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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

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To Look On Tempests and Not Be Shaken

Summary: In the wake of a blazing row and an empty apartment, Aaron finds Spencer's well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare's sonnets and recalls the morning after their wedding, when Spencer sat on his lap and read Sonnet 116 to him. Suddenly, everything makes sense.

Tags: angst with a happy ending, fighting and making up, married hotchreid, relationship dynamics, introspection, fluff, shakespeare/literature

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(Set in S11, AU in which Haley/Aaron divorced in S1 and Aaron/Spencer married in S4.)

It wasn’t really either of their faults: work was relentless at the moment and they hadn’t had any real time for one another in weeks. That’s not really a consolation to either Spencer or Aaron, however, when they’re in the middle of a blazing row that has them both drowning in flames of anger and passion, unable to see one another for the smoke filling their apartment.

“Aaron, this is the fourth case in a row that you’ve stayed at the office past 4 in the morning to wrap up the paperwork,” Spencer shouts, frustration rising in his chest as he tugs at his hair, already feeling far too overwhelmed. Aaron is looking as unbothered and stoic as he always does during their fights, and even though Spencer is fully aware of the emotion that will be stirring under his carefully constructed mask, it doesn’t make it any less exasperating.

“You know as well as I do that this sort of work load is completely unavoidable,” Aaron says lowly, anger finally audible in his voice. It’s not as satisfying as Spencer had hoped. “We can’t keep rehashing this same old argument. I’m the Unit Chief of a team in one of the most prestigious FBI departments. I have a responsibility.”

“You have a responsibility to me and Jack as well,” Spencer cries, fury bubbling over as he thinks of Jack and just how much he deserves. “We deserve your time just as much as fucking serial killers do.”

Aaron visibly flinches as Spencer swears, an occurrence rare enough to indicate serious emotion. “This is exactly the argument I used to have with Haley, Spencer,” he says harshly. “I refuse to have it with you, too. If you can’t handle it then maybe you should leave, just like she did, hm?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe that means there’s an element of truth in it then, Aaron?” Spencer asks, voice breaking slightly as the scale tips away from uncontained ire towards hopeless misery. He turns away from his husband, trying in vain to conceal his crumpled face and damp eyes. “And you know I would never do that to you; don’t you dare throw your unresolved issues back in my face.”

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Aaron says, voice and face hardened; Spencer can almost see the walls he’s building up again, the stubborn refusal to concede any point. “You’re not being rational. I’m going to bed.”

His stomach twists with the desperation of the situation as he says quietly to Aaron’s turned, retreating back, “What happened to never going to bed angry?” He doesn’t turn back around.

⭐️

Aaron waits in bed for Spencer to join him, fully intending to feign sleep the moment he enters the bedroom but nevertheless longing to know he’s safely tucked next to him in bed. When he hears the quiet click of the front door and checks the time to see he’s been waiting for almost 25 minutes, though, a panicked feeling fills his chest. He throws the covers back and treads out to the living room, only to be met with a decidedly empty room. If he was a more spiritual man he’d say he could still feel the angry aura of their previous argument lingering over the furniture. Really what he feels is the inevitable, empty vacuum a home without Spencer in it is bound to house.

He sits down on the sofa, just on the wrong side of too cold in his threadbare t-shirt and underwear, and buries his head in his hands. The problem is that he knows Spencer’s right. He and Jack both deserve better than this kind of life, of course they do. Jack deserves a father, Spencer deserves a husband. Admitting such a fact, however, requires humility, vulnerability, failure almost. It means telling his boss that he needs reinforcements, that he can’t continue with the 80+ hour weeks, that he’s not as strong as he used to be.

That sort of thing takes a courage that feels so far out of reach, though, and he’s left defending a place he doesn’t want to be in against people he loves more than anything in the world.

Forcing himself out of his miserable carousel of thoughts and regrets, he pulls his head from his hands and catches sight of a note on the coffee table, his name scrawled across it in Spencer’s handwriting. Immediately, his heart sinks: it’s unlikely a love letter. It’s far more likely it’s a note of good riddance, an announcement of abandonment.

