#be thanked with a shit car and shittier attitude | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brekkerism · 4 years

Text

BASIC INSTINCT (Part 1 - A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: (Y/N) has recently joined the bau through non conventional and rather privileged means. Couple that with a dark and troubled past, all she really wants is a fresh start. What she didn’t predict getting in her way of that, was one Special Agent Dr Spencer Reid. She thinks it’s hopeless and he’ll hate her forever. That is, until she sees Dr Reid on a rather...unusual place.

A/n: I kinda can’t believe this is my first Spencer Reid/Criminal minds fic. I’ve been obsessed for so long but I never got the courage to post anything. Well, we’ll see how this one goes. I really do hope all of you enjoy this, since I’m planning to make it multi chapters and I’m too in love to abandon it! Forgive me for not giving y’all the smut right away but good things come to those who are patient! And also huge thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins for being such a wonderful human and helping me beta this first one. Shout out to all the lovely people in the discord for encouraging me enough to write this. And also for my sweet liv, bc if she didn’t like this I would def not have posted.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Word count: 2320

Rating: R-no actual hard smut. For now.

Content warning: 12+ years age gap, description of bdsm scenes and play, swear words, brief fingering

*********

Since the first day I stepped in the bau, I knew Dr.Spencer Reid would not like me one bit.

Call it a gut feeling, a hunch, or maybe my justified pessimism.

I knew the moment my dad told me, fresh out of the academy and not even slightly experienced at 24 years old, that I ‘mysteriously’ got a generous offer for a job with one of the best teams the FBI had to offer, that I wasn’t going to be liked by a lot of people. Because it wasn’t a mystery how I got the position. It was actually really plain and simple, and could be boiled down to one word:

Nepotism

I didn’t ask for it; I didn’t want it (no matter how much I actually wanted the position, but by my earning it on my own merits), but I completely understood something like this was likely to happen. I knew it the moment I moved back home and decided that the only thing worthwhile I really wanted to do was join the FBI. My dad was a good guy who was just trying to help me, his intentions were just a little misguided. It happens.

What doesn’t ‘just’ happen is that my dad is the deputy director of the FBI. His helping me was ‘making calls’ and ‘pulling strings’, which instantly gives my peers every reason to doubt every achievement I have.

But I was completely ready for it.

What I wasn’t ready for is for everyone on the team to be normal and so welcoming to me, like I was any other agent. It was everything I wanted.

Well, everyone did that except him. I couldn’t figure it out why, but from the first minute he turned those eyes towards me, looking me up and down but never quite reaching my eyes, I could feel the scrutiny under the stare. Almost like he was saying “Really? This is it?”.

But with a blink it was gone, and he turned away from me and put his attention to the book in his hand so fast I almost thought I imagined the whole thing.

But I knew, I knew I saw it. And I knew that even if I didn’t want it, my body and brain would spend days trying to make him acknowledge me again, to look me up and down again, to try and prove to him what I’ve been trying to prove to everyone:

I deserved to be there. I could earn it by myself. I just need the chance to do it.

And so, my journey to try to not only be useful but a valuable agent, someone he would have to notice began.

And it was shit.

Everyone was so willing not only to teach me, but to listen to my input.

Luke always had my back, both of us being the newbies in the team. JJ and Tara were always open to listening to theories, doubts and rambling, besides being totally badass inspirations. Penelope always had a eager and friendly attitude that could comfort me immediately, and she welcomed me with open arms. Emily and Rossi were patient, while also pushing me to be so much better, and being the best mentors they could be.

None of them even seemed to have even a passing thought of giving me special treatment or harsher judgment. It was almost perfect.

If it wasn’t for Special Fucking Agent Doctor Reid. He wouldn’t even be an asshole towards me, oh no, It was much, much worse. He ignored me.

He was almost happy to pretend I didn’t even exist. Of course there were situations that he couldn’t avoid socializing, as minimal as it was, but it was like he was talking to a wall. He looked at me like he was surprised that I was even there. He wouldn’t acknowledge me unless he was made to. He wouldn’t even correct me when I was wrong. At this point I was sure that I could be screaming bloody murder at him and he wouldn’t take his eyes off whatever he was doing.

It was the most frustrating and irritating thing that has ever happened to me. It made my blood boil over. It made me cry with sorrow.

And I couldn’t even figure out why. I didn’t know what it was that made me crazy because Spencer Reid wouldn’t look my way.

So I did what every angry and frustrated normal young adult does.

I went to a sex dungeon to drink my mixed feelings away and watch BDSM scenes. Duh.

Even though I wasn’t going there to play, and I thought I would never be able to play again, it was still a safe place for me. A place where I could see people that once knew the real me and provided a place free of any judgement. People who didn’t know who I was outside of those walls, who thought of me as just another person in that safe and different little world.

It also helped that watching, as much as it wasn’t my preference before, was the only thing that could properly get me off these days. And after everything, I thought I still deserved the ability to enjoy some parts of it.

And so, after saying my goodbyes to Pen, JJ amd Emily, and finding flimsy excuses not to join them at the bar for Friday drinks, I hopped the elevator, wondering how long would it take me to get properly dressed and drive across town, and if I was going to be able to call more of my old friends.

But all my happy thoughts of getting to immerse myself on a world I still loved were immediately clouded when a hand stopped the elevator and went in with me. His hand.

Great, just the perfect ending to an shitty day. A awkward elevator ride with Spencer Reid. And as always, he didn’t bother to acknowledge me, even though it was just the two of us riding down.

I was trying so hard to be in a good mood; to ignore the shitty end to a shittier case and go somewhere where I could try to be happy. But I just had to be met with his silence, his awkwardness, his existence in general. I didn’t want to feel like that today. So before I could stop myself, I did something stupid

“So, what are your plans for the weekend, Doctor?”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Like he would voluntarily participate in small talk with me, something he already didn’t like, with someone he didn’t even bother to not like.

“I think I’m going to go to a party with a friend today.”

Now that took me by surprise. No short replies? No one syllable answers? He actually told me something out of his own free will? He engaged in small talk?!

“O-oh? I didn’t know you were one for partying... like, at all. Which friend are you going with? Do I know him?”

Talk to me. Keep engaging in small talk, please.

“You don’t really know me well enough to judge if I am one for partying or not, now, do you? And you definitely wouldn’t know her. I don’t only hang out with people on our team, contrary to popular belief.”

Well that was extremely uncalled for. And rude. I thought that it was the first time he ever referred to me as part of the team, but that was an small detail to analyze later.

“No need to be defensive or rude, I was just asking.”

“Well, don’t.”

He was back to having that stupid blank expression on his face, back to not dignifying me with a proper answer, and that just wouldn’t do, would it?

I had a response. I had an excellent, spectacular comeback to use, but before I could actually defend myself in any way, the elevator dinged open. He couldn’t get out fast enough.

It was infuriating. So I did the only reasonable thing:

I followed him to his car to give him a piece of my mind.

Because of those immensely long legs, he almost got there quick enough to drive away and avoid me, but I would not let my stubby short legs get in the way.

I got my hand in before he could close his door, much like he did with the elevator. He still refused to look up at me but, the cheer disbelief and confusion on his face was enough of a response. Can’t ignore me now, asshole.

