#I should probably be ashamed of myself and ok I am a little but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

galactic-pirates · 2 months

Text

Something I don’t see talked about (and yes I know that’s a loaded opening sentence but I have feelings so I’m going to ramble) is how it feels to come to art late.

Like people throw out examples like George Clooney being 40 or something? Or Samuel L Jackson, or you know there are many, of people who came into something older and then were fantastic at it. It’s like a “it’s never too late” reassurance and ok cool, cool, but that doesn’t really help.

I didn’t draw as a kid. I hated art class at school because they didn’t teach. I wouldn’t know how to get the effect I wanted and given no guidance (but plenty of “that’s not what I wanted” criticism). If I found a workaround it was wrong. Like I spent a ridiculous amount of time drawing a model train once by measuring every single line. Best drawing I did as a kid but my teacher told me I was never to do that again as I should spend no more than an hour on the homework.

Part of this was probably being undiagnosed autistic. I need structure and rules and I need to understand. I can’t just experiment how I probably should. So I internalised the “I am not artistic, I have no artistic flair” and I didn’t doodle or decorate. I would be envious of the other kids who did. My notes always looked so boring. We didn’t do art at home. Mum always tells the story of how she was excluded from art class at school for “being a waste of public resources” and so is adamant she can’t draw.

For some reason at 19 I decided I wanted to draw. But again with an undiagnosed autistic need for things to be “right” and obviously any lines I made were ‘wrong’, plus the computer was where I sought answers I fell very quickly into tracing photographs. That was a huge mistake because it taught me nothing and only made it worse if I tried to draw without the crutch - as obviously that was much much worse in comparison.

You see I didn’t have the willingness to draw something awful that little kids have (because to them it isn’t awful) and I judged myself so so harshly. I wanted to draw what I imagined and I found workarounds, like modelling programs to make my own pose references, or smushing multiple references together - I still do this and I absolutely hate it. It doesn’t help but it’s like that bandaid trying to hold a water leak back - it’s better than what I can do without it, so I keep going back for fan events etc. as I feel if I’m gifting someone something it needs to be the best I can do (and merlin knows I am deeply ashamed of what I have posted for past exchanges, 30+ hours or not of effort it was baaaad).

A few years ago I decided enough was enough and I needed to “go back to basics” and get away from the computer. I have got a ridiculous number of courses from places like Udemy/Domestika and enough art supplies to open a small store. I talk a good game - I can sound like I know - but my hand does not.

The problem with the YouTube videos or the courses is these people are skilled - obviously, I mean that’s the point - but sometimes they will show their “old art” from when they were 13 or something and it’s better than what I can do now, or maybe at 9 or something it was about the same but that’s 9 - I’m going to be 34 this year.

I’m still that kid that wants to be told what steps to take. I am still flailing and I still don’t know how best to move forward. Worse I am not a kid and so I feel ashamed I guess. And I’m also alone because there is no actual person I can talk to. I have looked into in person art classes but there’s nothing suitable. I need to find a path forward.

But to circle back to “coming into art late”. I’m 33 and surrounded by so much inspiration (I see art and I so desperately want to be able to make something half that good). But that’s a curated thing because people only post their good stuff (obviously) and so I don’t want to post my shitty stuff so I can’t engage with “art tumblr” or whatever, and I’ve never been good at engaging anyway. I have always felt like an outsider in every community I have tried to join. Plus with fucking AI I don’t want to post my stuff online (although it’s so bad if it did get scraped it would probably act like poison).

So yeah basically flailing and lonely.

It’s deeply demoralising and frustrating. I have never put in the practice time that I should have but that is more to do with my chronic mental health issues than anything - but that then compounds the age problem as I am not 19 any longer. It has been getting on for 15 years - actually I hate putting it like that because then I have to see that I have been wanting to draw for nearly half my life and I have still not managed it. I am still flailing around near the starting line.

Anyway yeah I just feel like nobody talks about being older, and still being shitty at things, and how damn lonely and scary that is. I get majorly stressed out everytime I try and do “serious learning” as I guess it’ll take time and I will be shitty for a lot longer. Maybe there’s also a point here about adulthood and immediate gratification I don’t know. I just know I wish for the impossible to be able to be the child I never was I guess, to start art when people are supposed to - as a kid - and get this stage done and so I can be better. Is that just me wanting to skip the work? Maybe I don’t know.

It’s as I said - I have feelings.

#Sam talks art

4 notes · View notes

wind-becomes-lightning · 1 year

Text

Obito and I

Ok this is so so silly and I've had the idea a while ago and just thought fuck it I'm going to do it for Obito week. yeah Uh, I don't know how to explain it.

Uchiha Obito and uh, me I guess

Rated G.

3178 words

Ao3 Link [x]

for @obito-week: always watching & free spot.

One afternoon Uchiha Obito appears in my room. [..] The man is all an Obito has to be, tall, broad, black haired, facial scars, weird eggplant coloured coat and all. He seems almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. As if I’m also a figure that has just jumped out of a story book.

One afternoon Uchiha Obito appears in my room.

I just finished a philosophy session on the toilet, head full of ideas about where I could take my afternoon nap as I hear a little sound not unlike a big piece of plastic being sucked up into a vacuum cleaner.

“The neighbours are at it again”, I curse to myself as I pull up the sweats I should have changed three days ago. There is still this white stain on it from where I dropped toothpaste and each time I see it I remind myself that I have to wash it, but I never do.

I feel grumpy as I walk back into the bedroom and almost drop my phone when there is Obito standing in front of me.

“Obito!” I almost yell.

The man is all an Obito has to be, tall, broad, black haired, facial scars, weird eggplant coloured coat and all. He seems almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. As if I’m also a figure that has just jumped out of a story book.

With a shaking finger that has exceptionally perfectly applied violet nail polish on it that makes me wonder for a moment when the hell he has learned that and why the hell he can do it much better than me, he points at the pictures on my wall. His mouth opens and closes and then opens again.

“Why?” It's the only thing that he seems to have the ability to say.

I follow his eyes to the art print he is pointing at, an especially great fanart that I once got during a request event. Obito is on it, hair dripping with water, tongue out and aimed at Kakashi in front of him, they are both half naked. An artwork I truly cherish, the first time I jumped up and down in my - this- room in the morning after some amazing artist fulfilled the art wishes that I could never fulfil myself.

Still, I must admit, that must be really weird to see for someone like Obito. I almost feel ashamed that he has to see something so private not only to myself but himself, as if I was a paparazzi taking pictures of him against his will. Half naked and with his best frenemy and all.

I shrug. “I like the ship.” I don’t know what else to tell him.

Maybe he thinks I’m mad. Probably he thinks I’m mad. Quite likely he thinks I’m mad. His eyes harden, the rinnegan in its incredibly unnatural colour peers into me. His mouth forms the word “ship”, but he lets his finger sink.

I wonder if this would be the right time to ask him. I step from one foot to another with insecurity. My hands feel sweaty. Well, it is not any day that a character from a book suddenly appears in front of you. This isn’t Inkheart. I didn’t read him into existence. Or did I? Who knows, maybe sitting on the toilet and thinking of naps triggered this sort of thing.

