#i hate it there so much i’m praying to get into another school this year

[under-sparkling-lights]

7 classes going consecutively since 8am i’m so dead

[thefearedashantis]

Garlic Toast and Bloody Noses

Pairing: Sirius Black x SAHM! Reader (stay at home mom)

Summary: Your eldest daughter got in trouble at school and Sirius is livid.

Word count: 3.1K

Warning: None (if you think it needs one lmk)

Emmerson is cranky, per usual. You weren’t sure how long a two-year-old could cry before tiring themselves out, but he was surely going for the record.

Nothing you did soothed him. Rocking, singing, a stroll around the block. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to play. He didn’t want to sleep. The reasoning for his upset was simple enough. One you’d figured out shortly after he was born.

He hated you. Detested. Loathed. Abhorred. As much as the very idea broke your heart.

From the moment he took his first breathe he despised your very presence. Would absolutely scream his little head off until Sirius, or anyone really, rescued him from your grasp. Only then from the comfort of his fathers’ arms would he calm, then turn back to stare at you accusingly with watery eyes.

Well, his father wasn’t home at the moment, and you stare at the clock praying for the minutes to go by quicker. School and extracurricular activities having ended, Sirius and your other two children should be walking through the front door any second.

Your husband would enter your home silently, tuckered out from a long day. He’d take off his shoes and hang up his coat. Round the couch and lean down to peck you gently at the corner of your lips before prying your son from your arms. Wrestling his fat hands loose of your hair which he never failed to get an ironclad grip on. Then you’d stow away in the bathroom for a few quiet minutes after saying hello to your girls. Just to give yourself a little pep talk and allow the headache pulsing behind your eyes to recede. Give yourself some much-needed reassurance that this behaviour couldn’t last forever. At some point he’d warm up to you.

He had to, right?

You’re wretched from your thoughts at the slam of the front door. Followed by a gust of air whisking by you where you were slumped in the living room, thunderous footsteps banging up the stairs. Another door slams in the distance.

From the brief glimpse at the back of a muddy soccer uniform you know it must be Amelia, and that fact has you up on your feet in a panic. Because just as your youngest scorned your existence your eldest adored you. If she wasn’t at school she was virtually glued to your hip. She would never come home without stopping to throw herself at you like you’d been apart for an eternity.

Something was wrong.

You’ve barely placed Emmy into his playpen, a rigorous tussle, and taken a step into the hall when a small body crashes into your middle. Your kindergartner. Backpack, coat and shoes still on.

“Mom!”

“Claire!” you try to match her enthusiasm.

“I’m hungry” she mumbles against your stomach, arms squeezing you tight.

“I made your favourite snack. It’s on the counter for you.”

Sirius appears in the archway just as Claire scurries away. He’s in a flurry, making long strides in the direction of the stairs without so much as acknowledging you. “You get back down here right now young lady!” His voice all but shakes the house, sending your heart scuttling into your throat. Sirius never raises his voice, especially not when angry. Sirius was hardly ever angry to begin with.

Your hand shoots out to grab at him before he can get too far, pulling him to a harsh stop. “Whoa, whoa whoa! What’s going on?”

“Lia got in a fight at school!” Claire calls from the kitchen.

And he’s teetering on you, trying to get you to let him go.

“What? Why didn’t you call me? What’s happened, is she alright?”

“I’d say she’s doing better than Isaac!” Now he’s moving, circling to the other end of the room, dragging you along with him. “I mean parents trust me to look after and teach their children! How does it seem when I can’t even discipline my own? She’s old enough to know not to hit others!”

Sirius was the music teacher at the local elementary school. The one both of your daughters attended. That being the case he usually handled anything pertaining to the girls while on the premises.  Didn’t mean you were out of the loop however. If one got so much as a scratch on the playground you were sent a text about it. For the entire day to have elapsed without him informing you on what had happened was odd.

“Sirius” you release his arm in favour of his face, rubbing at the space between his nape and ear in a manner you knew he found soothing “Honey, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

But your attempts to pacify him prove worthless when his roaming eyes finally snap to yours with a steely coldness that has a chill running up your spine. You see none of the sticky affection you’re accustomed to within them. Nothing but distaste. There was no questioning Emmy’ parentage with that gaze.

“I told you the haircut wasn’t a good idea.”

Haircut? Was he still upset about that all these weeks later?

“What’s her hair have to do with anything?”

His eyes roll so hard you fear they’ll be lost in the back of his head. He shakes out of your hold. “Because you undermine me with every little thing when it comes to her! I try to put my foot down and you immediately slag it off!”

“It’s her hair Sirius. She wanted it short and you couldn’t give a good enough reason why she shouldn’t be allowed to have it that way.”

Emmy has finally gone quiet in his play pen. Standing and peeking over the edges at the two of you, gaze flitting back and forth like a ping pong ball whenever someone speaks. Probably wondering why his beloved father hasn’t come to pick him up yet.

“Because she looks like a boy!” Sirius throws his hands up, looking to the sky for some sort of backup he would not be receiving. “She already dresses like a boy, you’ve let her chop all her hair off and now she’s running around getting into trouble like some little delinquent!” With every word his face gets more and more red, voice trembling with raging effort.

You can’t seem to find anything to say for a long moment, just watching him breathe in and out in desperate rags. A minute passes, then two. When he manages to catch his breath and stumble over to the couch you follow closely behind. Leaning down near his ear so you won’t have to speak above a whisper.

“First of all Black, I don’t know who you’re speaking to in that tone but I suggest you check it, right now. Her hair and the way she dresses are nobody’s business but her own and they don’t make her a boy.” The fact those words could even leave his mouth after the childhood he had baffled you “And second I think you should stop and reevaluate the way you talk about your daughter, especially while she’s right upstairs to hear you.”

He turns his head. You’re so far into his space that your noses almost brush but you don’t back away. You would always stand firm when it came to your children. The one’s you two created and set out to raise together in the loving and supporting environment neither of you had gotten growing up.

 “Are you guys arguing?”

You straighten up at the squeak of Claire’s question. She stands behind the couch with a slight frown on her round face. Her snack of garlic toast held between two hands.

“No darling of course not,” a smile splits your expression for good measure “why don’t you come with me to check on Lia while Daddy says hello to Emmy hm?”

Claire is not convinced “sounded like arguing.”

You’re at the base of the stairs, swatting the girl up them, when Sirius calls back in a very small manner “I’m sorry.”

He appears more like himself now, the love of your life. Thin, long limbed, warm eyes with a hint of melancholy. Deflated of his anger and replenished with his token skittish composure.

“When I come back there will be no more yelling.”

He nods, and you’re off to discover the root of this grand affair.

Claire stands outside of Lia’ closed door when you arrive. Shifting from foot to foot as if nervous to go in. You reach over her and rap on the sticker covered wood with a firm knuckle. There’s no answer but you turn the knob and enter anyway.

The room is dark, lights off and curtains drawn. The only illumination comes from the device set up on the bedside table that projects stars and planets onto the ceiling. A balled-up form rests in the very corner of the bed, back to you, arms slung over the head.