“You know, the only reason I don’t know anything about you, is because you pretend like I don’t exist. So don’t be needlessly rude to me. It’s better to keep not saying anything at all.”

And there it was. It was just tip of the iceberg, but at least I acknowledged it. I could actually feel a smirk forming on my face.

“Remove your hand please.”

And he finally looked up at me. All the disbelief and annoyance on his face were gone, replaced by that utterly bored and blank stare.

I actually wanted to scream. How was this the same guy that couldn’t stop talking and rambling enthusiastically about any and everything to anyone, the same person who had a perfect smile and warmth on his eyes for everyone else. How.

It was too frustrating. So I stepped back, removing my hand from his car door and walking towards my own car. It was better to just let it end already so I can wallow in my humiliation over this failed attempt at confrontation.

It almost put me in a bad enough mood that I didn’t want to go to the ‘club,’ but I had already promised Amara, who was not only one of my best friends but also happened to be dating that particular BDSM dungeon’s Mistress. There was no getting out even if I wanted to.

And I didn’t really want to.

****

A hour and dress change later, I was ready to go. This was absolutely nothing like the old outfits I used to wear for this events, but then again, I wasn’t the same girl. Not entirely.

So I opted for a silky black dress with a cowl neck and the best heels I had. It was sexy enough for a night of normal clubbing, but rather tame for a night at a dungeon. It was exactly what I wanted. It was less likely in that type of dungeon for anybody to approach or proposition me if I didn’t look experienced and in my element.

Even if I secretly was.

So I got ready, took my time to properly breathe, and left everything that wasn’t this night or positive thoughts behind the locked door of the apartment. I could come back to them later.

Right now, I was going to be happy and have fun.

*****

I was not having fun anymore. It was unfortunate, and I felt like somehow that this had to be the bad mood I was in from a particular encounter earlier. I just couldn’t find anything that excited me the way I wanted it to. I had made the rounds with Amara, and she had showed me all of the new rooms and new toys before every space got occupied with busy couples and groups.

It was beyond fun exploring before the spaces were being actually used, and imagining what each person would get out of those rooms. It was a pleasant and happy feeling.

But soon enough the dungeon got filled with more and more people, and each room was occupied and used. Most were open for all that wanted to watch, but each scene I passed failed to get my attention. It was especially more daunting and lonely when Amara left to put on a show with her girlfriend in the main room.

And as pretty and wonderful as they looked, I just didn’t feel like watching a couple as in love as Amara and Celeste performing tonight. It was just... a little too much for me. After everything, most loving was.

No, what I was looking for was not that. I was looking for the thing I used to crave. The thing that used to keep me going at all times of the day.

I was looking for fucking. Not couples making love, not couples having sex, not pet play, not elaborate scenes or people using toys so strange and complicated I couldn’t make out what was what.

I was looking for someone completely fucking dominating their partner.

It shouldn’t be impossible to find. Not on a Friday night, and not in a club this good.

And I did. I finally found it.

The dom had his back to the audience and the door with the little window I was watching through. He was turned toward his sub standing on the side while she spread her legs on the bed, her hands tied up to the headboard, showing her pussy to the audience along the wall. It was the perfect scene for me. In fact, too perfect.

She even looked a little like me, in fact. Same build, similar hair. It got me even more excited to watch this through. I took a deep breath and finally opened the door. Stepping in, I leaned against the door, having a direct view to the bed.

And god did I want to watch.

The dom still had his back to us,but I wasn’t watching him. Rather, I watched the girl’s cunt and how he was fingering it, not saying anything for her or us yet.

He has really nice hands.

Really, really nice. In fact I don’t think I’ve seen such nice hands since –

Not the time!

The girls face looked rather blissful, and I imagined three of those pretty and long fingers should be doing just the trick for her.

But then she did something that displeased him.

She moaned. Loudly.

The sound was immediately followed by a sharp slap in her face.

Fuck, that made me wet.

But before I could even entertain the idea of getting my hands inside my panties, the dom spoke.

He spoke in a voice I almost never heard directed towards me, but could pick out in any crowd.

He spoke in the voice of the man that made me so mad I almost didn’t come to the club in the first place.

“Are my fingers inside you too much? Cause I’ll fucking stop if you can’t obey and stay quiet.”

And I froze. I froze and panicked and had to stop myself from screaming by bringing a hand up to my mouth.

Because that was Spencer Reid, in a BDSM dungeon, dominating a girl right in front of me.

Taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @gretaamyk @prettyricky187 @sunlight-moonrise @fanficlibrary82 @blazinvixen @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @httpnxtt @reidetic @hyper-fxation @blushingspencer @reidlusts @wishingwellwriting @redbullchick

I feel like I missed a lot of peeps but please know I’m still thankful ma loves

2K notes · View notes

buckysgoldenheart · 6 years

Text

Jealous: Bucky x Reader

Jealous

Bucky x Reader Oneshot (Sectional)

Warnings: Cursing

Words: 3726

Summary: You and Bucky are in a sex-only relationship, the only problem is you’re in love with him. Your friends constantly remind you that you should be together, but after a while you give up.

You were freshly showered, dressed, and ready to go meet Steve for breakfast at the ‘best diner in New York City’ when you opened your bedroom door. You planned to grab your purse and head out, but all of that came crashing down when you heard a familiar deep voice to your left.

“So…” You jumped and shot around to see the face of your roommate and friend…a friend that you had also been fucking. He was leaning against the wall next to your door with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

“Damn it, Bucky!” you yelled, a hand on your chest feeling your rapid heartbeat.

He ignored you completely; didn’t even revel in his success at scaring the shit out of you. “Steve tells me you fucked some guys dick off last weekend.” He said it as if it were a casual topic of conversation between the two of you, but considering your relationship, it wasn’t exactly off limits.

You decided to play it off like you knew what he was talking about while making a mental note to kill Steve when you saw him. “Really? How did he know?”

The crease in Bucky’s brow disappeared and any humor in his eyes died as they turned dark, but before you knew it, his cocky demeanor was back in place. “Steve knows all.”

“And he told you because…?”

“Steve is my best friend.”

You threw up your hands in defeat. “Bucky, ‘Steve is my best friend’ is not an acceptable answer.”

“Well, it’s my answer nonetheless. So, is it true or not?” He said, then impatiently stared at you, waiting for an answer.

You had nothing to say, not because you were speechless at his persistent attitude, which was uncommon, but because he was being annoying and you wanted to piss him off.

“Is it!?”

“Jesus Bucky, why does it matter!?” You groaned.

Bucky stepped towards you, making you step away until your back hit the wall and all paths of escape were blocked by his muscular body. “I just want to make sure that if you’re fucking some guy…” He reached up to stroke his knuckle along your left cheek. “…and fucking me…” Blue eyes locked with your E/C ones and you couldn’t breathe. “…you’re telling him to wrap it up prior to entry.”

You immediately shoved him off you. “You’re Unbelievable!!!” You groaned as you reached for your bag and headed for the exit.

“I DON’T NEED ANY DISEASES!!!” He yelled, right as you slammed the door.

After a couple of blocks, tears began to fall despite your best efforts. It was like Bucky knew you were in love with him and just liked to play cruel games.

