#I need a clean slate badly

[anyataylorjoys]

spring cleaning includes deleting 80% of my drafts, removing all unfinished projects from photoshop and closing all 355 of my open tabs

[honeytonedhottie]

what i learned during my reflection period⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧖🏽‍♀️🎀

as you may or may not have noticed, i've been hiatus for most of the month now. and i disappeared because of personal reasons, and one of those reasons being that i felt i needed to reflect. here are some things that i've learned and realized during my reflection time.

this is quite personal to me, but i wanted to kind of have a heart to heart with you guys and im sure that someone is probably struggling with what i mention in this post so i hope this is comforting...💬🎀

WHY I FELT STUCK IN MY LOA JOURNEY ;

i was literally doing the most and it felt like such a chore at the time. i would force myself to affirm in ways that felt unnatural, i was letting myself get bullied by the 3D, even though i KNOW i dont have to do a thing. i was putting way too much effort in the wrong way.

WHAT'D I DO ABOUT IT ;

i took a step back and RELAXED. i did what felt natural again and enjoyed manifesting again and because of that i've had success story after success story...💬🎀

DOING A SELF AUDIT ;

i wanted to take a second and expose toxic behaviors and patterns that i noticed i exhibit and that have started to affect not only my physical but my mental in a very very negative way.

i'd been struggling with regulating my emotions and managing them so i was a walking ball of stress 💀. a beautiful ball of stress but stress nonetheless. i just felt so stuck.

WHAT'D I DO ABOUT IT ;

i went through the motions and after having a total meltdown and doing a bit of journalling i released everything, giving myself a completely clean slate once more.

i did a bit of a refresh and did miscellaneous things to make myself feel like im starting again. things like self concept work, changing the theme of my phone, taking an everything shower + bubble bath, having a pinterest makeover and getting a trim on my hair.

i forced myself to drink more water, and go for long walks not only to get some sunlight but to get my heart pumping and push myself out of the depressive rot that i had been in for months internally, but had pushed itself out as soon as summer started.

THE DEATH OF A SITUATIONSHIP ;

i got really attached to this boy 😭 but he was such a piece of work. like he did that hot and cold shit, but i rly rly liked him so i ignored the obvious red flags. but i got to a point where i just felt used and embarrassed. upon further reflection i think i didn't wanna let him go because he was so fine 💀, like 6'5 muscular kind of fine.

no matter how handsome a guy is if he has an ugly personality or if he just treats u badly then hes not fine at all...💬🎀

WHAT'D I DO ABOUT IT ;

i went no contact. thats like the easiest way to get over someone i think lol. i went no contact and i just manifested better things for myself. like being asked out by a bunch of guys and wingstop to comfort myself 🧋

also i focused on what i got out of the whole thing. i got the redirection that i wanted, PLUS i was filled with inspiration for my song writing.

SONG RECOMMENDATIONS ;

i want war (BUT I NEED PEACE) - kali uchis

eternal sunshine - jhene aiko

let you go - clara la san

needy - ariana grande

AT THE END OF THE DAY ;

i wanted to include this section as a reminder that everyone goes through shit. things happen. its okay to be affected by it and its okay to be sad. the most important thing is to not dwell on it too long. remember that you are not a victim and remember how amazing you are BECAUSE YOU ARE. you are amazing and no matter what happens, regardless of anything your gonna be okay and your gonna be in a much better place, it starts with putting one foot in front of the other...💬🎀 (love honey)

[bobalegsanji]

Trust me

Chapter 1 ☆ Chapter 2

Late night talks between a certain cook and a swordsman.

Or, Sanji feels the need to learn more about Zoro after Thriller Bark.

Or, Zoro needs to learn more about Sanji after Whole Cake Island

Zosan. Words: 7,806.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety.

One Piece Masterlist

The rain splattering on the window calms Sanji’s heart.

He’s always loved the rain. The comforting sound of it falling to the ground, the coolness of the droplets on his skin- it’s something a lot of people take for granted, but not him.

The kitchen has been scrubbed clean from bottom to top. A few hours ago, the mess was unimaginable: all the cabinets were empty, random ingredients scattered all over the floor, at some point a half-empty bag of flour even slipped through his trembling hands. But it’s been taken care of.

Sanji looks around the clean kitchen. He’s proud of his work, as always, a clean slate always makes him excited to get started on breakfast tomorrow morning.

Or, in like, 2 hours.

Looking at the clock, Sanji sighs softly. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. Nightmares have been plaguing him all his life, but something about Thriller Bark seems to have triggered something. There’s no real link between the happenings at Thriller Bark and his lovely childhood home, but for some reason, his subconsciousness (or whatever decides your dreams) has found something. Most of his nights are now spent reliving a dark dungeon, the feeling of bugs crawling up his leg and the never-ending hunger pangs he’d learned to accept as normal.

Call him a fool, but Sanji would rather spend his restless nights cleaning and baking than desperately trying to hold on to a few minutes of sleep.

Looking outside, he suddenly spots something that definitely should not be up there.

‘’Stupid, fucking Marimo,’’ Sanji mutters under his breath. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the countertop, his knuckles are white from the force with which he holds himself up.

He walks over to the window to get a better look. There he is, the green-haired idiot drenched in the rain, staring out over the night sea. The drenched bandages can be seen from a mile away.

Quickly, Sanji opens the door to the deck. ‘’Idiot,’’ he says, loud enough to be noticed, (hopefully) not loud enough to wake any of their sleeping crew members. ‘’Come inside, you bastard.’’

Zoro’s head immediately turns. His hands automatically find his swords, and, oh my god, is he really wearing those right now?  

Sanji could curse that stupid swordsman for not taking care of himself. ‘’Get the fuck inside,’’ he tries again.

The swordsman doesn’t move for a few seconds, but then slowly walks over towards the kitchen. A slight limp is noticeable at every step.

Sanji slams the door behind him. Let that idiot open it himself, if he’s so sure he can handle being out of bed already.

He gets started on heating up some water as the door opens again.

‘’Chopper gave everyone very clear instructions: do not let you out of bed. If we see you anywhere but at the infirmary, we have to drag your fat ass back to bed and wake Chopper up as soon as possible so he can check your injuries. Again.’’ Sanji says, not looking up from searching through the box full of tea. Zoro only drinks green tea, Sanji makes a mental note to buy more on the next island. They’re running low, he’s been adding it to his breakfast and lunch for the past few days.

‘’I don’t need a babysitter,’’ Zoro says, annoyed. He drops himself on one of the stools at the table with a grunt. ‘’Fuck, that hurts.’’

‘’No shit, you got beat pretty badly,’’ Sanji says. Once there are two mugs, one with a tea infuser full of green tea and the other with black tea, he turns around. ‘’I carried you back to the crew myself.’’

A slight blush creeps up on Zoro’s cheeks. ‘’You didn’t have to.’’

Sanji’s eyes fall down to the drenched bandages. The problem is, he understands. He understands the need to do everything alone: to not want to be a burden, to be determined that you can do anything on your own. But Zoro’s been hurt, and even though the way how is still a bit fuzzy, it’s obvious it happened to protect the crew. ‘’Let me have a look at your bandages,’’ Sanji says, walking over towards the swordsman while simultaneously throwing a clean kitchen towel towards his head. ‘’And dry yourself off, you’re watering the non-existent plants on the ground.’’

He should’ve been a bit more careful. Zoro’s reflexes aren’t up to speed yet. The towel hits him right in the face, the hand that was supposed to catch it lifts a second too late to grasp nothing but air.

The swordsman grunts softly, but makes no sound otherwise.

Uncertain about what to do, Sanji takes another clean towel to pat the drenched bandages dry as carefully as possible. ‘’Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll get Chopper,’’ he says.

‘’It’s okay,’’ Zoro says through clenched teeth (It’s so very obviously not, but Sanji won’t tell on him. Even though he will keep it over his head for as long as possible that he could’ve) . ‘’A little rain won’t kill me.’’

‘’I know, but what if the rain infects something? You think Luffy needs a dying swordsman?’’

Zoro doesn’t respond, and Sanji knows he’s won.

“Chopper does enough for me,” Zoro says after a moment of silently drying him off. 

“He does, so don’t try to make his job harder. Just stay in bed, eat the food I make you, accept the comfort the crew offers, and you’ll be allowed to nap on the deck all you want before you know it,” Sanji says. At that moment, the tea kettle makes itself known, and Sanji drops his towel on the kitchen counter to resume the tea. 

There’s a comfortable quietness until Sanji puts a steaming mug of tea in front of the man.

“I’m hungry,” Zoro mumbles, before taking a small sip of his tea. 

Sanji murmurs something confirming. “Onigiri?” 

Zoro nods, savouring the taste of green tea on his tongue. “Thanks. For the tea, I mean. But also this, everything, you know?”

Sanji can’t help the small chuckle that leaves his mouth. No matter how much the idiot can get on his nerves, he’s kind of cute sometimes, too. Very out of touch with his emotions, a terrible conversationalist, dumb as a rock, but slightly adorable. “Don’t thank me. You’ll get onigiri for breakfast too, is that okay? You had it for dinner last night as well.”

“That’s okay,” Zoro responds. “I don’t get sick of it.”

“I still don’t understand.” Sanji puts the tray of salmon onigiri in the middle of the table. It’s 3 am and he’s been up all night, he might as well have a snack too. He’ll make new ones for Zoro’s breakfast anyway, and there’s a non-zero chance either of them will get any sleep beforehand.” You never get tired of the same meal. I’ve found a recipe you might like. I’ll see if I can make it tomorrow.”

Zoro immediately shakes his head. “No need. You make enough I like.”

“I promise, it’s Zoro-friendly,” Sanji smiles. “I know you and your preferences well enough.”

The swordsman doesn’t respond, but then again, he never really bites the bait when Sanji focuses on his eating habits. 

After drum island, Chopper insisted on examining every single straw hat to make sure he’d be up-to-date with any medical issues. Everyone had noticed Zoro’s quirks. They weren’t problematic, per se, more confusing. He refused to eat anything but onigiri, he’d space out in loud or crowded spaces, the absurd hyperfixation on swords, and during dinner time no word would leave his mouth. 

Sanji had been worried, even though he’d never admit it out loud. Chopper had sat them all down and finally put all of Zoro’s off-behaviour in one word. Sanji’d never heard of it, the exact name had been forgotten the moment after Chopper first said it, but it had helped.

Zoro didn’t like to talk about it, he had left the room the moment he realised what Chopper was about to talk about. But everyone could see the improvements since Chopper’s revelation. He still didn’t eat different enough, according to Sanji, mostly complaining about texture and weird taste, but they’ve found recipes that work. 

Everyone’s learned to deal with Zoro when he needs them, even if he never admits it. 

“Thank you for the food,” Zoro says with a mouth full of rice.

“Don’t thank me,” Sanji responds, grabbing an onigiri for himself and ignoring the horrible table manners. “If you want me to make you anything else, anything, just ask.”

Zoro nods mindlessly, more focused on the food than on the question.

Sanji doesn’t mind. 

The silence is comforting at this hour of the night. Soon, both the tea and onigiri are gone, and Sanji starts to slowly clean up after them.

“Where are you going?” Zoro asks, a bit bewildered.

“Just cleaning up,” Sanji responds with a handful of their plates. “Have to start prepping breakfast, too,” he sighs deeply at the image of another busy day ahead of him with no sleep. 

Zoro averts his eyes, awkwardly staring at his hands on top of the table. “Can you… Can you wait a bit with that?”

A shocked sound leaves Sanji’s throat before he can help it. Zoro never asks for company, and definitely not his. “Of course. Is there any specific reason?” He tries to sound nonchalant as he puts the dirty dishes down in the sink. That is a problem for later.

“Just…” Zoro struggles to find the exact words. His hands clench and unclench repeatedly, a quirk Sanji noticed all the way back at the Baratie when Zoro couldn’t figure out what he’d like to eat. “I kinda liked sitting here with you.”

A soft smile finds its way to Sanji’s lips. “Don’t tell Chopper, but do you want some sake?”

Zoro’s eyes light up like he’s just heard the greatest idea ever.

In no time, 3 bottles are sitting in front of the two men. Zoro reaches out for the first bottle like a starved man, drinking straight from the bottle. Droplets drip down his chin and neck. Sanji allows himself to stare until Zoro puts the bottle down.

