#somuchangst

[dagashipocky]

Resting 💤

They don’t get many opportunities like this one.

[xmarblox]

So, anon reveal!! @leon-dalton 🎊

It's meeeee. Lol

I went through with anuja and Abby and let me tell you, Abby is officially my fav character in this game, they're SOOOO UNDERRATED ughh.

So here is the ANGST 😭 with my two babies, I can't with Abby, they try to appear tough but they're soft in the inside, I feel so bad 💔

I might o not make fanfictions about this lol

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 3

Warnings: Mild Language, Angst, Slow Burn, So much Angst, Wait did I mention angst?

All kidding aside, this chapter is very angsty. It was also my favorite chapter to write. I do apologize for how short this chapter is, but I am certain it will still be a good read. So here is the wonderful, frustrating, torture that is angst.

Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Part 1 Part 2

He hadn't seen her for over two weeks now. Feelings started to form, which simply angered the god further. Feelings were for mortals, not Gods. He shouldn't feel this lonely without her around. He had always been alone and preferred it that way. But alas, he couldn't stop himself from thinking, had he said the wrong things? Had he pushed to far? Had he overstepped some invisible line he was unaware Midgardians had?

He had taken to lazing around the training center hoping he would bump into her. He felt in his very soul that he had to know her, needed to be near her. Thor had noticed this action, and continuously teased Loki about it. Mistakenly, Loki and spoken to his brother about these developing feelings.

“Why do you like her?” Thor had innocently asked.

“Her song,” Loki had answered in an unguarded moment of open clarity, that had been meant to stay to himself. It was true of course her voice had drawn him in further, but it wasn't all that drew him to her. Her almost ethereal beauty, the way she challenged him and spoke as though she were his equal. Even the frustrating way she wouldn't directly answer his inquiries, only made him want to know everything he could about her.

Thor now took any and every opportunity to pick at him about it, but there he was day after day, waiting.

This particular day, however he had gotten fed up with himself. Damnit, why am I acting this way? Throwing his hands up in frustration, he turned to leave. To hell with these damned mortal emotions.

But a sound reached his ears as he turned to leave, stopping him in his tracks. It was low and mournful, yet eerily sweet. It was a song with no words, and it both tore out his heart and filled it with joy. Chasing the tune, his feet thundered through the halls. It's her, he thought, It's Iloa, it has to be! Coming to a training room door, he threw it open without hesitation.

But no one was there. “No,” he gasped into the empty space, "I have finally gone mad,” he breathed unsteadily.

But no it was still there, further down the hall. He had simply acted to quickly. He walked further down the hall, slowly this time. Cautiously checking each door as he went. And then. . .

There she was, Iloa, standing in the middle of the room head lifted to the ceiling, her long ruby red locks cascading down her back. In the light they looked like liquid fire, flowing around and framing her silhouette. Her eyes closed, as she sang her haunting tune.

Something warm and wet rolled down his cheek and he looked up to see if the foreign thing had come from the ceiling.

Nothing there.

With shaky fingers, he touched the liquid now rolling down both cheeks. Tears. He was crying. Never in his life had this happened, and looking back at the beauty before him, he knew it was her song affecting him this way. At least, that's what he told himself.

Before he realized his feet were moving, he was reaching out to the girl. Wrapping her up in his arms, pulling her back flush with his chest, just as her song ended. Feeling the familiar and comforting spark course through him to his heart. She smelled like the ocean on a sunny day and he gulped in greedy lung fulls trying to fill himself with her.

She gasped softly, but knew who had her even before he spoke. His scent wrapping around her and filling her lungs. And the electricity was always there.

“Why are you so sad, my dear?” he whispered against her hair. He knew at full voice, she would hear the trembling timber in it.

She chuckled, which seemed completely out of atmosphere to Loki. “I am not sad, it's just practice. This song doesn't hurt anyone,” she answered, not understanding his actions. "Um," she added confused, "You can let go now."