You didn’t even realize it yourself until two weeks ago when he, most likely unknowingly, pulled you close and wrapped an arm around your waist in his sleep after an afternoon of fucking. Since then, your life has been the shittier half of hell and you were constantly trying to avoid him which included avoiding sex with him at all costs. It was harder than you thought it would be, but probably because you never actually dedicated enough time to seriously think about it.

To be honest, you didn’t see this coming. It was like hitting a brick wall at full sprint. You were supposed to just fuck until one, or both of you, found someone reasonable to date, someone that you could possibly be serious about. But, it never happened for either of you.

So, three months later and the only thing between the two of you now was unrequited love. Bucky didn’t know that, he just knew that he was horny and you were being weird around him which meant he didn’t get to have sex.

On one hand, you were glad you made the agreement to tell each other about any outside sex partners or if one of you wanted to end it, because Bucky had done neither. But, buried somewhere on the other hand was the possibility of you living your life in love with a man you knew would never love you back.

It took you the entire walk to the diner for your tears to stop and dry on your cheeks. While you let the door shut behind you, you turned your head in all directions looking for your friend. Then, your eyes fell on the crazy-buff, blond guy sitting in one of the seats at a table for two with a cup of coffee in his hand.

-------------------------------------------------

“Steve, why did you tell him anything at all?”

“He asked.” Steve shrugged his shoulders like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “I had to tell him something.”

“Why?!”

“Because, it was a very specific question and rather than say ‘No, Y/N stayed all night at Wanda’s and they ate cookies and drank wine,’ I said what I thought was better, even though it wasn’t exactly the truth.

“Besides, why are you even questioning why I did that? You know for a fact that Wanda, Tony, Nat, Pietro, and myself, all want you two to be together. Think of this as a push in the right direction.” He smiled before bringing a fork-full of pancake to his lips.

“More like a shove.” You mumbled.

“Sweetheart, whatever gets you there faster.” He laughed and you groaned, but your combined commotion was enough to get the attention of surrounding diners. Your head shot down in embarrassment.

“So,” Steve started again, but he wasn’t looking at you when you looked up. He was looking at his plate, vigorously cutting at his sausage. “Don’t you want to know?”

“Know what?” You asked, but all you received in response was a sly smirk right before realization hit you. “No, Steve, I do not want to know!”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Ok, fine. I won’t tell you then.”

You sat in silence contemplating your choice. You were pushing your food around your plate when you decided you hadn’t made the one you really wanted.

You had barely uttered out the words “Fine, tell me” before Steve practically yelled “He asked if you were seeing someone else, because you seemed distant lately.”

“Oh…”

“He seemed really upset actually.”

“So, you thought telling him that his suspicions were correct would be the best thing for him?”

“No, the best thing for him is you, but he’s never going to see that unless we make him jealous.”

“We?”

“Yes, WE! You suck at it alone.”

“Thanks Steve.” You replied with your very best sarcastic effort.

He winked at you and went back to his food.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The Next Week

You were just barely getting through the door to your apartment, juggling your brown paper bags full of groceries, one in each arm, while trying to kick your door shut. You plopped them down on the counter and began to place the items where they belonged.

Just as you were putting away the last of it, Bucky walked in. He must’ve heard you crumpling up the bags to throw them out, because he came right for the kitchen.

“Hey…” He said his usual greeting, but it sounded weird, wrong, and when you saw the look in his eyes, you realized something was going on.

“Hey. Are you ok?”

He leaned back against the counter and gave you an awkward smile that contained a hint of sadness. “We need to talk.”

--------------------------------------------------------

You knocked on Steve’s door, waiting to see the familiar, comfortable face of one of your best friends. Your head was down, and you watched your tears fall and soak into the carpet of the hallway. You didn’t hear the door open, nor him call your name until the third time.

“Y/N?”

The second you saw his eyes, full of pity, you knew he knew. He pulled you into his apartment and guided you over to the couch.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Steve sat down on his coffee table across from you and patted your leg. He knew you well, therefore understood that you didn’t like to be touched very much until you were able to calm yourself down, but he wanted to provide some source of comfort. His touch didn’t even register as you sat on the leather cushions and hugged your arms around you.

It was that moment that you decided you were going to cash in your vacation days from work, dip into your savings, and go to Europe. You had been saving up for years having always planned to go. It would just be a little earlier than you expected.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Less Than 48 Hours Later

Steve was kind enough to drive you to the airport and walk with you until you got to security. You turned around to say goodbye with a small smile that fell the minute you saw that look again. The pity.

“I’m sick of seeing that look, Steve.”

“Y/N, what about Bucky?”

You huffed out a slightly annoyed breath and ran the hand not holding your suitcase handle through your hair.

“What about him? He’s same old Bucky. He told me he wanted out and the next night he’s fucking someone else. So, that’s that. That’s the end of the line. I’m going to go to London. Its just the best thing for me right now. I can’t be around him anymore or at least, not for a while.”

“I understand that, but why do you have to put an ocean between you and the rest of us?”

You didn’t answer. You knew everyone else wanted you to stay, but you hoped deep down they understood why you couldn’t.

“So, you’re just going to go to Europe and forget? What about when you come back? You still live with him you know.”

“I know. Steve, I’ll figure it out. I just need some time.”

“How much?”

You sighed. “I don’t know yet.”

Then, he hugged you too tight, told you to be careful, and kissed to top of your head before returning to bus that would take him back to his car.

-------------------------------------------------------

That Night

When Steve rounded the corner, Bucky was there, sitting at his counter just as expected. By the look of the bottle to his right, Bucky had had more than a few glasses of scotch. He didn’t look up at Steve when he entered the room, just stared at the drink in his hands, but his friend didn’t miss the glassy look in his eyes.

“So, she went?”

“Yea…she went.”

Bucky only nodded to himself and downed the rest of the alcohol.

----------------------------------------------------------

2 Months Later

Your flight back from London was long and aggravating, mostly because you couldn’t sleep while that man you were forced to call a roommate was on your mind. You were staring out the window when Tom reached for your hand. For a half-second, you flinched at the unexpected contact before letting it embrace you. You turned your head to meet your boyfriends smile.

“So Darling, are you excited to have me meet your friends?”

You weren’t.

“Yes…” You smiled, but your heart was definitely not in it. You knew how this would go down. Steve, Nat, Tony, Wanda, and Pietro would all smile to your face, ‘happy’ that you were happy, but secretly trying to figure out a way to get you and Bucky together. And God knows what Bucky would say, but you didn’t care. There would be no plotting to get you to be with him. All Bucky Barnes ever cared about is where he would be getting his next fuck-buddy and that was how it would remain.

---------------------------------------------------------------

You told Tom to find a hotel for the both of you claiming that you needed to stop by what would soon be your old place to get some more clothing. You really didn’t want Bucky to see him yet.

You were working up the nerve to tell Bucky, when you realized he probably wouldn’t care. You were making something out of nothing, so you pushed away your thoughts and slipped the key in the lock.

When he saw you, he grabbed you and slammed his lips to yours before you had a second to look around the place you hadn’t seen for 2 months. The kiss was needy, just like old times.

“I can’t take it anymore. I need you. I missed you.” He managed to get out between kisses. His tone made your knees weak and goose bumps spread up and down your arms.

“Bucky…”

He hummed a simple acknowledgment, proof that he heard you, but heard you or not, he kept his lips to yours and began to push you to the living room. You knew he was going for the couch. Old habits die hard, and It took all your will power to pull your lips away.