‘’Don’t drink too much. If anyone finds out about this they’ll have my head.’’

Zoro chuckles. His hand pushes the bottle nearest to Sanji closer to him. ‘’Drink up.’’

His pathetically low alcohol tolerance ignored, the cook starts to sip from the bottle. It’s Zoro’s favourite, definitely not his, but it’s fine. God knows the swordsman deserves some treats after the whole Thriller Bark fiasco (as soon as he’s recovered, though, any kind of special treatment is over) . 

‘’You know you can take your swords off, right?’’ Sanji remarks. ‘’Not like I’ll fight you at this hour of the morning, or with your injuries.’’

Zoro’s eyes wander over to the swords on his hips. ‘’Firstly, I’m not injured.’’

Sanji can’t help the slight chuckle that leaves his lips.

‘’Secondly, I like having them close,’’ Zoro finishes. ‘’Just… Doesn’t feel good without them.’’ Absent-mindedly, Zoro puts his hand on top of Wado, as if checking whether it’s still there.

‘’Tell me about them,’’ Sanji says softly, refusing to look in Zoro’s direction. It’s a personal topic, something the two of them would usually never talk about. But there’s a tug in Sanji’s heart he hasn’t been able to ignore since finding Zoro, splattered with blood and injuries so bad he was sure the swordsman wouldn’t make it. They’re nakama, and no matter how much Sanji sometimes wishes he could ignore it, he loves Zoro in some weird, fucked up way. What kind of nakama are they if they don’t even know each other’s most valuable memories?

(Ironically enough, not even the captain truly knows him. It’s something that keeps him up at night, dry-heaving and clutching his heart as he can’t stop the memories from running through his mind. But his past has another form of importance than Zoro’s possessions. And in the cook’s mind, only one of them is important enough to voice aloud)

Zoro’s eyes wordlessly scan Sanji’s face. After some time, he sighs. ‘’They’re just swords, cook.’’

They both sip their drinks, ignoring the heavy air that has suddenly laid over the kitchen like a thick blanket. 

‘’They’re not.’’ Sanji’s finger plays with the rim of his bottle. ‘’I know they’re not just swords. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me.’’

A lighter clicks, and soon the familiar smell of smoke fills the air. 

Zoro takes the darkest sword out of its sheath first. Sanji recognises it as the newest addition.

‘’This is Shusui,’’ Zoro says, gently laying the sword in the middle of the table. ‘’I got her in Thriller Bark. I don’t know much about her, but she was used by a samurai from Wano.’’

Sanji nods, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. He doesn’t know much about swords. He knows how to use them, the memories of training with his sword until his arms were sore are engraved in his memory, but not much else. 

The click of the second sword being taken out of its sheath makes Sanji look up. He hadn’t noticed how zoned out he was, the cigarette is smoked almost to the filter.

He dumps the remains in an old cup filled with water the moment Zoro puts the second sword on the table.

There’s a soft smile on Zoro’s lips as he talks. ‘’This is Sandai Kitetsu, I got her in Logue Town.’’

Sanji can’t help the way he stretches out his hand. The red and gold handle is beautiful - even though he prefers not to touch any swords ever again, he can’t help but want to take a closer look at it.

To his surprise, Zoro swats his hand away. ‘’Don’t do that, she’s cursed.’’

‘’What?’’ Sanji’s eyes are big as he looks up at Zoro. Is that why he’s always so protective over his swords? 

Zoro shrugs his shoulders. ‘’I mean, you can touch it, I guess.. Just don’t use it. The user is supposed to meet an untimely death.’’ There’s an almost crazed smile on Zoro’s lips that’s usually only reserved for battles.

‘’You’re insane,’’ Sanji decides, putting his hands safely around his bottle of sake. 

‘’Maybe. But she’s saved your lives more times than I can count,’’ Zoro responds.

Sanji scoffs, ‘’that’s because you can’t count, knucklehead. You’ve never saved my life.’’ The moment the words leave his lips, he regrets them. Zoro’s still littered with injuries that prove the exact opposite.

‘’Hmmm,’’ Zoro hums, putting Sandai Kitetsu back on his hip.

‘’Wait! What about the other one?’’ Sanji asks, not able to suppress the slightly panicked tone in his voice. He wants to, needs to , learn more about Zoro. 

The swordsman stares at the table for a second without saying a word, before putting the last sword on the table. He does it so gently that Sanji would’ve known, without an explanation, how important it is to him.

He’s never talked about it to anyone but Luffy, but word gets around quickly in their crew. Hushed whispers about Zoro’s protectiveness of his swords, but this one in particular, immediately made Sanji understand that this sword is similar to his hands. They’re sacred, and everyone in the crew would do anything to protect them. 

‘’This is Wado Ichimonji,’’ Zoro says. His hand softly trails along the dull part of the blade. 

‘’She’s the one you put in your mouth,’’ Sanji says stupidly. 

Zoro nods. ‘’I got her from someone very important. And she,’’ he holds the black and white hilt in his hand, lifting it up slightly from the table, ‘’is going to help me become the greatest swordsman.’’

It’s unclear whether by ‘she’ he means the girl or the sword, but Sanji doesn’t care for the specifics. Zoro’s eyes are determined as he turns the blade around in his hands for a few seconds before putting it down and taking a sip of his sake.

‘’How did you get her?’’ Sanji asks, picking up another cigarette from his chest pocket.

A lighter clicks. Another bottle opens. 

‘’Kuina,’’ Zoro sighs. ‘’It… It was her sword. We made a promise, but she couldn’t keep it, so I got her sword.’’

‘’It’s beautiful,’’ Sanji notices. ‘’She… Did she gift it to you?’’

Wordlessly, Zoro shakes his head. The hands around his bottle tighten.

‘’She died. She was the best swordsman, or woman, whatever, the world would’ve ever seen.’’ Zoro sighs deeply. ‘’I never won from her, not once.’’

It might not be an appropriate moment, but with all the emotions and confession, Sanji can’t suppress a soft laugh. ‘’You couldn’t win? She must’ve been amazing.’’

Zoro laughs softly too. ‘’She was. She was beautiful, and funny, and the only friend I’ve ever had before Luffy.’’

‘’And,’’ Sanji starts. He doesn’t want to overstep, but it has to be said. ‘’And us, now, too. We’re your family, even though I’m not sure that we can compare to the best female swordsman to ever exist.’’

‘’Not female swordsman,’’ Zoro says, shaking his head as if trying to compose his thoughts. ‘’Just because… Just because she was a girl doesn’t mean she would’ve been the best female swordsman... She would’ve been the best swordsman. No man could’ve won from her.’’

Sanji nods. ‘’I’m sorry.’’

‘’But you’re right,’’ Zoro smiles softly. ‘’I’ve got the crew now. But I still miss her, every day.’’

With one last drag, Sanji drops the cigarette in the cup. It makes a soft splash as it hits the water. 

He’s no stranger to grief. Every meal he cooks, he feels his mothers presence nearby. The memories of falling asleep in her bed, the long walks towards the hospital wing and her soft smile are on some days the only thing that keep him upright. It’s ironic, really, because they’re the exact same memories that haunt him every minute of every day. Her loss created a void in his heart that he’s certain will never be filled. ‘’I understand.’’

‘’You do?’’ Zoro asks, almost hopeful.

‘’I do.’’ Sanji puts one hand gently on the blade of Wado. ‘’But you’ve got her with you, always, and that’s the most important thing.’’

The blade feels cold against his hand, but somewhere, Sanji’s sure he feels something more. A warmth that shouldn’t be there. It feels like a far away hug, or laughter, something he can’t quite place- but it’s comforting . He’s never believed in ghosts, but he can’t help and dwell a bit in the comforting feeling the blade gives him.

Sanji pretends he doesn’t see Zoro wiping a tear from his eyes. The swordsman clears his throat and takes a big gulp of the sake. ‘’I guess you’re right.’’

A comfortable quietness falls over them. The only interruptions are the far away sound of waves crashing against the ship and the sound of bottles clashing against the table.

After a long time, Sanji cuts through the silence. ‘’If you ever want to talk about her… I’m in the kitchen every night.’’

The laughter coming from Zoro might have made Sanji’s heart skip a beat.

‘’Don’t make fun of me!’’ Sanji says, faux-angry, ‘’I’m trying to be serious!’’

‘’I know, I know, sorry,’’ Zoro represses his laughter, but the smile stays. ‘’You’re just really cheesy, cook. No wonder the ladies don’t fall for you.’’

‘’Actually, plenty of women enjoy my company! Unlike you, you brute,’’ Sanji tone isn’t as biting.

Zoro looks Sanji right in the eyes, as if to dare him to go against him. ‘’And how do you know with whom I spent my free time, ero-cook? Been spying on me?’’

‘’I- I don’t!’’ Sanji sputters. ‘’I don’t care what you do in your free time, just… Shut it,’’ he stands up quickly, ready to disregard the now empty sake bottles in the bucket under the sink. ‘’And get the hell back to the infirmary before someone wakes up.’’

The swordsman hums. ‘’You think I have another 30 minutes left before someone wakes up?’’

Sanji turns around to look at the green-haired man. He’s still sitting at the table, two swords in the middle of the tabletop surrounded by two empty tea mugs. There’s no provocation in his voice, absolutely no indication that he’s trying to get under the cook’s skin. Just a soft smile and endearing eyes looking up at him.

‘’I think so,’’ Sanji responds. ‘’Want another cup of tea?’’

Zoro nods.

Chapter 1 ☆ Chapter 2

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER NINE: The Heart Is Hard To Translate

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Your coffee date with Matt continues, and you end up sharing more about yourself than you originally planned.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, hurt/comfort, dead parents, mentions of drug addiction, hints at child abuse, mentions of medical negligence, PTSD, flirting, pining (a smidge)

Word Count: 5.6k

A/n: This is the second part of chapter 8 with a direct connection, so be sure to read the previous chapter!

Read Chapter 9: The Heart Is Hard To Translate here on AO3

After giving the barista your coffee order, Matt reaches for his wallet. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, and he lets go of you momentarily to feel around for the right bill.

You don’t protest. You watch him, ready to step in if he needs help, but his cash is folded in the corners at varying degrees. He takes out a twenty-dollar bill and hands it to the woman behind the counter without trouble. “You can keep the change,” he adds with a smile that makes the barista’s brain backfire.

You would have gotten jealous at the look in her eyes if Matt paid more attention to her, but as soon as he has paid for your drinks, he turns away from her.

You notice that for someone who doesn’t make much money with his job, he still tips generously. You shouldn’t find the bare minimum so attractive, but you do because you can’t help yourself. You’ve grown lonely, and everything this man does is attractive to you in some twisted way that makes you wonder if you still have enough brain cells to survive.

This is on him, not you.

Now that someone is treating you like a human being, and paying you the attention you’ve been craving, telling you things you have always wanted to hear from a man who is not manipulating you into sleeping with him, your brain can’t comprehend all of the dopamine your brain is secreting. You feel high, so to speak, but it is not at all unpleasant. If anything, you want more. And that’s dangerous. You swore yourself to be careful. You can’t go through the same hell again. And you don’t want to be wrong about someone you like—again. 

You make your way over to the other end of the counter to wait for your order. Matt grasps your arm again.

“Is it okay if I hold onto you?” he asks, his voice softer than before. 

You blink up at him. “I–”

He’s about to let go of you, not even commenting but rather respecting the lack of consent before he could hurt you, but you stop his hand.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just zoned out for a bit.”

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I don’t always know the answer to that question.”

His thumb brushes your arm. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

He suddenly seems so protective, standing closer to you, blocking out the noise and the people around you. His head is tilted downward as if he’s truly looking at you, and maybe he is. 

You shake your head. 

“Did you just shake your head?”

“Shit,” you curse. “Yeah. Yes, I did. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Matt smiles at you, pulling you just a little closer. 

How do you tell him that you disappear in your head sometimes because your abusive ex-boyfriend made you believe that you are worthless? How do you tell him that you had to change your identity to escape his cruel hands? And how do you tell him that you want to be normal about this, but the man you once thought was the love of your life hurt you so badly that you lost all hope in ever being happy again?