“Is she crying?” Claire whispers. Well, her version of whispering. Which was just her regular speaking volume but slower.

“No.” Lia grinds out. She twists herself around so you can see her face. She wasn’t crying but she surely had been if the red of her eyes were evidence enough.

You make your way over to the bed, posting yourself up against the headboard. Claire opts to sit at the bottom, gazing up at the light show.

“Want to tell me what happened at school today?”

“Can I sit in your lap?”

Despite the circumstances a warm fuzzy feeling seeps throughout your chest, always happy to indulge in some physical affection. Lia is still quite small for her age. She crawls over your legs and slots her body against yours, burrowing as close as she can manage, sticking her nose into the material of your shirt and inhaling deeply. Her dark hair tickles your face. Not long enough for a scrunchy and too short for much other styling. It sticks up in amusing ends from sweat.

Claire must feel left out because she wraps a crummy hand around your socked foot.

“Daddy’s disappointed in me,” her voice is hoarse and wobbly. She keeps her eyes shut tight while speaking, nose scrunched.

“He’s not, he’s just…unsettled, stressed maybe.”

“Is there a difference?”

To an eight-year-old there might not be.

“Daddy was yelling” comes a whisper snaking up from the end of the bed.

“Be quiet Claire!” Lia tries to shoo the younger girl out of her room but she refuses to go.

“Loudly.” She continues “His face was all red.”

You fight a giggle “Eat your bread Claire bear.”

“Furious” she finishes around the last mouthful of her treat. She’s always been your chatty baby, forever excited for new vocabulary words.

You return your full attention to Amelia “Tell mom what happened bug.”

She doesn’t start immediately, instead relishing in the feeling of your fingers combing through her damp hair for a while. When she does start speaking the story is much worse than you thought it would be.

The boys in class have been bothering her for the last few months.

One in particular who sits directly behind her by the name of Isaac. He is the reason, she confesses, for originally wanting to cut her hair short despite loving the lack of inches now. It was in hopes of deterring him from yanking it by handfuls.

They apparently dislike her always trying to hang around with them and not the girls. Girls belonged with girls and boys belonged with boys as it went. Not allowed to mix. Cooties too easily spread. 

They took to stuffing things down the back of her shirt. Swiping her glasses off her face. Shoving her in the lunch line. Ripping the pages out of her notebooks. Pouring glue in her chair. Scratching mean names into her desk. Cornering her during recess while the teachers were distracted and pulling her pants down in front of everyone. Because if she wouldn’t play with the girls then she must be a boy but if she was a boy then they'd need proof. 

She tried to tell her homeroom teacher when it first started but the woman didn’t believe her because Isaac is a top student and his family name stood proud on the sign outside of the new gym complex. She must have done something to him to earn such treatment.

“Did you go to your father?”

Lia shakes her head “I started to once but he just told me to try sticking with the girls more.”

“What about me? I thought we didn’t keep secrets between us.”

“You always tell me to be brave and stick up for myself if someone bothers me. I was trying to build up the courage but—” she dissolves into a low whine, struggling to finish around her tears. “I don’t think Daddy likes me.”

Claires eyebrows furrow. Up until then you didn’t think the girl had even been listening “Why would you say that!” she shouts, looking seconds away from bursting into tears herself.

You’re quick to intervene “She doesn’t mean it. Your big sister is just really sad right now.”

“No, I mean it!” Lia insists, sitting up to rub at her eyes “He doesn’t like me! He complains about everything I do!” her head bobbles from side to side as she lists “Sit more lady like. Why don’t you wear any of the dresses grandma bought you. Why don’t you do ballet instead of soccer. Why don’t you grow your hair out like the other girls. Why don’t you have any girl friends”

You take her hands into yours, they’re cold. You feel unprepared to deal with her emotions, she’s so young to even be ruminating over such things. All you want to do is ease her heartache, as her mother. An adult in her life who should have all the answers, but has no clue where to start. What would be saying too much and what would be too little. “Oh, my love, your father had a really hard time growing up with his own dad. He was really strict with him. That’s no excuse for him to take it out on you, but I know he loves you very much”

She deflates back onto your chest “Yeah, but he doesn’t like me.”

She finishes the story. 

It was recess. She was climbing up onto the monkey bars and about to go across when Isaac caught her pant leg and tried to yank them down. On instinct she went to kick him off and accidentally struck him in the face.

“I didn’t mean to break his nose. Swear.”

Never in a million years would you think her capable of intentionally hurting some. You placate her with a kiss on the forehead anyway “how about you and mom go out for a treat? Huh? Just the two of us?”

She sniffles in contemplation “Ice cream?”

“Anything you want.”

“Can I come?” Claire crawls her way up to the headboard.

“I’ll bring you back some, but Lia’s had a very bad day and that means what?”

“She needs mommy time?”

“Exactly.”

You ease said girl out of your lap gently, laying her out on the pillows, and promising to be back in five minutes. Then you’d go for her treat.

On your way out of the room you notice Claire scooting closer. She sticks her pointer finger right in her sisters’ face. “Your eyes are puffy.”

The aggravated “Claire!” follows you down the stairs.

In the living room Sirius and Emmy sit in comfortable silence, your husband bouncing the now cheerful baby on his knee. His neck nearly snaps at your approach. Eyes already glassy with regret.

“Is she terribly upset?”

“Heartbroken more like” you say, not bothering to sugarcoat it for him “she thinks you don’t like her.”

He lowers his head in shameful anguish when you sit beside him. “I just, she’s so much like me when I was young.” No friends his own gender. Only interested in things typically deemed non-conforming “the things I went through in school, at home, it pains me to imagine that happening to her.”

How much had she told him of the bullying you wonder and why had he kept it from you. You'd been there for so much of his own struggle that it honestly hurts your feelings that he’d allowed himself to spiral so much without seeking you out. The number of times he showed up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. The cuts and bruises you’d tended, caused over simplicities like nail polish, the length of his hair, the music he listened to. The way he dressed, acted, spoke. 

 “Ok, but you can’t just force her to change who she is in the name of protecting her. Just because she isn’t the girliest girl out there doesn’t give anyone the right to bully her, not even you. All you’re doing is teaching her that being herself is not ok. Then to go and blow up on her like that. It’s confusing Sirius. You know better.”

You don't say it, wouldn’t ever go that low, but you know he’s thinking it. He’s acting like his father.

Sirius sits with your words.

“Why did she hit him then?”

“She didn’t really. He tried to pull her pants down on the playset so she kicked out. It was an accident.”

“Pull her pants down?”

A fresh wave of anger rolls over his shoulders. You snatch Emmy from his grasp before planting a kiss onto his temple.

“No more of that. Go upstairs and talk to her before we leave.”

You’d get on him later for keeping secrets from you.

Sirius returns the kiss, lingering for a few seconds too long, pressing his nose into the fat of your cheek. He smells like peppermint.