No, I can't. It hurt me, he thought meekly, then immediately shook his head against her hair, causing her to giggle. The sound cleared his addled brain, bringing back a touch of the anger he had started feeling at her absence. He trembled, tightening his grasp on her, fighting to keep the anger and the rest of those damned emotions at bay. All he wanted to feel was her warmth and the buzzing spark coursing through his veins. It was comforting, welcoming. It was home.

Iloa felt the shift in him, like a string tugging at her heart. He was trembling, and his arms tightened minutely around her waist. She huffed slightly at the constriction, but managed to turn to face him even within the tight grasp. She placed her hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into the touch. This was not like him. His eyes closed, head bowed, his long raven hair hiding his face. The trembling had not stopped but seemed to grow worse at her touch. Her brow knitted together, as she leaned closer trying to see his face, “Loki, what's the matter with you? Are you alright?” her voice calm, low, and very desperate.

The desperation in her voice made Loki's mind snap, had he hurt her? Had he done the wrong thing showing concern? Why was he feeling these things for her? Why was he feeling anything at all? Why was he frightened?

Fear? Fear?! His brain roared to life with rage, I fear nothing! No one! This witch has spelled me for the last time! He dropped his arms and was beside the door in an instant. Fists forming at his sides, peeking up through the curtain of his hair. Willing his seiðr forth, “Where have you been?” he demanded, in a low threatening growl. He would have his answers, and this time he was prepared to fight to get them.

Even though he was clear across the room now, Iloa couldn't stop herself from taking a step back from the monster now before her. That is what he became, teeth barred, snarling at her. Even the way he looked up at her, eyes glowing lime green, was nothing short of a predator stalking his prey. She sighed long and low, very aware of the dangerous game she had been playing with the god. She raised her hands in front of her chest, placating the animal she had somehow awoken, “I was out,” she kept her voice low, calm, submissive, with just a hint of a calming hum, “On a mission, with the others. I am sorry no one told you.” She dropped her hands and head, this wasn't anyone's fault but hers, “I am sorry that I didn't tell you.”

The hurt in that last sentence tore at Loki's heart, but he couldn't still the rage in his mind. Through her sweet and gentle words he could pick up the hum, but this time it was having no effect on him. He slammed a fist backwards against the wall beside the door frame Putting just a touch of his magic into his fist, the drywall to cracked and splintered all the way down the wall. He reveled in the gasp that emitted from her throat, stopping her song.

“STOP SINGING!” he shouted, his voice a warning, a threat, a promise, but of what Iloa wasn't sure, she only knew it wouldn't be anything good. “You have poisoned my mind for the last time, you foul wench!” He spit these words at her, as though the very admission that she had affected him left a bad taste in his mouth. Truth be told, it had. Only not for the reasons he was currently divulging.

She glared up at him, still hurt by his change and now words. “I didn't poison you, Loki!” she shot back in an attempt to get him out of the state he was in.

Loki watched her eyes turn into blazing sapphires, and became hypnotized by them. This was no spell, no song. He wasn't under anyone's influence but his own. My mind is my own, but why can't I control it! His mind roared again but this time the anger was aimed more at himself.

To Iloa, it seemed that the only thing Loki ever responded to when he was like this, was more anger or violence. She could play that game and if it meant saving her life against the God, she would. “All I have done is speak to you. Sure our first real conversation wasn't exactly under your control, at the beginning,” she waved a hand at him dismissively, “But let's be honest here, what I did is nothing compared to what you have done.” Bravely, she took a step forward, then another, watching confusion flash across his face before the animal returned.

This was working, she had to keep pushing. She had to get through to him, “That's right, Loki. I have heard all the stories.” He actually flinched at her words, but was still snarling at her. More, she had to dig deeper. Stepping forward still, she continued, “How you have tortured and tormented people. Hell, you have even killed to get your way. And not just enemies, oh no! You kill people that are trying to help you! You hurt people that love you, that care for you and just want to get to know you!” She was now standing in front of him, yelling as tears formed in her eyes. It took all her will power to keep them from escaping.