Matt believes that he’s going out with Olivia Clarke, and she has a clean record. A clean slate. You don’t. And he’s not in this café with just a name—he’s there with you, and your history will always be there, no matter how many times you change your identity. He deserves to know, but you would not dare say it to him. Not now. And you’re not sure if you ever could.

Claire was right when she said that you can’t erase your past and that you can’t pretend it never happened. The past shaped you in cruel ways. You wish you could talk openly about it more than anything, but you can’t. Fear only plays a small part in it.

How are you supposed to deal with it? How is anyone other than you and Claire supposed to deal with the truth? Unless they fully understand, they can’t deal with it. It’s a lot of weight to force upon another person’s shoulders.

You hear your name being called, and you snap out of your trance. “That’s us,” you mutter.

Matt nods, following your every lead. “Are there any free tables by the window?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You grab the tray. “But wouldn’t you rather sit in the back? Fewer people there, which means it’d be quieter.”

“I’m asking for you.”

“But–”

“You should enjoy the view while I enjoy the auditory experience.”

He’s so incredibly patient with you. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. All of the excess blood settles into your head, and the heat in your cheeks makes you sweat. You hope your body can regulate its temperature before you start smelling. That would ruin not only your day but his as well. You brought deodorant, but once you’re drenched in sweat, even that won’t help you anymore.

“Table by the window it is then,” you say, trying to sound cool, but the slight crack of your voice betrays you. 

His face lights up with an irresistible smile, and you make your way over to the window. While Matt sits down, you put the mugs and the plates on either side of the table. 

“Sugar’s to your right.”

He nods, moving his fingers along the tabletop until he finds it. “Thank you.”

You shove the tray aside before taking a seat across from him. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you need some?”

“Sure.”

He searches for your cup, but it’s not directly across from his. You chuckle, gently guiding his hand. “I can do it myself, you know,” you tell him. 

“No,” Matt shakes his head, “This is my version of pulling the chair out for you. Like a gentleman.”

“That tradition is a bit old, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but I like to give.”

He pours some sugar into your cup. You pat his hand when you’re satisfied with the amount, and he instantly pulls back. 

You swirl the spoon around in the light brown liquid before you. “So, you’re a giver,” you state. “Is that due to your Catholicism?”

Matt chuckles over the brim of his own cup. “That depends on what I’m giving,” he says, and his voice has a certain edge to it. “Sometimes, religion has no place in what I’m doing.”

You shift in your seat. You know exactly what he means, and it causes the heat in the pit of your stomach to bubble over. Instead of answering, you dive face-first into your coffee.

If he likes to give, how good is he in bed? The question comes at the most inappropriate time, and you shrug it off. You can’t allow yourself to think like that or you definitely won’t make it out of this café alive. 

You decide to change the subject. “How’s your rib?” you ask in an attempt to sound casual.

He touches his side. “Oh, yeah. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Did you get it checked out?”

“No. It, uh, healed on its own.”

You want to scold him, but you decide not to. “The cut on your forehead also looks much better.” Your hand stops midway to his face. 

What are you doing? You’re not his doctor. If you were, you wouldn’t be here. But that also means that you have no right to his medical history, including whatever led him to get injured in the first place. 

You lower your hand again with a soft sigh, wrapping it around your mug instead. 

Matt’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “My wounds are known to heal faster than average.” He scratches the spot where the bandage used to be. “I can’t complain.”

“I get that. I’m just glad it’s nothing more serious,” you say. “You’re not experiencing any other symptoms, are you?”

“No, Doctor,” he says, and the amused smile he’s giving you makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, showing off his perfectly formed dimple. 

One downside of having a demanding job is that it gets hard to detach from your work persona after some time spent in the same profession. You close your eyes, exasperated at your behavior, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m sorry,” you chuckle. “I know I’m not your doctor. I’m out of line. I’m sorry.”

He cuts you off, “Don’t apologize. You care.”

“The problem is that I see every medical issue as something I need to fix and the fact that I sometimes work twenty-four-hour shifts and my life revolves around my work in the OR does not make it easier to have a normal conversation with a normal human being.”

“I could start using legal jargon if that would make you feel better.”

Again, you can’t help but laugh. The mood lightens, and some of the weight lifts off your shoulders. You take another sip from your latte. “It would even the stakes,” you say. “But I think I’ll get back to you on that when I have my first malpractice suit filed against me.”

“Ah, my partner and I would happily defend you,” says Matt. “Although you strike me as the kind of doctor who knows what she’s doing.”

“Well, you can know what you’re doing and still screw up. Most trauma patients are just thankful you’ve saved their lives after they come out of surgery, but trauma also isn’t just black and white. Our guts aren’t infallible, and our knowledge doesn’t always help with the in-the-moment decision we need to make when someone comes in on death’s door,” you explain. “I have seen good doctors sued for choosing to amputate a limb because there was a slight chance they could have saved it, and if I had been the patient, I would have done the same thing. So, I’m prepared that it might happen to me, too, eventually, and I’m prepared to either fight for myself because I know the decision I made was the only right one that presented itself in that current situation, or I will pay the price for my mistake.”

He hangs onto your every word. “That’s very self-reflective.”

“You have to learn how to be self-reflective yet confident in your work when you’re dealing with human lives. We’re not above valid criticism or the feelings of others.”

“And that is why you’re a great doctor,” he states. 

You shrug, taking another sip. “I try my best to do right by my patients.”

“Including jumping in front of a security guard’s gun?”

“If I have to.”

The silence that grows after your statement is heavy. Matt takes a deep breath. Maybe he’s grappling with the fact that you have to regard for your safety or your life.

“Why did you choose to go to med school?” he asks then. 

You pause. That is the one question you hoped he wouldn’t ask. It’s not a bad one but a hard one. There are many reasons you can recall from the top of your head, reasons everyone in medical school gave when they were asked, but you never thought of any of them before your freshman year. The reason you chose to go to medical school and become a doctor runs far deeper than one might think, and you never know how to put it into kind words that won’t put the mood down. 

You could tell Matt that you do mind and that the answer is too complex for your first official meeting together, but that would be rude. You feel like that would be rude, even though he probably wouldn’t mind, and it’s your life that no one but you is entitled to, but you still would feel bad to leave him hanging with such genuine curiosity. 

When you start fidgeting with your fingers, he slides his hand across the table. He doesn’t touch you though. 

How can no be a complete sentence and still be so fucking hard to say? 

“When I was two years old,” you say, “my mom took her own life because doctors blamed the symptoms of a hormone-secreting meningioma on postnatal depression.”

Somehow, once the truth is out, you’re less scared. You can’t tell what Matt is thinking. He leans back in his chair, almost as if he was struck by lightning. His nostrils flare. You wish he would have kept his hand next to yours a little longer. 

A million emotions flash across his face. Shame, guilt, maybe even a little pity. You can’t read him. And you’re not sure if your words shocked him to his core enough to cut this date short, or if he’s just trying to process what you told him. 

What if he thinks that you’re a freak now? What if he starts to think you’re too much work? Considering that this is only the tip of the iceberg that sank the Titanic—your life—if this is enough to make him think that way, maybe staying isn’t worth it after all. 

But he slides his hand back across the table, this time sliding it over yours. His calluses are rough, but his touch is tender. You only then realize that you’re shaking. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

You don’t want his pity, but you can’t deny that the way he’s focusing on you and holding your hand makes you feel comforted. 

How much further can you allow yourself to go?

Matt squeezes your hand. “So you wanted to become a doctor to make a difference after what happened to your mother?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You can’t deny him the answers he’s vying for. He’s respectful about it. You know you can pull out anytime you want to, but he has triggered a wave that cannot be stopped. 

Your answer is a swift shake of your head. “Not entirely,” you admit. 

“How so?”

“After she died, my father had to take a second, manual labor job to make sure I was fed and taken care of. I mean, I was a toddler, and he had to make money while also taking care of me. You know, since the American Dream is bullshit. Anyway, one day, he got into an accident at work. It completely wrecked his back, and he had to have emergency surgery. Afterward, they realized that he wasn’t insured. He got a very large bill with all the medical expenses the hospital didn’t cover. That also meant that he couldn’t afford the necessary physical therapy either, so he started taking opioids to deal with the pain.”

He grunts. It’s a story even he can foretell.

“Oxycodone turned into heroin, which turned into other recreational drugs. He lost his job when I was six, and we had to move into a trailer park because it was the only place that would have us. My father turned into a stranger that I had to take care of. The drugs messed him up too badly to even remember my name most days,” you say. “I always knew that I had to get out of there as soon as possible, so I worked my ass off for a scholarship. I graduated high school early. I worked two jobs. And after Stanford offered me a full ride, I left.”

You trace your index finger along the natural lines of the wooden table. A raspy scoff forms in the back of your throat. Matt’s thumb traces over the back of your hand, and you just want to cry. You want to laugh. You want to scream. You’re not sure what you want to do, but the silence is nauseating. 

“Me leaving also meant that my father no longer had someone to look after him when he was drunk or high.” You sigh. The memory is many years old, but you can still recall it as if it was yesterday. “So, two months into my freshman year at college, he overdosed on heroin. I knew then that I had to make a better life for myself and make sure the same thing that happened to me wouldn’t happen to the families of those under my care. And that’s why I made sure I would graduate with honors, and become a good doctor.”

The rest, you can’t tell him. You’re not ready for that. Because even though you worked hard to leave your childhood behind, your trauma caused you to seek the same kind of dysfunctional relationships that you grew up to hate. The irony is not even bittersweet anymore; it’s just bitter.

You did everything right, and it still wasn’t enough.

The tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You pinch the bridge of your nose to stop them. You can’t cry in front of him. His hand slips from yours when you pull back, and the breath you inhale turns into a weak laugh.

“I’m sorry, that was probably not the story you wanted to hear.”

Matt’s hand remains flat on the table, the veins on the back starting to bulge. His shoulders are a lot more tense than before. You still can’t read him. The wrinkles on his forehead seem so much deeper when he frowns. It’s not the judgmental type of frown though. Not a frown of confusion, either. His lips are turned down, and he looks sad—like he is feeling for you, with you, and he wants nothing more than to hold your hand again because he doesn’t know how to comfort you. 

The last thing you want is pity. The last thing you want is for him to apologize again for something in which he played no part. It is the kind of thing you would hear from anyone. You even heard it from Claire, and you hate it. You have hated it as a child, and you have hated it shortly after your father died and those people who never gave a shit about you suddenly came crawling back. 

You have no family left, and you have accepted that. You don’t need pity to know that the situation is far from fortunate and that you are scarred for life. You don’t need a stranger feeling sorry for you because you are already doing that plenty yourself. Besides, after your father turned to drugs, he grew into a monster, and you no longer grieve him.

Matt exhales, pulling your attention back to him. “I wanted to hear your story,” he says. “I didn’t expect that, but thank you. For telling me. I mean, you could have just lied to me.”

Relief washes over you. “But I didn’t want to lie to you,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He nods. He understands. You want to know why he is so understanding. Your heart is still racing, and you still haven’t fully averted the tears in your eyes. You’re not even sure you can find the words to ask. 

“I lost my father when I was nine.”

You hold your breath. You didn’t have to ask.

“He was shot,” he says. “I know it’s not the same as what you went through, but I understand what it’s like to have no one left.” You startle him when you take his hand, and Matt pauses. You squeeze, interlacing your fingers.

“I know it sounds cliché, but,” you say, “I think your father would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

He chuckles. “Hardly.”

“No, I think he would.”

You can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“He was a boxer, you know,” Matt tells you. “My dad.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He always told me, ‘It’s not about how you hit the mat, it’s how you get up.’ I like to believe he was right.”

“So, you’re saying even though we’ve been hurt—even though life kicked us down—we still have a chance at winning in life?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

The analogy seems philosophical—too far out of reach for you to grasp. It makes sense though. If you’re still alive and if you’re still breathing, there is a chance for you to get up and fight back until you finally hold the victory in your hands. Grief is a process. Eventually, it gets easier.

For someone so reserved, his father’s words offer a very optimistic outlook. 

You eye him. The mood has darkened after your admission. His eyebrows are furrowed deep in thought. You want to look beyond the façade. There are so many questions you could ask, but you don’t know where to start. You don’t even know if you should start. He already gave you a piece of him after you gave him a piece of you. Should you dare to go any further?

