#my brain is trying to compensate for the deep loneliness

[bajablastwrites]

It’s like that sometimes :,)

Saiki x reader

TW: description of depression in detail

Readers gender isn’t specified

Summary: Self explanatory, you have the big sad and Kusuo is there for you. (Reposted it cuz my dumbass forgot the trigger warning)

———————————————————————

ok so we all know Saiki is very nosy, and your depressive thoughts caught his attention from the very beginning. Since you’re in his class he knows you by name and face and your thoughts have always left him a little unsettled and worried.

He started following you around to make sure you’re not going to harm yourself or make an attempt at ending your life after your suicidal thoughts became more frequent and vivid— no he’s not doing this because he cares about you, he just doesn’t want to deal with the aftermath of his class being the center of attention because that would also include him. yeah. That’s it, that’s the only reason. (Saiki’s full of shit)

Time passes and for the plot you end up in a relationship with Saiki. He knew you were mentally ill and knew that you were in therapy (he’s happy about that btw) because your mental state was only deteriorating the longer time passed— you told him about your situation, not knowing that he already knew, he’s a psychic after all. But he still appreciated that you told him about it yourself, it just hits different to him.

On a side note, because saiki is pretty nosy he was curious about your psychological evaluation. He was there for your evaluation and used his powers to stay invisible while he was in the room. If you didn’t know psychological evaluations go over everything, from your family, childhood and of course your mental state and awareness. He knew a little bit about some of those things because of his telepathy but he’s was curious to know about you in more detail— as creepy as that sounds (dw you’ll be compensated for it later). But he mainly wanted to know how your mental state was, and of course you were diagnosed with a severe form of depression and depending on who you are maybe a couple of other different mental illnesses as well, but that’s another topic for another day.

He felt something inside him hurt as the evaluation progressed. He knew about your mental state because his telepathy but it hit different when you verbally confirmed that you’ve been feeling this way for a very long time. He’ll also learn about any childhood traumas as well if you have any too, which goes from bad to worse on his end.

But back on track, since you’re now Kusuo’s partner he’s of course going to try to help you to the best of his abilities. He doesn’t want to use his powers on you to change anything about how your brain works— mind control is one thing but he’s not sure about changing someone’s entire state of mind because he doesn’t know how that’ll affect the person in question. He knows that your patience and compassion for others stem from your depression and traumatic past— as unfortunate as that is, so it gives him another reason not to use his powers on your mind as well. Even if you tell him that it’s ok it’s not happening, sorry but he’ll help you in any other way except for that.

There was a time where he asked to describe depression to him and your mind came up with so many ways that your thoughts became jumbled and unintelligible. So he used his psychometry and placed his hand on your shoulder and when he did he felt so empty inside, numb and tired but at the same time he felt lots of emotional anguish with a deep rooted sadness and anxiety, he felt completely alone and isolated— he’s felt alone to a certain degree because of his powers but never to such an extreme extent. He felt so many overwhelming emotions, he felt if he were to call out for help that he would simply be ignored or be dismissed.

He felt every thing you’ve ever felt in your entire life in such a short amount of time. From dissociation, to worthlessness, loneliness, helplessness, depression, anxiety, anger, he felt it all. He got so overwhelmed that he accidentally shattered all the windows to his house (it’s fine he fixed them and no one was hurt) when he retracted his hand from you all he could say was “oh.. so that’s what those words were.” He doesn’t know how you manage to function without completely falling apart, you think you’re weak for letting these thoughts and emotions affect you the way they do but he thinks you’re incredibly resilient, you’ve felt like this for who knows how long and you somehow manage to prioritize everyone else AND him? Especially him?? And you think you’re weak??

And then you tell him you probably used to feel even worse before therapy?!? On one hand he feels for you and is happy you’re getting better, but the other hand he’s ready to fight with you. You’re not weak!!! It’s not your fault, stop it!!

Lowkey believes you’re some sort of psychic at this point, you’ve got to be right?? (You’re not) After getting to feel your emotions he’s worn out and told you that he plans to help you out in anyway he can and he’s not taking no for an answer. But for now he just wants to hold you and take a nap.

If you have medication he’ll remind you to take them if you haven’t already. There was a point in time where you went off your meds for a couple of days to see what would happen ( totally not speaking from experience— but don’t do that because there will be hell to pay💀😭) and surprise surprise you spiraled into a depressive episode, where your mind was completely flooded with horrendous thoughts and it showed no signs of stopping so like any normal person you frantically took your meds and just had to wait until the medication did it’s thing.

Kusuo of course knew about your (stupid) plan about going off your medication and he didn’t agree with it because he already knew the outcome— it doesn’t take a psychic to know that you’ll relapse if you went off your meds. But still he let you go through with it and was instantly by your side when everything started to go south, it was probably the first time where he was the one that initiated affection and actively comforted you— not saying he doesn’t do that, but it was usually kinda stiff and awkward, you know. It felt very out of character of him actually, but he couldn’t just let you suffer with your thoughts alone.

He stayed by your side and did everything he could to comfort you until your thoughts subsided. Even then he still stayed with you and focused on making you mentally recover, he wouldn’t let you apologize and insisted to stay with you for a little while because he just wants to make sure you’re ok and stable.

He’s actually happy seeing you make progress and working on getting better, he understands that the progress to recovery can be slow might look unnoticeable because of how small the steps are but he’s ok with that. He knows relapses can happen along the way but he’ll be by your side to make sure your ok. Just a proud boyfriend overall.

The best part about it is that you guys have such a healthy relationship dynamic that you guys might as well be married. Kusuo checks up on you to make sure you’re doing ok— I mean he already knows but he likes to hear you talk and you check up on him as well. You’ve got the most ideal relationship that it’s enough to make Chio and Teruhashi cry! (Same goes for Toritsuka but he’s crying for a completely different reason🚶🏽‍♂️) His parents ship you guys so hard, they think you guys are so cute together and can’t wait to have grandkids!

#saik x reader #saiki k x reader #kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki x reader #saiki kusou x reader #saiki headcanons #saiki hc #saiki kusuo hc #saiki kusuo headcannons #saiki k headcanons #saiki k hcs #saiki no psi nan #saiki kusuo no ψ nan #the disaster of psi kusuo saiki #the disastrous life of saiki k.

[bitchassbucky]

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Word Count: 1.4k

Warning/s: toxic relationship dynamics, dark!bucky x dark!reader, stalking, coercion and lying, manipulative tendencies, injuries and blood mention, food was mentioned for a bit

A/N: WE ARE GETTING THERE, BABES WHEW OKAY

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

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A month had passed since your not-date date had happened. You tried to forget the rest of the day, only focusing on how he looked and talked to you that day. How he smiled, trying to play off the ‘cool guy’ narrative.

You suddenly grew cold, noticing how your conversations became sparse—dry in between. Fewer texts and long waits. It made you nervous, sad, and a little bit annoyed. You barely see him around the office too—has Bucky been avoiding you?

His office is a bit out of the way for you to accidentally stumble in, anyway; the days you’re in the office were unsynchronized. Would it count as a punishable offense if you mess up with your company-approved laptop?

Saying you missed Bucky is an understatement: the bottle of cologne that smells like him sits empty on your dresser. The pictures you took of him taped loosely on your corkboard. Bits and pieces of papers he gave you tacked on it haphazardly.

Can someone die from loneliness?

Is this what being in love feels like?

Suffocating, consuming, your chest feels heavy, and your stomach is in knots.

—

Another month, another throng of employees needing new passwords. There are literal posters around the floor reminding everyone to use a password manager. Bucky can’t believe that he has to work with idiots around him. When he took up computer science as a major in college, he imagined himself hacking into… government intel, or something. Not looking after dimwits that don't know how to install an update.

His text messages are red with notifications—bank updates, deliveries, and you.

For some reason, Bucky can’t bring himself up to return your messages. Hi’s, hey’s, and how are you’s littered his text chain. Is he a bad person for not replying back? He can always just make up an excuse, right?

When you told him that you liked him, kissed him like you meant it, his fondness dispersed into thin air. The easy is never worthy and the worthy is never easy, as his father told him.

A ding from his phone brought him forth, another text from you: coming up right now, can we talk?

Now, he can’t come up with an excuse.

—

Bucky heard you before you come in, knocking on his door like the first time you met.

He clears his throat, calling out a come in! before rolling back from his cluttered desk. Tickets were few and far in between, he knows he can spare you at least 20 minutes but he just doesn’t want to.

“Hey,” you said, your head poking into his office. You weren’t entirely sure why you came up here in the first place, you really, really, really just wanted to see him again.

Bucky chuckles, pulling the door open for you. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

You breathe out a little, shaking the feeling sinking deep inside your stomach, “yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine.” Stepping into his office, you eye his desk. He’s been busy. Papers and files are piling up on the left side of his desk, half of his setup is covered with those post-it notes. Several mugs littered his small space.

Huh, “Sorry, I can come back some other time.”

Turning on your heel, you pivot a little to grab the door when Bucky grabs your upper arm, “don’t go—”

He realizes the implications if someone were to see the two of you and so he lets go, much to your discomfort. You face him, either way, you’re sure he’s not gonna let you go that easily.

“Sorry, it’s just- I missed you.”

And there it was. I missed you.

He was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you.

He was thinking about you.

“I was just gonna drop off some files… But,” you rake your brain for a coherent train of thought, “I missed you too.”

A smile of relief overcomes Bucky’s features, his eyes crinkling just the way you like. His steely blue eyes hidden beneath his lashes.

“I have uh, a thing later… Dinner with friends—do you wanna come?” You make a show of peering over his shoulder and onto his desk, “unless you’re busy?”

“I’d love to come.” He says, tucking his pointer finger underneath your chin, flicking it forward so you’d look at him, “what time is it?”

“Come by around seven. I’ll text you my address.”

Bucky doesn’t need your address. He already came a dozen times by your building, trying to build up the nerve to knock on your door and kiss you silly. Like in those movies you watch late at night.

But he’s conflicted, no?

Are you really as good as they come?

