#than i have in eight years of self-harm!!!! what the fuck!!!!!

[the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis]

okay who's going to write a dissertation about self-harm through the frame of disability theory & how it's simultaneously stigmatized & infantilized, and how it's excluded from conversations abt BOTH disability/chronic pain and addiction for not being "real" versions of either of them despite meaningful overlap in the experiences and the WILD discrimination that results from it?

or am i going to have to go get a goddamn psychology degree and do it myself

#sorry i'm just. going THROUGH it at my workplace right now #(when am i not? why does this always fucking happen to me?) #(oh wait. it's because self-harm is simultaneously stigmatized and infatilized and--) #but like. seriously. the amount of WILD misconceptions and general stigma and blatant discrimination and just absolute bullshit #for something that is literally just a symptom of mental illness & a coping mechanism #& literally ONLY HARMS THE PERSON DOING IT #(as opposed to forms of self-harm like cigarettes. that are LITERALLY more likely to kill you AND harm other people) #(but are for some reason socially acceptable) #ugghhhhhh #i literally fucked up my body more trying to give myself gauges and doing it poorly #than i have in eight years of self-harm!!!! what the fuck!!!!! #i hate social norms so much.

[vaspider]

Measure 110, or the Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

So if y'all aren't local to Oregon, you may not have heard that the Oregon state legislature just voted to -- essentially -- gut Measure 110, the ballot measure which decriminalized all drug possession and use in the state. It turned all drug use into a citation instead, and the citation and fine could be waived by completing a health screening. The entire point of Measure 110 was replacing jail with health care and services to help people instead, and while I could probably write a very long side post on the imperfections of that approach, it was at the very least a move in the right direction after decades of the pathetic failure and absolutely racist mess that is the "War on Drugs."

You may hear this pointed to in coming years as a reason why we have to just throw people into jail for using drugs, because Measure 110 failed. And like... it did fail, kinda. Sorta. It failed in that it did not manage to fix everything immediately, and it created some new issues while also exposing older issues more sharply.

It also saved the state $40 million in court costs prosecuting low-level drug offenses, kept thousands of people whose literal only crime was putting a substance into the body of a consenting adult (themselves) out of jail, put at least one addiction services center in every county in the state, invested $300 million in addiction services, and an awful lot more. See the end of this post for more reading.

But where it failed, it failed because it wasn't supported. Police and advocacy groups both asked for specific tickets for this new class of offenses which had the phone number to call to go through the health screening and the information about how going through that health screening would make the ticket go away printed on it prominently - lawmakers declined to fund this. Governor Kotek budgeted $50K to train officers on how to handle these new citations and how to direct people to the treatment and housing supports, but lawmakers thought that training officers on this new law at all was a waste of money. Money moved extremely slowly out to the supports that were supposed to come into play to help people obtain treatment or get access to harm-reduction strategies. People freaked the fuck out about clean-needle outreach, fentanyl testing strip distribution, Narcan training, and other harm-reduction strategies.

And at the end of the day, Measure 110 gets called a failure because it wasn't a silver bullet. Never mind that thousands of people are not sitting in jail right now for basically no fucking reason. Never mind that people have gotten treatment, harm has been reduced, overdoses have been prevented...

So, yeah. You'll probably start hearing this trotted out as proof that, well, we triiiied decriminalizing drugs, but look what happened in Portland! Well, what happened in Oregon is that we got set up to fail, and still didn't fail, just didn't totally succeed.

Measure 110 highlights, quoted directly from Prison Policy Initiative:

The Oregon Health Authority reported a 298% increase in people seeking screening for substance use disorders.

More than 370,000 naloxone doses have been distributed since 2022, and community organizations report more than 7,500 opioid overdose reversals since 2020.

Although overdose rates have increased around the country as more fentanyl has entered the drug supply, Oregon’s increase in overdoses has been similar to other states’ and actually less than neighboring Washington’s. A peer-reviewed study comparing overdose rates in Oregon with the rest of the country after the law went into effect found no link between Measure 110 and increased overdose rates.

There is no evidence that drug use rates in Oregon have increased. A cross-sectional survey of people who use drugs across eight counties in Oregon found that most had been using drugs for years; only 1.5% reported having started after Measure 110 went into effect.

There has been no increase in 911 calls in Oregon cities after Measure 110.

Measure 110 saves Oregonians millions. Oregon is expected to save $37 million between 2023-2025 if Measure 110 continues. This is because it costs up to $35,217 to arrest, adjudicate, incarcerate, and supervise a person taken into custody for a drug misdemeanor — and upwards of $60,000 for a felony. In contrast, treatment costs an average of $9,000 per person. The money saved by Measure 110 goes directly to state funding for addiction and recovery services.

There is no evidence that Measure 110 was associated with a rise in crime. In fact, crime in Oregon was 14% lower in 2023 than it was in 2020.

Further reading/sources:

#us politics #measure 110 #oregon

[getvalentined]

FF7 Fandom PSA

This is not a callout post, this is a warning about a genuinely dangerous abuser who uses fandom spaces to acquire victims.

Apparently my abusive ex is ingratiating himself into fandom spaces again, so if you're in the FF7 fandom please keep an eye out for someone calling himself Pix or Pixeled.

The details of what he did to me specifically are available in a post from almost exactly two years ago, readable here. Other people have shared their own stories, but I don't have the energy to dig up all of them. Trigger warnings for gaslighting, emotional abuse, violent threats, forced isolation, manipulation, and more that I'm definitely missing.

Known usernames:

Instagram: midgardsomrnights, pixeledartsy, okgoosefus, pixeledpalace

AO3: pixeled, pixeledxxx

tiktok: pixrexpen, gaywrathlet

FFXIV: sarielperedhil (on Brynhildr)

ko-fi: pixrexpalace

Other: pix pendragon, pixeled pendragon, pixrexpendragon

Some of these are current, most of them are not; he's no longer active here or on Twitter that I'm aware of, so I'm not referring to his usernames there, but he uses some combination of parts from these for his usernames everywhere so they followed the same theme.

This is not "fandom drama," this is a sincere warning to anyone in his orbit to be careful and be safe. Please love yourself more than he wants you to.

With that in mind, there are more personal details under the cut, discussing the fallout of going public with his abuse and more of his behavior; no screenshots on these because it's years in the past, not all of the related accounts and spaces still exist, and back when I was first gathering evidence I had to stop before it lapsed into the territory of emotional self-harm.

Same trigger warnings as above, plus racism, (implied) sexual exploitation, sexual manipulation, and discussion of Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

I want to be very clear that I was not the first person to go through this, I was just the first to go public afterward. I have lost relationships with people I thought were friends by doing so, and actually been referred to as abusive in response to my initial thread on Twitter letting people know what he'd done. I've had people who used his treatment of me as an excuse to join in with hurting me go on to co-opt my abuse to make themselves look like victims, claiming that we were best friends until he drove us apart—or worse, to use him as a complete stand-in for their own behavior, implying or outright stating that he forced them to isolate me from friends and fandom activities and treat me like shit, all while these people have me blocked on every possible platform where I could reconnect with them.

Pix was the Bad Guy of early 2022 on FF7 Twitter, and while he deserved the title, not everything everyone said about him was true. Not everything everyone said about me was true, either, but people tend to take anything connected to fandom as "drama," even when it involves literal abuse.

One thing I never told anyone except my closest friends is that Pix drove me to the verge of suicide multiple times. He put up videos insulting me to be "funny" and got friends laughing along, when I asked him to stop teasing me all the time he exploded and said that he was allowed to express himself however he wanted and if I had a problem then I should break up with him so he could finally kill himself guilt-free, he told me that he wasn't going to placate me anymore by saying "I love you," he told me in public spaces to shut up because I didn't know anything. He used racist slurs against Asian people behind my back and told everyone who called him on it that I'd told him it was all right, leading to a continuing belief among some circles that I have some deep internalized racism toward my own fucking ethnicity.

He told me that his mother saw me as a whore and a homewrecker, because I'd seduced him away from his boyfriend of eight years—in spite of the fact that I told him outright I did not want a romantic relationship with him because he was already in one, and I wouldn't be party to cheating. When I went public with what he did, he claimed that I pressured him into a romantic relationship, neglecting to mention that he'd been pushing for one almost since we met and that I'd shot him down because he was already with someone else. He said that I'd forced him to break up with his boyfriend, and seemed to be implying that I'd somehow sexually exploited him because I'm a cisgender lesbian and he identified as an aro/ace trans man at the time we broke up. When we got together, he identified as a bisexual nonbinary person.

To be completely honest, though, his orientation and gender identity doesn't even fucking matter with regards to the implication that I exploited him because we never had any form of sexual contact—unless you want to count RP, which I don't, and if I did I would be calling him a cheater because I was not his only RP partner.

To be completely clear, we were in a long distance relationship, thousands of miles apart, and we had no sexual contact. We never sexted, we never had phone sex, we never even exchanged dirty pictures. Our relationship had no sexual element whatsoever. He eventually told me in no uncertain terms that if/when we got married, he wasn't going to sleep with me because he didn't have a sex drive anymore due to trauma, and that since I loved him so much I'd have to be happy with that.

He would remind me of this when my Body Dysmorphic Disorder began to relapse constantly from the amount of stress he had me under, because my experience with the condition is rooted on my lack of physical femininity and leads me to see myself as completely sexually repulsive. When I was triggered and trying to untie the knot in my chest that made me want to throw up at the thought of my own body, he would remind me that I didn't have to worry about being too ugly for sex with him, because he was never going to fuck me anyway. That it didn't matter if I was disgusting, because he found all bodies disgusting, so really I was lucky to have him. He didn't even care that I was disabled and that my arms and legs are too long, that my joints slip out of place all the time, that the way I have to move sometimes to keep from hurting makes me look "weird and stupid." I was so lucky to have him, because even though he was very aware of all those things, he didn't actually care. He wasn't going to fuck me anyway.

The last Christmas card he sent me literally had the words "You deserve a high-five!" printed on the front, and on the reverse he'd written something along the lines of "okay but you know I'd be sure to miss and slap you in the face, sorry not sorry."

He made my life hell in every possible way, and people said it was drama because we met through fandom—and that I deserved it, honestly, since I was so fucked up and he was such a good person for even caring about me in the first place. I deserved it, people said, since I turned around and stabbed him in the back after he'd done so much for me for the years we were together. It was just fandom drama, they said, and I was just thriving off the social capital it allegedly earned me.

And now he's back and making new friends, but it's fine because this all happened years ago, and everyone with a brain should be able to see that it's just fandom drama. But it's not. It never was. Don't let him convince you otherwise.

#PSA #personal #abuse tw #should I tag this with the fandom? #should I put it on the block? #it's dangerous #for me #but I think it's worth it #to keep others safe #final fantasy 7 #FF7 #final fantasy vii #FFVII #rufus shinra #tsengru #rutseng #the [redacted] files

[moni-logues]

Kintsugi [Masterlist]

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 105k (not including bonus drabbles)

Content: alcohol consumption/drunkenness, language, Yoongi and reader are both depressed, some very bad mental health, lots of glib comments and jokes about death and suicide, reader tries to make herself sick (NOT food/ED-related, does not succeed), mention of a suicide attempt, Yoongi has a depressive episode, reader has a depressive episode, self-harm (cutting), death (Yoongi's grandfather), a little bit of vomit (alcohol induced); references to self-harm, description of self-harm scars, some chat about self-harm

Smut: protected sex, fingering, semi-public sex/sex in a public place, oral sex (m. and f. receiving)

Specific warnings are posted for each chapter.

Chapter One - Peaches 5.5k

"Not everyone wants more friends. Some people just want to get through the day and make it home."

Chapter Two - Rebound 8.2k

“Well, maybe we’re both good at hiding it.”  

“Maybe we are".

Chapter Three - What doesn't kill you makes you wish you were dead 11.1k

“No one’s ever... No one’s ever taken care of me before.” 

Chapter Four - Someone old, someone new 8.1k

"Years of counselling and it turns out nothing makes you feel the joy of being alive like when you really fucking like someone."

Chapter Five - The other shoe 7.2k

It hit you at that moment: you would always be you... You'd always just be... this.

Chapter Six - Yoongi, after all 6.4k

You smiled, grateful to him, as you often were. Always were.

Chapter Seven - You! Me! Dancing! 6.1k

Come hell or high water, it would be fun.

Chapter Eight - Nostos 9.4k

You would love, value, and forgive him enough for the lot of them.

Chapter Nine - Crush 6.2k

"You said it yourself: your feelings are bloody loud."

Chapter Ten - Impasse 8.3k

"You know someone has to go first, right?"

Chapter Eleven - The mountain 5.4k

... it sounded like you needed closure. As if you didn’t know that already. Didn’t everyone?

Chapter Twelve - Peaches pt.2 3.2k

It was not every day that you ripped yourself open and placed your fluttering heart before them, hoping, praying that they felt the same.  

Chapter Thirteen - Damage Control 7k

"He can want me and tell me or he can want me and not tell me, but if he doesn’t tell me, he can’t have me."

Chapter Fourteen - Me, too 6k

“Me, too. I haven’t wanted anyone else since the day we met.” 

Chapter Fifteen - Spring 6.8k

You had all the anticipation of your first day at school with none of the nerves.

Morning (a Kintsugi bonus drabble) 1.2k

Yoongi's favourite way to start the day

Investment 2.9k

Yoongi's tired of his job and terrified of making a change

~*~

Hey, You 5.6k

Hyunjin invites Taehyung to his new life in Paris.

Long for You 5k

Hyunjin and Taehyung's LDR continues... for now

#yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #yoongi fic #bts x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts fic #yoongi

[painsandconfusion]

Off Guard

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Thirty-eight

(tw: electrocution, escape attempt, concussion, torture, death mention, murder mention, plotting murder, handcuffs, stun gun, blood, beating, unintentional self harm (bloody knuckles)) [Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s fingers tingled as he walked, flicking them against each other by his side to stave off the sensation as he moved down the hall. 

He didn’t want to be too loud. Not tonight. The light was off in Nate’s room, so the bastard must finally be getting some half decent sleep. No reason to wake him and have the idiot trying to take over the scene. Again.

He shoved open the workshop doors, ignoring the slight grinding whine the hinges gave off - though still subconciously noting to add some kind of oil or whatever the fuck you do with hinges later. As the lights snapped on, the pitiful lump of a man in the middle of the room curled into his chains, a small sound of displeasure coming off of him.

