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entitynumber5 · 3 years

Text

hurt never meant

Chapter 1: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723250/chapters/73101963

Summary: Jon and Martin enter a battle of wits regarding the hiding of injuries.

Content warnings: paranoia, blood, injury, canon-typical worm mentions, descriptions of wounds and scars, stitches, needles, internalised ableism, swearing, arguments, toxic work environment, nausea, food mention.

It was very fun to write Martin being petty and stubborn but my god, having Not!Sasha in this fic was PAINFUL!!!!!! Hopefully the second chapter will be finished soon. Full text below the line. I hope everyone’s having a great day <3

The Tube is choking with artificial heat, pumped unregulated through the vents so that inside in late November, cocooned in coats, the passengers shift and sweat and mumble in discomfort. Martin tries to remember the mundane cycle of complaints and platitudes he follows in circles every morning: the air is drying out my contact lenses. At least it’s not summer. I wish I wasn’t wearing a coat. You’ll be grateful when you get outside.

Each circle is broken, just before he completes it and begins again, by the sensation of heat crawling beneath his skin, a tingling upwards motion. It ripples across his face, inducing a drowsiness like fingers dragging his eyes closed, before the prickling across his scalp sends him spiralling into discomfort once again.

He tries to force himself back to his commuter’s hymn, but the heat feels internal, spreading outwards as if attempting to meet the warm air of the Tube. It’s different from the normal unpleasantness. It’s too distracting. He shifts his weight between bursts of dizziness—he gave up his seat three stops ago for a person with a tiny baby strapped to them, and now he is squeezed against the door by the passengers who have joined him since—and a fresh wave of stars burst across his vision at the sharp slice of pain through his left foot.

Martin clings tighter to the bar as the pain wraps around his ankle and flares up the outside of his calf. For a moment, he thinks his whole leg might collapse beneath him and he is almost grateful for the way they are all shoulder-to-shoulder in the compartment.

Perhaps he should have called Rosie and told her. But a deep-rooted part of him cannot bear to take time off, remembers the times he had dragged himself to work feeling much worse—smiling from behind the till even during a bout of flu that made his entire body ache, carrying plants to cars at the garden centre a few days after he dislocated his shoulder helping his mother up after a fall. At least, at the Institute, he has a desk and a chair and very few opportunities for heavy lifting. Given time to take some weight off the injury before lunch, he is sure no one will even notice. And by tomorrow, he will be fine.

The next stop is his. Outside, the cold air takes some of the unbearable flush from his cheeks and he walks the rest of the journey with his coat open to counteract the heat of the train. He resolutely ignores the throbbing in his left leg as he joins of the parade of commuters, bustling in tandem along narrow pavements. The Institute isn’t far.

Martin fights the instinct to immediately make Jon a cup of tea. He knows it takes Jon a while to warm up to him each day, withdrawn and nearly always absent in the mornings. By the afternoon, Jon is slightly more receptive after enough time co-existing without incident, slightly more willing to drink the tea offered to him even if he always smells it beforehand. Morning tea is fed to the plants; afternoon tea, Jon tolerates.

He should stop by the staff room, anyway. The first aid kit inside is well-stocked. He knows this because he did it himself, spreading the task out with extensive research on the empty, boring workdays before Jon and Tim had returned from their leave. There are painkillers inside and the sort of durable bandages Martin doesn’t have at home. But the urge to sit down drags him past the door and straight to his desk.

“Morning, Sasha,” Martin says, supressing a loud exhale of relief when he lowers himself into his desk chair.

Sasha glances up distractedly from her computer and pulls out one of her earbuds. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin tries to fight an unfamiliar nervousness, an old friend from his early days in the Archives where he wasn’t sure where he stood with Tim and Sasha. “I was just saying good morning.”

“Of course.” Sasha smiles, although her expression is blank, almost cold. “Good morning to you, too.”

Martin gives her a tight-lipped smile in return. Sasha pops the earbud back in and returns to whatever work she is doing on the computer. He wonders if she can hear the noise of the repeated error notification over her music, wonders what she is doing to make the computer so combative.

Before Prentiss, he has a vague memory of there being a radio on Sasha’s desk. She wouldn’t turn it on everyday—sometimes, she could only get work done if she was wearing noise-cancelled headphones—but whenever she did, she and Tim would sing along to cheesy ’80s hits. He thinks he remembers them dancing together, the middle of the open plan office becoming a makeshift dance floor, but he cannot hold the entire picture in his mind. It’s like a reverse polaroid, fading out of view rather than in. Perhaps he only dreamt it.

He shakes himself out of the fuzziness filling his mind and tries to focus on checking his emails. He left leg throbs dully beneath his desk, but the pain becomes peripheral as each email dredges up the irritation he tries to avoid indulging on weekends. Elias has sent a motivational Monday email about the importance of teamwork and rallying together, especially after a difficult few months for all of us. Rosie has forwarded a fundraising form from his old supervisor in the library, who is apparently raising money for Dementia UK. He tries not to think about how difficult it had been to explain to the aforementioned supervisor why he needed time off to help his mother settle into the care home in Devon. And there is no email at all from Tim, who has stopped bothering to even send his apologies for being late with each new blow to his and Jon’s relationship.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice, slightly raised to catch his attention.

Martin looks up. Jon’s door is open just a crack. Before he can reply, Jon adds stiffly: “My office. Five minutes.” And then he closes his office door firmly once again.

Martin resists the urge to groan and lower his head to his desk. While he’s glad that telling Jon about his faked CV seems to have been a small but significant turning point, he isn’t sure he can manage another complicated conversation dredging up old anxieties today. He doesn’t want to reveal each shameful, painful secret he has in a futile attempt to make Jon trust him.

He can’t concentrate for the next five minutes. He alternates between watching the second hand on the clock across the office and refreshing his emails. He resigns himself to giving a fiver to the library fundraiser and eating the leftover takeaway in the fridge for lunch rather than getting a meal deal. He tries not to think about where Tim might be or what sort of mood he will be in when he finally arrives.

As soon as five minutes have passed, Martin stands. But with his stomach twisting in anxiety and his thoughts spiralling, he has managed to relegate the pain in his leg to the bottom of his mental priority list. Now that he’s standing, it’s demanding first place again. He has to grab the edge of his desk, almost sending his nearly-dead office plant and pot of pens flying across the floor. His monitor, still displaying emails, wobbles dangerously with the desk. He stands completely still for a moment, trying to breathe around the wave of nausea induced by the pain.

The prickling hotness is back. He hopes his face isn’t red when he finally plucks up the courage—and energy—to knock on the door of Jon’s office. It wouldn’t be the first time, he supposes. No matter how hard he tries, he finds himself blushing quite often whenever it is just him and Jon in the latter’s office.

“Come in,” Jon mumbles from behind the door.

Martin creaks open the door carefully and steps inside, trying very hard to make himself smaller, non-threatening. Jon sits behind his desk, staring at his computer screen. He doesn’t look away, but he waves Martin into the spare chair opposite him.

Martin has a feeling that sitting down would be a dangerous decision. He clears his throat. “Actually, I’ll—I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

This finally draws Jon’s eyes away from his monitor. “Alright. Although I can assure you that, unlike some of its brethren in Artefact Storage, that chair doesn’t bite.”

Martin tries to smile. Jon has been doing this more since the confrontation and subsequent reveal over his CV—trying to make jokes, or some approximation. An attempt to diffuse the tension, even when Jon’s body language is nearly always screaming: I see you as a threat.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Martin replies, “But I, um—I was just reading this article about the impacts of sitting at a desk.”

“A productive start to your workday, then,” Jon mutters.

“And so I’m gonna try standing up a bit more,” Martin continues, deliberately ignoring Jon’s comment, “Around the office.”

“Around the entire office or my office specifically?”

Martin can feel the irritation—stirred by the emails, deflated initially by Jon’s joke—rising inside of him again. “Does it matter?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not.”

“So, what did you, um, what did you need from me?” Martin asks, trying not to shift with nerves. He knows it will aggravate his leg.

“Sasha still appears to be having difficulty with her computer, so I was hoping to delegate the task of digitising the disproved statements from 1995 to 2000 to you,” Jon says.

Martin tries not to visibly bristle. Jon has been doing this a lot lately, too—far more frequently, in fact, than the half-formed jokes. He hoards the statements that won’t record digitally, combs them again and again for details rather than delegating this task to any of his Assistants, and only asks for very vague follow-ups.

But Sasha had volunteered to digitise the disproved statements. She said she liked the clear structure it gave to her day, always able to take a full hour for lunch to visit her new boyfriend, and how it led her to different places within the Archives. Besides, she has a transcribing qualification, although she had asked Martin the other day how to insert line numbers into a document. Brain fog, she had explained with that same thin smile.

Martin is quite happy to do whatever minuscule tasks Jon would sporadically trust him with, as long as it meant he had some idea of what Jon was currently putting all of his energy into. He doesn’t want to digitise statements from the ’90s.

“Will that be a problem?” Jon asks after the silence drags on.

“Nope. Not at all,” Martin lies, “It’s just that…”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“I thought I could perhaps… do some follow-ups on the statements you’ve been reading.”

Jon sighs again. Distractedly, he lifts his left arm, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, and scratches at the slightly-raw but almost-healed wound along his forearm. The stitches have dissolved, but Martin can see the pink scarring where they were placed across the wound, which is raised in comparison to the flat worm scars surrounding it.

“Don’t scratch it,” Martin tuts, “You’ll reopen the wound.”

“Martin,” Jon replies, exasperated, “It’s almost completely healed.”

“Completely healed? It’s not—it’s never going to be—you needed five stitches!”

“Yes, as you keep reminding me.”

“Because I—” Martin splutters, trying to find the words. “Because I worry about you.”

“Your worry is entirely unnecessary.”

“Is it? Because I think you’ve given me more than enough reasons to be worried about you lately.”

Jon’s jaw twitches angrily, but his expression is level when he forces his eyes to Martin’s. “I didn’t call you in here to have yet another pointless conversation about my mental or physical health.”

“Of course not. You called me in here to…” To do a completely meaningless task because you don’t trust me with anything else. He takes a deep breath and knows he cannot say that. “Digitise the 1995-2000 disproved statements.”

“Well remembered.”

Martin manages not to roll his eyes. “I’ll get started right away.”

Martin turns to leave. The first step is easy. The pain arrives on the second, taking him surprise, a direct strike to his ankle. He stumbles and has to steady himself again, this time against the chair Jon had offered him at the start.

“Martin,” Jon says, a hint of something like surprise—or worry—in his voice. He is half-standing from his own chair when Martin looks over his shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” Martin insists.

“You’re clearly not fine. Are you injured?”

Martin leans into the chair so he can turn to face Jon again. At this angle, Martin catches only a glimpse of the healing wound where it snakes behind Jon’s wrist. But even with a limited view, the memory of the first time he had seen it grips him.

It had been near the end of the day. Martin went to use the toilet before he headed home, but the moment he was inside, all he could smell was blood. And for a moment, all he could think was the worms, they must have missed some of the worms, where did I last see Tim, oh, god, Jon hasn’t left for the day yet, is Sasha still in the office, the worms, worms again, always worms, it was only a matter of time. It was like walking through the Archives after the siege to give his statement: the musty smell of the worm carcases and the metallic hint of blood beneath. Jon and Tim’s blood.

He had lifted his sleeve to his nose to block out the smell and tried to gather some semblance of calm. The blood was in the sink. One of the bathroom stall doors was closed but not locked, a shadow just visible underneath. When Martin called out a cautious hello, the door creaked open at the behest of the occupant’s foot and Jon stood sheepishly inside, pressing a wad of red-stained tissues against his arm.

“Ah. Hello, Martin,” Jon had said. And then, “Heading home?”

Martin had shouted. He can’t remember what. His voice was always higher than it was loud when he was upset. After that, it had been a blur of the same lies. “I’m fine,” as Martin tried to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t need stitches,” when Martin insisted on taking him to A&E. “It’s really not that bad,” while the doctor was injecting the anaesthetic and stitching the wound. “Why would I lie, Martin? For the last time, I cut myself on a bread knife,” repeated in the days after, again and again, no matter how much Martin pushed.

“Martin,” Jon says again, interrupting his train of thought, “Are you injured?”

Jon is lying to him. Jon is playing a game. Perhaps unintentional, perhaps well-meant, but nonetheless—two can play and Martin has thrown his hat into the ring. The irritation scratching against his ribcage is replaced with a petty sense of satisfaction.

