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comicaurora · 9 months

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Hello! I wanted to send my appreciation to you as a longtime fan of OSP and Auroura! I am an English Major with ADHD and your content always makes me inspired and my English Lit. Brain very happy with how good your storytelling is.

My question is what stories inspire you to write or make you want to sit down and tell a story? Your content makes me want to work on my projects, but my Adhd only last as long as I am not disturbed (i.e. need to eat or get up and move). You have always been upfront about your Adhd so my second question is how do you keep focused on your story and not burn out? (Talking as someone who is writing a novel as their thesis)

You have been a great inspiration over the years and someone I look up to as a storyteller! I wish you focus and luck! => 💝

Woo! Interesting questions!

When it comes to inspiration, I haven't really found a pattern for what works and what doesn't. The majority of the time, only new experiences/stories I haven't seen or read before work for me - rewatches and re-reads, while much more comfortable for my brain, don't tend to translate into creative inspiration for me - but it's not like a specific genre, or even a specific kind of relaxation, consistently work for me.

The way my brain works is a bit "no take only throw", as it were. I want to just sit down and make solid, steady progress in a predictable environment with a routine, but what I need is to try new things, go outside, take risks - because all those things give me new material to work with and refill the creative gas tank. When I'm stuck, I can't just hit the gas and punch through the block - I need to back up and try a new angle.

The good part of all this is that whatever engine that's running my subconscious is actually pretty good at signaling what it needs. The ADHD brain will be repelled by activities that aren't working for it and drawn to the things it needs at the time, whether that's creative energy or exercise or cleaning or doodling or listening to music or suddenly binge-watching a show that's not even all that great, and once it's got what it needs out of it - whatever that is - it'll be repelled again, either spitting out a sudden burst of creative energy or retreating to its den to chew on whatever it got out of the experience for a more slow-building reward. Little bursts of motivation and creativity pop up all throughout the day, and if you can pivot to the activity in question - or at least note down the idea you just had - you'll be able to harness that pretty nicely.

This "system" really only works for me because I have an extremely unstructured schedule and nobody relying on me to be consistent moment-to-moment. If I'm following the creative needs of my inscrutable Better Writer In The Back Of My Head, I can't be worrying about things like a consistent lunchtime or classes or a 9-to-5. All of my observations are caveat'd by the fact that I am ridiculously lucky to have the kind of freedom of movement and schedule that I can focus entirely on getting to know my brain better.

When it comes to staying focused on any one project, I've reluctantly concluded that the only way to win is not to play. Creativity needs time and diversity to recharge, and when you stall out in any given work session, it's usually because you're out of gas. This is why I maintain several projects in varying stages of "for my eyes only"-ness - a sketchbook, private writing projects, patreon doodles, music practice; even in the large-scale projects like the channel and the comic I have multiple angles of attack at any given time, where I can as needed switch between scripting, research, drawing frames, storyboarding more plot onto the end of the comic's current draft and lining/coloring/background-ing the finalized pages of the comic chapters earlier. This lets me maintain semi-steady progress on average, even if any one facet of the process is left by the wayside for potentially even weeks at a time.

If you're working on one writing project, one novel, I'd recommend giving yourself some time to do small-scale side-hobbies. It won't feel like they're helping, but they are.

I've started to think of inspiration rather similarly to the way I think about nutrition and digestion. It's a somewhat arcane process that, despite being a part of me, I don't exactly understand what's going on under the hood. If you eat only one thing, no matter what that one thing is, you're going to end up sick because you're lacking all sorts of niche micronutrients. If you parcel out a specific space of the only things you're allowed to eat, you might not get sick (as quickly) but you're likely going to become increasingly miserable as you think of the things you're not allowing yourself to try, or slowly build up highly specific forms of malnourishment by avoiding certain things entirely. But if you start listening to your body and try eating what it says it needs at any given time - oh, I could go for a rice bowl right now, oh I don't think I'm feeling something sugary today, man I could really go for some grapes - you're likely to hit a broadly good balance of health because you're hitting a broad range of things your body needs, even if you don't know all of their names or calorie counts, and your body is putting those resources to good use without your conscious input. Between my brain and my stomach, I only trust one of those to actually understand what a stomach needs to do its thing - and between me and my creative brain, most of the time it feels like I just work here.

I hope there was something helpful in all this!

#asks #not aurora #writing stuff

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alvinjrsgun · 29 days

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"ADVICE"

Charlie x Vaggie, Vaggie & Angel Dust // fluff, sfw?

With Charlie being preoccupied with prepping the hotel for guests, Vaggie is left feeling unsatisfied with the more intimate side of their relationship and confides in Angel Dust

a/n: this MIGHT have two parts, the second one being chaggie smut but that's probably only if this one doesn't flop too hard 🫶

TAGS : vulgar/explicit dialogue, sex jokes, dumb lesbians, mean gay thots, NOT PROOFREAD!!

"Angel Dust."

Vaggie declares in the doorway of the spider's room as he's tapping away at his phone. He lifts his head with a confused smirk, raising his eyebrows.

"Full name, huh? What? I in trouble?"

"Shut up. Just, just shut up." Vaggie fumbles over her words, stomping fully into his room, looking around for a seat before plopping onto the floor with the door closed behind her, "I need your help."

"My help? The fuck could you need my help f-" his thought cuts off as he sees the red spread across her face, and the way her hands clench into fists on her crossed legs, "Oh..."

"Oh?" Vaggie looks up with narrow eyes, throwing her hands out in front of her in confusion, possibly fear, "What do you mean 'oh'??"

"You need sex tips, don't 'cha?" Angel flips on his bed so his hands are cupping his face and he's swaying his feet behind him, obviously revelling in the way her whole face flares up.

She stammers over her words, struggling for at least 10 seconds before groaning in annoyance and drooping her face into her hands, muffling the dragged out noise.

"Don't worry babe! Angel's got ja'!" He sits right up and crosses his arms, looking her up and down as if he's analyzing her every movement. Her whole body tightens but quickly eases up, confusing her on why she's so frightened under his gaze.