“Bucky, stop! Just stop, ok?” you said, putting your hands on his chest and pushing him slightly away from you.

“What’s wrong, doll?” He said, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you back to him. His right hand slid down to your ass and squeezed. “I want you.” He growled. “I missed you so much. I only want y—"

“Bucky I’m seeing someone…” You rushed out before he could finish his sentence. This needed to stop. He was the one that broke it off. It wasn’t fair for him to kiss you when he had forced you to move on.

He looked like his whole body had frozen and the blood was no longer pumping through his heart. He released you and you suddenly felt a chill that ran all over your body.

Bucky avoided your eyes, opting rather to stare off into space; First to your right at the wall, then to the floor. You couldn’t tell if he was mad, sad, or if his brain had just shut off entirely. Hell, for all you knew, he could be happy.

Next thing, he was backing farther away from you without a word, grabbing his jacket and slamming the door behind him.

-----------------------------------------------------

The Next Day

They had all promised to show up when you told them you wanted them to meet Tom. They smiled and congratulated you on your new boyfriend, but the minute you turned you head, they looked back and forth between one another with eyes wide in shock.

Tom decided your room at the hotel would be the best place for the get together. It was more than big enough for a small party, so you agreed.

You greeted all your friends with a smile as you held the door open for them and watched them enter single file.

Thirty minutes later and you were satisfied. Four of the five you invited had been nice enough to welcome Tom and engage him in simple conversation.

You, Nat, Wanda, and Pietro all stood in the living room with Tom as you were relentlessly pestered to talk about how you met. Maybe they actually were happy for you.

Steve stood off to the side with Bucky, both watching you talk about this new man in your life with pure joy on your face.

Bucky’s scowl intensified when he saw the group laugh at something Tom said and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t like him…”

Steve chuckled.

“No kidding.” Then took a sip of his Coke before returning to the others.

-----------------------------------------------

1 Month Later

“He’s going to propose to her, Bucky.”

Bucky looked up from the cards in his hands. “What!?”

“Yea…”

“How do you even know this?!”

Steve shrugged. “I guess the guy trusted me enough to share it with me.”

“They’ve been together for 5 minutes!” Bucky yelled and stood from the table were the two of them were playing.

“3 months.”

“Whatever!! 3 months, 5 minutes, same thing!”

“Well…”

“SAME! THING!”

“Ok, ok. Well, 3 months or 3 seconds, Y/N is getting proposed to tonight in about… “

The blond man paused to look down at his watch.

“…an hour, give or take. Geez time flies. Reservations are at 7, so I’d say he whips out the ring at 7:30, but don’t quote me.”

“STEVE!”

“What?”

“ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS?!”

“Yea…I think it would be a stupid thing to lie about, Buck.”

“WHY ARE YOU ONLY TELLING ME THIS NOW!?!”

“Why do you care!?”

“STEVE!”

“WHY DO YOU CARE?!”

“BECAUSE I LOVE HER!!!”

After about 10 painfully, silent seconds, Steve smirked and started to reshuffle the cards. “You don’t say.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

1 Hour, 10-ish Minutes Later

Tom took you to once of the fanciest restaurants in the city and if you were being completely honest with yourself, it made you feel a little out of place. Everyone was dressed up like guests at a wedding. It was over the top, uncomfortable, and just slightly awkward for you. You felt like you had some sort of siren attached to your back alerting every one of an invader.

For Tom, this was nothing. You knew in London he liked to go to places on the more elegant end of the spectrum because he had the money to do so, but for some reason, doing those things on a vacation made them seem like a splurge. Now being home, it seemed all out of place. You were used to soda and pizza on the couch with your friends, not white table cloths and bottles of wine that cost more than a months rent.

You brushed aside you nerves and looked over the menu.

“I’m going to go to the restroom. When the waiter comes back, order red wine. It goes best with the filet.” Tom smiled to you and stood, rebuttoning his suit jacket.

“Wait, which red?” You replied with slight fear in your eyes.

“Whatever you think is best.” Then he kissed you on the forehead and left.

‘Oh, Great…’ You thought, knowing that you didn’t know a 10-dollar bottle from a 50-dollar one.

You looked back to the menu for something you hoped Tom would like when you heard the chair across from you slide along the floor.

“Tom, I really don’t—"

“Hey, Doll.”

Your head shot up so fast you swore you almost pulled a muscle and when you saw the man in your boyfriends chair, you couldn’t breathe.

“Bucky? What are you doing here?”

“Look, I’m about to make this awkward, so I’m sorry. I just thought you should know that first.

“What…What are you talking about?”

“So, here’s the deal.” He started, fidgeting in the chair until he felt settled. “Tommy boy here is about to propose to you and that’s about to be a really big problem for me because…well, because I’m in love with you. I didn’t want to have to tell you this way, but I really wasn’t given much of a choice, you know, time’s been ticking and turns out I’ve just about run out of it. It would still be the truth if I had a thousand years to tell you, and yes, this whole situation has kinda put the pressure on me to tell you now, But I do love you, Y/N. I have always loved you. And I needed you to know now before you make your decision. I just need you to know that for every second of every day I have known you, I have been in love with you.

“Now, I realize there is a good chance that you might marry this guy because even after only a few months, he’s been able to give you everything you deserve, things that I can only imagine being able to give you, but in the off chance you decide… that maybe…. you want me, I’d…I’d be happy to have you.”

When he was done, he inhaled a deep breath through his nose to catch up on the oxygen he lost from getting out his speech.

Bucky Barnes was always able to say shocking things that made you lose your words, but this one takes the cake. You stared at him, eyes unblinking, waiting for him to tell you it was all a joke that he would forever use against you or remind himself of when he needed a good laugh.

But, he didn’t and the longer you looked at him without giving him a response, the more his face fell until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Ok, good talk.”

And then he was gone.

You kept staring at the back of the chair he just left as if he were still there. You still couldn’t breathe and your mouth had gone completely dry.

It was only when Tom returned to the table that you were able to snap out of your confusion. You knew he saw the look on your face before you were able to get rid of it.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

----------------------------------------------------------

Bucky was sitting on the couch staring into space when you came home. He didn’t even see you until you were right in front of him. His eyes trailed up you, starting from your legs, to your hips that were hugged perfectly by your black dress, to your stomach, chest, neck, and before you knew it, your eyes.

His face was impassive and in that moment, you couldn’t read his thoughts. Then slowly, he stood, making himself just a few inches taller and forcing you to look up. Your faces were inches apart, but his eyes never left yours.

“Hi…” You whispered.

“Hi…”

He sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself for the question he had been dying to ask you, preparing himself to be let down.

“So, are you getting married?”

You knew he would ask. How could he not?

You let out a shaky breath, not knowing how he would react to your answer, despite what he had confessed to you. “No.”

“Thank god.”

And his lips slammed to yours, tongue slipping between your lips, and arms snaking around your waist as he lifted you up off your feet.

He held on tight as he walked you to the bedroom and laid you on the soft bed that you had been in so many times before. When he crawled on top of you, you smiled.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you.”

Then, slowly, he leaned down and fit his lips to yours in the first kiss he had ever given you that expressed anything other than lust.