“I sprained my ankle on the way to work. Tripped while I was getting off the Tube,” Martin tells him, “You know me. Clumsy as anything. It’s nothing serious.”

“Well, it doesn’t look like nothing,” Jon snaps.

“It’s fine.” Martin smiles. “I’m sure it will clear up on its own,” he adds, since Jon had something to that effect to him while bleeding profusely in the bathroom stall.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be digitising the statements, after all,” Jon murmurs, almost to himself, “Sasha hasn’t yet transferred them to the office and the boxes can be rather heavy.”

“Honestly, Jon, I can manage,” Martin interjects. The satisfaction has faded slightly, replaced with that desperate urge to prove himself, to show he doesn’t need time off work. He won’t go home. And he won’t be a liability while he’s here. “Besides, what else is there for me to do? Unless you want me to follow up on that statement?”

Jon looks down at his desk. A flash of panic crosses his face when he realises the statement folder is open and Martin, at any time, could have read it. He closes it, deliberately slow, as if trying to hide the reason why. “I’m sure I can find you something else to do at your desk.”

Martin knows this has become a different point of pride now. A dangerous point of pride. He doesn’t want Jon to fuss over him. He doesn’t want to be handled. He will do his job as usual and no one will know he is in pain, no one needs to assume he is anything other than fine.

“I’ll digitise the statements,” Martin says, “In fact, I’ll get started right away.”

“Martin, I—”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Then…” Jon hesitates. “Have a good day, Martin.”

Martin almost folds at the softness in Jon’s voice. For a moment, he considers taking it back—the stubbornness, the bitterness, the insistence that he’s fine. Would it hurt to give in, for a day, to the urge for rest? But it would. He knows it would.

“You too, Jon,” Martin murmurs, dismissing himself from Jon’s office and managing to make it out of the door without flinching every time he puts weight on his left leg.

Jon refreshes his emails. He deletes Elias’s aggressively positive bulletin before panicking that he will somehow know and transferring it back to his inbox. He flips through the statement on his desk. He makes sure the pages are in order, properly aligned. He takes the tape recorder from the drawer. He takes a sip from the sealed water bottle he keeps in the same locked drawer as the tape recorder. He lifts his thumb, letting it hover above the button to start recording.

Martin, he thinks. And he can’t begin the statement.

Martin is not fine. Jon is going to prove it. He had decided this before the emails, the statement, the water. But at the crossroads of burying himself in work or investigating Martin’s denial, he realises that it was never really a choice. He needs to know.

Perhaps Martin is hiding an injury related to Jon’s clandestine investigation. The tunnels are dark and, in places, littered with debris. A person visiting without the right equipment—or, at the very least, without a torch—could easily hurt themselves. Or likewise, if the tables had somehow turned, Martin could have lost his balance in the station while following Jon. The best lies always held some element of truth.

The worry eating at him is for this scenario, Jon tells himself. Not for Martin. He is not worried for Martin.

Jon props his door open slightly with his shoe. Now that he has taken to working in his office, door closed, he no longer worries so much about working in only his socks. He never liked the feel of his firm work loafers, and it’s easier to sit comfortably in his chair when his feet aren’t covered. He checks to see if any of them have noticed him, but in the bullpen, Sasha doesn’t look away from her malfunctioning computer, earbuds in. Tim has yet to arrive. And Martin’s desk is empty.

He goes back to his own desk and sits down. From this angle, he can see through the small gap where his shoe is holding the door open. A direct view towards Martin’s desk. He will know when Martin comes and goes, will be able to examine his reaction to movement and pain. Jon begins a timer on his phone—he should keep a record of how long Martin takes, that might give him an idea of the extent of the injury—and then throws himself into scouring the evidence that Basira left the last time she visited.

Jon keeps stopping to check the timer. At fifteen minutes. At eighteen. At twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-four. Martin has been gone for far longer than Jon had expected.

At thirty-seven minutes, Jon steps out of his office.

Sasha gives him a brief wave as he passes, but the other two desks are still empty. Jon feels himself frowning. He checks the staff room, but it’s empty and the kettle is cold when he touches his fingers to it. Next, he forces himself to walk slowly to the stacks where the original statements, even disproved, are stored. It is light and temperature controlled here, adjacent to the room where Martin had once stayed for months while they waited for Jane Prentiss’s attack. Because he knows now that was what they were doing: waiting.

Jon keeps his pace slow and measured. He realises he’s still not wearing shoes, which makes it easier to walk quietly along the stacks looking for the right dates. 1980-1985. He’s getting closer. He stops just before 1995-2000, listening for any clue Martin is there.

The first thing he hears is heavy breathing, every other inhalation hitching in pain. Jon grips the shelf behind him, digging his fingers into the wood, focusing on the sensation of the grain. He grounds himself, refuses the first and overwhelming urge to check on Martin. And then, shifting his weight very carefully, he leans forward so he can see through a small gap in the shelving.

Martin is sitting on one of the wheeled, plastic stools used for reaching the higher shelves. His left leg, the one he couldn’t put weight on earlier, is extended in front of him. The hem of his left trouser leg has hitched up slightly, revealing Martin’s sock—covered in tiny dinosaurs and padded as if hiding bandages beneath. His body trembles, almost like a slight blurring around the edges. He is gripping his thighs tightly, digging his nails in as he squeezes is eyes shut.

Jon’s heart clenches. He knew, in his office, that Martin was injured. But this is something else entirely. Beneath the sickly lighting, Martin is pale, almost grey, his skin shinning with a thin layer of sweat. Jon recognises the tightness at the edges of his mouth, the way his throat works against a rising nausea.

“Martin,” Jon says, stepping into view before he can think about what he’s doing.

Martin leaps off the stool, but the motion sends him immediately careening into the opposite shelf when his left leg won’t hold his weight. He catches himself before he falls fully, but he lets out a breathless “shit” that Jon attributes to both the pain and the shock. He tries to pull himself back up to his full height, but Jon can see the toll the sudden movement has taken on him.

“Christ, Jon,” Martin gasps, struggling to regain his breath.

“You’re lying to me,” Jon says. He stops himself before he adds: again.

Martin’s eyes widen slightly in alarm, a look of panic washing out his features further. “Jon, I—I thought we—I’m not—”

“About your injury.”

“Oh.” Martin deflates. “Oh. That.”

Jon is so angry he doesn’t have energy to spare on being embarrassed by his lack of subtlety. “Martin, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Martin mutters.

“You should take the day off, at the very least.”

“Jon, I’m grateful for your concern, I really am, but—”

“If you say you’re fine again, I swear I will—”

“It’s a sprain,” Martin interrupts, insistent, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Jon sighs. His anger leaves him, replaced with a sort of sadness he can’t quite place. Nothing I can’t handle. That sentence implies a comparison, a time before that hurts Jon to think about. “Let me get the boxes, at least.”

“No,” Martin says quickly.

“Martin, you clearly—”

“I’ll get them,” Martin insists, “Your arm—”

“Is almost healed. The same cannot be said for your allegedly sprained ankle.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Allegedly?”

Jon doesn’t dignify his echo with an answer. “My physical therapist says I’m ready to start—”

“No, see, that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here!”

“I know my limits, Martin. You, apparently, do not.”

Martin laughs humourlessly. “Oh, for gods—”

“What?” Jon bristles. “I attended physical therapy, didn’t I?”

“Because I texted you every day to make sure you went. Because I sent you home when you tried to come back into work too soon.”

“I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

“You stabbed yourself with a bread knife!”

For a moment, a rebuttal sits on the edge of Jon’s tongue. He almost reveals the truth—the door, the blade of Michael’s finger tearing through his flesh when he tried to go after Helen. But no, that would be too much. That would be giving Martin exactly what he wants.

“So you finally believe me,” Jon says calmly.

“I’m finally starting to believe you’re never going to tell me the truth,” Martin replies.

“I’ve already told you the truth.”

“And so have I.” Martin looks him in the eye, unwavering. “I sprained my ankle. I’m fine. I can do this.”

Jon sighs. He rubs at his eyes, wishing he had gotten more sleep for the past—well, the past year. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Jon echoes, although he has no idea why, and leaves before Martin can question him.

Back in his office, he paces. He checks the timer on his phone. It’s been an hour. He sits down, glancing between his computer and the door, the computer and the door, the computer and the door. Eventually, he hears Martin drop a large box of case files on his desk, far louder than he would ever usually allow himself to be. Jon sighs again. He is not sure what battle they are locked in, but he knows it is going to be long and hard-won.

Jon goes back to scrutinising Basira’s evidence. A collection of statements taken from people in the vicinity of the Institute during Jane Prentiss’s attack. A profile on some of the employees who had frequent contact with Gertrude, including Martin’s old supervisor in the library. He had sent a reference of thinly-veiled insults across with Martin’s employee record and, for some reason, Jon had never liked him since.

He is disturbed by conversation outside.

“Afternoon, Tim,” Martin says.

“Afternoon, is it?” Tim replies bitterly. “I didn’t realise.”

Only then does Jon realise it is after midday and Martin still hasn’t badgered him about getting lunch.

“Can I get you anything?” Martin asks, his tone much softer. “A cup of tea, maybe?”

“Thanks, but I prefer coffee these days.”

Martin laughs, a small, quickly fading sound. “Believe it or not, I do also know how to make coffee.”

“I guess I…” A loud, exhausted sigh from Tim. Then, in a smaller, kinder voice: “A coffee would be great. Thanks, Martin.”

Through the half-open door, Jon watches as Martin grips his desk and uses it to leverage himself up. The change of elevation clearly makes him dizzy and he stands for a moment, breathing deeply while he reaches an equilibrium. But when he walks, he is mostly managing to mask the pain, at least until he leaves Jon’s field of vision.

Jon listens. He hears the familiar squeak of the staff room door swinging closed. After a fortifying breath, he forces himself out into the main office. Sasha’s desk is empty; she’s probably on her lunch break with the boyfriend who works at the wax museum. Tim is sitting in his chair, hands in his lap, staring blankly at his computer. The screen isn’t on.

Tim blinks. Pulls his dull gaze away from the computer. The shadows beneath his eyes are deep and purple, and he doesn’t even attempt to smile. “Can I help you with something, boss? Must be big if you’re willing to leave that office of yours.”

“Have you noticed Martin behaving strangely at all?”

“Oh, bloody hell, Jon, not this again,” Tim hisses, “I’m not helping you spy on—”

“No, no, not that,” Jon interrupts, “I believe Martin injured himself on his way to work, but he won’t tell me how severe it is.”

“Wow. Sounds kind of like someone else I know.”

“Tim.”

“I suppose he learnt from the best.”

“Tim,” Jon snaps, “Did you notice anything?”

“No.” Tim sighs. “No, I was a bit distracted, to be honest. I was sort of hoping Sasha would be here. I, uh, I need to talk to her about something.”

“Will you keep an eye on him?”

“I already told you, I’m not—”

“It’s not spying.”

“It’s as good as!”

“It is not.”

“You would know.”

“Tim,” Jon says, lowering his voice for impact, “If you are not going to do any work, at least—”

The staff room door whines open. Martin walks out backwards, holding the door open with his shoulder as he shuffles into the office a mug in each hand. One is the novelty mug with a celebrity and slogan on it that Jon doesn’t recognise, no matter how many times Tim has tried to explain; the other is the plain, sunny yellow one Martin always gives to Jon.

“Oh,” Martin says, pausing when he sees them both, “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Tim replies, “Jon was just interrogating me about why I was late. And I was just telling him how I was passing by London Zoo when I heard a scream and I immediately began running—”

“Alright,” Jon interrupts, “I’ve heard enough.”

Martin lifts the hand holding the yellow mug slightly. “I made you tea.”

Jon tries to push away the warm feeling that unfurls in his chest, every time Martin says this. “Thank you, Martin. Let me take those from you.” He adds, firmly, “Both of them,” for good measure.

With some manoeuvring, Jon manages to relinquish Martin of both the mugs. He places Tim’s down on his desk, receiving a mumbled thanks, before walking the distance back towards his office door. Martin lingers in the doorway to the staff room, looking casually at Jon, but there is a stubborn set to his shoulders.

“How are the files?” Jon asks.

“Terrible,” Martin replies with a slight pout, “I’ve already read five statements about three separate Oasis concerts.”

Jon shudders. “I never liked the ’90s.”

Martin chuckles. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t getting up to anything actually spooky.”

Jon hesitates. He knows, if he moves first, he will have lost this particular battle. But the war is still all to play for. He assesses the determination on Martin’s face and decides that, on his occasion, he will concede. Just this once.

“Well,” Jon says, clearing his throat, “Good luck with the rest.”

