We've been mistaking unhealthy coping strategies for positive traits our whole life, so for example:
We think people pleasing is being kind, but kindness comes from genuine care, not fear of rejection: people pleasing is anxiety disgused as niceness
We mistake perfectionism for excellence, but excellence is about growth and progress, while perfectionism is fear of failure dressed up as high standards
We confuse avoiding conflict with being peaceful, but peaceful isn't pretending everything is fine: that's fear of confrontation masquerading as harmony
We think suppressing feelings makes us strong, but strength isn't emotional numbness: that's trauma disguised as resilience
We mistake not asking for help as independence, but independence isn't doing everything alone: that's fear of being a burden or pretending to be self-reliant
We confuse approval seeking with getting good advice, but seeking wisdom is different from needing validation: approval seeking is insecurity disguised as being open to input
We think being controlling gives us safety but safety isn't micromanaging everything: that's anxiety masquerading as being responsible
We mistake our productivity for our worth, but our value isn't our output: that's childhood conditioning disguised as work ethics
These patterns serve you once, but now they're just keeping you stuck
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***Set in an alternate universe without heroes or powers.***
ā¢Family Chaos. Dark Comedy. Sexual Themes.
ā¢Shippings include: Tim x Kon, Damian x Rachel, Bruce x Selina, Dick x Kori.
(A Christmas Story)
Damian Wayne stays home for Christmas for the first time in years. Bruce Wayne has a color-coded binder of mandatory events. Jason Todd is sporting an ankle monitor. Tim Drake is secretly sleeping with the enemy. A hush-hush Wayne elopement featuring Vegas. Koriandār accidentally gets people high. Cassandra and Stephanie plan to flee the country. Jimmy Olsen canāt catch a cab. The Kents are in an RV. Wally and Irey West get temporarily trapped. Dick Grayson crashes out over peanuts. Duke Thomas learns what it means to be Selinaās favorite.
And halfway across the world, Talia al Ghulā a literal dictatorā realizes Damian refused to return home for Christmas because heād rather spend it with his girlfriend (Damirae this time, sorry) and that suspicious ride-or-die group of friends.
Absolutely nothing goes according to plan.
(Rating change due to certain scenes/incidents.)
Do we like how I wrote up the couples here or no?
Yes
No
Yes but write it again w/Flatline instead (as requested on discord.)
No because your writing is shit (you sound like my mom)
No because your chapters are too long Iām going to cry.
hot take but a lot of the fanon takes surrounding shane's life and control issues come from the fandom's desire to fit him more neatly into the bdsm sub box and not the other way around
Story Summary: When Alastor loses his shadow in a battle with Adam, he loses much more than his power.
Unstable, amnesiac, and unable to exist without an external anchor, he becomes dependent on Voxās static to hold his fractured body together. Vox calls it protection. Alastor calls it relief.
But Vox remembers the past Alastor canāt and uses it to make things right in all the wrong ways.
a/n: I've been uploading my fanfic on ao3 and a friend of mine convinced me in uploading here as well. This is my first time posting! I'm going to learn as I go in uploading the chapters, please be patient! I'm going to upload all the chapters that I have current on ao3.
Alastor notices it before anything else, before the smoke, before the holy scorch marks carved into Hellās red stone, before Adam opens his mouth again.
The distortion presses against his senses like a radio dial tuned almost right, close enough to irritate, close enough to make his magic itch beneath his skin.
Thatās new.
āWell,ā Alastor says brightly, voice crackling with its usual theatrical warmth as he steps over a collapsed pillar, cane tapping once against the fractured ground. āI must say, this is shaping up to be a dreadfully one-sided affair.ā
Adam scoffs loudly, wings flexing behind him. Feathers shake loose, drifting lazily through the haze like ash.
āOne-sided?ā he snaps. āYouāve been running your fuckinā mouth for ten minutes straight.ā
Lute stands a few steps behind him, blade angled downward, posture tight and efficient. She doesnāt speak. She doesnāt need to.
Alastor grins wider, eyes glowing cheerfully. āAh, but monologuing is half the fun, my dear boy. One simply canāt massacre an audience without proper presentation.ā
Adam rolls his eyes. āJesus Christ, you are insufferable.ā
He cracks his neck, gaze locking onto Alastor with something sharp and calculating,Ā not the blind rage most angels bring to Hell, but irritation edged with intent.
āAlright,ā Adam mutters. āEnough fuckinā around.ā
Alastorās shadow shifts beneath him, stretching long and eager across the ground, curling at the edges like ink dropped into water. He feels the familiar hum of it, the balance, the weight, and the comfort of something that has always been there.