—

At six-thirty, you already sent the text: take the east street, beige apartment block. I’m on the third floor, second door to your right. :)

At six-fifty five, Bucky’s already there, his car idling on the sidewalk. He’s… nervous. Why is he nervous? It’s just dinner. A small get-together with friends. Speaking of friends, he didn’t see any unfamiliar cars parked on the block. Maybe it’s not work friends?

Letting out a sigh, Bucky fetches the small bouquet of flowers and wine he brought, just in case. He doesn’t wanna be the only one showing up empty-handed.

On the dot, Bucky knocks on your door. He plasters on his best smile as you open the way, revealing yourself.

God, you look gorgeous. Why did he stop hanging out with you in the first place?

Oh, right.

“Aw, flowers and wine? You’re too sweet!” You chirp out, stepping out of the way to let him into your apartment. Taking the gifts from his hands, you put them away while Bucky busies himself checking out your place.

It’s weird seeing your place in real life. Bucky noted the hint of lavender in the air, coupled with a smidge of coffee brewing. He’s so used to seeing parts of it but not everything-everything. He careens his neck to look down the hallway, catching a glimpse of your bedroom.

“If you’re lucky, you can see it tonight.” A peal of boisterous laughter comes out of you, lightly kicking his foot with yours, “I’m kidding. It’s off-limits for visitors, sorry.”

“Right…” Bucky looks around, shifting his weight from the balls of his feet up to his toes. “Am I too early? I can help you set the table.” The table is halfway finished and you’re stirring in cheese into a sauce. Roux, perhaps.

“No, it’s okay…” You trail off, lowering the heat before facing Bucky, “I lied.”

“What?”

“There’s no dinner—I mean, there is. Just not with friends.” You bite your lip, looking down on your shoes before tearing your gaze away from the floor to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“You lied? Why- why would you lie about that?” Annoyance and frustration all seep out near the surface. His jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth.

“Are you mad?”

“Are you mad?” Bucky asks back in a mocking tone, bringing his fist down the dinner, “you—you’re crazy. I knew it, I knew you’re crazy. Lying about dinner and what, trying to get me alone? Jesus, what--” He lets out a mirthless laugh, the one that sends chills down your spine.

You stood there, frozen at your spot. You’re hurt. He called you crazy. He called you crazy when he’s the one who spied on you for weeks on end.

When he’s the one who watches you at night.

When he’s the one who left those notes on your desk.

The one who sent those texts and left calls and voicemails.

“Fuck you.” Your words rang empty as Bucky walked out of the kitchen in long strides. The dinner long forgotten.

You calmly watch him turn the doorknob open, failing when the adjacent locks prevent him from opening the door. Two deadbolts and a chain lock. Never would you have thought that the threat would be coming inside your home.

“I’d think twice before leaving without dinner.”

—

Bucky stirs awake. The sound of cutlery on plates grating on his nerves. His head is throbbing. His right temple feels tight and tender, there’s something hard and crusty covering the right side of his face. He can suddenly feel the weight of his left arm, leaning over to compensate for the sudden pain.

He wasn’t aware that he had closed his eyes; the lights suddenly glaringly bright.

Right, the dinner.

The dinner?

Wasn’t he supposed to—

“Thank fuck. I thought you were dead.”

God, he hopes he is.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff

[misslovasstuff]

Salvation

Akutagawa x reader

summary: you and Akutawaga take a walk to your destination. However, there are some things that don’t want to be left unsaid.

There were times you were accompanied by your colleague on difficult missions. His fighting skills were what you lacked. But your quick wit easily compensated your inability to combat because with that brain of yours, even the strongest of enemies would end up dancing around your fingers. Akutagawa knew that. He knew you too well.

He knew how you panic every time when you are left all alone. He knew that solitude scared you. First and foremost, Akutagawa knew that you were the strangest, yet most beautiful thing in his life.

Since the first day you joined the mafia, you two had to work together, thus his curiosity slowly enlightened something else in him.

His heart became strangely awakened when you were around. Whenever you patted his shoulder or gently pat his head, he always widened his eyes in surprise. However, what surprised him weren‘t your affectionate gestures. What surprised him was the fact that he didn’t even flinch at your touch. It felt familiar, it felt genuine and real.

Akutagawa observed you as much as he could, trying to understand what made him so vulnerable around you. Was it your intimidating presence that kept him hesistant from asking wether you knew the answer to that question?

The Akutagawa you knew wasn’t intimidated by anyone. But perhaps, people may be strongly intimidated by the ones they like and want to impress.

However, on the day you and Akutagawa were walking side by side, he was determined to ask you.

You on the other hand, were reluctant to your feelings. He was kind to you, a kindness that no one had showed to you before.

Constantly asking if you have eaten, or if you’re cold, such little questions provoked soft thoughts in your head. In a way, he cares about you more than he lets you to know.

Right now, his gaze was focused straight ahead, but you were constantly amazed by his stature, straight and thin, beautifully completed by his black coat.

The sun caught in his raven hair, some kind of magic in his eyelashes that every time he blinked, a wave of storm conquered your soul.

Unknowingly, your hand reaches for his but it stops. It was afraid. You didn’t dare to touch something so foreign to you.

What if you grow so attached to him that you don’t want to let go?

Amidst total silence, a dry cough is heard. You panic for a moment, thinking that you’ve made your partner a bit uncomfortable from all the staring, or maybe he took a glimpse of your reaching hand. These thoughts cause your face to turn red, thus you look away, pretending to be distracted by the street shops.

”So, I’ve been thinking about something.”- his deep voice echoed in your ear as you reply with a trembling voice:

”And, what is that?”- you try to keep your heat even though Akutagawa‘s eyes were icy cold. However, you noticed how they melted whenever they met yours and that gave you a sense of relief.

”What do you think of me?”- a very light pink blush appeared on his cheeks and you smile, beautiful epiphany hitting your senses.

”I’m afraid I don’t think you at all, - you smile shyly - that may be perhaps I have you mostly in my heart than in my brain.”

Akutagawa widens his eyes but quickly looks away, hiding his blushing face. His hand covering his face, you grasp the opportunity to confess.

”Akutagawa, - you take his hand off his face, embracing it fully. - I am in love with you.”

If anyone would see Akutagawa‘s expression right now, they might assume that they’re hallucinating.

He smiled. That smile of his made you almost lose your mind. Maybe, the danger of this man was within his smile, able to kill rather easily.

But to you, it gave you a ray of light. It represented hope, but most importantly it meant that you were his happiness.

”Are you sure about that?“- he asks stopping his pace.

“Of course I am.”

A dead wind blew between you, causing the falling leaves to dance around your bodies. It seemed like they were pushing you two closer to each other as for now, you were sinking in Akutagawa’s embrace while his arms shyly reached your back.

“I’m in love with you as well.” - Akutagawa whispers in your ear and you could feel his innocent grin while his hot breath hit your neck.

All it took was those words coming out from his mouth for you to smile. Your happy chuckle makes him raise an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?” - he asks  “Nothing. It’s just, - try to grab his hand but your words stopped you. - I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” - Akutagawa asks, very intrigued by you.

“Afraid to love.”

Once he hears your response, Akutagawa understood. He knew how hard it can be for lonely people to love. If you get accustomed to someone, loving them and being loved back, constantly getting out of the loneliness puts you in more danger of going back to it.

What is worse? Having loved and having your heart broken to pieces or to never have loved at all?

“The only salvation is love. Anyone who claims otherwise hasn’t really loved in life.” - Akutagawa’s smile was reassuring you that there is nothing to be afraid of. His eyes softened and your fell in them, like snow gently falls in broken pieces, filling them in. A half smile formed in your lips, you cupped his cheek, meaning to thank him. He reaches for you hand, and you finally felt completed. Not afraid, not alone, but in love.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd akutagawa #bungou stray dogs akutagawa #akutagawa bsd #akutagawa headcanon #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa #akutagawa scenarios #akutagawa imagines #bsd aku

[perfectlymarilynmonroe]

♡ Happy Birthday 94th Birthday, Marilyn Monroe ♡

“It’s difficult to write about Marilyn Monroe now that she is gone. The past tense just doesn’t suit her somehow; she was too acutely alive. I knew her and was very fond of her. She was a strange, tormented, endearing girl, full of fun - a bravado fun, as though daring death to strike her down. Well, it did, finally. What can we say who saw her living in that shadow-land of loveless Hollywood? She who had such love in her heart - love for people, animals, birds, trees - had to die for lack of it! Who’s to blame? I thought of blame, even though it’s always too late.” — Norman Rosten, friend + poet.

“Marilyn discovered only too quickly that her natural endowments, which got her into the movies were not enough to keep her there. A few months and one small part after she’d signed her contract, she was fired.Realizing that she needed more than sex appeal for a successful career, Marilyn now started to use her brains to get ahead. For the next two years she studied voice, diction, breathing, and dramatics. Twenty hours a day she concentrated on becoming an actress.” — Peer J. Oppenheimer, from Screen magazine (May, 1953). 

“There have been many beautiful women since Marilyn Monroe. But who is there that has her total magic? Nobody has that vulnerability any more. We turn to child models in an instinctive search for that innocence and freshness, but they don’t have the deep feminine sexuality that came from Marilyn like light.” —Bert Stern, photographer.

"I had known her and seen her days before her death. Her beauty, charming wit, and joy of life seemed paradoxical to the tense loneliness which she faced in her life, and was to me, clearly apparent...I realized that her tragedy reminds us all how vulnerable we are, and I chose to try to be stronger." — Natalie Wood’s diary entry on Marilyn Monroe’s death.

“We need her desperately. She’s the only one of us who knows how to act in front of the camera.” —Dame Sybil Thorndike on Marilyn Monroe during the filming of The Prince and the Showgirl in 1956.“Marilyn was history’s most phenomenal love goddess.“ — Philippe Halsman, photographer“She had a great natural dignity and was extremely intelligent. She was also exceedingly sensitive.” — Edith Sitwell, poet. 

”I held out for her return because she was the only one for Bus Stop.” —Buddy Adler, producer. 

“I could see a sadness in her eyes; she had learned to smile, laugh and clown, even though her heart was breaking” — George Barris, photographer.