“What, were you sleeping? I’m sorry-” Ethan stepped up to him, almost delicately pressing a foot down onto a dried slurry of blood that gashed over Crawford’s thigh. 

“Hnn-stopstto-”

“Hmm… I dunno, maybe beg a little more and see if it puts me in a good mood?” The edges of his mouth seemed to shift, tugging like curtains pulled by a string on the other side of the room to coax a smile out of him. 

Getting there, at least.

It was an almost completely forgotten sensation. Smiling without meaning to. It pulled an entirely different set of muscles than the simple, polite curve he gave to people he wanted to shut up or leave him alone. Different than the ruse he put on or the sarcastic toothy grin he threw in Nate’s direction in place of a verbal response. This was something different entirely. Like a little parasite had carved up inside his cheek and gnawed at the thin strands of muscle until they tightened like strings of a violin, ready for the steady screech of rosin to truly set them alight.

“Y’mdnr-”

“Hmm~?” Ethan’s foot ground in further, leaning in to see Crawford’s face as the man squished it against the cement. 

Another incoherent slurry of sound pressed from the man’s throat, still curled into a ball around the spot where the shackle lashed him to the ground. 

Ethan rolled his eyes, pushing off the man with a small kicking shove before crouching down and squirming his hand into the knotted ball of a man to grab his jaw. Twist him round. Hear his neck crackle with the fresh movement after nights sleeping on cement.

“Use your words,” he prompted, forefinger alone relenting the grip to taptaptap on Crawford’s jaw.

.PaiN.

Pain.

Ethan knew pain.

Close friends as they were for so many years, it was strange he found himself at a loss for its name when it reared its ugly head once more, overwhelming his mind in a single snap of blank, processing emptiness.

Ethan felt the echoing crack as his head hit the concrete, remnants of what he was finally recognizing as electricity buzzing down his twitching legs.

Some strangled growl ripped up his throat as he tried to right himself enough to grab for the man who was shoving on top of him, but his arms were slow - groggy from sleeplessness, shock and lost, aimless electrons trying to find their way underground. 

He shoved at Crawford only to feel the prongs of the stun gun shoved hard into his collarbone, burning agony through the skin and crackling as if eating through the bone itself as he thrashed to shove the searing pain away.

My name is Ethan Scott. The mantra lit up the back of his skull without prompt or ask. It was just there.

It begged him to fall stoic. To sit still and take it. Be tough. Be a good b-

No.

No-

NO.

My name is Ethan Scott and you cannot break me.

He won’t sit still- he can’t. Taking it isn’t strength right now, taking it is defeat.

Crawford was the one in chains today. 

Ethan’s hands scrabbled for Crawford’s arm, finally knocking the thing off of his flesh with a roaring gasp, shoving the other man off of him as best he could. 

Knuckles snapped against his nose, crunching it back. Some dull part of his mind calculated that that wasn’t even half the force of Crawford’s normal blows, but it locked up his mind anyway, pushing his gaze hazy and blurred as heat snapped across his sinuses and exploded behind his eyes. 

There was blood. He could taste it.

Shoving numbly, he was barely keeping up enough to track the bastard’s fingers knotting into his hair and slamming his head into the ground. Again. Again. Again-

And it stopped.

The weight lifted off of him in a blur of white and charcoal grey, sound muffling to the side. 

Ethan shoved back, hand moving to his face to press against the bleeding and squeeze his eyes shut to will vision to return to him. His head was spinning, like he was about to tip over and crack against the ground again. 

He shoved it back. Forced his eyes open and made them focus on the sounds and movement to his left as he shoved himself up on an elbow to squint at the unknown blur.

It took a moment to process exactly what he was seeing. 

Nate was a cheerful kind of bitch. The asshole whose smirk you could never wipe off. The life of the party. Class clown. Charmer. No matter how many screams he ripped out of Ethan, he did it with a gentle, almost seductive tone, grinning, smirking, or smiling almost fondly. He’d only seen Nate angry the once. When they’d met for the second time. 

But this savage blur in front of Ethan’s bleary eyes had him wondering if he was knocked into a dream. Blood splattered up Nate’s face from the sheer force of his hits as he drove his fist into Crawford’s face again and again, snapping it back and forth against the unforgiving cement. He didn’t even have to pin the man down - the welp on the floor couldn’t do anything but try to throw his arms up in front of the blows, shielding his face. 

Nate didn’t seem to care. He hit them too. Silent yet somehow screaming a rage tha echoed through Ethan’s skull.

Ethan sat there for several long seconds, trying to blink away the mirage in front of him before it slowly sharperned into clarity. It was really happening. 

A dull thought finally graced his addled mind. He’s going to kill him.

Immediately a panic pressed up through Ethan’s veins like acid, snapping him to attention and the closest thing to lucidity his star-studded mind could handle. He shoved up to his knees and flopped forward to tackled Nate off of the man. “St- sstop- STOP!”

Nate shoves at Ethan, trying to throw him off enough to get back to Crawford. Ethan could practically see the red smeared over Nate’s eyes as he shoved the man’s hands away, fogged body easily ignoring the nails slicing blood from his arms in their desperation to return to their proper target.

“NATE STOP.” Ethan finally just grabbed Nate’s face, forcing it toward him. 

Nate’s eyes stayed on Crawford, but he did slow, chest heaving and teeth barred like some kind of animal.

“..that’s enough-!”

Nate tried to shove off the words along with his hands. “He w-”

“I get to kill him. Me. Not you. Me.” 

Nate’s breath stuttered off its ragged rhythm, and his jaw set, lips pinched tight as a glare snapped to Ethan’s eyes at last. 

In a surrendering kind of huff, he shoved Ethan off of him again. This time Ethan let himself roll to the side, lying with shallow, echoing breath on the ground as Nate shoved out the workshop doors at a brisk walk, sticky hand leaving a smear of blood like claw marks over the edge of the door.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta  @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions-deactiva @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @orphans-parent @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @sunnyesunny @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#electrocution #escape attempt #concussion #torture #death mention #murder mention #plotting murder #handcuffs #stun gun #blood #beating #unintentional self harm #bloody knuckles #whumping the whumpers #nate #ethan #crawford #crawford and ethan #nate and ethan #nate and crawford

[acediaedeus]

this does contain them sweet

SPOILERS

what I find really upsetting about Ichigo’s dynamic with his friends/family/mentors is how they treat the fact that he’s part-Hollow. especially when it comes to the Visored and Orihime.

bc yeah, the Visored did struggle with their Hollows, bc they already lived hundreds of years without that aspect. they were comfortable with their shinigami existence, but then this hollowfication bullshit drops on their heads and suddenly they’re not only barely in control of themselves, constantly in a fight with an inner “demon”, but also there’s no one to support them AND they’re getting fucking exiled and then they exist as this tightly knit community of eight for a fucking century with no one to understand them but each other. I’d hate the Hollow in me too, probably.

BUT, then there’s this fresh guy, that hasn’t accepted the fact that he’s now an amalgamation of a million different things, including something that he has been told he has to fight and exterminate, that they have to teach to manage the hollowfication bullshit™️ so what do we do? correct, scare the shit out of him and present existing with a Hollow as amensalism (one is harmed, one is unaffected) or parasitism (one benefits, one is harmed) when it’s more like commensalism (one benefits, one is unaffected), in which the shinigami is clearly the one who’s benefiting from this.

(although we could argue that for the Visored this is a symbiotic relationship in which both are getting harmed, but even then the shinigami still gains benefit and the Hollow gets nothing but hatred, so like, fuck them, lol (I’m advocating for inner-Hollow rights 💀🙏🏻)).

biology lesson out of the way, they essentially do not teach Ichigo anything that would bring long-term benefits (we see this when Ichigo is unable to complete his training with Squad 0, bc he has no fucking idea who Zangetsu (or he himself) actually is (this is, of course, in part his quincy power’s doing, but I wouldn’t say his supposed “mentors” helped much).

in conclusion what does Ichigo get out of this? self-hatred and the habit to suppress what is, whichever way you look at it, a big part of his being, thus blocking himself and Zangetsu from reaching their full potential.

but I guess you can’t teach lessons you haven’t learnt yourself, so there is that with the Visored.

now onto my dear Orihime, who I love dearly (this is a disclaimer). for someone who, supposedly, loves Ichigo more than anything and who we have to take seriously as not only just a potential love-interest, but the actual, one-and-only lover, she is a little bit too scared of Ichigo.

this, of course, for me, begs the question of how am I supposed to accept a love-interest who is consistently terrified of the mc? not a single battle with Orihime present (and Ichigo using the mask) without her shaking in fear and having to be reminded by others (who have known him for much less time than she has), that not only is it still Ichigo in front of her, but he’s also fighting and pulling out the mask he himself doesn’t like much, in order to protect her.

it’s plain and simple upsetting how there’s absolutely no one to accept and embrace the essence of Kurosaki Ichigo. everyone around him wants the shinigami and human in him, no one is interested in the Hollow (except for *ahem* Grimmjow *ahem*), all they do is reject and cower and isn’t that fucking hypocritical after hiding behind his back and begging him to save them?

everyone around Ichigo just really pisses me off with their constant whining. I feel like the only ones who love and cherish Ichigo for the absolute gem of a person he is are Chad and the fucking Arrancars 💀🙏🏻

as I mentioned in the ALT to the last photo in this parade of idiocy: trying to separate and think of Hollow Ichigo and Ichigo as two different entities is crazy and delusional behaviour, bc we have been told countless times, that a person’s inner Hollow is a manifestation of all repressed emotions and traits that they view as unsavoury. which for Ichigo happened to be aggression, cruelty, being merciless and thirst for bloody battles.

let me remind everyone that you cannot truly love a person w/o accepting and acknowledging all their flaws (including yourself).

this is not me trying to say Orihime doesn’t love Ichigo, it’s not really about the characters, more so the writing. I am actively trying to square up with Tite Kubo. for many reasons, but this is one of the ones I pay most attention to.

Ichigo is someone who is in perfect control of himself, who protects no matter what, bc even when he turned into the vasto lorde (after getting his heart ripped out of his chest) it was all his Hollow, yet it still carried out the mission of protection seamlessly, that’s how strong his will is. Kurosaki Ichigo deserves ppl who actually love him around, thank you.

thanks for coming to this ted talk, love y’all!

#bleach #kurosaki ichigo #inoue orihime #ichigo x orihime #kind of #but not really #bc I’m being a hater about them #it’s actually much more #grimmichi #I can’t go a single post about Ichigo without mentioning Grimmjow #they are very dear to me #also #they are in love #visored #I’m an opinionated bitch #can you tell? #literally don’t piss me off about this #I don’t play about Kurosaki Ichigo or Hollows #this is NOT me hating on Orihime I love that girl #I just hate the treatment Ichigo has to endure #my friend had to listen to different variations of this same rant 20 times I think #she’s TIRED #oh also #Chad is mentioned bc I love what he has with Ichigo #truly beautiful #this is what true male friendship looks like #overuse of coloured text for a bigger oomph #surprisingly no italics? #random biological bullshit #this got long

[melswifeasf]

Find my way back to you pt 5

previous chapter || next chapter || series page

Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!OC

Summary: Estelles past is darker than anyone truly knew. except for one person; Sam Carpenter.

Warnings: angst, description of physical and emotional abuse.

notes: do you guys have anything you’d like to see in this series?

(word count: 6829)

eight years ago

football friday’s were always the best of the fall. everyone including Elias went to watch it. although Elias only went because his sister did and it would be the time in which he sold the most. the first friday into November was no different, Estelle was in a tight black shirt and blue jeans with her hair down as she stood in the parking lot with her girlfriend.

they were arguing. again. it was stupid really, Estelle had been talking with one of Elias clients, the guy had asked for her number but she kindly rejected him. he took it well, smiled and apologized before he walked away. no harm done.

and yet Valerie wasn’t having it and she wasn’t listening to reason. after the whole thing at the party, Valerie had been up her ass about everyone she even looked in the direction of.

“he just asked for my number and i said no!” Estelle repeated for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour.

Valerie scoffed, “i don’t give a fuck!” she yelled, “you’re always slutting yourself out to the first person you see!”

Estelle felt a twinge of pain in her chest at her words but she covered any trace of that as she tightened her jaw, “fuck you. i’ve been nothing but loyal to you! i told Sam to fuck off after that night and she has! what more do you want?!” the girl said desperately as she threw her hands up.

Valerie took a step closer until she was up in her face, “i want you to close your legs for one god damn minute and treat me like i deserve! you’re fucking pathetic” she said lowly, emphasizing each word with a slight pause.

Estelle’s eyes began to water, no longer able to hold back her pain, “i’ve been nothing but good to you, every time you call i’m there, when you need someone to vent to, i’m there. when you’re horny in the middle of the night and want me to warm your bed, im there so don’t you dare say that i’m not because you know that i am!” Estelle responded her voice growing in volume the more she spoke.

the taller girl shook her head, “the only thing you’re worth is a good fuck. if it weren’t for that i would’ve left your sorry ass a long time ago. don’t you think i get tired of having to be around someone as damaged as you? always crying about how your daddy left? it’s fucking exhausting being around you!” Valerie yelled, the veins on her neck popping out as she threw her hands up angrily.

Estelle chocked back a sob. “fuck you. i’m tired of you too, tired of your constant jealousy, of your shitty self esteem issues and how everything is always about you! i’m tired of you too!” a loud slap echoed throughout the parking lot as Estelle’s hand immediately cupped her face.

she was shocked, her eyes wide as the warm burning sensation was starting to build, both of her hands were shaky and she knew there would be a bruise left by how hard it hit and the ring Estelle knee Valerie always wore on her middle finger.

she didn’t get a chance to say or do anything as her wrists were being gripped tightly in a pair of strong hands, the marks that had already been left behind making it more painful.

Valerie had never been one to refrain herself from yelling, screaming, punching anything near her or simply gripping Estelle’s body tightly in order to show who’s in charge but she had never smacked her. ever.

this was the last straw and Estelle wouldn’t be forgiving her for this one.

“don’t you ever talk to me like that!” Valerie yelled an angry color overtaking her face.

Estelle couldn’t hold back her cries as she winced in pain. before either of them could say anything else a loud voice got both of their attention making them both turn toward it.

“hey! hey!” they heard a familiar voice approach them, “get your fucking hands off of her!” Sam said as she shoved Valerie off of the shorter girl.

