#be niceys about the old old one or i WILL take that link down and then nobody gets it

[slavhew]

2024 redraw of a 2017 dirkus

[alovevigilante]

We were at the pool today. My ma took a few of the worst pics of me, as of late. I hate posing for photos. I look at them, and judge myself harshly. I looked nothing like I look here, when I have control of the camera. I don’t show you my extra, I got going on all around all over here, on me. The quarantine…. Let’s just say I ate my way through it… and it kinda snuck up on me and hit me like a ton of bricks when I couldn’t put on my old jeans comfortably without the additional muffin top, because I favored my spandex instead of them. (See next post for details…)

I was trying to figure out how to change my negative thought process about how I see myself physically. How do I look at ass photos of myself, without judging myself harshly? I’m asking. Seriously. It’s not a rhetorical question. Well, maybe I can start by not calling a picture of me, ass.

The other day I thought I’d try to find something to love about the things on my body I don’t. And I thought I’d try my hand at writing a love letter 💌 to my cellulite and extra lbs. but I can’t just say nice things and lie. I have to be completely honest, and choose things I can say that I will believe. That’s a tall order. How do I change the way I perceive this situation when ever since I can remember it’s been a really tough thing for me to appreciate? And if I lie, I’ll know about it. And I won’t buy into it, and I’ll feel worse. So, this is a great exercise for me, without busting my ass any more than I physically already have today. Ok?! Ok! So join me, won’t you? Here goes:

Dear cellulitis and other extra lbs on me,

Hello darlings…

Ok, I’m already in trouble, as I am not fond of cellulite or extra pounds, so they are not darlings to me. But saying, “hello assholes” isn’t nice to me either. What do you do, when you have things you can’t immediately control, about yourself that you don’t appreciate? Can you appreciate them? How do you focus on fixing what you deem as a problem without getting lost in “the problem”?

My, this is a conundrum… well, I did what I could do for today. What the hell else do I want from myself?! I can’t change it overnight! Jeez! Come onnnn, me! Give me a break! I went on a walk with my son, I did the brutal but eventually effective “Tracy Anderson” murder mat tape, which I could define better. I will call it, “yay tough for now but easier later sooooo good for me probably will not be able to walk or move for a week afterward but god bless here’s hoping I will feel less pain eventually and work out the lactic acidosis well Tracy may be wee, but she’s fiercely strong for a small woman, but that’s her job, she ducking MADE it her job, and she’s successful. Why don’t i make it my job too?! Cause I’m not built like her, and being a fitness expert isn’t me. Why don’t i get a job?! I can’t figure out what to go back to. Why aren’t I a success too?! I don’t have a good answer for that. And why doesn’t she have rolls like me when she sits down I sometimes have to tuck my belly into the elastic of my underwear when I decide to wear it. yes! I do that, harsh judges of me both internally and then subsequently externally! Do I got a problem with extreme honesty about myself?! Huh?! Huh?! Yeah! Yeahhhhh that’s what I THOUGHT (holy crap)” tape. And I did think that. So, I can choose to once again, think differently, and more positively.

Seriously… she looks amazing! Tracy is a woman whose exercise videos are great, and are challenging for me to do on the daily because I’m out of practice. So Tracy Anderson isn’t the issue. The issue is me. The issue is what and how I feel about myself. I went on the treadmill after I saw this photo…. Inspired action, yes. But what was the inspiration? Fear of rejection or self love? A little mixed bag, I think.

So, because I feel the way I do, I am also avoiding grains and sugar like a mother that I am. And I’m drinking so much water that I’m spending 20 out of the 24 hours, peeing! What more can I do?! Well, maybe I can give myself a ducking break in the meantime. Maybe, I can do something else and not think about my bigger arms, stomach and thighs. Breaking from that train of thought will allow me a brain vacation away from judging my extra pounds and cellulite, and from hurting my own feelings. Maybe, in the meantime, I can appreciate my new boobs, which grew a whole cup size with the weight gain. Yay boobies!!!!

Well, that’s one way to look at it. Another, is not to look at it for awhile. Maybe I can go listen to music, or dance, or learn how to play the accordion or buy up all the tickets to a blue grass concert and give them away for free like some super cool people do. Whatever I decide, I’m going to choose to do something that is actually good for me, that I can enjoy and appreciate while I change for my more desired results! I can decide to think better about myself, so I can make choices, that will lead to better options to aid in my happiness down the line.

