’ll have to face the fact at some point: he simply fucked up. it is in fact his fault. it’s so tragic that he insists on being the good guys, but it blinds him to reality.

what i think makes way more sense is the original notion of parallel universes miles learns about in the first movie. the whole point of the existence of parallel universes is that they are NON-LINEAR. they’re this web of possible events. POSSIBLE. NOT NON-NEGOTIABLE!!!!! with the existence of parallel universes there’s agency. there’s freedom. because you aren’t disrupting any set future. ITS YOUR CHOICE. THERE ARE A MILLION POSSIBILITIES.

and here we’ve arrived at the whole core message in these movies: DO IT LIKE YOU. NO EXPECTATIONS. JUST KEEP GOING. what both uncle aaron and peter b. tell miles in itsv and what miles repeats before absolutely obliterating miguel. everyone telling him how his story in supposed to go. as spiderman and as miles. him wanting to spread his wings. FREEDOM TO DO THINGS YOUR WAY. YOU GUYS I LOVE THIS MOVIE SM.

#atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman #atsv spoilers #across the spider verse spoilers #miguel o'hara #miles morales #penni parker #peter b. parker #absurd rambles #just had to get this out

[findthenorthstar]

Understanding a cat

Micheal had recently become a god. Being an inherently regular and rather lonely individual his first act with his new found power was simply to understand how his cat was feeling. Frankly overstepping communication boundaries that the cat had clearly tried to set, which Micheal had missed in his previous idiotic nature. 

Micheal immediately felt a great and sudden pain. One with reasons that are quite hard to put into words, but as you've taken the time to read or listen to this I guess I should try to explain in an easier to consume way. A way that Micheal would have understood before he became slightly less idiotic. 

The human race in a famous decision had decided that the world and all of the universe must exist in a third dimensional space. Believing that because this is what we see and how we interact with the world, this is how things must be. Not taking the time to think that deciding our perspective is the default one is rather narcissistic. For example Micheal’s eyes had the ability to see three primary colors, which scientists and other important men have decided are red, yellow and blue. Mantis shrimps however can see up to twelve primary colors, which because the scientists can't see them, never got a name. The mantis shrimp of course gave all these colors a name but has realized that the scientists most likely won't care about his opinion. All of this is based on science, with the understanding that because science works this way for us it must work this way for everything.

What the human race didn’t factor in, with its own apparent narcissism, is that science is relatively non-linear for most species and most species play by human rules because humans seem rather like a mean clique at your local high school, and they don’t want to be talked down to. This is why the sudden shock of seeing life and the somewhat unconventional, decidedly cooler version of science his cat had, gave Michael the start of a great deal of pain. 

Furthermore, a great deal of rather unconventional scientists decided that humans feel a base set of emotions, and therefore a lot of the animals and other organisms that humanity didn't let name themselves, must feel the same way. That or that these organisms must be fundamentally simpler, and be less complex, because no one is allowed to be better than humanity. What humanity didn't keep in mind is that these organisms don't care about humanity or its rules, and were only polite enough not to correct us for getting their name wrong. 

For this reason it was incredibly hard for Micheal to understand his cat as his brain had to make room for several new emotions that he previously had no clue about. This also provided an incredible amount of pain. 

Finally the Egyptians believed Cats were some form of revived holy symbol. Which is like seeing a fish flying in space and saying I guess it could survive in water as well, but cats didn’t mind being bragged about, even if it came from the same people making a giant triangle for an organism who is already dead. This belief though as well as the popular saying “A cat has nine lives” isn’t too far off, in the sense that nine isn't too far off from infinity. 

All cats, essentially are one cat, and we're annoyed that humans can't figure that out, not that they think they couldn't explain it, they just haven't had the motivation to yet. Essentially the same cat which if we go by michaels understanding is called Admiral  after it dies is born as a new cat, and has repeated this cycle for every single cat that we currently know and will continue forward into every cat we will hence know. This cycle will theoretically happen until the entire universe is swallowed up by black holes, and most likely after, as a cat will infinitely land on its feet even if it has been spaghettified by gravity.