Estelle wiped away her tears quickly and began to fix her hair so it was covering the mark that had surely already began to form.

Valerie scoffed, “of course you’re here”

Sam stood extremely close to her, one hand reaching behind her to hold Estelle back. she was standing straight, her lip twitching in anger as she starred the girl down. the two girls were practically the same height but Sam was making it so she looked taller and more intimidating.

“you better walk away before i call the cops” Sam threatened.

Valerie chuckled, “and say what? that you saw me and my girlfriend arguing? seriously, Sam. no one would give a fuck” she said amused.

“i think they’ll be interested in the bruise you gave her? or maybe i should get Elias instead?”

the smirk that was once on Valerie’s lips quickly faded at her words. the color on her face draining in an instant, her posture softening with it. she glanced back at Estelle seeing her desperately wiping away her tears as her body shook.

“whatever” she rolled her eyes and walked up to her car. she opened the door, got inside and slammed it behind her. the engine roared to life and the car screeched against the road as it drove away.

a sigh of relief escaped Sams lips once they were alone. she turned toward Estelle immediately, her hand gently touching Estelle’s arm as she held her hand against her cheek.

“are you okay?” Sam asked softly as she took a step closer.

Estelle shook her head, “i’m fine” she answered curtly. “i need to go” she said and moved her hand away from Sam’s touch.

the Carpenter girl frowned at that, “Estelle..”

“no” Estelle shook her head, “please just leave me alone, Sam.” she said and quickly walked away.

“fuck” Sam muttered as she ran a hand through her hair in frustration

Estelle had tears in her eyes as she walked to her car. she didn’t mean to be such a bitch to Sam but she couldn’t deal with it all. she had enough with her now ex girlfriend and had to find a way to hide the mark she had left from Elias otherwise he’d kill her. literally.

present

the young cop approached her ex and her new boyfriend, she had on her bomber jacket with the word ‘deputy’ on the back. she had recently talked to the cop on duty to watch Tara’s room, by now the girl was on an empty floor so they could keep better track of her. initially she wanted to be the one in charge of the room or to at least help but she had another plan.

she had seen enough stab movies to know exactly what they needed to survive this. reinforcements. Gale Weathers was out of the picture just like Sidney Prescott so she only had one person left.

as soon as her steps could be heard Sam looked away from her boyfriend and at her ex girlfriend, slightly confused. she quickly wiped at her tears. “Estelle? what’s going on? is Tara okay?” she quickly asked glancing behind Estelle to see if she had brought anyone else with her to clue her in on why she was there.

she knew Estelle like the back of her hand, even if the Estelle in front of her now was slightly different then the back talking, law breaker she had met eight years ago, she could still see the old her in a sense. her eyebrow still twitched in anger, she was still fidgety as ever, she still walked as if she owned the place and she was still as beautiful as ever.

Estelle shook her head, “everything’s fine. i was thinking and i have a plan” she said, immediately getting both of their attention.

“what is it?” Sam asked quickly.

the short girl glanced at the boyfriend, she really wanted to tell him he wasn’t a part of this but Sam could say the same about her.

“do you know Dewey?” she asked not sparing the boy another glance to make it clear her words were only directed at Sam.

“the cop from the stab movies?” Richie asked. Estelle still didn’t look at him, ignoring his idiotic question. why was he even here? it’s not like he knew Tara and she knew Sam and him had only been dating for a couple of months so it didn’t click on why he would be willing to stay in danger just to keep Sam company. he had no part in this.

“yeah” Sam nodded, “do you think he’d help?”

Estelle sighed as she shrugged softly, “i used to work with him but he got laid off a couple of months ago. he was a nice guy but i’m not sure how willing he’ll be to be a part of this all over again. but there’s only one way to find out” she said slightly hopeful.

Sam nodded in understanding, “we’ll take my car” she said holding up her keys earning an amused chuckle from Estelle.

“absolutely not. i’m the law here, we’re taking the patrol car. let’s go” she said leaving no room for argument as she began walking toward the elevator.

Richie glanced at his girlfriend with a look of dread, he did not want Estelle to be a part of it but Sam ignored him as she began to follow her ex.

the ride down the elevator was awkward. Richie had his arm wrapped around Sam as he stared at Estelle who was too busy looking at the elevator doors, waiting for them to open. she had a faint smirk on her lips, she knew what he was trying to do but it wasn’t working. in all the time she’s seen the couple Sam hadn’t touched him once, not even to hold his hand or at least she tried to not do it in front of her. when they were together Sam couldn’t keep her hands to herself for even a second. maybe things were different, they were older and the situation they were in isn’t exactly easy but Estelle knew Sam and she was the most possessive person she’d ever known. she always liked that about her.

the elevator doors dinged open revealing a slightly crowded waiting room, she didn’t talk as she reached for her glasses and put them on. it was sunny and warm out, the complete opposite of what it felt like inside the hospital. she hadn’t seen the sun since the day before, the only time she went home was to take a quick shower and that was in the middle of the night where the hospital was less busy so the guard protecting Tara could keep a closer eye on her.

once they walked outside she led them to the patrol car and got inside. Sam followed into the passenger seat whilst Richie got in the back.

“wow. i’m in the back of a cop car” Richie said with a slight chuckle earning an eye roll from Estelle as she chewed her gum louder.

“seatbelts” she said simply as she put her own belt on and put the car in drive.

Estelle didn’t have the radio playing, she was listening to the dispatch to make sure there weren’t any other attacks. the air was uncomfortable and all of them could feel it. even Richie who tried to make conversation but Estelle completely ignored him.

it was Sam who got a word out of Estelle. like always.

“Tara said you were the first one at the house when she was attacked” Sam said glancing at the young girl. “you had a security system in place? i didn’t know you guys were close”

Estelle chuckled, she wasn’t accusing her but it almost felt like she was.

“yeah well, when Elias died she was the only one there for me” she shrugged. that wasn’t completely true, Alex and Xavier had been present for the funeral and even helped her financially for a couple of months but it was different. they were Elias friends, not hers and even though they always took on the older protective brother role just like Elias, they held that sentiment for her because of him. things just weren’t the same when he died and they all slowly lost contact once she decided to be part of the police force.

Sam cleared her throat timidly, “i’m sorry Estelle. i meant to call but-”

the girl held her hand up, “don’t. it’s fine. i get it” i wasn’t important enough, that’s what she wanted to say but she refrained herself from doing so. getting mad at Sam now was useless, she can’t get mad at someone for not loving her as much as she did, for not caring enough. how could she?

Sam didn’t have anything to say either, nothing that could make up for the pain she caused and nothing that could bring him back so she didn’t. it would be useless to do so.

“there was an incident a year ago, someone tried breaking in so i was the one who had the security system in place. i’m the emergency contact” she continued still trying to explain why she was the first person Tara contacted. Sam deserved some kind of explanation, Tara was her sister after all.

“oh” Sam said softly as she glanced at Estelle. “thanks for.. taking care of her” she continued with a slight nod.

Estelle shrugged, “she’s my family, it’s what i do”

if only Estelle knew the weight those words carried in Sams heart.

eight years ago

quiet. complete and utter silence. for two weeks it had been radio silent in the Garcias home. the young girl was wrapped in a blanket in her room, the curtains in her room shut with only a peak of sunlight shining inside.

she hadn’t been two school in that amount of time, barely had a proper meal. she’d already eaten all the fast microwavable meals so she stuck with snacks like granola bars or cereal. it’s not like she had much of an appetite anyway.

she felt empty, nothing but the complete and utter darkness consuming her whole. she was alone. Elias had been arrested two weeks ago which like the domino affect, caused more things to follow. she could feel the pain of that affect still linger on her face and body. she still had a black eye, her lip was cut and there was a huge bruise on her cheek. she hadn’t been able to look at herself in the mirror in a week, every time she did she’d end up crying for hours on end. but she didn’t have to look in the mirror to know she still had a huge bruise on her ribs, it was a dark purple the last time she saw it and it hurt as much as the first day.

Sam hadn’t talked to Estelle since the day she stopped the fight between her and Valerie. she expected that much but what did surprise her was the fact that she had disappeared a week later. no one had heard from her. she knew Elias went to jail after being caught with drugs but she knew he’d never let Estelle go down for it. she had no idea where Estelle was and it was nerve wracking.

so she did the only thing she could think of. she went to school like usual to see if she’d show up Monday but she didn’t so Sam got into her car and drove to her home. she’d been there multiple times whether it was for one of Elias parties or to buy drugs.

Sam had knocked on the door but there was no answer. even rang the doorbell a couple times but there was still no answer. both Estelle and Elias car were parked in the driveway so she knew Estelle had to be home. the tall girl sighed impatiently as she stepped away from the front door and walked to the huge window. it was covered so there was no way for her to see inside and she’s sure one of the neighbors are gonna call the cops considering she looked like she was about to break into the home.

so she went around the back expecting to maybe find the back door open but it was locked. fuck.

Sam defeatedly began to walk back to her car, there was no way inside and Estelle wasn’t answering the door. it’s not like she had her number to text or call her. as she was walking she realized that Estelle’s room was on that side of the house, she had seen her curtains open and her inside the room the last time she went to pick up her usual stuff from Elias. she stopped where she was and glanced up at the window, it was closed and the curtains were closed. there was a tree right beside it, she could possibly climb it but there was no guarantee Estelle would let her in.

the girl wiped her hands off on her pants and began to climb. it was hard to get a grip at first, it’s not like she had any experience climbing trees and her foot kept slipping. eventually she was on the closest branch, she held onto it with one hand and reached for the window with the other. her hand closed into a fist and she knocked. no response. she knocked one, twice and finally at the third knock the curtains were pulled apart roughly to reveal an irritated Estelle.

Sams lips let out a small gasp at the sight of her beaten down state. Estelle’s eye was swollen to the point in which it was slightly closed, it was purple and bruised as well as her cheek. she could see Estelle holding her stomach with one hand making her question if she was injured there too. what the hell happened?

the window abruptly opened and Estelle spoke with an annoyed voice, “what do you want?”

Sams mouth opened and closed for a second, she was speechless. what could she say? she knew if she asked what happened Estelle wouldn’t tell her. she’d learned her lesson the time they talked in the bathroom. but she needed to know, god, she had to. what if she needed help? what if Estelle was in danger? had Valerie done it?

“i-i.. you haven’t been at school. i came to check in on you” Sam finally said. she couldn’t bring up the bruises. not yet.

Estelle rolled her eyes. “im fine. you can go now” she said and stepped away from the window. the young girl expected Sam to take the hint and leave but instead the older girl climbed through it and stepped into the bedroom.

“im serious, Estelle. i’m worried about you.. i mean- look at you” Sam finally said not able to bite her tongue about this. maybe the decision to not ask about the bruises lasted two seconds but she couldn’t stop herself.

Estelle scoffed, “it’s none of your business. please get the fuck out of my house” she continued and pointed at the window. Sam didn’t take her eyes off of her though and Estelle was beginning to grow self conscious. no one had ever seen her like this, it’s why she didn’t go to school and she didn’t want Sam to be the first person to ever witness the fucked up life she had. she wasn’t quite sure why even cared, Sam and her had only kissed once drunkenly and her opinion shouldn’t mean anything to her but it did. she wished it didn’t, wished she could not care that the girl in front of her was seeing her in her most vulnerable state.

the older Carpenter girl finally moved from her spot and walked toward the window. Estelle expected her to leave and to finally be alone again but instead Sam closed it and the curtains in the process.

Estelle sighed heavily, “what are you doing?” she sounded as exhausted as she felt and Sam just wanted to pull her into a tight hug and not let go. Estelle would never let that happen though.

“im staying” Sam shrugged as if it were the most simple answer ever. “you can kick me out if you want but i’m staying” she said firmly and Estelle knew that there was truly no room for discussion.

“whatever” she shook her head and climbed back into bed.

-

Tuesday

Estelle had slept through most of the day. it was dark out now and when she reached for her phone she saw it was seven. the girl slowly threw the covers off of her and got out of bed. she needed to take some pain killers, the bruise on her stomach was only growing in pain and she couldn’t deal anymore. she had been taking Tylenol and ibuprofen but neither worked, she’d still feel the pulsing in her face and stomach region. she was so tired of the pain. so instead of reaching for the pill bottles beside her bed she went into her brothers room. she knew where he stored his drugs, in the safe stuffed inside closet. the combination was her birthday. she always thought that was sweet.

the girl grabbed the weed stored in a ziplock bag as well as the rolling paper. she didn’t have much of any experience with it but she wasn’t going to take hard drugs which was the only thing Elias had so weed would have to do.

she didn’t bother walking out of the room to smoke it, she didn’t need the smell lingering anywhere else in the house and Elias room always reeked of weed anyway. she opened the window like she’d seen her brother do countless times before and lit up the small joint. ten minutes later (which she mostly spent coughing) the small bud was too small so she put it out on the ashtray sitting on the outside part of the window.

her throat felt as dry as her eyes, this was why she never smoked. her hands were tingling and the pain was long forgotten, it was instead replaced by dizziness. she wasn’t super high but enough to feel her heart racing in her chest faster than usual. she’d regret this later - possibly but at least she wasn’t in pain anymore.

the girl held onto her stomach with her left hand and held onto the railing with the other as she walked down the steps.

she’d spent all day sleeping she had almost forgotten Sam had told her she’d be staying the day before. truthfully she fully expected Sam to be gone by now but instead of being met with an empty house she saw Sam in the kitchen making what looked to be spaghetti.

had she gone shopping? there was nothing in the fridge or cabinets to make food, especially not considering Elias was the one who did the grocery shopping and he was arrested before he could go on his weekly errand. all of the frozen food that was there was stored just in case they were low on money, Elias hated when his sister ate it. he always said she needed real food.

“what are you still doing here?” Estelle asked with a slight rasp to her voice. she ignored Sam as she prepared a plate near the stove and went to the fridge for a bottle of water.

“i told you i was staying,” Sam shrugged as if it were the most obvious this - which it was but Estelle never thought she’d be serious about it. “and you haven’t eaten all day so sit” she said and pointed at the dining room table.

Estelle glanced at it for a split second and then at the plate that was already resting on the kitchen island. without a second thought she grabbed the plate and began walking to her room.

she wouldn’t be keeping someone company when she didn’t even want them in her house.