Matt takes the words right out of your mouth when he says, “You can ask.”

Either you have been thinking out loud or he is more perceptive than you gave him credit for. You lean back in your chair, playing with the muffin on your plate. You’re not hungry anymore. Not for food, at least.

“How did it happen?” you ask, your voice remaining a soft cadence. 

He doesn’t need you to define what you mean. With a nod, he leans forward. “Accident. When I was a kid,” he tells you. “A bunch of chemicals got into my eyes after I pushed an old man out of the way of an oncoming truck.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

The empathy in your eyes softens your expression. “You were just a child.”

He shrugs it off, “I did what anyone would’ve done.”

The vulnerability in his voice resonates deeply within you. It’s not at all hard to wrap your mind around the fact that an eight-year-old Matt Murdock saved an old man’s life. If anything, it underlines what you already knew. But a man this selfless with a past this dark can’t possibly not have any skeletons in his closet. There must be at least one secret he’s keeping. 

He’s reserved, guarded even, and he seems like he more often than not wants to protect his own heart. Like you. And you know that people like you and him keep secrets, often bigger than someone on the outside might realize until it’s too late. You want to be wrong, but you have grown used to silently observing because, for the longest time, you didn’t have a voice. You learned to study people, not just their medical conditions but their behavior as well. 

The truth weighs too much. It’s too heavy. So, Matt hides it away. That doesn’t change that he has a good heart, of course. It doesn’t change how selfless he is. It simply—or not simply at all—is what happens to children who go through hell and grow into damaged adults who don't know how to make good decisions for themselves, so they give everything and lose it all.

You clear your throat. He sets you on fire in the best ways possible. Though this time, it hurts a little more. “Not everyone would’ve done what you did,” you say. The calm sound of your voice stands in stark contrast to the noise around you. “Not everyone dares to act in the face of danger, especially at eight years old.”

Matt fidgets with the rim of his glasses. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“You saved a life, Matt,” you reassure him. “You’re a hero.”

A faint smile of gratitude tugs at the corners of his lips. “Thank you,” he repeats, “but I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“That’s why I’m saying it. We all have our demons.”

Some demons are just bigger than others and harder to kill, you want to say, but you close your mouth before you can give away things that would ruin the good thing that is building between you. 

As the weight of your words hangs in the air, there’s a fleeting moment of silence between you. Matt is the first to break it. “I guess we can scratch dead parents and a traumatic childhood off our bingo cards,” he says. It’s supposed to be a joke, but the truth hits too close to home for both of you. 

You laugh, but it’s more of a pity laugh, and he offers the same reaction. He just wanted to break the silence. You would have done a worse job, you are sure. 

Instead of dwelling too much, you raise your half-empty mug into the air. “I’ll drink to that,” you say. 

He mimics you. “Me too.”

“To dead parents and PTSD.”

“Oh, is that what it is?”

“Yes. All that’s missing is a sad backing track played on the trombone and we could make this a bad soap opera.”

That gets him. He laughs. His chest rumbles, and he almost loses control of his drink. You smile, happy that you made him laugh. When you see him like that, you feel a little less sad. A little less hopeless. A little less like a stranger in your own body and this world that everyone around you inhabits just the same. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about less serious topics. Things you would imagine two people on a date would talk about. Perhaps even two friends having a coffee and getting to know each other.

You talk about Matt’s law firm, why he went to law school in the first place, and how he survived his time at Columbia. He graduated as one of the best in his class. Judging from what he told you, he’s not exactly bad at his job. 

Matt tells you the story about how he met his best friend, Foggy; their time at college together as roommates, then working together at Landman & Zack as interns, and how it was Matt’s idea to quit their jobs and start their own practice. 

They gave up a job that would have paid them more than enough to get by without a struggle every month, but they quit because Matt’s core beliefs didn’t correlate with what the firm stands for. Foggy tagged along because he cares about his friend, and you’re starting to grow to like the other man—you only met him briefly at the hospital the other night, but he seemed like a good guy. Like draws to like. 

The attention is on Matt and your shared views for the longest time. He shares anecdotes, and you laugh because he is genuinely a funny person. He’s not just charming and in it to turn your head; your conversation flows effortlessly, and that shows how well you get along, even when you’re not flirting. 

Eventually, though, he decides to turn the focus on you again. “Okay,” he says. “Enough about me. You mentioned you went to Stanford.”

Your blood runs cold. You don’t want to hear his next question. You don’t want to answer it. You want to pretend you never told him about your childhood. Maybe he wouldn’t have thought about asking you about it then. If you had lied, he wouldn’t have had a reason to prod. You could tell him how uncomfortable it makes you, but you’re not that kind of person. You can’t do it. 

“I take it you’re not from around here then?” Matt asks. He sounds a bit more careful when he phrases the question, still as calm as ever. 

You exhale. He’s not pressuring you. You have to remind yourself that he is not the devil, and he is not John. He has made you feel safe up until now.

You swallow, then shake your head. “No. I’ve only been in Hell’s Kitchen for two years,” you answer. 

“So you’re from California?”

“Mostly here and there, actually.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Eh,” you shrug.

“I’ve never been further north than 116th Street,” he says. 

That catches your attention. “You love New York that much?” The little smile on your face as you say that is one of amusement and pure adoration. 

He grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. All of his memories are here. He’s blind. There are many reasons why going outside of his comfort zone may seem too terrifying for him, and you can’t blame him. If you hadn’t had to flee, you would still be in that same hospital in the north of California. You wouldn’t even have traveled because your life revolves around your work.

Matt scoffs. “You have no idea.”

“If it helps, I’ve never been outside of the country before either,” you confess. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Never really got the chance to.”

“Would you?” he asks curiously. 

You think about the question for a moment, then settle on a nod. “I’d love to go to Paris,” you say.

“Paris sounds nice. Where else?”

“Spain, Sweden, Germany, maybe. I’d even work for Doctors Without Borders in a third-world country.”

The next question out of his mouth strikes you like lightning. “So, why Hell’s Kitchen?”

Convenience. Survival. Distance. A new identity. 

“I imagine it’s not Metro General’s surgeon salary,” he says. “I heard it’s only good if you’re a world-class neurosurgeon.”

You struggle to find an answer. “It wasn’t the pay or the job, no.”

“Then why?”

“Life just happens sometimes, you know?” you answer. “Metro General was the only hospital with an attending position for me, so I took it. I’d travel the world if I had the financial means, but until then, Hell’s Kitchen isn’t so bad.”

You want to pat yourself on the back for coming up with that explanation. It’s not even a lie, it’s merely a perfectly concealed sliver of the truth. A diversion, so to speak.

The smile on his face suggests that Matt believes you, at least. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

I’m glad you’re here. You can’t remember the last time someone said that to you—probably because it never happened before. Your heart swells at least two sizes, and it refuses to shrink again. 

“Thank you,” is all you can muster up the courage to say.

Time flies, and before you know it, Matt asks for the time. His lunch break is long over. He has to get back to the office. You were having such a great time that you conveniently forgot that he doesn’t have a day off. 

“Can I get you a cab home?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “But I’ll walk you back to your office.”

Matt smiles gratefully at your offer. “I’d like that.”

As you walk together through the bustling streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his hand tightly clasped around your bicep, the afternoon sun casts long shadows on the pavement. His cane taps along the sidewalk with ease. He knows the city inside and out, but being a blind man in a sea full of people can get exhausting. Every time someone almost bumps into him, he moves closer to you.

Before you know it, you’ve reached the steps of Nelson & Murdock, Attorneys at Law. The only sign on the door is a makeshift piece of cardboard, but something about it makes more sense than a modern sign ever could. 

Matt turns to face you. “Thank you for today,” he says. “I haven’t had a conversation like this in... a long time.”

You return his smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you for sharing your world with me,” you reply.

“Thank you for sharing yours. I’ll call you, alright?” 

“I’d like that.” 

He squeezes your bicep one last time before making his way to the door. 

A sense of reluctance washes over you. You’re about to part ways with the first man you have been on a date with in years. The first man that has shown you genuine care in years, and the first man that has touched you in years. You have grown so used to being around him that you feel like you are letting him go forever, which sounds dramatic even to yourself, but it’s true. It’s scary, but it’s true.

He makes you feel the same cliché emotions over and over again until they are embedded in your bones; until they are embedded in your very soul, and you can’t get enough of him anymore. He draws people in like no other. It makes him dangerously attractive to you. It has been far too long since you’ve been wanted by a man—genuinely wanted.

You want to run up to that doorstep, wrap your arms around his waist, and pull him into you. You want to kiss him senselessly until you both forget your names. You want to see those beautiful cheeks of his flush because you’re being good to him the same way he is good to you. But you also wouldn’t mind if he held you. If he took a few steps back and decided to kiss you goodbye. 

He said that he would call you. That’s a good sign. He wants to see you again. Do you want to see him again? It’s not a hard question to answer. You need to see him again. It’s a desperate need deep within you, and you have no choice but to surrender to it. 

Matt doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t kiss you. Your body is still on fire when you blink and look up, but the doorstep is empty. 

His soft, “Get home safe,” lingers in the air, and you can hear yourself answer faintly, “I will.” And then, he’s gone.

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

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Unedited

chapter four: I’m better than ever

Read chapter three here

My masterlist

Song: Landscape with a Fairy by aspidistrafly

Summary: Link and Zelda start to get back on their feet, local problems in Hateno Village start to arise.

Warnings: PTSD, dealing with trauma

Word Count: 3.3k

Authors Note: sorry this took me so long to update! This is unedited so pls be kind haha. I love you all! Also I’m working on getting this uploaded to Ao3!

A few days go by, and Zelda finally starts to feel like herself again. After three days of laying in bed, drinking broth that Link makes for her, and falling into deep, dreary sleeps, she can finally get herself out of bed.

She walks downstairs, not feeling dizzy or nauseous, to find Link passed out against the table. His mouth is slack, and the smallest amount of drool dribbles out onto the cracked wood. His eyelashes are long and thick, and he has an old scar through one of his eyebrows, causing a clean-cut line of no hair. He looks so gentle when he sleeps, soft and peaceful. You would never guess he was the threat he was.

Zelda knew how badly he needed to sleep, he had spent days restless over her. She knew he got some rest here and there, but never enough to really help. She notices his shoulder shake, he isn’t wearing a shirt. She swears he never does at home. It was cold, despite it nearing summertime. Zelda goes to grab one of the wool blankets he keeps on a bench against the wall. Before she carefully drapes it around his shoulders, she examines the scars on his back. It’s littered with cuts and bruises. Some had healed well, and were only suggesting an injury. Others were a pale shade of tissue, some were still red and pink. One even still had his make-do stitches in it. She wondered who did them for him, and what battle caused the injury. Link still had bruises on his side and bicep from the fight with the calamity. They were starting to turn a jaundiced yellow and green, his body slowly healing them. Zelda’s stomach turns at the memories of the beast.

She shakes her head and sighs, placing the blanket over his bare skin and positioning it over his shoulders. Link stirs and his breathing shifts, he closes his mouth, swallowing before continuing his dreams. His hair is out of his hair tie, and it lies loose around his shoulders and face.

His face and look is so alluring, there's something about him that’s so comforting. She could sit with him all day, just with him as he slept, knowing that she’s safe.

She uses the washroom, taking her hair out of the old braid and letting the soft waves fall over her shoulders and cascade down her back. A pit churns in her stomach as she looks at her long hair. Her hair was always a part of her identity. Something she never cut, never damaged. It was beautiful, even after the years of divine wear and tear on it. She never had a choice with her hair. She didn’t get to make hardly any choices for herself. He runs her hands through her hair, sometimes she wished she could just rip it all out. Have a fresh slate.

She changes her clothes after searching for something fresh to wear, she would eventually need some of her own clothes. Zelda does all of this being as quiet as she can be. She doesn’t want to wake the sleeping hero at any cost. She finds an old pair of green pants that hit her at the knees, they’re comfortable, but tight to her skin. She finds the matching blue tank top that goes with it, and pulls it over her head. It feels nice to have some clean clothes on. When Link wakes up, she’ll ask if there’s a clothing store nearby.