Micheal in one moment, understood not only Admiral, but all the names Admiral had received, as well as his annoyance of everyone ignoring his say on the matter. Micheal also understood all eighteen-thousand-five-hundred and fifty-four emotions “Admiral” has felt in his life. Despite all of these emotions, ironically the one missing was the feeling of ennui. As despite all the lives this cat has lived, he had never yet felt too bored, even when put into a box by an insane philosopher, or launched into space by a group of patriots. 

You see despite living so long, the cat had not yet grown tired of tuna, and warm sun rays, that it felt with a different perspective of the world, and experienced with different emotions. This all hurt poor Micheals head, but despite all of this Michael mainly had just felt bad that it invaded the cat's personal life, as he finally understood the cat to be a great deal annoyed by this.

#writing #short story #oh dear god #eldritch #story #cat #catstory #cat funny #cat lovers #i got bored #I woke up and this was here #i will never recover

[mrspotatoheads]

Electra everybody is like get back in state just assume. You are all you need. You just need to persist .I get it. I understand but idk how to put in words and make someone understand that it's so difficult. I can't do it idk how to assume and how to do all this. Ik these methods to be used and 3d isn't real etc. But I can't do it I want something I can't assume it's mine and then not get sad when it isn't happening and then also making sure I don't loose the faith that loa isn't a lie that I'm reading. It's not happening. I want it but there is a breaking point where I'm seeing the loml with someone else and me persisting is getting me no where. Plz don't hate me I just don't know how to express what I'm feeling rn I don't know what to do I'm so stuck

This is going to be a long reply, but I hope you can understand what I’m saying, reread this multiple times if you have to.

I do understand that it’s difficult, I struggled with loa for nearly three years straight. I knew exactly what I needed to do but like you said I just couldn’t assume. Im going to be honest, there isn’t any magical advice, one day it just clicked, I realised that I was the only person holding me back and I understood what loa truly meant. Every person has control over their thoughts, I understand that people have mental disorders etc. but you still have control over how you’re going to react to a certain thought that has popped into your brain. I used to think I didn’t have control over myself because I was getting negative thoughts left right and center but that doesn’t matter.

Don’t purposely go out of your way to check the 3D if you know you’re going to spiral, don’t spiral and go down a rabbit hole of terrible thoughts when you get one negative one. You need to discipline yourself, which is hard for a lot of people, but you can’t just give up when you do something “wrong”. If you spiral don’t tell yourself you’ve fucked all of it up, think in your favour, maybe even tell yourself every time you spiral you’re closer to getting your desire.

Also, don’t be doing every method under the sun just because it worked for someone else. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself to get this and that right now, time isn’t linear. If the dates pasted when you wanted a certain thing to happen continue to assume it did happen, revise, or even manifest that you go back in time and then you can experience it happen. Anything is possible. Spend some time with yourself and even forget you’re trying to manifest, try a couple methods and see which one makes you feel the best and stick to it. I used to like certain methods but wouldn’t do them because people had more success stories with other methods, so I’d do the other methods and I would dread doing them everyday. Manifesting is supposed to be fun, you shouldn’t be stressing out, of course it’s okay to get your emotions out but you shouldn’t be putting yourself through unnecessary stress just go get the things you want in this life.

I’m sure you’ve already been told to “go back to the basics” many times but I’m also going to tell you that. Assume you have it and persist in that assumption. That is as simple as the law gets. Now, you said you were struggling with assuming. We assume all the time, we all do it, this is what creates our reality and our circumstances. Assuming isn’t the problem, it’s persisting. You’re saying that persisting is getting you no where. That is your problem. You’re not truly persisting. If you were persisting you wouldn’t have even typed out this ask to begin with. You don’t have to persist 24/7, I get that there’s going to be times where you do spiral but I’ve already spoke about that. This is what i said in a previous ask which might be useful: Every time you stop persisting and are about to go back to the old story I want you to stop yourself and ask yourself “do I want this?” Because I know damn well you don’t want what’s going on right now. So go back to persisting, you don’t have to do it all the time but go back into the state as much as possible.

