#recovery patterns

[guiltyidealist]

I reformatted Co-Dependents Anonymous's Recovery Patterns pages

(I didn't like that one of them got chopped in half across pages)

[unwelcome-ozian]

[inthefadingtwilightt]

me when im jealous of a fucking fictional character’s ed like a dumbass

[funinstitches]

Another kitty bookmark is complete, i can finally sit at a desk for more than 10 minutes now thanks to the cast coming off so I'm spending half my day working on my actual projects and half my day now working on these bookmarks while I'm resting the leg

[ignalina-c0re]

hello please tell me more about stall recovery procedures so i can scream about it thank you

WIP folder game

I love screaming about SRP, it's my babyyyyy <3 I think I haven't written longform since I was like, 14, so it's a biiig thing for me, my attention span doesn't usually last long enough :,D

I'm going to tell you about Holding Patterns, which is currently part 3 4, hopefully I don't come up with more bullshit in the meantime fjhíjskkjg It's a Rosie POV mostly about his developing friendship with Bucky through letters and phone calls.

It's gonna be a mixed media fic, with some of the bulk of it taken up by letters I'm making in photoshop, and postcards!!! Because in this 'verse Rosie travels around a lot to give speeches and demo flights and stuff, so he figures he might as well find some spiffy postcards to spice up their correspondence, and he's so right. Bucky collects them <3

Rosie also takes Bucky emergency relief clubbing in Chicago, because he's doing REALLY badly with trying to settle back into civilian life, and it goes... interesting

They take to the hotel's roof to dry out, both physically and metaphorically. They're both sweaty and more than a little drunk, and the roof access door only takes a little jimmying to open, and the glittering city skyline spreads open under their feet.

Bucky is smoking a cigarette leisurely, humming to himself, out of tune. Rosie's ears are ringing: he isn't sure if the high-pitched whine in his head is improving Bucky's humming or not. The half-empty bottle of coke he's rolling between his hands is soothingly cool on his fevered skin, damp with condensation.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of them, or as much silence as there can be in the middle of a lively city in the bleary pre-dawn hours. A little breeze shifts the heavy summer air, still warm this late in the day. Or this early, depending on your perspective, Rosie guesses. It definitely feels late for him: his muscles feel like jelly, his throat is raw and his head is fuzzy from both alcohol and tiredness. He's wrung out, but in a good way, and Bucky seems to be in a similar state: his shoulders are sagging, and his motions are sluggish, but his face is relaxed, if not a bit distracted; a far cry from the tense mess he was on the train on the way here.

Seems like Rosie still has a few good ideas after all.

"…So, you do this often?" Bucky asks, breaking the silence.

"As often as I can, yeah. Good way to unwind."

"Good for meeting people too, yeah?"

Rosie nearly drops the bottle at that.

"..what do you mean?" He stammers out after a too-long pause.

Is this where Bucky drops me for being queer? Was this a bad idea after all? His heart constricts. He had fun tonight, and he likes Bucky a lot, too much almost: his guard was way down.

But when he chances a nervous look at the other man, he sees no derision in his face, just a gentle sort of curiosity, and a slight puzzlement as he seemingly tries to piece his thoughts together.

"I mean… the after-hours crowd," he gestures vaguely with his cigarette. A piece of ash falls from the tip. Rosie just raises a questioning eyebrow at him, waiting for him to elaborate. "Is it really this easy, I mean? I usually take my chances in a bar or something, trying to mind-read the other fellas, but then sometimes I give the wrong guy the look, and get decked."

Oh.

"…I thought you were more of a ladies man?" He can't be saying what I think he's saying. Then again, there was his love for Gale, but that could go either way, could just be a very deep friendship. Rosie never wants to assume: assumptions like that get people hurt.

"I am, yeah." The grin that spreads on Bucky's face is rakish, and does nothing to quiet the frantic hammering of Rosie's heart. "I do also like a fella or two, when the mood strikes, but it's a bit more difficult to arrange, you know what I mean I think."

Rosie huffs out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Both ways, that's new.

"I do, and it is, for sure. You kind of… know people, who know places, you know? It's all very… underground resistance, I guess."

"Underground resistance!" Bucky barks out a laughter. There's still no tension in him, and he's still rakish and handsome in the underlit darkness of the late night. He stubs his cigarette out on the ground next to him, and immediately starts rummaging around for another one. "Do you ever go home with other… resistance fighters?"

Rosie can't suppress a snorting laugh.

"Sometimes, yeah. Mostly it's just making out in a dark corner or something, like teenagers. None of the… fighters want to be found out either."

"Sad reality, isn't it?" Rosie just hums an affirmative. "What about tonight, huh? That guy you were dancing with last, didn't you want to… you know…?