-

Wednesday

much like Tuesday Estelle spent most of the day sleeping. she had gone back to her brothers to smoke another joint. this wasn’t like her, she’d never dug into his stash before, it didn’t matter how bad her beatings were but this was the worst it’d ever been. she’d usually be healed in a week tops two but she knew this wouldn’t be going away for another two weeks meaning she wouldn’t be attending school for almost a month. the only way she’d show her face would be if the bruises on her face faded to the point in which she could cover them with makeup. it didn’t really matter if the bruise on her stomach went away by then, she’d endure that pain like she always would.

it was just too painful this time around. tylenol wouldn’t cure the pain and she needed something stronger. even if she hated weed, even if she hated what it had to done to her brother and the people around her. she was a hypocrite but she couldn’t find a single part of her that cared. she deserved this, after everything she’d been through she deserved this.

once she felt high enough she locked the drugs away - except for a small bag that was still in her hand and went downstairs where she was sure Sam still was. she hadn’t heard the front door open all day and she had heard the television playing some comedy movie from her room. it was ridiculous that she was still there. seriously, Estelle couldn’t understand what she wanted.

like expected the girl was sitting on the couch intently watching the movie playing on the screen. there was just something different this time around, she wasn’t wearing the same clothes as before and there was a duffle bag sitting on the floor beside the fireplace.

“why are you here?” Estelle spoke abruptly causing Sam to flinch and whip her head around to face the smaller girl. she was slightly shocked at first but recovered almost instantly.

“i told you already, im not leaving you alone like this” she answered earning an eye roll from Estelle.

“seriously Sam. what the fuck do you want? drugs? fine. here” she said throwing a bag of weed to the girl along with oxy. Sam was obviously confused as she looked down at the bag that landed beside her. “you don’t even have to pay me. it’s all covered just please leave me the fuck alone” Estelle said pissed off by now. who did she think she was coming to her house and staying like they knew each other? like they were friends?

Sam didn’t move a muscle toward the bag as she looked back at the girl, “i don’t want drugs, Estelle. i just don’t think you should be alone right now” she said calmly.

Estelle scoffed, “what the fuck do you even know about it? you know nothing about me. you think we kiss once while i’m wasted and i’m in love with you? please, Sam. you’re just a fucking junkie and i’d never get with someone like you” she fired at the girl angrily.

Estelle knew she had hurt Sam by the look on her face, she regretted it as soon as she said it. the pained look in Sams eyes was enough for Estelle’s chest to tighten in pain. “maybe you’re right” Sam said. “maybe i’m a junkies who isn’t to your standards but i can’t just leave you like this Estelle. you are in obvious pain, you can’t stand without holding onto something and don’t even get me started on your eye!” she exclaimed and began to stand.

Estelle rolled her eyes again, “you don’t know shit about this Samantha. this isn’t any of your business so just leave me the fuck alone” she yelled at the taller girl. she didn’t bother listening to Sam stubbornly tell her she wasn’t going anywhere as she turned around and walked back up to her room, slamming the door behind her in the process.

-

Thursday

there’s a certain point in which a human can go without breaking down. that point for Estelle was ten days after the incident took place. she’d cried before, sure, but not like this. not with sobs racking her body like an avalanche, not with tears rushing down her face with no sign of ever stopping, not with her chest tightening and her lungs rapidly running out of oxygen. she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see and all she could feel was herself slowly drowning in her pain.

it wasn’t just the pain physically, it was emotional and she couldn’t deal with it anymore. she was so fucking damaged and she had no idea how she would ever feel like a normal person again. she had internal and external scars that she knew would never ever go away. it didn’t matter how much alcohol she took, how much weed she smoked, how many times she tried to disguise that pain with it of her girlfriends emotional abuse. she’d always just be this.

the other teen in the house could hear the loud crying from the living room. it was dark outside by now and she had been hearing her cries for the part hour. when the day started she thought it would progress like it had the last couple of days but Estelle never opened her door and went to her brothers room to get high, she didn’t go downstairs to grab a plate of food or lash out on her again.

she simply didn’t leave her room.

Sam had made dinner for them both and she wanted to apologize to Estelle and let her know that if she really wanted her to leave, she would. she understood it was weird to be in her house, they barely knew each other but she’d known all about Estelle’s father leaving and her mother dying. she knew Elias was the only person Estelle had and now he was in jail. she couldn’t leave her alone. not when she was in so much pain.

Estelle heard a soft knock on her door causing her to quickly pull the blanket up to her lips to try and cover up her crying.

Sams voice was gentle and it hurt Estelle even more how sensitive she was being toward her, “i made some soup” she said. “you don’t have to come out, i can bring it up for you. but..” Estelle heard the girl trail off and even though she couldn’t see her, she could almost see Sam biting her bottom lip with her eyebrows furrowed as she thought about what to say next. “if you want.. maybe we can watch a movie. i don’t know but whatever you need just let me know”

Estelle didn’t come down to grab food or watch the movie Sam offered that day.

-

Friday

hot water ran down Estelle’s nude body. at first it made her wince whenever it would hit her stomach region or when it landed anywhere on her face but it all slowly numbed.

she hadn’t showered since Monday, the pain was too much. it felt good, refreshing even, to finally wipe away the dried blood along with the dried tears from all the crying she had done the night before.

the girl soon turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. her mirror was slightly foggy but she could still make herself out. her eyes was only slightly better, it wasn’t that swollen but she still couldn’t open it all the way. the color hadn’t changed and the bruise on her cheek was only healing in pain. maybe that was because of the drugs though. she didn’t bother looking at her stomach, both the pain and the bruise hadn’t changed at all.

she threw on a pair of sweatpants and one of her brothers hoodies before stepping out of the bathroom. her hair was wet and water droplets were hitting the floor along with her hoodie.

she took a deep breath and then opened her bedroom door. it was time to stop being a bitch. time to grow up and realize she had someone in her house that was going through all this effort just to make sure she wasn’t alone.

as soon as she stepped down from the last step she saw Sam on the couch and scrolling through her phone. she didn’t seem to notice Estelle’s presence and the shorter girl wasn’t going to any efforts to alert her.

the younger girl walked to the kitchen and grabbed a clean plate, the noise finally grabbing Sams attention. she locked her phone and placed it on the table beside her as she turned her body to look at Estelle. none of them spoke.

Estelle quietly grabbed some food and put it in the microwave. two minutes later she was walking toward Sam with a bowl of food in one hand along with a bottle of water in the other. she was severely dehydrated at this point.

the girl silently sat down on the furthest end of the couch whilst Sam was still sat on the other. Estelle placed her bottle of water on the coffee table and got comfortable where she was. Sam tried not to look at her as she watched the television. the shorter girl took a bite out of the food and her eyes widened, it was amazing. she wasn’t sure if that was the hunger talking but either way was visibly pleased.

Estelle realized Sam wasn’t going to any efforts to talk which made her sigh. “im sorry” she finally said.

Sam glanced at her with a neutral expression. damn, Estelle couldn’t help but think she had been a bigger dick than she realized. that was a stupid thought considering she’d literally called her a junkie.

“i was really fucked up and i didn’t mean any of the stuff i said” she continued hoping Sam would say something - anything.

her hopes weren’t let down as Sam finally turned to look at her, “it’s fine. you were just saying shit. i know how it goes” she shrugged. Sam was playing it down and Estelle didn’t feel like she deserved that.

“it’s not okay, though. you’re not a junkie and frankly what you do isn’t any of my business. and if we’re being honest it’s me who doesn’t deserve you, not the other way around” Estelle admitted with a soft chuckle.

Sam didn’t say anything but Estelle could see a faint smile appear on her lips and that was enough for her to know she had accepted her apology. but Estelle knew that wasn’t enough, she needed to tell someone. even if it was someone she’d barely known, even if it was one of her brothers clients. she just couldn’t keep this to herself anymore and Sam had done nothing but tried to be there for her these last couple of days.

the young girl placed her bowl on the table in front of her before leaning back on the couch. what she would be saying wasn’t something that could be taken lightly, it was heavy shit and she just really hoped it wouldn’t scare Sam away. “i was ten years old when my mom died” Sam didn’t move a muscle or say anything but Estelle knew she was listening. “my dad had always been an abusive asshole but one day he was really drunk and his fists were hitting a lot harder until suddenly she just stopped breathing” tears were already forming in Estelle’s eyes and she felt pathetic for it. “but he’s a lawyer so he got his most important contacts to rule it an accident and he got left off the hook easily. no one really knew what happened, it was a closed casket funeral and everyone loved him so no one ever thought he’d be capable of such a thing” she chuckled dryly.

Sam felt tears forming in her own eyes at Estelle’s words. she knew what it was like losing a parent but she couldn’t begin to imagine what Estelle went through. sure, her father left but she knew he was still alive, somewhere out there but still alive. Estelle didn’t have that privilege.

“after she died i was his next punching bag. he wasn’t home much considering he couldn’t live with his own guilt but on the rare occasion he did come home, he’d be drunk and angry and he always said i looked like her so he’d come into my room at night and..” she trailed off as her voice broke and Sam didn’t need her to finish her sentence to know what she meant. the hand that was resting on Sams lap made its way toward Estelle. the girl was staring at her lap so she didn’t notice Sam was reaching for her hand until she was holding it.

the shorter girl looked up at Sam with teary eyes and Sam shot her a comforting smile. and it did just that.

“it didn’t last long, once Elias turned sixteen he started to realize what he was doing and one night while… it was happening he came into the room and fought back. my dad always was afraid of him so he when Elias threatened to tell everyone how my mom actually died, he left town and left us alone” Estelle said and wiped at her tears. “but he was angry he had to move away so he stopped giving us money which led to Elias selling drugs.”

Sam squeezed the girls hand to show she was still listening. “we knew if we called CPS he’d just win them over and move back in so we didn’t bother. things were fine up until the first time Elias got arrested. my dad knew he wasn’t home so he came back and..” she couldn’t finish her sentence again but Sam still understood what she meant. “i begged him to pay bail but he never did, he knew he had an advantage. once Elias was released he knew what he did to me and told all of my moms family. after that they started helping out and some even offered us a place to stay but Elias never wanted to” Estelle shrugged.

Sam frowned, “why not?” she wasn’t sure if asking was insensitive but that didn’t sound like Elias, considering he tried to protect Estelle as much as he did, why wouldn’t he want to give her a better life with a stable home and family.

“i guess he just didn’t trust anyone else after my dad” Estelle shrugged once more. “but he promised to be more careful so he wouldn’t get arrested again. up until almost two weeks ago” she continued with a sigh. “my dad came back to town the day after he was.”

Sams stomach dropped at her words. she hadn’t put two and two together but now she knew how Estelle got the bruises. how could a father do that to his own daughter?

“he didn’t.. yknow touch me like that but he was pissed off that he got a call saying his son is in jail and now that he’s in a committed relationship, he was mad that he had to stop his new life to come back here. he took it out on me and yeah” Estelle said as if it were no big deal.

Sam shifted closer to the girl hesitantly but once she was sure Estelle wasn’t going to move away she continued to move closer until she could wrap an arm around the girls petite body. “i know there’s nothing i could ever say to heal what happened to you and i’m so sorry that it did. that man is a shitty person and i promise i won’t let him get near you again” she said firmly making Estelle smile as she let her head fall on the girls chest.

“you gonna be my knight and shinning armor miss Carpenter?” Estelle joked.

Sam shrugged with a sheepish smile. “maybe. i might steal your heart after all” she joked back.

but Estelle knew she wasn’t joking. “maybe you already have” she said lowly as she moved impossibly closer to Sam. the taller girl held her even tighter in response.

she deserved someone like her, someone who cared enough to endure shitty words and the cold shoulder and even an uncomfortable couch simply just to show she wasn’t alone. Estelle deserved a love that wouldn’t leave her. one that would be unconditional and one that wouldn’t cause her harm whether that’s emotional or physical.

she deserved to be loved by someone that cared enough to stay.

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #scream #lesbian #scream series #scream v #tara carpenter #sam carpenter x fem reader #sam carpenter angst

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER EIGHT: First-Date Jitters

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: It's time for your date with the beautiful stranger from the hospital, and you are beyond nervous. Still, you're already in too deep to pull out now, so, you jump into the cold water and learn how to swim.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, comfort, some first-date cliché behavior, mentions of domestic violence (in thought), foreshadowing (?), flirting, physical contact, suggestive language (slightly), Matt's charisma uniqueness nerve and talent

Word Count: 5.3k

A/n: This flirty little shit won't leave my mind. Anyway, my plan was for this chapter to be one continuous chapter, but it got so long that I had to cut it into 2 parts (or this beast would have been 10k words). That’s why you’re getting a double update today. I tried not to put too much angst into this. It's still angsty, but there is a lot of comfort for the angst and the hurt to compensate for it, and I think that's beautiful. I don’t know about the writing though.

Read Chapter 8: First Date Jitters here on AO3

Many questions naturally come to mind when one is preparing for a date. How will you get there? Who will pay? What could you possibly talk about that has a high chance of boring neither of you? The question you find yourself grappling with the most though is, what the fuck are you supposed to wear?

After spending years trapped in a cage, your self-confidence took quite a hit. You used to feel somewhat satisfied with the way you looked, but John always had something to criticize. Your weight, your hair, your facial features—nothing was ever good enough for him. After breaking down your walls and making you believe that you were the best thing that ever happened to him, he knew how to manipulate you best. At least he looked at you. You were grasping at straws, holding onto the vision of a man who was never real, and you forgot your worth along the way. 

“Wear that dress you borrowed from me and never gave back,” Claire says on the other end of the line. 

You sigh. You have been staring at your closet for an hour now, and you haven’t come further than picking out what underwear to wear. With shaky fingers, you reach for the dress. You know exactly which one she meant. 

“Are you sure I should wear a dress?” you ask. “I mean, it’s kinda cold outside.”

“That’s why they invented tights and over-knee socks. Oh, and maybe wear those heart-shaped earrings I got you for your birthday. They look good on you.”

You scan the dress with careful eyes. You’ve barely slept after getting home, and now your head is pounding. Earlier, you sent Matt a text, confirming the time and place for the umpteenth time, but as half-past two is inching closer on the clock, the unease is starting to creep deeper into your bones. 

You promised Claire not to cancel, but that doesn’t take away the fear and the sheer agony you feel inside when you think about all the things that could go wrong. Alone the thought of facing Matt’s gorgeous smile in a different setting than the hospital sends a shiver down your spine, and it’s not fully pleasant. 