Thatās when the air tightens.
Not a sound.
Not a flash.
Pressure.
Alastorās smile twitches, just barely.
Lute adjusts her stance, eyes narrowing. āAdam.ā
āI know,ā Adam replies, already raising the weapon.
It isnāt a blade. It isnāt anything Alastor recognizes.
Compact. Metallic. Its surface crawls with etched symbols that vibrate when Adam grips it, emitting a low hum that sets Alastorās teeth on edge.
āOh?ā Alastor hums lightly. āAnd here I was expecting something crass and overcompensatory. Do forgive me if Iām disappointed.ā
Adam bares his teeth. āYou should be.ā
The hum spikes.
Alastor moves.
Shadow surges instinctively, yanking him sideways as the first shot rips through the space where his head had been a moment before. The blast tears into the stone behind him, leaving a warped, glassy crater that smokes.
āMissed,ā Alastor taunts.
Adam laughs, short, sharp, and ugly. āYeah. On purpose.ā
The second shot comes faster.
Alastor feels it bend.
Not tracking him.
Not chasing his body.
Targeting something else entirely.
The seam.
The hit lands without sound.
Without impact.
Without mercy.
For a fraction of a second, Alastor doesnāt understand whatās happening, only that something inside him has gone catastrophically wrong. Pain doesnāt explode so much as unzip, ripping through layers of self heās never had to think about.
His shadow lashes violently, stretching too far, too fast, shrieking without a voice, and then itās gone.
Alastor slams into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from him, the world stuttering violently as his magic surges out of control. Static screams through his skull, a shrill, broken feedback loop that sends sparks skittering across his vision.
Green light flares across his chest.
Stitches rip into existence,Ā jagged, glowing threads of voodoo magic yanking his body back together as it tries, and fails, to come apart. His scream tears out of him raw, unfiltered, and nothing like the polished broadcast tone heās worn for decades.
It hurts.
God, it hurts.
Adam lowers the weapon slowly, breathing a little harder now, eyes bright with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
āFuckinā nailed it,ā he mutters.
Lute steps closer, gaze fixed on Alastorās writhing form. āHeās still alive.ā
Adam shrugs. āDidnāt say I was trying to kill him.ā
He looks down at Alastor, head tilting. āShadowās the weak point. Always is. Soul gets real fuckinā fragile when itās divided like that.ā
Alastor forces himself upright on shaking arms, stitches burning hot as they pull him back from the brink. His grin snaps back into place out of sheer habit,Ā stretched too thin, and warped at the edges.
āMy, my,ā he rasps, static breaking through his voice. āYou angels certainly do come prepared these days.ā
Adam snorts. āRun.ā
Alastor doesnāt argue.
He vanishes in a burst of corrupted static, body tearing itself free from the battlefield with a shriek of broken frequency. The escape isnāt clean. It canāt be.
He hits the ground hard somewhere else, trees looming overhead, their shapes warped and indistinct, colors bleeding together in dull, muddy shades that make his head swim.
The forest is quiet.
Too quiet.
Alastor staggers forward and stops dead.
His body locks mid-step.
Muscles seize, refusing command as if heās slammed into an invisible wall. His breath catches sharply, shallow and panicked, vision blurring as the world loses depth and clarity.
He canāt move.
Something is wrong.
Something is missing.
Alastor looks down.
There is no shadow beneath him.
The realization hits harder than the pain.
āNo,ā he whispers.
The word comes out thin. Unsteady. Stripped of performance.
His knees buckle, body collapsing into the damp earth as the stitches along his chest flare brighter, yanking tight to keep him from unraveling completely. Pain lances through him in sharp, erratic bursts, but not enough to kill him.
Enough to keep him aware.
Thoughts scatter.
Names slip away first.
Places follow.
The world narrows to sensation, cold ground, buzzing static in his skull, the unbearable wrongness of being incomplete.
Alastor curls inward, fingers digging into the dirt as his body shudders violently.
Somewhere far away, laughter echoes, distorted, familiar, and entirely unplaceable.
And in the absence where his shadow once lived, something watches.
all roads lead back to the basement : spencer hastings
āŗ why high-achieving girls relapse into sabotage ā decoding spencer's obsession with control | by @glowettee
hey lovelies! ā§
have you ever noticed how spencer always ends up in some version of a basement? literally or metaphorically, our favorite hastings girl finds herself spiraling in hidden spaces, plotting revenge, or having a full breakdown away from judging eyes. and honestly? same.
the basement isn't just a physical place, it's that mental space where high-achieving girls retreat when we're unraveling but can't let anyone see. it's where we hide our panic, our shame, our pressure, our secrets. it's where the perfect facade cracks but nobody's allowed to witness.