“Why are you in my bedroom?”. I finally find my courage.

Obito stares as if it is an outrageous question. Then his face frowns and he waves frantically: “I just materialised here. I don’t even know where I am, who you are and why you have pictures of me hanging on your wall.”

I can’t help but be flattered. My own drawings of him are good enough to make him think they are pictures. Inside I'm giddy. I can’t wait to tell my tumblr friends about this.

“Are you stalking me?” He says, pointing again, another art with him and Kakashi, just that Yamato is with them too. A collaborative art I made with two of my tumblr friends that I am also personally very proud of. “That’s really creepy you know?!”

“Takes one to know one.” I have no mercy.

He clearly isn’t pleased. He steps away from my wall and inspects the computer in front of it. I assume he has never seen a computer before, especially not one with a double screen and light up keyboard and mouse setup like any good Sims gamer should have.

He rubs his chin.

“Electricity!”

“It sure is,” I say and feel like I’m talking to one of my dead grandparents.

“Electricity - good. Electricity - works - maybe.” He is thinking obviously, but apparently that has made his brain go back into caveman mode.

Caveman mode. I chuckle to myself.

“Bring me back!” he points at me again. “Whatever you did to get me here, make it go away.”

“I did not bring you here,” I shrug my shoulders again. “I don’t know where you were and how you got here, I just came here and you were there. Maybe you made a kamui mistake.”

I wonder if kamui was always connected to my bedroom and then my next thought is, if kamui was always connected to my bedroom, why didn’t Kakashi come through? I agree with myself that it would have been more fair if Kakashi had come through.

“How do you know about Kamui?!” He seems genuinely offended.

Well, there is nothing but forward, I think and let out a deep sigh. Having to have this conversation really wasn’t what I thought I would be doing when I got up in the morning. All I can do now is hope he takes the truth well enough not to jump at me. Even without his powers, Obito could probably crush me.

And while there were times in which I have declared on the internet that I want him to crush me, I would rather not right now. Especially not if there are pancakes for dinner.

“You are a fictional character, my man.” I say and pick up the Kakashi pillow on my bed and shake it a little. “From a book, you know? This is merchandise. I’m a fan.” I wave to the pictures and wiggle with the pillow again.

A moment passes, then another. Both of Obito’s eyes are focused on my fluffy Kakashi pillow, a vein on his head pulsing dangerously.

“Fictional?” he grumbles, his hand in a fist.

I prepare myself to get crushed afterall. At least I would die with my head in his titties, which is, I decide, not so bad of a death. “Yes, fictional.”

He turns around and punches into my wooden desk so hard that the keyboard loses most of its keys and my graphic tablet tumbles down to the floor with a crash.

Probably that means he isn’t taking it very well, I think to myself.

Obito can’t read books that are not written in Japanese I realise as I hand him the few light novels I have of the Naruto franchise. None have the manga pictures, but I have to assemble my keyboard again first before I can turn on my computer to show the manga to him.

Truly, I should have known that Obito can’t read English or German, why the hell would a character that was by all means made up by a Japanese man be able to read that? But then again I can communicate with him well enough without needing subtitles. This is all very strange.

“My name!” he yells and points at the page that he holds open. So he can read his own name. I feel like a proud mother. “Am I in this story too?”

Lazily I take the book from him. “No, sorry to tell you that you are dead.”

His eyes go so wide that I fear another punch is coming so I say: “But in the heart of many of us fans you are always alive.” How cringe, but it is the truth.

“Are you stalking Kakashi even more than me?” Obito picks up the figure I have on my desk of Kakashi in his Anbu uniform and then also picks up my pillow from my bed weighing them both up and down.

He seems surprisingly intrigued by the way Kakashi’s muscles are shown on the figure.

“I like him the most,” I say. “He is my favourite character.”

Instinctively I hold my hand out to save my precious figure from slipping out of Obito’s hands. He already looks angry again, as if I have personally hurt him by having a character I would like more than him.

Well, people with the best taste in ships, like me, have always known that Obito secretly is obsessed with Kakashi. After all that was the entire point of the story (I like having my own delusions.)

Finally I get my shit together and turn on the computer. My wallpaper is a rotation of many different wallpapers, but of course this moment that Obito sits right beside me the rotation choses a picture of him with Team Minato as a kid. I quickly open a browser window to hide it, but he has already seen it.

“I don’t remember we ever took a picture like this together,” he says with a frown.

Right, he thinks the fanart are “pictures” of him. “It’s just art,” I say dismissively. “It’s not canon.”

His eyes narrow.

“Ta-da!” I say and present him the coloured version of the Naruto manga.

Obito stares at the pages as I scroll around, not trusting him to know how the mouse works. I know that Konoha will eventually get computers too, but only after Obito’s death and even if they already had them, I wouldn’t trust his violent urges.

He stares as I scroll and scroll. Then finally, as if it took him 10 chapters to realise as much, he says: “Wait, I’m not the main character?”

The news that he is nothing more than a side character in his own life comes hard to Obito. I empathise with him, I too have severe main character syndrome while being an extra at best. Maybe that is why he finally stops looking so angry at me each time I say something. Trauma bonding over your insignificance.

“And you… like this story?” Obito says and he sounds as if it makes no sense to him that anyone would like a narrative in which he isn’t the main character.

I shrug, which I feel I have done a lot in the last few hours: “It has its moments.”

His eyes wander over the several pieces of memorabilia and fanart I have scattered around my bedroom and he nods his head. “You seem obsessed,” he notes.

“There are people worse than me,” I clarify, because I don’t want to accept the very real assessment that nonetheless makes me look bad. “At least I don’t use bots to vote in a popularity poll that literally doesn’t matter or send anon hate.

Obito blinks at me and the wheels behind his eyes are turning. I push his chair away from the desk so I can sit in front of my computer again and he just lets it happen. Surely the world he is from has chairs with wheels, I think to myself, or maybe Obito really had never seen anything but the inside of his cave.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “So there are more of you?”

“More of me?” I can’t shadow clone in this world, I think.

“People who enjoy these… drawings.” Obito snaps with his finger in the direction of the computer screen.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “God yes” I say and hold my stomach. “Millions. It is very popular actually, one could argue that it is one of if not the most famous shonen manga that has ever been popular. Not only Japan though, that is also in the west.”

His nose crinkles and I can feel another anger outburst incoming so I pick up my keyboard and hold it over the desk just so I don’t have to play puzzle all over again now that I have it put back together.

“And you all,” he waved with his finger, “are Kakashi stalkers?”

“Oh no, many are also your stalkers.” I reply and to prove it to him I open tumblr and push the screen into his face.

“See? There are entire blogs that are dedicated to you. Personally, I think their hot takes can be a little weird, because in my head canon the reason for your personality shift is a deep rooted delusion with the world that is later fixed by giving you someone to believe in in Naruto and on top of that you are changed by the trust that Kakashi puts in you, a trust that you craved as a child but never got until the very end. Generally people hate the redemption through death type of storyline, but I feel like a self sacrifice fits you very well, at least from what you know before you lost yourself to the personality of Madara.”

His jaw swings open. I realise that I won’t ever convince him that I am not in fact obsessed if I keep talking like an obsessed person.