“I love you.” Her murmurs. And you’re suddenly transported back to your childhood bedroom. The sun just creeping over the horizon and spilling through your window right onto his sleeping face. The lips so like Claires’, ears and brows so like Emersons’, freckles like Amelias’.  Hovering your finger over the bridge of his nose, skimming along his throat. Blowing gently at his thick lashes. Poking at the sliver of skin peeking out at his tummy where his shirt had risen up. When you’d fall asleep with him on the floor and always wake up to his breath on the back of your neck, legs tangled in bed with you. The fit of giggles sneaking him out the house before your parents woke up. 

“Love you too. Now go!”

You’re once again left with Emmy in the exact same place you’d started. He watches Sirius take the stairs two at a time before turning back to you, frown already forming. 

“And you my little man, i love you so much.”

[meganslife]

Pen pals - p. parker

TASM! Peter Parker x Fem! reader

summary: peter parker is your pen pal.

warnings: none so far!!!

hello helloooo!!! i had this idea because i myself have a pen pal, and it’s honestly really fun and reminds me of peter. this will be multiple parts!! anyhoo, happy reading!

Having a pen pal was fun. It gave you something to look forward to whenever you needed to open the mailbox. It was nice, although your lovely pen pal, Peter, was on the other side of the country. You were in Seattle. He was in Queens, New York. It was a nice arrangement that you two had. No phone numbers, just handwritten letters, and cute little pictures.

When you opened your apartment mailbox and saw that you had a letter from Peter, your heart felt warm. It was the warmest you’ve felt in a while.

Y/N,

My apologies for not writing you back sooner. School is kicking my butt recently, and I moved back in with May (hence why a new address is on the envelope). My old roommate went BALLISTIC on me for little things, so I decided I needed to leave. May is a better person to have around, anyway.

The fall semester ended last week, and I wish I could say that I passed my finals. My professors are just mean, I think. I’ve been super stressed out lately, and writing this letter is helping me. You’re my savior. Also, the pictures you sent me of you in Tennessee are amazing. You should be a model! I’m sure you hear that a lot because of how pretty you are;)

I hope it’s not too cold in Seattle. I took some pictures of random things I thought you’d like, maybe that’ll distract you from how cold it is. I know how much you hate the cold. (You chose the wrong place to live!)

Anyhoo, I’m sorry this letter is short. My wrist is cramping up and May needs help with dinner. Write back as soon as you can.

Much love,

Peter ♥

Photo one: Peter in an obnoxiously large New Year’s Eve hat, grinning from ear to ear with his friend(?)

Photo two: A Polaroid of stray cats bonding in what you assume is Peter’s front yard.

Photo three: A Polaroid of Peter that was clearly taken by May. Peter is holding a tray of muffins, and he looks really stupid in his apron.

You get to writing him a letter right away.

Dear Peter,

I love the pictures. I’ll add them to my growing collection on my wall:)

My day has been so shitty. I wish you were here. It gets lonely, sometimes. I have friends, I’ve told you very little about them. They’re great, don’t get me wrong, but living alone is just lonely. Maybe I should get a cat or something. I need something to come home to. (Sorry for making this portion of the letter sad. I just needed someone to talk to.)

The weather in Queens looks nice. You’re awfully lucky, Peter. It’s cold and slushy here. I’m cold to the bone. Like, nothing will warm me up. It’s annoying. I just want it to be summer again. I hate being pale and cold.

I don’t have any pictures as of right now, so I’m sorry about that. I have some drawings I could give you.

My letter is short too, so I guess we’re even. I need to nap the sadness away.

Cold and loving,

Y/N ♥

~

The next letter you receive from Peter is about a week later.

My dearest Y/N,

I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well.

I know we said we wouldn’t exchange phone numbers, and I respect that, but I just need to give you mine. I need to. Just in case. I don’t want you to be sad and lonely and have to wait for my letters to come. I like you. I like you A LOT– And I honestly want to meet you in person but that’s a conversation for another day. I’ve been saving up for it. Maybe you should come during the spring? You’d love it here, I know it. Or I could come to you? Whatever, we can talk about it more over the phone.

My phone number:

(718)-XXX-XXXX

Call me;)

Love always,

Peter ♥

You immediately spring up to your feet and grab your phone. Your hands were shaking as you dialed the number and called it, praying he wouldn’t think it was a spam call.

“Pete?” You ask, voice higher than you meant it to be.

Boyish laughter erupts on the other end of the line, and you already know that it’s Peter. Of course, his laugh would sound so sweet.

“Hi, lovie.”

[bartychaser]

Hey, ehm so, what I’m about to share is really personal and might trigger people who have to fight bullying and mental and/or physical illnesses bc mention of suicidal tendencies.

Idk what exactly it was but (on Pinterest I believe) someone was like “Yeah but why are there people hating on James? He’s so funny and cool with his pranks and Snivellus, just get your shit together” no he is not and I won’t get my “shit” together.

For me personally he triggers self destructive feelings and behaviours that kept building up since SECOND grade (until 10th I believe it was… could also be beginning of 11th) because there where so many ✨funny and cool✨ people who picked their “Snivellus” and spoiler alert it was always me. They pulled so many funny comments and pranks one me that almost cost me my life in the end and they were not done until 10th grade ended. They bullied me with the knowledge that I was ill in some way bc I told them I was seriously and most probably dangerously ill but at that time we didn’t exactly know what it was.

They bullied me for my illness and that illness wasn’t just “being weird randomly” that illness was a fucking brain tumor (luckily not cancer, I’m fine since I had surgery) that caused an epilepsy which is one of a kind.

The most common form of epilepsy is cramps, lying on the floor, looking funny with the drool dribbling down the chin and almost biting off their tongues (yes that can happen… my cousin is badly disabled bc a seizure damaged his brain at 3 months old).

I had a form of epilepsy which my doctors said they’ve never seen before though they were working in that business for over 40 years and they did their research when they heard about me. I was kind of the only person ever known in german medical studies in the last at least 40 years with those form of seizures. And because they were so unique they fucking sent me to a psychiatry because the doctor I’ve been to MULTIPLE TIMES before always said “Nah you’re just mental”. That also was funny enough to pick on me, rubbing in my face that I was a freak and ill and couldn’t do anything about it and I cannot count how many times I’ve prayed to not wake up. Because of people that acted just like James.

I have the right to hate him because in reality I fear him. I fear people like him because getting to have them in my life almost cost me my life and I’m so damn sure they would’ve laughed it off if I one day stopped showing up and my teacher would have stand in front of them crying because he lost the student that reminds him “so much of his sister” (that’s a quote btw) and had to tell them. I’m so afraid of James-like people and therefore I hate him. Not because he is James, James as a character has nothing to do with my past but he was the reason for another’s miserable past if you know what I mean. And every time he is mentioned making fun of Snape or pulling pranks that harm others (mentally or physically) and not only to annoy them bc that actually is funny, I feel those feelings crawling up again and I know it’s not healthy in any way bc he is just a fictional character and that is enough to get me flashbacks but it is what it is so don’t fucking ever try to tell James-dislikers who’ve openly been through similar things that ✨it’s just fun✨. For people in their past it, too, was just fun, for you it might just be fun, but for people who suffered under that fun it’s not. And not a single soul deserves that. There is not one human being who deserves to be picked on/bullied because others want to have some fun.