@dugan365 @moonlightimagination @pietrotheavenger @marvel-fanfiction @agentsinstorybrooke @dani-si @alyssiamking @wintersoldier98 @then-there-was-me-emily @prxttybirdz @tessvillegas @xceafh @jazzwoman897 @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @shitmymomsay @fandoms-who @meganwinchester1999 @ufffg @debra77 @rebelliouscat

1K notes · View notes

braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

Text

Intent/The First 120 Hours

Cycle 8, Day 11

Everyone always wants to know what chemo (technically maintenance chemo) is like, and I try to give an accurate portrayal, However, the truth is, even with the lighter touch and my new Hunter S. Thompson drug-fueled lifestyle (actually, after reading “Gonzo Girl,” even at my most heavily-medicated, I’m not in the same league), you’ll feel physically and mentally funky (and there’s always that nasty injection site pain from the Marizomib). The good news is, with Marizomib, fatigue is the most-noted downside (I wrote about that previously, but fatigue, I’ve learned, isn’t really exhaustion, it’s when consciousness is painful), so I usually get a full night’s sleep. Thanks to a quasi-legal medical substance, the chemo hangover is cut down significantly, and you wake up feeling, almost too good. So, yeah, in my false sense of recovery, I did push myself a little too hard and sprain something in the bad leg, so I'm spending today on the couch, thanks to that nasty rubbery leg of mine. I try to keep active and fit, but it isn't always a reasonable goal. So, today; rest; tomorrow, more-achievable goals, like going up and down stairs without a deathgrip on the rail.

Anyway, the point of this writing project is to provide some sort of useful data in an easily-digested form, so I thought I’d give a few pointers on surviving the first 120 hours after a terminal (we'll discuss it) cancer diagnosis (with the warning that it’s from my perspective, but what works for me may well be fatal for you; use your own judgment). I’m not talking about self-care or organizing your prescriptions - that’s later in the process. I’m going to tell you what I wish I’d known to survive the first four or five days after the diagnosis (non-medically). This is about how to subtly shift your thinking from "I'm gonna die" to "I'm going to scream into the gates of the Underworld like I own that fucker," which, based on personal experience, might be the necessary attitude to putting off that particular scenario.

1. Do what you need to do, emotionally. One of the shittier things able-bodied people do to new cancer patients is tell them to buck up, or be positive. Folks, if this goes South, I will experience cachexia. Most survivors are sterilized and have long-term health issues related to treatment. You wouldn’t tell someone who’s about to march into the jaws of hell to smile, especially if they’ve just had a seizure or are in pain. If you have to drink a bottle of whisky and drunkenly call an ex, now’s the time, you might not get it later. I think I spent a day dry heaving and lying in bed before I really came to my senses. Do what you have to, but do it quickly because you are now on the clock.

2. Find appropriate help. Just as not all cancers are created equal, not all doctors are created equal. Again, according to Briish stastics, “medical misadvenure” is the third leading cause of death. Having said that, even though I insist on the very best for my glioblastoma, that’s because there isn’t much of a middle ground between “survivor” and “dead” with that. If I get lung cancer or colon cancer, I may not be quite as picky. I’ve talked previously about finding good oncologists, and, as recently noted, they’re usually not motivated by money. And be creative in where you get information; two friends from the Mesozoic contacted me to ask for help with their parents who have glioblastoma. It seemed odd to me that I’d be asked about, especially since one of these friends is a practicing physician. I try to give everyone accurate, well-researched advice, and I hope I did then, but it still feels like there’s somehing wrong in the universe when I’m somewhat knowledgeable about how to handle a crisis. We’ll ignore the self-contained, Zen koan-like irony of that statement in a guide to what to do.

3. Find new friends/join a support group. I don’t know if it’s just brain cancer patients - I don't know if it's just brain cancer patients or all cancer patients, but your previous support group (or key members of it) will be conspicuous in their absence. In my case (and another person I've read of), I heard back from a bunch of random people I literally hadn't heard from in decades (in a few cases). I get an awful lot of passing privilege, but, so far, any time I've dropped the "C" word - it's immediately changed the nature of our interactions. So far, overwhelmingly, people have been kind, or positive, which is great, but it does get grating after a while that any time the phrase "and what do you do?" comes around, there's a stilted shift. You know who absolutely could not give less of a shit about your new medical label (unless you're having a seizure)? Other cancer survivors and patients. And - bonus - they'll actually be able to give you far more accurate and up-to-date info on your disease and/or financial or social resources that might now be at your disposal than I know about. I'm indebted to my old friends from the Mesozoic who showed up to cheer me on in my hour of need (extra kudos to Laura and Julie), but I owe an unrepayable number of favors to the Leukemia Kids (okay, that's the Young Cancer Support Group, but most cancer patients under 40 are lymphoma or leukemia patients/survivors, hence my name)(sorry if you guys don't like it, I'll think of a better one ASAP) who helped me get past that (sort of, I still need all the help I can get). I did not do that, but, in retrospect, it was a massive mistake I didn’t.

4. Prepare for drama - your life is about to become a bad Lifetime Television Special, and it does affect different people in different ways - I know one brain cancer survivor whose husband left her - and you’re going to be doing this while experiencing an amount of fear you’d previously been unable to imagine; the full 31 flavors. You will be - initially - completely overwhelmed by terror. I'd recommend seeing a shrink (I do); all the prescription pads will come out for this one. The bad news is, even if you beat this thing, you don't ever really get over it. I've talked to late-stage breast cancer survivors who say the same thing; even after years of clean scans, the anxiety and fear never fully leaves (it certainly hasn't for me, though, but I'm not even a year out of a five-year deal).

5. know the difference between terminal, incurable, chronic and fatal. I remember which step on the stairway I was on - the third or fourth - when Mad Scientist told me those six words, over the phone (I was traveling at the time), "I'm so sorry, it's stage IV." The world swung, because I suddenly knew not only that I would die soon, but exactly how (that's a really horrifying thing to consider, I wrote one of my fist essays - posted around here, somewhere - to try and capture that sensation). Fatal diseases are like a car crash - they'll kill you. Terminal illnesses are defined by Wikipedia (and I like their definition, since the traditional definition has involved how, subjectively, soon/quick the disease is likely to kill you) as, "an incurable disease that cannot be adequately treated and is reasonably expected to result in the death of the patient." You'll note a lot of weasel words in there that make this nice, elastic definition my favorite, but the phrase I like to hang on is, "adequately treated." Chronic diseases are the ones that last three or more months (or something like that; I did take an intro pathophysiology class that involved knowing the instructor's definition of "acute" and "chronic"). Chronic cancers - like mine and a lot of recurrent leukemias - are ones that require five consecutive years without metastasis or recurrence before you're declared "cured." It's telling of the quality of my medical team that, as far as I know, none of them have ever said the words "fatal" or "terminal" in my presence. Instead, I've been given a series of treatments that really suck (check this blog for any examples you'd like), but, I'd so far rate as "adequate" in that they've kept the disease at bay (for those of you working out, step-by-step along with me how to save yourself or a loved one, that statistic is progression-free survival. I'd imagine, based on how a new immunotherapy has gotten to round 3 just in the nine months I've been in treatment (technically, treatment ended back in February, I'm in "maintenance chemotherapy," but since I have to be in the infusion center every Tuesday, and I have to remain wary of potential problems/side-effects/etc. it's just easier to think of myself as still being in chemo). And most cancers are, technically, incurable. We might have a definitive treatment of some sort, but since it's ultimately caused by damaged DNA, and we can't repair or zap every single rogue cell in your body, most are just genetic time bombs. And, since I've survived the first tumor, a lot of medicine seems to have swung back to reclassify a lot of very treatable (but not curable, apparantly) as either chronic or having that potential. I like to use the idea/metaphor I saw another science writer use; it's like heart disease or diabetes; it'll take a lifetime of management and monitoring, but it may not, necessarily kill you. In other words, you've received a helluva strong first blow, but, even with the gravest prognosis, you might be around for a longer struggle (and time) than you'd thought.