I add: “Uh, that’s just literary analysis though, I don’t know you personally.”

“Roll the tiny wheel,” Obito says and I assume he means to force me to scroll.

Like always, tumblr does not disappoint and it takes me about 1.06 minutes to find a picture in which Obito is shirtless and posing. I blink looking at the thickness of his thighs and the large man titties showing on his chest. The artist was kind enough to put at least five fire emojis as a caption. I unashamedly press the like button.

“Who took that picture?” Obito says, outraged. “That is an invasion of privacy!”

I laugh. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t see that this is a drawing. You don’t look like this.” I gesture at his body form.

Obito takes the mouse from me and I have to hold on to the cable so he doesn’t rip it out. He scrolls on. There are so many half naked pictures of him that have him posing or crying and I am very unhappy about my loss of mouse privileges because that means I can’t like them all to keep them for later.

“These people,” he gestures, “when they draw me like this. That means they like me?”

Now his eyes suddenly shine bright as if he is a kid again. It is very cute, though a little concerning that the prospect of someone really liking him makes him so very happy.

“Oh yes, they want to jump your bones.” I avoid mentioning that I am one of those people that generally wants to jump his bones. “They think you are hot shit.”

For the first time since he has literally appeared in my room Obito smiles with satisfaction. Then he moves the mouse and scrolls on to another fanart of him and Kakashi kissing. His eyes stay frozen on it, then he picks up the mouse and throws it against my screen.

Legs pressed against his body Obito sits on the floor in front of the door to my balcony. My monitor is not damaged and neither is my mouse I realise with relief while he murmurs behind me.

“People just like the ship,” I try to explain. “They are usually not that serious about it. It is all in good fun.” I weigh my head. “Well unless it is on twitter because that’s just a warzone.”

I sit down next to him and can’t believe the absurdity of the situation. There he is, Uchiha Obito, the pride of the Uchiha clan, or, well the pride of Uchiha Madara, or well more like… the victim of Uchiha Madara’s pride of the Uchiha clan, and is gloomy because people in a world he doesn’t inhabit think he and his best frenemy also sometimes kissed. Truly the weirdest of turns of events.

“Sometimes you say such weird things.” Obito says into his knees. “I don’t even know what you mean.” He looks up at me. “I wonder if your definition of ship is different from mine.”

Probably not, I think, but probably yes at the same time. “You see, when people like two fictional characters that they think have chemistry, they often want them to end up together in the safe harbour of love. So we call it shipping.” I make it up on the spot and feel very confident that my explanation is correct. “Giving characters a happy ending is just very fulfilling. Or giving them a sad ending. Or first we hurt them then we make them happy. Or just making them suffer for love… everything really.”

“But Kakashi?”

“You have chemistry.” Undeniably.

“All we do is fight!” He looks at me from the side.

“Like I said,” I repeat, “You have chemistry.”

Obito sits up straight against the window of my balcony door. He puffs out his chest. “No, we really don’t.” He says it as if it was a fact. “You and that.. that art person are just the weird ones. I’m sure those that really like me would never think something as outrageous.”

“Maybe,” I say and shrug, “but it is very popular.”

—

I feel like a teacher in the following hour as I explain to Obito what Ao3 is, how it works, how to search for something and how it clearly shows that one of the most popular ships have him and Kakashi paired up. Clearly, I am not the weirdo here in this world and I want him to accept that.

While he keeps scrolling on, now much more gentle with the mouse, I sit on my bed and turn pages in a book that I’m pretending to read while I watch him closely.

Sometimes he sighs. “That’s not true” or “I would not say that” or “That’s disgusting” and I have to hold myself back to stand behind him to see what things warrant such reactions.

“These people”, he gestures to the monitor, “all know so much about my life. More than I have ever told anyone.”

I sigh and turn a page in my book I’m not reading. “That is because we all know your story.”

“Because I am a fictional character.” Obito sounded exasperated.

“Because you are a fictional character,” I confirm.

“But thi-, this is like you are watching me at all times,” he whines and waves with his arms again. “Like every little of my interactions with others is analysed and turned into writing. I feel rather violated.”

I would apologise for the fandom, but it is not like we were aware that Obito would be a sentient being that could appear out of the story at the blink of an eye as if inkheart was real. I can’t help but feel sorry for him though, this day was a lot to take in. “I guess we should eventually find out how to get you back where you belong.” But for that I first need to find out how he got to me of all people.

bonus doodles that a friend made while I was reading the story to them:

#fanfiction things #obito week 2023 #obito week #this is so silly im sorry #uchiha obito #crack shit im sorry

12 notes · View notes

fandomsoda · 4 days

Note

you literally said people shouldn’t compete, at all.

but competition brings people together, art fight brings people together to compete. Competition can be fun and lighthearted. Noones making you do it, people are just upset because you made it seem like competitions are immoral.

~ 🅰️🐺

Ok, I know that some of what I have said is irrational, and I know it’s irrational, and I don’t truly believe those things necessarily through a realistic lens. I have developed severe fears and a few moral qualms with a lot of kinds of competition due to a lot of experiences in my life, competition has only ever driven wedges between me and my friends, and that leads to me having these feelings. But I know damn well that these feelings are unreasonable, and that’s why I say that I’m not stopping anyone nor do I think anyone should be ashamed for liking competition because I know it’s just a me thing.

just because I said that it’s something I believe purely by how my brain processes and reacts to things doesn’t mean that it’s something I believe is this radical moral right, even if there are moral aspects to why I feel this way. I am capable of holding a belief but also not wanting anything to be done about it. Do I want to get rid of competition realistically? Hell no that’s pointless that would be stupid.

I just… in the end it really is just my weird opinion. That’s why I wound up boiling it down to me “being uncomfortable”, because in the end- objectively that’s all it is. I wish I could explain more sensibly but I really don’t have much else of a way of explaining it.

I know that I’m just a childish idiot with weird things that upset me for reasons that aren’t always the most valid. And I accept that… I literally said I wasn’t grandstanding, I cast no judgement, I know that I’m the dumb one here. But I know I can’t fix my weird feelings, so I simply hold them, express them from time to time, and leave it at that. I don’t even know how to convey myself anymore, I’m just… I know I’m a dumbass. I’m not an authority, what I say and how I feel shouldn’t matter so much to you…

I didn’t add any actual art community tags to the post because I knew it was dumb and I didn’t want random people to have to come across it and get upset. Hell, I might make a tag specifically for when I know it’s an opinion I don’t actually consider important or know is irrational just to make things clearer, I don’t know…

I know a lot of people will probably say “just don’t post it”, but this is my dumb little blog, I should be able to say how I feel even if I know it’s stupid as long as I’m not imposing it one anyone else.