“And yea, that last one is me,” she deflated and watched as he ever so slightly mimicked the action, the seiðr leaving his eyes. “I don't know what this thing is between us, but I can tell you right now it has nothing to do with my songs. And the saddest part of this entire conversation, is that deep down,” she reached up and punctuated her next words by jabbing her finger into his chest right above his heart, “You know what I am saying is true.”

She let out a long sigh, dropping her head and hand. “So call me whatever you think you need to, act out in your confusion and be a fool. Just know that I won't be so easily brushed to the side.”

She moved to pass him, gripping the door handle, but the familiar feel of electricity shot through her hand. He had reached out, laying his hand atop hers. “Stop,” he breathed. The anger was still there, he was still sneering with his eyes closed, head down. But the animal had faded, anger no longer directed at her. “Please, just wait,” he begged.

She dropped her hand out of his grasp, taking a step back and crossing her arms over her chest defensively. He appeared lifeless before her, like a puppet with his strings clipped. “What is wrong, Loki?” she asked sincerely. “If you will not talk to me, we cannot possibly remedy this misunderstanding between us. And I am certain that is all this is, a misunderstanding.”

He nodded his head just enough to register, before dropping to his knees. Iloa rushed to his side reaching out to him, but he held out a hand stopping her, “Please don't,” he whispered. “I can't control this anger. If you touch me again, I know I shall lash out. I don't want that, Iloa.”

She gasped at the sound of her name. Even in his defeated voice it was like the most beautiful music to her ears. She doubted her hearing, “Say it again.” she begged in wonder.

Loki looked up at her, his usual bright emerald eyes seeming dull and dead. “I don't want to hurt you,” he answered.

She shock her head earnestly, kneeling in front of him. His eyes followed her cautiously, but she was careful not to touch him, “Not that,” she breathed, begging him with her eyes.

He cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowing. Just as she was about to answer his unasked question, light flashed in his eyes, softening his features, and he answered softly, "Iloa."

Iloa closed her eyes and savored the beauty of her name on his lips. And though she had been warned, she couldn't control her body as it lunged forward wrapping her arms around his neck. Holding Loki tightly, she absorbed the electricity humming sweetly through her veins, she whispered, "Thank you."

He froze, muscles tensing at the contact. He had expected his body to immediately rage against her, but it didn't. Nothing happened, as her comforting embrace tightened, all he felt was her energy and warmth course through his body to his heart. This mortal cared, genuinely cared for him. Slowly, cautiously, he let himself relax. Muscle by muscle, fearing this would turn against Iloa at any moment. But it didn't, the anger had a new target. Sighing in relief, Loki knew it was no longer the girl holding him, he was only angry with himself.

He returned the embrace timidly at first, then she made a sound, almost like a purr, at his touch and he tightened his arms, effectively pulling her across his lap and burying his face in her luscious locks. There was another scent there, one his mind refused to identify. It was thick and heady, and all to familiar. But hard as he tried, he couldn't pull from his memory exactly what it was.

"I am burdened with these feelings towards you. And I hate myself and you, but I can't hate you. Why? Why do I feel this? I can't, I cannot," he said in a panicked whisper against her hair. She tried to move to see his face but he held her tighter. "I am a God!" he added, his voice sounding strangled as he forced it past his lips. Squeezing her until she groaned in response.

She chuckled lightly, running her fingers through his long dark locks, comfortingly. "Perhaps, you are more human than you think," she answered.

He huffed without amusement, "Doubtful," he admitted, relaxing into her embrace. She could breathe again and held him close, as he continued to speak, "I have a need to be near you, always," he took a shuttering breathe, forcing the next words, "I have fear."

Immediately, he hated himself for admitting this fault. He buried himself more completely in Iloa's embrace, like a child seeking comfort.

She smoothed his hair, "We all have fear, dear Loki. We all need comfort sometimes as well," she cooed.

Immediately, he tensed and she knew that her words had not had the effect she had wanted. He moved his hands to grasp her waist, placing her back on her knees again, gently but firmly. He rose to his feet and her eyes followed. He turned for the door, "I am a God, mortal!" He snarled the words at her, but it sounded forced. There was no bite behind them. "I shall have no fears."