"So... What's the problem? Wings not flappin' like they shooould?" He pouts out his bottom lip, her gaze hardening in annoyance, but slowly softening into embarrassment as she looks away and brushes some hair from her face.

"Well, No. Kind of- No. Charlie and I, we just... haven't been- fuck, we haven't done stuff in a while." She eventually admits, leaning back and extending her legs, crossing them at the ankles as she seems to grow almost comfortable.

The spider's grin grows wider and he snickers, running a hand through his hair floof and tilting his head in the direction it flops to, "Oh, so Charlie hasn't been fuc-"

"Don't finish that sentence."

"I'm just tryin' to get the full picture here!" He exclaims, jabbing his finger towards her accusingly, "And frankly, you haven't even asked for my help nicely yet."

Vaggie lets out another dramatic, exasperated groan, squeezing her nose bridge as it scrunches up, her mind churning with unwanted thoughts. She had already been reluctant to come to him for advice, but the way Angel was just teasing her over her issue wasn't helping to ease her.

"Angel, can you please give me advice on how to... spice things up?" She draws out the last few words, her eyes closed and her face practically in her lap from how far she's slumping. Angel giggles and leans forward, his grin growing warmer rather than patronizing.

"Yes, I can. Can't ya' just ask her?" He shrugs his shoulders, pointing at his door. Outside, they both know Charlie's either A) speed-walking around the hotel until she feels useful or B) in her office, plowing through paperwork, "Or she too busy?"

Vaggie's eyes brighten and she leans forward, speaking in a hush whisper despite being in a private area, "Literally everytime I try to speak to her, she reminds me she needs some paperwork done by the end of the week."

"Holy shit, you're bein' cock blocked by paperwork??" Angel's eyes light up as he bursts out laughing, making Vaggie's whole face return to it's flushed red as she holds her face in her hands again.

"It's horrible. I just-" she hesitates as Angel's laughs stiffen and he comes to attention, sensing the energy of the moment shift. Her eyes soften into her palms as she slowly looks up and makes nervous eye contact with the spider, "I don't ask for much. Let alone for anything intimate, I hardly even initiate! And I know she's been stressed and frantic and I try to help her, but- fuck... sometimes she doesn't even come to bed! At least, not till the sun's almost up. And even then it's just for a quick power nap."

Every word from the angel's mouth makes Angel soften, both his gaze and his heart. Vaggie's eyes eventually leave his as she fights back whatever emotions are tormenting her. Angel leans back, crossing his legs and letting out a soft sigh as he brainstorms through ideas in his head. Him and Vaggie weren't exactly friends. More like roommates if anything, catching eachother in the kitchen during late nights. But seeing someone so fierce and passionate looking so worn down, it makes his stomach churn.

"Lingerie?"

"What?" The angel murmurs in disbelief and possible amusement, her eyes immediately narrowing on his teasing smirk.

"Y'know what lingerie is, yeah?"

"Yes, I fucking know what lingerie is, Angel. What about it?" His lips curl into a taunting smirk as he rolls over onto his stomach, smirking wide enough to where his golden tooth sparkles under his soft, pink-tinted lights.

"Own any?"

"Uh, no." Her eyes narrow further as she quickly catches onto what the Spider is throwing down, her stomach flipping in terrified cycles as she imagines all the ways whatever plan he's conjuring up could fail, "Don't fucking tell me-"

"I got the perfect set for ya'!" He hops up, almost stepping on her as he rips open his closet and snickers as he pulls something out. He holds the set up in front of him, raising an eyebrow with a genuine, almost sweet smile. It's a dark purple, lacy lingerie set, with flower-y patterns and stockings and straps and all the things that makes Vaggie want to curl up into a ball and never remove a single piece of clothing ever again.

"Angel..." She whimpers out, covering her blush-stricken face with one hand and grabbing onto the hem of her skirt with the other, "I appreciate this, I really do-"

"Oh, try it on!"

"What?? Fuck no!" She immediately exclaims as he shoved the hung cloth into her face, making her scoot away and look to the side, making direct eye contact with fat nuggets... who is definitely giggling at her, "Shut up! God, am I yelling at a pig? What's happening to me?"

Angel places on set of hands on his hips, tilting his head knowingly down at her, waving the hanger impatiently, "ya' literally just need ta' put it on and sit on the bed until she walks into the bedroom! Don't need to hump her leg or nothin'. Bet just the sight will get her goin'."

Vaggie's eyes narrow as the spider casually discusses such intimate possibilities, not looking the slightest pit cautious. Then her body eases as she actually thinks. I mean, Charlie does like acts of service. Does wearing lingerie and looking slutty count? Probably. Did she just call herself slutty? She needs to get out of this sex lair.

"Fine, fine. Thank you for the... gift." The angel hops up and grabs the hanger with a single finger, narrowing her gaze at the practically see-through garments.

"'Welcome. Ay, make sure to let me know how it goes? Actually, I'll probably hear you two tonight, yeah?-"

"I will actually kick you out."

"Shuttin' up!!" The spider sinks down into his mattress and does a zipping motion to his mouth, somehow getting the smallest smile out of Vaggie as she hesitatly slips out of his bedroom.

She's obviously not prepared to actually do this, but despite her pride, she's almost desperate. The only reason she came to Angel for advice in the first place was because she caught herself zoning out while staring at Charlie's ass. Like, staring. That's how she knew she needed to fix her weird sexual frustration before the staring got longer, or worse, reckless.

So, that's what she'll do. She'll sit on their bed in scandalous lingerie and wait and won't chicken out and hide under the covers. Or jump out the window. Or stab herself with an angelic spear.

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

a/n (again): I had WAY too much fun with this, and I'm weirdly proud that this isn't insanely long. I have no idea when pt 2 will be out, since my spring break ends soon but I WILL link it here with it's done <3

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #chaggie #hazbin hotel fanfiction #angel dust #writing #fanfic writing #charlie morningstar

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deadlydemon · 1 year

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Keeping a journal is good to see what motivated us in the past, as well. The idea with the 5-Minute Journal is to not think too much about it. Limit yourself to only 5 minutes to write something. No more or no less, some interesting stuff can flourish from limitations. And what does present Ms. Demon is excited about?