And no, I don’t mean to hate on James-likers bc yes, in some storys he really is cool and nice and funny and I can understand what you like about him but looking at what is shown to us in books and films he was a fucking prick who loved bullying Severus and making his time at school a part of his life he probably wishes never happened and that triggers my hate-fear if you know what I mean. I’m not trying to say your just like him, making others wanna end them or something, I’m just saying that there often is a sirius reason to dislike a character other than wanting to be different and cool or whatsoever. Sometimes you try to make someone like James with saying things that actually are triggering like “Hahaha it’s fun” Doesn’t mean you can’t try but be careful and always be respectful with trauma which really can be triggered by just one sentence or character.

I know it’s difficult and I do know there are almost no people who communicate/share their trauma just like I did but sometimes people dare doing this bc on social media they can be anonymous just like me. If my former class mates would read this they had no clue it was me. If my brother read this he had no clue it was me, you get my point? But others don’t have that anonymity bc they already published their name/face whatsoever and if anyone they know would see this they would really be fucked. At some point you probably will trigger someone but that inevitably and that’s okay because you can’t see what they’ve been through and you didn’t do it in purpose. But if someone tells you to just leave that topic no matter which topic, there. Is. A. Reason. (Probably) Respect their “no”

P.S. okay that sounds a little aggressive and guilt tripping, I’m sorry but I don’t know how to say that otherwise that was not my intention😭

[rheian]

dividers © || header by me || total fics : 27

The man, the myth, the devil himself! sorz I haven't been posting much (and by that, i mean by a whole ass semester) school has been kicking my butt.

the first few fics in this rec list are pretty heavy. if you aren't in the mood for that, skip to "Maybe Redemption is Stories to Tell" !! anyways, have some of my favorite fics about this guy.

nothing's a gift by eluvion (T, 7k words, completed)

summary: The Sokovia Accords pass. From a corner of New York, Matt watches history repeat itself.

cw: referenced suicide and child abuse, ableism, american militarism, dehumanization, police brutality, american politics in general, anti-sokovia accords || ok, kinda controversial fic due to the nature of the sokovia accords BUT please do read it! It is an actual experience. You can absolutely tell that the writer spent a LOT of time on this fic and is wonderfully researched.

all the glory when you ran outside by whitchry9 (T, 10k words, completed)

summary: When Matt is thirteen years old, he breaks his leg. Turns out it's cancer. (Radioactive materials can have that effect.)

cw: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!!, underage kissing || i was so absolutely heartbroken. What the fuck.

Little devil by Timpaxew (G, 13k words, completed)

summary: Tony’s counting his blessings, because honestly this could have been worse. Babysitting a de-aged eleven year old vigilante may be a lot harder than he’d thought it be, but at least Peter’s here to help. And at least no one else was turned into children. Baby daredevil was a lot less cute than Tony would have thought. This whole child solider thing was more depressing, than anything. Tony was going to kill this stick guy.

cw: child soldiers, everything that comes with matt murdock’s backstory

small potatoes by deniigiq (NR, 1.9k words, completed)

summary: The road between ten and fifteen had been a slow descent into bad and then worse. (Matt had a hard time in foster-care. It affects the way he relates to Peter.)

cw: child abuse, suicidal thoughts, suicide || “i’m i’m crying fuck” me too past me. me too.

To Know Him by withthekeyisking (M, 19k words, completed)

summary: Recently orphaned, Matthew Murdock is in high demand. And this time, Stick isn't the one to find him.

cw: brainwashing, emotional manipulation, rape, child soldiers, child abuse, typical warnings for the red room, hydra, and wilson fisk || one of my all time fav fics about matt!! do note that it has an open ending.

The Devil You Know by IsisKitsune (T, 44k words, completed)

summary: ... is better than the one that doesn't know you. Matt woke up in an unknown place. He couldn't remember going to sleep. Had, in fact, remembered being unable to sleep and just heading for the chapel to pray, hoping to wear himself out and calm his Always overactive mind... How did he get here?

cw: past child abuse, child soldiers, ableism, captivity

Of Monstrous Shape by Rosalui (M, 10k words, completed)

summary: “Put me in the ring,” Matt said. His glasses were cracked like a spider’s web, and in the shifting shadows it looked as if he were raising hackles in disgust. “The House doesn’t profit from quick deaths,” said the jailor.

cw: ableism, human trafficking || “Involuntary Battle to the Death”

what's past is prologue by avocadodreamin (NR, 12k words, completed)

summary: In which the past may have made Matt Murdock the man he is today, but that doesn't mean Foggy has to be happy about it. (Or, five times Foggy hated Matt's childhood.)

cw: past child abuse and just in general stick.

Veneration by WerewolvesAreReal (T, 19k words, completed)

summary: Matt has a strange talent for attracting beautiful, intelligent women. Sometimes, though, he indulges in another type - older men, gruff men, men who insult him and tear him down. Foggy doesn't understand... until he meets Stick. 5+1

cw: ableism, sexual abuse, child abuse, domestic violence, age gap, attempted rape/non-con || uhm.

everything we hear, everything we see by Katbelle (T, 5k words, completed)

summary: Matt gets hit with an honest-to-God real truth serum. The consequences are much less fun than pop culture has led Foggy to believe. "I don't hate you, Matt." Matt blinks. "Oh." He blinks again, and his eyes go almost comically wide in surprise. "You're not lying anymore. Foggy, you're not lying, did you know that?"

cw: referenced rape and child abuse, non-con drug use, referenced underage sex (that was non consexual)

nothing he can't endure by Katbelle (T, 21k words, completed)

summary: Matt and Foggy deal with the aftermath of Matt's Veritaserum-induced word-vomit — or don't deal, as the case may be. Foggy launches a revenge plan against Stick with the help of his weird neighbour. Interesting family connections are made and discovered. In the meantime, Matt and Foggy deal with some of their other problems, or at least try to. (SEQUEL TO EVERYTHING WE HEAR, EVERYTHING WE SEE)

cw: referenced child abuse, rape/non-con, and underage sex (that was noncon)

Learn to Live With the Unimaginable by prettybirdy979 (T, 22k words, completed)

summary: He's just supposed to be helping Red and his friend for this one thing. Only here because their interests align and Red's not willing to place the lives of children over his morals. Course that all flies out the window when Red ends up getting himself - and his friend Elektra - turned into kids. And not just any kind of kids. Oh no. That would be too easy. Red and Elektra would have to be child soldiers, who somehow choose to trust Frank. Because of course nothing in Frank's life is simple anymore.

cw: child soldiers, childhood trauma, canon-typical violence, canonical child and character death

~

Maybe Redemption is Stories to Tell by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee (T, 25k words, completed)

summary: In which Matt Murdock copes with Asgardians, little sisters, and nosy superheroes. Also known as 'why you should never let Loki crash on your couch' Featuring an excess of Asgardians, more paper cranes, New York City, shenanigans, 80s movies, hot cocoa and feelings. Not necessarily in that order.

cw: – || okay, confession: i put this fic here due to a VERY specific scene that is in my brain 24/7. BUT! I recommend reading the entire series.