Turning it over in his shaking hands, he reads:

I’ve gone to stay with Derek and Penelope for the night. I will pick up Jack from Jessica’s in the morning, on my way home. I love you. Spencer

He immediately feels guilt at ever having thought that Spencer would be cruel enough to leave him in the same way he’s been left himself one too many times. His husband has an incredible amount of love filling his heart, and he’s simply incapable of such cruelty. It’s been a fear of his for many years, that Spencer would grow unhappy but be too kind to leave, prioritising Aaron above himself. He knows it’s Haley’s fault for embedding such fear and doubt in his heart all those years ago, but he can’t help but berate himself for ever doubting Spencer.

It’s not like they’re about to break up. When he considers the situation logically, he knows that. He loves Spencer, Spencer loves him, and ultimately, he’s going to relent. He’s going to draw on whatever shreds of courage remain in his tattered and beaten soul and do whatever it takes to make his family happy, to give them what they deserve. He just has no idea how to cross the gaping chasm that stands in the way of reaching that eventuality.

He goes to place the note back down on the coffee table, but his eyes land on the book it had originally rested on: Spencer’s well-loved copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He picks it up, sort of absent-mindedly, thumbing the pages the love of his life has read countless times, holding on to the book as an emotional connection to Spencer. It’s travelled their entire relationship with them; he remembers it laying on his spare bedside table back when Spencer visited his apartment in the dead of night, terrified of anyone finding them out. He’d read the poems over and over again, long into the night. Aaron can’t help but smile at the memory of Spencer’s unique quirks.

Eventually, his absent fiddling lands him on a page Spencer’s visited time and time again. A worn leather bookmark Aaron recognises as one of Diana’s gifts marks the page titled Sonnet 116. Tired and lovelorn, he begins reading.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

((Modern Translation, if you’d prefer:

I will not admit that interferences are possible in the union of two people In love. Love that changes when circumstances do is not love, Nor if it bends when someone tries to destroy it: Oh no! It is an eternally fixed point, Which may watch storms but is never shaken by them; it is the guiding star for ever lost ship: Its distance may be measured but its quality cannot be. Love does not fall victim to Time, though features of youth Are eventually entrapped by him; Love doesn’t change as hours and weeks race past, But endures until death. If this is wrong, and I’m proved incorrect, Then I never wrote, and no man ever loved.))

The words come rushing back to him as soon as he reads them: it had been a contender for Spencer’s chosen poem at their wedding. He’d eventually gone with I loved you first by Christina Rosetti, the perfect compliment to his own choice of I love you by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, but on their first morning as a married couple, laid in their warm and comfortable bed, Spencer had pulled out this very book and straddled Aaron’s thighs, reading it to him with an earnest expression. He remembers the air being punched out of his chest as he’d looked up at a bright-eyed 27-year-old Spencer who had been through so much already but still held all the grace and innocence he did on his first day at the BAU.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear runs down his nose and splashes on the page. What really tips him over the edge is reading Spencer’s small, chicken-scratch annotations around the poem, noting different points in their relationship, events between the two of them that prove the words of an Englishman born 400 years earlier.

It’s so easy for him to doubt how much Spencer loves him - insecurities and the trauma of his separation from Haley consume him far too often - but he’s holding the tangible, physical proof. This is undeniable, this is the evidence his doubtful, damaged heart yearns for, and the furious, raging, endlessly tumultuous waters inside him settle for the first time in weeks.

⭐️

The second Aaron’s alarm goes off at 6am, he gets started on the plan he’d formed as soon as the words of Shakespeare’s sonnet had sunk in. The email he’d composed the night before is the first thing his laptop screen displays when he powers it on, and he presses send on the uncompromising, demanding letter he’d addressed to Cruz. Finally feeling good about the entire situation, he turns the coffee maker on and gets dressed; Spencer’s an early riser but he’s determined to get to Derek and Penelope’s before he leaves.