The princess starts on breakfast, pulling some bird eggs from the cool inventory and a bit of goat butter. She has no idea what she’s doing, and very quickly realizes that she’s burning the eggs. In a panic, Zelda attempts to fix her mess, but somehow makes it worse. She quietly swears and before she knows it, Link is standing behind her, wrapping his arms around her body and replacing her grip on the skillet with his own calloused hands.

He engulfs himself around her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he pulls the burnt egg away from her. Her heart flutters, skipping a beat. She wonders how he was able to do an act that was so simple, so domestic. Did he think about it the same way she did? She felt safer and warmer in his embrace, wanting to linger there forever, feeling his bare chest against her back, but it's over all too soon. He steps away and fixes her mistake.

“I-I’m so sorry.” Zelda sighs. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothings wrong with you.” Link assures, “Open the windows.” He nods to the glass. Zelda goes to push them open, and they must not have been opened in years because they creak open with a tired groan and dust falls from the frames. Her breaths are quickly followed by coughs after the fact, and she scrunches her nose.

Almost immediately, Link is making a perfect omelet, and it smells wonderful.

“How do you do that?”

“Years of practice.” He smiles. “Grab some plates.” She follows his request again, his voice is still gruff and gravely from his sleep. Zelda places the plates on the table, facing across from each other. Link carries the pan over to the plates, cutting the omelet in half with his spoon and then placing each half on the plates, being sure to give Zelda the bigger piece. Zelda sits after thanking him, and instead of Link sitting across from her, he drags the plate for himself across the table to be next to hers, taking his place right next to her on the bench, legs pressing up against one another. Zelda begs her thoughts not to be too ambitious.

They eat mostly in silence.

“Is there a clothing store nearby?”

Link nods, “Yup, two of ‘em actually.” He looks at her, his eyes still sleepy, “I can go get you some if you like.”

“I would like to go with you, if that’s alright.” Zelda nods.

“Are you feeling well enough?” He asks.

“Mhm,” She hums, “I would really like to get out of this house.”

“What, you don’t like my house?” Link asks, pretending to be hurt.

Zelda giggles, chiding him, “I love your house.” She sighs, those words came so easily. The word ‘love’ lingers in her mind. “Will you teach me how to cook?”

Link laughs, “Oh no you can’t fix that.” He teases her in reference to her antics this morning. She frowns, unamused, and he sighs, “I’ll teach you, but in return I want you to teach me something, too.”

“Anything.” Zelda smiles.

“Teach me how to be brave. Like you.” He asks after a beat.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it… and I’m terrified. All the time I am.” He swallows, scared to open up like this, proving his own point. He glances at the princess who stares at him with her beautiful, green eyes which inspires him to keep going, “I know I’m the courage guy and everything, and don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of things, like I’m not afraid to beat up monsters or jump headfirst into a well, but I’m filled with this… this dread. Like something bad is going to happen and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it.” He explains, never being this vulnerable with anyone anymore. He used to be with Mipha back in the day, but she was gone because of something Link couldn’t stop.

“Link… courage and bravery are two different things.” Zelda states, taking a risk and placing a dainty hand on his, the touch is electric, they both feel it. “Bravery is the ability to walk into an enemy camp with a decayed weapon and two apples. Courage is the strength to keep fighting when it feels impossible to.” She explains.

Link looks at her, and he realizes how easy it would be to just lean over and kiss her. Her lips are so soft, so pink, so inviting. He glances at them a few times. He decides not to.

“I just… I just don’t want to lose you again.” He pulls his hand away, looking down at the empty plate dejectedly.

“Hey.” She pulls his gaze again, their eyes meeting once more. “You got me. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” She reassures him, and then rests her head on his shoulder. They needed one another.

He’s worried sick about her the entire time they’re in town. He can’t quit watching her, and she’s enthralled by the stimulation of the world around her. She almost gets plowed over by a kid running through the street, and she just laughs when it happens, the brightest smile on her face.

She takes a deep breath, feeling the sun on her face. The warmth of early summertime makes her cheeks a soft pink and eyelashes flutter.

“Did you have to bring that with you?” She asks, referencing the legendary sword that was strapped to his back. “It’s safe now, remember?”

Link frowns, “You can never be too-safe.” He just nods and she shrugs.

Zelda takes a hop-like step to the bulletin board posted in town to read the notices. One read that there would be a sale on milk up at the farm the next week, another was basic town hubbub, but one stood out to her. It was written by the hands of someone who isn’t very skilled with penmanship. It was a note asking for books, probably by a child. The note asked that someone would kindly donate a few new books for this young reader, leaving them on the bench outside of the mayor's home. She smiled, this was the type of kid she was.

A completely different note catches Link’s eye.

New monster spotted north-east of town. Killed two cattle. Please be cautious.

Link hums, turning the paper over to see if there’s any more information, but that was it.

“What is it?” Zelda asks.

“A monster. I would guess it's just a Moblin, but the note says it's new.” LInk frowns, perplexed. “I’ve fought every monster in Hyrule ten times over, there are only Moblins and Bokoblins in these parts.”

“Should we be worried?” She asks, her eyes blown-wide. She’s in constant fear of having to go through anything traumatic again.

Link shrugs, “I saw a destroyed fence the other day up there, I should probably go speak with the rancher.” He shoves the note in his back pocket, “Come on, let’s get you some clothes.” He holds his arm out for her to take, something he hasn’t done in a long time. He almost pulls it away in embarrassment but she gladly takes it, smiling at him as she does.

Both of their hearts threatened to burst out of their chests, but they each calmly forced themselves to stay composed.

Link leads her into one of the clothing stores, the door ringing from a bell as they enter. The shop was small, but had plenty of things in stock. Zelda pulls away from his arm sooner than either of them would have liked to start browsing. Link follows three steps behind, where he usually was.

“Link!” A woman smiles from the back of the shop. Ivee walks towards him, cheerful. “You’ve been gone for so long! I thought I heard you were back in town.” She says before wrapping her arms around him and hugging him. Link is a little surprised by it and doesn’t really hug her back.

Link nods with a smile. “I’ll be in town for a while.” He states, being friendly but not too friendly. He and Ivee have some history.

“You? Never.” She giggled, stepping closer to him, she was a bit shorter than him, and had cute brown eyes that sparkled up at him. “You can’t stay put in one place for too long, you'll get bored!” Her body language was flirty, handsy, she thought Link was as handsome as everyone else did.

Zelda is made aware of the situation and tries to keep her cool. There’s no reason to get jealous. “Well you all better give me some work to keep myself busy.” He smiles, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh I would love to.” She sighs and Link awkwardly laughs.

Zelda steps in at that moment, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.” She stands a little closer to Link than she normally does, not quite touching him, but close enough.

“Ivee.” She says to Zelda. “And who are you…”

Zelda takes a harrowing breath, “Who am I?” She asks, her tone increasingly offended, “Who am I?” She asks again laughing at Link, “Well I am the Pri-“ She starts to say and Link interrupts her grabbing her shoulder.

“This is Zelda, she’s from the west. She’ll be staying with me for a while.”

“Oh.” Ivee looks visibly hurt. She then looks at Zelda with a frown, “You know, it’s bad luck to be named Zelda. That’s what the Princess who killed herself a hundred years ago was named.” She sighs, glaring at Zelda. Her gaze softens when she returns to speaking with Link, “If you need any assistance, I’ll just be up here.” She smiles and turns around, “It’s great to have you back in town, Linky. I would love to walk up to the waterfall at Nirvata lake with you again. It was so fun last time.” She winks at him before returning back to her perch.

Links cheeks burn red.

“Rude.” Zelda mutters under her breath. “What in the name of Hylia does she mean by that?…Linky?” Zelda teases, scoffing at him. Link swallows, embarrassed.

He then signs to Zelda, ‘Ivee makes up stories’.

Zelda lifts an eyebrow, not believing it, ‘She’s not very polite’.

Link shakes his head, ‘She’s young. Times are different’. He pulls Zelda into a more secluded corner of the store, not wanting to embarrass anyone, ‘You can’t tell people you’re the Princess’.

‘Why Not?’ Zelda signs back, her expression frustrated and confused, ‘I am, aren’t I? I didn’t kill myself. Do they really believe that?’

Link nods, ‘Some people don’t even believe the Calamity happened’.

“What?” Zelda verbally exclaims.

Link holds his pointer-finger to his lips, hushing her, Conspiracy theorists or something.’ He signs, ‘besides, people won’t believe you if you tell them you’re The Princess’.

‘That’s absurd!’ Zelda angrily signs at him.

Link tries to calm her down, looking at her with his understanding eyes, ‘Until we can get the Zora to confirm for the Hylians that you are The Princess, It’s best to just lay low’.

Zelda frowns, wrapping her arms across her chest. ‘Fine’. She signs back.

Link nods, “Let’s get you some clothes.”

They leave the store with a good collection of items, some shirts and trousers, a hooded cloak, socks and a pair of boots for her. She was still wandering around in her goddess sandals. “Most ladies wear skirts these days, when you’re in town, you should too.” He explains as they walk next door to a nicer, more prestigious shop. Zelda was acutely aware that he did not offer her his arm when they left Ivee’s shop.

“So they’ve regressed?” Zelda asks, back in her day, it was becoming quite popular for women to sport trousers, even in formal situations.

“Very much, yes.” Link nods. “The calamity threw the world back, technology has been put on a complete hold, there have been little-to-no scientific breakthroughs since.” Link explains. It makes Zelda sad.

“That’s a real tragedy.” She frowns, “We were making so much progress.”

“I know.” Link says, “but now everyone just fends for themselves. If there's a famine or illness in a town, it's up to that town to solve it. There was a village in West Hyrule, before the canyon that had survived the Calamity. They were doing pretty well for the first fifty or so years. But then they had a bad plague, and were completely wiped out. There's nothing but a ruin there now.”

Zelda’s heart hurts, “It’s my fault.” She stops in her tracks. Link turns around, looking at her dejected composure. He walks back to her, taking her hand with his.

“Look at me.” He says, but she keeps her gaze set on the dirt road. Link takes his hand and gently lifts her chin to make eye-contact with him. “It’s not your fault. This is not on one person's shoulders.”

“I know but-“

“Zelda.” He stops her, “We can’t change the past. It happened. But we are both still here.” He takes both her hands now, “We survived, so let's look into the future. There’s only up from here.” He reassures her.

Zelda cracks a smile, and she desperately wants to lean in and give him a quick, gentle kiss on his lips. But she doesn’t, because she can’t guarantee he would kiss her back, and she would rather suffer in silence over her desires for him, but stay close, than jeopardize their friendship at all.

“Come on.” He leads her into the store, not letting go of one of her hands until they’re inside.

Zelda leaves with two dresses now, a soft, cotton dress that’s blue, and a white one with green and yellow details on the hem of the fabrics. “Thank you, Link.” She says as they begin their walk back home. “How do you have so much money?”

“Talus.” Link nods, not giving anymore context. Zelda shrugs, catching up with him.

They spent that evening cleaning, Link finally took care of all the junk he stored there, discarding old weapons and starting a burn pile outback to get rid of scraps and wooden bows. Zelda takes a big broom and dusts out all of the cobwebs, sweeping out piles of dirt, and taking care of the sand pile that had accumulated from his treasures found in the desert. She noticed how her heart twinged at the idea of the desert, the idea of Urbosa. She shakes the thought away, focusing on the task.

Dusk falls on them, and Zelda is wiping down the walls with an old rag while Link is sitting up in the rafters, dusting the wooden beams the roof is built on and trying to reach a bird's nest that had been built up there. He straddles a beam, shirtless, barefoot, and dusty.

As he sits up there, he peers down at the girl who kneels twenty feet below him, her long hair tied back into a bun and secured with a stick shoved through the center of it. Her feet bare and dirty, toes poking out from under her bottom as she sat on them. She couldn’t see him looking at her, couldn’t hear how his heart beat twice as fast when he thought about her, wasn’t aware of how his pupils grew at the sight of her.