But no. You swore you wouldn’t give John what he wants, and he surely would be punching the air if he knew that you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He would celebrate if he knew that you just can’t seem to get over what he did to you. Then again, if he knew where you are now, the only thing getting punched would be you. He might even kill you. God knows he’s capable of unspeakable things.

His name is too prominent in your mind: his face, his voice, his scent. You need to drown him out. You need to stop making everything about him. It isn’t healthy. And Claire was right when she told you that it’s a good thing another man—a good man, at that—is making you feel things you long couldn’t because you were too scared to allow yourself to feel even the slightest hint of affection. 

You have to honor your promise to yourself and see where this date might take you. Matt is gentle. He won’t mind if you’re a little nervous. Hell, he won’t even mind if you wear a pair of sweatpants instead of this stupid dress, but you can’t deny that you still want to put yourself together and appear in something other than a pair of medical scrubs.

The dress you borrowed from Claire is a good fit for your skin tone and body type, you can’t deny that. It has turned heads before. You wore it to one of the fundraising campaigns Metro General sometimes hosts—it was summer then, a lot warmer than it is now, and you were toying around with the kids that came with their parents in Central Park. You were in charge of the games that day. One of the firefighters complimented you, but he was respectful about it, and his partner even asked you for a drink, but you declined both of them. They weren’t your type, although they were nice. It’s a fond memory that momentarily eases your anxiety. 

Matt is nice, and he’s your type. You know he’s your type even after years of unlearning what your type even used to be. It’s not a coincidence that the two of you got along so well when you first met, and that he cared so much the other day when you got hurt. 

Fuck. You realize you’re going to need to cover your nose with concealer. Not because Matt would care—he surely wouldn’t—but you don’t want to be looked at weirdly by the barista of your favorite coffee shop. That would be embarrassing.

“Liv?” Claire’s voice breaks through your downward spiral. 

You snap out of it, throwing the dress on the bed. “Yeah, I’m here,” you mumble, working at your pajamas that you still haven’t changed out of. “I’m wearing the dress.” There is a certainty in your voice that surprises you. 

You want to wear this dress. You want to go out with Matt. And you want to turn his head, even if you can’t do it with your looks. Looks are hardly all that matters, anyway. You have to remind yourself that he sees your mind, hears your voice, and has a different view of your soul than others. That’s what matters. That is all that should matter. You just have to make sure that you smell good or he will probably be appalled, considering blindness comes with heightened senses. If only you knew how heightened they truly are. 

Your friend lets out a happy little, “HA!”

You shake your head, putting her on speaker, and changing out of your pajamas into the dress. You only have a handful of tights in your closet, and not a single pair of over-knee socks, but a pair of tights and your favorite boots should do the trick. 

“Trust me,” Claire says, “one look at you in that dress, you’re gonna turn that guy’s head.” She sniffles, and you wonder how much longer she is going to torture herself with that cat. 

“I’m not so sure my looks are going to matter much,” you say. 

“Most people say looks don’t matter to them, but unless you solely fall in love with another person’s mind, looks will always play a part in how we perceive someone.”

“No, I meant that quite literally.” You pull the dress over your head. “I’m only dressing up to feel good about myself ‘cause looks definitely don’t matter to him.”

“How can you be sure?” she retorts. 

You slip into a fresh pair of tights, some socks, and a pair of biking shorts underneath. “Did I not mention Matt’s blind?”

Silence follows your sentence. A pregnant pause. You said it so nonchalantly, you didn’t think anything of it. And why would you? It’s a part of him. It’s not unimportant—definitely not, considering that life works differently for him than it does for you—but it’s also not the only thing about him. 

“Blind?” Claire’s voice is slightly shaky when she asks.

You frown at your phone screen while slipping into your favorite boots. “Yes, blind,” you say. “Although we didn’t get around to discussing his condition. I mean, medically, there is probably nothing I haven’t seen or heard before. I just didn’t think of asking him, “Hey, how’d it happen? Is it complete blindness? Amaurosis? Congenital?” Even I know that it’s not appropriate to ask someone you just met about their medical history. It’s something he has to want to talk about, not the other way around. I don’t expect full disclosure from a stranger like I do from my patients. And we both know dating a patient would be highly unethical.”

“I—” she cuts herself off. 

One look at the time tells you that you’re already running late. If you want to catch your bus, you have to leave in the next five minutes. You slide the last of your heart-shaped earrings into your earlobe.

“Listen, Claire, if that’s all you have to say, I should go. I can’t miss my bus,” you say. 

Her behavior may strike you as odd, but your mind is currently preoccupied with other things. You can’t pay much mind to the tone of her voice or the pronunciation of her words, or there is a chance you might not make it to your coffee date after all because you will be stuck in another downward spiral of overthinking. 

She exhales. “I—okay, yeah. I’m sorry. It’s probably nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she agrees. “Go. Have fun. Just… be careful.”

The way she says it makes the hairs on your arms stand up. “I will.” Your eyebrows still furrowed in a frown. “I’ll call you later.”

The line clicks when you hang up, trying not to let the absurdity of the situation get to you. You have plans, and you have to stick to them. 

With a swift shake of your head, you touch up your hair and makeup, assuring that the discoloration of your bruised nose looks less severe than it is before you grab your coat, your bag, and your phone, and you make your way out. 

You’re not overdressed, but you still feel like you’re standing out of the crowd when you get on the bus. The bus driver pays no attention to you, and neither do the other passengers, but somehow all eyes are still on you. Maybe you should have gone for a pair of jeans instead? A longer dress? A shorter dress? Less cleavage? Maybe something a little less tight? A sweater would have worked nicely too, you’re sure. What if you get off at the next stop, hurry back to change, and arrive a little later than planned? 

Matt probably won’t be on time either. He wanted to meet up half an hour later. That sounds like the kind of guy who needs a little more time, someone who struggles to be on time. Or maybe he’s the complete opposite of the picture you painted of him in your mind, and Claire’s reaction has something to do with it. It makes no sense—it absolutely makes no fucking sense, and you should stop worrying about things that don’t make any fucking sense whatsoever, but you can’t. You are physically incapable of stopping the spiral on your own. 

Time stops when you overthink, and it’s only when more people start leaving the bus that you realize you have long missed the chance to get out, run back home, and change. You’re almost in the city, almost where your favorite coffee shop is located that you suggested to him and he agreed on, and there is no going back from here. 

You don’t know where to put your hands. They’re shaking. Your heart is beating out of your chest. The sweat in your pores is threatening to drip down your temples, it feels like, and you’re starting to worry whether or not he will be able to smell how nervous you are. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t swallow the lump in your throat because it has lodged itself between your esophagus and your larynx. It’s too much—too loud, too hot, too everything. You just want to turn around and run. You want to disappear into the ground, melt into a puddle, and stay there. 

When you look up toward the entrance of the coffee shop, he’s standing there. He’s on time. No, he’s early. The clock on your phone reads 2:28 pm. You wouldn’t have expected him to be so punctual. It scares you.

Your brain starts to secrete even more cortisol—should you run or should you fight? Fight might be the wrong word to use. It is more of a 'should you or should you not face a situation your inner demons don't want to face' dilemma.

The sudden wave of anxiety that washes over you mixes with a strange sizzling of excitement and a certain warmth that starts to build in your core. The feeling is much stranger than what you’re used to, and it makes you vibrate. Or at least it feels like you’re vibrating. Levitating. Dying. Maybe you’re having a heart attack.

Don’t be ridiculous, you think to yourself. You’re a doctor. You’re not having a heart attack. What you’re sure of though is that, if you start breathing even shallower, you will get a panic attack.

He looks good. Too good. His suit fits him perfectly. You wonder how much he spends to get his suits tailored so that he can breathe and move around freely, and still look fucking dashing whenever he sets foot outside. For someone who does mostly pro-bono work, he knows how to dress himself. 

Matt is standing away from the many people crossing the sidewalk. He’s supporting himself on his cane, his red round glasses framing his sharp features perfectly. He has the kind of cheeks you just want to squeeze, yet his jawline is sharp enough to cut yourself on it. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, so his stubble is a lot more prominent. The locks on his head seem so soft, and he keeps the rest of him clean, too—you wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who has heightened senses due to the lack of one of the most crucial ones.

The way his muscles tense under his suit catches your attention. Your breath hitches again, and this time not because you’re nervous and worried out of your mind. His biceps are straining against the sleeves of his coat, and it seems like his chiseled chest is about to pop the buttons of his dress shirt, but it still fits perfectly enough to keep every sliver of skin hidden from the world. 

Taking a deep breath, you close the distance between you. “Matt?” your voice cracks when you call his name.

He tilts his head in your direction. It doesn’t even take him a full second, nor does he pretend that he has trouble making you out of the sea of people. He probably has done this quite a few times. You can’t blame him. He’s an attractive man. 

You wonder what would happen if he was yours. Women would still want him, and you would have to have faith. You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly jealous person, but the thought of having to compete makes your stomach churn. You feel so far out of his league that it doesn’t even cross your mind that you would be his as much as he would be yours, and it is no relationship if you feel like you have to compete with other women.

A part of you believes that he is the kind of man to pay undivided attention to the person he cares about, but who is to say that you are worth his attention? Who’s to say that he wouldn’t run at the first chance to be with someone less damaged, someone who’s beautiful in a different way, and someone who can give him peace instead of whatever mess you can offer him. 

But then he smiles at you, and your worries are momentarily forgotten. 

“Liv, hi,” he says. You shudder at the smooth sound of his voice. His hand reaches out, but he misses your arm. A slight frown finds its way onto his face as if he’s thinking to himself, ‘I’m usually better than this.’

You take a step closer. He finally gets a hold of your forearm. “I hope it’s you I’m touching and not some stranger with similarly soft forearms.”

Soft. He just called you soft. You have never been called that before. The giggle that escapes you makes you wonder where you left your brain this morning. 

The left side has turned itself off entirely, leaving the right side of your brain in charge. This is the worst idea you’ve ever had. You’re already a mess. How are you supposed to survive the afternoon with him and only him? It feels like he’s staring right into your soul, which is impossible, but the glasses don’t give you insight into beautiful brown eyes, and that makes you wonder how he does it. How does he stare you down without actually staring you down?

You clear your throat. “No, it is me,” you answer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says again. The grin doesn’t leave his lips. He lets go of your arm, seemingly having oriented himself.

“Hi,” is all you can say. You miss his touch. It wasn’t even—or at least not mostly—because he wanted to touch you. He did it because there are so many people around you and he needed to know where exactly you stand. You can only imagine the anxiety that he’s feeling.

His smile turns into a smirk. “Hi.” He’s not making this easier on you. “How are you?” Matt finally puts you out of your misery.

What is the appropriate thing to answer? Good? Nervous? That you feel like you’re dying from a heart attack? Or that you miss his hand on your soft forearm?

“I’m–” you take a deep breath. “I’m good,” you say. “How’re you?”

He nods. “I’m alright, thank you.”

Your eyes flick down to the hand on his cane. He has his head tilted in your direction, his attention entirely on you. He adjusts his glasses. His smile turns into a softer expression of concern, and it makes your heart jump.

“You seem nervous,” he observes. 

“I guess you could say that,” you admit. You can’t even stop the words before they tumble out of your mouth. “I don’t usually do this. You know, go on dates.”

“Really? Oh. I kind of figured men were lining up to get even a second of your attention, or trying to, at least.”

The blood rushes to your cheeks again. “Oh, I—No, they don’t do that.” Your head is spinning. 

You always appear unapproachable, or so you’ve heard. You don’t know if it’s the way you look at people or the way you behave. Perhaps they get scared that they will burn themselves on your burning defenses. You wouldn’t put it past them. You have pushed what little advances people have made on you in the past two years away because you were scared of burning yourself, and you weren’t interested in trying to mend that. With Matt, that’s different.

If men were lining up to be with you, your first response would surely be to flee, and not because of your personal issues with the opposite sex. You would flee out of natural instinct.

Matt clears his throat. “I’m terrible at getting hints. If I’m making you uncomfortable or you think you made the wrong choice by coming here, I wouldn’t blame you for leaving,” he says.

He’s giving you a choice—an out. That alone makes the blood in your cheeks spread faster, and your palms start sweating. You don’t want to go. 

“No,” you quickly shake your head. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure?”

You reach out, boldly so, and take his hand in yours. “Yes. Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask. 

Matt swallows thickly. His Adam’s apple bops as he tries to get rid of the lump in his throat. His fingers twitch when you wrap your own around his and place them against your forearm again. If you look close enough, you might even see a soft sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

The silence persists for a few seconds. “No,” he answers then. “You simply have a way of, um...taking my breath away.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” He tightens his grip. His lips open, and he stammers for a moment before he finds his words again. “I find it refreshing. It’s not often I meet someone who can knock me off my feet, so…” Breaking off into a chuckle, Matt lowers his head to adjust his glasses once again.

The way he’s fidgeting with his fingers tells you that you’re not the only nervous one out of the two of you. Maybe the fact that you render him speechless affects him more than he lets on. He seems like the kind of guy who likes to be in control because he feels like he has to be or the world might end. You know that feeling all too well.

It would be so much easier if he wasn’t so charming, but if it were easy and he wasn’t so charming, you would still feel utterly alone in this life. New beginnings are supposed to feel better than an unhappy ending. New beginnings are supposed to offer a chance at happiness, and even though you are a little late with trying to find your way back to civilization after keeping yourself locked in a cage of someone else’s making for so long, there is a chance now. A chance that you have to take. 

The easy way out would be to turn around and forget you ever met him, but Matt deserves better, and so do you. The easy way out would hurt too much.

You lick your lips absentmindedly. He sucks in a sharp breath. You’re a lot more sensitive to the behavior of others than a normal person would be. Is he attracted to you? Do you turn him on? Those are questions that make your head spin worse than it has been ever since you laid eyes on him.

“I’m sorry,” you break the awkward silence, your voice breathless. “It seems like the feeling is mutual.”

Your confidence is starting to build, convincing you that you can do this. And maybe you can. You’re not leaving him cold, that much is sure when you take a moment to analyze his body language.

His thumb brushes over your forearm. He seems so much more experienced than you, and he keeps his composure in a way you can’t relate to. You are dying inside, and the blood is pumping in your cheeks while leaving the rest of your body cold. Except for your very core; you can feel the heat starting to spread through your core, shooting between your legs just from the way he touches you. 