#soda answers #🅰️🐺 anon

0 notes

paradoxicallytragic · 29 days

Text

There were flashes of you everywhere. Even when you probably weren't around me, I could see you. Yes, maybe you just have a common face, a common appearance to most other men of our ethnicity, but you were there. You saw me, I know you did, multiple times, even if both of us had glares on. The only difference was that I wore glares to actually protect my eyes, whereas you did cause you love being the cool guy who likes being in control. Anyway, though, you do you. I think what I am here to say is that I have nothing to say to you. And there is nothing I want you to say to me either. I don't want to be friends with you because simply I don't think I'd be comfortable with that, but neither do I want to punch you in the face. There is nothing from my side. Your existence has no meaning to me, and I don't think that is wrong. I don't even think that whatever happened was wrong either, it could be simply classified as mishaps because ultimately we're silly little human beings that think they know what they want but they really don't and we tend to fuck up our navigations more than we think and I guess that's okay. Yeah, so I don't think I hate you or me, I don't want anything out of this, I sometimes wish we were smarter, but we're not, and that's okay. I don't want to establish myself a winner just because you left the area first, and neither do I want to establish myself as the loser because I forgo all of my sanity just cause I wanted something.

But there, in a sea of strangers and some familiar faces, a stray thought crossed my mind; you were ashamed just like I was. We're ashamed of our actions, and for a second, it felt good not to be the only one ashamed. Anyways, though, if that is the case, you have to heal you and I have to heal me. We don't need to be in each others orbits for that. Closure is obtained from within, not outside.

I know I keep thinking that I shouldn't let it slide, the gaslighting, the manipulation, the intent to hurt, but this is not war. We don't play offense with offense, and me taking myself out of the situation is just as a plausible reaction as anything.

I wish it wasn't like that, though. I wish people did not reach that level of strangeness with people they're shared something intimate with, pass by without a hi. Knowing you know someone, but then you also don't. But I also know that is it important to respect ourselves enough to not be friendly with people that you did not have a pleasant ending with.

It's okay to un-know someone. It's okay if you don't want to honor the good cause the bad was so bad. You're not holding a grudge if you don't want to be associated with someone. We pick our orbits, and changing yours is perfectly okay. It's okay if the existence or lack thereof of an orbit is not bothering you in anyway. You're not a bad person for walking away. I mean, who am I kidding, I said my piece and then walked away so I should be okay. Actually, I'm getting there.

Anyway, to end it, you do you, I do me. Separately, obviously. I don't think our orbits would cross, not that I want them to, but I don't want to waste another thought on you either. You were just someone. Anyway, we're past that, we move. Peace.

~it's-ok-to-grieve-the-good-times-even-if-they-lasted-for-15-seconds

#feelings #2am thoughts #all the feels #sad quotes #sadgirl #feels #sorry for the rant #my post #love #song

0 notes

thecoolestcatintown · 4 months

Text

Patience I

Toronto, Canada

23/5/1995

Four days before the 1995 world Patience and solitaire championship.

Jean-Luc Simon sits at a coffee shop, fiddling with a pack of cigarettes.

“What are you writing down?” He questions “This is already being recorded”

“I'm taking notes, for myself”

He squints his eyes, “Oh”.

A waitress approaches the table to take our order, He silently shoes her away with a wave. He makes no eye contact with her, looking instead at the cassette recorder. Kyle presses it and signals me to start.

“Could you tell me how you started playing Patience?”

“I don't know ‘play Patience’,” he remarks “single-player-closed-pack-card games are my life”

Jean-Luc is a lanky white man, aged 27. He is dressed in a black winter coat and a gray wool sweater. His blond hair is cut into a shaggy mullet, it seems to be bleached.

“The first time I dipped my toes into the field was at age six or seven, At my grandmother's nursing home. I believe I played about 2-3 minutes of a simple game of ‘klondike’ before I lost interest, I suppose I never was one to sit still.”

He has said ‘I’ 7 times since the recording started.

“I started playing professionally 3 years ago” he pulls out a pair of cigarettes and offers me one, I decline.

“You won six medals at last year's championship, correct?”

“Seven actually.” he exhales “after the rejudging I placed second”

“My mistake”

“In the past year I have won two dozen categories in 13 matches. I've competed in 5 countries”

“Last month in Bangkok you competed in the Canfield category-”

“Competed and won” he corrects me again. He sounds irritated.

“Yes, and you set a record of 49 seconds. That is extremely impressive”

His expression softens slightly at my compliment.

“Thank you Andrea,” I don't like him using my first name. “Bangkok was exactly what I needed to show the global community that I am a force to be reckoned with”.

“Do you feel any animosity from your fellow competitors?”

“Some, I mostly feel apprehension. They underestimated me last year. Now they know that I'm the strongest competitor”

“You're the strongest competitor?” I question.

He chuckles condescendingly. “Of course I am. Do any of those old farts get times like mine? Even Williams is slower than me. The bitch is terrified of me, saw him shaking in his fancy little shoes”.

“You've met him?”

“Ran into him this morning” he laughed “you should have seen it, I thought he was going to piss himself. Little shit probably thought he got me kicked out the running”

“But there was debate on if you were going to be let in the competition, alot of people thought you should have been banned”

“On the basis of what? Williams falling down and blaming me for something I did not do? He couldn't deal with me almost beating him!” he said almost quieter than the rest of his words.

“You punched him in the face on live television, I can understand why people didn't want you back” I raise an eyebrow.

“Listen Andrea, can I call you Andy?”

“No”

“OK, Andrea, you seem like a smart person. And we both know that whatever happened, was taken wildly out of proportion.”

“So you're saying you didn't punch him?”

“That was barely a punch”

“Last year you said in a public statement that you had-” I check my notes ”-’a serious and violent outburst that you were deeply ashamed of’, do you not agree with that statement now?”. He breaks eye contact and starts fidgeting with the cigarette butt. He looks nervous and you can see the gears shifting in his mind.

“Could you stop writing?” He doesn't shout but his words are loud enough that the three of us are taken aback. I stop writing. “Listen that statement was written by my publicist, who I don't work with anymore. Those were the words of a coward, and I am not a coward” he puts his elbows on the table and leans in closer. He opens his mouth to say something but stays silent. Maybe trying to intimidate me, maybe trying to cover his ass. We are both quiet for a minute, I realize he is thinking of his next words carefully and predicting my response. ‘A good player is always two steps ahead’. His fingers are intertwined, holding his chin. He is a slim man but his hands are large. I suppose his hands are his most Important tool. He owes his fame (and infamy) to his hands and instincts. He has a good mind and is an extremely talented player. But he is by far known most for being one of the fastest Patience players on recent memory. Being able to finish a game in under a minute, whether it be closed or open.

“None of this matters” he finally says, “I will beat Williams or anyone else that I compete against”

“Thank you for sitting down with us Jean-Luc, and good luck”

“Were done?”

“Yes we're done” I say, I light a long cigarette. Kyle starts packing the recording equipment.

“No more questions?”

“yes”

“You're sure?”

“Positive”.

We load our equipment onto the cart we got from the hotel. Me and Kyle walk toward the convention center, talking about the next interview, when Jean-luc catches up to us. “Come to my party tonight” he says out of breath “alot of the competitors are going to be there”. He is bent over his side, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

“Sure” I say, “we'll drop by”

“Oh yeah he can come too”

“Sure” he gives me his business card and shakes my hand.

Hi! this is the first chapter of this story. this is a very rough draft.