Every single one of us is capable of manifesting, we do it all the time, every single one of us is also capable of manifesting the good and the bad. Not a single person is an exception to this. You have become a victim to your own reality, and I’m not shaming you for that at all because I have been there. You need to have the will power and the discipline to get you out of the cycle and mindset that you are in currently, but you can do it. I know that after this you are most likely going to stay on Tumblr and continue to consume a load of loa content waiting for something to click in your brain, but I’m going to be honest, it’s most likely not going to happen. This isn’t something that no loa blogger or post can fix, this is up to you. You know exactly what you have to do, so do it.

I’m literally begging you to get off Tumblr, stop consuming any loa content and just try to assume and persist and do what feels best for you. Everytime you do any method or are persisting I don’t want you to be thinking “how long will this take?” “I wonder if it’s working?” Etc. Etc. That isn’t persisting, it’s not helping you at all. This is your reality, you’re the only one in control so it’s about time you start acting like it.

I know I said to not consume any loa content but if you really want to then I recommend listening (or you can read it on Reddit) all of Edward Art’s work, which is on YouTube. I really hope you understand everything I said, you deserve to have everything you want and it’s not even around the corner, it’s literally within you. You are very much capable of doing this, you could wake up tomorrow with your desires, something that is very much possible. I wish you all the best of luck!

#law of assumption #manifestation #ask #advice #loa blog #neville goddard #manifesting #loa #loassumption #spirutality #edward art #loa tumblr #loa tips #how to manifest #instant manifestation #manifest #★. responses! #★. 222 asks!

[grim-faux]

Do you think Six and Mono’s clothes being there, probably means the events of LN2 already took place? Didn’t Noone mentioned they were torn off or something?

It is all very ambiguous, which is just a theme the LN world rolls hard with.

With the Seamstress or doll maker, it is possible this creature has a relation to the puppet-doll that was in the circus. But we'll come back to that in a sec here.

From Noone and the audio, it sounds like the Seamstress was making things. Like the puppet-doll Noone bashed with a bottle. She might have been creating costumes for dolls or the puppets and other toys, and that is where children like Mono, RCG, and Six received their essential articles of clothing. Even the cardigan Six wore at the beginning of LN 2 was a little larger on her. Lollypop kid from the digit comics was noted to be wearing form fitting clothing and shoes, the shoes are very unusual for children in Nowhere. Either they enter through the dream state the way Noone did, or the shoes wear away to nothing from traveling and rot. It is speculated that Lollypops kids articles of clothing and shoes resemble that of the Bullies in the school. Shoes will wear out fast when subjected to the elements, and many of the children Noone encountered had ratty or worn out clothing. But having sturdy clothing is an essential to these kids, as noted by Mono's very important coat, and Six when she found the iconic rain coat.

The chest may have been a container for eventuals. After all, we never learn what became of the Seamstress or how Noone escaped. It is possible that in the encounter with Noone, the creature was dispatched as many are following an encounter or terrorizing children. So the chest and all its contents may have been moved, or the building it was stored in collapsed, as many buildings in this world seem prone to do. It is as well probable that time parallels of Nowhere are not linear to the world Noone inhabits normally. She could be going backwards or forwards in time, but I doubt she would be looking for specifics attributes of when she is arriving.

The massive clock and stone giant may have been later in the Nowhere worlds chronology, compared to that of the Circus and the Dwellers/Bloats.

We're returning to the doll-puppet and the Seamstress here. Noone speculated (or figured out) that creatures 'adapt' and evolve to the environment of their surroundings. The Sewer Dweller dwells in the sewer, the Teacher has a long neck, the Hunter discovered extremes measures to 'welcome' nosy neighbors. The Seamstress was a doll, and she could have made a doll-puppet for the man in the purple suit. To what purpose? The puppet-doll may not have been for the man in the purple suit, but was meant to run the circus himself. A proprietor for the Seamstresses behalf. Thus, she made the clothing for these little buggers.