He opened the door, hearing her sigh deeply behind him. He glanced momentarily, over his shoulder at where she still knelt on the floor. Those sapphire eyes claimed him as she spoke softly, "Please know, I will be here for you, when you are ready."

Then he was gone.

[bluesfortheredj]

18.

You walk up to the door and lift your hand to knock. As much as you want to, you can't make your hand move to make the sound. Daryl watches you secretly out of his window and you have no idea. He wants to open the door so badly right now, maybe he could pretend he was on his way out to see Rick and invite you in instead. You start walking away, down the steps of his porch and he panics and opens the door quickly. "Oh, hey, (Y/N), you okay? I was just on my way out." "Hey! Erm, oh never mind then, if you're busy. See you later," you mumble as you carry on walking. "I'm in no rush, what's up?" He says quickly, trying to get you to stay. "I was just wondering if..." you pause, for what seems like ages, "if maybe you wan-" "Daryl! I need your help on my car again, can't believe it's gone wrong so soon," a familiar voice shouts out, interrupting you. It's Claire, one of the residents of Alexandria who have been here since the beginning. She has a thing for Daryl and is always tearing him away from you because she knows exactly how he feels about you and hates it. "Not now, maybe tomorrow, I need to talk to (Y/N)." "No, no it's fine, it can wait," you said, forcing a smile. You walked away and Daryl watched you until you were out of sight. Claire took his arm and practically dragged him to her place. He checked the car over and couldn't find one thing wrong with it so quickly returned home after making his excuses. He walked slowly past your door and glimpses you through the window sitting on your sofa with a notebook, furiously writing in it. The voice inside his head wanted to speak to you so badly, but he couldn't find the courage to even walk up your porch. He turned away and carried on to his house. The next morning you hear a knock at your door. Running downstairs, you imagine it to be Daryl, he'll sweep you up into his arms and finally confess his love to you and kiss you passionately. You open it to find Rick instead. "Hey (Y/N), we need you to go out on a run today, Daryl's not feeling too good and we need him on top form, can you go with Claire instead?" He asked. Shit, her. No wonder he felt ill, stupid woman always harassing him. "Yeah sure, that's fine. I'll be out in 15 minutes." You gather some bits into a rucksack and a list that Rick gave you. Heading out to the gates, you see her in her car, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. "Finally! Come on, lets just get this over and done with," she sighs as you get in the car next to her. Daryl comes out to see the car leave and notices a familiar face next to her. "Rick, did (Y/N) go with her?" "Yeah, she's as good as you, so the next best person right?" "Shit! No, this isn't good, I don't trust her with (Y/N)." "Why not? I'm sure they'll be fine, just take it easy and go back to bed." Daryl huffs and goes back inside. He'd give you a couple of hours but come looking for you then. He knew the route you were meant to take, so it would be easy to find you. If he hadn't faked being ill to get out of going with Claire, you'd be safe behind these walls. There was something off about her, how she'd hold his arm just a little too tightly, or look at you for just a second too long with dark, evil eyes, then she'd snap back to acting like normal again. She was always like this since Daryl told her that he had feelings for you. She'd tried to make a move on him, but he knocked her back and admitted that you were the one for him. She hadn't like that one bit. It was a little over half an hour into your journey and the route started to look unfamiliar. "Are you sure this is the way?," you asked, confused. "This a short cut, don't worry about it." Soon you got to a small town, but it wasn't the one you were meant to be searching today. As you were about to face her, she pulled her gun out and pointed it straight at your head. "Make one wrong move and I'll shoot. Get out of the car," she instructed. "O- okay," you stutter. She leads you to a small warehouse behind a shop and pushes you through the door. Inside there's a chair and some rope. "Sit." You do as she says and sit down in the chair. She ties your hands behind you and your feet to the legs at the front. "Why are you doing this?" You ask. "Because women like you don't deserve Daryl. I do," she says bluntly. She smirks and backs away, "well, this is goodbye. I'll leave the door open so the walkers don't have easy access to you. Don't want them to starve do we?" With that, she exits and you hear the car revving up and leaving. You struggle against the restraints, but with no luck. How the hell did she tie this so tight? Daryl's given you both enough time, he tells Rick he's going out to find you and within seconds he's out on the road. As he's riding, Claire speeds past him and he notices you're not in the car with her. "FUCK!" He shouts to himself. He heads straight to the town you were heading for, checks every building, but you're nowhere to be seen. He races back to Alexandria where he finds Rick questioning Claire. "She WHAT?" He bellows. "She got bit, so sad, had to put her down. Left