Living Life in the Shadow of a Goodbye by prettybirdy979 (NR, 1.8k words, completed)

summary: Just because they fought together, doesn't mean Luke knows that much about Matthew Murdock, recently 'resurrected' blind ninja (okay they rescued him from a bunch of nuns but seriously, the man should've died).

So when he, somehow, gets roped into helping Matt train Danny to learn to pay attention to his surroundings well... it might be a chance to get to know the guy. A bit.

Plus he gets to throw things at Danny. Always a plus.

cw: –

Through the Internet's Eyes by AsperJasper (T, 3k words, completed)

summary: It's the age of the internet, and Matt Murdock really thought nobody would ever connect any of his dots? Fat chance.

cw: – || just another social media fic.

Avengers v. Ableism by whitchry9 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: The Avengers are surprisingly good allies, as Matt finds out on a number of occasions where other people are dicks.

cw: ableism

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost (But Matt's Not Wandering; He's Just Lost) by prettybirdy979 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: Matt has a super important meeting in Sta-no, Avenger Tower that he's running late for. But finding it in Tony Stark's futuristic nightmare of a non-ADA compliant building might be a problem. (Aka Matt Murdock vs Tony Stark's building and high tech security. Here's a hint- the security loses)

cw: –

Strike the Harp by prettybirdy979 (T, 20k words, completed)

summary: Matt's been invited to Foggy's for Christmas, his first ever magical one (his Dad didn't do big displays of magic and well, nuns and magic don't really mix). He's excited; it's going to be amazing. There's just one problem... Foggy may have implied to his family that Matt had no magic. Oops?

cw: – || two words. magik murdock. that’s all thank you

Small Comforts by kfantastique (T, 6k words, completed)

summary: Matt is finally allowing himself some physical comfort from his friends and Foggy is so relieved. The friends are confused that Daredevil apparently likes cuddling?? Foggy thinks it's hilarious and adorable but he been knew.

cw: some drinking and non-consensual drug use 

Don't Worry Bro, We Got This by QueenofLit (G, 1k words, completed)

summary: After having teamed up so often with the Avengers, Matt knew it was going to come out eventually. He just hadn't quite expected this kind of reaction. Okay, no, he had actually expected the disbelief and accusations. How the Avengers reacted to that, however, was... weird. People mad at him? Usual. People defending him? Definitely weird.

cw: ableism

Ifs, Ands, and Butts by whitchry9 (T, 7k words, completed)

summary: Wherein Steve recognizes Matt Murdock as Daredevil on the basis of The Booty. He just doesn't know how to bring up the topic.

cw: –

Words on a Page by AsperJasper (G, 1k words, completed)

summary: A few times over the years when Matt wrote things down and other people had to read it.

cw: –

Not Your Damsel by whitchry9 (G, 6k words, completed)

summary: Matt is getting really sick of being rescued by the Avengers. What's he's even more sick of is needing to be rescued.

cw: –

Almonds by Anonymous (M, 1.9k words, completed)

summary: The story inspires Karen to ask, “Alright, what’s one food you will never, ever eat again?” She thought it would be fun. And it is. It’s fun when she shares the story of the time she bit into a raspberry and heard something crunch, spitting out a mangled ladybug, and ever since then she refuses to eat raspberries or anything raspberry flavoured.

It’s fun when Foggy tells the story of when he was a teenager and he ate way too much kugel too quickly after breaking his Yom Kippur fast and threw up in the shul bathroom, and now eating kugel reminds him of that experience.

“Almonds,” says Matt, “Because of the time Stick poisoned me.” Like he’s discussing the weather. Like that’s a normal fucking thing to say. It’s not fun, then. Nothing has ever been less fun.

cw: past child abuse and sexual abuse, poisoning

deserve to take up space by whitchry9 (T, 2k words, completed)

summary: “You know. The autism. He's autistic, right?” Foggy has no clue what Karen is talking about. "Those are all… just Matt things." Unless they're not just Matt things.

cw: –

penny for your thoughts by deniigiq (NR, 7k words, completed)

summary: Foggy broke them up by vociferously admiring the progress Karen was making on her vomiting gourd. They all rallied around this artistic monument for a bit. May decided that everyone needed to drink hot cider and Matt waited, kindly and politely, until everyone was holding a drink and nervously giggling about the silliness that was The Conjuring. “You wanna hear something actually scary?” he prompted to sudden silence. (Matt opens up a bit to tell Team Red and friends a ghost story.)

cw: –

The Curiosity Game by ArtemisRayne (T, 14k words, completed)

summary: Clint Barton knows that boredom is dangerous; it tends to lead to him doing stupid things. Stupid things like making bets with Tony Stark about which one of them can find and befriend the Daredevil of Hell's Kitchen first. Yet another "Daredevil Meets the Avengers" fic.

cw: –

[adoremexxs]

Sekido’s Hatred

this is just a random one shot drabble with Sekido hating on Zohakuten fr, i’m sorry if it’s bad or doesn’t make sense i wrote it while i was half asleep and sad

warnings: heavy, heavy themes, smoking, sh, fighting, literal abuse‼️

Sekido sat outside on the porch. It was in middle of the night and he couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t. Not with these nightmares keeping him awake.

He just sat underneath the moonlight, basking his body in it. A cigarette in between his fingers, the smoke vanishing into the air.

His pajama pants were getting dirty by sitting out on the porch. It was covered with leaves and the wood was rotting.

His red hoodie reeked of tobacco. Sekido knows his brothers know about his little secret. Every night, he would come out here, smoke a cigarette and then go back inside. It was a way of grieving and to also be alone.

Their mother had long passed now. Sekido had nothing to remind him of her besides lotus flowers. Her favorite flowers.

Sekido regularly prayed to God. Begging for God to forgive his sins and to let his mother continue to prosper.

He hated Urogi and Zohakuten’s features. They looked the most like their mother. Urogi had her beautiful yellow eyes, Zohakuten had her nose. Part of him loathes his littlest brother.

After all, he is the reason that their mother ended up passing away.

Maybe not in childbirth but he made her get so weak and sick. It’s practically his fault.

Sekido loathes his littlest brother.

Zohakuten is nothing but a curse.

Everything that he touches will burn, his temper is too much, everything he does, he messes up.

His littlest brother will never be anything but a curse.

Sekido will never admit it but Zohakuten is too much like him.

Too much rage, too much hurt bottled up.

It hurt even more whenever their father left them to their grandpa.

The reason being “Zohakuten is too much trouble, too sick to even take care of, you all are complete bastards. None of you are my children.”