#writing #original story #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #first draft #rough draft #original character #patience #solitaire #klondike #canfield #card games

0 notes

tricorops · 7 months

Text

#1 - *insert some sort of pretentious title *

welcome in ! here’s where everything starts…

i probably should have thought a bit more before starting this entry but alas. here we are ! i guess ill go chronologically so the story makes sense,, if i miss anythinging im positive futrure me will fill in the gaps, but my memory is pretty shit tbh.

Before we ~officially~ start i guess ill introduce myself. i have a name (as does everyone fucking duh) but ive recently realized i dont feel like my name is mine. cant really explan it exaclty right now but in the last couple of months, ive gotten really angry that people call me by name,, whose to know whyy /s. realistically it’s probably due to the fact that im not a woman and haven’t been for many years now. i think im just scared to really admit it ? like i really dont like who i am, i dont fit in, and im so fucking sad all the time but im scared to start exploring my gender identity for who knows what reason. if anyone knows, please enlighten me. im 25, single and have never had a parter, been on one failed date (yikes), and haven’t come out to my parents. big. oof yall. i have a job that is what i thought i wanted to do, but im second guessing it rn since there is so much im not able to address or even attempt to fix. FUN /s

cool intro down i guess. now to the beginning ish ?

my earliest memory is my mom feeling me smashed avocado, but apparently that never happened. im an only child who’s always wated a sibling. my childhood was very lonely. my parents essentially removed themselves from their families, so i didn’t grow up hanging out with cousins, grandparents, aunts/uncles, literally no one besides my 2 parents. the memories i have of my first house are fuzzy, but i feel like there were a lot of rooms for only 3 people. i lived on a quiet street with lots of families with children of different ages, but i dont have any memories of playing with kids on my street or going to anyone’s house for playdates and what not. not sure why.

i remember when i was really little (maybe like 4 or 5 ish??) we went on a trip to disneyland. i think we flew there instead of driving. one of the days my mom was putting my shoes on— they were brown winnie the pooh sandals with buckles at the ankle and i had this weird feeling. it felt like i was in a dream like i was maybe lucid dreamis sort of? and i had this weird oedipus complex for my mom. like i saw how much my dad loved her and i wanted that,, its odd nw that im reflecting on it and i know many people go through this stage of development but like why did 4 year old me think i could love and care for my mom the same way my dad did ?? fucking kid lol. anyway perhaps this is graphic but whatever. i remember i was on the edge of the bed and she was sitting on a chair she pulled up across from me. my foot was between he legs so she could buckle the strap on my shoe and my brain just told me to push my foot closer to her? idk idk. but i push my foot closer to her and like tapped it and i remeber feeling hmm like giddy ? like i was so happy i had done that and then i went to do it again and my mom had like thrown my foot off the chair and started yelling at me. rightfully so like totally not ok for a 4 year old to try and arouse their parent. but in that moment i went from being so fucking giddy and happy and almost proud to feeling so fucking ashamed and unloved. and as she was yelling at me i just cried and cried and i remember just not even wanting to go to disneyland anymore because i didnt want to be around my mom. wild. everything in my little world felt so fucking big that my parent telling me not to do somthing inappropriate made me not want to do the fucking disneyland run anymore.

i dont know what came out of the rest of the day but we Must have gone to disney or soemthing. now, you maay be thinking “oh getting yelled at for doing something made you not do it again” right? wrong. my dumb fucking pea brain wanted to chase that feeling agian so the next fucking day when my shoes were getting put on i tried to do it again. there wasnt any yelling that time though. i just remember my leg getting pushed again, my name being said sharply, and my mom telling me to put my shoes on by myself or to not wear shoes at all. and what do you think little me felt? disppointment, guilt, ashamed. all to be expected but it hit my world hard (again 4 years old. every little thing feels like the world is crashing).

how does this relate to the present? i dont fucking know but i might figure it out along the line. anywho theres other things i remember from this age of my life but they don’t really fit the theme im trying to follow so i wont bore yall with the extra details. didnt think this one would be so long but here we are. i cant wait for the highschool installments bc those are FOR SURE going to make me cry hahahahahahahahaha strap in.

on the dockett for next time: elementary school. probaly around 2nd or 3rd grade. little preview— the first time i was called a lesbian (derogatory) and, upon reflection, my first crush phew 😮‍💨

ps. i know there are probably spelling mistakes and im not following any grammar rules. stream of consciousness yall. cant really blame me plus its uhhh 3 am here so yall are already know whats up.

#hmm #journaling #stream of thoughts #beware: those who read are in for a Ride #or so i think i mean its my life #and yeah i get it im probably super dramatic and these things are fucking miniscule #but WHATEVER #okie gn gn gn

0 notes

ember373 · 1 year

Text

11/20/22 10:26 pm

It’s nearly 1:30 am there. You’re probably sleeping. Sleeping well? I doubt you get restless nights over me. Lol. I’m not that special. :p

It had been a while since we talked. I’d been sick and you…idk. Were being you I guess. Doing your thing. Not really caring where I was? Idk.

We talked today tho. A little. You told me to do what I like. You should really stop telling me that. Lol. One of these days I’ll do exactly what I’d like to and you’re going to wonder why you’re getting a phone call from some deranged little person saying they flew to where you are and could you please pick her up now? >.< I kid. sort of. ;) Joke away the pain, ya know?

I told you that every time I thought of reaching out, I remembered how much of a joke I was to you and that you didn’t respect me and I just couldn’t reach out anymore. It really did crush me. But maybe, not in exactly the way you would think.

You see, I kind of know a bit about you. How you work. Or, at least, I like to tell myself I do. And I could be waaay off, but I don’t really think I am. And here’s the thing. I know you get in this mode. You have this persona. Young Master. YM for short. Cuz I’m lazy. Anyway, I think, you say and do things as YM that you ordinarily wouldn’t. And it’s not that you necessarily believe or mean these things. It’s part of the persona and the ‘sick’ way you get off. And there’s a part of me that understands that. Now I would prefer to be spanked and then cuddled, but you’re just not the cuddling type. Takes up too much of your time and energy and I get that. People fucked you over and this is what you became. And I’m trying to work with that. And I think most times I can deal. But that last time…I guess I couldn’t deal. Because the spank was too harsh and it left me reeling. And there weren’t any cuddles. Even when I asked for them. There weren’t any cuddles. There was just…I don’t want to talk about this right now. *sigh*

Look, I know you don’t like talking about it. I know you’re ashamed. You feel guilty. You feel like you shouldn’t be that way and nobody in their right mind would willingly put up with what you dish out if they had any self respect. Or sanity. And you have a hard time with me because you think I’m this sweet caring person and I deserve someone who will dote on me and care about me and love me and crap, right? But, and I don’t know how many times I have to say this, you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. Hell, even I don’t know what’s best for me sometimes. But, I do know, I want you. Yeh. I still do. After all that’s happened and even now, I still want you.

Deep down I know you didn’t mean what you said. it was my demons taking something and running with it because they want to keep me miserable for some odd reason. But even today, I had a need to know that you really don’t feel that way. I get you don’t deeply respect me. Maybe you just barely respect me? Idk. But I know you don’t necessarily feel the things you stated earlier in the week. But ya know, if you’re not gonna cuddle-at least help clarify. I know I freak out a lot. A lot. I was hitting my head today because I was like fuuuuuck…I did it again. What he always accuses me of. Running away and ending things and being all final. Which I know frustrates you. BUT YOU FRUSTRATE ME TOO!! Grrrrr!!!