“I’d like to say that I think the reason Marilyn has lived on is that her vulnerability and her neediness has touched a lot of people. She represented that quality that people have felt in themselves. And my experience with stars is that through all the publicity and the hype and everything, the public senses the essence of the person. And the essence of Marilyn was she communicated a kind of truth, and truth is very powerful.” — Richard Meryman, journalist.

“Marilyn’s intellectual bent is nothing new. She has long tried to compensate for a sense of inferiority by improving her mind. Her well educated musical taste runs from Beethoven to Bartok. Back in 1951, she was taking literature courses at U.C.L.A. Visitors to her home have marveled at her library contained books by Rilke, Wolfe, and Robert Browning.” — Modern Screen Magazine, October, 1955.

“At the core of her, she was really strong…and that was something we tended to forget, because she seemed so vulnerable, and one always felt it was necessary to watch out for her.” — Pat Newcomb, friend + publicist.

“She comes out of the dressing room Norma Jeane. When she stepped in front of the camera, she was Marilyn.” — Lawrence Schiller, photographer.

#marilyn monroe #vintage #my edit #birthday #quotes about marilyn #celebs #icons #old hollywood

[ceratonia-siliqua]

Forever Ch 19

As per usual, check out @send-me-your-hcs next week for the next chapter. 

Ao3 Link 

Warnings: Some depression themes (and other usual warnings) 

Alone. 

A state he hadn’t been in -ever- during the two, wonderful, blissful weeks he’d had with Bucky. He was familiar with loneliness, knew it better than he did constant company. It had never made him ache like this, it had always been a soft, dull sensation poking around the back of his skull. Now it morphed into a sense of anguish, beat itself through his brain and down his spine. It had only been eight hours since Bucky left and Peter was laying on the kitchen floor, legs drawn up into one of Bucky’s massive gray t-shirts, held up only by his arms through the sleeves. His cheek pressed against the cold title, reminding him that their bed would be the same. Instead of rolling over into a patch preheated by Bucky’s furnace like body, he would fall into frigid sheets. It made the back of his throat burn to think about, the tear lines on his cheek already crusty and pulling the skin beneath them tight.

He had the burner phone pressed to his chest, had given up on making dinner while he waited. He knew it had to happen, that Bucky would have to leave for some span of time at some point, but he hated it. Wanted the phone to ring so he could hear the smooth rumble of Bucky’s voice over the line and know that this was all temporary, that Bucky wasn’t leaving him for good. 

The clock on the wall, made of burned wood and careful thought, ticked like it was just as impatient as he was. He jumped as the rice cooker whined, high but brief. Had forgotten he’d put it on, was glad he could just eat plain white rice if nothing else tonight. He thought about mustering up the energy to make the chicken in the fridge when the burner phone lit up.

It got halfway through the first ring when he answered. “Bucky?” 

“This is an automated message from the Peter Stark Tip Hotline. We are calling to provide updates on the case and remind the public that any tips leading to the arrest of Skip Westcott and/or the recovery of Peter Stark will be compensated. Currently police are investigating a sighting of Skip Westcott several weeks ago in West Virginia. There have yet to be any verifiable sightings of Peter Stark. Now a message from Tony Star-“ Peter hung up. 

He could handle the objective monotone update on his case, was relieved in fact to hear that there was so little for them to go on, but he couldn’t listen to his dad. He was already sad, he didn’t need guilt on top of it. 

The phone rang again. He was more hesitant this time but the need to speak to Bucky was too great. He would just hang up if it was the hotline again. 

“Hello?”

“Hey baby, you doin’ okay?” 

“Better now that I’m talking to you.” Felt his face heat at the cheesy line even though it was true.

Bucky chuckled, gravely as it rolled through the speaker. “Well, seems like we’re in a similar boat then.”

Peter couldn’t help but ask, “Did you get that phone call too? From the hotline?” 

A sigh, deep and tired. “Yes, I did. I want to say you shouldn’t have answered it but it could have been me for all you knew.”

“I didn’t listen to all of it. I stopped once my dad’s message was about to play.” 

“That’s for the best, he got heated again.” Peter heard Bucky shifting positions, the sound of his clothes sliding giving him away. “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No…” I’ve been too sad. The last part of his thoughts he kept to himself, not wanting to come off manipulative. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he was sad and Peter didn’t want to accidentally suggest he was.

“Baby, you need to eat something.” Tone gentle, concerned but not forceful.

“I know…”

“I know you’re sad sweetheart, but I’ll be home in a few weeks. We can go do something fun when I do.”

Peter bit his lip. “Could we… Could we go dancing?” 

Surprised. “Why the sudden interest in dancing?”

He looked away as though avoiding eye contact despite being utterly alone. “Last time I saw Steve he talked about how he used to go swing dancing with his friend. He didn’t say your name but I was hoping it was you? I wanted to try it with you but if you don’t want to-“

“Peter, I would love nothing more than to take you out to dinner and go dancing. We would just have to be careful. Go a few towns over, maybe even book a hotel and go out of state. Either way if that’s something you really want to try I’ll make it happen.”

“I- I really want to.” Had to bite his lip to keep from saying but we don’t have to. He could let himself have this one, just this once. 

“We can start planning when I get close to coming home. I want a few days with you at the house before we go anywhere.” 

“We could just stay home if you don’t want to go out. Just put some music on and do it at home.” 

“It’s not the same, your first time should be on a dance floor, there is nothing like it and you should experience that first.”

“Okay, Bucky.”

“You still need to eat, Peter.”

Peter sighed. “I was hoping you forget about that part.”

He could hear Bucky smirking over the line. “Nothing slips past me, baby.” 

“Mhm, sure.” It felt good to tease Bucky, even apart. 

“Peter.” 

“I know, I know.” Peeling himself off the floor was a feat but he managed, already in a better mood with Bucky on the line. 

“There is some precooked chopped chicken in the freezer along with a microwave steamer bag if you need something easy.”

“Thanks, I’ll try it.”

_____

The rest of the week was quiet. Spending most of his time alone gave him room to think, room he didn’t really want. Bucky often kept him busy, too busy to think much on the things that bred doubt and concern for him. Without Bucky he was left stranded, on his own with his only life line god knows where and only reachable through phone. Eventually he needed an outlet, something to hit the pressure release on everything. 

So, he wrote.

It took a few minutes to find what he needed. Packages had been flowing into their home at a steady rate and it was hard to catalog it all when all the boxes looked the same. Eventually he found it. A packet of loose notebook paper and a box of different colored, high quality pens. Bucky had picked them out, Peter had never been terribly picky about his pens. Even billionaire households had their cheap ball point pens rolling around more often than not. Most of his letters had been written with pens from cheap bulk packs because he’d gone through them so quickly. Peter Stark may have been the son of a multi billionaire but even he had a carefully budgeted allowance. 

He went to the small table in their kitchen, a rustic pine two seater, and dropped off his cargo. He whipped up a snack, just a simple salami and cracker plate, before sitting down. 

The rainbow array of colors the pens came in was inviting. When he’d written Bucky and other inmates he had been stuck with black and blue ink exclusively. Being able to choose now was a small luxury that he was happy to take advantage of. He plucked a purple one from the package and a clean sheet of paper from the reem. Smoothed the paper across the flat surface of the table before picking up the pen. The light taps of the end against the table as he thought of what to write kept a steady ticking pace. 

Pen touched the pen to paper and he was off. 

_____

Each note had something entirely different on it. Each with something positive and sweet, kind and affectionate. They were hidden around the house. All in places where Bucky would easily (hopefully) find them but not obvious enough that they would be found all at once. He wished he had thought to do it before Bucky left. The idea of tucking notes into his car and between the folds of packed clothes would have been a nice way to remind Bucky of home out on the road. He would just have to remember to do it another time. 

He sat down at the table once again, took a moment to organize his thoughts into neat little boxes as he thought about if he really wanted to do what was next. The difficult part would be getting his message across in such a way it would not be skewed, well, not skewed too much. His words would be twisted and turned endlessly but as long as the base letter was what it needed to be, it would just have to be okay. 

_____

Dad, 

I’m writing this letter to let you know that I’m alive. I can’t say much more about the situation than that. I love you, I didn’t get to say that before everything happened. I know you’ll look for me no matter what I say but I hope you take care of yourself too. I knew I would have to leave you at some point, I just wish it hadn’t been like this. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to reach out again. Currently I’m alone and this has helped fill some of the silence and loneliness. I don’t have much to say, there is just so much that I can’t that I don’t know what to put in instead. I guess for now this will have to be it. 

With Love, 

Peter

_____

The letter was painfully vague and he felt bad for all the false pitfalls he had placed in it. Peter knew his dad’s mind would go to the worst place possible, yet that had in a way been the point. The longer he could keep Tony off of Bucky’s trail the better. He didn’t like the idea of manipulating his father but protecting Bucky came first, no amount of guilt could overcome that. Peter couldn’t help but see the irony in their positions. They had reversed roles. Now Peter was kept prisoner because of his father whilst Bucky was free to roam the streets like he owned them. For Bucky’s sake, he was happy. Having spent so long in prison, Bucky deserved a sense of normalcy and Peter would never in his life guilt him for having it where he couldn’t. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault that his father was overbearing and unwilling to let Peter make his own choices. 

He sealed up the letter and wrote the address he’d had memorized since the first day of kindergarten. He didn’t put a return address on it. Part of him wanted to stick the letter in their mailbox down at the end of the road instead of waiting for Bucky to take it but the letter would be stamped with the nearest city’s location and that was far too big of a risk. Instead, it was clipped to a hanging pin by the door. The letter wouldn’t be touched for weeks but it would be ready for Bucky’s next trip. So, he did what he had been doing since this all began.

He waited for Bucky. —

Twelve days.

Bucky had been gone for twelve long, agonizing, gruelling days.

Peter had spent most of it curled up on the various floors throughout the house. He didn’t know why it helped, but it did. Maybe it was just too hard to make himself sit up and act like a regular person when his heart was halfway across the country. He felt hollow without Bucky here.