You thought this would be an innocent coffee date—you were wrong. Your body is as desperate for a physical connection as your soul yearns for an emotional connection. It’s a strange combination of needs that hits you at once and with full force. And it is all directed at him. This guy you barely know but has turned your head every single time you have met him. 

You’re fucked.

Matt smirks, as though he knows something that you do not. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmurs. 

“The fact that you knocked me off my feet?” you ask dumbfounded. You’re glad he can’t see your face because that would be utterly embarrassing. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “that.”

You want to scream, 'God, you’re hot,' but you would rather not embarrass yourself in front of him like that. His smirk makes it hard to focus, but if you don’t want to spend the rest of the afternoon on the sidewalk, staring at him while he holds onto your forearm, one of you has to start moving.

“Do you want to go inside?” you ask.

“Yeah. Lead the way,” he says. 

You gently slide his hand from your forearm into your own. You wish you could see his eyes right now. Are those beautiful hazel eyes with emerald specks in them sparkling? You saw how expressive they were when you patched him up. They were unfocused and pained, but they also reminded you of an array of stars. It’s probably unintentional, but his eyes give away how he’s feeling at any given time, and that, to you, is one of the most beautiful qualities he could possess because it means that he’s real. He can’t lie because his eyes would give them away. 

His glasses don’t make Matt hard to read, but they sure make you miss the universe you got to stare into a few days ago. It felt like a privilege.

He keeps his cane pressed tightly to his chest, using the tip to check the small radius around him while he holds on tightly to your hand, trusting you to guide him where he needs to go without putting him at risk. 

“Door,” you tell him as you make your way into the café. You hold it open, and he uses his cane to make sure he doesn’t accidentally bump into you or the doorframe. 

Just as you’re about to enter, a couple comes at you. You twirl around, placing a hand on his waist and pulling him a bit closer to you before someone can bump into him. He raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh,” he exclaims when the couple apologizes for not looking, and he tilts his way back in your direction, Your hands are still on his waist, standing closer to you than ever before. His cheeks flush. Got him. “Thank you,” he stammers, but not without letting out a chuckle that resembles a small giggle. 

Your heart melts, and you damn Matt Murdock for not only being a walking wet dream but for being so kindhearted and adorable. And why does he smell so good?

“No problem,” you answer breathlessly.

“It helps that one of us isn’t blind, huh?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s a big responsibility if you’re seeing for two, so I try to take it seriously.”

His giggle turns into a laugh that comes deep from his chest, but it still sounds like a soft symphony you might hear playing on a spring day. “Yeah,” Matt says, “You’re taking it very seriously.”

“I’d call myself your knight in shining armor, but I believe that comparison is outdated and wrong since you don’t need saving.”

“I wouldn't mind being saved by you.”

You open your mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a startled breath. “Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

He smirks. “I wouldn’t get anything out of making you blush, but I do enjoy hearing the smile in your voice whenever I compliment you. So, maybe that’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh.”

“Your smile sounds nice. Beautiful. It’s how I, uh, see you. And you’re calm. I—the world is often too loud, you know, and your voice is a welcome distraction from all the, uh, noise. Helps me relax. If you know what I mean.”

If he keeps talking, you are sure that you will pull him closer by his waist and kiss him. You can’t remember the last time you have felt a need quite like this one. And you have never wanted to kiss another human being more than him. Why? Just because he’s nice to you? No. He’s not just nice to you. You probably would have run by now if he were just nice to you. 

Matt is genuine, which seems to be his personality trait, and it makes you feel somewhat important again. Like you’re worthy of whatever it is he’s giving you, not constant pain and suffering. It’s strange and new, and it is still terrifying in a way, but once you let it happen, it’s a lot more gentle on your soul.

“Fuck me,” you curse under your breath. “We haven’t even sat down yet.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“So, does that mean I can still buy you a coffee?”

“Now more than ever,” you blurt the first sentence that comes to mind. You look at him as if he is a rare species, and you’re painfully aware of that.

Can he read your mind? Whenever you look at him, it seems like he knows just what you’re going through. He tries to hide it, but it’s almost as if he’s already inside of you. Not in the way you want him to but in a way that makes you feel vulnerable, but you still would surrender all of you to him if he just asked. 

Your hands slip from his waist. 

“After you,” he says, grabbing a hold of your arm again.

“Right,” you mutter. “After me.”

The line isn’t long.  You get behind a few other people, Matt’s hand still tightly clasping your bicep. 

“I just realized that they don’t have a Braille option for the menu.” Your eyes dart around the room, but the only visible menu is the one hanging above the counter. 

You’ve been here more times than you can count, but you never actively paid attention to how accessible it all is—which is not at all. 

Matt chuckles beside you, his breath tickling your ear. “Read it to me,” he says. His voice is soft, quiet, and kept low so only you can hear him.

You shiver. Your lips suddenly feel drier than the desert. You won’t survive this day, you’re sure. He’s going to kill you.

“R-read it to you?” you stammer as if it is such an outlandish request. It isn’t. You just can’t process it properly, not when he’s so close to you and he smells like he does. 

He doesn’t have a strong, overwhelming scent. The cologne he’s wearing only has a slight whiff of sandalwood and nature, but it’s nothing too overwhelming. Of course, he must have a sensitive sense of smell as well. He probably uses scentless soap and shampoo, and the cologne he uses might even be the only scent he can stand. What you smell on him must be his natural scent. Clean, soft, warm—you’re obsessed with it. You’re addicted to it.

Matt nods again. “Yeah, read it to me,” he repeats.

“Okay–” you take a deep breath, and you begin to recite the options you already know by heart. Coffee, cold drinks, tea, lunch options, and snacks. 

He listens intently to what you have to say. “I think I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Did you decide that now or did you know that from the beginning?”

“I may have already known,” he says with a smirk.

“Then why did you ask me to read it to you?”

“I like listening to your voice.”

When you suck in a sharp breath this time, you manage to conceal it better. “That’s cheesy,” you retort, trying to match the tone of his voice but failing miserably. Flirting over the phone proves to be much easier than in person, especially with a man like him. 

“Is it still cheesy if it’s the truth?” Matt asks.

You look at him, staring at your reflection in his glasses, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “The truth can be cheesy.”

“That’s true, but I made you smile. I’d consider my cheesiness successful.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry. It won’t. Can’t deny it makes me feel good though.”

You exhale again, even more shaky than the last time. All you can see is yourself in his reflection. Before you can answer, the couple in front of you finishes their order and moves on to the other end of the counter, allowing you to step forward.

“Hi,” you say to the barista behind the counter. “Could I get two regular lattes and two muffins, please?”

Matt smirks beside you, not at all fazed by your ignorance of his antics. If anything, it spurs him on further, and he tightens his grip on your arm. Deep down, you know that he is doing it on purpose, but at the first sign of you being uncomfortable, there is no doubt in your mind that he will stop. But you’re not uncomfortable; you’re merely flustered beyond relief. To him, that’s a good sign because it means that you’re in this and not with one foot out the door—and you wouldn’t want to be, anyway, which is much scarier than the prospect of turning around and remaining alone for the rest of your life. 

A bit of fear goes a long way, but there are still walls that he has to break through. Walls you won’t let him through so easily, but you also know you can’t keep him at an arm’s length forever. Eventually, the truth will come out, and you’re not quite sure how to deal with that revelation before your date has even taken off.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #daredevil x reader #reader insert #charlie cox #doctor!reader #do no harm

[shootingstarpilot]

Return ask for the tag game! I would like to hear a bit about the time loop continuation from Helix's PoV, because that sounds devestating and I'm here for it.

ohohoho okay thank you very much for this because i have thoughts

imagine. you're getting ready for bed. you survived another day. your jedi found whatever creepy force banthashit thing drew them here. and yeah, you've been told that it'll probably serve as a beacon because the creatures you've been dealing with for this whole goddamn slog are apparently drawn to it like sharks to chum but it's contained now, so you're- not hopeful. that's dangerous. but maybe- looking forward to going home. looking forward to a rest.

stitch is bundling himself up in a dozen different paper-thin blankets because abregado is cold as fuck, needle is- either helping or hindering, you can't tell very well, but they're both laughing so you're not too worried. as long as they're safe. as long as they're safe.

you go to bed.

you wake up.

stitch is still asleep, you can see him breathing.

needle is gone.

this isn't... out of the ordinary, you know. needle tends to wander and one of the primaries is usually in demand more often than not.

you have exactly eight minutes to delude yourself thusly before you hear outside- footsteps, fast-approaching, a flurry of voices, and you're on your feet in the instant before your general ducks through the tent entrance with someone in his arms-

and that someone in his arms-

in his arms is-

he deposits him on a cot- unconscious, breathing, breathing, breathing, what- and then he turns to you, white-faced, steady, reaches up, cups your face-

he tells you to listen. to not panic.

then he tells you that your little brother wandered into the command tent and tried to shoot himself in the head.

he tells you, as well, that it's not- it's not- there was something in the force, he says, it wasn't-

(-wasn't like so many other brothers, on kamino and off, the ones who were left alone, who were left behind, who left as well-)

you have stopped listening.

you stopped listening the moment tried to shoot himself in the head left your general's mouth.

(he tried to-)

he lets you go. tells you that he should sleep for the next day or so, enough to get packed up, to get back to the ship.

(he tried to-)

you nod.

(he tried to-)

your general turns and the tent is empty again except for you and stitch and needle on the bed-

needle. your first-found, first-loved brother.

(he tried to-)

twenty-four hours, your general told you.

twenty-four hours to dissect the past day. the past week. the past month, months, the past three years-

(he tried to-)

you are trying to find what you missed.

what you missed, that needle would try to-

you can't.

and the worst part- not the worst part, the worst part is that needle had tried to- to- but a worst part-

stitch knows something you do not.

it is in the way he shouts down the standard protocol- the padded cuffs, for patients at risk of self-harming, the medics cannot be everywhere at once and it's safer should they wake up alone.

it is in the way he holds needle's head, tells him gentle, gentle, still sleeping- still my needle.

it is in the way he avoids your gaze.

stitch, you realize slowly, is not surprised.

#HAVING BIG FEELINGS IN THIS CHILI'S TONIGHT FOLKS #shoulder the sky #time loop au #with all associated trigger warnings #referenced suicide attempt #attempter didn't realize it was a suicide attempt #helix and stitch do not know this

[bettsfic]

Congratulations on finishing your novel!! Is there anything you can tell us about it at this point, or is it too early for that to be shared? No worries if that's the case. I hope we all get the chance to read it one day :)

i haven't talked about it a lot so i don't have a solid pitch or anything, but the main character is henry, an autistic underwriter with a deeply fucked up past. and he's in love with his coworker layla but trying very hard not to be.

he's also a recovering sex addict who uses bdsm for self-harm, and he has a daddy dom named thrash whose main kink is giving him everything he wants.

layla seems very sweet and normal, but she's even more obsessed with henry than he is with her. i wanted to make a character who believes they're a sociopath but who is actually not at all a sociopath.

but her older sister lacey is definitely a sociopath.

when layla finds out the horrific things that happened to henry in childhood, she plots to murder henry's father.

and she teams up with thrash to get it done.

henry's POV: hopeful coming of age story about a 30 year old whose growth was stymied by trauma but who comes to realize his life's purpose is art. layla's POV: true crime novel.

excerpt under the cut!

thrash's intro, cw for suicidal ideation, drug use, and questionable bdsm practices.

On his porch there are prayer flags and paper lanterns. Adirondack chairs flanking a glass table with a bronze ashtray, so clean it looks as though it has never been used. Mariachi music floods out from behind the door. I can walk away. I should walk away.

I knock. The music volume lowers and a moment later, he is opening the door, wearing a pair of board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt covered in Birds of Paradise, even though there is snow on the ground. 

He grins and opens his arms wide and welcoming. “King!” 

He gives the best hugs. Too long, too tight, but it’s a single moment during which you cannot fall apart, because Thrash is holding you together.

He pulls away, holds me by the shoulders, looks me up and down. “How long has it been? A year?”

“Nine months.”

He knocks my chin lightly with a knuckle. “Really, man. I’m glad to see you. I missed you.” 

I follow him inside. The house is enormous, intended to be one of those rich-people hideous stock houses, identical to all those around it and everything in shades of beige, but he has made it his own, art hung all over in a never-ending rotation as he buys new pieces. Ugliest shit anyone’s ever seen. Once, high, I told him he had bad taste. He laughed and said, “You don’t know fuck about art, man. Good art to you is probably the shit you’d hang in a dentist’s office.”

Maybe if he hadn’t said that, the tattoos wouldn’t be a thing. Maybe I only wanted to be beautiful for him. Something worth hanging.

The pieces have all rotated out since I’ve been here last, aside from the six-by-six abstract piece across from the front door, the first sight when you walk in. He’s always happy to talk about every piece he owns—where he got it and for how much, what he knows about the artist—but he never talks about that one. 

Over the past eight years I’ve known Thrash, I’ve spent a long time looking at it, no title or signature, an enormous canvas flecked with pastel oil paint, all thirty-six square feet of it, so covered you couldn’t see the canvas beneath. Pale pink, robin’s egg blue, butter yellow, mint green—colors that remind us of infants, of safety and smallness. Yet it's enormous, overwhelming, bigger than me.

Thrash is a generous man. He buys lavish gifts, throws insane parties, donates probably over six figures a year to arts organizations and scholarships. He once mentioned a wing of a university library dedicated to him. He never charges me for drugs. When I ask him for things, he says, “Your wish is my command.”

There is an allure, I think, in having the power to grant anyone their wildest, darkest wish.

He is cooking something and the house smells very good. I have not eaten since the Bavarian sandwich with spicy mustard and no cheese, sweet potato fries, and brownie sundae with no whipped cream (Layla ate two bites and I demolished the rest). I have also not had anything to drink since Layla shoved a Glacier Cherry Gatorade in my hand and told me to chug. 

In the kitchen, he stirs a huge pot of something on the stove and says, “I hope you’re hungry. I don’t want to have to freeze these leftovers.” He opens the fridge. “What’re you drinking? IPA? Lager? Wait, right, you’re a pilsner guy.”

He pulls out a bottle of pilsner and pops it open with the churchkey welded to his counter top. When he hands it over, he asks, “You feeling okay?” 

“Rough day.”