Well, our interactions rendered me some motivation to write again, and write I did - for longer than five minutes even! Tell me, anon friend, have you ever had this sort of moment in your childhood where, suddenly, you knew you were alive? In my friend's words, "when you stop being a NPC and become an actual player". I am trying to put that into words.

Present Ms. Demon is definetly excited about this year's holidays - and for me, it will start in about one week. I already have many plans in mind. I want to go to the beach, and to have a picnic with my friends, and hopefully a roadtrip to this very beautiful place, where we'll be able to have said picnic and swim in crystaline blue-green waters. I want to take more on my latest new hobbies, so I'll be drawing, watercolor painting, cooking and baking - and also embroidery, since I do have to finish this piece that I'll be gifting to my dad, though I'm most excited for the former ones.

I hope to write more, as well, since I'll have free time for it. I wish I would write something, probably a fanfic of some sorts, and publish it here, but I am not counting on it. I have been neglecting my plants, but that's a more complicated matter. I'm looking forward to not let them die, at least. I'd like to go back to my daily routine of waking up at five in the morning, though that only takes place when I've got my life together, and this last few weeks haven't been that case. I'd like to have my life in order again by december.

I will also be putting more effort in going to the gym - a butt doesn't really grow by sitting on it, I'm afraid. I also wish I could end this year being successful in a single pushup attempt, but once again, I am not counting on it.

Ahh, the sweet energy summer provides. Makes us all feel alive and absolutely restless for new experiences. Quite a contrast to winter, though it'll remain as my favorite season. I pretty much intend on harvesting the best of this summer burst of energy.

Well, that's a long answer. And what is present Stone-Faced Gargoyle excited about?

#answered ask #anonymous

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tsumuniri · 3 years

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━━━ Atsumu Miya is a free-loader. Living inside his twin brother's home as if it was his, he would bring home girls and annoy Osamu most of the time. Y/N L/N is quite the opposite apparently because she's a virgin loser. Being the popular anonymous BL mangaka known as Yamazaki, she stays in the homey abode of her parents and watches boys from afar for references (not for admiration sadly).

Now what will happen if fate decided to tie these two idiots together and made them live across each other in one apartment?

。m.list ❯❯ prev┃next

ONE ━━ THE TWIN BROTHER’S DECISION

"SO THAT'S THE TEA?"

You nodded dejectedly and raised the Tuna Mayo Onigiri in the direction of your mouth. You bit into the delicious rice snack, humming in delight as the saucy and sweet flavors of tuna cheered you up just for a slight bit. "They said that a girl my age shouldn't be living with her parents and should finally get a guy instead of drawing an imaginary one. You know that they're old school, Mai." You said, mouth full of rice bits and tuna.

The female ran her fingers through her short bright red hair. "Well, you are 25 now, and you haven't got a boyfriend since middle school," She propped her elbow on top of the round wooden table, resting her chin on her palm. "But they should've told you beforehand, right? How are you supposed to look for a residence in a short span of time?" She asked and watched you devour the onigiri meal with such ease. Her black-colored eyes held an uncertain expression as Mai was concerned for her colleague and friend.

After hearing the unfortunate news directly from your loving parents, your mind had to process the sudden information for two solid minutes. The first person you thought of to call is your closest friend, Mai, your roommate back at art school and a mangaka in the shounen industry. Although the two genres have completely different backgrounds, you two are stuck together like peas in a pod through the grace and glory of fawning over 2d men.

Ain't that great?

"They said I could stay back for two weeks until I could find a place to move in. I still have nine days to move out. And as for the residence part..."

You rummaged through the leather bag slung over your shoulder and took out a creased brochure of a newly built apartment based in the heart of east Osaka with its breathtaking cherry blossom conifers and pious shrines. The leaflet's minimalistic design delineated the idiosyncratic architectural structure of the tall building on the front page. Anybody could tell that this jointly owned establishment may settle for tenants with stable incomes.

For someone who changed the BL archives with her plot-driven works, Y/N could provide the fees to rent a homey room on the clabber-plastered apartment complex.

Mai shifted on her seat and studied the brochure on the table with interest— crossing her legs and leaning her torso forward to get a full view of the given pamphlet. "The building does seem promising. You could even check out your works in the Manga Shops at the city." She remarked as her eyes skimmed through the brochure, taking note of the facilities and rooms for the future tenants.

"Right? I already checked the place out yesterday, and coincidentally, the studio office is close by," The H/C-haired female pushed back the tiny strands of baby hair tickling her forehead as it was annoying her smooth skin. "They even allow pets. The apartment buildings I visited mostly don't allow pets, and the others who do, they have weird-ass tenants whom I don't really wanna be neighbors with." She ended, scratching the back of her neck.

"Soooooo, that's the apartment you're planning to move in."

You nodded your head, "I prepared the papers and told my parents about it. Maybe you can help me move my things out?" You suggested to your friend as your leg overlapped with the other, biting into another piece of onigiri from the porcelain plate.

Tilting her head to the side, Mai let out a light scoff from the BL mangaka's proposition as she gestured her hand downwards. "I'm offended, Y/N! Of course, I'll help you." She expressed her whimsical disbelief through her words. "I thought we were best of friends." The young lady teased.

"After all those collab fan arts of the Akatsuki, why wouldn't we be at this point?" You joked; however, the shinobi anime reference wasn't technically a gag as you both had a history of fangirling over the smexy criminal organization— even if you both had a peculiar taste in men. "By the way, why did you choose this place? Isn't this sort of far away from your workplace?" You questioned the red-haired female, a bit curious on why she decided to meet up with you in this Onigiri Restaurant.

Mai's lips turned up into a smirk as she motioned her finger for you to move closer. "My assistants and I decided to eat here after a hard day's work. By the time we were all seated, our eyes got blessed when the restaurant's owner catered to our table!" She whispered with excitement dipped on her tongue.

"Oh boy, if you had seen him, you would've gotten the inspiration to make a character from his well-sculpted face."