But he didn’t feel hollow now. No, he was no longer sprawled across the floor like a dead body or a lifeless doll. Peter was eagerly pacing through the kitchen - the only room on the first floor whose windows faced out front – eyes glued to the small section of their driveway that he could actually see. He’d been pacing like this for an hour and a half already. Bucky had called to say he would be home before 8PM, and the clock on the wall was now reading 7:47.

Finally, finally, at long last, there was a distinct crunch, the unmistakable sound of tires rolling over dirt and rocks. Peter whipped around to face the window and caught the tail end of a silver car driving past. His heart raced. Bucky was home!

A door opened outside, then shut. Peter grinned and rushed for the front door, intending to wrench it open and throw himself into his beau’s arms. His socked feet skidded across the hardwood as he raced for the mudroom, but three loud, sturdy knocks from the other side of the door gave Peter pause.

He was fairly certain Bucky would rush in to see him, not joke around by making him come to the door. Although, maybe he had his hands full or something? He might’ve been knocking because he needed Peter to let him in. The thought made him eagerly reach for the knob, unable to keep the excited grin off his face.

But the smile didn’t last. It was wiped away almost instantly, erased like marker on a whiteboard the moment he opened the door and met the shocked, disbelieving face of none other than Steve Rogers.

#winterspider #forever fic tag #peter parker x bucky barnes #siliqua writes #too tired for witty commentary #I apologize

[pr]

Like not to be all childhood trauma on main, but the way people ship the Snow Sisters because "oh they were separated so it'd be NoRmAl" is particularly fucking distusting to me.

Tl;dr my little brother (he's now 18, I'm 23) and I were "separated" because of how our divorced, abusive parents treated us until I moved away as an adult, which is when we "reconnected", aka realized we actually have a lot in common, a lot of the same personality traits, and a lot of the same trauma lmao.

And like...I would die for him! I desperately hug him every chance I get! I snuggle up next to him on couches, hell I would also sing him to sleep if he was being an anxious bitch lmao. He is the light of my life, so I 100% get Anna and Elsa's deep, special bond and affection.

So to warp that over the top love that is compensating for lost time into something heinous and sexual...is just SO much worse than romanticized incest already is??

Like, Snow Sisters and us had our chance to build a family taken away. Of course there's extra affection and doting - there is a lifetime of loneliness to make up for. And to see that complexity and love and hurt and simplify it to oh, Elsa and Anna are TOTALLY fucking??? Grow a brain??

Like maybe you only say I love you once a year to your sister and would only dote on the poor soul who you roped into being with you, so of course it's impossible for you to imagine the complexity of being with this person who was supposed to be your closest friend your whole life, and now you finally get to be close and it's joyful but so painful and you see them and just want to hug them back in time and fix everything that happened to both of us but you can't, and every time you see them they somehow serve as both a beacon of light and a reminder of the darkness. Familial love can be complex and nuanced, too, without being fucking romantic/sexual.

I'm also struggling with my brother moving across the country, too, just like the sisters. It breaks my heart. And I wish we had more time, and I do not want him to be unprotected where I can't see him, just like Elsa. It's particularly hard for Anna and myself because our lives feel like they just began together after spending so many years alone. We just want to finally have a physical ideation of what a family is supposed to be.

But that's part of growing up: going where your life leads, that is a normal part of family. It hurts, but that's part of the journey, and learning to grow with that is healthy. So stop acting like the ending of Frozen 2 was somehow "out of character" because Elsa and Anna didn't desperately cling to each other and fuck. They're trying to be normal siblings, and not overcompensate for their abnormal childhood by creating a clingy, abnormal adulthood.

#frozen 2 #anna #elsa #snow sisters #frozen #yes maybe o was crying abouty brother today WHAT ABOUT IT #op #disney #films

[pumpkin-spice-whump-latte]

Whumptober #7: Isolation

Hey guess who can’t write something without it turning into a goddamn novel? IT’S ME! I got a little carried away with this one, but it’s a concept that I’m actually super interested in.

contents: Sensory deprivation, hallucinations, unreality mention, drugging

_________________________________

“Test number 13: Keller injection administered. Subject–”

“What the FUCK did you just stick me with you sick BASTARD?”

Dr. Tillman paused during the outburst, looking down at the man strapped to the table indifferently, then continued.

“…Subject restrained. Begin phase two.”

Ben could feel a cold finger of fear start tapping it’s way up his spine as soon as he’d felt the needle pierce his skin, and it was only made worse by the fact that he wasn’t even being told what was in it. He had no idea what drug had just been forced into his system and wouldn’t know until something started hurting or growing or peeling off… Oh god. It was the vast unknown of it all that was the worst thing.

“At least… Goddammit, at least tell me what this is supposed to be testing for, huh Doc?” There was a tiny bit of pleading his voice that he hadn’t meant to let slip, and it made his cheeks burn in shame. Might as well have said “pretty please, oh Mr. Mad Scientist sir, with ice cream on top?”

The man above him simply checked to see the straps around Ben’s wrists and ankles were tight enough, scribbled something down on his clipboard, then turned to leave the room.

“Hey!” Ben yelled after him. “I’m asking you a question! Hey!” It did no good. The scientist didn’t even pause a step to look back before the door slammed shut behind him. Ben would have kept on screaming out demands and threats, turning all of his fear into anger, if his vision hadn’t started to suddenly fade away.

The room started going dark gray and fuzzy at the edges, and he quieted down a little in nervous confusion. Was he passing out? No… No he was still awake. It was the room that was going away. It was his eyes that were rapidly failing him.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He whispered this to himself, since he’d long since given up on the possibility of anything else out there hearing him, but then that too started to fade. His mouth opened and closed and he could feel breath being pushed out over his tongue and teeth, but he could hear nothing.

At that point his vision had blacked out completely as well.

He was strapped to a goddamn table, alone, and unable to hear or see anything around him. He knew it was useless but screamed anyway, forcing out a great rush of air in the way his body remembered, compressing his chest and opening his mouth wide as he could. There was no one around to hear it.

-----

“Bennnnn..” It started softly. His name called from somewhere far off, in a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. “BEN!” There it was again, only this time sharp like the crack of a whip. He tried to call out an answer but, when he couldn’t hear his own voice, he knew it had to have been auditory hallucinations. That happened a lot with sensory deprivation. The brain had gotten used to hearing or seeing so when it was suddenly taken away, the brain compensated by flinging out random images and sounds. Memories.

Ghosts.

Even so, Ben figured he could handle this. The scientist’s experiment had become clear; total isolation and it’s effects on everyone’s favorite kidnap victim.

Great.

He tried taking a few deep breaths, focusing on the sensation of air moving in and out of his lungs. Feeling the way his chest expanded and contracted to remind himself of his connection to the waking world. It was okay. Whatever this was would be temporary. The drug in his system would wear off.

…Wouldn’t it?

____

After only six hours Ben wasn’t so sure it would. Of course he had no way to tell it had been six hours; his entire world consisted of darkness and nothingness and trying to count the seconds had gotten tedious after ten minutes.

But now he had a lot more to deal with than just boredom. Like the fact that he was still hearing things, and could no longer tell if they were real.

“Of course I’m real, man.” Carlos’ voice. The other captive he’d met not too long ago. The one who’d been a doctor too and had gentle hands. Ben was hearing his voice like he was sitting right next to him.

“Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben.” The voice kept repeating his name over and over until he pushed out more air in another frustrated shout.

Then came the sensation of fingers on his arm. He twitched and tried to flinch away, but he was still strapped down to the table. He couldn’t move an inch and

something was touching his arm.

He tried calling out Carlos’ name, tried demanding he do something to let him know this wasn’t a hallucination.

“Tap my arm three times if you’re real.”

The ghostly fingers only moved down to tap at his leg instead. What did that mean? Real, but not real? Here, yet not here?

Was he going insane????

------

After fifteen hours he began to forget things. Strange, random things like what pizza tasted like. Big, important things like what an hour of time even felt like, let alone meant. He had started to feel vaguely detached from the idea of having a body and being alive at all, and now it had grown into a full blown existential crisis. What if…

What if he had actually died?

What if this was Hell? This was his punishment for snitching on his boss back when he was a free, unhurt man. Jerry had never gotten over it but you weren’t supposed to be stealing opioids and managing a hospital at the same time.

Maybe this was limbo. Maybe he’d stay like this for the rest of eternity, unable to move or see or hear anything….

Except he could hear things, couldn’t he? Sometimes it was a woman’s voice humming directly next to his ear. Sometimes it was his father, saying some garbled nonsense he couldn’t understand. But most of the time it was Carlos.

His brain had apparently latched onto to the man out of a sense of desperate camaraderie. The only other person he’d seen in ages that was alive and didn’t cause him pain and terror. Carlos was beside him a lot during that time, and it was getting harder and harder to convince himself it was just a hallucination.

“Tell… Tell me a story. Tell me how the scientist found you.” It was getting harder to tell if his voice was making it out of his throat. Or if it mattered.

The shadow of Carlos didn’t answer, but Ben was able to feel the soft pressure of someone laying their head on his shoulder. Tears slipped out hot and rolling from the sides of his eyes, and he sobbed out noises he couldn't hear or even properly regulate.

“Tell me how we’re gonna…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence. There was no point in it anyway. Tell me how we’re going to get out of here? Ha. Funny.

A great feeling of heavy sadness washed over him then, cresting so far above his head that it felt monstrous, and his brain decided that was enough. The hallucinations, the tortuous uncertainty, the maddening need to scratch his nose and not being able to, he could deal with all that.

But the feeling of utter loneliness–the sense that he really was the only person in this universe, and Carlos and Dr. Tillman and his boyfriend back home that he didn’t let himself think about, they had all actually been hallucinations–that’s what ended up breaking him.

It was at hour thirty that the drug finally started to wear off and allow his senses to function properly again, but by that point he no longer cared. By that point he responded to anything Dr. Tillman said or did with mindless screaming, prompting the scientist to drag him unwillingly back into a holding cell and toss him onto the ground.

Ben was ninety-nine percent sure he was still hallucinating (or hadn’t been, maybe this was a dream, maybe he was asleep) but couldn’t help himself as the scientist was walking away again. Whether this was real or not his entire body screamed in unison for the company of another living soul. For the reminder that he was a person and shared this earth with other people.