He slaps my shoulder. “Let me take all your troubles away, huh?”

*

I eat arroz con pollo on Thrash’s couch. He tells me about his trip to Mexico. When his bowl is empty, he sets it aside and takes two bumps of coke off the back of his hand, one for each nostril. I prefer him a little coked up. He is too nice to me when he’s not.

Thrash is fifty-three. His hair is still dark brown which makes me think he gets it dyed. Usually he has only a mustache but to fit with what seems to be his whole post-vacation vibe, his chin is covered in stubble. He is very tan.

I am attracted to him not just because he’s good at what he does, but because he’s totally free. Untethered from anything or anyone.

“Alright,” he says, lounging back on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table. “What are you looking for tonight?”

“The usual.”

“You haven’t been here in nine months. There’s no more usual.” 

“I want to go back to what we did in the beginning.”

His shapely eyebrows rise up his forehead. “Getting into dangerous territory, baby boy.”

When he calls me “baby boy,” I know I have said something he likes.

He reaches over and takes me by the chin, forces me to look at him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I mean I do but I don’t, you feel me?”

“You barely knew me back then.”

“I know, babe. But I’m older, I’m wiser, and I don’t have a liability form.”

“I trust you.”

Something flickers across his face, and for a moment he is not Thrash, but whoever he is on the outside, the actor of our ongoing scene. Then it fades and he grins, once more my personal Dionysus.

*

In the basement, I undress. I fold my clothes neatly and place them on the lid of a vinyl record player. Thrash is taking off his ridiculous shirt. He is really very tan.

“You been working out, man?” he asks. “You look good.”

“Thanks,” I say, wishing he would gag me already. Small talk is hard enough in real life; I don’t want to have to attempt it in a sex dungeon. I climb onto my favorite spanking bench, the one that is not too comfortable that I start to feel good, but not so uncomfortable it distracts me. I am irritated that Thrash has made me choose between being gagged or restrained—one, I can safeword but not move; the other, I can tap out but not speak. I fear he is conforming to the tyrannical writ of Safe, Sane, and Consensual, over my much-preferred Risk-Aware Consensual Kink.

I have opted for gagging. 

“How about this one?” he asks, grinning stupidly and holding up a leather paddle that says SLUT on it, backwards.

“No.”

“Yeesh. Such a traditionalist.” He paws through the drawer. “Come on, babe, help me narrow it down.”

I make a frustrated sound through my teeth. Around Thrash, I do not have to worry about my rotely memorized conversational schemas or the intricate performance of social mores. Under the mask, I am irritable, cruel, inconsiderate. I insult thoughtlessly. I express plainly my disinterest. My honesty is brutal. I am a mean person.

“Flogger it is, then. Old reliable.” Thrash points the handle of the flogger at me. “You’re lucky I accommodate your aversion to decision-making. You find a worse guy than me, you’ll be in real trouble.”

“Is there anyone worse than you?”

He whistles through his teeth and says, “So bratty today. But I love it when you flirt with me.” 

He circles the bench, assessing whatever it is he assesses. His hand is on my lower back. “You’re feeling some kind of way right now, huh?”

I close my eyes. The leather warms beneath my cheek. “You could say that.”

“I’ll be real hard on you, okay? Get you out of your head for a while.”

“Thank you.”

His hand is soft, the hand of a man who has never had to do manual labor besides hurting people for fun. He slides it up to my shoulder. I wish he would scratch it, but if he starts, I won’t want him to stop. “You get new ink? This looks fresh.”

“Yesterday. Don’t tell me what it is.”

“You don’t know what it is?”

“I never know. I just let the artist do her thing.”

“You’re saying—hold on. You’re telling me you didn’t choose a single one of these eight hundred tattoos you got?”

“Right.”

“You know I love you, baby boy, but you’re a real freak.” He takes the ball gag and says, “Alright, open up.”

*

When I first met Thrash, he didn’t know the meaning of aftercare. He did his thing, fucked me, and said, “See you next time.” Now it is non-negotiable. I get the full treatment: massage, praise, a glass of water and a snack. Nowadays I think Thrash likes aftercare more than the scene itself. It sickens me. He didn’t go as hard on me as I had hoped, didn’t fuck me or get me off, and as he guides me upstairs, heavy hand on the back of my neck, I can’t help but sense his concern at conflict with his distance. I hate when people step carefully around me. 

I am drunk on pain. I am swimming through an abyss. I am an animal, a body wandering.

He puts together a bunch of leftovers in an environmentally friendly Whole Foods tote bag. He has included coupons to a Mexican restaurant he insists is authentic, and a twenty-five dollar gas card he just had lying around. He is talking the whole time, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

The blunt force cold upon stepping outside snaps me out of it. Thrash has followed me out in only his gaudy shirt and board shorts. He folds into a chair. Tugs a pack of Marlboro Golds out of his shirt pocket. Slips one out, lights it. 

I stop on the top step of his porch and turn back to him. The paper lanterns are lit up, along with white fairy lights around the trim. 

“If I asked you to, would you kill me?”

He leans back and exhales a cloud of both smoke and condensation. I am grateful he has neither laughed at me nor dismissed it as outlandish. Now that I think about it, he has never laughed at me.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Why you want to die.”

“Because I’m too hard to love.”

He gives me a long look while he takes a long drag. “Be hard to love, baby,” he says, tapping ash into the immaculate tray. “Make them fight for it.”

#skinless

[lexreadsdiversely]

Asian Readathon 2024

[ID: A black cat laying on purple patterned sheets in front of a stack of four books: Bliss Montage by Ling Ma, This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, and The Night Parade: A Speculative Memoir by Jami Nakamura Lin. End ID.]

Even if I wanted to be an aesthetic blogger I couldn't. Not with my baby boy, Lito, taking every opportunity to lay on me.

It's AAPI month and I'm participating in the Asian Readathon! (See withcindy on YouTube for more details). I wanted to share some of the books I'm reading and talk briefly about my thoughts so far.

Sidenote: You should be reading Asian authors year round. If you aren't already, I recommend checking out Cindy's blog, looking at the kickass spreadsheet of books, and expanding your horizons.

Bliss Montage, Ling Ma

Features eight reality-bending stories about relationships with oneself and other people. Character-driven. Less than 250 pages. Check trigger warnings.

I chose this one to fit the prompt of a book that feels timeless based on the vibes of Ling Ma's first book, Severance (a personal favorite). She goes back and forth between past and present often, at times seamlessly between mere paragraphs, and it gives the feeling of time being stretched and almost uncertain. I greatly enjoyed it in Severance and suspected similar vibes in this book, and I'm not disappointed! I'm wondering if this is autobiographical fiction (it isn't advertised as such, but I can spot some of the shared events of Ma's actual life and the MC). This book is deeply intimate and, at times, very heavy. I'm only halfway through, and I already know it's going to be another favorite.

This is How You Lose the Time War, Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

Adult Sapphic science fantasy about two rival agents on opposing sides of a war. Less than 200 pages (can you tell I like novellas?)

I've started this twice now, once on audiobook and once on ebook, before realizing neither format worked for me and buying a physical copy. I'm only two chapters in, but wow, if you enjoy competitive flirting, these two are incredible at it! I'll say more when I'm further along, but this is some quality writing.

Light from Uncommon Stars, Ryka Aoki

Sapphic science fantasy. A woman makes a deal with a demon to sell her soul for fame in the violin world and must convince seven other violin prodigies to sell theirs in order to get hers back. She finds number seven in a trans girl who runs away from home, and unexpected love with an alien woman who comes to Earth to escape a galactic Endplague. Check the trigger warnings!

I'm 300 pages in (out of almost 400) and this book makes me fucking feral. Apart from the main three characters stories, there are so many side characters with their own stories, and every single one weaves together in some way and packs a punch. I was sold on this book the moment I heard Queen of Hell, and it's just sucked me deeper and deeper. There are so many unexpected events in this book, so many moments that make me go "holy fucking shit?" You think you know what kind of book it is, then some off the wall shit happens and you have to reassess. This is such a deeply trans narrative (written by a trans woman), and as soon as I finish it I'm never going to shut up about it. Probably one of the best books I've ever read and I'm not done yet.

Once more, check the trigger warnings! Aoki is very good at making it super clear what's happening, while also not doing too much on-page (usually by either going light with the details, or fading the scene). But of all the talk about this book I've encountered, no one ever mentioned triggers and I foolishly assumed that meant that there weren't any major ones. There very much are. I'll start you off: transphobia, internalized transphobia, racism, sexual assault, self-harm, parental abuse (the book opens with this one, so mentally prepare yourself).

The Night Parade: A Speculative Memoir, Jami Nakamura Lin

A memoir that users the yōkai and various other figures from Japanese, Taiwanese, and Okinawan folktales to talk about grief in the face of the author's father's cancer and her struggles with Bipolar Disorder. Features amazing illustrations by her sister, Cori Nakamura Lin.

This sentence from the blurb took me out at the knees: "...Jami Nakamura Lin shines a light into dark corners, driven by a question: How do we learn to live with the things that haunt us?"

This is just fucking cool. It's a memoir that basically ripped up the rule book and does it so well. You're never certain if what you're reading really happened (and this is intentional). Stories that show the complexity and humanity of people with Bipolar Disorder are few and far between, so this book has a special place in my heart. It challenges the current narrative of mental health recovery in a way I've yet to see.

Other things I'll be reading:

The Garden of Delights by Amal Singh - Doesn't come out until mid-May, so I'll be waiting impatiently to enjoy it.

Let me know if you have any questions or thoughts. If you've read any of these books, come scream at me!

~ Lex

#AAPI month #Asian readathon #asian readathon 2024 #bliss montage #ling ma #this is how you lose the time war #amal el mohtar #light from uncommon stars #ryka aoki #the night parade a speculative memoir #jami nakamura lin #amal singh #the garden of delights #diverse bookblr #diverse booklr #book talk #bookish community #lex rambles

[peterlorres21stcentury]

look, writing is not easy but it is not torture either

First of all this is not aimed at anyone in particular. It's just that I read a lot of "writing about writing" stuff from a variety of authors, and it's rather disheartening to see so many people agree with the attitude of "writing is such pain, I hate it, I would rather tear out and eat my own fingernails and yet I continue to do it for some reason."

Like... ok. People exaggerate for humor and clout. I get it. But if it is genuinely that painful of a process, maybe... don't do it? Maybe only write when it becomes painful NOT to. It shouldn't be a form of self-harm, is what I'm trying to say. "But pain is the only way to make great ARRRT!!" I hear. No it isn't. I promise there is more than one way.

I have been writing down (poorly-spelled) stories ever since my four-year-old self learned to hold a pencil. I am just this way, apparently. It's all I know how to do. If it was such torture to write, trust me, I would never come back to it again. I am such a lazy fucking hedonist, I will abandon the slightest unpleasurable thing at the first opportunity. (As Peter Lorre once said, I work awfully hard for someone so lazy, but the fact remains: I am one laaaaaazy mofo).

And yet, the urge to write never goes away. I might not write for several days or a couple weeks at a time, but if I ignore it too long, it becomes a compulsion. It actually gets painful not to write something down. Sure, it's often hard to write! Sometimes I feel like throwing the whole story away. But once I get into it, I might sit there typing for six to eight hours, completely lost in another world, before I crash and fall asleep until the next afternoon. Then I feel better and write some more until it is done.

I guess I don't want to see aspiring writers discouraged by this idea that the writing process = mental anguish. If anything, we should use writing as a way to cope with existing mental anguish. Not everything in this world has to be so painful.

#on the other hand you can listen to me or don't #I am not a professional fiction writer #I write stories about peter lorre-inspired characters including a guy who eats people #I make zero money from my fiction but you know what? I don't care #if I did make money from fiction I would have a whole team of corpos dictating to me what to write for maximum profit #fuck that shit all the way out of here #writing #personal

[willows-woes]

tw // talk of restriction and sh.

this is long.

(why the fuck are you even here?? i never act on these, i'm too fucking weak. it's pathetic, i know.)

at least i am eating 2 meals a day [on a bad day], that's all that matters to them. at least it's not a ridiculously small portion that's smaller than the eight year old, and then again only once a day. crying over the thought of putting food in my mouth. crying.

i don't want to be better. i don't want to eat this much.

i feel fucking horrible. i feel disgusting. but i can't restrict well anymore. it just feels impossible to do anything less than 2 meals.

i wish it wasn't. i want to be sicker.

i want to be sicker.

jesus christ. they're worried enough already. they think i'll bleed to death. i don't need an ed relapse on top of that. if their attention is my motive, they already have all eyes on me for the self-harm.

but i never bothered recovering, did I? there was never a 24 hour period where i honoured every hunger cue that i had. i always tried to restrict at some point.

i'm weight restored now. but that makes my ed brain feel even worse.

it feels like i'm eating so fucking much, even though my body is back to normal. i hate it.

i never feel in control, no matter what i do. i want control back. i want to like myself.

#tw ed #tw ed thoughts #tw restriction #ed vent #tw sh mention #sh vent #negative #long post

[thedawningofthehour]

Gah- Every time your fic updates I scream at my friends “gUYS THE TABLE FIC UPDATED GUYS” and summarize the whole story every time -

The chapters always hit so hard I hope it never ends- Anyways uh these are questions people probably asked but 1. Who’s ur fav TMNT character overall? 2. HOW DO YOU WRITE SO GOOD-WHEN DID YA START WRITING?

also if you ever make a playlist- the first song that reminded me of doth was Angel Wing Paradise and I don’t even know why

I'm still floored by the fact that you kids talk to your friends about fanfiction. When I was in high school you did not admit to reading or writing fanfic lol. The only thing we'd admit to was reading My Immortal, and then literally just to make fun of it. Don't get me wrong-it's a good surprise! I'm glad that you guys feel like you can be more open about that kind of thing now. It's all very silly in retrospect, isn't it? Fanfiction isn't anything to be ashamed of.

Favorite TMNT character is Donnie, hands down. My favorites shift depending on the iteration but Donnie is always in my top two.

Well, I started publishing fanfiction when I was thirteen and I'm twenty-eight now. And even before that, I was writing little handwritten stories in notebooks I was supposed to be using for class. My best friend and I would sit at a table during our after-school program and read each other's work. It was all terrible, obviously-I remember the big thing she was working on for a while was a dark retelling of Thumbelina, and this was before dark retellings were a thing. But we were having fun.