They knew that it wasn’t true. At least them being bastards. They all looked like their father. Sekido had his temper, Karaku his eyes, they all had his tan skin and height.

Aizetsu, Urogi and Zohakuten looked too much like their mother.

Aizetsu, her sensitive heart, Urogi, her eyes, and Zohakuten…looked entirely too much like her.

Zohakuten was her…but their father’s traits overtook him.

Another thing about Zohakuten is that he was so weak at birth. He almost didn’t make it.

Two years after they had moved in with their grandpa, he had passed away.

Zohakuten was with him.

It was the first time Sekido ever saw his little brother cry. All Sekido could do was glare down at Zohakuten as if it was his fault for the old man passing away.

All he felt was uncontrollable rage towards his littlest brother and it was the first time he put his hands on him. He knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t Zohakuten’s fault but Sekido felt like it was.

He killed their mother, made their father leave and now their grandpa and now they are all left to themselves.

Sekido had to grow up faster than the rest of them. He had to be the one to take care of them.

So when he found Zohakuten cutting himself and tearing at the skin on his face in the kitchen one night, all he felt was hatred.

How could Zohakuten be so selfish? After all he does for Zohakuten. He wants to take his own life.

How pathetic his little brother was.

But that night in the kitchen, Zohakuten never raised a blade to his skin again. Sekido’s harsh words and hits were enough.

The moment that Zohakuten started to beat up students at school because of his own pent up anger at Sekido and the world was the moment Sekido knew that Zohakuten was actually selfish.

Zohakuten didn’t appreciate anything. Nothing at all. All he did was beat up people who made him mad. He hung out with Daki and Gyutaro who sold him things like drugs. Maybe it was his way of grieving but Sekido didn’t care.

It all seemed to stop though whenever he found Karaku almost dead on the floor. Zohakuten actually seemed to straighten up and for once, he didn’t cry.

He kept it pent up. Sekido thought it was good for him. Zohakuten cried all the time when he was younger. It was annoying.

Zohakuten became quieter, more reserved. He seemed better after Karaku’s incident.

He locked himself in his room most days or he went to Rui’s.

Sekido didn’t like Rui.

He was too…weird and sickly.

It reminded him of their mother.

Maybe that’s why Zohakuten is obsessed with Rui.

Because he is frail and weak.

Sekido can’t stand his littlest brother. He’s too much like him, drowning in hatred and hurt. He wanted nothing but to drown him further in it and put him out of his misery.

Zohakuten finally seemed to snap.

Him and Sekido had gotten into a huge fight. Punches were thrown, glasses were broken until finally Sekido had punched Zohakuten cold out onto the ground.

He kept punching him. His fists breaking the soft skin on Zohakuten’s face. Every punch was for their mother, their father and their grandpa. If Zohakuten simply hadn’t been born, they would have a mother, a father and a grandpa.

Blood had spewed from Zohakuten’s nose and face. A puddle of blood forming underneath him as his own brother continued to beat his face in.

Sekido didn’t stop until he heard a sickening crunch and his other brothers had to pull him off.

The crunch seemed to snap him out of it and he was frozen while Karaku, Aizetsu and Urogi took Zohakuten to the hospital.

Sekido just stood there.

His face bloodied, his hands were a massacre.

Sekido stared at his hands. It suddenly hit him.

He had killed Zohakuten’s spirit. Crushed his littlest brother’s soul.

He was the reason that Zohakuten had turned out the way he was.

His little brother was just a kid. A kid who wanted to be loved.

Sekido had ruined his little brother, he had turned his brother into him.

Zohakuten truly was Sekido’s hatred.

[kittenkes]

We'd wake up early, back when the weight of things weren't so heavy. We'd pile in the car and watch our breath plume in the frigid air until the heater stole it away. I'd lean my head against the window and sleep the 2.5 hours it took to get to my grandparents' farm. My sister would sleep on my shoulder while my dad weaved through the complicated highways of Dallas until we hit open agricultural fields swaying in the morning breeze. I'd jolt awake when the tires hit the gravelly dirt road. We were almost there. We would pull into the narrow dirt road that led to the farm. The cows lazily grazed in the dew-covered paddock, and the chickens would scatter as our tires kicked up dirt. We'd pull in, and I'd run inside and greet my large, seemingly perfect family. I would hug my grandma and grandpa close as they'd ask me about school and life. I'd find my cousins and we would run out to the gully and play in the dirt for hours. We'd explore the woods on the edge of the paddock and throw dried cow patties at each other. My dad would come find me, and we would shoot at beer cans until dinner where we would say grace and I hoped that God found me an acceptable disciple.

The years passed and I grew into myself. I developed my own ideas about life, love, and sex. Thanksgiving day became a place where I pretended to be the same little girl I used to be. Innocent, naive. But I noticed the resentment between my family members. Some relationships faltered and their disagreements clouded their love. My cousins and I had experimented with our own personal relationships. At one point we were all in some form of a serious relationship. I visited the gully by myself as my cousins’ curled up with their partners by the fire contributing to whatever discussion felt important at the time.

I continued on, trying to find myself. I dated a few girls but never had the guts to bring them to meet my family at Thanksgiving. I had already been chewed out and grounded for having posted a picture of us kissing on social media. It was better for them to pretend I was normal. I’d sit at the dinner table at the farm, listening to the ignorance and hate that accompanied religious-centered topics. We would say grace and I would bow my head and wonder who I was praying to. I watched as my cousins were proposed to. I watched them announce their pregnancies on social media. I watched as the once unbreakable bond between us was shattered by the perceived normalcy of traditional values.

I watched my once strong and independent grandparents put the farm up for sale. I cried, knowing that it would be impossible to keep the farm in the family. I would no longer wake at 6am and take a three mile walk with my grandparents as they pointed out Painted Buntings in the brush. I would no longer kneel in the garden and harvest the freshly grown food. I would never again taste a farm-to-table meal from my grandmother. I would never get to skip rocks down at the tank or sit in a deer blind, hoping to God nothing crossed our paths.

Now, my grandparents live in an outdated home that is falling apart much like their own bodies. My grandpa doesn’t even recognize me. When he does he chastises me for moving to another state. My family asks when I’m planning on getting married. When I plan to have kids. That is as deep as the conversation runs. My cousins appear and my family’s attention is ripped away by the new life that they have brought into this world. They ask if I want to hold the baby and watch intently as I hold it, wondering why I’m not immediately falling apart at the seams with desire to procreate. I look down at the little drooly human grabbing at my hair and wonder why I feel nothing. I pass it off to someone else as soon as I can. I sit and listen to the bigotry, the hate that spews from my family over those who are different, not understanding that I sit among them. I watch my grandpa piss himself and my grandma slide into her wheelchair to help my grandpa to the bathroom. Thanksgiving dinner is served and none of it made with love by my grandmother who now walks crooked and falls asleep on the couch. I watch as my parents ignore each other. I watch as my mom grows old with dissatisfaction and anger. I watch as my dad stops giving a fuck. I watch as my sister pretends to be a happy family with her new husband and step daughter. I pretend to be a good aunt. I pretend to have my shit together. I pretend that this was the same family I saw when I was growing up.