“Wait! Please! Don’t!” He might have been able to see again (if his eyes could even be believed) and he might have been able to hear again (if his ears could be trusted either), but it meant nothing in that moment if he was to be left alone again. As much as he hated that damn scientist’s face, it was the only one he’d fully seen in thirty hours.

He broke down into helpless sobbing as the door was slammed in his face.

“Please… Please don’t, I can’t deal with this I can’t…” That wave of sadness stole over him again as he pushed his face into the cold metal floor. Looking around to see if Carlos or his father or his old boss Jerry had stuck around now that he’d regained his senses…

But it seemed like they hadn’t.

Now more than ever, Ben felt completely alone.

#whumptober2019 #no.7 #isolation #sensory deprivation #hallucinations #drugs #oc: ben #this is so long if anyone actually reads this you deserve an entire cookie

[cao-the-dreamer]

Sweet child o’ mine: Who am I, who are they

I wasn’t patient enough to wait for someone to beta-read this chapter, so forgive me if there are any mistake. But I’m so glad I finally finished it!

Time for Optimus to give Nebula a clue about her past… 

Enjoy!

(You can read it on Ao3 or Fanfiction if you prefer)

The first time he meets her, he cannot help but think how similar and yet how different she is compared to her creators.

Optimus Prime is standing in front of a wooden house — a cabin, according to Bumblebee — which blends in between the broad and twilight-like trunks of the forest, where the young girl is hiding from the world.

They are a few miles away from the place his fellow Autobots currently are, trying to settle down on this foreign planet after their arrival a week ago.

Optimus knew that there was a chance he might come across her, the little one, the miracle child, but he hadn't expected her to be aware of her origins. Her eyes pierce through the darkness of the door frame, questioning, wary, ready to fall back into the shadows should he reveal himself as a threat.

But Bumblebee hums a soothing tune, gesturing with patience, willing to prove her that his leader means no harm.

The truck takes a step back, giving her space, before getting down on one knee, making himself smaller.

Electric blue dives into dim red.

“Take your time, little one,” his deep voice is a foreign sound amongst the forest's. “I will not force you to come out if you don't want to.”

Her eyes lower, avoiding his gaze.

“I'm sorry… I don't know who I should trust anymore.”

Before he can question the eerie statement, a dark hand comes forward, pointing at the yellow scout.

“You comforted my best friend, you protected her, you threw away her loneliness and gave her a sense to her life. I’m deeply grateful that you did so. But… those two titans who were eager to destroy my planet, and yet who treated me like a precious gem, they told me who I really am, they told me you took me away from a loving father.”

“More complicated… than that,” a feminine voice whispers from his radio.

“I know. That's why you told me to wait. To wait for someone who could properly explain me what happened.”

Her stare goes back to Optimus.

“And you came.”

Then she takes a step forward, she comes into the light, and for a brief moment the faces of her creators hide her own.

But soon the illusion is gone, because even if she has the same ruby eyes of her father and the same dark skin and round shape of her mother, she is not like them.

The rage eating the warlord from the inside out is absent from her eyes.

Her gaze is not determined like her mother's.

Her shoulders are hunched and her head lowered — it is so different from her parents who always stood proudly.

She is just tired. Tired, and alone again.

He can see she has gone through a lot. Optimus doesn't know why, but his spark begs him to lean forward and welcome the child within his arms, to give her some comfort. He suppresses the urge, knowing that such a brusque and invading gesture would scare the little one off.

He nods instead, explaining that it would be a long story to tell, for he has to dig deep into the roots of the Cybertronian society to explain how her parents came to be.

“Go ahead,” she shrugs as she brutally flops onto the stairs of the porch. “I have plenty of time for storytelling.”

He cannot help but ask if she is alright.

“Fine,” she grumbles.

Her tone is a clear indicator that she is not fine, but should Optimus press the matter, he has no clue.

He still doesn’t know a single thing about her. For now, they are strangers.

Maybe later… When they will be more comfortable around each other, maybe he will try to make her speak about her.

So he pushes the thought away and he kneels, the grass brushing his plating, and Bumblebee imitates him in a cross-legged position. Then his — soothing, she discovers with surprise — his soothing voice begins the tale of an old world.

“Cybertron once was a vast empire, with dozens and dozens of colonies implanted on several planets across the galaxy. Our leaders believed that our kind was above organic species; thus they never hesitate to wipe entire populations out if their homeworld’s soil was rich in resources — and the newly free space would be used to host the ever-growing Cybertronian population. We live for millennia, sometimes millions of years; back then the deaths did not compensate the newborns, which didn’t allow a balanced population growth. It seemed like our ruthless appetite was endlessly unsatisfied, despite the empire’s immense wealth.

“Cybertron was powerful, rich and feared, but that did not mean that Cybertronians were happy. Our society was framed by a rigid system of castes: according to the body and the alt-mode you were born with, you were labelled with the corresponding caste: the politicians, the military, the intellectuals, the entertainers, the merchants, the manual workers, the priests, and the outcasts, called “the strays”. Your cast dictated your profession for the rest of your life, no matter how misfit you could feel within it. You couldn’t have a Conjunx — what you humans would call a spouse — outside of your own cast. Every cast had to face prejudices and wariness from the other parts of society — which divided us, making it almost impossible to live as a community. And by the time I was online, the upper casts, politic and military, were heavily corrupted: bribes, favours and blackmails were common things.

“Before the war, my name was not Optimus Prime, but Orion Pax. I was a historian, from the cast of the intellectuals. My work was to study the Cybertronian archives and vulgarize their content for the general public. But it was more propaganda than an actual job: many times my books were returned to me, because it did not glorify enough the system. I never liked it, but I was too young to know how to write something that would satisfy the specification of the Council, and, at the same time, would give a clear insight of our past. The Council pretended that Cybertron was better now, and that the previous ages were uncivilized and dark periods of time, but I easily knew it was a blatant lie. Easy for me, since I had all the resources available to prove the absurdity of Functionalism — but I could not speak out loud, nor could any of my fellow Transformers, because whoever disapproved the Council was sidelined, banned, and sometimes killed. The atmosphere was of ignorance and fear, making it heavy and unbearable.

“And then, one day, a book appeared. The Council tried to remove it from the book stores and forbade its distribution, but by doing so they only increased the value of the novel, and it spread out in a small amount of time. Everyone wanted to know what was so special about this particular book (some people even downloaded it directly into their brain!), and I was curious too, so I looked for it. When I found it, I immediately became fascinated.

“It was simply called Dialogues. The story, beautifully written, was about a Cybertronian, who had died in an accident, and, as he waited in the Afterspark to be judged by Primus, our god, he came across a character called “the Stranger”. Who or what they were, the reader didn’t know, only that “they were not from here”. The Stranger asked the Transformer why he was crying, and he told them that all his life he had been miserable. Again the Stranger asked why, and as they comforted him, he told them his life. Gradually it became an explanation of the Cybertronian society, fueled by the remarks of the Stranger. The more the characters spoke, the more flaws of our world were pointed out. The mech explained that freedom was a foreign concept for him, and the Stranger was outraged to hear such a thing. They told him he was free to be himself, he ought to, actually, because everyone else was taken. It was the most touching part of the book: when the Cybertronian realised that he could hope, that he could dream. But then he asked what was the point in dreaming about a better life, if he was dead. And the Stranger pronounced an iconic sentence: “Because dreams occur when one is sleeping. It is time to wake up.” And he woke up in a hospital bed.”

For a fleeting moment, he stays silent, before speaking again:

“No wonder the Council tried to get rid of this book: it was an evident criticism of the very system they promoted. Whoever had written it had signed its own death warrant — but despite the Council’s investigations, they were never found. And the politicians were too late: the seeds of hope were sown. “It is time to wake up” became a forbidden motto, thrilling those who said it, thanks to someone who had been brave enough to shout that something was wrong.

“I wanted to meet this someone. I wanted to help them, I wanted to be part of this bravery. Thus I started to look for clues, anything that would lead me to them. I went all over the planet, I asked publishers and librarians who might have been in contact with this mysterious author. But none of them gave me an answer, denying the fact they had an acquaintance with them. I was about to give up, when a book seller from Kaon accosted me, and simply told me I should go to Zagoran.

“Zagoran is a desertic planet on the borderline of the Cybertronian Empire. It had been left untouched because it was only made of sand and barren mountains, making it “unworthy” of our leaders’ attention and unfit for Cybertronians to settle down. Only a few natives peacefully lived there, undisturbed by our expansionism.

“There were only two options. Either the book seller had given me a clue about the author's location, so I could meet them away from prying eyes; or it was a ruse from the Council, who might have noticed my researches about them, and maybe I was becoming too annoying, so they were trying to lure me away from Cybertron to kill me without any witness. But that last hypothesis was illogical: why send me on a faraway planet and waste resources in following me there, whereas there were people who easily disappeared every week? No, it was very likely that the place would lead me to the unknown writer.

“So I decided to go.”

The more he speaks, the more enthralled she becomes. It is as if Nebula can see the past through Orion Pax's eyes, and she beholds a world she doesn't know a thing about, yet who unfolds before her like the stage of a theatre.

She follows Orion Pax through his journey to Zagoran, can feel his excitement and his apprehension as his ship gets closer and closer to the planet and finally lands not far from a mountain massif.

The hot sand tickles her toes as he puts his feet on the ground. The tip of her tongue tastes the dry wind whistling around him, and she bites back a whine when the sun heating up his armour almost scorches her skin. But the sensation is quickly forgotten when he catches a glimpse of a shining object, standing at the base of a canyon.

The sun is reflecting on the plating of another Cybertronian, and Nebula is as curious as Orion about this stranger. A cloak is thrown around their shoulders, hiding their body, but everything about them is massive, and both travellers suddenly feel wary. They are even more anxious when the other robot beckons them to come closer before retreating into the canyon, but does Orion Pax have a choice? There is no turning back now.