The relief is freeing, and he feels light for the first time in a long time. He hadn’t quite realised just how much it had all been weighing on him until he’d finally found the courage to cut it free.

Armed with two coffees and Shakespeare’s sonnets, he heads downstairs to the taxi he’d ordered the night before. The city races past in front of the slow and steady sunrise, dawn marking a new chapter in Aaron’s life that he’s determined to make worth it. Slowly the thick of the city fades into the suburbs, and the taxi slows down as they wind through the maze of identical looking streets until they arrive at Derek and Penelope’s home.

He pays the taxi driver as quickly as possible and sighs in relief at the sight of Spencer’s car still on the drive as he climbs out of the vehicle, carefully balancing his two coffees, still warm in their thermal mugs. Fully aware that Derek and Penelope are absolutely going to chew him out the minute they lay eyes on him, he hesitantly rings the doorbell.

“Man, what the hell?” Derek exclaims, clearly exasperated as he swings the door open, revealing a sorry looking Aaron Hotchner standing sheepishly on his doorstep.

“I know,” Aaron replies immediately, trying to portray as much regret and understanding with his body language as is possible when holding two coffees with your husband’s most prized possession perched precariously under your arm. “I know, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I need to see Spencer.”

Derek looks thoroughly put out just being in Aaron’s presence, but after a moment or two of hesitation he relents, opening the door wider to let him through. “Alright,” he sighs. “I’ll ask if he’s okay to see you.”

He parks Aaron in the living room and then leaves to go and find Spencer. Only seconds later, he hears the hurried click of kitten heels on the wooden floor and internally cringes; if facing Derek was bad, facing Penelope will be infinitely more painful.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Penelope shouts before she’s even fully entered the living room, “I have never, and I mean never been more disappointed in you. I don’t think you fully appreciate how lucky you are. You may be my boss but that does not mean I will not chew you out when you screw up this bad. Anyone who makes my Spencer cry is in my bad books for at least two weeks. You are in the dog house, you understand me? The dog house.”

She’s thankfully cut off from continuing her rant by Spencer’s shy, hesitant appearance at the doorway. Penelope immediately rushes over and gives him a hug, whispering something in his ear that Aaron doesn’t catch but makes Spencer giggle. She reaches up to ruffle his hair before patting his cheek fondly and casting a furious glare in Aaron’s direction as she vacates the living room.

“Hi,” Aaron says softly, breaking the silence left in the wake of Storm Penelope. “I bought you a coffee.”

“What are you doing here, Aaron?” Spencer asks, clearly a little confused but still accepting the drink.

“I know you said that you’d come home this morning but I had to come and get you,” he replies, standing up from his seat on the couch and taking a few steps forward. “Look… your note last night, it was on top of this book. And in my absent-minded cloud of misery I was looking through it and came across Sonnet 116.”

A flicker of recognition lights up Spencer’s eyes as his face softens a little at the sight of his beloved book.

“Do you remember? Climbing into my lap on our one day wedding anniversary and reading it to me? Back then I was partly distracted by the gorgeous man in my arms but last night… Spencer, the words hit home in a way I haven’t felt before. Not to mention your annotations; I felt like I was reading a journal of our love story, which I know was probably your intention all along.” He shakes his head, trying to get back on track. “I’ve been an idiot, a rotten fool, and I’m so sorry. I emailed Cruz this morning.

“You did?” Spencer looks up, surprise filling his features for a second before a small, hopeful smile takes over. “What did you say?”

“That I couldn’t continue with the workload and I needed reinforcements. That I would work the same hours for two more weeks to allow them to find an adequate solution, but after that I’ll be reducing my hours to align almost directly with yours,” he says, tentatively gauging Spencer’s reaction.

It’s made pretty easy for him when Spencer’s hesitantly hopeful smile blossoms into a wide grin, relaxing his posture as relief overtakes his body and he throws himself into Aaron’s arms. Aaron buries his face into his husband’s curls and lets himself breathe easy, feeling infinitely better with Spencer wrapped up in his arms again, just where he belongs.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Aaron whispers as he pulls Spencer impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry, too,” Spencer sighs, nestling his face further into Aaron’s neck. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. But, you’re here now, and that’s what counts.”