6. Use statistics as guidelines, not rules. This was a big one for me. And it doesn't mean you shouldn't use statistics, or automatically dispute them, but realizing the GBM median life expectancy included both 20-year-olds and 90-year-olds who dropped dead of heart attack and people who refused (or were not candidates) for other treatment. Again, there's a lot of luck involved in this, at every single point, but you can - mentally and physically - prepare for pain, or hardship, or potential heart problems (and react and treat such things). You can't really prepare for cancer recurring or metastasizing, apart from writing your own eulogy (which, come to it, I suppose this is a part of).

7. Decide right now if you want to live or go gentle into that good night - This is far, far more important than you might think, because both the medical industrial complex, your disease, and the basic, horrible logistics of this situation are going to be beyond exhausting. There's a lot of luck here, but, from minute 1, I have had one thing going for me: complete, near-psychotic commitment to actually staying alive. And that's what it'll take (sadly, in more than a few cases, much, much more will be required). You're going to have to charm, cheer, cajole, finagle, and, in some cases, con people like there won't be any consequences, because, if you're unsuccessful, there won't be. And this will give you the required attitude to deal with some of the higher-ups you'll meet in medicine (and scream at them, if necessary). Again, full honors to all my various clinicians and support staff over the years who have never made me feel trapped or impotent by my immediate sitaution, but, at the same time, if any of the sort of arrogance and contempt I've heard of from other folks (including doctors) was actually warranted on behalf of modern science and medicine, there would be no fatal diseases. Again, I'll happily write glowing testimony on behalf of the people treating me, but I've met too many patients who feel like refusing treatment because they're too dejected or frightened to go on, and their doctors or insurance are still charging them (why that's still allowed is largely due to the fact that modern medical insurance is an entirely artificial industry created to meet no demand, and enabled by Richard Nixon and Edgar Kaiser)(again, I'm making none of that up). I'd urge everyone to get up, remember that dead men, women, transgender, non-binary, (and anyone I'm forgetting), do not pay bills; hopefully that'll give you the sort of needed psychological boost to get off your butt and demand more. It's not a sustainable life strategy, but until the end of your illness is in sight, Malcolm X's statement, "By any means necessary" should be your mantra.

8. Don’t lose hope - Believe me, it seems weird for me to write it, and it might very well be warranted in more than a few cases, but I did ask myself, once, why I'd be on the phone the next morning ordering and organizing my prescriptions (orchestrating what substances should be in me on which day is now a more daunting logistics task than the D-Day landings), instead of just sitting quietly in a comfy chair until it was all over (that's still always a temptation), and all I can say is, I guess it was enough to motivate me through another day. And another. And another. And, in the meantime, another treatment has made it to trials, for, wait for it, recurrent GBM (which is what I'll have if the Warlocks miscalculate using the lunar calendar)(no longer a joke; each treatment period is 28 days). I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna get miserable, and not all of us will make it (Hell, measles has a death rate, which, there, that sensation of realizing measles can be fatal, is what a TIA feels like).

9. Mourn your old life, don’t waste time trying to get it back. I made that mistake between Tumor #1 and 2. I'm not making it again. I realize I can only write for myself, which was the horrifying realization that came to define my existence - no one, as far as I can tell, has written a decent, current, useable guide to avoiding the reaper when your number's up. So I guess I'm going to have to stay alive long enough to do that. Also, I don't know if anyone out there's outlived their own life expectancy, but I've already done it twice, and there is no more amazing sensation - no matter what else your life looks like.

1 note · View note

sizzlingasianpersuasion · 7 years

Text

New Year, Same Mistakes

There’s rain coming down and I’m watching the raindrops trickle down my driver’s side window. The left side of my face is pressed against the cold, my tears are falling faster than the rain.

“You’re a stupid shit,” I think to myself. “You keep making the same stupid mistakes. You will never amount to anything. You are still nothing and you should have killed yourself a long time ago.”

Once the downhill of your depression has already been made, it’s like a ski slope you’ve already been down before. You get faster to the bottom with each practice. I would have numerous medals based on how quickly I get to the lowest, darkest place in my mind.

I get a call from an adoring fan/friend, who is one of a very small group of people who understands me in a way most do not. I read the transcript of his voicemail and I cry harder. He saw my self-defeating Twitter post and called to check up on me and reassure me he is there to be a friend. I just felt shittier.

I’m the type of person who crumbles under people’s generosity and kindness when I am in a depressed state of mind. I have been programmed to believe I do not deserve it.

As I approach my 32nd birthday, I criticize myself even more that I still don’t have my shit together. “You keep trying and you keep failing, why do you still bother?” is what I ask myself at this age.

I was deceived by a professional con-man. I am ashamed that I foolishly believed this man, who said he was working for a professional athlete, that was interested in seeing me. I was offered a large sum of money for two weeks, enough that it would completely wipe out my debt and have plenty left over.

I won’t go into all the details, but this guy was good. I have to give him that. But I should have listened to my engineer, who warned me this was probably a scam. But I already had to borrow money from him to pay bills, I haven’t been able to pay my student loans, and with the end of the year, comes taxes, and I already owe the government a few thousand from last year.

My student loans, plus the loan I took out to help me move to Las Vegas, and let’s add what I owe to IRS for just 2015 alone, since I do plan to pay my taxes unlike our President-Elect, is about 67K. And I know there are other debts floating out there that also have to be resolved, and I don’t even want to know what the real figure is.

So maybe you can understand why, when I think there might be a chance I can earn enough to wipe my debt clean, I don’t think quite as clearly as I should. The figure weighs heavily upon my mind. And in December, I only had four calls, so I went into more debt because I didn’t have enough for all my expenses.

As I sat in my vehicle, wailing to myself, glad to have finally gotten my windows tinted this past year, but knowing people could probably still see and hear me, I thought about the texts my mother sent me this past summer.

In a previous post, when I was discussing my trip to LA and an interaction I had with another provider, I wrote that my mother implied I was a diseased whore and I left New York with telling myself I will never talk to her again. I’ve mentioned how tumultuous the relationship with my mother has been in the past, and after I was home in July, I thought it best she remains out of my life while I try to learn to love myself. A lot of my insecurities stem from my mother.

In July, I owed three car payments. I was paying the average minimum of what my actual car payment was supposed to be each month, which is about $400. But I had gotten into a hole a couple times in the beginning of the year, where I wasn’t able to pay one month, and then it happened again a couple months later. I was finally up to being able to pay the monthly payment, but not enough to pay the $800 from the missed payments, plus the monthly $400.

My parents were getting calls from the loan collector. I explained to my mother what had happened, but that I was back on track and just needed a little more time to pay back the missed payments. She decided to make a payment with her credit card. My parents are in just as much debt as I am, maybe a little less, and they’re both retired.