But the truth is I just grew up and discovered the bullshit. The bullshit of family. The bullshit of politics. The bullshit of love. The bullshit of marriage. The bullshit of life. The facade of normalcy and belonging. So I avoid those gatherings like the plague. When I say I miss my family, I miss what they once were. Or perhaps I miss what I did not know.

So happy fucking Thanksgiving. Another useless reminder that I’m alone and nothing is what I once thought it was.

[armslikeanchors]

this is embarrassing but i have to get it out of my head

i think back a lot to a conversation we had, or rather, that i had with you

it went verbatim:

“

you know, the last year of our relationship broke me down back to the person i thought i had healed from

some nights after you went to sleep avoiding saying good night

i would stay up and hope that

the next day you would tell me you loved me

or

tell me how beautiful you felt i was

even if i didnt believe it,

it was nice to hear those words come from your mouth

im not sure if you had ever realized but

every time you complimented me or hugged me

i would burst into tears

i dont think you ever realized why

at some point, those little things became rare

instead of making me feel loved

you made me feel neglected;

i gave you my all

i never thought id find myself praying for a sign that you still looked at me the way you did at the beginning

it was pathetic

i never knew that the one person i believed could love me

would strip me down to my most vulnerable and excruciating insecurities

some days i would wear my nicest clothes to school

everyone complimented me but you

everyone

people i have never spoken a word to

you never batted an eye

“

and maybe thats where i mess up

i become too dedicated

isnt that the point, though?

maybe i was dedicated to the wrong person.

maybe this is embarrassing and im entirely too sensitive

i believe i just cant put it into words correctly

i then read you a diary entry about 4 days before you broke it off

sitting in the car waiting for you to leave a school meeting

i wrote

“

im driving my girlfriend and i home

she’s walking over here

im in the school parking lot

i love her a lot, i hope she always knows it

“

i then read you another entry

from the day after

“

id love to be your wife

id love to have our kids

i’m sure i’ll be a good mom

i’m sorry

“

i then said

“

i remember before the end of it all, i would read my diary entries about you and think

‘i don’t think she’d ever say something so heartfelt about me the way i do for her’

and you wouldnt

“

you didnt make a sound but there were tears streaming down your face

i still dont think youll ever truly realize how bad everything affected me

theres so much more i can say but i dont feel like fitting that into a post

you turned into a monster

you were so aggressive

you were so full of hate towards me

you then admitted to me

“

im now realizing i took you for granted for too long

“

well now what can you do.

anyway

thinking back

everything was so humbling

and so

i promised myself that

i will never let myself beg again

this is it

[beatsboy]

7.2.24 / day 9 of romanticizing my life until i love myself again

i am capable of so much, i can jot down some thoughts about my day and upload the photos i’ve already taken before i go to sleep, i tell myself every day, and somehow, around midnight, i tell myself it’s time, and end up finally doing it just before 2

as i write this, the nickleback documentary (love to hate) is playing in the background, it makes me think abut my conversation with mf yesterday about death, and legacy

legacy is underrated, charli says, and while i think so much of legacy is tied to privilege and nepotism and classism, i also agree in some ways. while i don’t think the past should define what is popular or notable now, i do think that we’ve come to a point in media where we focus so exclusively on the quick dopamine shot, the viral star, the instant celebrity, that we’ve forgotten why art is so much more appealing than life: it outlives us.

when i spent my time trying to be the next great american author, i told myself (half out of fear of rejection albeit) that i didn’t want success in my lifetime. i wanted to die, for my work to be discovered years later, and develop a cult-like following posthumously. yes, part of this was because i feared the prospect of becoming successful in my own short little life. and it was also because what i craved in my art was something that would transcend this present moment, that would speak to the future world. i wanted to make art that pushed boundaries and limits, and i didn’t care if everyone understood it now. i still feel that way. i am less afraid of rejection. i was rejected for a scholarship the other day, and when i received the email, i reminded myself that i didn’t even want to go back to school unless it was free. i smoked some weed and went about my day.

today, as i sat in my friend’s car in a cemetery in burbank, talking about life, music, and art, as we always do, a deer walked toward us from the other side of the cemetery and started munching on some flowers the gardener had just planted. and, though he didn’t get close, i swear he walked straight toward us for a moment and stared me right in the eye.

maybe what that psychic said wasn’t true and she was just trying to drain me of my savings and i’m not marked with the x for success in my palm. maybe everyone’s palm has that. maybe that’s just the way palms work. but being with friends who are doing the thing with me, who see the buck in the cemetery, foraging among the dead as we smoke cigarettes in his chevy and listen to demos we pray will become singles we plead to the gods people will enjoy listening and moving and crying to, i think to myself, i don’t need a psychic, and i never have. maybe my future has never been waiting for me, perhaps i have always been creating it, and will create it, one hour at a time, until i die.

in the middle of watching the nickelback documentary, i took sweet pea for a late night walk, after midnight, and i brought some scissors with me. i figured they could serve dual use as protection if needed. i walked a few blocks away from my building, waited for sweet pea to poop, and then began foraging. there is so much to forage in this city; i’ve noticed more so now that i don’t have a yard with fruit trees and such. sweet pea started sniffing a bush that i discovered to be rosemary, so i took some of that (note to self: never buy fresh rosemary again, and don’t worry about getting a plant for your apartment that you will kill) and stuffed it into my fanny pack before cutting off some white roses outside of another apartment building and some purple hibiscus from a tree outside of a separate building. i’m never buying flowers again.

who says there is no nature in this city?

[finitefall]

Do you think Emilia portrayed Daenerys well? Most people consider her acting mediocre at best.

Short answer: yes, I loved Emilia as Daenerys.

Long answer: Emilia getting so much criticism has always been unfair.

First, you have the Tamzin Merchant debate and while I'm sure some people who say they picture her as Daenerys are honest, the fact is that many saying she would have been better for the role are antis Dany. It's obvious why: Tamzin said herself she couldn't connect to the character so she wasn't interested in playing the role. There are no hard feelings from her not getting the part unlike what some people have said. Emilia, on the contrary, absolutely connected to Dany and fell in love with her as much as all Dany fans. So it has nothing to do with Tamzin being a better actress or fitting the description of the book character better than Emilia: if Tamzin wasn't invested in the character, she wouldn't have defended Dany as Emilia did. And they hate Emilia for defending Dany and for saying "I stand by Daenerys" after the finale. There's also another very ugly part, and it concerns things that have been said about Tamzin's looks who would look like a Targaryen and especially Daenerys because... you know, I really don't want to repeat those insults. Basically, antis Dany have been disrepectful towards both Tamzin and Emilia, under the pretense of Tamzin being better for the role, using the fact that Martin wanted her as Daenerys after seeing her in The Tudors when in fact, they don't give a crap about Tamzin.