“I love you, you know that?” Aaron murmurs, pulling away slightly so he can look Spencer in the eyes, trying to convey his sincerity as well as possible.

“I know,” he smiles. “I love you, too.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Aaron says, patting Spencer’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here before Penelope comes to stab me with her high heels.”

Spencer giggles at that. “I don’t know, maybe, I’d like to see that,” he teases, digging his finger into Aaron’s ribs for good measure.

“Oh, stop it you,” Aaron smiles fondly before kissing the top of Spencer’s head, feeling happier in this moment than he’d ever thought possible again last night. Peace is finally restored in Aaron Hotchner’s heart, all thanks to one rather ancient English playwright and an academic for a husband. “Let’s go and get Jack,” he says, longing to have his whole family back together, to restore the equilibrium of a tumultuous few weeks.

Spencer leans down to kiss his shoulder as they walk out of the Morgan-Garcia household, and it’s enough to keep him warm the whole way home.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

#hotchreid #my writing #hotchreid fic #hotchreid writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid

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honey-harper-official · 4 years

Text

Evander Wade Hate AU - Chapter 7

MasterList for Evander Wade Hate AU

Word Count: 2714

This is an AU where Evander Wade is secretly a villain because I hate him. Also I’m fixing some of my problems with canon.

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That night, Nova reached the apartment complex. It was on the corner of 10th and 56th street and on the 11th floor. She found apartment 36A quickly as there was a large sign on it that said for rent. The email response she had gotten from the landlords said to come to the apartment at 8 at night to view it so they would be there any moment, Nova having come a few minutes early.

"Are you here to view the apartment?" A woman asked, coming up to Nova. Her long, salt and pepper hair was swept back up in a bun and she had on circular glasses. Besides her was a woman a few inches shorter, her long box-braids swept up in a ponytail, a streak of grey here and there much like the other woman. Both of them couldn't have been past their fifties, most likely in their mid-forties, and by the looks of their matching rings they must have been a couple.

Based on that, Nova assumed they were Cleo and Estelle, the landlords, and not looking at viewing the apartment for themselves. She assumed an older couple would already have a steady home by now and wouldn't exactly be looking at having a small studio apartment. They'd probably be looking for an apartment with more space that would most likely host children and possibly even grandchildren.

"Umm yeah I was told by the landlords to come by at 8," Nova said, rocking on her toes.

"Oh you must be Miss McLain then. I'm Estelle and this is my wife Cleo. We're the landlords," the shorter woman said.

"You look a little young to be looking for your own apartment," Cleo said, giving Nova a look more filled with concern then worry or caution that she would have anticipated.

"Yeah I'm not quite 18 yet but I just needed my own place because of my home life," she said, stuttering. She was nervous and while she didn't want to have to come right out of the gate and say she was running from an abusive home, she also didn't want to risk being turned away for being too young and she certainly didn't want to have to keep lying anymore.

Both of them shared a look with each other that bordered fear. Nova wasn't sure if it was them being scared of her or scared for her.

"Well take a look around the apartment and if you like it then it's yours. You can keep all the furniture and you won't even have to pay rent. Just take it," Estelle said, shrugging.

"What?" Nova asked. "I can just have it?"

"Of course you can. You're a kid."

"But I can pay rent. I have money. I have a job," Nova insisted.

"You focus on yourself sweetie," Cleo insisted. "Just look around and tell us what you think. If you want it then we can help you sign the lease and figure out all the legal stuff since I assume you've never done this before."

"You're not- you're not worried that I'm going to cause trouble or anything like that?" Nova asked. Most people who saw a kid run away would see trouble, even if it was from a bad home life. You never knew if abusive people were going to come back and track them down and that would wreck all sorts of havoc, especially with prodigy abilities.

"Of course not. You're a kid. We hope you stay out of trouble and that trouble doesn't find you but if you need a home then you can have a home," Estelle said. "Now go take a look around inside."