her in a safe place though," she lies. "The fuck did you just say?" Daryl interrupts, "she's not at the town you were meant to go to. Where the hell is she?" "Oh, no, we went to the next one over, west a little bit," she smirks, hoping that walkers would have already got to you. "Ya fucking bitch! If she's dead, I'm coming back and killing you myself," Daryl seethes. He jumps back on his bike and goes back out on the road. He finds the small town and looks in all the buildings then finds the warehouse behind one of the shops. Stepping inside, he sees walkers shuffling about and quickly takes them out. He spots he chair, toppled over and the rope laying on the floor next to it with fresh blood coating it. He looks over at the walkers, they couldn't have eaten you that quickly, and there was no trace of you here, it wasn't possible that they took you. Looking around on the floor, he searches for a trail of some kind, and sees small droplets of blood, possibly yours, heading towards the door. Following it, he's lead to a small shipment container further back from the backs of the buildings that lined the road. The smell of damp fills his nostrils as he enters the container. There are boxes everywhere, he moves them all out of the way until he sees something in the corner. "(Y/N)? Is that you?" "Daryl?" "Oh my god, (Y/N)," he says as he gets closer and can see your body fully. Blood soaks your tshirt and you have something pressed against your shoulder. "What happened?" "That doesn't matter," you gasp, "I'm just glad you're here." "Let me see your wound at least." He reaches out for your shoulder and peels back the cloth you found. There's an obvious bullet wound and he can see where it's also been dug out. It's bleeding heavily and you've already lost a lot of blood. "We need to get you back now." "I can't move Daryl," you say slowly, "I can barely breathe." "No, we need to get you back and get you fixed up." "Daryl, you can see what's happened, look at all this blood... I can't do it." You're face is white as a sheet and Daryl knows how this is going to end. "(Y/N), please, don't say that," he starts to cry. "That fucking bitch I'm gonna kill her for doing this to you." "Daryl... you've got to promise me... you'll do it, when the time comes... please," you stutter through laboured breaths. "I can't." "You can... strongest person I know... why I love you." You breathe, closing your eyes. "(Y/N), please don't say that," Daryl sobs, tears now cascading down his cheeks. "Love..." you start. "I love you too (Y/N), I do, always have done, please come back with me, you'll be fine," he rambles desperately. "Can't... love you," you smile as you finally let go and your breathing stops. "NO! NO! (Y/N), please, please open your eyes, I know you can. Open them," he cries. He holds your face in his hands, rubbing your cold cheeks, trying to bring colour back into them and get you to wake up. He knows you won't, and picks up his gun to finish it, but as he brings it to your head he can't make himself pull the trigger. Instead he uses his knife, slowly pushing it through your ear. Picking you up, he walks out to his bike and places you over it. He walks back to Alexandria with you and when he arrives everyone gathers round as they see your body. Rick is first to speak. "Daryl, I'm so sorry." "Where is she?" He asks, eyes red and puffy from crying. "In the cell," Rick answers, knowing what was about to happen. Daryl walks off to the cell as Rick and Carl take your body and lay you down by the church while they dig a grave. As they're digging, a shot echoes throughout Alexandria and Daryl appears next to them soon after. He takes a shovel and digs at the ground furiously. "(Y/N) gets a grave. She doesn't. I'll do this myself." "Daryl, let me help," Rick says softly. "No. Leave me," he shouts. Rick and Carl walk off to sort out the other body and take her outside Alexandria and leave her in the forest for walkers. They get back and Daryl is still digging, wiping tears and sweat away from his face. "Let me go talk to him Dad," Carl says, seeing how worried his father looks. Carl walks over slowly to Daryl so as not to startle him. "Daryl, I know you wanna be left alone, but I cared for (Y/N) too, she was like a sister to me, so I want to help if you'll let me." Daryl doesn't say a word, but looks up at him through his hair and hands him the other shovel. They stand there in silence and dig until it's ready, and both lower your body into it. "Carl, I can't do it, I can't bury her," he says, breaking down again. Carl looks at him shocked at how open he's being with his emotions. "No, of course. Me and dad will if you want us to." "Yeah, thanks," he says, dropping the shovel and looking down at you one last time. Then he heads to his house. "Daryl, you can stay at ours, don't be on your own," Carl says after him. Daryl nods his head and changes direction to Rick's house, not wanting to admit he needs someone, but accepting the offer gratefully. Rick comes out after talking to Daryl and helps Carl cover your body. "That was a real nice thing you did Carl. Daryl may not show it, but he appreciates it a lot. He really loved her." "I know, we all did, and she didn't deserve what happened to her. I hope she told Daryl she loved him too." "I'm sure she did Carl, don't worry." @blondielovesr5-blog @jodiereedus22