ā§ the performance of perfection
let's be honest about something: nobody is born a control freak. we're trained into it, molded by expectations, and rewarded for our ability to keep everything (including ourselves) in perfect order. spencer wasn't born obsessively organizing murder boards, she was shaped into someone who needed that control to feel safe.
for girls raised to be "the smart one," our entire identity becomes wrapped up in:
getting straight As
being the responsible one
solving everyone's problems
anticipating disaster before it happens
never showing weakness
sound familiar? the gold stars and academic validation become an addiction. we literally start to believe that our worth as a human is tied to our productivity. we're not people, we're performers. and the show must go on (even when we're breaking).
ā§ the relapse isn't random
when spencer spirals, it looks chaotic from the outside. but her self-sabotage isn't random... it's a carefully choreographed dance she's been practicing her whole life. the same goes for all of us perfectionists.
we don't just randomly implode. we return to our basements because:
it feels safer to destroy things ourselves than wait for someone else to do it
the pressure becomes unbearable and we need release
our inner child gets triggered (usually by feeling not good enough)
we're reenacting old pain that feels oddly comforting because it's familiar
think about it: spencer doesn't randomly lose control, she loses it in the exact same ways, over and over. competing with melissa. taking p*lls to study longer. becoming obsessive about solving the puzzle before anyone else. these aren't new behaviors; they're old wounds wearing new outfits.
ā§ the ugly parts of ambition
there's a difference between healthy ambition and the kind that's fueled by shame. spencer's need to be the best isn't just fueled by achievement, it's fueled by outrunning the voice that says "if i don't win, i'm nothing."
the ugly truth about toxic ambition is that it:
makes you see friends as competition
turns rest into failure
convinces you that your value is in your output
keeps you emotionally numb through productivity
destroys relationships because nothing matters more than the goal
remember when spencer sabotaged melissa's relationship? stole her essays? betrayed her friends to get ahead? that's not ambition... that's desperation wearing ambition's clothes.
ā§ control is a trauma response
spencer's need to control everything, to know every secret, anticipate every move, and stay three steps ahead... isn't just type-A personality traits. it's a trauma response.
when your world has been repeatedly unsafe (and let's be real, rosewood is the definition of unsafe), control becomes survival. the girl who color-codes her planner and can't delegate tasks isn't just organized, she's terrified of what happens if she lets go.
some signs your control issues might actually be trauma:
you can't sleep if things are unfinished
uncertainty causes physical panic
you micromanage everyone around you
you feel responsible for outcomes that aren't yours
your body stays in constant vigilance
you equate relaxation with danger
ā§ rewriting the spiral
so how do we stop going back to the basement? how do we break the cycle that spencer never quite managed to escape?
recognize your basement triggers
what sends you spiraling? is it comparison? criticism? feeling overlooked? identify the exact moments that make you want to retreat and self-sabotage.
create a physical "anti-basement"
designate a space (even just a corner) that represents the opposite of your spiral zone. fill it with comfort objects, grounding tools, and reminders of who you are beyond achievement.
practice nervous system regulation
when you feel the spiral starting, focus on your body first. deep breathing, cold water on your face, gentle movement, anything that tells your body "you're safe, you don't need to run to the basement."
redefine what winning means
success doesn't have to mean perfection or being better than everyone else. what if winning just meant peace? what if it meant being present? what if it meant being kind to yourself?
speak to your inner spencer
the part of you that's terrified of failure needs compassion, not more pressure. talk to her like you would a friend: "it's okay to rest. it's okay to not know everything. your worth isn't in your achievements."
ā§ the girl who comes back upstairs
the real victory isn't never going to the basement again. it's recognizing that you don't live there anymore. you visit sometimes, but you always come back up.
spencer's tragedy was believing she had to stay in that dark place of control and obsession to be valuable. but the real win isn't solving every mystery or being the smartest person in rosewood, it's finding peace in the uncertainty.
you're allowed to put down the murder board. you're allowed to close the planner. you're allowed to exist without earning it.
the basement will always be there. but so is the sunlight upstairs.
xoxo, mindy š¤
p.s. what's your favorite spencer spiral moment? mine is definitely pill-fueled study sessions that turned into hallucinations. too relatable (minus the hallucinations⦠mostly (and def the pills š).