You raised a brow and let out a snortle, "We went here because a hot owner caught your attention? I should've gone with you then." You played along and couldn't help but laugh at your friend's reason for dining out a distance away from her studio office.

Like middle schoolers, you both giggled as Mai continued her story of the dashing Onigiri restaurant owner with her witty play of words. You never had any interest in dating; however, you still bid no mind to your friend's fawning over pretty men who would unlikely pay attention to either of them.

"That owner you're talking about might not visit his restaurant, Mai."

"I know, silly! But I do wonder what that work of art does outside his work."

Osamu is a very patient man. May it be through his responsibility of running an Onigiri business, or may it be just a simple waiting in line at the subway station of Tokyo, the male wouldn't lose his temper nor be frustrated over such trivial things.

But when his exhausted figure slugged inside the comforts of his home and found the living room all trashed with empty bottles of energy drinks and bags of chips, Osamu was finally at his breaking point.

"Atsumu, you mother-fucker... COME DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT!" He burst out, calling out his twin brother's name as he began picking up the trashes scattered throughout his coffee table and his lawson couch. His ears caught the sound of loud footsteps thumping on the wooden-tiled floor as he could immediately tell that it was a certain someone who came down the stairs.

A bed of ruffled blonde hair popped out of the stairway as a certain setter casually jumps into the scene of the untidy crime, walking towards the other twin with open arms.

"Welcome home, Samu! Did your staff make a mistake in the newly-opened shop back at Shinjuku? You look a bit frustrated right now-"

Atsumu stopped himself once he noticed his twin brother standing over the mess he forgot to clean up. His arms dropped to the side while his chocolate eyes shifted over to Osamu's annoyed expression, "Okay. This time, I absolutely forgot to clean up." The male tried to explain himself.

The quiet one of the two shook his head in disapproval, sighing out and pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his fiery nerves. "I found this apartment, Tsumu. I think it's best for the both of us if you could finally get your own place." He stated, hearing the slight choke coming from his brother's throat.

"WHAT?! What made you think that this would be the best for the both of us, Samu?" Atsumu protested, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as to why his brother would suggest that sort of idea.

Osamu raised his hand and lifted three of his fingers to his twin's eye level. "First, you sometimes disrupt my sleep whenever you'd bring your flings at home," He stated and didn't bother to let the other speak their mind about the issue at hand as he continued his statement of reasons. "Second, you'd sometimes forget to do your lists of chores and often lie that you didn't do them because you were tired from training." He paused for a moment, thinking of a third reason until it clicked in the back of his mind.

"Lastly, you're a 23 professional athlete, who makes a lot of money than what I usually make, and yet, you're living with your twin brother."

Atsumu stared at Osamu as he crossed his arms, "So? You'll kick me out if I don't move out of your place?" He derided, his voice mostly holding a hint of teasing as he knew his brother wouldn't act so rashly over those reasons.

Oh, was the male so wrong.

"Yes, Tsumu. I'm kicking you out."

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#atsumu is a cutie #atsumu fluff #atsumubrainrot #atsumu fic #atsumu x female reader #msby atsumu #atsumu miya #hq atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #msby sakusa #msby #miya osamu #ishiwrites #haikyuu fic

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inactive-luv · 3 years

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Normal

normal

TW: depression, gender dun dUN DUN

word count: 2216

a/n: i’ve got a lot more gender neutral Spencer Reid fics loading :P

(Spencer's POV)

On a normal day, I would set my alarm for five in the morning and wake up slowly. I'd pour a cup of coffee and make myself some toast. I take a shower and brush my teeth and maybe listen to an audiobook on my way to work. I got this recommendation from Garcia, Ready Player One. I listened to the narrator's voice at a pace 'normal' people would read.

A part of me always felt self-conscious about myself, how I was different compared to everyone else. My mom called me special but that just made things worse. Special still sounds like there was something wrong with me. And that was just my I.Q, later on, I constantly got made fun of for the way I dressed, how I wasn't 'normal' enough. Never 'masculine' enough.

I haven't had a normal day in months. I started to wake up naturally around three am, if I ever slept. My thoughts kept me awake, thinking about the insults and taunts I got. I lay in bed most days. I told Hotch I was sick and stayed in a comatose state for most of the day. I would stare at the ceiling and wonder about myself.

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't use the bathroom. The thought of having to stand up in front of the toilet. Washing my hands in a men's restroom, everything just made me sick. I hadn't gone to work in a week. It sounds odd but I didn't feel safe there. Work used to be where I could concentrate and use my abilities to my advantage, I watched and analyzed people's emotions for a living but now, it became so hard to think about myself.

I felt exposed in the workplace, at home I felt more comfortable using my own bathroom and I could wear my own clothes. I felt like someone else in the bullpen, someone different. Having to hear my name makes me feel imaginary. I didn't feel real in my body.

Getting out of bed this morning exhausted me. I dragged my feet across the wood and looked down at my sweater. The temperature in my house was always hot, something with the thermostat, but I couldn't stand looking at my own skin. I wore a thick sweater and a robe on top of it, long pajama pants and big socks. I knew I had to take off these clothes if I wanted to go to work today. I really did, I missed my friends, I missed having to do something.

Having a purpose meant a lot to me. I lost sight of what I was meant to do with my life, I would just mope around my apartment without doing anything and I still felt exhausted. I hated being here, I needed to do something. I couldn't just stay here for the rest of my life. I so desperately wanted my normal life again, but I couldn't even think about stepping outside my house.

I hate thinking about having to do normal things. I hated using public restrooms and wearing my normal clothes. Life becomes meaningless if you can't even look at yourself in the mirror.

A while back I put towels over all of my mirrors, this morning I lifted the one in my bedroom. I looked at myself for the first time in a long time. I looked at my eyes, the bags underneath them screamed tired and disgusting. My whole face looked blue and purple. I saw the veins in my neck, and when I touched them I winced.