[ardentlyopposedfoes]

Baby BatCat FicTo Heal

TW: Self-harm, death, depression, anorexia

Be kind to yourselves!

Bruce’s hands are still slick with his parents’ blood when they wrap him in a blanket and left him on the stairs.

Still stained scarlet when Jim Gordon approaches him.

(Even after Alfred sees, and immediately draws him up a hot bath, even after he’s scrubbed at his skin until it’s raw, he still feels the blood drying on his hands)

(He wonders if he’ll ever be able to get away from the feeling)

The cutting starts that night, a long line drawn up inside his inner thigh with his father’s razor. Blood that is not his parents’ wells up, deep maroon, blossoming in the hot water like a flower.

Soon, the lines are everywhere that his clothing can hide. And even though Alfred sees, he doesn’t know what to do, so he yells instead. Calls Bruce a stupid boy, and tells him he’s going to really hurt himself one day, in a way that can’t be bandaged up.

(He’s already hurt. What’s one more slice of pain when his heart is ripped to shreds?)

He can’t eat. He looks in the mirror and his face is gaunt. He can count his ribs and see the knobs of his spine. Simple things like stairs exhaust him, and he spends most of his days curled up on his bed, buried under a mountain of covers.

(Deep down, he knows he’s killing himself. Deeper still, he doesn’t care)

Alfred is pissed and scared, but Bruce sleeps too often to notice.

(Lately, he can’t make himself care about anything. His clothes swim on his skeletal frame, and he’s so cold. Always so cold.)

The day he ends up in the hospital is the day he passes out in front of a board of directors. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d seen his parents in a photo, and then the world had gone soft around the edges. It had felt like a good idea to lay down for a little while. He had slumped back, Alfred catching him with a shout, and the next thing he knew, he was strapped to a hospital bed, IVs and wires crisscrossing his skin, piercing his fragile exterior. The doctors feed him through a tube, and he gets a saline drip.

He begs them to let him die. It would be so much easier to sleep.

(He had to laugh at the similarities to Shakespeare. To sleep, perchance, to dream…)

He wakes up screaming, another vision of his parents’ rotting corpses reaching out for him jerking him into lucidity.

Sometimes, when it’s dark and he’s alone, he closes his eyes and wishes that the man in the mask had shot him, too. At least then he wouldn’t have to bear the pain. Alfred sighs at the sight of him, strapped down so he won’t hurt himself. Bruce knows that his gaze is vacant and dull, and his hair limply hangs in front of his face.

“You have to stop this,” the man pleads. “Your parents wouldn’t want this.”

He squeezes Bruce’s thin hand.

“Just remember that there are still people who care about you, Master Wayne.” -

Selina is there when he wakes up.

She looks beautiful and dangerous as always, like a poisonous flower.

“Jesus, kid. What’re you doing?”

“Dying.” Bruce replies, the first words he’s said since they brought him here.