Like the one puppet pinned to the table with scissors. There could have been a whole colony of those things. The Seamstress may have been creating the Bullies for the teacher as well (girl power go). It is without doubt that there is no clothing made for children of the Nowhere world, except for that made specifically, or for toys and puppets. Which is an eerie take. The children are only able to acquire new clothing made specifically for toys or strange animated puppet-dolls. And the seamstress may as well get inspiration from children who are wearing such articles of clothing, and imitates them. She might also be snagging the clothing from children and refurbishing them for dolls and toys.

So the yellow coat in the chest may not belong to anyone specific, it likely was not Cece's. It has not found its eventual forever child yet.

#maybe the yellow rain coat IS cursed #little nightmares #lil nightmares #the sounds of nightmares #noon #mono #otto #six #the teacher #the seamstress #the hunter #a wild ask appeared! #i was lost in school and work stuff

[astra90x]

Flufftober Day 5 - “Oh no, you’re a Morning Person!”

@flufftober

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Pairing: Sebastian x Reader

Word Count: 1351

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

This is one chapter of an entire linear story! It can be read separately but is better when read as a whole. Enjoy!

❤♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You have no idea how a peaceful place like Pelican Town could have such dangerous mines just on the edge of the community. 

You’ve only been in there for three hours, and yet you can already feel yourself on the verge of passing out. This isn’t your first time in the mines, but the deeper you go, the darker and more dangerous they get. You don’t want to give up so early in the day (it’s only 9:30, after all), but you fear that staying any longer might just knock you out. 

Still, it wasn’t a completely pointless trip. Looking into the backpack you have slung around your shoulders reveals a bounty of gems and useful metals that will certainly come in handy. 

One thing, in particular, does stand out to you, though. An icy blue gem in the shape of a teardrop. It’s freezing to the touch, way colder than any of the other minerals in your bag, and it has this mesmerizing aura to it. 

For some reason, it reminds you of Sebastian. 

Maybe he would like something like this, you think to yourself as you step into the mine’s elevator and feel it start to ascend. Would it be weird to give him a gift at this stage in our relationship? I don’t even know if we’re friends, it does feel a little weird. 

Still, you don’t have a use for the gem yourself, and something tells you that Sebastian is going to really like it. Might as well give it to someone who may appreciate it. 

The elevator shudders as it stops at the entrance to the mines, so you carefully step out and exit the cave into the lovely Summer weather. The heat of the sun feels nice on your skin after being in those dingy caverns, and you take a second to pause and just breathe in the nice, fresh air. It’s hard to argue that Summer is one of the nicer seasons. 

Making your way down the mountain path, it only takes a few short minutes before you’re at Robin’s. When you let yourself in through the front door, she immediately greets you with a, “Hey, farmer!”

“Good morning, Robin,” you reply politely. After everything Robin has done for you, you have taken quite a liking to her. She has to be one of your favourite residents of Pelican Town (even if her husband can be a little… well, let’s just say that it’s obvious he has his favourite people).

“What can I do for you this morning?” Robin asks. “I’m free as a bird for the next week if you’ll need something built. Plus, I’ve honestly been aching to use my construction muscles again.” She stretches her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles with a broad grin. You almost feel bad that you didn’t come here to request anything of Robin. 

“Actually, I’m just here for Sebastian, is he home?” 

Robin’s grin doesn’t waver, but she rolls her eyes playfully as she says, “He’s always home. You’re welcome to head down to his room, it’s in the basement.” 

You nod, thank Robin, and turn to head a little deeper into the house, where you quickly find a staircase and start to descend. Even a few stairs are pretty hard on your legs after your tough morning in the mines, but it’s nothing that a farmer can’t handle. It’s not like you aren’t used to hard work. 

You’re greeted with a door when you get to the bottom of the staircase, and not just wanting to barge in, you knock lightly and wait for an answer. Silence. You knock again, a little louder this time, and from within you hear a loud groan and then a groggy voice says, “Come in.”

You enter the room and gingerly peek your head around the corner, and the first thing you see is Sebastian, still buried under the covers of his bed. You check your watch, which reveals that it’s almost 10:00 at this point. How the hell is he still basically asleep???

Sebastian rolls over so that you can see his dark eyes peeking out from the space between his pillow and his blanket, and they squint before widening slightly at the sight of you. “You’re not my mother.”