"Okay," Nova said shakily, nodding before turning and stepping into the apartment.

She was in one main room, split up by a wall that didn't even go across the entire room and instead made a hall of sorts. On one side, close to the entrance, was a small dining table along with a coat rack. As she moved down the little hall and to the other side of the wall, she noticed the kitchen.

The back splash was checkered pink and white tile and the cabinets looked old with all bulky, white appliances and white cheap countertops. It made a U-shape and Nova's boots clacked against the aged tile floors. However, despite all those things, she actually liked it. The massive windows that overlooked the city probably helped that. It would be a good distraction for her at night and would let in some sun in the daytime, even through the white blinds.

Nova moved onwards to the end of the hall. In front of her and at both her sides was a door. The one on the right led to a little closet. The one on the right led to the bathroom which was a pretty good size and in good condition.

There was a shower and tub combination with a sliding glass door along with a sink placed in front of a long counter though she wasn't sure what she'd need all that space for. She'd probably use all the cabinets to store things like towels and maybe a space hair brush or toiletries for if any of her friends crashed the night.

If she had her own place, a place that was going to be safe for her for the very first time in her life, then she wasn't going to close her doors to any of her friends if they needed it. That and even if she didn't exactly sleep, the idea of a sleepover was enticing and she could see herself trying to watch the group attempt to pull an all-nighter to keep up with her.

She then went through the final door. It led to the bedroom that already had a queen size bed frame, though no mattress, and a bright pink couch pressed up against the end of it. On either side of the bed frame was a little table and across the room from the couch was a TV on a little table.

Against one wall, across from the entrance a bit past the couch, was a dresser with a mirror above it and across from that was a desk. Next to the desk was one last door that Nova opened to find a washer and dryer combo stacked upon one another along with some shelves and a laundry basket, a full body mirror on the inside of the one door.

The apartment was sparsely furnished but she could work with it and it was plenty of space for her and there were nice tiles in the bathroom and nice hardwood floors in the bedroom which meant she could buy a broom and not a vacuum.

Nova then went through the apartment and turned on all the lights and all the water to make sure everything was in working order. She could easily fix it as she had grown used to fixing things like plumbing and electricity all the time for the Anarchists but she wanted to know just how much she should prepare herself for.

Nova came back to Cleo and Estelle who were waiting patiently at the door.

"I like it," Nova said brightly.

It truly was a good apartment. She didn't really care much about the style but it had the perfect amount of space and the electricity and plumbing was in good order. That and the views were great and she could easily fit all her friends in the bedroom and living room space.

"Good. You can have it," Estelle told her.

"Thank you," Nova said sheepishly. "I can always pay rent if need be."

Cleo laughed. "It's no problem. Everyone needs housing and while I'm not trying to pry, you mentioned needing your own place because of home life so if you need therapy, here's my card."

She pulled out a little business card from her jean pockets and placed it in Nova's hand. On the cardstock in black print was a phone number and email address along with her name, Cleo Johnson-Mao. Nova figured that the last name was a joint one between them.

"I know there's no actual mattress but do you need to stay here for the night? You can move in right now if you want," Estelle told her.

"Oh no I can wait a few days. I sort of have to tell my guardian that I'm leaving or else they'll come looking for me and act like I ran away and cause a bunch of more problems. My friend is going to come with me to help me get my things and get out," Nova explained, keeping details as minimal as possible.

"Are you sure they won't come after you?" Cleo asked. "Controlling guardians can go to far lengths for that control. If you give us their name and photo we can make sure they don't enter the building."

"Oh no trust me. That won't be an issue," Nova guaranteed.

As long as she managed to leave the Anarchists hold, they would have no choice but to leave her alone or risk incriminating themselves. Even at night in the shadows, anywhere that wasn't the tunnels or wherever they were staying would have cameras and they could easily be caught. It was just Honey and Leroy and they weren't going to risk that. Especially Honey. She could never live without having all her fancy clothes and makeup.

Cleo and Estelle both frowned.