Now, I was just reminded by myself, that my ass is bigger too. That is a subjective thing whether it’s good or bad, but since we’re trying to make better thought choices let’s say, like Martha Stewart says hopefully about her ass, that it’s “a good thing”. Since my boobies are now huge, I’m now balanced. Bigger boobies, bigger culi too. Stands to reason. Ok! Great! I’ll start my letter again…

Dear extra on me that I once didn’t appreciate,

Guess what?! I like my bigger boobies! You’re still pretty perky. Also, to my culo, yes, you are bigger, but now we can wear tighter clothing with a greater effect! Yes! We are more pronounced in our lady regions…. Nice! And I’m actively toning the rest nicey nice like to match the other parts I enjoy, so, that’s cool too! Healthy me? Yes please! Ok! Great!

Hugs n kisses,

Me

See?! I’m going to figure out how to get right with me now if it kills me! No. We don’t want it to kill, we just want to be happier, right ladies who judge their bodies on the regular like me?! Don’t let this happen to you! Choose to find something about you to appreciate, and bolster the crap out of that until you notice that you’re happier. The rest will fall into place. But don’t let it fall too far down, otherwise you’ll need a bra, and I’ve given up bras for quarantine. And I’m not mad about it. There are positives to everything. Yes. And if you deem a photo of yourself ass that people take of you, don’t look. That’s one way to lose the weight. You can also make healthier choices, which includes thinking kinder thoughts about the things that you aren’t wild about in your life, or not wild about in you. 🙈🤷‍♀️😉🤣💕

Appendices: Openness to experience, is one factors of the 5 factor model, aka the 5 main personality traits in psychology. And there are 6 facets of openness (see below). I enjoy stretching my brain, and stretching my own blocks to honesty about myself, and my own personal blocks to love. Thank you, for coming with me on my journey to becoming more open about myself only. 😊

(The pie charts above and below are not mine. The openness chart below does not represent me. It’s only meant as an example of the 6 facets of openness to experience that I enjoy experimenting with on myself in a rudimentary way in my life.)

P.P. S. For those of you like me interested in learning more about how your brain structures affect your personality and how your experiences affect it as well, check out this article about how the 2 are linked. Cool stuff! It won’t let me cut and paste from safari or add the link, but the article is called, “brain structures correspond to different facets of personality” from psypost.org.)

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Heartsick (chapter 2)

@tonystark5ever and I are back (finally) with another chapter.  (bet you, guys, didn’t see this coming 😉😜)

Link to chapter 1

Here you go, and let us know if anyone wants to be added to the tag.

Chapter Two

“Thank you, doctor,” the nurse says, her tone congratulatory, as Rhodey peels off his sterile gloves, his hands aching and tired with the tight, precise control he had them under for the past eight hours as he performed the delicate surgery.

“Thank you, Cindy.” He allows himself a moment to share a triumphant smile. Rolls his shoulders in an attempt to relax the tension pulling through his neck, shoulders, and back.  “Good work, everyone. After a week in the hospital, I think Mrs. Johnson will be going home to be with her grandkids and you helped get her there.”

The surgery was a delicate one; and there was a moment when it was touch and go. In times like that, when he is well aware that someone’s life is literally in his hands to win or lose, he always imagines he can feel death’s presence, a whisper of cold and shadows no matter how brightly lit the operating room.

And it’s natural for him in that moment to feel something like fear. His fear was learned at a steep cost--a six year old that had died on his table nearly ten years ago now. He had been clear about the risks with the family, and the boy surely would have died without the surgery anyway, but Rhodey vividly recalls the moment when the small body under his hands had lost its life force, his little heart too broken to function anymore and beyond Rhodey’s skill to fix. So, unlike some of his colleagues, Rhodey never tried to teach himself to not feel fear.  Because fear was warranted. Fear was good. Fear kept him grounded, kept him aware always of the gravity, of the consequences, of the devastation that any and all missteps on his part could bring.  

The specter of that child always seems to visit him during difficult surgeries like this one -- a warning or, perhaps, a reminder of sorts.  He doesn’t usually examine that too closely.  Today, however, it does bring to mind one Tony Stark, who had bumped a child down the list for his own selfish needs. The same Tony Stark still presumably waiting for his consultation.

From a logical standpoint, he knows he should go rest and eat before he attempts it. Hammer did say the boss wanted things nicey-nice with this guy. On the other hand, he feels his irritation is justified, and if he is angry and tired when he goes to meet the guy, it’s probably nothing less than what Stark deserves, considering what Rhodey knows about him.