The guy Rosie was dancing with last was an absolutely captivating redhead, with an adorable smattering of freckles all over his face and arms, and warm chocolate brown eyes. He also had the disposition of a nervous rabbit, and on any other night, Rosie would have gladly taken him aside to distract him from his anxieties, but tonight, his only concern was Bucky.

Bucky, who was plenty captivating himself, eclipsing every man in the club that night.

"I didn't want to leave you alone." I would have gone home with you, and nobody else.

"Aw, here I am, ruining your dating prospects!"

"Nonsense, tonight was a riot, I wouldn't have missed it for anything!"

Bucky considers him for a moment, with an odd, inscrutable look in his eyes. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and blows the smoke out at the city. Rosie's eyes follow sharp curves of his profile; the long, pale line of his neck down to sweat-sheened collarbones disappearing into the half-open collar of his wine-dark shirt. He has to force his gaze away.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he feels Bucky's hand on his knee.

"Why not take me home, then?" His voice is husky and seductive, and Rosie forgets to breathe. The hand on his knee is a firey brand, inching glacier-slow up his thigh, and scrubbing every single thought from his head besides pure want. He finds himself leaning forward just a little, and Bucky mirrors him, the scant space between them tantalizing and, suddenly, suffocatingly hot.

That way lies danger, Rosie's brain supplies, rational for once. As much as he wants to give in to his impulses, tackle Bucky to the ground and ravish him, it wouldn't end well. Not for Bucky, already teetering on a knife's edge between sanity and complete abandon; and certainly not for him and his career, his carefully cultivated barrier between a daytime life of duty and normalcy, and nights of nameless desire, lightning strikes of intimacy not allowed to touch daylight hours, lest they burn everything to the ground.

"I don't think you need that kind of complication right now," he manages to get out, somehow sounding perfectly normal and rational despite the rabbit-quick beating of his heart. He quickly straightens up, in an almost-futile effort to cool the fire licking at his skin and making a home low in his stomach.

Bucky watches him quietly. There's something dark in his eyes, something hungry and familiar; he blinks and shakes his head, and it disappears behind the drunken cheer.

"You're probably right." He takes his hand off Rosie's knee, and turns to stare at the city instead.

[fireolin]

Sleeping without sling tonight (though I ended up putting it back on last night). Ankle stayed in place today, despite something moving inside it briefly and painfully this morning just to remind me the potential for hobbling is still there.

But I’m seeing the elbow therapist tomorrow, so I’m looking forward to understanding my progress and getting more advice. Am hoping to get advice on a different issue at the same time if she’s chatty while she treats me, even if it’s just to find out whether consulting her on that is a good idea.

So all going well, thankfully, for now. Hoping things stay that way.

[loveyourlovelysoul]

Conditioning may have made you have opinions or say things, or even do stuff that aren't really part of you and who you are, just to be accepted by others and not be abandoned. Just to be able to survive (humans live in communities and in the prehistoric age, they would not have been able to survive if they got left out of groups).

Please come back to yourself and realize what are your real thoughts and try to separate yourself from those of others. It can be hard to do at first, it can be unsettling and tough, scary for sure, but that's mostly cause your mind wants to suggest you it's too risky and you may end up alone if you start being yourself and not follow the lead of others. But that's not true. You can survive and find the people that by nature, are exactly like you.

[killemwithkawaii]

Emotional hangovers are so fucking stupid.

"Oh, you went out and had an especially good time in a highly stimulating environment for a few hours? Nice going, you just cashed in 3 days worth of dopamine. Get Meh, jackass."

[knit-me-a-blanket]

I had a really light day at work and could knit up a lot more of the sock than I thought I'd be able to! We are up to the foot on the first sock, only seven days into this fundraiser.

[gigginox]

something i like abt 3u is how deliberate the combat is. in the newer games you can just kinda do whatever but in this one if you whiff one attack or like stand too close for too long you will get thrown around like a sack of potatoes

[unwelcome-ozian]

[the-healing-mindset]

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[hyperkinetic-rabbity-thing]

"I got *insert romanticized thing* from anorexia!"

I got male pattern baldness and chest hair.

[serenityquest]

[light-wrath-paradise]

Thought about making a fan-chapter for Slay The Princess as well but what the hell could I even say. I fear all the beats of a heart have already been spelled out in the night sky.

[wisterianwoman]

From an early age, I knew I had to work for the things I wanted, and life showed me that I couldn't rely on other people, so I learned to do it all myself. It wasn't long before I completely burned out. Today, I am healing and finding balance, and learning to ask for help when I need it. Let's talk about it.

HEALING FROM HYPER-INDEPENDENCE