“What, you’re not going to make him put a quid in the jar for saying ‘spooky’?” Tim interjects.

Jon startles. He had almost forgotten him and Martin were not alone. “It’s a first offense.”

“It is not,” Tim calls after him, but there’s something playful in his tone, at least, “That’s preferential treatment!”

Jon goes back into his office without replying. He keeps the door open.

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim doesn’t exactly keep his word, but he does do everything in his power to prevent Martin from getting any work done. Tim isn’t subtle about it, but Martin tries to resist. He only plays two rounds of online Battleships with Tim before insisting on returning to the disproven statements. Tim then attempts to throw pens from his pot into Martin’s, scattering most of them around the office. When Sasha comes back, he quietens slightly and they all fall into some semblance of productivity. Jon does catch Tim playing solitaire when he passes his desk on the way to the bathroom, though.

Sasha is the first to go home. She leaves without stopping by Jon’s office and the absence scratches at his consciousness, some long-buried sense of rejection that he soothes and smothers with the knowledge that this is what he wants. He wants space to work. He wants to snap the lines of connection that might lead him towards betrayal.

Less than twenty minutes later, Tim is next. And he tries to take Martin with him.

“Come on,” Tim whines, his voice carrying through the barely-open door to Jon’s office, “Just one round. On me.”

“Tim,” Martin replies, his voice gentle but holding his position, “I really can’t. Not tonight.”

“We could grab something to eat instead? I’ve been meaning to try this sushi place right near—”

“I can’t eat—”

“Oh, right.” Tim clicks his fingers in remembrance. “You’re allergic to fish.”

“Not all fish,” Martin adds, like an apology.

“Not all fish,” Tim echoes, “But no sushi, just to be on the safe side.”

“Yep.” Martin sighs. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise.”

From his office, Jon can hear Tim shifting slightly. The floors are hardwood, carefully maintained over the years, and despite taking some damage during Prentiss’s attack, Elias insists on keeping them. They creak. He remembers Martin mentioning it once in passing, when he was staying in the Archives, how sometimes he thought Jon was there even on the nights when he left before it got dark.

“At least let me walk you home,” is Tim’s last attempt, “A sprain is definitely not nothing. I sprained my wrist years ago climbing and it still plays up sometimes. Especially when I’m caving, actually, but that’s a story for another time.”

“Well, um… I won’t go climbing any time soon, then?”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Tim says in his most flirtatious voice.

Martin laughs. “I appreciate it, Tim. But I’m—I just want to finish this off. Before I leave.”

Through the crack in the door, Jon sees Tim raise his hands in surrender. “Well, I tried.”

“I’ll be alright,” Martin adds, almost guiltily.

“You better be.” Tim hesitates again. Jon watches him pat the pockets of his coat, searching for his phone or perhaps his keys. “You got my link? The NHS website one about strains?”

“I did. Thank you.”

“And you know about calling 111?”

“Also yes.”

“And you can call me if you need me?”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll go,” Tim says, resigned, “Just—take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tim,” Martin replies softly.

Tim heads off, again without stopping by Jon’s office. And it’s habit, by now, it’s not unusual for Tim to do this, but Jon taps the desk lightly with his fingers to try and dispel the feeling of wrongness sitting on his chest. He watches Martin go back to the computer, a tension around his eyes that suggests at a headache and the same pallid, nauseous look visible even in profile.

Jon considers the work he has left. The work he knows, realistically, he will never quite finish because every statement, every piece of footage, every lead, only stirs up more questions. He could stay. He could push himself on into the night, as he has done so many times before. He could find another reason to go into the tunnels. But deep down, he is exhausted—by the need to know, by the itch at the edge of his knowledge where uncertainty lingers and festers. He wants to rest and he thinks if he leaves now, Martin might, too.

Jon gathers his things, stuffing a few statements inside his messenger bag before shrugging on his coat, his scarf, his gloves and his hat. The cold air hurts his scars and dries out his skin until they become tight, small movements made increasingly uncomfortable without intervention, so he’s resorted to wearing more layers. Finally, he puts his shoes back on, retrieving the left one from the door and then closing it behind him when he steps out into the main office.

Martin glances away from his computer. “Heading home?”

“Yes,” Jon replies, as casually he can, “I thought I would call it an early night. Would you—I thought—perhaps you would like to join me?”

Jon tries not to notice Martin’s cheeks flushing pink. “Oh, um, I—I was actually—I think I should stay. Just for another half an hour or so. It’s just, I’m nearly finished with October to December 1999 and I know it will bother me if I leave it.”

Jon quirks an eyebrow. “That interesting?”

“Hmm.” Martin shrugs. “Mostly just a lot of people worried about the turn of the millennium.”

“Ah. I remember that.” Jon doesn’t let on that he spent October to December 1999 researching that very phenomenon obsessively, walking the line between intense curiosity and deep dread at the possibility of catastrophe. There are some things—many things—Martin doesn’t need to know about him.

Martin smiles. “Well, I… I better get on.”

“Martin,” Jon says, trying to keep his voice measured. He feels like he is wavering between an offering and an argument. “I know I stressed the importance of digitising those files this morning, but there is no reason to spend overtime on—”

“There is, though,” Martin interrupts, “A reason.”

“Oh?”

Martin looks him in the eye and almost smiles. “I want to.”

“Right,” Jon sighs.

“Right,” Martin echoes.

“I suppose I’ll—I’ll be going, then,” Jon murmurs, tapping Martin’s desk just once in deference to the slight tremble in his body, the way he isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. “See you tomorrow, Martin.”

Martin smiles, this time. A full smile. “Bye, Jon.”

Jon turns. He begins to walk away. In his mind, he sees an alternative: going back, asking Martin to walk with him to the station, an offer he knows will, at least, make Martin think again. The both of them squeezed among commuters, hands stuffed into the pockets of their coats because of the cold, elbows knocking against each other every so often as the crowd tightens and expands. The awkward, protracted moment of goodbye when they part to separate platforms, the glimpse of the other walking away and the pang of sadness that comes with it.

It’s manipulative to ask, a cruel trick, and yet—is it? Is it, if that is something Jon wants, too?

Jon doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, even though he knows—somewhere deep and hidden and insistent—that he will regret it.

#cw paranoia #cw worms #cw injury #cw blood #cw nausea #cw toxic work environment #cw internalised ableism #cw food mention #cw needles #i feel really shy about posting this?#idk why #it was genuinely hard to write not!sasha that might be it #my confidence might be low right now but my love for martin increases daily #so i will write him no matter what 😤#my writing #love to eveyone #thank you for reading #<333

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veridium · 4 years

Text

fuck it, queer meta.

About a year ago I wrote one of my first and largest meta posts about why I consider Cassandra a prime example of queerbaiting despite her being a character who explicitly says she is heterosexual. This lead to quite the day of inbox hate mail from people throughout the fandom. Most were upset I used the “q slur” and left it untagged as such in the big DA meta tags. I can imagine for those folks, the substance of what I had to say mattered little as a result.

I deleted most of those messages and my responses soon afterward. They upset me greatly even as I took it all in stride. However, given that it’s been about 365 days since that fiasco, and some interesting events have happened with regards to current and former DA writers, I thought it would be “fun” to write a recap and reflection on why, generally, I still feel the way I did when I wrote that post. With some changes and growth, of course.

The gist of it is, as we have come to learn in past, recent, and ongoing discourses in fandom, that much to the chagrin of a lot of folks in this fandom: BioWare, and in this instance DA writers, are not your SJW Icons. Furthermore, they never should have been, or should be, considered as such.

The gist (part two) for me, is: for as much as diverse characters, worlds, and societies are being uplifted by Games these days, the counterbalance of bullshit is still there. And I think it survives most sturdily in the kind of logic the BioWare writing culture throughout the years. This sense of egalitarian, “of course” logic, that appears to make socially deviant identities normalized but really just falsely positions those identities as meant to be in lock-step with the norm. Representation to gaming, and most of media writ large, all-too-easily falls into the trap of “we want what the privileged have,” which it to say, we want our existence to be a no-brainer, even if it means we lost the essence of why our stories are so profound, important, and necessary to do justice.

I really can’t imagine accepting the way characters like Cassandra were written because I don’t accept the writer(s) who wrote her. Why?

Come with me, and we’ll be, in a world, of pure fuckery...but with citations...because I’m an Academic and that’s my roll.*

*Please see tags for pertinent content warnings before clicking.**

**if you reblog and tag this shit with “q slur,” I will take all the reserves of understanding I have as a DA fic writer for all of the enraged womxn in the series and express it accordingly. And, as a femslash-oriented author, I can promise you: that expression will be consumptive.

Hm, I wonder, what with the predominant writer for her character inquires on Twitter for “lesbian fanfic porn” recommendations for writing “research,” but seems to be unable to hire appropriate creatives to write, consult, etc. for the project.

Or that the writers room made, and continues to make, space for a writer who continually does Black and queer characters dirty with his mediocre-at-best work, in both game and novel form (because, plot twist, he’s a shit writer) (1) (2) (3).

Or that the writer’s room, and specifically Ga*der, attesting that the development of the Qunari was based on Arab cultures around the time of “Medieval Europe,” which is somehow his way of getting out of the thematic botching of the Qunari language, social structure, etc. from Islamic tradition.

Or, the writers who intentionally shaped the story so that Vivienne, one of the limited number of Black women characters in the entire series to have a role as an ally, to be a red herring of an distrustful and conceited antagonist, to the point where her treatment by fandom has been incredibly racist, heinous, and lazy for years.

These are a few of MANY reasons, with thorough exposition, why the veneer of “progressive inclusion” studios like BioWare claim to be authentic. Having “diverse” writers in the room -- and I’m using that word incredibly tenuously here -- didn’t change the result of any of these harmful scenarios. In fact, it created them. This, combined with the tale as old as time: toxic fandom culture with white, anglo-centric, cisheterosexual masculinist ideals at the fore, have gotten us here.

So, do I hold all of the reasons why I am angry about Cassandra’s character writing the same way now, as I did then? No. Certainly not. In fact, there are parts where I would correct myself. On the other hand, the thesis for me remains largely preserved: I revile G*ider, I revile that he gets the accolades he does by fandom for his “diversity” of characters when he exploits, erases, and uses slippery morality to get out of admitting he has shortcomings in his work. I hate that the exaltation for representation still funnels itself onto the heads of white writers and predominantly white-staffed studios.

And, underneath it all, I am mad that some of ya’ll see no problem with that. Because what does it matter, if you do not come from communities, cultures, and coalitions that get the brunt of this misrepresentation? What does it matter if it angers a lesbian fan that the writers who have a long history of misusing and conveniently copping themselves out when they write women and queer characters, seem to use that “expertise” as permission to do what they are supposedly combating?

G*ider, the hero himself, is on written record saying that it should not be second guessed as to why Cassandra is straight, just as he thinks it should not be second guessed that Dorian is gay. Yet, when he asked on Twitter if there was some moral significance to people modding character’s sexuality (in this specific instance, Dorian, actually), G*ider said that in the end, people’s mods “do not change” what he wrote, and that unless they claim their changes “supercede” canon, there’s no harm done.

So, really, I’m just over here like -- is this ya’lls hero?

Why in the fuck would someone be modding a gay character to be bisexual or heterosexual, if they didn’t somehow believe that version “supercedes” the canon rendition? Secondly, where is the attention to the fact that, in an ensemble of multiple romanceable characters, Dorian has to be the one that has to be sexually and romantically accessible to those outside of his canonical realm of attraction?

I mean, for fuck’s sake, it’s the whole virtue grounding his companion side quest, the fact that he is estranged from his Father who tried to magically change his orientation! This is a crucial part of Dorian’s entire journey to serving the Inquisition, and serving Tevinter as a dissident.

But, you know, it doesn’t change what G*ider wrote. And he’s correct, it doesn’t change what he wrote, which he got credit, money, and esteem for. It doesn’t change that if you load up the base game, Dorian’s gay. In G*ider’s head, that is the protective force: the parts where he has ties, and not the culture of the fandom, the culture the fans who helped fill his pockets from that game have to dwell within. This isn’t revolutionary, this isn’t good-faith representation. This is getting a piece of the rotten-sweet pie and saying “let bygones be bygones, you toxic, funky heteronormative assholes!”

But, where are my manners. I’m getting heated, aren’t I?