“That’s idiotic.”

“It’s easy.”

And wasn’t that terrifying, just how easy it was to give up. To simply… stop.

“Alfred will be upset.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“Your parents would be angry, wouldn’t they?”

Bruce smiles bitterly.

“If they were here, you mean,” he says. “Which they aren’t.”

She bites her lip, and she feels so far away, even though it’s a distance of only a handful of feet.

“I don’t want you to die,” she whispers.

She steps closer to the bed, before crawling in with him. She’s so warm, her skin pressed against his. She rests her head on his chest. His eyelids grow heavy, too heavy, and he slips back under, to the deep relief that only dreamless sleep can bring.

-

There are still hard days. Days where he wants to curl up under the covers and never wake up.

But she makes it better.

And it’s enough.

fin.

[astramthetaprime]

No One Here But Us Chickens

This week on “OMG that’s a Thing?!”

I learned about rigid thinking this week.   

I’ve been going to science-fiction conventions since I was 16 years old.  My first convention was ChattaCon 11, a small town con of excellent repute in those days.  The first time I walked into the consuite I saw a guy dressed as Nightcrawler from the X-Men, leaping across the room.  I’d been reading the X-Men for five years at that point, and to see Nightcrawler come to life right there in front of me almost broke my brain with joy.  I realized in that moment I wasn’t alone, that here were my people, my culture.  And it’s been that way ever since.

Over the years, though, I developed a definite irrational rage about what went on after the dealers had shut down for the night and everyone migrated to the consuite.  Where everyone would be drinking.  A lot of people came to the con only for that aspect.  But I got (and to this day still do get) absolutely enraged at the whole thing.  Irrationally so.  Even at my own dearest friends, people who were all but family to me at the time.  It wasn’t just at cons either.  I cannot stand being around drunk people.  

But I never knew where this came from.  There’s nothing in my past to produce this.  No alcoholism in my family.  Literally no reason I should be this way.  

I don’t and have never drunk alcohol myself because of this.  Nor done any other recreational substances.  I love my Diet Coke with a passion surpassing a thousand suns, but the thought of drinking alcohol just ... no.  To the extent that when I took my jukai vows as a Buddhist, the easiest thing in the world to promise was that I would refrain from intoxicants.  Because I already do.  The thought repels me.  

Now I know why.  

It’s against the rules.  Watching other people breaking rules and the mere suggestion that I myself break them infuriates me.  Because suddenly everything changes around me, people I love become untrustworthy and dangerous, and I can’t handle it.  The distress, the anxiety, are very very real.  

(Mind you, I’m well aware there are no “rules” and no one has made any.  But I never said this was rational.  The human mind is not rational, anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you a philosophy doctorate cheap.)

If I ever needed any more proof that what I already have that I’m Autistic, this is it.  I can’t change this, I’ve tried, I’ve tried so many times to convince myself intellectually that this reaction isn’t valid or based on any real reason.  But it’s never worked.  Usually I just leave at that point, go up to my room if I’m staying at the con, get a pizza or some food, and read whatever I bought that day in the dealer’s room.  Alone.  

I’m the same way about other relatively harmless recreational substances.  

I also have trouble switching tasks, dealing with interruptions, and black-and-white thinking.  So yeah.  We’ll just put a big fat green checkmark on that one, shall we?  

Now I’m just... all these years I spent furious at people I had no business being furious at.  All these years not being “normal”.  Never knowing what was “wrong” with me.  Now I know I’m just wired this way.  I’m not “wrong” or “broken” or what have you.  This is just... the way I am.  

I don’t feel any better, knowing what it is.  I just feel more alone.  

[facepalm918-blog]

Chapter three of “Together” just went live on my AO3 account. Check it out and part one of the “Right in front of You” series which is titled, “Tell Me Like it Is.” #ao3 #fanfic #somuchfluff #somuchangst #somuchbellarke #bellarke #the100 https://www.instagram.com/p/BtW5mcpnx3X/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=11b9dlyghv925

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Guys... The 90s are trying to pull me back in. #thefray #somuchangst (at Summerfest)