"Well stay safe and if you need anything don't hesitate to ask," Estelle told her. "Send us an email of when you intend to move in so we can bring you the paperwork and the keys.

"Thank you. I can actually bring my things from where I am right now. My guardian is on a business trip right now so it shouldn't be hard to get my things and bring them over," Nova said.

She knew that the Anarchists weren't going to come back to the house at the risk of being caught and Nova already had what she needed in her room at the rowhouse. She had sorted out anything incriminating, like specific weaponry that would identify her as Nightmare, and kept everything else she could.

"Well then go get it and when you come back we'll have the paperwork and keys for you," Cleo said.

Nova smiled again and started to walk down the hall so she could go get her things.

"Thank you so much!"

Truthfully she was giddy about having her own place. And relieved. She could finally have a place that was safe for her. She could finally have a place that was just for her and no one who was going to hurt her or harm her was going to barge in and invade it. No one was ever going to make her do anything she didn't want to or something terrible ever again.

Nova could finally have a home and the feeling made happiness explode through her. Having a home, a real home, had never been a thought she had. It was always something that would never have been attainable before. But now it was right in a finger's reach.

Nova didn't fully trust Estelle and Cleo but she didn't think they were tricking her at all in any way. It's not like they had a real reason to do so but she did appreciate them seeing that she was in need and giving her assistance without hesitation or questions.

Nova made her way back to the rowhouse and found the duffel bag in the closet with all the things she was keeping. It was a mix of clothes, some inventions, her tools, and some food like granola bars and a water bottle to hold her off though since she had grown up with food being scarce, both with her parents due to the Anarchy and due to bad living conditions from the Anarchists, she had grown used to being hungry and could go for a few days without eating. It wasn't a skill she necessarily liked to have or wanted to show anyone she had but she would admit, it could be useful sometimes and she always adapted eventually.

However Nova planned on never telling Adrian about this. She knew he would cry and be upset over it and possibly even blame himself for ever having let her go hungry while she was a Renegade. When she ate at his house after she had spent the night had been the first time she had ever had an actual meal in a while. Once her cuteness wore off she couldn't just go into diners and get free food.

Nova came back to the apartment complex in under a half hour and they seemed surprised by her speed but gave her the keys and she read through the lease. It was a one year application and she read through all the rules and there weren't any she would break or really wanted to either. She had no real need to repaint or anything like that.

"And of course some of these rules like the time frame or the down payment won't apply to you," Estelle reassured.

Nova nodded and smiled. "I can't thank you enough for this. Truly."

"Don't worry about it," Cleo said, then sweeping up the papers they needed to keep. "Just tell us if anything changes."

Nova nodded and smiled, watching as they left.

And for the first time in forever, Nova was able to lock her door. She was able to have a space for herself that no one could come into. It was just for her.

She went and grabbed her armband so she could tell Adrian.

Nova: It worked out. I've got the place.

Adrian: That's great

Nova: Yeah just stop by tomorrow and we can talk more about the plans to deal with my uncle.

The two of them still had no solid plan on exactly how she was going to cut off the Anarchists. As long as she was able to go to the tunnels and get out alive she would be satisfied. Even if she wasn't able to get the Vitality Charm, she'd be alright with how things went. She'd rather her life and safety over the charm and she was sure Adrian would agree.

Nova got another message from Adrian.

Adrian: I'll come by an hour before patrol because after Danna wants us to go to her place so we can explain everything to Ruby and Oscar.

Nova: That's fine. I hope they won't be too angry or upset with me.

Adrian: Neither of them are good at holding grudges and I'm sure they'll understand. Don't worry about it too much.

Nova sighed with relief. She hadn't realized it but she did want Ruby and Oscar to like her. She even wanted the chance to really be friends with the,

Nova: Okay. See you tomorrow then. Night.

Adrian: Night

She turned off the armband and looked through her bad for the charger for it before plugging it in. She then went and unpacked the rest of her things. She didn't exactly have much.