Basically, if you condemn queer fans for calling out queer bating -- or any marginalized fan for throwing up the alarm for bullshit -- and your first reaction is to side with folks like G*ider who got theirs and said screw everything else, fuck off. Literally, fuck off. I call Cassandra’s circumstance queerbaiting because she’s one example of writers getting their cake and eating it, too. If they are so aware of just how much of their fanbase is marginalized folks, they don’t get to say they don’t have fingerprints on things like queerbaiting. You don’t get to be acclaimed and excused for the shit you say you are combating, which is the source of that acclaim. And if your claim is happy ignorance, then you definitely don’t get to blithely equivocate when fans do ask you why the story happened the way it did.

I also just want to keep in mind here that there’s a deductive conclusion to be had about this, given how La*idlaw explicitly stated they endeavored to make Cassandra extremely hot, “really enticing.” That conclusion is:

(1) Either they aren’t/weren’t nearly as attuned to their queer audiences as they generally claim to be, or

(2) They were, and had no intention of developing compassion or empathy passed G*ider talking out of his ass about why Cassandra was developed as straight. Which, ultimately, does coincide with conclusion (1) more than not.

No matter what, the contour to the conclusion is: wow, a taste of nauseating objectification, in the BioWare writer’s room. Who knew!

It’s no wild accusation to make to a writer like him and his colleagues, that they don’t know how to handle sapphic, wlw, and/or queer-related storylines, especially with women. Especially when the answer seems to be, “well, it was decided before I took the lead, and in any case, why question it! You wouldn’t question a gay character’s orientation!”

But that’s just it, you complete and utter turnip. People did question Dorian’s sexuality. People do question Dorian’s sexuality. That fantasy world of equal bearings is as insincere as it is out-of-touch. And why not, when, as you said,

it doesn’t change what you got paid for.

The ethos seems to be crudely reflexive: people’s phobic interpretations and alterations of the canon do not matter, but then again, why would you even question why a character is straight? Why would you question my narrative vision, in all of its beautiful shittery?

It’s all a game of dodge, ya’ll. Dodge, dodge, dodge. With a strong and acidic dose of vanity.

So. In summation, folks: I could care less for your false equivalences. I could care less about my contribution of queer content fucking up your good time in the meta tags. Obviously you aren’t there to actually engage in creative, exploratory thought, so why bother reasoning. There is more to the possibilities of queerbaiting than stringing along a could-be, would-be, should-be queer storyline directly. There’s knowing your audience enough to exploit your good graces with them. There’s benefitting from a charade of liberal progressive clout. There’s the ability to foresee that queer people will cathect to a given character, and not only denying an experience they could have, but denying it so harshly that the character says they can’t love yours because you’re female.

And I am so, so, so sick of these people continually enriching themselves off of the “nobody’s perfect” grace. To me, that grace is the promise of good faith, and the intention to do right by people. When that isn’t there, the grace isn’t going somewhere where it’ll be appreciated, that it will be nourished by. I mean, fucking hell, people, this is rainbow capitalism: don’t you taste it?

That’s that, then. “Cassandra and Queerbaiting Rant,” one year on. An extra dose of salt, just for the haters.

#da meta #cassandra and queerbaiting rant #one year reflection?#yeah #so #queerbaiting #cassandra pentaghast #bioware critical #bioware bullshit #cw: lesbophobia #cw: homophobia #cw: queerphobia #cw: discussion of Dorian's experiences with his family

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flyswhumpcenter · 4 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled.)

[SPOILERS FOR SWORD & SHIELD START HERE].

Oh Hop, my sweet, sweet summer child.

I've used a similar setting in three fics already. Time to get original bitch. Anyway! This story was a test run for a Postwickship fic for me and it's a success: I've had tons of fun. This is supposed to be set post-game but in an AU where Shieldbert and Swordbart or whatever their Eng names are didn't show up to steal old rusty held items idk. I just really wanted to write hurt/comfort for them lol I headcanon the player character and their crew as 16 in SwSh so they're 16-17 here. I wouldn't puncture the lung of a 10-year-old, jeebus. This could be a little incoherent because I wrote it in more than one sitting and while doing some research on the side at times, so I hope this is satisfying to someone out there.

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Anima Curanda (A Soul Who Will Be Cared For)

Summary: Hop tries finding his way back to civilization after a trip field gone wrong, Gloria finds her best friend injured in Postwick and the air surrounding them is filled with unanswered questions, undisclosed pain and concerns. A lot of concern.

Fandom: Pokémon Sword and Shield Ship: Pre-rel Hop/Gloria (Postwickshipping)

Wordcount: 3.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Hahaha, it hurts! It just hurts!

What hurts? Too much to keep track off, frankly. He just aches all over, from head to toe; from the migraine of having barely slept to the pain of having walked and biked for days and days; from the dark thoughts he tries to keep buried from the outside world and the hazards on the ground that he stumbles over when he starts to overthink things.

Despite how many times he’s been curb-stomped to the ground, how many times he’s flown in the air after the shockwave a move can make, and how much all of these hurt afterwards, he’s kept rising to his feet over and over again. He’s lost to his rival ten times already, he’ll never shine as bright as his brother or the friend he spent his childhood with, unbeatable as they are and ordinary as he is. He’s nothing special, nothing shiny, just nothing.

Portraits of Lee decorating the living room and countless discussions between his own family aside, there’s a lot of other things that tell him he’s the inferior product. A lot of other little, tiny things – of details, even – that ache to think about, that pinch his heart to the point of being slightly nauseous.

Everyone on his team has fainted, aside from Dubwool who’s courageously fighting the hail with him. He regrets having ever taken his first partner, his most loyal one, away in some PC box out of the sheer mass of his insecurities, of that constant will to improve despite nothing good ever coming from that. He hangs onto its Ball as firmly as he can, the strength of it making him afraid he’ll make it shatter if he clenches it too strongly.

He’s actually surprised he feels this strong to begin with. After trekking for days, fighting everything he could, trying to find new members to reinforce his team, it’s surprising he can still think of himself as strong enough to do that. If it wasn’t for the pain bolting in his chest, he wouldn’t be clenching that ball as if his life depended on it.

And what a pain it is! It started with the missed Psycho Cut of a wild Gallade, whom Corviknight had narrowly the assault of shortly before getting taken down itself, hitting right into the left side of his chest and most likely at least making some internal damage in there. That was around two days ago, if he isn’t wrong, and it’s shown no sign of hurting less anytime soon.

It bruised rapidly, or so he thinks compared to those he’d often get when he was younger (and also not unlike the ones Lee got during the Eternatus incident, on second thought…). Pressing a hand against it too strongly makes him yelp in pain while his skin keeps worsening in colour around where he got it. He was lucky for it not to have bled on the spot, but that doesn’t make anything much better: it still hurts a ton and he still has trouble breathing because of it. If it’s not getting better after a couple days, when will it do so?

At times, black dots appear all over his vision, for some reason, and he starts swaying and staggering until Dubwool catches him back with its fur. He used to apologize verbally, the first times that’d happen; but he’s found himself having less and less breath to give his excuses with. Sentences became a couple words, words some syllable.

It doesn’t help that he’s constantly lightheaded and easily gets dizzy. If he moves a little too rapidly, his vision goes for a swim and may not come back. If it wasn’t for Dubwool fending off the Sneasels that take interest in them at times, he’d have been a goner for sure. He has the feeling this is all related to his injury, to that toxic-looking bruise that’s festering under his miserable layers, but doesn’t see exactly how. Well, that’s not entirely true: he can easily suppose it’s because that injury makes it harder to breathe, so much harder, because of the pain it fires up in him every time he tries to speak and breathe.

The city is in sight. Wyndon’s lights and tower are in view, and he finally feels some relief, Dubwool seemingly bleating in agreement. However, right as he charges his legs to rush there, he trips over some ice, his damp sole gliding for a split second, losing his balance and falling again. Dubwool doesn’t have the time to react properly and stop him, so he falls right on his chest from all of his height, a sickening thumb resonating with his fall. The air gets propelled out of his lungs in one fell swoop, dizzying him even further.

He has no time to lose, especially not what he’s that close to the city, so he tries getting up on his arms. The pain that has been dully brushing against his ribs is now acting in an even fuller swing, the black dots not leaving his line of sight, almost preventing him from breathing altogether. He could stop to take a taxi, but what if he’s to pass out before it even comes? No, no, he has no time to lose…

His legs have endured a beating of their own before, decorated with scratches and bruises from the rocks he didn’t see coming and the claws of the local wildlife, tired of pushing on themselves to make him keep going. As a result, he has to use Dubwool as a support, failing to rise up once or twice before managing to finally regain a footing and continue his route to Wyndon. He’ll be there soon, he’ll be able to know what’s wrong and to finally give himself actual rest. Arceus, doesn’t that sound amazing?

He suddenly coughs violently, not even having the time to say anything or even put a hand in front of his mouth. He’s left gasping for air, unable to really make oxygen enter his chest anymore, especially once he sees what has just gotten out of his system, spread on the snow like an unremovable stain on an immaculate carpet. This is it: he has to go forward now or he’ll never see the light of day again.

With tremendous efforts, he makes it to Wyndon, out of breath; legs shaking in instability and arms tired of holding a hand against an injury that most likely doesn’t get any better from getting pressed. He’s still coughing, even if it hurts him even more to do so, and he’d just like to laugh it all off. He’d have done that if the pain wouldn’t get even more excruciating from such a gesture alone. The Centre is very much near now, and he can get there if his chest doesn’t give up on him too. Still, there’s another sight that makes him stop for a few seconds, and a shiver goes down his spine.

In the distance is his childhood best friend, his journey companion, his (former?) rival, waving at him vigorously. She’s smiling, grinning even, as he runs towards him. It’s only when she notices the hand clutching the hurtful part of his abdomen that Gloria drops the smile and immediately worries. It’s kind of hard to say for sure when most of his vision is blurry from the tears that are flooding it by the second.

D-dammit, he doesn’t want to worry her of all people!

“Hop, are you alright?” She asks, voice hesitant, in a tone he hasn’t heard in a little while.

“Y-yeah, I… I should be… real soon…!” He’s breathless and speaking hurts even further; yet tries smiling, only for his face to follow his chest.

“You’re sure about that? You look like you’re in pain!”

“It’s nothing…! I pro –”

Before he can pronounce his false oath, he starts coughing again, despite all his best efforts not to. The thing building up in his airways gets out anyway, no matter what he wants, and his vision starts swimming again. He’s afraid he’ll blackout before he can reach the Centre, so he should quickly stop that conversation and…

“Let me see.”

He stares at her for a millisecond, eyes squinting. He was just about to grab a tissue and clean the inside of his palm.

“Hop,” her voice strengthens, reminiscent of the Champion who’s beaten his until then undefeatable brother. “Please, Hop, let me see. It really doesn’t sound right.”

He reluctantly gives her his hand, the black dots dancing around them like will-o-wisps. She doesn’t respond to it, her reaction instead cementing itself in silence. That is, until she finds what words she wants to put on it. It drops in a glacial, no-nonsense tone, raw and undignified:

“…I’m calling for help.”

Before he could interrupt her attempt at doing so, the quick move he tried to pull off to do so makes itself felt and he collapses on his knees, the pain in his chest unbearably intense. It’s like he’s been kicked in the abdomen, and then someone was twisting something inside of it. Breathing is becoming impossible, or at least barely, from how painful it is to inhale and exhale, from how difficult it is to simply focus on that with such a hazy mind. He wants to cry, but that sounds like choking himself even further…

Gloria seems to be over with her call rapidly, as she next kneels down to his level, her warm hands on his cold shoulders, then on his forehead. Her touch is delicate, as if she’s stroking crystal, while he’s busy not strangling himself with whatever’s happening inside of him at the moment. She gives him soft words of reassurance, shelters him with her arms from the rest of the world, tells him he doesn’t have to lie or suffer anymore. He likes that. He wishes his arms could do the same for her, but she simply is so much stronger than he is, and there is nothing he can do about it. Maybe, one day, he’ll be able to pay her out…

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon,” is the last thing he hears before his vision fades to black.

Gloria wishes she could have been waiting with Dubwool by her side, both so she wouldn’t be alone and because it’s her best friend’s closest partner; but, naturally, that’s not possible in a hospital, so she instead fumbles with its Ball.

She tried calling Leon and Sonia earlier to warn them about what had happened, but neither of them responded. If she’s to assume, she’d say Leon is busy with managing the Battle Tower and Sonia is head-deep into her studies, may have had a sleepless night and is now snoring over her desk, left unable to be awaken by her phone (which she most likely put on Plane Mode anyway…). She’ll have to wait for them to pick them back up and call her back, then. Ah, that sort of stuff happens. Plus, they can’t have known.