A small voice in the back of his head warns him that perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to judge the man based on Justin Hammer’s say-so, that perhaps meeting Tony Stark when he is in this state of mind is not the best idea.

He ignores it. Instead he finds himself growing more and more indignant, wondering who gave Tony Stark the authority to proclaim life or death on those younger and poorer than him. After the euphoria of completing a surgery to save someone’s life, it particularly rankled that this guy, this guy just snaps his fingers, gets a heart, fires Hammer like he owns the place. That’s some kind of entitlement the guys has. Probably just because he had money he thought he should get anything he wanted or needed, and his connections to Pepper Potts (whatever form that took) was only another way he circumvented the system designed to protect people from men like him.

“Nurse? What room is Stark in?” He asked as he stormed onto the busy unit, indignant now.

The nurse raises a surprised eyebrow at the irritation that seeps into his voice.  “Room 616,” she responds cautiously, “but I think he’s sleep--”

“Thank you,” he cuts her off with a dismissive wave, pulling up Stark’s chart for a quick review before heading for the room and ignoring the apprehensive call of “Doctor!” aimed at his retreating back.

***

“Mr. Stark!”

He squashes a tiny pang of guilt he feels at the way the man in bed jolts when he shoves open the door to his room hard enough to send a loud rattle through it. Watches as a tousled head turns sluggishly in his direction, two sleepy brown eyes blinking groggily at him from a haggard face.  The guy looks sick, Rhodey has to give him that: the unhealthy tint of his skin, the sunken cheeks, the dark bags of exhaustion under his eyes.  Still, doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.

“My name is Dr. Rhodes, Mr. Stark.  A colleague of mine, Dr. Hammer, asked me to review your case, so I wanted to stop by and chat with you, if you don’t mind.” He gives him a pointed look and Stark reaches over and turns on the light, easing to a sitting position in the bed.

A spark of dark amusement flashes in Stark’s eyes at the mention of the other surgeon, his lips twitching with disdain.  “And how is the good doctor Hammer?  Has he managed to kill any patients lately?”  His voice is raspy with sleep, but his eyes look clear, focused and annoyed.

Yep, Rhodey thinks, his own temper flaring with annoyance, definitely an asshole.

“Doctor Hammer is a renowned and respected surgeon, Mr. Stark, and you would do well to remember that,” he states, voice cold. Then adds in a quiet afterthought, just loud enough for the other to hear, “He was right to warn me about you.”

''Oh, this oughta be good.'' A sharp plastic smile twists Stark's lips. ''Well, by all means, share the good doctor's diagnosis with the class. I'm dying of suspense here.''

''I don’t need his opinion to know that you're ungrateful and entitled,'' Rhodey spits out, picking up the clipboard with Stark's chart to give his hands something to do lest he should lose control completely. ''You physically assaulted the surgeon who saved your life and--''

''Hammer told you that?'' There's a steel note of warning in Stark's voice, a hard glint in his eyes.

Rhodes ignores both.

''He told me enough.”

Stark cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit confused, Doctor… Rhodes, is it?” he says waspishly, reading Rhodey’s name tag. “Did you say this was a consult? ‘Cause I kinda get the feeling that I’m on trial here, with you being judge, jury and executioner. How exactly are you qualified? If you’re playing second fiddle to Justin Hammer then I think I’d like to demand a third opinion.  There’s gotta be at least one competent surgeon at the Shield Hospital.”

The clipboard creaks dangerously in Rhodey’s grip.

“I see. So Dr. Hammer wasn’t the first or the last.  You insult the skills and intelligence of every surgeon tasked with saving your sorry life.” He takes a deep, calming breath.  Spits out, disdainful, “Seems he had you pegged right all along. And even if he hadn't warned me, the mere fact that you would push a sick kid down the donor list just so you could get your heart transplant first tells me everything I need to know about your character, Mr. Stark.”

Whatever response Rhodes has been expecting, the confused, quiet murmur of ''What?'' wasn't it.  It throws him a bit, makes him wonder for a moment if there isn't something that he's missing here.

But only for a moment.

''Peter Parker's 16 years old,” he hisses, the furious tremble in his voice just barely under control. “A bright kid with a bright future. Which you have stolen from him.''

A momentary flash of a memory flickers in his mind. The bright and promising smile of the six year old that had died ten years ago; that would make him about Peter’s age now. It seemed so wrong, so unfair, another life wasted and lost or at the very least put at risk. He feels the heat of anger in his chest, the dangerous flare of it.  Knows it’s time to go before he says or does something he would regret.