Taking a deep breath, I started to remove the robe in front of me. I watched the fabric fall to the floor when I felt the ends of my sweater. A burst of energy filled my gut and flooded through my veins, causing me to haphazardly lift the shirt fully over my head and shimmied my pants off. I felt angry. Angry at myself for not being able to do the easiest things. And sad watching my body shake and my skin crawl.

I forced myself to stare at my chest. I stared long and hard at the flat shape and bare skin. I started to run my hand over my abdomen and I could feel my ribs protrude out of my skin. Tears started to fill my eyes when I glazed over my underwear. I could see the outline of my legs and the thought of what was between them made me sick. I felt like throwing up.

I rushed to the bathroom and clutched at the sides of the toilet. I quickly thought about all of the germs and bacteria and immediately lunged away from the seat. I washed my hands five or six times until my skin curled underneath the stream. I splashed the water on my face and began to sob. I ran my hands over my face and my eyes tinged from the tears.

When my hands roamed their way back to my chest I fell to the floor in a mixture of emotions. I felt depressed, gross, I felt cheated in my own flesh and blood. I felt contained to the bottom of my bathroom sink. The tears relaxed and I started to slowly lift myself off of the cold tile.

I wobbled back to my bedroom and tried to open my drawers. I reached for a dotted shirt and slowly buttoned the clothes on myself. With each button, I sniffed and let out a heavy sigh. I wanted to change my underwear but every time I slid my fingers past the waistband I cringed. I couldn't bring myself to look past my abdomen.

I just tried to pull on a pair of work pants without my eyes and slide a brown belt through the loops. I stared at myself in the dresser mirror and reached for another layer to put on over my body, a brown cardigan. I wanted to smile. I tried to force the corners of my lips to move upward but they only drooped a little lower. I swallowed my tongue and went to get my coat.

...

I walked into the lobby and saw people walking throughout the halls, I felt so out of place. I slowly slumped up to the elevator and pressed the button. It was halfway through the workday, a little after lunch. It was raining so hard outside I could hear it through the elevator walls, I heard the pat pat pat just outside the floors and I started to feel thirsty. I hadn't drunk much water in public because I didn't want to have to use a public bathroom. It wasn't a problem until one day I had to be sent to the emergency room.

I got nervous as the elevator doors began to open. I lifted my head and was relieved not to meet anyone as I stepped out. A sore feeling manifesting itself in my throat. I look up to see everyone in the conference room. I barely catch Rossi's eye when I start to walk up to the bullpen. Soon I can feel everyone's eyes on my back when I rest my bag on the edge of my seat.

J.J. walks out of the room to wave me over. I watch her walk back into the room, I look at her heels and her pretty blouse. I think back to what I'm wearing and feel gross. Why do I keep stressing about these sorts of things? Morgan doesn't worry about how he's dressed. Hotch doesn't care about shoes or what he has to wear. Rossi was the one who probably cared the most and even he didn't notice the things I do.

I rush up the stairs noticing how everyone is waiting on me. My pace slows down as I get closer and closer to the threshold of the conference room. "Hey, pretty boy's here!" I clench my jaw at the sound of that nickname. My stomach turns inside out and I think about just running out of the room and heading back home, or anywhere but here. "Why don't you sit down we were just starting." Garcia tries to talk to me in her sweet voice. I missed her so much, I missed everyone.

"No thank you," I whisper. I hadn't spoken words out loud in a long time. I don't talk to myself and I hadn't seen anyone else in days. I clear my throat gaining a sliver of strength from the anger in my gut. "No thank you I," I start stronger before pausing mournfully again, "I think I need to say a few things before I come back, officially. C- can you all please sit down." I choke in my breath and all of their faces turn worried when they look at me.

"Uhm, I know I haven't been here in a while but uhm," I turn my head to the floor, "I want to be able to come back, I do, and I uh," It gets really hard to talk without tearing up. I swallow hard when J.J tries to pat my arm, I don't mean to but I flinch and try to push her hand away. "I can't come back until," I'm afraid I'll start hyperventilating, "God I'm sorry." I move my hands up to my face and wipe away a few tears before swallowing and whispering again. "I can't come back until I figure out what's wrong with me."

"Kid there's nothing wrong with you-" "Yes there is! I- I- I can't sleep! I can't get dressed by myself! I can't even use the bathroom without feeling sick!" The words pool out of my mouth in a harsh tone and J.J. steps back when I flail my arms, "I can't look at myself in the mirror," Tears stream down my cheek when I turn my face around the room. "I need things to be different around here." Even Hotch's expression turns saddened and weak.

"I-" I choke and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. " I hate the name 'pretty boy'." I try to turn my eyes from Derek who's leaned over to see my expression, "I hate being referred to as 'Sir' or 'Mr.'" I bite my quivering top lip and draw my eyes back to the floor. "I hate hearing," I pause and clear my throat again thinking it would help stop my cracking voice, "he did this or it was him who," I sniff looking at Garcia whose eyes are also filled with tears.

"I'm not comfortable," I whisper and Emily gapes her mouth as if to say something then closes it rubbing her nose instead. "I haven't been comfortable for a long time. I don't know what I am anymore." The word 'what' sticks in the air for a minute before J.J. tries to pat my arm again and I let her. She eases in to hold me and I shut my eyes to stop sobbing.

"I- I- need," I start before shaking my head, "I'd like people to treat me differently." I furrow my brow thinking what to say next, "I looked online," I wipe my face again trying to slide J.J away from me, "and all the labels really scared me but uhm," I pause again "I think I'd like to try something I've been pushing down for a while." Rossi nods his head.

I feel awkward standing in front of all of these people, my friends. Years ago I could trust them with my life but now I felt so exposed and broken. I was scared of how they were going to react, I felt like screaming in my stance and running out of the room crying. I muttered out the first words before shaking my head and trying again. "I think," I clear my throat again, "I want to try different," I look at the group, averting my eyes off the floor while the edges of my lips curl into a saddened smile, before whispering the last word, "Pronouns."

I see Emily mutter a small "Oh," and Morgan's face turns confused. I slump into a hunched position and continue to cry softly when people start nodding their heads looking up at me. "Well," Hotch starts and people start to look at him. "I think that what you're asking for is," He pauses looking to the group then back at me.