They really can’t guess what happened.

She can’t quite put back the pieces, at the moment, because of how little she knows about the sequence of events that brought Hop to Wyndon, on a fairly sunny day with cold air, with most of his party fainted, an exhausted Dubwool and, most of all, a couple broken ribs. If Hop can communicate with Dubwool, then she really can’t, even if she’s never wished that much in her life that she could understand bleating. She hadn’t even considered the question until today!

What worries her the most is the blood he was spitting when he was trying to talk to her. Is that a symptom of broken ribs? She can’t remember having ever broken such a bone in her life, or known someone who did. Truth be otold, there may have been that one time where that could have happened, but she never got to know why. A few years ago, the neighbours suddenly went to Wyndon for a week, taking Hop with them, and Mum just kept saying that things would be back to normal soon. She didn’t lie, but the sketchiness of it all makes her suspicious… It doesn’t help that, that year, the Gym Challenge finals got postponed.

Still, there’s something inside of her that just knows something’s gone terribly wrong. She can’t exactly pinpoint how, or why, or if it’s even possible that such a feeling could be right. All she knows is that she’s having an awful impression of it all and that her heart is beating in overdrive. Winding out is not exactly the easiest thing to do when she’s stuck in a waiting room, having to choose between pacing indefinitely or sit on a chair and play around with her fingers or her phone.

She’s tempted to go outside to wait for the news to be given to her, absolutely; but she’s afraid that, if she does so, the doctors will have nobody to give it to if she’s still outside by then. That’d be underestimating how much she wants to see him, to know what exactly happened and how she, as a Champion and as a friend worthy of such name, can fix things. That’s part of her missions as Leon’s successor, right?

Set on staying here until someone gets out of the operation room, the bright red light of the “In Use” sign sitting over the doorframe whose direction she regularly glances at still shining over the daylight pouring through the windows, Gloria settles on studying her surroundings yet again. The walls are still white and pristine, with barely any spot or stain to be noticed. The floor is covered by a layer of grey linoleum, as boring to comment on as it’s functional. If she can guess such a room is regularly cleaned, she can also tell there’s been a couple stretchers that have wheeled through it to the operation room today already. The lines and stains left by these, unlike the walls, are still visible.

The room is empty and, aside from her unnerved breathing and impatient footsteps, silent. The soundproof walls make it so she can’t hear a thing, even if she puts her ear against the wall, morbidly curious, trying to keep herself from dipping into some seriously messed-up thoughts that have been trying to assault her mind ever since Hop started showing signs he wasn’t as fine as he’d have liked her to believe.

In a way, it’s funny that he’s doing exactly the same thing as his brother. They both said “I’m fine, don’t worry” at times where they knew they weren’t. Still, she doesn’t think that Hop did that on purpose, now that he’s tried freeing himself from Leon’s shadow. It’s more of a thing that she sees herself doing… As hypocritical as that may be, and as much as she dislikes knowing he purposefully lied to her thinking it’d be the right thing to do for her sake, she can understand it. She can understand it and that has to be why she hates it so much…

Gloria’s back hits the wall as she glides down to her feet, crouching with her forearms on her knees. Time’s too long and she’s getting nauseous from the anxiety that keeps piling in her throat and chest, heart throbbing. Trying not to cry is already a behemoth task in itself, so she focuses on that, only for her thoughts to change back to what could be happening and questions she can’t have an answer to.

She snaps back to reality when the red light turns off and the door finally opens, revealing a gurney getting wheeled to the other side of the room and a surgeon, still wearing his stained scrubs, walking up to her. She stands back up, rising herself on stiff and yet trembling legs, and lies back against the wall, gulping. Her mind rings and burns with a thousand questions; but her voice can’t catch up, not even a whisper exiting her mouth. The man gives her a tired, yet soft smile back:

“Your friend will be fine. Absolutely is the brother of the former Champion, his fighting spirit showed in the OR…”

She has to retain herself from hugging the man right in front of her and give him a waterfall of thanks. Instead, she remembers for a split second she’s the current Champion, shakes her head and keeps the waterworks from unfolding for a little while longer:

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

There is a silent horror seeping in her veins from being here. Everything about the room is eerie: the slow, somewhat regular beeps of a monitor; the oxygen mask sitting there, accompanying an otherwise soothing breath; the abnormal serenity of the air around her, the whiteness of a room that reminds her of the snow and the smell of antibiotics.

She remembers waiting in a lobby with Hop decorated like that in Hammerlocke, his hand clutching hers while he tried not to bit his thumb or cry in stress, the both of them tired and battered yet the lucky party of the fight against Eternatus. She remembers the horrified yet relieved look on his face as they discovered in what state his brother was. She remembers the words that got out of his mouth, how he found it so creepy to have Lee lying there, almost lifeless.

Surely there is some irony to be found about Hop now playing that role.

It hurts to be there, to see the time standing still yet again, as she waits for him to wake up. A part of her does like him to be resting after the nightmare he must have endured to end up like that. With the injuries he’s sustained, it’s only normal he doesn’t wake up immediately. She’s trying to combine that with the effect of sleeping gas, but as a girl who’s never had a surgery, it’s hard for her to estimate such a thing. She’s got to wait and…

“Gl…”

She’s about to drift off when she realizes Hop’s head is now turned towards her, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looks beyond tired, exhausted by the experience and the trauma of the surgery, pale all around, but he’s still here, safe. The light press she feels on her hands makes her realize she’s been holding his all along. That’d be embarrassing if she wasn’t trying to get her priorities straight.

“Hop, you’re awake!” That’s beyond obvious, what’s the point of saying aloud like that? Maybe it’s just from the sheer happiness of this being a fact…

“T-thanks…”

His voice is weak, low and raspy, barely more hearable than a whisper; quite the opposite of the roaring tone he’d usually speak in. Still, that’s his voice, that’s him being able to breathe yet again, and it’s more than enough for now. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t wish deeply for his recovery to happen soon; that’s just settling down for a sustainable goal for now. Better not rush things in, for she has a feeling that may have happened to her good old friend over here…

“How are you?” She asks, keeping her own voice down.

“Huh… Sore…?”

“Better than gone, I suppose.”

“…Yeah…”

Hop inhales deeply, wincing slightly when he does. A slow hand strokes the left side of his chest, trying to calm something down.

“A-again… Thanks for… y’know… saving me…”

“That was nothing. We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”

“Ha… Yeah…”

The mood sinks with his smile, dragging her heart with it.

“Sorry for… that…”

Gloria doesn’t reply immediately, letting a silence settle itself, uncomfortable and thick.

“You’re having problems breathing, right?”

He nods.

“No wonder you do, with what you got for yourself… How did you even go for that long with these injuries?”

“I wanted to… make sure my… team would be safe.”

“The good news is that they’re safe, now. Dubwool seemed really worried about you when I found you two!”

“He’s such a great ’on, right…?”

“He sure is.” She clears her throat. “Anyway. I meant to ask you to be easier on yourself from now on. It was really heart-breaking to see you like that struggling to even breathe.”

“Sorry for being such a klutz… Got hit by a Gallade… Slipped on some ice…”

“…and pierced your lung.”

He freezes.

“So, as I said: don’t do that again, okay? You deserve a lot more than dragging yourself like that, Hop.”

He looks aside.

“You… think?”

“Of course I do! What am I to you, a liar?”

He almost laughs until his pain catches back to him, causing the fit to immediately stops in its tracks.

“’t wasn’t what I meant…!”

“I guessed so.”

It’s to Gloria’s turn to look aside and feel something burn inside of her, scratching her chin with her finger.

“I meant to say, you’re amazing, Hop. I don’t want to see you go like you almost did. What’s a Champion without her rival?”

“Huh…”

“That’s right, not the same person! You matter very much to so many people! So, please, can you take care of yourself?”

Hop still doesn’t reply. He looks like he’s lost his words somewhere along the way.

“Not for anyone either. For yourself. I… I hope you’ll one day understand how important you are.”

She can understand she’s being confusing and emotional. Trying to pull strings together is harder than usual.

“I’ll try that, then…”

“Good.”

The two of them settle in a comfortable silence. She’ll have to ask him when he’s better what happened to him in case such a disaster is to happen again (which she really hopes it doesn’t). For now, he’ll recover, and she’ll be by his side as he does so. Too bad for her Battle Tower scores and public interventions, some things just matter more than clout and fighting experience.

You know, once she’s sure they’ll be safe and sound, she can tell what’s truly on her mind and heart. It seems like he still doesn’t have a clue as to what’s hiding under the rocks…

“Hop!!”

Busting through the door, not even waiting for a yes or a no, Leon enters the room his baby brother is stuck in. Soon, however, his intense concern turns into a sort of awkwardness and utter surprise when he realizes he’s facing his brother and his best friend sleeping against next each other, their hands fiddled together.

Before he can mellow out and smile at the sudden sight of safety and softness, Sonia’s voice comes from behind his shoulder.

“Let them sleep instead of screaming like that, you big idiot.”

He has to agree with her, so his shoulders untenses as he lets her enter and closes the door behind them.

#pokemon swsh #postwickshipping #hop pokemon #gloria pokemon #hop's dubwool #hurt comfort #emotional hurt comfort #Angst with a happy ending #injury #feels #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #broken bones

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wordfordph · 4 years

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A CUP OF POSITIVITY ☕🤗

By: Klaeford Crispin

Few bumps on the road seems like a troubled journey for us. Every bitter taste of rejection and mistakes along the way led us to overthink about how life is so unfair later on being drown into dark mixture of emotions and eventually spilling through our sanity. As I taste sundry of experiences, it reminisces about how guts and dilemmas had scattered in the icy air and will not soon disappear until I convince myself to do so. Besides, slurping into flavor of decisions, fear always prevail as a main reason that causes me to hold back. There will always be voices of regrets that will drag myself down on flames, plus my natural self, lacking of confidence, losing every possibilities that life may offer. But as I mature, I began to develop maturing sense of perspective that looks into the very detail of a certain situation. I began soaring greater heights, tasting new flavors with the mindset of goals being easily achievable if you endure. In the early years, I am like an empty cup, an empty memoir awaits to be written but now, I open the pages of my book taking away negativity and filling up additional positivity. That is the focal point of myself right now which I am grateful of, enjoying this journey with no fears, being able to fight and accept how things work out the way it’s meant to be. My present life that is portrayed in a cup of positivity hoping for daily strength despite adversity.

“Take a sip of a cup of Empathy” - the social media nowadays being a platform of toxicity and the spread of misleading information often sends a negative indication of the usage of it. My Digital self is a manifestation of what I wanted to promulgate in the midst of opposing forces and contradicting discourses attacking each other online. One of my greatest vision to this self is to be able to spread positivity more than the heavy feeling every time I open my Facebook account. The reality is, I wanted to involve myself on issues that would bring me to agony, would make me feel insecure and would waste my time reading dramas of others. But why do I chose to exist with this type of self despite its harm? Because it does not hinder the possibility that the digital self that solely for the use of technology could also a chance to create a better world for communication and a venue to appreciate sharing of feelings and ideas that would bring positivity to our digital world. The appreciation of art and positive writings is one way we could achieve a positive digital self and trough sipping a cup of Empathy, we collectively sweep off wide-spreading negativity.

“Let’s take a gulp of kindness” – To an aspirant like me, I made a hasty generalization that I will not have the practice and self-confidence to bring a fight with people and the world. I am wrong when I said that I’m not confident and then again I was wrong that I consider it as a battle, because for goodness sake studying is not about competing but developing your given skills and collecting memorable moments with the best people in the world, with the people whom I consider foes ironically took me to experience what they called the magic of college life. Again it is not a battle. My political self is not a battle. I was wrong that school was a battlefield for gladiators, as well as the society that should not have standards, it must not be a question of whose rich or who’s beautiful but emphasizing on the attributes of pure heart and kindness. Together let’s take a gulp of kindness.

“Let’s take a shot of pride” - My early years of discovering my true identity is like living in the underground, in the darkness living with fears in an isolated cave afraid to have a glimpse of the light. Being out and proud is not yet the trend before. Telling the world of who you are should be slightly discreet and must be appropriate to the oh-so conservative but sin shrieked society we have. The world is not yet ready for that change, to willingly accept the evolution that had gone in the past few years. To out yourself then and to show your true color was a difficult move but, a mischievous thing for some, but if that will cause your happiness and so be it. Declaring what you are feeling inside will send you an escape to the forest of wilderness full of wild lie in mimicking. My decision is a good one, since then I’ve explore the world of freedom; It was totally different and abstracted to the judgment of the society, it opened me to lots of opportunities that satisfy my existence. These opportunities that send me through many doors that invite me to show the hidden me just waiting to be unleash. Maybe If I’m still not out now, I am not yet experiencing to compete in different field. Indeed, a pride to celebrate!