Nova tossed the granola bars and non-perishable food she had into a cabinet in the kitchen and put her toothbrush and toothpaste as well as the other toiletries she had into the bathroom. She then dumped what clothes she had into the drawers and emptied out all the tools and inventions from her bag.

She only bothered to organize all her inventions and tools, putting them away neatly in the drawers and putting her few blueprints away in the closet. Her inventions went in there too if she couldn't fit them neatly on the test. She put the gears and wires and all of the building pieces and parts in a random container she found in the closet and placed it under the desk. She would have to go out and buy some organizers for it later. In fact Nova would have to go shopping later for several things and necessities and definitely more food.

Nova had a lot of work ahead of her and a lot of things on her plate but she was sure she would get where she needed to be eventually.

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Tag List:

@thepurpledragon4444 @nova-artino @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety@princessselene126 @my-littlenightmare @anarchists-87 @plain-jane-mclain @thecaptainsdamsel @emybain @renegadesnet @itsalittlebitchilly @justsomerandomficsforrenegades @jacihayle @creampuffqueen @alecjamesartino @blueraspberry-official @imnotfluffy @ruby-tucker @everhartartino @goldendaysareahead

#nevada fanfiction #renegays #renegades trilogy #renegades #archenemies #supernova #supernova spoilers #nodrian #nova artino #adrian everhart #osby #tuckva #danissa #danna bell #narcissa cronin #oscar silva #ruby tucker #its what we deserve

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brocolirose · 5 years

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May 9th, 2019: sluggish and confused

Am I procrastinating ? Most certainly. But I feel so confused these days that the itch to write feels like salvation rather than a detraction from my obligations.

Two months have already gone by since my mother’s passing. Lots of factors have afforded me a reasonably quick mourning, and I’ve been trying for all this time to focus on wrapping up everything before an uncertain future. However I hit a wall with paperwork, which I’ve been avoiding for a month or more ; there is so much left hanging, I didn’t even send all the death certs I ought to. Bills to settle, contracts to transfer, succession in many fields.... I’m feeling overwhelmed.

Adding to the paperwork is the space I’ve lived in with my mother. She had a little hoarding problem (no shame in that, although this is exactly what I’ve felt my entire life), and though we had to squeeze past one another we could still navigate the apartment. But still I’ve been left with all this stuff to sort and clean and discard. It’s absolutely stunning how much stuff we can cram and pile up over the years. Unless we’re super organized and somewhat clean-freaks, we’re bound to let dust gather, and more.

My mother had a fantasy self of being a homemaker, or at least a cook. To that end she bought countless utensils and cooking devices — though she never got herself a proper oven or cooking fires. Afraid of gas, she was. So instead she relied on the microwave and other “quick and easy” cooking stuff. Even a sort of frozen yogurt/sorbet maker. Not gonna list it out, but suffice to say she had more pans and pots and devices than she ever needed to use: she never really cooked, despite hours spent in front of cooking shows and pages upon pages of notes taken. What she used most were handheld blenders, electric slow cookers, and the damn microwave. Some of the extraneous items ended back in their cartons, piled up in the farther corner of the living room — which over the years turned into a full-blown attic. Most however were just crammed in long-forgotten corners of the kitchen or the corridor, in nondescript plastic bags (so fucking many plastic bags), covered with a decade or two of dust.

The big stuff wouldn’t be so much of a problem if it was sorted, but what really makes things harder are the smaller trinkets, the dust and grime, and the papers. So much paper. Since she was not terribly well organized, I can’t be sure that there’s nothing important or sentimental among the papers and books, so I’ve got to look through it all. Most end up in the bin, but I’ve found treasures. To the pile of recyclables I have to add every box of food, whether it’s plastic or cardboard; lids of jars, plastic and metal bottle stoppers, one-use tupperwares. Also everything is scattered and mingled. I fished clothing from every corner of the apartment, and piled it all up onto her bed before I sort it all in one go. I didn’t expect a monstruous mountain of dusty cloth to be born out of this endeavour. I don’t know where to gather the cooking ware though — leaving it in the kitchen is a drag on daily tasks, but worse is that I dunno where to put the food.