Nebula is a simple witness, and cannot comfort him as he follows the stranger — and like his spark, her heart clenches in dread when a black bag is shoved around his head as soon as he enters the shadow of the cliffs. She feels his panic while he struggles against whoever harshly grips his wrists together and forces him down to his knees. His body is shaking and she shares the frightening hypothesis that this is a trap, and she jerks with him when another pair of hands palpate his body, looking for who knows what.

How long lasts this agonising moment, she doesn't know, but then a rumbling voice speaks.

“No tracker, no camera, no weapons. The guy is clean. You can let him go.”

Orion breathes out a sigh he has been holding — robots are able to sigh apparently — when he is released. But a firm hand stops him when he tries to take the bag off.

“The bag stays on,” the rumbling, calm voice tells him. “Now, follow us.”

He genuinely asks how he is supposed to walk if he is blind. The voice sighs and another one snickers, then Orion gasps in surprise when two callous hands scoop him up and press him against a broad chest.

“Aww,” the second voice, gravelly and deep, exclaims, “the little guy is cute when he squeaks! You look like a creator with their sparkling, bwahaha!”

Orion coughs in embarrassment while the one holding him — a femme, according to her voice — lets out an exasperated huff, before beginning to walk.

“Does this situation look like a joke to you?” and there is a warning in her tone.

“Oh, don’t worry, if the little guy tries any funny business, I’ll happily crush him. Got it, little guy?”

The smallest of the three shakily wonders what kind of situation he has got himself into while he nods and gulps.

The mech then makes an odd noise, something between a laugh and a snarl, like a wolf chuckling at a frightened dog, demanding him to go away, to leave his territory, or to submit.

So Orion submits. It's not like he can run away anyway. Not when the femme carrying him can easily smash him with her hands. He cannot see her, but he can guess she is taller than he is, or should he said huge, considering the arms supporting his weight are larger than his thighs. Each of her steps slightly shake the ground. Her thick and square fingers speak of strength, yet the powerful joints pressed against his armour are nothing but gentle and steady. He can feel the dents in the metal, a sign that her hands are used to harsh work… or more violent business.

He really, really doesn't want to think about the implications of such thoughts.

Then he notices that the air is cooler, it’s refreshing after having to cope with the burning heat of the desert. The femme turns right, turns left, turns left again — and after a moment he is so confused he cannot grasp directions any longer.

An eternity that could have been a second elapses during their walk — until she stops walking, and suddenly it seems like he is being stared at.

Anxious, he instinctively clings to her — and in response she unceremoniously drops him on the ground.

Someone snorts as he yelps in indignation then pain when he lands on his buttocks. He tries to get up despite the bag blindfolding him and he wobbles, almost losing his balance. A clawed hand catches him just in time, and sight is given back to him.

The first thing he sees is red. In the darkness of what looks like a cave, several pairs of glowing rubies warily peer at him. They stand straight, ready to strike should he do anything wrong. Their plating is dented and their paint worn, but their armor is so thick not even the strongest bullets would be able to pierce it. Some of them have cannons mounted on their back, others have guns and blades sticking out of their wrists — but all of them are covered in scars.

Orion realises in horror that he is before a pack of soldiers, beasts hardened by war — war dogs that can tear him up before he can say anything.

Despite being part of the military, one of the highest casts, soldiers are not worth more than strays. They are the tools of the expansion and the defence of the empire: they invade planets chosen by their superiors, they kill the people the strategists have decided not to spare, they guard the outposts implanted by their masters after having watched the battle from afar.

Never mind that dozens of them die on the battlefield — they are just pawns on the chessboard. They are made for violence, decimating everything, until violence claims them back.

Soldiers are almost never seen on Cybertron, if not as bodyguards — a job they are really good at — and they are so feared no one approaches them.

Are these people bodyguards too? Are they here to protect the mysterious author? It would be the most feasible explanation, yet Orion cannot shakes the feeling that he is missing something. They look old, battered by life, and at the same time there is something very young about them.

“What is your name?” a blue bot with gold accent coolly asks, his hands resting on the hilt of a long sword that can cut him in half in one swift motion.

“My designation is Orion Pax,” the historian manages to say with a steady voice, something he is proud of.

“Typical body from the intellectual cast,” the femme that carried him adds, and Primus, she is not tall she is a giant! “He fits Kat's description. He’s got nothing he can use against us. He’s either a spy or someone who genuinely wants to help.”

“I want to!” Orion exclaims, and everyone immediately stiffens, until they notice he is not speaking vehemently, but enthusiastically. “This novel, Dialogues, it was… it was something that everybody needed to read. The author was very brave to speak out loud, and I want to support them, so they can keep speaking.”

“And how would you do that?” two large, scarlet optics ask, inquisitive, only visible feature of a body hidden in the dark — and at this moment Orion regrets he has not an infrared vision.

“I am an historian. I have studied the past of Cybertron for a long time, and I want to share this knowledge… even if the Council doesn’t allow me to. That is why I am here: the writer spread hope, and if there is anything I can do to make this hope grow, if there are arguments the author needs to strengthen his ideas and resist against the Council’s propaganda… then I will not hesitate to provide them.”

The embers are closed now, reflecting upon the historian’s words. But when they open again, it is another voice that speaks, sounding strange, almost alien.

“We cannot trust you. Not yet. But if your words are true, then we will gladly accept your help. For now, go back to Cybertron. Think about the implications of such a choice. When we will decide that you are trustworthy, we will contact you again. And you will see the one you seem so keen to meet.”

When the silence comes back, Orion understands that it is time to leave. As they put the bag back and escort him toward the exit, he cannot help but feel disappointed. However, he understands that they have to take precautions — it’s survival.

He wonders how they will be able to tell that he is not a traitor, and he doesn’t feel the minuscule camera they have installed on him when they frisked him a moment earlier.

And the mysterious author is still plaguing his mind.

“Back then I didn’t know. I didn’t know that there was not one but two authors. I didn’t know they were already there, in this cave where everything began. I had seen his eyes and I had heard her voice. One was a soldier, like his brothers in arms. The other was someone who came from far away.”

Nebula is back to the present, and watches this robot full of memories, closing his eyes for a moment, trying not to get lost into the maze of his past.

“These people, one of a kind, were your parents. Megatron and Esther.”

#i know it ends up with a cliffhanger sorry #but i had to cut there bc it was too long #don't worry several parts of the next chapter are already done #hope you liked it! #sweet child o' mine #megatron #esther #nebula #optimus prime #transformers #beeverse #knightverse #bumblebee movie #interspecies romance #science-fiction

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

It’s sort of about

* queer hauntology - specifically, the atemporality of being a queer person (your life milestones all thrown out of their normal order, being pre-pubescent at 30, the lost pasts that wreathe you as of things unspoken or unlived, the lost futures you will never have as a straight, not dating until your 20s, and so on)

* Mark Fisher's hauntology of, how we're in a time of cultural and political stuckness, not being able to see a future, but haunted by our political/cultural past

* how I feel about that while being part of an online community that seems increasingly into like, AIDS nostalgia, very into using the history of butch/femme as a stone tablet for how contemporary people should behave, being totemically into Marsha Johnson as an Icon rather than part of a broader movement, being totemically attached to performers who lived in the closet rather than ones who were out and campaigning; the asynchornicity of the internet where people pick up conversations with international strangers that were perhaps months old, and how perhaps that relates to the way we're in conversation with our pre-internet past; What The Internet Is Doing To Our Brains discusses how books changed the way people thought, as did clocks, and so maybe asynchronicity as the mode that the modern brain most naturally adopts

* the loss of in-person spaces

* the Epidemic of Gay Loneliness, and its finding that a lot of queer people are actually very unhappy, moreso if they are part of community, despite all the "positive progress" we've made

* how I feel about these vivid fantasies of like, being in a San Francisco leather bar in 1970-something and what that fantasy is doing, what it's compensating for; and like, why is that specifically - what am I looking to find there? Why do I feel a sense of “one day, that will be me” about Smalltown Boy when I literally did already run away to the big city and yet somehow, it wasn’t enough.

* maybe something about the Caretaker’s Death of a Rave, the empty dancefloor as haunted space; maybe I should try and remix Patrick Cowley to have more looping and reverb.

* how many mainstream queer products are coming up that are set in the 80s rather than now, and why is that? Why can’t we look at our present; and what is the psychological impact of a popular mainstream culture which will only promote queer imagery that’s defanged and safely in the past

* the proliferation of queer imagery so that we now learn our queerness from products, rather than other people, or define it in private from the detritus of popular culture; what is that like?

* why do I need my queer cultural objects so much more desperately now at 30 than I did at 16. Surely this is the emotional behaviour of a closeted teenager.

* how I feel about Drag Race. Like, lineages of memory and community I guess. Drag Race S1 is cheap, and the queens are all proper broke; it's sort of in the lineage of Paris is Burning, but was RuPaul ever part of that scene or did she come to that language through the film? Drag Race Season Now, you need a £10,000 to win and most competitive queens have a designer. Many of them haven't come out of the ball, bar or pageant scene - they haven't learnt their drag from an interpersonal community, but from a television product. Or like, the (disparaging) concept of an Instagram Queen. Well, I don't want to disparage it, but I do think it's interesting: people learning their drag in the atemporal, not really mutual, image-based not person-based world of the internet. As they say, "RuPaul done fucked up drag". I'm interested in critiques of like, how american working class black linguistic quirks became the lingua franca of the internet, in part through Drag Race, and when does that stop being appropriation and start being a community language, learned from one another - if we are to claim that online community has parity to real life community. And I have some feelings about Drag Race UK too, how impenetrable the UK queen comedy is to american audiences and even the Drag Race judging panel, and what it feels like to be trying to take that "you're not a part of this ballroom culture and never can be" message on board when, that *is* your culture and community mediated through the internet and cultural products, and we're in a moment where queer culture is being transformed into images and products which are far more accessible than other people; and how it then feels to have that given a UK gloss and feeling "wait, this is home".

* That’s a lot of words about Drag Race, but what I mean through it is lines of cultural transmission, lineages, community, and what does it mean for those things to stop being interpersonal, scene-based, highly local, and start being generic, international, asynchronous, learned from television.