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A Lot of You Have Subtle/Covert Control Issues, And Hereās Why:
One thing that Iāve noticed about a lot of people is that they have control issues that are given a pass and overlooked. Especially in relationships and friendships.
When we think of ācontrol issuesā in the context of connections, we think of someone telling another what they can and canāt do, or what they can and canāt wear, or who they can and canāt speak to. Those things definitely fit into that category, but those are OVERT forms of control issues. Read through some of the following points and see if you can relate to any of the more subtle ones:
Refusing to accept people for who they are (positive or negative) and therefore opting to try to change them for better or for worse - instead of choosing to change YOUR behaviour and whether or not YOU continue to deal with them.
Thinking that you have the power or influence to change someone into a ābetter personā and refusing to give up despite them not being receptive to that, nor even asking for your help in the first place.
Trying to force people to love and care for you. Instead of just choosing to love, care, and focus on yourself. Thinking that if you do āthisā and āthatā for them, or if you stick around them long enough, then theyāll eventually treat you like you want to be treated.
Refusing to change what YOU accept in terms of disrespect (when you definitely could if you wanted to), and instead trying to force someone to respect you. THEY DONāT WANT TO. Simple.
Trying to āfixā other people constantly (people who most likely never asked for that/donāt want that in the first place) while barely fixing anything about yourself.
All of these scenarios are just examples, but they all include someone trying to change someone else instead of choosing to change themselves, and their OWN behaviour, and their OWN standards.
So, this is my question: If you think that you donāt have the power nor the influence to change yourself into who you want to be, what makes you think that youāre powerful enough to change someone else into who you want them to be?
Please recognise your control issues. People who struggle with these types of things - covertly or overtly - are people who feel out of control in their own lives so they try to control someone elseās life. And that energy repels people. Because hardly anybody ever asks for someone to impose themselves onto them like that. Doesnāt matter if you think that youāre doing it to make someone ābetterā. If they donāt WANT to be a better person, then leave them to it. You donāt have the right to force someone onto a path that they donāt want to be on. Just like nobody else would have the right to do that to you.
Thereās a reason why we have free will. To control ourselves. A lot of you shame manipulative people due to the way that they impose themselves on another personās free will and mindset. However, I can guarantee you that if you relate to doing any of the things listed above, you attempted manipulating someoneās mind and behaviour - even if it was for something āgoodā or ābetterā - whether you realised it or not. Manipulation is something that humans do consciously and subconsciously all of the time. My question is, if youāre willing to try to manipulate someoneās behaviour for better, why not put that energy into yourself? Or at least someone who has directly ASKED for your help with that?
Please, everyone, stay in your lane and control YOURSELVES š.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/3
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov
Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, mostly - Freeform, Control Issues, Autistic Shane Hollander, Under-negotiated Kink, Dom/sub, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Shane Hollander, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Shane Hollander Has an Eating Disorder, Shane Hollander's Yearning Bottom Eyes, Canon Autistic Character, yeah yeah the ep 2 vegas scene we all wanna write angst about it, Shane baby you know you arenāt Atlas you donāt have to hold the worldās weight on your shoulders, Consent King Ilya Rozanov, Bottom Shane Hollander, Top Ilya Rozanov, Anal Sex, Self-Flagellation, Shane hollander be kind to yourself challenge, Miscommunication, honestly kind of a character study on Shane and his autism and how it affects how he interacts with the world, Insecurity, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, situationship era hollanov, Shane Hollander in Subdrop, the comfort is coming I swear they just have to be emotionally stunted for a bit first
Summary:
As a professional athlete, his body is literally built for endurance. Itās kind of part of his job description, really, something that he specifically trains for, to be good at enduring things most people would balk at. What he personally feels about the specifics of that process is secondary to the goal of being the best hockey player he can possibly be.
The thing with Rozanov starts off as something different. Tentatively, Shane had allowed himself to hope that this could become a part of his life not to be endured but enjoyed, maybe. The CCM shoot, the 2011 All Stars game, Shaneās apartment in Montreal the first time Shane had⦠Well, to say Shane enjoys himself in each case would be an understatement. It had shocked him, how good sex could feel when you wanted to be there. He had almost forgotten what it was like to want something, something other than hockey, until somehow, without any conscious decision on his part, his whole body had been consumed with wanting his arch-rival.
(Or, a look at Shane Hollander and his control issues throughout the timeline of the show.)