"Perfectly reasonable and we will do or call you whatever you want" They all nod and mutter incoherent words. "Yes, yes of course we can." Garcia stammers wiping tears from her eyes looking at me from across the room. "What, uhm what would you like?" She asks rubbing her hands together, "To, you know," she shakes her hands before wiping more tears from her face.

I smile for the first time in weeks. It's not a toothy smile or a cheek to cheek grin but, it makes me feel safe knowing I can still do the things I used to. Come into work and smile. I catch my sighs and draw in a deep breath before looking at Garcia, "They/them." And the rest of the team smiles too.

...

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kate837 · 3 years

Text

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

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Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

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Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

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"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

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Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

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First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

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The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

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The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

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The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

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Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

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#part two?#ILY #ily #I Love You #im back #blindspot au fics

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ccinagalaxyfaraway · 4 years

Note

How do you feel about using songs as prompts? Because if you have nothing against them, do go listen song called War from The Poets of the Fall. Perhaps it will give you some kind of inspiration. To me it does but haven't been able to put it into words just yet.

Part 1

Plo wakes, and everything hurts. His nerves are raw. The galaxy is pressing in on him, every sound and sensation funneling directly to his tender mind. He lies still, waiting for the pain to fade a little before he tries to do something about it. He has other problems, more pressing ones to deal with - like whether his spectacular loss of control has destroyed anything that can’t be repaired. Already he can tell there is a tension in the Force, as though a hole has been torn into the fabric of the world.

He shifts, taking in the feel of gravel under his back, the ozone in the air, the slow return of sun as his fit of meteorological impertinence dissipates. The heat feels foreign, sitting heavy over his senses. He reaches through it, looking for the sparks of soul that he knows to be his men, and for one in particular that flares beside him.

When he opens his eyes, Wolffe is there. His posture is reserved, ready to react. He’s got his feet under him in case he needs to spring away, and he’s watching Plo with the same pensive consideration he uses on a the rare captive they take. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the light.

“Your eyes,” Wolffe says, and then stops. Plo squints at him. It’s too bright.

“What about them?”

“I thought they’d be - different,” says Wolffe. He backs away, giving Plo the room to sit up.

“Did I hurt anyone?” Plo asks. He scans their surroundings. The landscape is irrevocably changed; it feels dead, not a speck of green in sight, and the new canyon he’s created is a testament to the destructive force of his rage. There are still fires burning where he’d called lightning, with troopers doing their best to put them out before they can spread. He’s seen battlefields less ravaged.

“A few scrapes and bruises, and a lot of pride,” says Wolffe. “I’m not lying.”

“Am I so transparent?” Plo asks.

“I like to think I know you,” says Wolffe. What Plo hears is I don’t know if I do. He hangs his head. His dear Commander, ever honest.

He curls into a tight ball, drawing his knees to his chest. Everything hurts. Everything is an assault on his senses. He’s pulled too much on the Force and let his anger control him. He hasn’t done that in years. He’s put his Commander at risk, and his men, and the war effort. If it were any other time, any other situation, he could take time to regroup, find someone to talk to, debrief and unpack his feelings, but he is needed. They have to continue moving. He can’t slow them down for what is ultimately a crisis of faith.

Wolffe studies him. “You don’t seem different. I guess the way you Jedi talk about Falling, I expected something else.”

“I’m not Falling,” Plo scoffs. “I’m just -” What? Angry? Grieving? Burned? Or is he just empty, now that all of those have passed, and only the numb resignation to what the war is turning him into remains. “Unwell.”

He doesn’t have it in him to explain that he hasn’t abandoned his principles, that a single moment of overwhelming anger isn’t a condemnation, that the danger is in allowing it to fester and spread until it rules over him. He doesn’t have the energy to say that he too is a person and that Jedi are people and emotions are as normal for them as for anyone else. Sometimes it feels like the entire galaxy has forgotten and that no matter how loud he shouts, no one is listening.

He imagines himself with hairline fractures running through his core, ready to burst into shards with just the right provocation, damaged but not the right kind of damaged. There is nothing in him that was made for this life; exploring new worlds, yes, but not conquering them. Not ordering men to their deaths, not surviving while all his friends and family pass on, and not for so long. This is not a responsibility he had accepted so much as been handed, and it is crushing him under its weight.

He drags himself to his feet and has to swallow against the urge to bring up the water he’d managed to drink earlier. He’ll meditate. Later. Once they’ve stopped for the night and no one is around to see. Until then, he’ll just have to muddle through.

“Can I help?” Wolffe asks quietly, hesitantly, reaching out and stopping halfway. He’s scared. People get scared. It happens. It hurts anyway.

“No,” says Plo. “You really can’t.”

#plo koon #commander wolffe #swcw #promptfic #i think i see a part 3 to wrap this up #valkeakuulas

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analisegrey · 6 years

Note

So you haven't posted any more of the "Bad Things Happen Bingo" stories on AO3 for a while. Is everything okay?

Long story short, yes, everything is ok, and is actually quite good, and I’m very touched that you’d ask, so thank you :)

I’m turning this into a ‘State of the Analise Nation’ type deal, so more specific response under the cut (cause wow it got long)

I know my content creation has slowed significantly over the last few weeks, and that’s largely due to a number of factors:

1) Dave, my muse, went on vacation for a bit.I have written more in the past 7 months or so than I have in practically my entire fannish life, to the tune of approximately 121,679 words, or roughly 90% of my lifetime word count on AO3. For someone who had written maybe a few thousand words total in the entire rest of her fannish life, that’s an unimaginable amount (I still can’t believe it, quite honestly). Being completely unused to that level of productivity, I burned myself out, somewhat, and have been trying not to push myself too much on the writing front. I don’t want to push so much I hate it, since I know when Dave is ready, he’ll wander back. He’s already making forays back into my head, though he’s pointed at Critical Role at the moment. I have no doubt that once the new season hits this upcoming Friday that I’ll have a flood of new ideas and more creative energy for the ones I’ve already had bubbling away.