When I look at myself in the mirror, most times i literally ask myself what the hell am I doing? What am I doing messing with someone almost half my age? What am I doing thinking I could even remotely fulfill the needs and desires and wants of someone so much younger when there are so many other women out there who are prettier, smarter, kinder, thinner, funnier, more stable…I could go on and on. I think I’m a pretty awesome person, but I know I have my flaws. And i think there’s a very specific person that will be able to put up with me. Ok. Two specific people. One is the one who ignores me and that’s just not healthy. And the other is someone who loves my crazy and my cuteness and my adorableness and I once thought you did, but maybe…now? Not so much. I think it’s only cute in the beginning. And then it gets old real quick. >.< Sorry. :/

So, I know that whatever we have isn’t going to last. Even when I get free…you’re not going to want to mess around with someone like me. You’re going to want kids. You’re going to want someone you can bring home and be proud of. Not defensive of. Your family, your friends, and your reputation. Those are your bottom line. And I realized, I really don’t do anything for your reputation. I bring it down. If I were single, I kind of doubt you would want to tell anyone we were together just because not only am I so much older, but I’m also not a MILF like people joke about. I’m far from it. How you can be the study young master if the person you’re with looks like me? Lol. People will think you’re crazy. You have a reputation to uphold, after all.

I don’t know what’s going to happen from here. Maybe you’ll decide once and for all that you really can’t deal with me. I’m just too much. Or maybe you’ll want to keep me in your life. I have no clue. I do know that I should probably give you some space. I’ve done enough damage and all I seem to do is drain your energy. :/ We never talked about it, but I’m sure all ‘other’ is off. As it probably should be. I’ll try my best not to flirt. It might really be broken now anyway. I think…you appreciate me, but you’re not able to tell me. And that’s something I struggle with. if you told me you appreciated my love, that would be one thing. But you never do. Because you don’t feel I should ‘waste’ it on you. It’s not a waste, but you never listen to me when I tell you that so I guess I’ll just stop trying. I still love you. But I think I’ll just try to hold it in. I hate that, but it might be better for you that way.

I’m sorry I’m so difficult.

I’m sorry I’m so emotional.

I’m sorry I freak out.

I’m sorry I’m crazy.

I’m sorry I turned out to be fat and old and not that cute. >.<

I will never be sorry for loving you. Ever.

I hope you don’t hate me. >.<

0 notes

winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

Note

Can I request HSP + depression reader (who thinks they are just weak and being crybaby) x Bucky, please? I understand you are super busy right now and I didn’t mean to rush you or anything but I'm just struggling with both HSP and depression and couldn’t help but send it right now. No need to hurry, just when you are free and maybe when you had nothing to write. Thank you and I love you!

Thank you for the request, I’m sorry it’s been a difficult time for you! I’m here if you need me and I hope that this helps!!!

It’s called empathy

Bucky x reader

Word count: 1981

Warnings: depression, HSP (highly sensitive person), low self worth, negative self talk, swearing (that’s normal for me but this one’s a little extra), angst (more so internal idk if that needs a warning), fluff/comfort

Taglist: @buckys2thicc @babydaddy-buckybarnes @barnesplums @peggycarter-steverogers @mardema @abitgryffindorky @buckys-blue-eyes @strawberrimae @thatfangirl42 @freigeistundanderes @bucks-bunny @broadwaybabe18 @im-sick-of-failing

Taglist Masterlist

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

Breathe in

Breathe out

Out

...in…

You felt a tear escape your eyes

Goddamn it

You didn’t want to cry, you couldn’t let yourself. It was stupid, it was just some shitty remark from someone when they were in a shitty mood, it wasn’t your fault, all that bullshit you tried to tell yourself. It never worked.

You were trying to control your breathing, looking up at the ceiling trying to will the tears away, biting your lip. You would not cry, not over this. Not over something that wasn’t worth your tears

Not when you didn’t even know what exactly you were crying over.

Yet here you were, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink with white knuckles, looking up at the ceiling trying to keep the tears at bay. And it wasn’t working.

Weak sensitive piece of shit.

What good were you to the team if you cry in the bathroom like a baby every time something remotely stressful happens? People usually cry when they're in pain or when they’re grieving - the only excuse you had was you were stressed or sad.

You felt another few tears escape and you angrily swiped them away, cursing yourself for being so weak.

You hated this, you hated yourself. You were so numb most of the time, especially when you were alone. You found yourself alone in your room with racing thoughts feeling like you were falling apart. Yet when you were alone you could only stare at the ceiling wondering if it would get any worse.

The answer was usually yes.

Whenever you would go on missions with the team, you were able to push aside your stress. You had a job to do and you would do it. But when the mission was over and you were walking back through the rubble - seeing all the blood, destruction, fear - then it would start to get to you. You would panic, you would feel tears cloud your vision. Tears for those you were leaving behind, and those who had nowhere to go, those who lost someone. That was understandable.

It seemed to affect you more than the others though. It was understandable to be moved by so much destruction. But for you everyone felt like someone you had known and loved.

You could feel the grief in those left behind, feel the sadness and pain that they were going through.

The same was true when you weren’t on missions. When those who were on them would come back. Whether they were injured or their eyes were saddened - you knew when a mission was rough. You would listen, you would be there for people. It was easy to talk to you, and you were very wise.

But it still overwhelmed you. You couldn’t say no, you didn’t want to. You wanted to help but it would be so emotionally taxing for you. So behind closed doors, you would break. Be there for others, listen when they need to talk, others come first - you took their emotional pain onto yourself.

You were grateful that you could help - but in the process it was hurting you.

You allowed yourself to feel sad when you were alone in your room. No one could see you be weak in the dark of your room. But you never cried much just from the pure exhaustion of your thoughts. Sometimes you wanted to, just feeling so incredibly empty that you just wanted to have an ugly crying session curled up in bed.

But you didn’t get to make that choice.

The crying wouldn’t come until the absolute worst times. If you had messed up on a mission, if Tony said something a little too harshly because to him everything was a joke, seeing something gruesome on a mission- whenever it came to someone else getting involved, the tears would come. Hell sometimes even being overwhelmed in public would be enough to start the waterworks.

You always felt so fucking weak for it. The slightest environmental stressor could stress you out too much and move you to tears. You had no reason to be upset most of the time. But you would get angry at yourself for being upset, which would make you more upset that you couldn’t control it, making it harder to control.

It was a vicious cycle.

Lately it had been popping up more and more recently. Smaller things were upsetting you more than usual. You were becoming more sensitive to external stimuli and as a result, you spent as much time as you could in your room. You were embarrassed by yourself. Both by your emotions and by your inability to control them.

This time you were just upset that you were upset. It had been a long night the day prior, just a lot of paperwork to do. There had been a mission earlier this week that you hadn’t been assigned to, but it had been brutal for everyone who had gone. So far today had been a normal day by anyone’s terms, an emotionally exhausting one for you. One of those where you woke up tired and the thoughts of another day were enough to draw you to tears. Nothing had even happened, but apparently nothing needed to happen.