I didn’t ask her to do that for me. I didn’t want her to do that for me. I knew my mother too well. I knew this would backfire on me. And it did.

My mother has the tendency to do something nice for me, then shove it in my face later on, making me feel guilty and horrible she did it in the first place. I felt like she would do something kind just to use it as a weapon to strike me down at a later time.

At age 12 or 13, my mother decided to discipline and hate me one day, while I had my best friend over. I didn’t do anything horrible. I don’t recall what happened previous to the memory I have, but I remember my friend and I sitting on the floor in front of the entertainment center. There was a swinging door opening to a portion of it, that housed VHS tapes. I had it open and as my mother walked by with a pile of laundry, she kicked it, so the corner bashed and cut my knee.

She told me I didn’t deserve to have glasses. “If you’re not going to appreciate what you have, you don’t deserve them,” she said towering above my friend and I.

I’ve needed glasses since I was ten. My eyesight had significantly deteriorated at that age, that the optometrist asked my parents how I could even see the softball.

I needed my glasses to see clearly. My mother knew that. I yelled for them back and she refused. I started crying. And my girlfriend started crying too.

My mom drove my friend back home and there were no words spoken, except when my friend whispered, “Please stop crying.”

So maybe now, you can understand a little bit better of my psychosis. Why I’m this somber/angry/emo girl who has a hard time accepting when people are nice to her because she doesn’t believe she deserves it. Who will always wonder when that generous person shouts, “Look at what I did for you!” The way my mother and my New York-ex did.

Back to last July:

My mother paid my missed car payments. I told her thank you and that she did not have to do that.

I’m still that teenage girl in many ways who can only tolerate my mother for a certain amount of time. ‘What are you eating? Where did you get that top? Where are you going?’ I’m extremely anxious around my mother because I can never relax, every action is an interrogation.

I tweeted the night before I left, “It was good to be home, but I cannot wait to get away from my mother and her fifty fucking questions.”

And then came the shit storm.

She read my tweet and I admit, it wasn’t the nicest thing to say, but I gave her the ammunition to ridicule me and my job.

“Sorry I ask so many questions, but at least I don’t ask you for money,” she snarled at me the morning I was getting ready to leave. “At least I’m not a fucking whore.”

She called me a “fucking ingrate,” implied I was a diseased whore, and made some remark about sucking cocks.

The tears welled up in my eyes like it had so many times when I was growing up. I got in her face and pointed at her, “You have no idea who the fuck I am and I do this because of you.”

I was so angry and emotional that my words didn’t make much sense without context. But I’ve given a lot of thought of why I do what I do, and/or the reason why I place myself in certain situations. And the honest truth, is that I don’t really care about myself. My mother nurtured all of those insecurities that I had about myself. When you’ve been brought up to think you are nothing, you believe your worth is nothing. Who cares if you sell yourself? At least I have a value now.

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your daughter?” my father asked as we stood with my luggage gathered by the front door.

“No,” she said authoritatively.

“Goodbye, Mom,” I said. I fought back more tears. ‘She doesn’t get to win this time,’ I told myself. And I also knew these would be the last words I would be saying to her, either until her death, or for a very long time.

I had a layover in Charlotte, NC. I switched my phone off airplane mode and I received a text from her, ‘FYI: I am sick of the F’ing calls from your bill collectors and the 50 F’ing questions they bombard me with. With that said, the next call I will give out your porn name, talent agencies, special phone number, and all info that is readily on the public web.’

Me: ‘All I can ask is please do not. If my real name is attached to my alias, more people will be able to find me and threaten to hurt me, rape me, and kill me. If you want that, then fine. But please do not.

My mother: ‘Should have thought about that before choosing your career. I will feel no guilt. Too bad, so sad.

Pay your F’ing bills, give your animals to respectable families, and live within your means. All you want is quick cash and entitlement. Shove that down your deep throat and gag. Shove your blaming attitude up your banana as whole.’

(I refer to myself as a banana for being Korean, but really, I’m white because I’m completely Americanized.)

So there I was sobbing inside the Charlotte terminal, strangers looking at me, like what the fuck is wrong with this woman?

My friend from Brooklyn College called me after I posted a screenshot of the conversation with my mother. I didn’t want to answer. Her kindness made me weep more as she attempted to convince me that I’m not a horrible person.

I cried talking to her. I cried on the plane to Los Angeles. I cried on the FlyAway bus from LAX to Van Nuys. I didn’t cry the whole time, but I only had the company of myself and I drifted to those dark places because I knew I was alone again.

My mother’s text about giving away my animals is near the top of the most hurtful things one can say to me. I know I have a lot of pets. I like to think I’m making up for my entire childhood and adolescence without having one, and that’s why I have so many now. But I told my friend from college this (she’s an animal lover/artist too), “The more lives I have to take care of, the less likely I’ll be able to kill myself.”

Always half logical and half emotional with my thoughts, it is true. My whole pack would have to be separated and I would never want any of them to wind up in a bad situation or in a shelter. They are my everything. My littlest dog, DeSoto, sits in my lap as I type this. My special dog, Atticus, is underneath my chair.

I just get along better with animals. People have been and continue to be cruel to me. Animals have not. I’ve discovered I’m a horrible communicator when it comes to relationships. I believe it is a combination of needing time to express my thoughts and feelings (hence, writing), along with a fear of my words being misinterpreted, and growing up as an only child and not having anyone to talk to when I was sad.

I used to drape my Pound Puppy’s ears across my eyes and cry myself to sleep at night. I didn’t have to say anything to my stuffed animal Brodie, who I got when I was a year old, and named after my neighbor’s dog. I would just wrap my little arms around him, put his long ear over my eyes, and hope my sadness would be less when I woke up.

Now I finally have my own menagerie. I get to hug and cry into my squishy Pit Bull who is usually taking up most of the space in my king size bed. I talk to my one cat as he head-butts to greet me. My other cat kneads my stomach, reminding me maybe I should have done more cardio. I laugh at my special dog because he is just that. I squeeze my little Min Pin, wondering if he was just given away just because he is all black. I smirk when I hear my turtle swimming to nowhere as she kicks up the rocks in her tank. And I marvel at the beauty of my German Shepherd and ask myself, how am I so lucky to be the owner of such a handsome animal?

But when I’m struggling to pay my bills, especially last month and I thought this month would be better, but it’s looking like I will be in the same position with only a call a week, my mother’s words echo in my mind. Maybe I don’t deserve them.

I will be 32 next week and my career as a whore is barely keeping me afloat. My porn career is non-existent since my agency has zero interest in promoting me, apparently. I have no children. Thank goodness in many ways, but I’m in a very small pool now of those who are not mothers. So I’m nearly 32, and I still am struggling. And the day after my birthday, we inaugurate a mean, petulant child to the highest position of our country.

I keep trying to fight back the tears of my failure. I try to convince myself that I am more than nothing. I try to have hope. But as one potential client cancels on me, another tries to bargain me down to 300, another 400, and others who lose interest just because I won’t fuck them raw, I don’t have much hope. And with the world will becoming a much scarier place on January 20th. I don’t have much hope at all.