She hummed, and he could hear it. Humming a song he didn’t know, but felt vaguely familiar, like he knew it in a past life. Link wondered if the past incarnations of the Goddess and the Hero ever loved each other. Surely they did, to some degree. Maybe platonic, or the type of love you have for someone you work alongside and deeply respect. He wondered if any of them ever loved each other the way he wanted to love his Zelda. Did it ever work? Had he been a king in a past life? Did their past selves ever have children? His stomach flutters at the idea of having a family with her.

She must have sensed his gaze because as soon as he begins to fantasize about Zelda having a baby with him, she looks up at him, and smiles. He’s so shocked by her sudden gaze, terrified that she could read his mind and almost loses his balance on the beam, falling his chest onto it and holding on. He smiles back and laughs. Zelda giggles at him.

“How’s the view? Up there?” She stands up and does a silly little dance around herself.

He sighs, and laughs, “the view is perfect!” He shouts down, “A little dusty.” Coughing a bit.

She asks, “Are you alright up there?”

Link smiles, “I’m better than ever.”

—

Chapter five

[pumpkinsy0]

SHEPARD FAM CAREER HEADCANNONS?????

i just woke up so excuse me me if i read this wrong and gave u somethin u aint ask for</33

tim - butcher

•said it multiple times, rhis is just him, he wanted extra cash and wanted it to have a steady reliable flow of it

•he also wanted a job where still nobody could mess w him if the did come in, yknow????

•w his record, its a miracle, maybe the boss just dont rlly care that hes in the gang and just wants the job done or this is a job tim get when hes older, maybe its a mix of both, either way his boss thought he would be an important asset in he was hired

•hes oddly graceful w it, he finds in theraputic, its odd to witness but that nigga has a way w the cleaver and knife, its pretty terrifying, maybe tim shouldnt have a job no more

•yes btw he somehow uses what he’s learned in how he fights, im not saying hes out there KILLIN ppl w his knives btw, however when it comes to rumbles w weapons, hes truly on another level

•he brings home meat for angela and curly, its mostly bacon, but he brings other stuff too, curly loves eating meat (pause on that😭) so he dont mind but ik angela gets sick of it sometimes and just wants rice or somethin

curly - he’s had like several different jobs😭

•like i could genuinely see curly as that guy whos job jumping, he’s been a janitor, a airport baggage handler, camp counselor, rn tho hes a line cook/dishwasher

•out of all three of em, i dont know HOW THIS GUY GOT A JOB, but yknow what, he got it, hes that guy that always has a new job when u see him, was he fired or did he quit??? nobody knows, u just see him pop up behind a counter some place

•he’s that coworker whos always in the back fucking around, god forbid hes the one supposed to be training u, man he’s teaching u some tricks and then leaving u to the wolves mid way

•he NEEDS a smoke break, he hates staying in one place for too long, especially in that hot ass kitchen, hes getting overstimulated and accidentally snapping at ppl someone save him

•hes not a good employee, i promise u if u got a weird ass order, he will look at u strange, and if he can sense u got social anxiety he’d probably fuck ur order up a lil bit bc what r u gonna do??? come back and tell him he got it wrong🤨🤨🤨

•chances r the place he works at is some money laundering scheme hes clueless about, he just say they were hirin and thought “eh why not”

angela - retail or fast food worker but if she tried, she could be a model

•the only one w a clean slate, her getting a job is no hassle

•shes literally nicole from bistro huddy, need i say more, she never wants to work but honestly who does???

•shes that girl listening to this poor single mother of 4 in the break room venting about how badly she needs this money to support her kids, meanwhile angela just wants to buy some damn clothes and make up😭

•man she’s never came to work in a good mood, when she wakes up she sighs putting on that uniform, but i’ll tell u what, she WILL make that uniform look good, shes a good designer w what shes got

•the customer is never right when ur in her presence, shes very intentional w what she does

•if u wanna go the model route, its bc someone took a pic of her at work and it blew up n she got recognized by modeling agencies or somethin, shes def just got “that look”, curly prolly got it too tbh, someone take a pic of him and test the waters, they can be like a two for one deal typa twin models🗣️

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

Treat + Julian whump!

Nsfw Sloanshir noncon scene from the soulmate AU (bc I remember you were intrigued by the soulmate as horror concept and there’s a bit of that here, plus it gives context to a sentence you liked). <3

“You’re mine,” Sloan said as his bony hips continued slapping against Julian’s ass. “You’re mine. All mine.”

Suddenly Julian felt like he was sinking underwater, every sound dulled, every movement restricted by some kind of mounting pressure, every breath suffocating. His future splayed out before him so clearly. If he went along with this any further, he would never escape. It would be the end of his free will.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t belong to Sloan.

“Stop,” he said.

“It’s all right,” Sloan soothed, still pumping into him relentlessly. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I don’t want this,” he gasped.

He felt himself tightening up, trying to squeeze Sloan out, to no avail. Each thrust brought a new stab of pain. He tried to crawl away but Sloan gripped his hips harder and snapped him back into place.

“Yes, you do. You want this as much as I do. It’s written on your skin. There’s no need to deny it. There’s no shame in us wanting each other.”

He wanted to keep fighting, but the reminder that Sloan was who he was meant for paralyzed him.

Julian dropped his head forward onto the mattress, hoping the new angle would at least open him up more so that Sloan’s continued intrusion wouldn’t hurt as much. He muffled his sobs in the sheets.

He suddenly imagined cutting off his own arm. The intrusive thought turned his stomach but it still felt better to think about that than to focus on the way Sloan was battering his inner walls. Anything was better than remaining in the moment. And so, he pictured sawing his own arm off and then cradling the bleeding stump against his chest, relief mixed in with the unimaginable pain and despair. He’d heard of rare cases of patients self-amputating to get rid of their soulmarks. Usually they were patients with dementia or amnesia, and it was done in a moment when their loss of memory or inability to perceive reality made their partner seem like a stranger to them. But all of the ones who eventually returned to their right state of mind reported regretting it. That was not an optimistic outcome.

Maybe he could do what Garak had done and cut away just the skin around his mark to kill his connection to Sloan, at least symbolically. Maybe Garak would set aside his hurt feelings and do it for him. Sitting across from him at the Replimat, holding his wrist, gentle but firm. Sliding a scalpel in at an acute angle, careful not to cut a vein. It would hurt, he imagined, but when Garak saw how badly it hurt, he would pause, and move his steadying hand from his wrist up to his palm instead before continuing, encouraging him to squeeze as tightly as he could.

Julian balled his fists into the sheets, clutching at the fabric desperately. Garak wouldn’t flinch at how tightly Julian gripped his hand. He’d finish the delicate procedure and then he’d sew the patch of skin back onto him or heal over the raw wound with the dermal regenerator, depending on what Julian wanted in the moment: a broken static soulmark to match Garak’s or a clean slate with nothing to remind him of Sloan. Then, the second it was safe to, Julian would draw Garak into a kiss. He’d burrow into the center of his desire and give him anything he wanted. He’d suck a hickey on his clavicle and ask Garak to do the same to him. Let’s make our own soulmarks, he’d whisper against the shell of Garak’s ear, let’s give each other new ones every day. And Garak would agree at once, promising to write his love upon his skin for as long as Cardassia’s sun still burned bright, promising to…

Julian let out a shuddering hiccuping sob and tried quickly to muffle it against the mattress. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying.

He became aware of Sloan speeding up, emitting shallow grunts on each thrust. When he began to grope at Julian’s cock, it was all too much. Julian dug his nails into Sloan’s wrist and tore his hand away. Then he wrapped his own hand around his shaft. He began stroking to make it less obvious that he was only touching himself to prevent Sloan from doing so.

[marys-little-cringes]

Too sweet Pt.2

#too sweet clex

Pt.1 - Pt.3

Fandoms: Smallville

Relationships: Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

Additional Tags: Bromance, Bromance to Romance, Pre-Slash, AU, Slice of Life, Songfic

Summary:

The events take place after "Let me start with a clean slate". Lex's trying to make sense of himself after the merger and discovering its frustrating consequences.

Part 2

Lex put aside another stack of documents and rubbed his eyes. He needed to get some rest, there was still an hour before his flight to Metropolis.

The phone rang.

“I'm listening.”

“Mr Luthor, good morning,” a man said. “Professor Campbell, Metropolis Observatory. You asked me to inform you personally of any possible 'remarkable astronomical phenomena', should any occur in the foreseeable future. I inform you that on the seventh of December the Moon will eclipse Jupiter. The phenomenon will be visible on our telescopes. We are very grateful for your generous donation and look forward to welcoming you and your companion on that day.”

A dozen questions popped into Lex's head at once, but the answers came almost instantly. He thanked the professor sparingly, said goodbye and then sighed heavily, letting his face fall into his open palms. So this was the transaction he'd discovered while looking at the financial statements for the period of his "absence".

“Fascinating…” was all he muttered.

It turned out that Lex was inhabited by a surprisingly incompetent philanthropist. To lure a team of astronomers – not to detect aliens, but to impress a farm boy! What a joke! Lex could only hope that no one else knew about it, he certainly wouldn't want to resort to extreme measures...

Cursing through his teeth, he grabbed the next folder of documents. He could hardly rest now.

***

Lex returned to the mansion in the evening, angry and tired. The negotiations with the Japanese had gone badly. They had signed a cooperation agreement on terms that would have made even the Paris Peace Treaty look like a victory for the Russian Empire, but under the current circumstances, LuthorCorp desperately needed their technological assistance. Lex wanted to get to the whiskey table as quickly as possible. He bumped into someone in the doorway of his own office. Apparently, Lex had underestimated the extent of his fatigue, for the blow was so hard that it literally knocked the ground out from under his feet. He was about to fall back when strong hands grabbed him and pulled him straight up.

“Clark?!” Surprised, Lex blurted it out more rudely than he had planned.

“I... uh... Lex, they told me you weren't here, they offered to wait, and I... decided to wait, and then I changed my mind...”

Lex rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

“Lex, are you okay?” Clark's face changed.

“I'm fine.”

It belatedly dawned on Lex that his food and drink for the entire day had been a couple of glasses of whiskey.

Clark finally stepped aside. Holding his head in his hands, Lex walked over to the couch and sat down heavily.

“Lex!” The young man exclaimed. “You're bleeding!”

Lex tried to inhale through his nose and grimaced with pain and irritation. He was so exhausted that he hadn't even noticed that the headache had been preceded by a blow... What could he have hit so hard that it hurt his nose? While Lex pondered this, unconsciously falling into a nap after a second sleepless night, Clark rushed around the office. Finally, he approached Luthor and woke him up by placing an ice pack on the bridge of his nose. Lex, a little surprised, took the improvised compress and tilted his head back.

“Damn, I hope it's not a fracture,” Clark muttered guiltily. “Lex, I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The cold had a sobering effect.

“This is not your fault.”

“But your shirt—”

There were red drops and stains on the purple silk. Clark knelt down and tried to wipe the blood from Lex's face, but Luthor petulantly pushed his hands away.

“Clark, I said I'm fine. I can order the same thing tomorrow. It was an accident, a stupid accident. Calm down, sit down.”

Clark obediently moved from the floor to the couch, tucked his restless hands between his knees and looked anxiously at Luthor's face to see if the blood was still flowing.

“So, Clark, why did you come?”

"Oh, I... today's tdropping off some groceries and, well, I thought I'd stop by

Lex looked at the confused young man. At his flushed cheeks, at the restless gaze of his blue eyes and parted lips, searching for new excuses. He had to close his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to look, lest he accidentally devour the Kent with his stare.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Uh, right, I...” Clark jumped over the couch like a tensioned spring. “I'll go then. Have a nice evening!”

Lex nodded weakly.

As soon as he was gone, Lex hit the couch with the cold compress in his hand. Small pieces of ice with sharp edges bit into his skin, the pain echoing in the bridge of his nose. It cooled him down a bit.

He faintly hoped that he would be able to avoid sleep again that night, but eventually he fell asleep on the couch. In his dream, he pressed Clark Kent against the same couch, greedily devouring his soft lips. Blood ran down that sweet, young, smiling face.

[strangethings-everywhere]

Before You Go // Ethan Landry // Ch.1

Masterlist Word Count: 1214 Warnings: swearing, trauma Author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation, I love me some Jack Champion

After moving to New York with your friends after the Woodsboro killings, you try to leave all of it behind you and start over. You become friends with Ethan Landry, but after Ghostface returns, you start to become suspicious of everyone, especially him.