He snaps the chart closed with a bang. Tosses it carelessly at the bed, feeling only a tinge of remorse at the way Stark flinches when the clipboard hits him in the chest.

''I think I have all the information I need,'' he sneers, turning away from the man to head toward the door. ''There's a terminally ill organ donor at our partner hospital who's taken a turn for the worst today. I was told to expect the transplant team within the next 48-72 hours. Someone will be back to prep you for surgery then.''

He pauses, one hand already on the door handle. Turns to throw one last glance at Stark, who stares past him with an oddly lost, pensive look in his eyes.

''I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you,Mr. Stark, but I'm not in the habit of lying to my patients. Good day.''

***

Rhodey feels surprisingly better after his altercation with Stark; after all, if he is forced to do a surgery on someone who bumped a kid down the list, he can at least sleep easier having given the bastard a piece of his mind first. He’s a doctor. He’ll do his job and do it well. But he doesn’t have to like it.

He raises his eyebrows in challenge to the nurse as he walks by. There’s a pretty good chance she heard the entire conversation between him and Stark and for some unfathomable reason she appears to be unhappy with him. It doesn’t matter; Stark’s pockets are so deep, there were probably very few people he couldn’t buy or charm. Rhodey just happens to have a bit more integrity than the rest.

He heads to the doctors’ lounge. There was free food, sometimes even good stuff, and he is hungry and tired. He still has to visit the clinic and do some charting. The elation he felt from telling off Stark has settled in his chest, and he stubbornly tells himself it was a good thing. Just. Without the anger he felt in the moment, he kind of, maybe, feels a bit like a jerk about it now.  Even remorseful.

The feeling doesn’t last.

He has just finished eating and is washing his hands when he catches a glimpse in the hallway of someone that looks suspiciously like Stark, dressed in hospital issue pajama pants and a hoodie with the hood up. Cardiac ICU patients aren’t allowed to leave the unit, and if it is him, Rhodey will give him hell for it. Imagine thinking so much of yourself that you believe yourself to be above the hospital rules!

It takes him a moment to dry his hands and get out into the hallway, but Stark isn’t moving fast and Rhodey has no trouble tracking him, keeping close enough to follow him to see where the man is going but not so close that Stark would notice his scrutiny.

He slows down, nevertheless, allowing the gap between them to widen a bit, when he suddenly realizes where Stark is headed-- the Pediatric unit. And Rhodey can only think of one reason for Stark to be going that way; it has to have something to do with Parker. A horrible thought occurs to him in that moment: what if Stark plans to threaten or intimidate the boy somehow.  What if…?  

He clenches his fists, his nostrils flaring.  If that’s the case, if Stark tries to pull any crap like that, he’ll kick the guy’s out of this hospital so fast his head would spin.  He doesn’t care what Pepper Potts has to say about it.

He loses sight of Stark briefly as the man turns a corner and goes through the double doors leading to the Pediatric Unit. When Rhodes sees him again, Stark is already standing in front of the glassed in playroom, an area where non-contagious children are allowed to go and play or do craft projects to help keep them entertained while they are in the hospital. Several younger kids are in there now, playing with some Legos and stuffed animals.  Stark isn’t looking at them, however.  His attention seems to be glued to a teenage boy, sitting in the corner and tuning his guitar.

“Who wants to hear a song!” the teen says, and a few of the children exclaim their excitement and bring their toys over as the older boy begins to play.

And it is only then that Rhodey notices the IV hooked to the boy’s arm. So this… this has to be Peter Parker. And Stark just stands there, watching him without the kid noticing. It’s creepy, it’s...

It isn’t.

Stark looks... eviscerated, is the only thing Rhodey can think of. Like someone had sliced open his chest, reached in and crushed his heart. And he can swear there are tears in the man’s eyes.  Rhodey doesn’t understand it, any of it. Confused, he moves out of Stark’s line of sight, able to see him though not hear him clearly. He’s curious despite himself, intrigued to see how this will play out.

A curly haired man in a white doctor’s coat approaches Stark a moment later, coming up and shaking his hand. It’s Dr. Banner.  Rhodey recognizes him easily enough, he’s met him in a few conferences, spoke to him on several occasions. The man is a pediatric cardiac specialist, doubtless the one taking care of Peter. And that’s reassuring, Rhodey thinks.  He’s heard good things about Banner, and he’s had enough interactions with him to know the man’s as good as his reputation claims him to be.  He’s also known to be very protective of his patients, and Rhodey wonders if Banner is here to chase Stark out of the Pediatric wing.