* do you think I want to learn polari for similar reasons that the Welsh nationalists want everybody to speak Welsh? Like, there’s no real practical reason why the Welsh can’t all speak English to one another, except this deep-rooted, emotional sense of family, community, home that speaking your language evokes, like adopting the language of your people can speak another world into being, you can say what was once inexpressable, you can find new ways to connect outside of the oppressor’s language, etc etc Like, this isn’t to dunk on Welsh or language nationalism (I’m a Welsh speaker!), but I think some of the emotions going on there are the same, and I think wanting to speak polari is stupid and a cover-up for something else that I want.

Somewhere, in the middle of all of that, is my argument; but its mostly about unhappiness and stuckness, feeling alone, feeling more like an image than a person or a ghost than a thing that's living. 

Like, I don’t have any readings for that. I suspect other people have approached these topics. I’d be very greatful for any advice on sources, readings, be they academic or informal, or even just any ideas you have which came up while reading that.

& my discord is Unmutual#0576 if you have a long response, because tumblr’s interface sucks

But I don’t quite feel ready to present it, because it isn’t yet coherent - in the literal sense of, things not quite sticking together.

(also, tagging @gatheringbones because I know you have a brainful of books and readings and voices, although this is not a demand or a pressure)

#thoughts for the essay

[caustic-pixie]

On Radicalization

I was talking with a friend about the tricky social splinter of finding out that acquaintances are one step away from enemies by way of how they handle their discomfort brought on by critique and confrontation.

There are many kinds of “work” we face in life. What I am focusing on here is a certain kind. I'll say Work, with a Capital W. Work, defined here as “reaching the threshold of uncomfortable, unknown-result, unmovable set of concepts and tasks that are not only expected of us, but have reached a culminating point of no-turning-back being -required- for us to change in a way that better integrates us into an immediate group – and that increases the health and decreases the toxicity of that group”.

The “group” is subjective, but intentionally close by. Maybe it's a job, a blood family, a chosen family, a music scene, friends, religion, whatever – maybe it has national/global levels – but the Work is tied directly in to immediate degrees of connection with others that are involved in one's daily/weekly life and activities.

- - -

Big chunks of the USA have a problem with a kind of toxic masculinity that has been progressing since after World War II, when families were forming and propagating in an age of ever-expanding technology and opportunity. Houses had been popping up in towns, and those houses and towns were ready-made for the auto industry – homes were in suburbs away from work, which was away from the stores, which was away from nature, which was away from schools. The idea of community became location-role specific, the nuclear family became an echo chamber of “Mine deserve the best – better than the rest”. Slowly, over decades and generations and cohorts, we put on blinders so we could better focus on looking forward – and the only time we looked in to other lanes was to check and make sure we had a far enough head-start. Buy more, better, bigger, faster – for you and your family – so you can -be- more, so you can -be- better, so you can -be- bigger, so you can -be- faster. Work long enough to take the money you've earned to leverage it with a bank to purchase things to give you and your kids the best shot at winning the chance to work long enough to take the money -

When we hear jeers about “every kid getting a medal for everything”, we see the true success of the above. Adults of all ages complain about a system that was set up not only by their own parents, but by their grandparents, and is now insidiously motivating in what they do themselves: Grown men and women want enough medals taken away so -their- kid's medal is special again, so -they- are special – again.

Again.

Again. As if there was a “before”. As if there was a first time, that they were special. Why can't they remember when they were special? What... was that thing, that used to feel so good? Do you remember?

Schools and sports slowly rolled over the country in to being the only refuge for kids, and soon there would be no refuge for older kids, for adults. Gender-restrictive, but still deep and supportive, relationships fell to the wayside for whole swaths of men. Women had their friendships demonized and devalued until or unless they could be commodified in some darkly competitive way.

What is that special feeling that one wants to reclaim again? Community. Belonging. Validation. Efficacy. Meaning.

Humans are social. We can't help it. If you, reader, has gone “Tch.” in your head – has gone “I'M antisocial. People are awful. I want to be away in the woods with my pets/art/music” - this post is not for you. Go read the first two related links on the top and come back here later. Seriously, I don't want you on this post, it's a waste of your time and mine. Go, go.

Humans are social. We can't help it. Biologically, it's what we do, it's in our coding, we -need- each other, each of us. It takes a lot of work and Work alike to make sure we all get those needs met. Loneliness is not only deadly, but it's almost viral – it weakens the mind's immunity to other mental illnesses: Isolation, paranoia, self-neglect, depression, anger, delusions. Too much time alone, and the brain will begin to construct its -own- world to compensate for the needs left unfulfilled – like a body living off its own fat reserves until it starts reaching the muscles and it needs to eat those too. We need to see that our existence positively effects the existences of those around us, we need to see that we are seen, we need to see that others see us seeing them. We need our actions to bee like they -matter-.

When we're punished for wanting to look to our sides because it might mean we're willing to fall behind to match pace with others in our cohort, when we're given so many medals and rewards that we can no longer trust the praise of others as a way to mark our progress or acknowledge our Work, when we're encouraged to only team up with others to accomplish one goal and then disperse -

when do we get to find a sustainable sense of meaning? Where do we get taught to do the Work to make it happen?

We're not encouraged to perform emotional labor – some humans (especially men, especially people in different power brackets) are discouraged from even learning how. We don't possess a language to think about building, let alone -maintaining-, long-term connections to those closest to us (mentally or physically).

Once you've hit a certain age, then, fully indoctrinated to the above: your only choice is forward-motion towards power. Power will mean you're far enough ahead that you are safe. Power will mean reaching the goal. Top score. Good grades. Medals. House. Car. Food. The best, fastest, most. It always has before.

Anyone who tries to connect with you must therefore be trying to take your power away. There's no motivation toward a group project here. The Work is obviously not real, because you never had to do any of it before, right? Your friends, family, coworkers will all inevitably betray you because -you would absolutely betray them-, and this knowledge churns around an ever deepening fear of self that becomes projected out into a fear of others so that neither fear is distinguishable from the other and they both harden in to something that feels like a Fact of Life.

That Fact of Life means that any deviation from running ahead must mean that someone is trying to run you off your road. Work is frivolous, menat for someone else to do, because you're already working -so- hard-. Critique is a confrontation. Emotional vulnerability is a manipulative trap. Invitation to engage is a demand on your time to waste it away from this important thing you're trying to do. Any questioning of behavior is an obvious attempt to -hurt you-.

Now imagine if you looked ahead and saw a group of people who Get It. Who live this Fact of Life so perfectly that they're reaching all the goals. They're powerful. They're not alone. They have attention, love, success; and it’s not even slowing them down or making them look weak. They figured it out. They lash out at the problem and people listen. They're winners.

Wouldn't you want it? Why wouldn't you want it? It's perfect. Everything you were brought up to believe was real, all along. You can be special again.

One's friend group from school, sports, childhood has been receding. The ones still present have begun to say that one has changed. One gets defensive – what's changed, what are these guys even talking about? One has always been this way. It's THEM that have changed. They can't see the obvious truth that their power is getting leeched away from them, and by association they're making everyone else give up that power too. Everyone's rushing to become weak and slow. Everyone's denying their destiny to go pursue the goal-grade-score-star. Why are they rejecting this? Why can't they see the truth?

Those other folks who have found their own groups that match up with their own lanes, those folks are spouting crazy talk. It's -One- who has always stayed the same... and that's actually true, from all angles. Those other folks are just finally having to acknowledge the behaviors and beliefs they could formally take for granted as being inherent/good or that they could at least sweep under the rug as just common/inevitable. None of them have ever learned the emotional skills to not only spot the red flags early enough to matter, and none of them have ever learned how to want to -act upon- those red flags even if they could see them in time. Loneliness has seeded and sprouted and seeps. So those blinders keep the eyes on the prize and these people who seem to be already achieving it. So this One person submits.

So they are special. Again. Community. Belonging. Validation. Efficacy. Meaning.

Again and again and again, the cure to loneliness is viral in its own right – this desperate, unnamed need to connect without any language or skills to do so; this self/other fear and goal-power-chasing that lays the bedrock for every other belief. The drive to be in anything but Last Place means joining any other group of people that will help you keep -any other group- in last so you never have to be. If the group gets too big to gather new members, it'll just splinter into smaller subgroups for the same goal.

The good feelings that should come with being special are impossible to feel, because that would create vulnerability. This specialness is only safe if it sneaks in like a feeling of -survival-. You are special because of your fear, because of your anger, because of how many enemies there are in front of you to unite those to the sides of you. There will always need to be an enemy to rail again, for there to be a special way to feel.

Who is good, and who is bad? One, or the other folks? Do you know which side of the fence this One fell over to? Surprise, it could be any, all, and either. It could start on one and end on the other. Are you listening? It's all a long-term lack of skills.

It's irrelevant from which ideology we spring from, but only in a detached sense, which is from wence I am writing this today. All of this results in violence, and all of that results in all of us being slowed down even further. People are dying for dreams that were not designed to remember them.

The answer to all things is rehabilitation and reintegration, witnessing, watchfulness, work, Work. One by one, one by the many, the many by one. The village raising the child, the Scotsman taking ownership of culture's complex and sometimes unflattering results. The healthy display of anger and hurt and sorrow, the strength and patience and self-preparation of holding space when we just don't want to.

No excusing, and, consistent acknowledgment of what-is. Context can coexist beside confrontation. Tolerance and acceptance do not negate boundaries and expectations, instead they work together to build towards progress.

#personal #philosophy #radicalization #racism #classism #sexism

[heilpraktiker-hannover]

7 Ways To Stop Sugar Cravings

7 Ways To Stop Sugar Cravings

7 Ways To Stop Sugar Cravings

by Dr. Jockers, drjockers.com

Anyone who has ever tried to change their diet knows it can be hard to give up foods they love. As a doctor that strongly advocates for a ketogenic-style eating plan, I’ve realized just the stranglehold that sugary-sweet foods can have on a person’s willpower. In this article you will learn my top strategies to stop sugar cravings for good.

Sugar has become the bane of our society and the sad part is, so many people have no idea what kind of damage it does inside our bodies. At almost 130 grams of sugar per person (PER DAY!), America is by far the highest consumer of dietary sugar in the world.