2) I’ve had some health issues eating my energyI’ve mentioned it briefly in tags, I think, but this past month I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I’ve been trying to find a good balance for activity, both physical and mental, that will enable me to enjoy everything to the fullest. The medication I’m on now has helped a great deal, though I know I’m early on yet in treatment, and a lot of my energy has gone towards this. Now that we know what it is, and it’s being treated, things should be starting to even out soon.

and speaking of evening out…

3) AnhedoniaAside from fibromyalgia, I’ve suffered long-term depression and anxiety. Over the past year or so, I’ve made huge strides, and improved a great deal (largely due to this fandom and the online community), but one of the major symptoms I’ve dealt with has been ‘anhedonia’, which is the inability to feel pleasure. If you’ve ever heard of people who suffer depression having trouble enjoying activities they normally enjoy? That would be anhedonia. I’ve had it so long, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to *not* feel it.Until last week.I don’t know if it’s in response to the treatment I’m now receiving for fibromyalgia, but last week I had this sudden burst of energy and joy that I hadn’t experienced in…well to be honest, years. It was almost like being high, the sudden rush of desire to do things, to make things, to want to do everything, and all at once. Right now, it feels like there literally aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do, and it’s going to take time, assuming this lasts, for me to work on prioritizing what I want to do now that I want to do everything. So that’s a bit of a process.What does that mean for this blog?1) I fully intend to keep writing for the Voltron fandom.I have a lot of stories I still want to tell, ones I’ve started, have notes on, that have been requested. I plan on applying to write for the @vldwhumpzine when applications open on August 12th (even though it kind of terrifies me), I just need time to get back up to speed, as it were.

2) I do plan to keep writing in generalI have gotten completely ensnared into the Season 2 Critical Role fandom, and once I’ve caught up on that, will likely delve into Season 1 as well while I wait for new season 2 episodes to come out. You’ll likely start to see works appear from this fandom, as well as works from the MCU, since I still have stories to tell there as well.

3) I plan to do more sewing and drawing, which may eat some of my timeI love sewing and costuming and costume design in general, and it’s been a very long time since I had the energy or inclination to do so. Now that I seem to have it (and have even purchased fabric), I intend to try to make the most of it while I can. That may mean that it eats into the time I spend writing in the evenings, but again, when Dave has an idea, he’s very difficult to shut up, so if something takes my brain over, don’t doubt it’ll get written pretty quick.So yeah. This got a bit long, but I think that’s about everything. And again, thank you so much for asking after me :) I really do appreciate it.

#analisegrey speaks #state of the blog #mental health #general health #all the things really

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veliseraptor · 6 years

Note

Okay so ik I haven't even nearly gotten halfway through the actual rtc but would you write a wanda's pov for her reuniting with undead Loki who's now /missing/ something in the everything hurts au? (I love it so much even though at the beginning I was like wtf is going on lol)

WELL APPARENTLY lately I’m in mode “ignore responsibilities, write other fic constantly” so I’ve got a few prompts for this verse lurking around and well who am I to deny the people that vicious angst you apparently want

is it wrong to love a family of ghosts, wanda pov, the everything sucks au, previous installments are under the #everything is awful au tag

She didn’t know what it was at the time, but Loki’s resurrection hit Wanda like a concussive blast, leaving her with a vicious headache and a stomach that was a pit of dread, the more so because she had no idea what had happened. Only that there’d been some kind of disturbance in the energy of things, so intense that she’d sensed it even though it’d been nowhere nearby.

But nothing happened for a month, and then two. Their little ersatz family had dwindled: it was just her, Pietro, Sam, and Clint now. The rest of them - gone. Scattered to the winds. Or - or.

Then Sam showed up one day while the other three of them were making paprikash, a strange look on his face.

“Steve’s coming back,” he said. Clint sat up sharp, and Wanda felt her eyes widen.

“He is?” Clint said. “Did something - happen? Is this related to-” He gestured at Wanda. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He just said he was coming back, and that he was sorry for being away so long.”

“Nothing else?” Clint asked. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing else.”

Clint made a face. “That give anyone else a bad feeling, or just me?” He asked. Wanda looked down at her hands twisting together.

“Not just you,” she said quietly. She wanted to believe it could be good news. But she wasn’t expecting that anymore.

Steve was back.

Steve was back, with Thor. And they’d brought Loki.

Wanda hadn’t seen him yet. Nobody had. How, was the question on everyone’s lips, but Wanda wanted to ask when, thinking of that blast of energy that had knocked her flat.

“He’s still recovering,” Steve said, like death was just another illness, or a wound. “He gets...overwhelmed, easily. So just...keep that in mind.”

He’s not well, Wanda heard. He’s still suffering, even alive. She looked down at her hands, tangled together. Pietro put his hand on her back, drawing closer; glancing sideways at Clint, he looked pale.

She wondered what he was thinking.

As soon as she could, she went to Steve. “Can I see Loki?” She asked, bluntly. Steve hesitated, and she added, “maybe I can help.”

Steve looked exhausted, she noticed. Like one weight had lifted from his shoulders only for another to fall. “Do you think so?” He asked, after a long pause.

“I don’t know for sure,” Wanda said. “But maybe I could. And...he’s a friend, Steve. I want to see him.”

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Okay,” he said, finally. “You should know that he’s...sensitive. To sound, and sometimes to touch, too.”

Wanda bit her lip, and held open her arms to offer a hug. Steve stepped forward and accepted it, his shoulders drooping.

“He’s back,” Wanda said. “We’ll...we can put him back together.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a pause. “We will.”

Wanda hesitated for a long time outside of Loki’s door, her heart in her throat. A part of her was scared that when she opened the door, Loki would be gone. A part of her was scared of what he might be like, if she was there. So far, other than Thor and Steve, he didn’t seem to have spoken to anyone.

Bucky was still gone. Wanda wondered if he knew. How would he have found out?

She knocked lightly on the door, mindful of what Steve had said about sound.

“Yes?” Said Loki’s voice, and Wanda’s eyes burned just for hearing it, just as she remembered. She opened the door and entered.