“Let’s take a sip of Happiness” - Now that I’ve ended the long run of finding happiness, I’d fully decided to halt because I already have it in my hand, tightly clenching it. Found on people that cheering on me to have a wonderful view of life, to enjoy walking on the safe side, to always sip a cup of positivity no matter what happen. Now that I’ve survived one of the thorny quests of foraging happiness, I will be more willing to enter many ways, ways that could lead me to the primary goal of existence of every selves - the unending happiness.

#positivity #existence #self #happiness #empathy #pride #kindness

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the-bounce-back · 4 years

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26 LIFE LESSONS LEARNT IN 26 YEARS

So… ya girl turned 26 back in May. I had originally planned to post this the day after my birthday for maximum dramatics and symbolism, but here we are.

Yes, I am painfully aware that my birthday was over 4 months ago now, and yes, I have already been dragged to the moon and back by both myself and my friends for not finishing the post on time (it’s been chilling in my drafts since, like, late April)… so face your front and mind your business.

All jokes aside, these past months have been insanely chaotic for us all on both a personal level and global scale. Everyone and everything seems to have gone mad. A whole pandemic… having to literally fight for equal rights and justice in 2020... having to watch world leaders single-handedly destroy the countries that they themselves campaigned to govern... and on top of that, being forced to stay indoors and not being able to do whatever you want?! Sh*t, I’m even surprised that myself or anyone I know hasn’t been sectioned yet. This whole year needs to be put in rice, immediately.

I can’t lie, watching everything unfold these past few months - while struggling to come up with ways to entertain myself because of the constant negative news and energy drifting round and stifling my creativity - has had a massive toll on my mental health. Although my coping skills have become a lot better over the years, how in the hell was I (or any of us) meant to prepare for a year of constant chaos, death and revolt? No one could’ve seen it coming, and that’s why these circumstances have made me feel like my mental health has been dropkicked in the throat. We’re not built to be cooped up at home for so long, and we’re definitely not built to have to consume heartbreaking and traumatising media on a daily basis. No wonder so many people have been feeling like they’ve lost the plot.

On top of that, I’ve also been dealing with a lot of other things - because when it rains, it pours. Not being able to distract myself by doing fun stuff because of Corona has somehow given my subconscious the confidence to go absolutely apesh*t. This, in the sense that a lot of past situations I’ve forced myself to suppress over the years to be able to just function like a normal(ish) human being have managed to claw their way to the surface and demand my attention like a bunch of spoilt and crying toddlers. To put it in the least dramatic way possible, these feelings and memories have been killing my ~*vibe*~... like, a lot. Ya girl’s been going through it. It’s been particularly hard because I promised myself at the beginning of the year to work harder on not obsessing so much over past situations that I have no control over, but due to the circumstances I’ve forced myself to give myself a break and take each thought as it comes.

Yes, this is all very depressing - but despite everything, there have also been a lot of silver linings of this lockdown. Besides day drinking, chick flick marathons and chatting sh*t on facetime 24/7, having all this time to focus on my mental and spiritual health has definitely taught me a lot about myself. I genuinely feel positive and like this time of my life is needed to be able to grow and evolve when I’m not in that negative state of mind. These experiences coming back to the surface and demanding to be felt and dealt with may be hella exhausting, but I’ve definitely done this enough now to know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and that one day I’ll be able to fully make sense of it and fully heal. And when I finally have gotten to that stage, I will definitely write a few posts about it - because no one should feel like they have to deal with this level of headf*ckery alone.

Anyways, there you have it - another long-ass excuse for my lack of productivity. But hey, at least it’s valid.

Enough with all the dark sh*t - we have more than enough time to revisit that and other fun stuff in another post, don’t worry! Instead, let’s pretend that it’s still the day after my birthday, that I am editing this with a hangover while stuffing my face with leftover cake, that I am indeed capable of keeping personal deadlines and that I haven’t been AWOL for over a quarter of a year. Keep on reading for 26 big and small life lessons I’ve learnt along the way in this dunya, in no particular order. It’s going to be a very long one (tip: scroll and find the ones that resonate the most with you), so get cozy, put the kettle on and get some snacks or whatever.

1. You are still young - do not compare your journey to other’s.

Okay, so I’m definitely projecting with this one. When I turned 25 last year I had a bit (a lot) of a minor (major) existential crisis because I was very far from where I had always expected to be at 25 years old. Career-wise, fitness-wise, finance-wise and relationship-wise I just felt like a massive failure, and like from that moment on life would just go downhill. I made the mistake of comparing myself to my agemates and people younger than me, and seeing other people’s success when my own life was a mess didn’t exactly make it better.

For this year - despite me now being on the wRoNg side of 25 - I feel very calm and even happy about getting older, simply because I realised that my time will come and that everyone's journey is different. For this reason, comparing your progress to other’s doesn’t even make sense and just puts a load of unnecessary pressure on yourself. Be patient - all the work you’re putting in now will pay off soon.

2. Take time to reconnect with your ~*inner child*~.

I know, I know - it all sounds awfully hippy-dippy, but hear me out. In short, your inner child refers to the subpersonality that still feels, thinks and reacts as you did when you were younger, and reconnecting with that childlike aspect of yourself can be beneficial to your mental wellbeing and psyche for many different reasons.

The main reasons I have focused on reconnecting with my inner child in the past couple of years have been for a) learning how to tap into that creative, free and spontaneous nature I had as a kid before life got in the way; b) to heal wounds that occurred in my childhood that are still holding me back, and c) to reparent my inner child by unlearning toxic mindsets and behaviours that have had a negative impact on my life.

In terms of creativity, I remembered how much I used to love drawing and writing as a child, and returning to these passions as an adult has had such a massively positive impact on my mental health in ways that I can’t even begin to describe. Doing activities you used to love as a kid should really be considered acts of self-care, because the childlike joy and excitement that comes from it? Absolutely bladdy priceless.

Then there’s the dark and mildly traumatising side of reconnecting with your inner child. Revisiting and analysing what can be very emotionally painful memories is never going to be a delightful task - but trust me when I say that you have to push through it, regardless of how long it takes. There aren’t any shortcuts or detours involved when trying to heal a wounded inner child, so make sure that you are patient with yourself and take the time you need to heal.

All in all - regardless of if you’re trying to get your creativity flowing, trying to enjoy life more in general or trying to unpack almost a couple decades worth of trauma (my personal favourite!), setting aside some time to really reflect and remember your thoughts and feelings from way back then really does help make sense of your thoughts and feelings as an adult. I’ll even bet money that every single insecurity and doubt you may have about yourself can be traced back to something that happened during your childhood - which is why reconnecting with yourself at that age is imperative if you want to truly heal.

3. Be confident about your creative projects.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learnt in life so far is definitely understanding the fine line between confidence and arrogance. I can only really speak for myself - although I know that a lot of women can relate - but I was raised to be humble about a lot of my accomplishments. It got to the point where even the slightest self-acknowledgement of my talents made me feel like I was being arrogant, attention seeking and braggy, so for a long time I kept a lot of W’s and my pride in my work to myself. However, this is one of the aforementioned toxic mindsets that I’m currently working on unlearning - because if I don’t hype up myself and my talents, who will?

After speaking to friends about similar topics I get the impression that this reluctance to hype up our own creativity goes - in many cases - way back to a time during which we might not have had our creativity appreciated and validated as children. For me, this makes a lot of sense because I was extremely creative and had a very vivid imagination as a child, but I think somewhere along the way it got stifled by the pressure of making certain family members (who thought anything remotely right-brain stimulating was a waste of time) proud.

Anyways, it doesn’t matter anymore. Now that I’ve realised that my creative vision is a blessing, and that being confident in the quality of my work has nothing to do with being arrogant, you best believe that I will self-validate every single project I complete, and I hope you will do the same.

4. Love and take care of your body.

I mean this from both a body-image and health point of view. I spent way too many years of my life hating my body and hating looking different to literally everyone around me, and I’d be lying if I said that realising how damaging this self-hatred was doesn’t get me in my feelings from time to time. However, I have been able to get out of this mindset - for the most part - and can now appreciate that my body is beautiful, and that the perfect body I was always striving towards doesn’t even exist.

With that being said, it is important to remember that loving your body goes beyond self-acceptance... It also entails taking care of it through exercise and healthy eating.

I know, it sucks. I don’t make the rules.

I’ve definitely been struggling with being healthy during my 20s - partially due to my sweet tooth and partially due to comfort eating and other unhealthy coping methods when my mental health was at its worst. As expected, my initial reaction to the weight gain was piling even more self-hate and pressure onto myself, when I really should have been kinder and more understanding to myself during that time. I should have used exercise and healthy eating as a coping mechanism to get better, instead of forcing myself to lose weight in a harmful manner due to feelings of disgust for my body.

CoUlD’Ve, WoUlD’Ve, ShOuLd’Ve… Sigh. Hindsight really is 20/20. What’s important is that it’s never too late to start the self-love journey, and that your body is beautiful regardless of the form it currently happens to be in.

5. Know how to communicate effectively.

That is, with people who are genuinely worth your time and energy. No matter how good of a person you are, there will always be people that seem to be entirely committed to misunderstanding you, twisting your words and trying to make you out to be a bad person. Hell, you might even be that person in someone else’s life... whether you realise it or not (I reckon I probably am). Trying to communicate with someone that has no desire or intention of getting to a level of understanding with you is literally the most frustrating and draining task ever - which is why I no longer do it if I don’t have to. There’s literally no point, and I’m just exerting energy over someone that is probably enjoying the conflict - so why bother?

With that being said, learning how to respectfully disagree, give constructive criticism, set boundaries, resolve conflict, listen to and g-check the people that you do genuinely want in your life becomes more and more important with age. I’m definitely guilty of leaving things unsaid or unresolved in the past - due to fear of offending/losing friends that meant a lot to me at the time - but we’re aDuLtS now, guys. If we can’t talk without constantly having to sugarcoat things, are we even really friends?

The answer is definitely a resounding ‘no’ from me, and since adopting this mindset - along with knowing when to distance myself from people that are literal energy vampires - my life has been a lot more peaceful. 11/10, would recommend.

6. Eliminate fear of failure.

Obviously, no one wants to fail at anything. But I’ve genuinely found that my biggest L’s in life have been the most character building and taught me the biggest life lessons. Although it might be hard to see how the situation is making you evolve when you’re neck deep in the sh*t, once you get into the mindset that failing is a learning opportunity, you’ll see that your ego won’t be as wounded when things don’t work out the way you wanted them to.

Again, I can only speak for myself, but I feel like many of us with immense fears of failing at something were probably raised in environments in which failure was not an option and often followed by some kind of negative reaction (e.g. undermining of intelligence, disappointment, verbal abuse etc). I think that constantly associating failure with this kind of shame has made us terrified of making perfectly human mistakes. Mistakes that we wouldn’t pay any mind to if someone else were making, but that we beat ourselves up over - just because it’s us.

Or maybe that’s just me. I don’t know, man. Regardless, teaching myself that failure and making mistakes is okay and part of the process has made me feel a lot more secure in myself and my capabilities - simply because I now know that there aren’t any mistakes that are unfixable and it’s never that deep. At the end of the day, as long as I know in my soul that I’ve done my best, there’s really no need for negative self-talk.

7. Pick your battles.

I.e. don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s so wild to me that a couple short years ago I would let every minor inconvenience, disagreement and disappointment caused by others really get to me and ruin my day. Nowadays I have gotten so good at simply removing myself from situations and people that just bring negativity into my life, because honestly? The stress isn’t worth it. Life is so much more peaceful when you refuse to give energy to negativity and toxic/inconsistent people, and once I got past the feelings of guilt for not being so available to everyone it really became one of the best choices I ever made.

8. Be kind.

This one is a cliche and a no-brainer, but still very imperative. Remembering that literally everyone has their own sh*t going on - regardless of if they speak on it or not - is extremely important, especially in terms of us interacting with each other. Being kind, sensitive and respectful to others literally costs nothing, and positive energy has a tendency to be contagious.