“I’m afraid I’m not,” you reply. “But I did, um… well, I brought you something.”

Sebastian’s eyes fill with curiosity as he lifts himself up and props his arm underneath him so that he’s half sitting. You figure that’s as “out of bed” as you’re going to get him, so you take the invitation to come further into the room since it doesn’t look like he’ll be coming to you. 

When you get closer to Sebastian, you remove your backpack from around your shoulders and dig through it until your fingers make contact with that ice-cold gem from the mines. The sharp tip pricks your finger when you wrap your hand around it to pull it out. 

As soon as you’ve removed the gem from the bag and opened your hand to reveal it to Sebastian, his face morphs into something of absolute shock and wonderment. 

“It seemed like something you would enjoy,” you say, thrusting your hand forward a little further to prompt Sebastian into taking the gem. He hesitates, but reaches out and removes it from your grasp. A shiver runs down his body when he makes contact. 

“This is a frozen tear,” he says, turning the gem over in his hand to examine every inch of it. “They’re incredibly rare, where the hell did you find this?” 

“In the mines under the town. I was just there this morning, I found that stowed away in a crate somewhere.”

“You were in the mines this morning?” Sebastian’s voice is filled with something almost like disbelief. “It’s dangerous down there, how did you manage to go so early?”

“Coffee helps,” you admit. “Plus, I’m always up that early. It’s my job, y’know?” 

Sebastian chuckles. “Can’t say I know how you do it.” He looks down at his body, still wrapped in blankets, with an expression of shame. “Most mornings I don’t even know why I should bother getting out of bed.” 

“Well, there’s a whole world to see, isn’t there? I don’t see why I should waste time sleeping when I could be out, experiencing things.” You gesture to the frozen tear still clutched in Sebastian’s hand. “Plus, I wouldn’t have found that if I had decided to stay in bed.”

Sebastian’s eyes travel down to the gem, and a small smile forms on his lips. It’s one of the first times you’ve ever actually seen him smile, and you can’t say that it isn’t a beautiful sight. 

“Thank you,” he says finally after a minute of silence. “It was nice of you to think of me.”

“If it’s something I think you’d enjoy, I’d rather you have it than it just be sitting in a chest back at my house,” you answer, “so there’s no need to thank me. I was more than happy to give it to you.” 

Sebastian clutches the gem a little tighter in his hand, the smile still present on his face. You wish you could take a snapshot of this moment, seeing him so happy like this. It isn’t like he’s the most depressed or negative person in town, but it’s so rare that you see him genuinely happy, except for when you catch him at the saloon on Friday nights playing pool with Abby and Sam. But knowing that it’s you who made him smile, especially. That feels incredible. 

“I should probably get out of your hair,” you say, checking your watch to reveal that it’s already after 10:00. “I’m glad you enjoyed the gift.”

“Right, yeah, thanks again,” Sebastian says. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Okay.” You shoot Sebastian a grin, which he returns with a very slight upturn of his lips, and then you leave his room, feeling like nothing in the world could bring your mood down. 

❤❤♡♡♡♡♡♡

#flufftober 2022 #day 5 #stardew valley #sdv sebastian #stardew valley sebastian #x reader

[pap3rcrown]

i love how fucking connected the teens are this season. like yes the dads were super close but they didn’t relay on each other the way these teens do. the dads had their wives, a family, jobs, whatever to keep them grounded. these teens have so little. and part of that is bc they are teens they don’t know who they are and what they did know that thought of as “rocks” was taken from them so quickly. so no matter how much they push each other way they are always leaning on each other. 

they are so codependent on each other, as much as scary would love to push them away she can’t seem to cut those strings (referring directly to linc in ep 31) none of them really can. even if how unconnected she is compared to the others (zero bio connection) she doesn’t walk away she gets tangled in terry’s and willies “web” so to say. 

and with that i find it so hard to talk about any of these characters individually. which i think is great. it makes these characters feel real, like the sum of all of their collective parts 

as much as i would love to just like put normal on a table and dissect his silly little character i can’t do that without considering how the actions of everyone around him effect him and what led them to make the choices they do. 

what i mean by this is ep 31 in my mind was going to be a scary / taylor focused episode and it was but you can’t ignore how linc and normal all react to that and how that all powers their own arcs and actions. we get some great linc moments and a(nother) HUGE betrayal for normal, it all blends together. unlike season one we don’t really get single character/family focused episodes, everything has a domino affect. 

this all just brings out the main theme of both seasons; intergenerational trauma. which, duh BUT. season two presents it differently, it’s less linear; connecting people from all over, not just people from the same family. both present how the mistakes of our fathers (family) effect us but i think season two really shows how it effects our relationships; while season one touches on it its not nearly as prevalent.  