Your emotions came and went without your consent.

You knew deep down it was probably some sort of emotional build up - that whole quote about bottling things up until they got to be too much - it happened every time but you still thought you could handle yourself better than that. You didn’t want to vent or be a problem to anyone. But when you are the emotional support for most of the team and you haven’t been able to get enough sleep or take time for yourself - you didn’t have much of a say as to when the bottle overflows.

A few more tears fell and you slammed your hand on the counter, wiping your tears angrily once more. “God fucking damn it why can’t you just stop fucking crying!” you exclaimed, feeling a few more tears falling “Weak piece of shit!”

There was knocking on the door, pulling you out of your self deprecating thoughts. You gasped lightly, wiping your face again.

Knock knock

You jumped a little, gasping slightly. No one was supposed to be here, it was the middle of the night.

“Y/n? What’s going on in there? Are you alright?”

You took a shaky breath. Of course it would be Bucky who heard you. Why would it be anyone else?

“I’m fine Bucky, it’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“Then why are you still awake?” Bucky responded. You heard him sigh a little outside the door. “Come out here and tell me you’re okay.”

“Really Bucky?”

“Unless you want me to come in there, but I don’t think Stark would appreciate me breaking your door.”

You took a small breath and walked over to the door, opening it. You crossed your arms and met Bucky’s concerned eyes. “I’m fine, Bucky.”

Bucky sighed, taking in your appearance. Red eyes, flushed face, your hair was messy - you were definitely crying. He hated when you wouldn’t admit that you weren’t ok. “You know you don’t have to be, right?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep fresh tears from clouding your vision. “What?”

“You say you’re fine, you always say that you’re fine until you break. I heard you crying, I can see that you’re not feeling okay yet still you try to keep a brave face. And I just want you to know that you don’t have to always be okay.”

You let out a breath. “I - i…” you looked down and shook your head, lost for words.

“Y/n, I’m not here to judge you. Can you try to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you said looking up at him “It’s literally so stupid, Bucky.”

“Y/n, nothing you say right now is going to sound stupid.

You shrugged your shoulders, still not quite meeting his eyes. “I don’t know, I just get so worked up sometimes, but it’s stupid. I tell myself I’m not going to be bothered and then I freak out again. The smallest things bother me and I get stressed out and then I cry like some stupid weak bitch. People have it worse than me, God, you have it worse than me. Everyone here has some sort of traumatic awful thing happen to them and then there’s me and I get sad because I see other people sad,” you were crying again and you wiped at your face, covering your eyes. “God Im so fucking stupid I -”

Bucky pulled you into his chest as you let out a sob. “You’re not stupid, y/n.”

“YES I AM. I get worked up over the smallest shit, I don’t listen when people tell me to take breaks, I take everything too personally and I can’t stop fucking crying when I don’t even know what the fuck is wrong!” you exclaimed, trying to push yourself away, ashamed.

Bucky held you tightly, not letting you go. “That’s not your fault. It’s not up to you how your feelings show up.”

“But I cry at the most stupid shit and I can’t control it.”

“You’re not supposed to know how to control it,” he said, pulling back to look at you. “Emotions can’t be controlled. They just happen and it’s rarely convenient.”

“Then why do I feel so weak? If this,” you gestured to yourself “is so goddamn normal then why isn’t everyone else breaking down every other day?”

Bucky brushed some hair out of your face. “Your emotions are yours, no one else’s. No one has the right to tell you how to feel. Think of it this way - you can’t expect everyone to have the same amount of strength or stamina - no one has the same emotional response either. And that doesn’t make you weak, it makes you you.”

You shook your head. “I just feel so weak all the time.”

“And I’m here to remind you that crying isn’t weak. You are not a weak person, you are not a bad person, you’re not any of those things your mind tells you. You’re a kind and thoughtful person. You put your heart into everything you do. You help everyone you can. Mourning someone else’s loss isn’t weakness. It’s called empathy.”

You took a small breath. “Then why does it hurt so goddamn much?”

“”I don’t know. And I can’t say for certain that you won’t always feel that way. But I know I can tell you that you aren’t weak, and I’ll be here every time you feel that you are.”

You nodded your head slightly. “You don’t think I’m weak?” you asked quietly.

He pulled you back into a hug. “Not in the slightest, y/n.”

282 notes · View notes

aleksa-sims · 2 years

Photo

My RL gameplay (18+)

CW addiction, heartbreak, depression

There I was now! Back with my parents in my “new” room with a broken heart and new pills I got at the addiction clinic a few days ago. I was such a mess & totally devastated. 😢 I think I haven’t left my room for almost a week and didn’t let anyone in, except Ana, because otherwise my parents would have gone crazy and I had to eat & drink, of course. But I didn’t really eat anyway. I didn’t go to work either. I called in sick and my dad went to my office and talked to my instructor/boss. He told her, that I was feeling very bad and he doesn’t know when exactly I’m going to come back. He brought her my sick report I had from my doc. I was in the addiction clinic in psychiatric treatment. Yeah, I know! 😔🤦‍♀️ That doesn’t sound good. I have to go to the clinic every 4 days and do a drug test under supervision again and I am treated twice a week by a psychologist. On my first appointment, I only said two sentences! I just briefly explained, why I’m here & what happened. After that, I didn’t say a word! I just didn’t have the strength to talk about it. This doctor was very nice and didn’t bother me with any more questions, but he talked to my parents and prescribed me sleeping pills and a sedative, which I should only take in case of emergency, if my panic attacks occur again. I did not take this sedative anyway and the sleeping pills only in the first 3 days.

On the 3rd day my parents took my things from my apartment, which I wanted here. Things that were important to me and all the plants I had in my apartment that I had from N.’s mom. In the beginning, these plants really annoyed me, but over time, I liked taking care of them & I didn’t want to let them just.....die, in my apartment. In my room here, I already had furniture and actually everything, but all my clutter and all the stuff I loved so much, all these things, had to be brought here. This was just important to me. That’s why on the third day I started to set up my new little home with all the things I had. Ana came back to my room to bring me food and every time she came, it looked different. I always have to adjust everything until I know how I really want it. Usually, I love doing this! But this time, it was the purest torture for me. Everything I had from my apartment, was associated with a memory I had with N. Well, and that really fucked me up! Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea? 😞 😢 Maybe I should have just left all these things in their place in our apartment. And actually, I had planned to go back home after a few weeks. But I realized, that I probably won’t be able to stand it in our apartment alone. I felt like I couldn’t forget N. and I could never get rid of that pain.🤦‍♀️ 😭 I was desperate and my parents were really worried about me. They haven’t mentioned Nico once, since I’ve been here, nobody! Not even Ana & I didn’t talk about him either. 😞 Philip told my parents what happened. Yeah, and as for Philip, I haven’t seen him since he brought me here. I didn’t want him to see me like this! I was afraid he’d get it wrong and think that I only loved N and not him. And I was ashamed of myself, for looking like shit. 🙈

It had been 1 week now. Ana came to my room and we talked.

Ana: Wow, looks cozy here, sis! I’m even a bit jealous! I should have taken this room. 🤔 But why is your bed on this platform? This is actually meant for the wardrobe or a huge dresser! Like a....walk-in closet. That’s why I didn’t want this room, I don’t like this weird corner there, and it’s way too small for my dresser.