Obviously (for me at least), this becomes a slightly different story when the person involved constantly allows whatever they are going through to affect the way they interact with you. Things like lashing out, self-isolation and self-destructive behaviours are all tell-tale signs that the issue isn’t with you and that you shouldn’t take it personally, but of course everyone has limits to how much they can empathise with these kind of behaviours. As someone that has been on both the receiving and giving end of this kind of behaviour, I’ve found that the best approach for me is to still be kind, but to love and support them from afar - simply because I know that I have a tendency to take things to heart when I’m not even the issue. The bottom line is to try your best to be kind and understanding, but also to know when to distance yourself from toxic behaviours that can end up taking a toll on you.

9. Process your feelings.

I definitely get it. Sometimes life throws sh*t at us that is a lot easier to just push to the back of our minds so we can stay focused on what we have going on at the time. But believe me when I say that whatever feelings you squash, ignore and push past now will come back to haunt you in the future.

Okay, so this sounds very dramatic and ominous. Your feelings aren’t going to take physical form and beat you up… however, it might feel like this is what is happening. Obviously this differs from person to person, but I’ve found that when I don’t allow myself time to process my feelings as soon as possible after they’ve been triggered, there is a risk of me being re-triggered and snapping again at a later stage - albeit at something wildly unrelated and minor. In other words, small small issues that pile up on top of negative feelings end up becoming the straw that breaks the camel’s back, the drop that spilled the glass, and whatever other corny and related sayings you can think of.

What I’m trying to say is that carrying around the weight of unresolved negative feelings takes a toll on you, no matter how resilient and ~*zen*~ you are. I have no doubt in my mind that carrying past negative feelings, trauma and pain for days, weeks, months and even years has detrimental effects on both your mental and physical health. There is a lot of research to explain this further, and I have also seen these effects on family members, friends and myself when times have been tougher than usual.

With that being said, it might sound like you’re screwed if you’ve gotten to this age and not learnt how to fully feel your feelings. I’ve been feeling that way for about five years now, I reckon. However, it’s never too late to strive for good mental health and to deal with unresolved feelings/trauma - once you get past the fear of being triggered by the bad memories, you soon realise that that’s all they are; they can’t hurt you if you don’t let them.

10. Be ‘selfish’.

So, we’re at that age now where - traditionally speaking - we’re sUpPoSeD to be looking to settle down. Get married, have kids, get a mortgage, be on a set career path… all of that adult stuff that always used to seem so far away, but is now heavily breathing down our necks and killing our vibes. It’s upsetting me and my homegirls, to be honest.

All jokes aside, there is nothing wrong with wanting these things for yourself at this age. However, my point is that millennials/Gen Z (especially women) are put under insane amounts of pressure in their twenties to have all their sh*t together - either by family or just society in general. Meanwhile, many of us are so riddled with anxiety, insecurities, unresolved trauma and lacking a sense of self due to constantly trying to please others and to not be a disappointment to the older generation that we don’t even know which way is up anymore. This is where selfishness comes in.

No, being selfish doesn’t mean to be an inconsiderate d*ck to everyone around you in this context - sorry to disappoint. I mean that it’s important that we take the time to slow down, not be so hard on ourselves and to focus on finding our own path, purpose, dream career etc on our own terms - not to please someone else. Now is the time to unpack your traumas, ~*find yourself*~, and unlearn any destructive mindsets and behaviours you’ve picked up during your childhood and teenage years. Now is the time to learn how to love and accept yourself fully. The way I see it, if you don’t make time for this, a happy, lifelong marriage and strong, healthy relationships with children you bring into the world (if that’s what you want) are a myth - simply because healthy relationships require inner peace. Even if you don’t see yourself going down the ‘traditional life plan’ route, this is still extremely important.

Times are changing; there is nothing wrong with doing certain things later in life if you’re not emotionally, mentally, physically or financially ready to deal with it… no matter what your parents/judgemental aunties/condescending uncles might try to tell you.

11. Take people at face value - not for their potential.

If I got a pound for every single time I’ve told myself this over the years, blatantly ignored it and then ended up getting hurt, I would’ve spent this entire lockdown at an all-inclusive luxury resort on a beach somewhere hot, instead of struggling in a germ-infested London. Honestly. I try not to get mad at myself for this, but it’s very hard not to because it ends up being a cycle that infinitely repeats itself in all my relationships (platonic, non-platonic and family) - leaving me feeling like Boo Boo the Fool for not listening to my intuition.

In my defense, I get myself into these situations because despite coming across as a sarcastic and heartless piece of sh*t sometimes, I genuinely do try to see the best in people and give them a chance to prove themselves as a good and positive influence in my life. This in itself isn’t the problem. The problem is that once I see even a molecule of potential in someone, I very easily latch on to that potential and become Stevie Wonder to the million red flags that pop up over time… and I don’t even realise how disrespected I’ve been until further down the line or long after the situation is over. I reckon that this insistence on riding for people that end up doing me dirty stems from knowing what it feels like to be given up on, or dismissed before even getting to prove myself. It’s a really, really sh*tty feeling, and I think I’m just wired to not want anyone to feel that way because of me.

In other words, my niceness and understanding/accommodating/empathetic qualities might be some of the best things about me - but they really invite sh*tty people to take advantage of me.

The bottom line is that despite wanting to push people to be their best selves, there really isn’t much you can do unless they want your help. Unfortunately, a lot of people would rather fake a desire to improve themselves instead of just saying that they don’t want help - simply because they enjoy the attention and the energy that they end up leaching from you while you’re worrying about them and their (non-existent) ambitions.It’s literally only recently that I’ve kind of figured out how to combat this, and now I see right through these type of people, and can cut them off with ease. Again - it’s all about protecting your energy, and making sure you only give it to people that are genuinely trying to improve and elevate themselves. You are not a charity - stop allowing useless somebodies to deplete your life force just because their own is clearly not enough to keep them motivated.

12. Be self-aware in a healthy and constructive way.

As you’ve probably gathered from reading this, I am insanely self-aware. I honestly don’t think there is a single negative thing someone could say about me or my character that I am not already trying to work on, or at the very least am aware of. Of course, being so in tune with myself for most of my life used to make me overanalyse everything I said and did - sometimes years after it happened - and I’d be so harsh, mean and critical towards myself for things that weren’t even that deep when I look back on them.

I’m not going to lie, I don’t think there’s a ‘cure’ for overanalysing and overthinking everything. Once you’re aware, it’s very hard to just stop - believe me, I’ve tried. But what I’ve tried my best to do instead is to flip my overthinking into something positive. By this, I mean that when I’m up at 4am and start to deep my whole life and everything I should’ve done differently, I try to focus on what I’ve learnt and how much I’ve grown from the situation, and how much of a better person going through that situation has made me. This is definitely something I’m still working on, since negative thought patterns that have been imposed on you from a young age are very hard to break. But what’s important is that I try, and it has definitely helped me be kinder to myself.

13. Don’t let feelings distract you from your goals.

More projection for ya headtops. Tantalising humans really just pop up out of nowhere when you least expect it sometimes, and when the connection is there it can become dangerously easy to get carried away and lose focus on your own goals. I’ve been very vocal about my opinion about how healthy relationships are meant to elevate and inspire you as opposed to stressing you out and holding you back, so this isn’t exactly anything new to those who have read my blog for a while.

With that being said… I get it. Meeting someone new is hella exciting - of course you want to make an effort and see how things go. It’s easy for me to come on here and say that you should make sure that you don’t go catching feelings for someone that wouldn’t want you to continue shining and flourishing in your lane while with them, but we all know that a) we can’t help who we fall for, and b) me saying so would make me the hypocrite of the millennium. I’m not sure how or why I manage to attract (and get attracted to) people that I later on down the line realise do more harm to my goals than good… but at least I’ve learnt a lot from those situations, and I’m a lot more picky about who I deem deserving of my time now.

14. Always make time for #self-care.

There’s not much to explain here besides reminding you that the world and everyone in it is mad, so taking time to yourself and doing something you know will make you feel better during a hard time (or even a simple time, let’s be real) is crucial in this life.

Get the takeaway. Buy the shoes. Do a cheeky face mask. Have your 3rd bubble bath of the week.

Life really is too short and too crazy to deny yourself the little pleasures, so do it and do it without any feelings of guilt. If you’re anything like me, I’m confident you’ll think of a reason for why you deserve it - no matter how ridiculous it may be.

15. Get comfortable with being alone with your thoughts.

Okay, so I feel like I’ve discussed this topic to death, so I won’t delve too deep into it here. Instead, I’ll just reiterate that learning how to just sit alone with your thoughts and feelings from time to time - especially at this age - is imperative for your mental health.

As important as it is to have genuine and supportive friends that you can open up to about your mental, it’s important to remember that there are always abstract thoughts and feelings lurking beneath the surface, that you couldn’t even put into words even if you tried. Regardless of if it’s unresolved feelings, suppressed traumas or an uneasy gut feeling/your intuition, some things just can’t be explained until you’ve been able to figure out where these thoughts are stemming from - and I firmly believe that this “detective work” needs to be done alone to be able to get to the root cause of the thought/feeling.

It goes without saying that delving deep into yourself to try to figure out what these thoughts/feelings mean can be a very intimidating and triggering task - so I fully understand why a lot of people struggle with facing this alone. To clarify, I am not saying that you shouldn’t turn to friends for support if you need it - I am saying that as great as your friends may be, they can’t read your mind and will never be able to do so. Only you can know for sure exactly what you’re thinking and feeling, and taking time alone to allow yourself to become in tune with your mind and understand yourself on a deeper level is the first step towards being able to put your feelings into words - and to be able to communicate them to others.

16. Don’t let fear of judgement stop you from doing whatever the hell you want.

This has been a major one for me the past couple of years. As I’m sure you know, regardless of what you do, say, wear or look, there will always be people - sometimes even complete strangers - who will have something snide to say in an attempt to discourage you from trying to do your thing. I’ve mentioned in previous posts how many hairstyle, outfit, blog and creative ideas that I’ve scrapped because of fear of being judged, and I try not to get annoyed with myself for caring so much - because it’s not my fault. I’m sure many of you will relate to being raised in an environment in which you were almost forced to conform to whatever was seen as a rEsPeCtAbLe lifestyle. If you didn’t, you’d be deemed a disruption to the status quo by others… which we were conditioned to believe was a terrible crime. Shock horror.

I’m here to tell you to not give a f*ck about their opinion - because who in the blue hell are they?

After being very concerned about what others think of me for most of my life, finally realising that judgement from others usually stems from their own insecurities, bitterness, jealousy or an otherwise tragic and unfulfilled existence came as a massive breath of fresh air. I even feel sorry for people that feel the need to insert their sh*tty little opinions into things I do, because I don’t even think they realise that it’s falling on deaf ears and blind eyes now. I’ve literally become Helen Keller to the nonsense now, because I don’t have time. And they’re wasting their energy. Poor things. I hope they get some rest soon.

With that being said, it does take time to get to a point of not being phased by judgement. A lot of time - for me, I’d say it’s been a couple of years. I still have a long way to go in regards to not being phased by judgement coming from people whose opinions I still care about too much (i.e. family members and other people I look up to), but the key for me was definitely baby steps.

17. Learn how to forgive.

As appealing as holding on to everlasting hatred towards someone that did you dirty sounds, trust me when I say that the best thing you can do for yourself in this kind of situation is to forgive them - or at the very least try. Carrying anger, hate and resentment in your heart is extremely emotionally draining, and let’s face it… the person in question is most likely sleeping soundly at night, at peace, snoring, drooling and having happy dreams about living rent-free in your head after all this time.

The thing about forgiveness, I’ve learnt, is that it doesn’t have to mean that suddenly everything is okay again, or that what they did somehow became erased overnight. Absolutely not. Instead, forgiveness has become a tool to give myself closure over a situation, letting myself accept that what happened happened and to reclaim my sanity after being angry about it for a long time. It’s for me and my mental health - not for the person that hurt me.

Additionally, it is important to remember that forgiving someone doesn’t necessarily have to mean that you are now obliged to continue being nice and cordial with the person. If you’re on that level of maturity, honestly… you deserve all the accolades, because I don’t think I could ever do it. For me, most of the time the person in question won’t even know that they’ve been forgiven - and I like it that way. I just wish them the best from afar and keep it pushing once I’ve healed from the situation. Regardless of the choices you make in relation to your own situations, just make sure that you’re doing it for yourself and not out of consideration for the other person.

18. Understand that your ~*purpose(s)*~ may take time to become clear.

Bare in mind, this is coming from someone that still has no idea what the f*ck she wants to do with her life. Honestly, every year around my birthday I try to figure out why I’m even on this planet - and every year I think I have the answer before life comes and humbles me again.