Piles and piles of food. My mother believed she had to stock up on food, in preparation for an upcoming disaster, like a war or an earthquake. She likely had a paranoid personality disorder. I grew up seeing her like this, having to listen to her secretive yet grandiose blurbs, so it felt “normal”, barely more than quirky and embarrassing. Only when she was hospitalized did I first have a doctor tell me they suspected she had a real psychiatric issue. I didn’t have time to truly digest the information and its implications, and they didn’t have time to have her definitively assessed, because she died the next day. I wish things had turned out differently; but then again she would have had to be a different person: one that acknowledges she may have a problem, one that takes actions to resolve the problem. Paranoiacs are particularly tricky since they are so wary. But if she had been treated, who knows? Maybe she wouldn’t have buried herself in that dark apartment, surrounded by trinkets she never used or enjoyed or remembered, and by tons of food, a lot of it stale, past due, or eaten up by pantry moths.

So that’s what I’ve been tackling for the past month. Shaking up dust and pantry moth webs and shits, in order to sort the edibles from the garbage. Emptying jar upon jar, bottle after bottle, box after box, and sorting the plastic and cardboard from the glass. Getting all that trash out. Changing dirty and torn-up gloves for new ones. Vacuum the dust when I can, and scrubbing and mopping when the dirt’s settled. Untangling cables, emptying cupboards, making piles of sorted stuff and then drowning them with some other unsorted mess because there’s nowhere else to put anything.

And worrying (or rather: knowing full well) that all of this is detracting me from the paperwork I have to tackle; the people I need to talk to, email, call; the forms to fill and the references to provide. And feeling exhausted all the time, no matter rain or shine, but my mood and energy take a sharp dip every week or two; dips from which I can only recover by sacrificing more precious time by letting loose and staying in bed doing nothing, or zoning out on a chair, sometimes (but rarely) outside. Too often for days on end.

I’ve tried to remain social, but there’s really only 2 people I want to see and talk to, and only 1 of them with whom I’m entirely comfortable doing so. I can’t reach out to my family, I don’t know them well, I don’t want to rely on them more than I already have. It looks like I’ve offended some, and I don’t know how to deal with it in a way that’s both OK with them and genuine. It adds to my worries.

I’ve tried scheduling my time, but the dips hit without regards for any plans. And there’s the anxiety, like a fat bubble of queasiness that suffocates me from the inside (a little to the left of my chest, near the throat), yet feels incredibly heavy, like it robs me of all strength to move. And then I procrastinate. But sometimes procrastination takes a better form, like when I tidy instead of doing the admin stuff. However the worst times are the complete confusion. When I can’t hold a thought, when all my will escapes and my wits can’t drag it back.

I forget so many things that I have to do. Actually, I’ve started forgetting where I put my stuff. There’s stuff that gets misplaced all the time, but I normally know where I’ve put my own paperwork, or my tools. Recently I’ve started to forget, to rack my brains trying to remember how I organized my life. Most of my stuff remains in my bedroom. I’ve only moved out some hygiene stuff to the bathroom, and dishware and cutlery to the kitchen (yes I kept my own cutlery in my room, as well as a dish and bowl, and my mugs). There rest is in my room, mostly unchanged — yet I forget.

The usual symptoms for depression are not helped by the fact that there is so much I have to wrap up, and now I’m also facing a little wardrobe malfunction that may be costly, in money or energy, to resolve: all my jeans are ripped at the inseam. Except the boyfriend jeans, which look baggy and plain trashy with their huge holes, but at least they don’t threaten to let my crotch loose... Dedicating time for a shopping session is really not what I want to do.

Okay, I gotta go out. Print stuff, send stuff, maybe scour a thrift store if my soul is not drained by the time I get to the city center. I wish time would stop. I wish I didn’t have to think any more. Or try anymore. I want a rest, blissfully oblivious, unencumbered by ghosts.

#diary #anxiety #procrastination #confused #hoarding #depression #brain vomit

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