I also went to college for this, but I'm going to be honest with you guys. I think it did more harm than good. The literature classes, yeah those are important, (except for the fact I had to read The Lottery FIVE DIFFERENT TIMES) but I got very poor responses from my professors for my writing classes. I don't mean to imply that I can't take critique and sometimes it was very valid, (like in my poetry class-I suck at poetry, I know it, I fucking hate writing poetry) but for the most part it felt like they were just mad that I wasn't a complete beginner. No shit, these were 2000, 3000 level classes and the assignments would be something like 'write something that demonstrates a rising action.' Yeah we learned about that in the fourth grade. I'm paying money for this. But it did really fuck with my self-esteem and I ended up not writing much for a few years.

(I will not show you guys the account I had at thirteen but if you ever feel discouraged by your own writing-trust me, it was BAD. I kept writing and I got better. That's the only way you'll ever improve)

The song in question:

I can see why it reminds you of this fic. Not really my taste, but we'll see what everyone else thinks.

#doth asks

[uselessroyals]

yr fanfic reccs - 1 year anniversary editions

I have only been in the fandom for a couple of months, but it's been so much fun, i love our little community and i love all the art and of course the fanfics. which i have read quite a lot of SO here is a little list of some of my favourites that i think people should definitely check out! All of these also exist in a google docs here, if that's easier to see. so, without further ado, i present, the list:

Oneshots

"let's start a revolution" by huojuvuus

G, 1k words, What if, Wilhelm admitted it was him in the video, Fluff

"eyes full of stars" by buttercupkisses

G, 3k words, What if, Erik surprises Wilhelm at the parent’s lunch and meets Simon, Fluff

"grin" by but_at_least_i_have_an_iced_coffee 

T, 2.1k words, What if, Erik fell into a coma instead of dying and now he's awake, but knows nothing about the sex scandal or Simon or Wilhelm's less-than-straightness, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

"Show me how (you care)" by orphan_account 

T, 3.1k words, Season 1, Retelling from Simon's pov, Introspection, Hurt/Comfort

"a baby heart attack, if you will" by paldogangsaan 

T, 9.7k words, Pre-canon, Wilhelm’s mother sets him up with a respectable rich girl who just happens to make a deal with Wilhelm to give the queen of Sweden a “non-lethal heart attack.” (For legal reasons, that is a joke), WLW/MLM solidarity, Fake Dating, Humor, Hurt/Comfort

"The worst things in life come free to us" by ageminiheart 

NR, Chose not to use warnings, 2.5k words, Season 1, Episode 5, Simon’s pov of Lucia night, Angst

“i wonder how you view me” by peonyseas

T, 3.1k words, Season 1, Episode 1 and 2, Simon’s pov of the events leading up to their first kiss, Fluff

“breathe in” by rainingover

T, 2.5k words, Season 1, The morning after, Simon and Wilhelm talk about how they got here, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort 

“she didn’t tell me to stop” by fishscalesky

M, 1.6k words, Season 1, Wilhelm struggles with self harm, Hurt/Comfort

"we could call it even" by loyaulte_me_lie 

T, 12.7k words, Post season 1, eight years after the fact, Simon and Wilhelm fall back into each other’s orbits, this time everything goes right, Angst, Fluff

"the revolution will not be televised (but it will be put on instagram)" by pissedofsandwich 

T, 17.9k words, Post season 1, Simon deals with the immediate aftermath of Wilhelm's denial, Felice and Wilhelm concoct a juvenile plan to get the invasive press off Simon's back, Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort

"worst kept secret in history" by toffeelemon 

G, 10k words, Post season 1, Wilhelm decides to say fuck what people think and fix his relationship with Simon, Fluff

"you're everything i have (and i don't think i've had enough)" by storyoftucks 

G, 2.1k words, Post season 1, Wilhelm bumps into Simon at a party and they finally get the chance to talk about them and their relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

"This Boy" by fandom_commitment_issues 

T, Underage, 10.3k words, Post season 1, Wilhelm comes home for Christmas and Kristina invites his friend from his old school over, Hurt/Comfort

"Let Me Go" by paspeurpasseul 

T, Chose not to use warnings, 2.6k words, Post season 1, Wilhelm and Simon talk for the first time since Christmas break, it's harder than Wilhelm thought it would be to see Simon smile again, especially when that smile isn't directed at him, Angst

"forget me not" by spa_ghetto 

T, 6.7k words, Post canon, Simon hits his head and gets temporary amnesia, Established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"Dandelions" by willehelms 

G, Chose not to use warnings, 1.4k words, Post canon, Wilhelm is tipsy and in love, Established relationship, Fluff

“was it worth it?” by hannakin

NR, Major Character Death, 8.5k words, Post season 1, in the years following the whole nation witnesses the Crown Prince’s downfall, Angst

“slide tackle” by pulses

T, 5.2k words, Post season 1, The last time Wilhelm ever spoke to his brother, Erik had laughed at him and said, “just pretend you're someone else”, for what it's worth: he'd tried, Introspection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

"only fools rush in" by toffeelemon 

G, 22.3k words, Hillerska AU, It actually wasn’t Wilhelm in the video and Simon and Wilhelm are best friends, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"and they were roommates" by toffeelemon 

M, Underage, 28.5k words, Hillerska AU, Simon is a boarder and he and Wilhelm are roommates, Friends to lovers, Angst, Fluff

“Summer ‘68” by Lizzie_Morgenstern

T, 3.2k words, 60’s AU, A chance meeting during an engagement in England leads to Prince Wilhelm of Sweden getting high, confronting some inner fears, and thinking a little too much about a kimono-wearing, golden-skinned boy, Fluff

“oh christmas tree” by Elin98

NR, 6.7k words, AU, Wilhelm doesn’t go to Hillerska, he knocks a christmas tree into Simon’s head at the Hillerska choir’s christmas concert, Fluff, Humor

“opening hours? never heard of them” by Elin98

T, Chose not to use warnings, 11.2k words, AU, Simon works at the local corner shop, Wilhelm is that annoying customer that stumbles in just as he's about to close, much to Simon's dismay, for some reason the prince keeps coming back, Humor, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

“5 times the students of Hillerska didn’t realize Wille and Simon were together + 1 time they definitely did” by Piebingo

T, Underage, 8.4k words, Hillerska AU, As the title suggest, Oblivious classmates, Humor, Fluff

Multichaps

“Other people’s secrets” by Sflow

M, Chose not to use warnings, 238.5k words, 33/33 chpt, Season 1 + Post season 1, In the last weeks before Christmas, Henry learns a few things he isn’t meant to know, makes amends with Simon, and gets caught between conflicting loyalties. In the spring, those lessons bring unexpected outcomes for him and his friends, old and new, Plot, Redemption arc, Scheming, Hurt/Comfort, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, Fluff

“5 times Linda was a good mom to Wille + 1 time Kristina was a good mom” by Piebingo

T, Underage, 20.4k words, 6/6 chpt, Season 1, As the title suggest, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

“You are real, and I am real” by yrbby

T, Major character death, 77.2k words, 10/10 chpt, Season 1, Simon goes back to find Wilhelm after he finds out about his brother’s death and grief helps their relationship grow, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"We should just kiss (like real people do)" by sofia_with_an_f 

M, Underage, 30.9k words, 15/? chpt, Post season 1, character study of Wilhelm, Introspection, Angst

"international relations" by spa_ghetto 

T, 21.7k words, 5/5 chpt, RWRB crossover, Post season 1, Simon runs into Alex Claremont-Diaz on the bus and they become friends, Humor, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

"Put Me Back Together and Take My Heart" by notalotgoingonatthisinstant 

M, 49.5k words, 10/10 chpt, Post season 1, Simon gets a serious head injury and it might be the last straw for Wilhelm to gather the courage to blackmail his mother, Angst, Plot, Hurt/Comfort

"my kingdom come undone" by tennisfangirl 

M, Chose not to use warnings, 9.2k words, 3/3 chpt, Post season 1, Wilhelm goes looking for salvation at the bottom of a bottle, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

"call me back" by paldogangsaan 

M, Chose not to use warnings, 15.8k words, 6/6 chpt, Post season 1, Wilhelm attempts, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

"Answer Me This" by BishopRose 

T, 10.2k words, series, 2 works, Post season 1, What if Wilhelm and Simon both eventually moved on, heartbroken, but never really stopped thinking about what could have been? What if they thought they’d never see each other again... until suddenly, years later, Fate stepped in, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

“if hurting wounds could mend (never left that place inside my head)” by Lire_Casander

T, 29k words, 36/36 chpt, Post season 1, Wilhelm gets in a car accident and Kristina figures out how to be a mother again, Introspection, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

“Chosen Family” and “Get What You Deserve” by QueenKatelynTheAristocrat

T, 17.3k words, series: 2 works, RWRB crossover, Post season 1, After the video is leaked to the public, Wilhelm calls his cousin Prince Henry of Wales for help, Henry and Alex proceed to drop everything for a trip to Sweden to rescue him, Hurt/Comfort

“my favorite crime” by numinousliebe

G, 9.7k words, 3/3 chpt, Post season 1, There’s nothing that matters, once Simon is there, right in front of him, nothing else, nobody exists. He wishes Simon was here right now, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

“Make Me Feel Something” by photographer_of_thoughts

M, 25.8k words, 8/8 chpt, Post season 1, The boys have to go through a whole lot of hurt and healing before they can find their way back to each other, Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort

“it takes a fool (but we both are so it’s okay)” by cl0udy_mi1k

T, Underage, 33.9k words, series, 3 works, Post season 1, Between Christmas and New Years, Simon's friends tell him to check instagram, Fluff

“My Baby’s Dancing (With Another Man)” by Wilmonskiss

G, 2.7k words, 2/2 chpt, Post season 1, A new student at Hillerska who shares Simon's ideals, and a jealous Wilhelm at an end of year dance at Hillerska, Angst, Fluff

“on-campus” by spa_ghetto

T, 70.8k words, 27/27 chpt, Post season 1, After the Christmas break Simon and Sara come back to Hillerska as boarders, Wilhelm tries to figure out why this feels off, Plot, Slow burn, Scheming, Hurt/Comfort

"call me up late" by royalwilmon 

T, 29.1k words, 20/20 chpt, Texting AU, Simon gets the wrong number from a classmate and accidentally texts Wilhelm instead, Hidden identity, Fluff, Humor

"only fools remain sane" by Elin98 

NR, Chose not to use warnings, 40.5k words, 11/11 chpt, Hillerska AU, Wilhelm convinces Simon that they should fake date to see if the Crown's recent announcement of accepting same-sex relationships is legit or just for show, Fake dating, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"did you see the love in my eyes, oh were you gazing through this disguise?" by millie_cheesesteak 

M, 60.5k words, 11/12 chpt, Hillerska AU, Simon's toxic ex starts at hillerska and Wilhelm decides to help simon show him that he's moved on, Roommates, Fake dating, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"A Royal Intervention" by AnxiousAnaconda 

T, 17.8k words, 8/8 chpt, AU, Erik doesn’t die, and he is a slightly overprotective older brother, Plot, Hurt/Comfort

"the way you look at me" by strummerjoe 

T, 33.7k words, 13/13 chpt, University AU, Simon didn’t go to Hillerska, him and Wilhelm are roommates at university, Friends to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

"and each slow dusk" by loyaulte_me_lie 

M, Graphic violence, 48.5k words, 3/3 chpt, AU, two months after Wilhelm’s arrival at Hillerska, war breaks out, when his and Erik's last-ditch attempt to leave the country goes badly wrong, he ends up stuck in Bjärstad - with Simon, Plot, Politics, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

“home is where I want to be (but I guess I’m already there)” by millie_cheesesteak

M, Chose not to use warnings, 19.4k words, 5/5 chpt, University AU, Wilhelm gets sent to a University in Wisconsin after the fight, Simon is the cute classmate who works in the local coffee shop, Hidden Identity, Fluff

#this is just the thing that i do #find fanfics #young royals fanfiction #young royals fanfic #young royals fanfic reccomendations #young royals #young royals ao3 #young royals season 1 #young royals season 2 #demeter's rambles

[faggot-friday]

We had an assignment in English class. Now, keep in mind that our English teacher is an absolute piece of shit. Half the reviews on our school is just people asking the principal to fire her. She called the queer community the "LBGTs". A kid was struggling with his work and she deleted it. Not in a closed-it-and-didn't-save kind of way, she actually deleted the entire document. (We can't access recycle bin on the school computers so he couldn't get it back.)

Our assignment was, in a nutshell, to write Lord of the Flies fanfic. I fucking hated that book. I'm not a big fan of classics in general (they drag on), but I especially disliked this one (mostly because of the way it was taught, but also a little bit about the ending). Specifically, we had to either rewrite the ending, or write one of the characters 20 years after the ending.

I was already an experienced fanfic writer (this was eight months ago), and so I decided I'd get an easy pass by just giving Ralph trauma, as you do. He'd killed someone, and he'd watched the closest thing he had to a friend die at the hands of his boyfriend. So I figured out what your average response to that kind of trauma is, and I wrote 800 words exactly of that. (I was very proud of having 800 words, actually.)

The day after we had all submitted it, my English teacher read out her favourites. There was three of them. I can't remember the first (sorry to whoever wrote it lol), but I remember the second. It was pretty good, written in a similar style to the actual og book. It got something like 98%, and the marks were lost because of lines like "he ran into the forest, never to be seen again". Which seemed a little harsh, but nothing more than we were used to.

And then she read out mine, and I fucking just. Died. Right there at my desk. I pulled my mask as high as it could go without being over my eyes and I tried to merge with the shitass chairs they have.

She finished reading it, and then the entire class were instructed to analyse it. We're the gifted and talented class, but half of us are neurodivergent and/or wannabe footy boys, so some of us weren't concentrating, but those who were seemed pretty happy to analyse it. This just added to my embarrassment.

So, I kid you not, they started listing all the shit that was wrong with Ralph in this fic. PTSD, survivor's guilt, it was implied he was suicidal, he was technically self-harming, so many other things I can't even remember.

I got 100%, and it was the second 100% that teacher had given out in her entire career (which is a lot of years). Fucking shocked.

TL;DR: I got a 100% on a Lord of the Flies fanfic because I took one look at the assignment and dumped a massive bucket of trauma all over Ralph.

#tl;dr #lord of the flies #tw swearing #ask to tag #i can post the actual fic if anyone wants me to #long post