New York City was different from Woodsboro in many ways, but you enjoyed that there seemed to be people everywhere you looked. After the most recent Ghostface attacks back home, you had issues being alone. Whenever it got too quiet, you glanced over your shoulder and jumped at little noises. 

Another good thing was that no one knew who you were. Sam and Tara were notorious, especially due to the rumors that had been circulating online. Mindy and Chad were notable, being both victims and having a legacy character for an uncle. You, however? No one knew your name. New York was a fresh start, a place to wipe the slate clean and move on from Woodsboro’s notorious reputation. 

You were majoring in film alongside Mindy, the two of you having bonded over movies since elementary school. Chad always made fun of you for how passionate you were about films, but it didn’t bother you. You had a passion and you knew that you were meant to do something with it. 

It was close to Halloween and you had followed Tara to a frat party. She was a pirate and you were dressed as Daenerys Targaryen. The house was full of people and they were all in costume, including two boys dressed as Ghostface. Tara, however, didn’t seem to notice. 

“Hey, guys!” Mindy waved from one of the couches. She was draped over Anika, her girlfriend, who also gave you a friendly wave. You grinned and plopped yourself on the arm of the couch. “All hail Khaleesi, look at you!”

“Thanks.” You gave her a little bow. “Where’s Chad?”

“Over with Ethan, being a fool as usual.” She pointed across the room.

Chad was dressed as a shirtless cowboy (no surprise) and grinning like a maniac at Ethan, who had made knight armor out of cardboard and looked like he wanted to crawl into the carpet. Ethan spotted you first and gave you a dorky half-wave. 

You weren’t quite sure how Chad and Ethan got matched up as roommates, especially since they were so different. Chad was pretty outgoing, living up to his name. Ethan was pretty shy and very awkward. It had been six months since you had moved to New York and three months since the beginning of the semester and you still didn’t know very much about Ethan. 

You walked over to the two boys and Chad wrapped you up in a hug. “Dude, your cowboy sweat is repulsive.” You shouted, shoving him away. “Get your muscles away from me.”

“Fuck off.” He laughed. “You need a drink, I’ll grab you one.”

As Chad made his way to the kitchen, you turned your attention to Ethan. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he took a sip of his drink, “I’m still not sure how I feel about parties just yet, they’re so loud.” 

You laughed. “Not a fan of loud places?”

Ethan shrugged. “Just not used to it I guess. What about you, Y/N?”

“I didn’t go to many parties in Woodsboro.” You gave him a small smile. “The one I did go to ended up landing me in the hospital, so…” 

Ethan’s face went red. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“It’s fine.” You gave him a small pat on the shoulder. “How long did it take you to make your costume?”

Ethan launched into a very detailed description, but you stopped paying attention. He had an infectious joy that made you wish you feel as happy as he looked. There was something about his smile that just pulled you in and made you feel all warm inside. You wanted to be his friend so badly, even if it meant just being around his toothy grin. After everything that had happened, you still couldn’t bring yourself to trust him. It was probably for the best, but it was a devastating feeling. You had a hard time being around your Woodsboro friends, even after everything you’d gone through together, and that made it even harder when it came to new people. 

Ethan pulled off his helmet, releasing his curls from their cardboard prison. He reminded you of a puppy sometimes, between his smile and his hair. “I’m surprised you guys like Halloween. Especially…” He motioned at the nearest idiot wearing a Ghostface mask. 

You clenched your jaw. Ethan was right; it was pretty jarring walking around with people dressed like the lunatic that had tried to kill you. “It’s uh, it’s definitely weird. It’s not exactly my favorite costume.” 

Ethan opened his mouth but was interrupted by Chad’s loud shouts of greeting. The other boy shoved a cup full of something into your hands and knocked his head into Ethan’s, who let out a grunt. “Let’s dance, motherfuckers!” 

You allowed Chad to drag you onto the makeshift dance floor. Despite Chad’s athletic stature, he was a terrible dancer. Ethan sat back and watched, laughing. 

“Chad!” Anika rounded the corner. “We need you, it’s Tara.” 

He snapped to attention. It was pretty obvious to see that Chad had a thing for Tara, even if Tara hadn’t noticed yet. You raced after him, Ethan right at your heels. Tara was headed upstairs with a guy who looked one second away from forcing himself on her. Gross. As Chad attempted to defend Tara’s honor, you glanced back at Ethan. 

“You okay?” He whispered. 

“Yeah, why?”

“You just… look worried.” He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Before you could answer, Sam stormed up to Frankie and tased him in the balls. 

“We should go, we should GO!” You grabbed Ethan by the arm and dragged him after the others. 

You got back to your dorm that night and immediately collapsed onto your bed. It had been a chaotic evening after the party and you had been eager to get home. It wasn’t easy watching Sam and Tara deal with the Woodsboro aftermath and you were barely dealing with your own trauma. 

After removing your costume and taking a quick shower, you climbed into bed with a snack and your laptop. You had just logged onto Netflix when your phone rang. Without thinking, you answered it. “Hello?”

“Hello Y/N, having a good Halloween?” 

Fuck. 

“Who is this?” You tried to keep your voice steady, but you wanted to puke. You had been foolish to think that he was really gone.

“Aw, don’t tell me you forgot all the fun we had back in Woodsboro?” Ghostface laughed. “I missed you too. How’s college?”

“I know you didn’t call to chat, get to the point.” You stood and double-checked that your doors and windows were locked. “Where are you?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not hiding in your dorm room. Yet. I just wanted to check in. Are you gonna watch a scary movie?”

You scoffed. “Never again. You ruined them for me.” 

“How unfortunate. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” 

As soon as Ghostface hung up, you collapsed to the ground. Your body shook as you began to sob, panic coursing through your veins. You needed to warn them. You needed to tell someone. 

You threw on a hoodie and sprinted into the hallway and ran until you reached a familiar door. “CHAD! CHAD IT’S IMPORTANT!” 

He opened the door. “What are-”

“Ghostface is back.”

[kittenchancorruptionarc]

(( Hey guys, it’s been a few days. I’m so sorry I left so suddenly, I was experiencing burn out yet again and this case was ESPECIALLY bad. I kept guilt tripping myself over my break too because I felt horrible for leaving everyone in the dark.

The TDLR is I got too ambitious with events again and I keep poorly managing both threads AND asks and I need to fix that.

So here’s my requests to YOU (the beautiful person reading this) and how I’m going to do things from now on:

-Please try not to spam the ask box if I have (a) thread(s) going on, it distracts me badly. I thought about closing them during threads but felt that’s not fair so I will leave them open and see if you guys can respect my wishes. I trust y’all will you’ve been nothing but kind and patient to me (AND IM SO GRATEFUL AHHH) but still.

-KEEP SERIOUS RPS IN THREADS PLEASE, doing it via asks is very straining for me sorry if that’s an inconvenience :,]

-I won’t be doing colored replies anymore unless it’s for added emphasis, it was taking too long and it gave me a headache ngl. I have eyesight problems and I honestly made them slightly worse doing that.

-I don’t know if I’ll do any events for a while, up until I’m in the swing of things again. I got too ambitious and got severely burnt out and tired. :,]

-Threads are not time sensitive, assume they’re in their own time bubble unless it’s A stream RP or auction event. I make those interactive on purpose! Otherwise the rest of them are again in their own time bubble!!! This is so I don’t drive myself insane with time sensitive scenarios.

-I might make non auction and such events ask box only or limit it to one or two BIG RP threads, as I notice that’s what burns me out the most X_X

These are my “new rules” I guess okay? I think it’ll help me a LOT with the issues I’ve been having.

Also, let’s just say the events wrapped up and I’m going to have to call off any threads I STARTED before my huge burn out, sorry but I keep blanking on them and it’s for the best. We can start fresh or do a new one completely but oughhh I need to just. Start on a clean slate for my sanity im sorry guys. I hope you understand.

Also, my main focus will be on Fox and my OC account from now on, which I am going to revamp to mainly focus on his TPOF version due to a majority of my rp partners being based in TPOF timeline anyways. Strade is a fun side project and I abandoned Ren because I wasn’t happy with how I portrayed him tbh. Maybe I’ll revisit the account later, but rn I have no drive for it.

Anyways, I hope this’ll help me get back into this account because I miss being here so much but oh my GOD I stressed myself out ;; ))

-Fox Mun 🦊

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for abandoning my assistant at our new job?

I (22F) am a grocery store department manager and my assistant (26F) is my best friend. We previously worked at nice, low-volume, good work culture type store for a year and a half together while she was still a clerk. The notoriously horrible and constantly-falling-apart store down the street suddenly had two openings for our department for manager and assistant manager. She was definitely overqualified to become an assistant and I had good reports as the manager at this location, and thought we could work some magic on that place and really shape it up. So we made a plan, applied for the transfer and we were accepted. Once we started working there the department started performing amazingly and the people within the department were very happy with us as the new management crew.

Two issues - number 1 there is a store assistant manager who is racist, homophobic, and sexually harasses employees (she has 15+ HR complaints against her and it’s beyond me why corporate doesn’t fire her). She has targeted my assistant and within her first 5 days of working there, she wanted to call for a replacement, and called her lazy. I knew about this person before transferring but my assistant didn’t. I warned her beforehand and encouraged her to use the corporate HR hotline to report any and all behavior. (I have been a victim of this lady too, she asks me invasive sexual questions…)

Number 2 - I am now being worked 7 days a week, 10-12 hour days, and various start times anywhere between midnight and 1 pm. I’ll be off at 4 pm from a day shift, have to go back in at midnight, work midnight to noon, and then cover the evening call out by going in for another 2 hours from 4pm-6pm. Because I’m the manager, I can be worked like a dog but other people are not allowed to even stay an hour of overtime per week. My sleep deprivation has led me to faint, be hospitalized, miss doctors appointments, etc. All around awful. My store managers recognize that I’m suffering but due to corporate standards for scheduling, there is no escaping this, unless I want to make my poor assistant go through what I’m going through, which I refuse to allow another person to experience this.

I can’t take it anymore. I finally broke when I showed up to a scheduled overnight shift 2.5 hrs late due to pure exhaustion, and started having hallucinations on shift. Corporate surprised us at 8 am that day and gave my department a bad review, and I broke down in the middle of the sales floor in front of corporate, customers, and my store managers screaming “FUCK THIS I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE.”

I was surprised that I wasn’t fired but store management was surprised that I didn’t walk out. I didn’t because I have rent to pay. But the incident finally made me realize that this store is hurting my health and I’ve decided to send applications out to other jobs. Stepping down within the company or transferring back to the old store is not an option because department head is not open and even if I stepped down, they’d still work me like a department manager because they know what work I’m capable of. I want something new, a fresh clean slate.

However my assistant very badly needed this pay raise and guaranteed full time contract. She wouldn’t leave. She has an upcoming wedding and needs to put food on the table for her child. She is my best friend outside of work and we’re very close. I would feel terrible abandoning her in an already shitty work situation that I dragged her into - it was my idea and my reference for her promotion. I made promises to take care of a certain portion of duties if she did another portion. If I left, it would be ALL on her, job of both assistant and manager either as an assistant or if she’s offered manager. Either way, that would be a worse schedule than what I’m going through right now. And she would have to deal with that terrible store assistant alone. Anyways, I’d be scared to lose her friendship if I left. But I can’t take it anymore. She recognizes that too, however, she’s sympathetic to the literal medical faults my schedule is causing.

I feel like it’s my fault that she got harassed in the first place, and I feel like it’s my fault that she’s now unhappy with her job. I don’t want to lose my best friend.

WIBTA for leaving my job?

What are these acronyms?

[dinoburger]

I guess the current train of thought about trans discourse is just watching how unconstructive it is, how these kinds of discussions that could be useful to potentially informing a broader and more interconnected community only exacerbate problems.

having come to other political issues with an open mind and a clean slate makes me feel differently.

like.

what we need and what's being asked of us is to develop tools that are more effective at dealing with communal concerns and examining the mechanisms which cause these problems to begin with.