Whatever the conversation that’s taking place between them, it’s less than pleasant.  Stark looks agitated and Banner appears to be the one on the defensive.

Baffled, Rhodey watches as Banner puts a placating hand on Stark’s shoulder, which the latter brushes off abruptly, turning to gesture at Parker. The noise and movement have attracted some attention, however, and when Stark turns around, he locks eyes with the bright eyed teenager. Peter seems to recognize Stark, and it isn’t the starry-eyed recognition of a celebrity one sees on television or YouTube. No. There’s a warm sparkle in the kid’s eyes that screams familiarity, and Rhodey feels his confusion deepen.

Peter waves happily in greeting, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree, and Stark gives him a weak, forced smile in return, waving and giving him a thumbs up to continue his concert. Peter nods and turns back to the kids, flicking his gaze occasionally back to Stark.

Banner says something again, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Rhodey can’t make out what it is, but he thinks he hears Pepper mentioned. Stark opens his mouth as if to argue, then suddenly hunches over, as if in pain, his right hand clasped around his chest. Banner steps in closer, his hand gripping the man’s shoulder again.  Leans down, concerned. Stark shakes his head as if to dismiss the concern, but interrupts the motion half-way, grips Banner’s arm instead with his free hand, holding on tight.

Banner, looking positively alarmed now, waves over an orderly.  But Stark pushes away from him at that moment, straightens out with visible effort, gesturing the orderly away. Rhodey can see Bruce making an urgent argument.

“I refuse,” Stark grits out loudly enough for Rhodey to hear. “You can’t make me.”

Rhodey has had enough.

He pushes himself up to stand, walks over to the two men. “Dr. Banner,” he says in greeting. “Mr. Stark. I’d sure like to know what you’re doing out of your room.” Up close he can’t help but assess his patient’s state and he doesn’t like what he sees. The man is paler than ever, sweat dotting his upper lip and forehead from even the brief walk over.

“Would you?” Stark’s voice is dangerously low, anger etched in his face and fire in his eyes. “Your concern is duly noted, Doctor. But as I recall your services won’t be required for 48-72 hours, so in the meantime feel free to go to hell.”

Offended, Rhodey draws back, his own temper flaring.

Banner looks between them anxiously, one hand nervously pushing the glasses higher up on his nose. “Tony--”

“Save it,” Stark snaps, interrupting whatever it was that Banner was trying to say. “You’re lucky I don’t have every dime of funding for this place withdrawn. You should have told me. I trusted you.”

“Tony, it wasn’t like that--”

“Are you honestly threatening a pediatrician by saying you’re going to take away funding for his patients?” Rhodey interrupts, incredulous. “You’re... unbelievable!”

“You should talk with Hammer some more,” Stark spits out, his eyes almost black against the alarming pallor of his face, “he’ll tell you so many unbelievable things about me, you’ll be able to write a fucking book. Might even get you published.”  The pale lips twist in an ugly sneer, Stark pushing closer to the two men. “And since we’re getting along so swimmingly, Dr. Rhodes, you’re officially fired. Now there’s a decision we can all be happy with.”

Too surprised to speak or stop him, Rhodey just watches, stunned, as Stark stalks away, fury coloring his every step. Banner makes a move to go after him, then sighs, frustrated, as his beeper goes off.

“What the hell was that about?” Rhodey demands when he can finally find his tongue again.

“I’d love to tell you all about it but there’s an emergency.”  Banner sounds anxious, and somehow Rhodey doesn’t think that unease has much to do with the emergency at hand.  “Listen, Dr. Rhodes, Tony Stark is a good man, one the world needs.”

“Needs his money you mean,” Rhodey can’t help the disdain that slips into his voice.

“No.” Banner blinks at him, his brown eyes inexplicably disappointed and... sad. “I don’t mean that. I mean we need Tony. And I’m afraid if you don’t find a way to save him, no one will.”

Rhodey shrugs.  “Well he just fired my ass, so....”  The thought bothers him for some reason, even though he doesn’t like to admit it.

Banner nods, grim.  Turns away, already starting in the direction of the OR. Calls over his shoulder before his steps turn into a hurried jog, “You might think about trying to get yourself unfired, Doctor. If you’ve been listening to anything Justin Hammer has been saying about him… let’s just say you might want to get a second opinion.”