#dnddads #dndads #scary marlowe #normal oak #lincoln li wilson #taylor swift #not that one #daryl wilson #ron stampler #glenn close #henry oak #text post #this is just me gushing / rambling for 400 words #intergenerational trauma #ep 31

[hisui-cotton]

As a little intro, some spoilers ahead! This is a little post about Sugar Apple Fairy Tale and how surprised I was to have enjoyed it. It really is such a good show and I'd recommend it highly. I wrote this in two separate parts but felt it worked better as one larger post so if it's a little disconnected or repeats anything that'd be why. Enjoy!

To fully be honest though I’ve been in LOVE with Sugar Apple Fairy Tale. It’s finished up it’s second season and something about the way it ended makes me think there won't be another season but I wouldn't mind either way. It felt good the way it was. I constantly found myself thinking “YES GIRL SHOW ‘EM” as Anne, our protagonist, was met with more and more hurdles in her quests and she'd work as hard as she could to get around them every time. Sometimes events happened that she simply couldn’t avoid but instead of simply being a damsel or waiting for someone to save her she seems to always get up and ask herself “What can I do right now?” Each time the show beings to enter a trope it seems to lightly find a new way around it or plays into it a really nice way. No matter how it plays out it’s refreshing. Where I would have been upset about feeling like characters should be able to see certain turns coming or problems arising, it was way more engaging to let the story play into those things and be excited for how things would playout after (and maybe shout a few “Gah I knew it!” when I got really into it). Overall too it has this otome game sort of feeling to it’s story progression. Even though the main love interest is fairly clear there are moments that in an otome would definitely net some romance points for certain characters.

Something that surprised me about that is I really enjoyed every second of it. It’s hard to explain the full story of why, but I’ve really had a problem getting into Shoujo type stories lately. I play a lot of Otome, in random sporadic amounts, and something that I enjoy about those rather than general shojou stories is that there is a development of relationships and characters that feels fun. In going through common routes theres a chance to engage and really understand aspects of characters that you tend not to always get in shojous because the story is meant to develop specific relationships. There are times where multiple relationships develop but most of the time a linear story works on specific relationships because that tends to drive the story forward more easily and is usually what readers want to see. Even Otome tend to drive the relationships through the common route but ultimately focus on the single chosen relationship in the full routes. Nonetheless my favorite part of Otome is when everyone is hanging out together and were able to invest our time in getting to know everyone as much as we want and see them interact with each other. There’s also a bit of world building in these parts that I like because Otome always have such fun worlds.

Sugar Apple Fairy Tale though is the perfect mix of the Otome getting to know everyone, and then the main relationship of shoujo. Theres something super engaging about the way they wrote it that makes it both a bit predictable but not in a way that I disliked. Whenever I saw something coming I didn’t go “Gosh that was stupid, I knew from the start”. It was more so that I enjoyed how I could see what was coming because it meant I get to know how the characters reacted when they found it out. For example I sort of knew that bridgette would find a way to get Charelle’s wing the moment she gained a crush on him. I did not however know how she would or what Anne’s reaction would be. And that made it intriguing. Something about the way that works is super nice. From what I understand as well, Sugar Apple is a light novel so it’s possible thats why it feels so interesting in it’s writing (if it is a light novel).

It’s definitely one of the easiest series to watch through that I’ve seen in a while though. It was just...refreshing.

#anime #sugar apple fairy tale #just some thoughts I had watching the show at times #i really was surprised how much I enjoyed it though! #Hisui Notes #anime blog