#depressed NoHope 32AndStillNothing

7 notes · View notes

somedaypast-thesunset · 6 years

Text

im in this like .. cycle i guess.

i want to reach out for support because i feel a lack of support but to express a lack of support offends people around me (despite their lack of support) and i lose even the smallest amount of support i had

i’m really sad lingering on feeling depressed. and im trying hard to reprogram my brain to see it as feeling depressed and not being depressed because its like acting out the emotion of depressed as your character and i just want to feel it because im not in a movie.

i had an issue with my roommates dog while being in immense pain from a stupid cyst and literally no one would help. as i laid on the floor in pain i knew no one would actually help. it wasnt until 11pm that he returned a phone call i made at noon and when i said i was in pain he offered to bring me to his house and take me to the doctors tomorrow.

but his whole attitude had changed like i was really burdening his life now and i guess he was calling to tell me he was leaving like the next day or somethng and now ive interrupted it. of course he didnt “say” this but it felt heavily implied and i never really felt comfortable being around him. he didnt want to show any affection and seemed to avoid it, slept through the day and had us go to bed at 10pm

he had mentioned briefly that he would take me to the doctors again today but pack up and leave in the evening. this morning it was the same awkward uncomfortableness and he had like little desire to talk to me. i thought like if that was our last night and this is our last morning i guess it really says alot. like i guess if im ever severely injured he will begrudgingly help me in some way but he’ll have a really shit attitude about it and i can be nothing more than grateful i guess?

i told him i would take myself to the doctors. he said okay. i said i was leaving in 10 minutes and he said okay. i sat feeling really sick and i understand, a bit, that alot of this sickness comes from feeling really alone in other areas of my life. so theres like this giant hole and immediate panic when the person who was atleast occupyng space in the hole leaves. but if i had other people i wouldnt feel such panic - i’m thinkng like wow i’m fucked if i’m actually hurt. or if i get sick. like i cant expect any help from anyone even though they all receive some kind of help from other people. i cant even make a call to anyone and express anything at all without them having to go or do something else in their life that im not apart of. and its not just bad timing - i could wait and wait and im just waiting for someone to make the time for me and i have to be grateful that anyone would set aside even one hour of their day for me and ive not been around other people who understand the complexities of this. like, of course im grateful. im extremely grateful. thats like all i think about for that hour that thank fucking god there was a single human being willing to give me this time so i could even help myself in some way.

and its not like i dont give this. ive given soooooooooo much of this an got nothing in return. except that i have to feel super grateful for the hour i get in return for my huge investment into their lives. and its like at nooooo point can i ask my mom for 20$. i cant ask my dad what credit card i should get. or if this person is ripping me off. like i get that i can (an will) do all these things myself but i dont even get the priviledge of receiving valid learned advice from a trusted source - i get jack offs and reddit commenters explaining how a mortgage works. or how to buy a car. or the best tips on a driving test. and when im sad and lonely? i get to turn to strangers on the internet or i guess worse, this. even though its likely no one at all will read this. when im really sick? i make chicken soup for myself. i go to the store for myself. i maybe find a ride to the doctors and mabe get lucky the pharmacy is there too so i dont have to ride the bus.when i feel like everything is chaotic? i return to cats.

but hey - i’m going to be a “stronger, smarter” person right? thats what it all boils down to. lacking soo much will somehow make me stronger and smarter than the next person who already has these things. doesnt that seem so dumb? to me, i just worked 10x as hard to get to the same place that someone else did with half the work. but im “stronger and smarter” for the effort. i think you’re wiser and more resilient. because you become wise through experience and knowledge of the experience - but you can still be dumb as hell. you arent stronger - you just learned to put up with more; that’s resilience. you couldn’t use resilience like you could use strength. it just means you didnt give up.

and thats not a negative but when you place it in this light i think it conjures a different respect for the lack of priviledges that it takes to reach “wiser and more resilient’.

right now im really.... alot of things. i feel sad and angry and frustrated and bitter and envious. im trying to respect other peoples journeys but its leaving me really fucking alone. i told him i was leaving and he said bye. that could very well be our last personal encounter and i guess i appreciate that i left it as is. instead of trying to shape it into something it wasnt going to be, i just accepted that this was the choice he was making. of course, its easier to leave when you disconnect from someone/the things around you.

i personally feel that this is the end of the relationship and my expectation is that he’ll be gone in the next 24 hours. i think i would prefer to leave our last encounter as this. although he “asked” multiple times how i was feeling or why i didnt feel good - i knew that he wasnt even the person to be talking to about it. how could i explain any of this to him? he has really not understood it and its doubtful he ever will. i expect nothing from him now - maybe i did before. maybe i wanted to have something real with him, like how we pretended to have. and i guess he showed his ‘support�� but like - youre leaving anyways. what happens when youre gone? does it matter?

i cant ask these questions because theyre already answered. nothing happens, life goes on. you got what you got for the time being, be grateful.

its not just him i feel this way with - i actually feel this way with multiple people ive been around. i cant talk about these things beacause it implies they dont care. and they do care otherwise they wouldnt have given me a ride or a sandwhich or bus change or sat wth me for an hour or smoked me some weed. BUT NONE OF IT MATTERS TO My ACTUAL LIFE. when you give a homeless man a dollar, do you think you just changed his life? like you changed 5 minutes before he had to go ask for another dollar from someone else because not a single person wants to give him actual legitimate help. just smile and nod.

ths morning his mother literally shut the garage door on me. i have no idea how she did not hear the door open or the garage door open standing 10 ft away but she literally shut the door and i sat in the dark. i said nothing because no one cares.

and he bitchs and moans about all these things and its like hes just discovering no one cares and his solution is to also stop caring for anyone but himself. and its like he doesnt even see this because hes ‘going to get better and help so many people’ but hes not. he literally is not. and its infruiating that he cant even signficiantly benefit one persons life and his solution to this is to stop any attempts and focus just on himself before i guess inviting the world in.

am i not fucking worthy or deserving? i’m not some runaway kid. i’m not a fucking drug addict. i’m not a single mom. if not me, then who deserves to benefit? i guess everyone above. you know, i didnt add to everyone being fucking dead and deserted with severe trauma and ptsd and little coping skills by taking hard drugs and fucking strange men. i didnt have unsafe sex. but i guess i should have so i could have the attention that other people seem to get for these acts. i stayed “strong” and “smart” and i’m alone and struggling. i guess i deserve to be.

when i say this its not like i want people to immediately become my family and do all this shit with me and include me an talk to me all waking moments. i want this person who has been in my life but has remained in a neutral position by their own decision to remain neutral as i express the lonliness that i feel being in this position instead of take it personal or trying to make me be optimistic about it. i am sitting with a person and still expressing this - optimism is not what i need. nor do i need to argue that this person hasnt fulfilled the needs i have when they consider themselves a ‘friend”. to be a friend now is to remain in the position youve already taken and allow me the space to now be myself - this sucks. its hard. when i speak, no one is really listening. when i need someone, i have to wait until “a good time” which could be days. and its not just one person. if this one person was doing this - fine. it’s sad but bareable. it’s so many encounters that i feel like im in highschool floating through the halls unnoticed. i have no significance or importance to anything. and its not like oh god i have to be loved and have attention but like theres litereally none. there is zero. nothing.

thats when “anything” looks better than nothing and you get stuck in even shittier situations.

0 notes