While I’m not particularly interested in getting into existential questions regarding if life even has a purpose, I will say this - just keep doing your thing. Stay in tune with your emotional, spiritual and mental health so you can determine whether or not you feel you’re on the correct path for you. If you’re anything like me, you will feel in your heart when you’re not where you’re meant to be, regardless of if it’s a job, a new activity you’re trying out or even a relationship. If your gut feeling is telling you that something isn’t for you - don’t ignore it. Eventually you should get a fair gist of where you should be going and what you should be doing - even if the actual purpose in itself doesn’t become apparent until much later.

Or at least, this is what my theory is. As I said, I have no clue. But this is what I’m doing and it’s definitely been working.

19. Don’t feel forced to have a detailed life plan.

Don’t get me wrong here - having goals, plans and aspirations is extremely important. However, having your whole life planned to the minute just isn’t realistic. I have written about how I used to be extremely adamant on being in control of every single situation, and would have a minor (major) breakdown whenever plans changed in a way that I couldn’t affect.

Having a nervy b everytime something doesn’t work out in your favour is obviously a very counterproductive (and hella childish) coping mechanism - if you can even call it that. Nowadays, I just try to stay as open minded and flexible as possible whenever life feels like throwing me one of its cute little curveballs, so I can try my best to adapt to the situation and keep moving forward, as opposed to throwing all my toys out of the pram like a spoilt brat whenever a minor obstacle to my plans presents itself.

What’s more is that having a rigid life plan with hard deadlines for when you should’ve accomplished certain things leads to - in my experience - another unnecessary reason to start criticising yourself, which we at this point know is a waste of time, energy and just bad vibes in general.

Just relax. Honestly. You’re doing great, regardless of if you’re exactly where you want to be or not.

20. Put yourself first. Always.

I’ve touched on this multiple times in this post already, but I definitely feel like it deserves its own point. I also want to direct this specifically to women - although some of the gems of wisdom I’m about to drop can be applied to men too, I assume. I don’t really care if they don’t though, to be honest - everything else in this world is already for them, so I’m sure reading something that isn’t won’t kill them.

Sis. I know you are exhausted from being strong all the time - yet here you are, still standing and still fighting. For what it’s worth, know that whoever and wherever you are - I am extremely proud of you for constantly picking yourself up and dusting yourself off every time you are mistreated, disrespected and/or taken for granted.

But it shouldn’t be like that.

You may have been taught early in life to always put your own health, happiness, dreams and wellbeing to the side when needed to accommodate and support others - because that’s what women are mEaNt To Do. But this is so inherently f*cked up, wrong and unfair - it genuinely pisses me off whenever I think about it because it literally makes zero sense to me. It reinforces the notion that we only exist to serve, protect, help and satisfy others needs - whether it be in a family setting, at work or in relationships… almost as if we aren’t human beings with feelings.

Yeah… f*ck that. Call it tough love, but I really need you to grow a back bone right now. Too many times have I personally felt/heard about us feeling the need to bend over backwards for people that do nothing to help or protect us from the pains that life can bring, so clearly you need to be there for your own damn self. Think about it - that ex/potential/fwb/mcm that you’ve spent so many sleepless nights obsessing, crying and worrying about, and that you tried so hard to keep satisfied to the point of mental, emotional and physical exhaustion - where are they now? Living rent free in your head and almost definitely not thinking about you.

Yes, I am a little heated. Yes, I am projecting. And yes, if I ever catch you placing a mans needs and feelings over your own, you will catch these hands because clearly you haven’t been listening.

All jokes aside and as cheesy as it sounds - you are a queen, and I need you to step into your power right now. I want so much better for you, and you can’t get better until you fix your priorities. Your focus should always be on protecting your heart and mental/spiritual health - regardless of the situation you find yourself in. It is 100% possible to nurture and care for others without giving up your sense of self and power, so please, please, please find a balance that empowers and benefits you, and you alone.

21. Learn how to practice detachment.

I have plans to write a post about this in depth in the near future, so I won’t delve too deep into it here. In short, detachment refers to the practice of severing ties to people, feelings and memories that may have meant a lot to you for a long time and had a major impact on your life, but that you now realise are toxic and are holding you back from moving forward and growing as a person. Essentially, it is all about forgiving, forgetting, letting go and moving on from whatever hurt that may still be lingering long after the situation is over - and never bringing it up again.

Sounds great right?

Wrong. Detachment f*cking sucks - but it is extremely important. As I’ve mentioned earlier, I naturally hate giving up on people and I tend to obsessively reflect on past situations. I try to convince myself that all this reflecting and overthinking is helping me heal - which it has, to a certain degree - but the honest truth is that it takes up a lot of time in the present. It’s emotionally exhausting and time consuming. Detachment, on the other hand, basically forces you to not even acknowledge the past pain and hurt someone has caused you, and placing all your focus on the present and the future… so this is naturally a very hard task for me.

With that being said, it’s pretty obvious that it’s not going to be easy for anybody. Reaching a level of emotional maturity in which you can completely disregard the pain someone that meant a lot to you has caused you really sounded impossible to me at first - especially mixed with the complicated feeling of not wanting to “abandon” the person that hurt you. But I’ve been working on this very hard during the lockdown, and I can confirm that after doing it for a while you begin to realise that the situation's power over you is entirely determined by the importance you attach to it. Once you learn how to remove that importance and your emotions from the equation, you’re one step closer to being able to truly move on.

Anyways. Stay tuned for a post about this because there is a lot to unpack.

22. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

This is another one I struggle with a lot, because who wants to feel like a weak-ass b*tch who can’t manage on her own? Not I, said the cat.

All jokes aside, I think many of us can relate to not wanting to bUrDeN our friends and family with our struggles and problems, simply because we’re now at an age where everyone has their own lives to tend to and figure out. No one wants to feel like they’re being annoying, or feel stupid and paranoid about being judged because they can’t figure their own sh*t out (more projection for ya!).

I’ve really been working hard to get rid of the notion that asking for help has anything to do with intelligence or capability, but it’s very difficult to do so when you’ve been raised in an environment where admitting that you can’t manage to do something alone was often equated with not trying hard enough, or not being smart enough. Asking for help was seen as a weakness and a last resort, and I’d often feel ashamed to admit that I was struggling with something.

The funny thing is that while I apply all these rules about not burdening/disturbing people with my problems to myself, I’d literally drop everything in a nanosecond to help a friend out if I could. I’ve noticed this a lot with my friends, too - we’re reluctant to ask for help, but always there for each other if needed. This if anything proves that the fear of being judged/annoying is all in our heads, and that we should be kind enough to ourselves to allow ourselves to be helped from time to time. Yes, everyone wants to be that superwoman/man that has all their sh*t together - but the reality is that we are all human, and life can be very brutal at times. Surrounding yourself with people that care about you and want to see you win is key - and although allowing yourself to lean on someone else from time to time might take a little (a lot) of pride-swallowing, I promise that you will feel better once you’ve shared the load of your problems.

23. Don’t let past experiences poison current friendships.

This is quite possibly the biggest challenge for me right now, and I’m literally only just beginning to get better at this. I’ve mentioned multiple times that my overly empathetic and accommodating personality has attracted a lot of sh*tty “friends” over the years, and for the longest time I blamed myself and thought there was something wrong with me for constantly allowing people to treat me so poorly. As a result of this, I developed hella trust and abandonment issues.

I genuinely didn’t even realise how much these experiences had f*cked me up until I started taking my mental health seriously, and realised how much I had closed myself off emotionally to protect myself. I also realised that I - very unfairly - projected my trust issues onto people in my life that have done nothing but be kind and caring towards me, simply because I allowed myself to be so blinded by the past and assumed that they would do me the same way. I’m honestly just grateful that my closest friends could see through the front I put up and didn’t give up on me, because whew… they really didn’t need to.

The point I’m trying to make is that while it’s very natural to be afraid of being hurt, betrayed and disappointed again, you can’t live your life thinking that everyone is against you - simply because it isn’t true. Yes, it’s very hard to rebuild your trust and confidence in people again... but going through life being paranoid that everyone is against you is just setting yourself up for loneliness and bitterness, and we don’t want that. Again, what’s worked best for me here is working on detachment from the past, and learning to not feed into the feelings of paranoia that arise from time to time. It will take time, but you definitely owe it to yourself to allow good people into your life properly.

24. Step out of your comfort zone more often and just have fun.

Let me be very clear and say that I’m not encouraging anyone to jump out of an airplane - although that would definitely be a massive step outside of anyone's comfort zone. But what’s life without a little thrill?

Regardless of if it’s as extreme as launching yourself off a cliff and placing all your trust in a flimsy elastic band, or as simple as just trying a new activity or restaurant, life becomes so much richer and more fun when you do something you wouldn’t normally do. It genuinely nourishes and stimulates your right brain - which for me is a much welcomed break from life having to be so f*cking serious all the time.

It also boosts your confidence to try even more new things, and that’s when life starts to get a bit more interesting. Live it up, b*tch!

25. Make happiness your priority.

Right, so I appreciate that not everyone will agree with this - and that’s okay. You’re entitled to your wrong opinion. I’ve been very open about the mental health struggles I’ve had since my teens, and about the various unhealthy coping methods I’ve tried to deal with it. However, I’ve found that the best way of coping is very simple:

Just do what makes you happy.

Honestly, it’s that easy. A lot of people - myself in the past included - feel a lot of pressure to give their life meaning and purpose by using something outside of themselves to define them as a person. When I was younger that thing was sports, and after uni I thought I’d find happiness from pursuing the career I thought that I wanted. However, I realised a couple years ago that attaching the concept of happiness to an external factor will constantly just make you feel like it’s just beyond your reach - and when you finally reach the goal that you swore would make your life happy and fulfilled, you’re just left with an underwhelming feeling of “...is this it? Surely there must be more to life than this?”

For this reason, I wholeheartedly believe that true happiness stems from inner peace, accepting the past and simply just pursuing things in life that sits right with your mental health and spirit. Building happiness from within sets you up to be confident that you will be fine no matter what life throws at you, and will make you truly unf*ckwithable.

With that being said, I fully understand how it can be easy to equate our obsession with reaching career/life/relationship/fitness/etc goals to happiness, but let’s say for argument's sake that you do reach every single of your goals that you think will bring you joy. When the pride and elation of accomplishing these goals wears off, are you genuinely happy? Or do you realise that your inner battles are still there, and that the part of your brain that was so focused on accomplishing this goal now just feels… empty and idle?

Okay, so that got a little depressing - but these are questions that I highly recommend you ask yourself. Chances are that you realise that while having goals and ambitions are important, they’re all air if you’re not genuinely happy on the inside.

If there was a one-size-fits-all path to happiness, I would share it here. But unfortunately, the path to happiness is highly personal - only you can determine what will bring you inner peace and alignment. Personally, I started with reconnecting with my childhood self to remind myself what made me feel happy before life started getting serious, and went from there - maybe that could work for you, too.

26. Understand that everything will fall into place at the time it’s meant to.

I put this one at the end because I feel that it summarises all points very nice-like. It’s extremely easy to get caught up in how you think life is supposed to be like at this age, and even easier to fall into a depressed state when you deep how far away from this ideal you might be. As someone that has had the importance of an established career, rigid life goals and living up to others’ expectations rammed down my throat at a young age, I’ve always had this unsettling feeling that I’m running out of time to accomplish what I need to accomplish in this life - and I’m only 26.

What’s helped me a lot with this unsettling feeling is taking time to ground myself, take a deep breath and reflect on how far I’ve come, as opposed to how far I still have to go. I also force myself to remember that as long as I’m constantly in tune with myself and gently pushing myself to evolve and mature, I’m already winning.

You will find happiness. You will find love. You will reach every single goal that you’ve set for yourself. You will overcome whatever internal battle you’re currently fighting. You will feel like yourself again. You will receive every single blessing you’re waiting for - as long as you’re willing to put in the work and understand what is right for you and your mental/emotional/spiritual health.

It may take longer than you want it to, but it’s important to remember to enjoy the journey and learn from your mistakes. As uncomfortable as it may be to accept that no amount of control and planning can predict life’s twists and turns, allowing yourself to trust that the universe will give you everything you need at the right time is extremely empowering and calming.

Keep doing your thing, and you will reap the rewards in due time.

So, there you have it. If you read the entire post from start to finish, you deserve all the accolades because at the time of posting this, even I haven’t read it all in one go. I hope that you found something that resonated with you and will help you navigate through the f*ckeries in this life easier than before.

Anyways. Happy belated birthday to me, I guess. I can’t wait to never do a post like this again!

Love,

Liv

#selfhelp #opinions #Empowerment #selflove

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