Me: For me it’s ok. I noticed when I put my bed there, I have much more space here and it looks like such a small apartment, you know?

Me: And where is your wardrobe now?

Me: Well, that's a good question! 🤔 I’ll have to figure something out. 🤷‍♀️ I can use that clothes rail by the bed for my clothes. That’s enough for me for the beginning and I also have a small dresser. I don’t have as much stuff as you! You’re a total freak when it comes to your shoes and handbags. I don’t have that problem! 🤨 😬

Ana: But for that you have skincare products everywhere!! 😦 🤷‍♀️ Here are lipsticks...on your DESK, your parufumes....Oh yes, and of course a body lotion must be next to your bed! 🤨 Do you use this body lotion in your sleep?.... And all these candles! Who needs that, A.? 🤦‍♀️

Me: Don't... don't touch my stuff! 🤨 And.... N. gave this to me! He knew I ......liked all this stuff. 😭.... I should have gone with him! 😢 I called him so many times, but he didn’t have his phone on or a new number. 😭

Ana: Fuck!😨 Please don’t A.! Stop crying! You already look totally sick, please stop! 🙁.... What happened to your eyes? Why did you get this ....rash, what is that?

Me: Idk? 😔 Either side effects from the new pills.... or because I cry so much. I think that comes from all that stress I have rn. Like those bruises I had when I was bullied. And.......you thought Nico did this to me.😭 😭 ......But this shit now, he really did to me! 😢

Ana: How about you see Philip again? I think that would be good for you. He was here yesterday, but you didn’t let him in your room. Why? 😟

Me: What? 😧 P. was here? I never open my door, I thought it was Mom or Dad, why didn’t you let him in. You have my second key.

Ana: I thought you knew it was P.! But don’t worry, he was in a good mood A.! But he misses you and worries about you. He said you never pick up when he calls. You just text him.

Me: I don’t want to cry on the phone.😭

Ana: I told him you got sleeping pills and that you were sleeping all the time. He was so sad A.! 😟 I felt so sorry for him..... and he helped me with my homework, which was pretty cool. 🙂

Me: You don’t have to worry about Philip or keep him busy, I’ll do it myself when I’m better. 😢 😒

Ana: OH! 😲 ...Sorry! I was just nice to him! I don’t want him back! Just in case you think that. Ok? 😟... And he doesn’t love me, he loves YOU! You know? And....... I love my boyfriend. 😳

Me: What? Yo fell for your.... vampire-boyfriend, for real? 😲

Ana: Just...forget that. 🙈 I’m sorry, A.! Terrible timing... 🤦‍♀️

Me: No, it’s ok! 😔 I’m happy for you! 🙂 .....I want to be alone again, and if P. comes back, let me know. 😞

Ana: Just one thing, A.! Please let Mom in your room! She’s sick worried about you! You’ve been in here for a week now. Or come down to us, please Aleksa! 🙁

Me: Maybe I’ll come out of my room tomorrow for dinner, but... okay, if mom wants, let her in.

When Ana left, I went back to my bed and thought about Philip. If I am ready to see him? I missed him so much! But when I fell asleep, I dreamed of N. I dreamed that we were in our apartment and he was hugging me. It felt so real 😭. I could even smell him! But I quickly woke up again and started crying. I just regretted that I didn’t go with him, and that’s when my mom came into my room. She just got home from work. The rest is under the cut as always lately! 😬 🤷‍♀️ It’s just too much because a lot has happened and I don’t want to do 3 posts on the same topic.

Mom: Heyyy....you’re crying? 😧 Did you have a nightmare?

Me: No, I dreamed about him...my reality is a nightmare. You know? When is this gonna stop? This pain! I don’t want this anymore, Mom.😭

Mom: If I only could, I would get you out of it right away, or take it all on myself, but....all I can do is to be there for you! 😢

Me: I should have listened to you when you warned Philip & me about this. But I trusted N.! I only did what he wanted me to do and yet, he left me.😭 😭 I always do everything wrong. 😞

Mom: Yes, N. made a huge mistake! But he didn’t leave you because he no longer loves you or wants you. He just wants you to stop taking drugs. He knows he can’t help you anymore, and everything just gets worse because he can’t be with you. But.... Philip can be with you, and you have us, your family! That’s what Nico thought! And that’s why he left A.! But it’s not your fault! 😞

Me: No, Mom! Nico wanted to leave and he just doesn’t want me anymore.😩 😭 He even wanted to stop with soccer. He was unhappy, and why all this? Because of me! 😢

Mom: One thing I can promise you A.! Give yourself time! Believe me, the more time goes by, the easier it gets, and in a few months you will be stronger and more confident than before. Just because you made it! And you are still so young, you will fall in love so many times in your life.

Me: I just know that N. was the right one for me, but it’s okay Mom! 🙁 And this isn’t the first time I’ve had a heartbreak. And you know it! But this time, I just know....... that N. was or is someone special and important to me. 😭

Mom: I think you should talk to P. Maybe it’ll help you understand. And you can be wrong too, A.! Maybe it’s P.and not N.? Idk either? Maybe it’s somebody else. But, Philip is here and he loves you!

Me: I know! And I love Philip, too. This is totally crazy, but I know that P. is someone important to me too, who just belongs to me! That’s why I couldn’t decide! You know? That’s what drove me so crazy, I love them both, Mom! 😢 😭

Mom: If you care about Philip as much as you say, then you should talk to him A.! That’s the only way this whole mess will be solved, and Nico knew it, because it couldn’t go on like it was. One had to leave. And over time, you’ll know what you want & who you want. And this pain that you have now, it will pass! You’ll see! 😟.....And this rash under your eyes, your doc should take a look at this.

Me: Yes, tomorrow at the clinic I will have this checked out.

Mom: And come get dressed and come down to us. The weather is nice, you should get some fresh air. I'll cook you dinner. Whatever you like, ok? 😟 And you don’t have to worry about your dad! He won’t say anything about this!!

Me: Ok. 😢 😞

I went down to my family. I sat with Ana outside and it was good for me to get some fresh air. I immediately felt more alive. Outside in daylight, Ana immediately noticed my regrown eyebrows. I just looked horrible, like an undead. Especially because of this rash I had under my eyes and my hair was totally messed up. I usually straighten my hair every day! I have natural curls and so my hair just looks terrible. Ana really wanted to talk me into planning a date with Philip, so I could make myself up a bit. She just couldn’t stand my look. Ana planned an all-round renewal for me to make me feel better again. And yes, I should do this quickly, because in 2 days I go back to work and how I looked rn, I just can not show up like this there!! I think after a little more than 10 days, I should slowly get back up. If only this were so simple! 😢 And let’s see if I can meet Philip. I didn’t dare to meet P.! 🙈 I was afraid he would leave me immediately, as horrible as I looked. Hopefully it will get better! Especially this rash under my eyes. I just can’t cry that much anymore! 🤷‍♀️

Previous / Next

Start

#ts4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #my rl with my simself #simself #myrlgameplay #18+ content #cw addiction #cw heartbreak #cw depression

30 notes · View notes