He stood there, pale, weary-looking, dark circles around his eyes. Alive. Wanda took a lurching step toward him and stopped herself. “Loki,” she said, trying to smile though she felt about to burst into tears. “You’re - welcome back.”

His smile was small, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Witchling,” he said. “Thank you. It’s...good to see you too.”

“Can I…” She hesitated, gulping down the lump in her throat. “Can I hug you?” She waited for his slight nod and then stepped lightly forward and embraced him, though not as hard as she wanted to. He felt so thin. Almost insubstantial.

She’d make some hearty cholent, some hot soup like her mother used to make. Good, solid, food. It’d help. It would.

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I’m - you were gone, and I…” She started crying. “Oh, dammit,” she said, wetly, and ducked her head, trying to hide it. Loki reached out and touched her arm.

“Witchling,” he said softly. “I’m...sorry.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry. I should have - if I’d dealt with Vision-”

“Don’t,” Loki said. “It isn’t your fault either. That I...died.”

Wanda reached out to take his hands; they twitched in hers and she quickly let go. His skin felt cold. “Don’t ever,” she whispered, “don’t ever do that again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Loki said, soft but wry. He looked like he was fighting for the smile. She looked up at him.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Not dead,” Loki said. Wanda frowned at him, though some part of her leaped hopefully at what was almost a joke. He held out his hands with another weak smile. “Do you want to inspect me? I honestly don’t know what you’ll find.”

Wanda bit her lip, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it? She reached out and took his hands. “Tell me,” she said softly, “if you need me to stop.”

She reached out for him with her magic, slowly and gently. His power, she could sense immediately, was burning low. Weakened, almost to embers, and she tried to feed her own strength into it but it separated like oil from water.

That wasn’t the only thing that was - wrong, though. There was something else, something strange. She probed carefully deeper, and inhaled shakily, realising what it was.

Where there should have been smooth flow of energy, it was like - a snarled tangle of yarn. Loose ends fluttering, bleeding out, dissipating off his skin. This, she knew at once, was why his magic was so weak. This was the wrongness that she realized she could feel, now that she was aware of it, just standing in the room. Something vital, not missing, but broken. His soul, maybe, cut loose and then throw back into flesh, the two struggling to join.

She pulled back and realized she was crying.

“That bad?” Loki asked, though his small, unhappy smile made her suspect he’d already known.

“Loki,” she said, and squeezed her eyes closed. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, because she needed to believe that. With time…

She hugged him again, knowing it was too tightly, unable to help herself. In her arms, she could feel Loki trembling, the quiet and shaky sound of his breathing.

#mercialachesis #wanda maximoff defense squad #loki's a goddamn mess #a wild fic appeared #the everything is awful au #eyyyy more angst

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in-the-midst-of-everything · 3 years

Text

So October is ending. It's the 22nd today and I'm feeling really.... forlorn. Bitter. Disappointed.

I always get so hype for Halloween season, I decorated our porch and planned a costume cuz we hope to have trick or treaters coming by. But that seems like the only thing happening this year. Kenzie's most likely working. Carly is working. No one to come hang out for a fire or food afterwards, we don't know anyone in town let alone someone to chill with. I'm even wondering if it's worth it to spend more money on a costume if the only people who'll see it is kids getting candy. Obviously I'll have a costume either way, my werewolf mask is in the basement or I could just put on the skull mask I bought on its own. But half of the hype is dressing up and having fun....and there's no one around to do anything with.

Every year it feels like the season gets more anticlimactic, despite my best efforts to stay festive. We went to some fall events this year, just me and Hope, in our new area and it was fun. We got pumpkins and new decor. I rented some movies for a marathon, which didn't really happen cuz Hope's not a movie kinda person so we watched one at a time over the past couple weeks. That feels like An Ordeal, for one. She's never hype to sit and watch something.

And now it's almost November. The autumn color reached it's peak and I saw it on the drives to and from work. I haven't had time or energy to romp in the woods during the best part of fall. Halloween feels like it's gonna be a non-event. I kinda feel like I don't have anyone to share this time with.

We're going to see an old friend who became a new friend recently, on Saturday she has a movie night planned so we're heading down there for the evening. Hope said straight up she's full of anxiety for that, which sucks cuz I'm genuinely excited to chill with friendly company for a night. Like I get it, I feel the social anxiety welling up too, but idk I feel like it's gonna be fine once we get there.

I was also skimming events the other night for haunted attractions in the area, and I found a couple I wanna go to but....again, I have no one to go with. I'm gonna ask Hope but I know she doesn't like scares like that and if she went it'd just be to humor me. This time of year is always hard cuz we don't feel the same way about the season. I'm extatic for cold weather and spooks and movies and she's busy bracing for the short days of winter coming up and the seasonal depression to come back around.

I guess I just feel really isolated lately. Starting a new job and not knowing anyone, wanting to enjoy the season but having no outlet or opportunity to do so, watching the month fly by while I'm too exhausted from work and life stuff to fully appreciate it. And it feels like this happens every year, it's just exacerbated this year with the added isolation of living in a new town.

And on another tangent, my creative side is suffering lately. I started the month drawing Goretober prompts like I do every year, and, reliably, fell off the wagon pretty damn fast. Granted, I expected a lul in the middle cuz I planned to do a full watercolor piece on stream for everyone, but that turned into just a fanart and the stream itself felt horrible the day of and I hate how the piece itself is shaping up and....I haven't drawn since. I doodled a bit, and i was getting hype to start planning Razor's story out, but I feel like I hit a wall with that right away too.

All this to say, I don't feel like I can even express my current feelings in art or act on the multitudes of inspiration I've had this past month, and that's dampening my my excitement as well.

Just... everything I turn to expecting to enjoy lately leaves a little more of a hollow feeling in my chest. I've been trying to combat it by appreciating moments as they happen, sights as they greet me, and good mood spells as they hit me. And I have felt good, and alive and at peace, but in bursts. It's always in bursts. Like momentary highs that wear off once I have to ground myself in life again.

#journal #October 2021

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