Think about this.. 130 grams of sugar is the equivalent of about TEN SPOONFULS and the average American eats that every day! It’s no wonder conditions like obesity, cancer, and diabetes are some of the most prevalent chronic diseases in the US. That being said the strategies outlined in this article could change the trajectory of millions of lives.

Causes of Sugar Cravings 

There are a number of different mechanisms why one would have sugar cravings throughout the day.  The most common underlying triggers for this include blood sugar imbalances due to a poor diet or large feeding gaps throughout the day, HPA axis dysfunction and emotional eating.

HPA axis dysfunction is what happens when we are under a tremendous amount of stress.  For many this stress leads to a desire for sugar.  Most of us have experienced emotional eating crisis as well when we looked for sugar to help us cope with certain emotions such as loneliness, sadness or depression.

Blood Sugar Imbalance 

Consumption of sugar-rich foods by our ancestors was much different from the present. Sweets were consumed only on occasion and in much lower quantities. Today it seems like if we don’t get a constant flow of it we can’t function properly. The average American consumes upwards of 150 LBS of sugar per year and about 50% of Americans consume ½ a pound of sugar every day.

High doses of sugars throughout the day sends blood sugar levels on a rollercoaster that should optimally remain relatively stable. Consistently spiking blood sugar levels also results in chronically elevated insulin which contributes to inflammation, hormone imbalance, weight gain, and yes, more sugar cravings.

Additionally, it’s possible to develop something called reactive hypoglycemia. This occurs because of a rapid drop in blood sugar that occurs only a few hours after consuming a sugar-rich meal. Symptoms of this include irritability (feeling hangry), weak muscles and fatigue (1).

Following this crash we go into emergency food-seeking mode. Unfortunately, if we’re not conscious of what is going on, the food sought out tends to be another sugar bomb that restarts the cycle.

HPA Axis Dysfunction 

The body contains an extensive amount of regulatory systems to keep itself healthy. One that has received a lot of attention in recent years is the HPA axis. The HPA axis consists of the hypothalamus, pituitary gland, and the adrenal glands (which are responsible for regulating stress).

When we are under chronic stress, eating a poor diet, or constantly in a poor emotional state for extended amounts of time, it can lead to a disruption in the HPA axis (also known as adrenal fatigue). This can be problematic for many reasons.

The HPA axis is responsible for cortisol regulation and cortisol plays a key role in blood sugar balance. If HPA axis dysfunction leads to chronically high or low cortisol levels then blood sugar imbalance may result which will then result in cravings.

There is also some evidence that chronically elevated cortisol levels can interfere with the reward center in our brains and reinforce negative habits (2). Strengthening the HPA axis may be a critical factor to stop sugar cravings.

Emotional Eating 

If you feel like your eating habits are driven by your emotions, or become poor during times of high stress, this is not uncommon. What I often find in this scenario is that by addressing dopamine levels, people find it much easier to regulate their behaviors.

Dopamine is a neurotransmitter that is responsible for the reward system in our brain that has a lot to do with our motivation to accomplish goals, make good decisions, and control emotions. It has been shown that sugar consumption not only spikes blood sugar, but also causes a temporary spike in dopamine.

This dopamine-spiking effect of sugar can actually become addictive and when trying to cut sugar from the diet we often encounter a dopamine deficit that makes regulating our behaviors more difficult. Additionally, blood sugar imbalance can increase dopamine enzyme activity. This means dopamine is broken down faster and a higher amount is needed to stimulate the same amount of pleasure (3).

1. Lemons, Limes, and Apple Cider Vinegar 

Sprinkling the juice of lemons and limes over your foods will change the way your body processes them during digestion. The citric acid within those juices will change the way your digestive system processes your foods in a way that slows blood sugar response (4).

Apple cider vinegar has a very similar effect and has been shown to lower the glycemic index (blood sugar response) to higher carbohydrate meals significantly (5).

All three of these liquids also have a range of other nutrients that can aid in digestion and help promote better insulin signaling. Simply adding these to your foods can be a great strategy. As an alternative, you can also add 1-2 Tbsp. to a glass of water and drink about 30 minutes before eating for a similar benefit.

2. Low Carb, Ketogenic-Style Diet 

As has been alluded to already, many of our blood sugar problems simply result from the overconsumption of sugar. One of the most powerful dietary strategies I have found to stabilize blood sugar, improve hormone balance, and kick sugar cravings is a ketogenic-style or low-carb/high-fat diet.

By replacing high amounts of refined sugars with predominantly healthy fats and only consuming slow-digesting, low glycemic carbohydrates (when necessary), you are taking a massive step towards better health and blood sugar regulation.

Another benefit of eating predominantly fats is their effect on satiety (feeling full after a meal). Dietary fats help promote proper secretion of leptin which is a hormone responsible for satiety as well as healthy blood sugar balance.

3. Air Squats

Another MAJOR reason for blood sugar imbalance is inactivity. If we don’t use our muscles regularly, then stored sugar remains in the cells while blood sugar gets diverted into fat stores.  By using your muscles through movement, you can burn up those stored sugars and improve blood sugar response for 2 hours following.

My recommendation is to perform 20-50 air squats whenever you start to feel the craving for sugar coming on. For an added benefit, try this Super Brain Yoga move that combines the squatting motion with a specific pressure application using your fingers to improve brain function!

If you have knee problems or for some reason cannot perform a squat, you can also perform an overhead press with light weight.

See Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bh_2_92uRIA

4. Water & Good Salts 

Sugar cravings can often be a result of dehydration and improper mineral balance. At first it can seem like these variables don’t tie together but it actually makes a lot of sense why you would crave sugar when dehydrated.

Our liver utilizes water in the process of converting glycogen into glucose for energy. If we are dehydrated then our ability to maintain steady blood sugar decreases and the body tries to compensate by signaling you to consume more sugar.

Consuming adequate amounts of a high-quality salt such as Himalayan pink will help maintain proper hydration by providing trace minerals and electrolytes like magnesium, sodium and potassium. They will also promote proper balance of stress hormones which profoundly influence blood sugar.

Use pink salts generously on foods or add a pinch to your water before drinking. I personally use this pink salt. 

5. Use Natural Sweeteners

Eliminating processed sugars and fast-digesting high-carb foods is one of the primary strategies to stabilizing blood sugar and eliminating sugar cravings. To safely consume sweet, delicious foods, make them homemade with natural sweeteners like stevia and monk fruit.

The fact that they contain no sugar also makes them awesome for use in a ketogenic diet.

6. Reduce Stress & Adapt Stronger 

Stress can be one of the most destructive forces to the human body. If we learn to tame it however, it can also be one of our greatest means for growth. The first step is make sure we separate bouts of stress with enough rest to fully recover. Our body is adapted for short bursts of high stress, but chronic stress can lead to problems.

I fully understand the fast-paced nature of our society today so for times of prolonged stress it is important to ground ourselves through exercises like deep breathing, meditation, gratitude, prayer, and getting out in nature. These kinds of activities pull the body back into a parasympathetic state where recovery can occur.  In this article, I go over a number of strategies to help you adapt stronger.

For additional support, it’s important to obtain adequate amounts of B vitamins and magnesium to help support stress responses in the body. I have also found adaptogens like cordyceps and ginseng to be incredibly powerful for this.  I will often use Adapt Strong to help my clients adapt to stress more effectively.

7. Support Dopamine Production

Dopamine is most commonly associated with the reward and pleasure centers in the brain. When we finish a task or accomplish a goal, our brain releases dopamine that gives us a feeling of euphoria. In this way, dopamine also highly regulates our motivation and ability to exhibit will power. Consequently, I have found that sugar cravings and compulsive eating habits are often a sign of low dopamine levels.

Supporting proper dopamine production will allow you have greater willpower over your dietary choices and overcome sugar cravings. Proper strategies for optimizing your dopamine levels are outlined in this article.

In my clinic, I always recommend Dopamine Plus for my patients who are struggling to overcome sugar cravings. It contains clinical doses of L-Tyrosine and DL-Phenylalanine which both help to promote healthy dopamine production. I have found that it works very well in conjunction with Adapt Strong for supporting healthy dopamine levels.

The Sweet Freedom Summit

I used to struggle with sugar cravings all the time. My will power could get me by for a while…then I would have a binge eating session. Now, I know the strategies to keep my blood sugar under control and keep cravings at bay.

These strategies I present in the Sweet Freedom online summit that you can register and listen to for free.  My talk will be played all day on Tuesday, April 11th and on the Encore Days on Monday-Tuesday April 18th and 19th.  Be sure to listen in!

Sources For This Article Include

UW Health

Stephens, M. A. C., & Wand, G. (2012). Stress and the HPA axis: role of glucocorticoids in alcohol dependence. Alcohol Research : Current Reviews, 34(4), 468–83. PMID: 23584113

Kleinridders, A., Cai, W., Cappellucci, L., Ghazarian, A., Collins, W. R., Vienberg, S. G., … Kahn, C. R. (2015). Insulin resistance in brain alters dopamine turnover and causes behavioral disorders. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 112(11), 3463–8. PMID: 25733901

Radulian, G., Rusu, E., Dragomir, A., & Posea, M. (2009). Metabolic effects of low glycaemic index diets. Nutrition Journal, 8, 5–12. PMID: 19178721

Johnston, C. S., & Gaas, C. A. (2006). Vinegar: medicinal uses and antiglycemic effect. , 8(2), 61. PMID: 16926800

Assaei, R., Mokarram, P., Dastghaib, S., Darbandi, S., Darbandi, M., Zal, F., … Ranjbar Omrani, G. H. (2016). Hypoglycemic effect of aquatic extract of Stevia in pancreas of diabetic rats: PPARγ -dependent regulation or antioxidant potential. Avicenna Journal of Medical Biotechnology, 8(2), 65–74. PMID: 27141265

Zhou, Y., Zheng, Y., Ebersole, J., Huang, CF. (2009). Insulin secretion stimulating effects of mogroside V and fruit extract of luo han kuo (Siraitia grosvenori Swingle) fruit extract. PMID: 21351724

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