I think the most jarring thing about the "transandrophobia" discourse or the ace discourse is that the biggest concern being leveled is "I do not have the visibility to describe my experiences and feel isolated" and the response is always to counter that and question its legitimacy, not to try to build a better understanding of the cause of these problems or develop tools to make speaking on them easier.

as wrong as you think someone is or as badly as they might word that sentiment, the core problem of being unable to express themselves properly doesn't go away when you "win" the argument

this is where acknowledging gender divides as a tool of alienation becomes useful, but instead I really get the impression folks engaged in these arguments are arguing for the onus to be on trans women to be the arbiters of what constitutes legitimate transphobia or to have to argue on the behalf of them to lend any legitimacy to the points being discussed.

purely from a practical point of view, I can't see how this approach does much except make all parties involved feel more isolated, more alienated and more hostile towards each other. everyone's eager to point fingers about who is using "TERF talking points" but nobody is eager to think about where to go from there, or offer any practical guidance - at least not without belittling if not being openly hostile towards the other party.

if I have to opt out of all discussions about the trans identity because I don't have the authority to speak on everyone's behalf, only mine, then I don't engage, I may leave those who don't have a choice to fend for themselves

it seems more logical that the purpose of examining the way gender divides are arbitrarily enacted on trans people and enforced is to undo the damage being caused by them, not to become so reactive that they're enforced even more.

moreover... I don't actually think hunting down and humiliating trans men who might have some uninformed ideas does much to help trans women in the long run. maybe it makes you feel good in the moment to do that, but you're probably not going to change that person's mind if it's still, again, mostly that they're just lacking the tools to talk about what they're going through.

[crosbyce]

#rebootkairi

I can't say this enough, but Kingdom Hearts really needs to reboot Kairi. Current story has sidelined and mistreated her so badly she's become nothing but "damsel-in-distress" and "useless pink girl" in public eyes. With me being a big Kairi fan, I cannot help but feel skeptical about her future. I'm a firm believer that Nomura will do nothing to develop her character arc and make her a good heroine. Because he never intended to. He hates her and he doesn't want to do anything with her ever again. He's the embodiment of Xehanort and his job is to utterly ruin Kairi.

With Western games emphasizing powers of female lead characters and their cultural impacts, I think Disney needs to wipe the slate clean and reboot Kairi as a whole. She's technically a Disney princess, after all, and Disney itself is dry of a good princess character lately. In the new rebooted universe, Kairi should be a main character, remaining faithful to her origin but being treated as a character, not a plot point. Her troubling background with darkness would give her reasons to fight back and prevent dark entities and masters from taking over worlds.

Now what to do with Sora and Riku? Honestly, I don't care. The two had their fair share of spotlight. They can be put aside to bring fresh characters or other less known KH characters as part of rebooting. I used to emphasize Sokai, but now I'm more on "meh". Because Sora would not make a good boyfriend based on what happened. If I sound like an angry toxic feminist, I'm NOT. I just hate soriku cringe clowns. They act as if Sora and Riku are only KH characters, forcing their shipping in most toxic ways. They, along with incompetent writing, made me absolutely despise KH lately. With more games, even Nintendo's Peach game, emphasizing more on female character development, what they did to Kairi is just an embarrassment. It's better off burnt to the ground and started all over.

[sunflowerandstrawberryspice]

More Song the Ninjago Fandom is missing out on

Alright folks guess who's back with more songs for you AND a playlist with them!

I've been having fun with this and I love talking about why I associate certain songs with certain characters I love doing it and I really do wish I was able to do animatics myself. But any who here are more songs! (Song-artist)

AS ALWAYS MAJOR SPOILERS

Violet- Marianne Ross: This song is SOOOOO Lloyd thinking about Harumi (I will in fact ignore Crystalized existence again), like it's all about thinking about someone who hurt you deeply and still thinking of them even though they treated you poorly. Lyrics: "When I think of violet I think of you I see you tryin got make is cool" Harumi trying to justify herself to Lloyd. "My mind reminds me of a purple hue, matched the sight of another bruise" Do I have to say more? Like Lloyd clearly cared about Harumi and she emotionally and physically beat the shit outta him

Like a Villain- Bad Omens: This song could totally be used for Morro or Garmadon in my opinion, the song is about someone talking to a person who unknowingly or not pushed them past the edge of no return. Lyrics: "Look into my face then look again we're not the same we're different" For Garmadon this could be a representation of the Great Devourer taking over his mind and transforming him and for Morro this could his transformation from a starry eyes kid to a depressed and evil ghost. "You need a new clean slate with out the dents" This could be either of them addressing Wu cause lets be honest neither of them have an all to peachy relationship with him, Morro especially who saw Wu with this new set of Ninja who are happier than he ever was who Wu treated like family while pretending Morro never existed. "I know that you tried your hardest I know that you meant well but you pushed me to the edge and I slipped and then I fell" For Morro this could totally be Wu's intense training and the way he made Morro believe he'd be the green ninja only for that to be false which kinda drove him crazy, or it could be used for Garmadon on him and Wu's journey in Spinjitzu Brothers to find the tea to heal Garmadon while the journey was supposed to get something to heal Garmadon it ended up just making him feel worse about himself and his place in the world. There's a bunch more awesome lyrics but we'd be here all day if I explained all of them.

Fourth of July- Sufjan Stevens: This one is a teny tiny bit of a reach but hear me out. Zane and his father. So we know that Dr. Julien passes away sometime I believe before season three takes place and it's said he died of natural causes and I'm just saying this could make a pretty decent song since I feel like Zane and Dr. Julien's really sweet father son relationship gets over looked a bit probably since he died so early on and we didn't get to see Zane mourn much afterwards. Lyrics: "And I'm sorry I left but it was for the best" Could totally be used for when Dr. Julien turned off his memory switch and everything. I don't have many particular phrases since the song is almost like a back and forth, but there are a lot of bird references which also works well for Zane.

Icarus-Luvbug: Now this could work for a couple different Ninjago parents since it's mostly about losing a child but I think it would work best with either the FSM feeling bad for what happened to Garmadon (if you want to make him less awful that is cause in cannon his feels about Garmadon are... slightly concerning like sir you're not supposed to hate your own child) Garmadon feeling bad about how Lloyd had to "kill" the child part of himself to lead the ninja, or Maya after Nya merged with the sea and how she wanted to badly to be there for her only for her to end up gone.

Little Lion Man- Mumford & sons: Misako and Lloyd, just trust me okay? Like it's all about someone blaming themselves how someone turned out and in a better world we would have gotten Misako canonically feeling awful for how Lloyd's childhood went due to the fact she decided to dump him gods know where (Darkly's is a boarding school and Lloyd doesn't remember his mother when he meets her so I'm assuming he was probably somewhere else before there?) but instead I'll settle for fan interpretation and I feel like this song would make a great Misako animatic. "But it was not your fault but mine, and it was your heart on the line" and "Now learn from your mother or else spend you days biting your own neck" and "Tremble for yourself, my man, you know that you have seen this all before"

Sorry the list is a little shorter this time but honestly sometimes I don't have full explanations for songs I just have like general vibes, like my excuse is literally just: trust, with little to no explanation. Like:

The Archer- Taylor Swift: Lloyd, Cole or Sora

Don't meet your idols- Everybody's worried about Owen: Jay (cause his bio father was his idol ig?) or Nya (I have no clue man)

Your sister was right- Wilbur Soot: Jay

Punching Bag- The Front Bottoms: Kai

Runs in the Family-Amanda Palmer: Lloyd, Garmadon, Wu, Cole, Sora and honestly just most of them tbh

Friends- Sonic Sea Turtles: Cole, Lloyd, Jay and Garmadon

Idk y'all my brain is actually just one big Lego brick.

[jackie-gremlin-ghost]

It took the finale freaking breaking me to finally make OCs for this series 😅 And it also kinda counts for a continuation idea I have.

This is Ginevra "Ginny" Wolfe and her daughter, Francez, but she prefers to go by "Fran".

Spoilers for the finale ahead (I know it’s been a couple weeks, but better safe than sorry)

Ginny is a feisty Italian-American single mom and Todd’s paternal cousin, and she’s the one who bought his old house after the finale. He actually called her as soon as his house went on the market because he couldn’t think of anyone better to have it.

Over the years, Ginny had wanted so badly to reach out to him… but had so much to deal with on her own, especially after the loss of her husband Garrett. So when her favorite cousin (who she heard through the grapevine had become somewhat of a recluse years back) just up and called her out of the blue one day, telling her that he was selling his house to go travel the world with his best friend like he’d always wanted when they were kids, to say she was relieved would’ve been an understatement.

Fran, meanwhile, has what she refers to as the “Neurodivergence Triple A Plan”; Autism, ADHD and Anxiety. That doubled with her over-enthusiastic love for all things mythical, cryptid and occult, it naturally made her a bit of social outlier. And the loss of her dad didn’t make things easier. She retreated into herself for a long time, sleeping most days and barely even speaking unless spoken to. Her mother was terrified for her health at this rate. She’d already lost the love of her life, like hell she was losing her baby. It was a rough road and took some time, but she was able to get her to agree to therapy and begin to heal. It was a while after this that Fran was made aware that her “Uncle Todd” was coming for a visit, and she was about to take a big step in the next chapter of her family’s life.

A few months later, the three of them met up in Chicago to catch up and finalize everything on buying the house. While she was elated at seeing her cousin the happiest he’d been in years, Ginny was a bit apprehensive a first; uprooting from everything they’ve known and moving to another state, let alone a new town? She wasn’t afraid to admit it scared her. Todd was quick to reassure her two things; 1) A change of scenery and a clean slate might be just what Fran needs, and 2) Taking big risks are a part of life and what makes it worth living. And in a town like Brighton, Fran was sure to make some great friends and make a lot of memories.

So not long after Todd headed off on his next big adventure, Ginny and Fran started their own by moving to Brighton, not yet knowing that as their moving truck was pulling into town, it caught the eye of a young girl.

————

So yeah, I kinda have a story in the planning stages for this, so I can’t give away TOO much, but I can show you one thing: Ghost!Fran (No, she doesn’t die, but she’s also NOT a Wraith. So, have fun with that little tidbit 😉)

[pure-ablution]

Could you make a longer post about posture? I've always had bad posture, and no matter what I do it always gets back to being bad. Do you have any videos you would recommend, or any specific kinds of exercise?

I would firstly recommend booking an appointment with a licensed and registered chiropractor, to ‘reset’ your posture, so to speak, and start with a clean slate and better knowledge of your postural issues. Bad posture can be a result of many different, separate issues with your spine and pelvis, and you need to see a professional in order to be able to properly assess this. Choose very carefully, and make sure to do your research—check where they trained and which association(s) they are part of, and read lots of reviews before deciding. Chiropractic treatment can go very badly in the wrong hands, so please do your due diligence and feel free to be fussy.

I see a chiropractor regularly, because I have hypermobile joints and need frequent check-ups to ensure that my body is properly aligned, but if you don’t have any medical conditions affecting your joints in any way, then I think that just the one appointment should suffice. Once you know your issues, and (hopefully) your chiropractor has given you some exercises to do, then you’re set—it’s just a matter of maintaining the habit, and the strength to hold yourself properly upright. The ‘strength’ factor shouldn’t be dismissed; our muscles grow lazy very quickly, and it can be extremely hard work for someone who previously had poor posture to hold themselves properly for a whole day. However, the good news is that your muscles get used to good posture quickly, too, and I find slouching just as exhausting as someone else might find standing up straight.

With regard to other professionals that can help: a podiatrist is advisable if your poor posture has any sort of link with your feet. If your feet tilt inwards or outwards, or you have one leg longer than the other, this can all throw your balance and pelvic alignment off-kilter. I also saw a specialist postural therapist for a year, who taught me a lot about bodily awareness and alignment, and used a lot of somatic techniques and gyrotonic to support her therapy. I don’t think that this step is necessary unless you’re a dancer, gymnast, or figure skater, but looking into the philosophies behind these techniques might be helpful or interesting. For more general exercises that help with posture, classical pilates is very much top of the charts, and I also find tai chi, qigong, and Iyengar yoga very helpful for improving my postural awareness and consciousness of movement. As an all-round strengthening sport, especially for those who have a lower muscle tone, I highly recommend swimming.

I’ve listed the tools that I use daily to maintain my posture here, and if you’d like video recommendations for specific postural issues, just let me know.