Second, you have the criticism that Emilia was expressionless, when it wasn't her who wanted this but D&D. She said it herself:

There was a number of times I was like, ‘Why are you giving me that note?’ While I am quite consistently a 'How can I help?’ kind of person, there were a few moments where I was like, 'Don’t tell me what to do with my girl. I know what to do!’ It's like Daenerys’ calling card became cold expressionlessness. I always wanted to infuse that with some humanity because no one’s consistently like that. I would sometimes fight back a little: 'I get that she has to be steely and unforgiving and a powerful force. But in this moment she’s also a goddamn human being. So I’m going to give you that and I really pray that you take that in the edit.’ (source)

How is it her fault that D&D wanted to change her character so much? It wasn't. Now, at first, people didn't know Emilia so I could understand the criticism. But she did say it after the show, so it would be great if people gave her a break and could appreciate the work she's been able to do with such awful writers giving her dumb notes.

Third, her haters literally said she used her brain aneurysms as an excuse for this, that she was as crazy as her character for saying she was gonna die while she was on set. And the more love Dany got, the more her haters would also hate on Emilia, finding literally everything awful about her.

Also, Emilia was new: her first real role before GOT (so not counting students productions, commercials, and a very minor role) had been in a mediocre film on television in 2010 (still, her performance hadn't been criticized by critics, only the film). She graduated from drama school in 2009. Again, she was new. So when she was cast as Daenerys in GOT in 2010, at 24 years-old, she didn't have a lot of experience. She was just a very motivated, full of potential young actress who fell in love with Dany. So can we compare her to other cast members who had a lot more experience? No. That being said, there are people who aren't antis Dany at all and have absolutely nothing against Emilia, but just weren't convinced by her acting. Fair enough: you can't please everyone! Do I believe that even with more experience, she can become a Lena Headey or a Peter Dinklage, for example? No, I don't, but that doesn’t mean she’s a bad actress at all.

So if people say Emilia's performance didn't leave a huge impression on her unlike others have, I understand. For me, she did leave a huge impression as Dany, but that's personal and subjective. But if people say she's a mediocre actress and use the arguments I've talked about, they're just being unfair and many of them hate Dany as much as they hate Emilia.

[amonsteronmaplestreet]

32

Well, Seann, you did it. You made to 32 years old. Isn’t that something?

Your life isn’t really what you thought it would be, is it? Remember back in high school, when you thought that you’d have a house and be making six figures by now? Ah, the optimism of youth. Instead here you are, renting one-fourth of a two-bedroom apartment, barely keeping above the poverty line. You probably should have seen that one coming, if I’m being honest.

That’s not to say your life is awful, of course! You’re in love after all. You live with a woman you love dearly, who loves you back, and it was just five years ago that you would have scoffed at the idea of that ever happening. So much has improved in just the last half-decade.

Five years ago, you worked at a retail outlet where the phones never stopped ringing no matter how much you prayed they would, and you despised everything about your own life. That was the only period of time in which you ever self-harmed. Remember that? Do you remember taking the sharp metal tools meant for phone repair and scratching up and down your arms until you drew blood? Do you remember the sting, the feeling of release? Do you recall your conviction that everything painful in your life was some kind of deserved punishment, and that if you hurt yourself enough then maybe—just maybe—you’d balance out the cosmic scales and everything else wouldn’t be so bad?

How very Catholic. I guess thirteen years of parochial schooling will leave its mark on a person, no matter what.

But that’s all the past now. Now you have a job you love. Sure, you need to buy new insoles because your feet are always in pain, and sure your car broke down so now you need to take the bus to work and it eats up hours of your day, but when you walk though the doors of that doggie daycare, dozens of wagging tails and furry faces are excited to greet you. That counts for something.

What do you think the dogs think that place is? Who do they think you are? Every day their parents take them to a place full of friends, where they can run wild and play. Would that we all could live a life like that.

Then at the end of the day, you get to go home to your girlfriend. You see her smile, you kiss her, and the two of you rest your heads on one another. No matter how tiring the day may have been, you have that. You’re secure, you’re happy, and you’re content. Life is good.

But not everything is sunshine and roses. There’s still that whole “living just above the poverty line” business. A single accident or the mildest streak of bad luck is all it would take for this life of yours to come crashing down. It’s hard to enjoy the good things when you have that knowledge there, always looming over you from the back of your mind.

And speaking of your mind…

There’s two parts of you that you’ve never been able to kill, no matter how hard you’ve tried. The first is an ugly thing. It’s selfish and envious and always raging. It’s that bitter part of you that thinks you deserve to live off just your writing, that seethes with jealousy whenever you see another writer succeeding, that curses and hates everyone who scrolls on past a post about your books or your Ko-Fi or your Patreon without ever clicking through and buying something. It’s the part of you that hates the world for not showering you with money and praise at every opportunity.

It’s a childish thing, and it should have died with childhood. But still it lives, and even though you try your damnedest to stamp it out and starve it, to bury those feelings and smother it with your shame at experiencing them, it continues to thrive. You have failed to kill that part of you at every turn, and now all you can do is try to ignore it. Let it shout and seethe by itself, without your voice to focus it.

The other part of you that you can’t kill is a beautiful thing, but that just makes it worse, doesn’t it? It’s hope. It’s the part of you that thinks you could make a living off your writing, the part of you that, whenever you finish or start a project, thinks “Yes, this is the one. This is going to be my big break. It will be a success, and it will make me a success, and everything will be alright.” And no matter how many times that doesn’t happen, still that hopeful part of you refuses to die.

These two parts, seemingly so different, are tightly connected. They feed on each other, in a way. The ugliness grows with the beauty, and the beauty in turn grows with the ugliness. Hope rekindles itself in the face of defeat, but so too does resentment fester. You fear—no, you know—that so long as one lives, so too will the other.

It’s your birthday, and you’re doing the same thing you’ve done the past few years. You’re running a promotion, trying to entice people to join your Patreon or your Ko-Fi; it doesn’t matter to you which. That hopeful part of you thinks that you can make a lot of money off this—after all, surely the offer of free books will entice people!—but you know that even getting one new subscriber would be a minor miracle, and two would be more than you should dare to dream of. You’d be thankful and grateful if this led to any subscriptions at all, and you’d never know quite how to express that gratitude. You’d just let it fill you, and drown that awful envious part of you that rages that it’s still not enough.

You live in Capitalism. Nothing can ever be enough. That’s the whole damn point of the system.

And sometimes these two seemingly unkillable parts of you come together in mourning. In the face of failure, they wonder if maybe you don’t deserve success after all, if maybe you can’t achieve it because you aren’t good enough. It stands to reason, right? If your writing was better, you’d be more successful. That’s what you’ve been taught your whole life.

Maybe you deserve poverty. Maybe you deserve worse than that. After all, look at all this bitterness you’ve allowed to fester within you. Does that not make you a bad person? Does that not make you undeserving?

Yet even in this darkness, that hopeful part of you still refuses to die. It drags you out of the pit and it makes you try again, and again, and again still. You force yourself to keep going, and when you go to work and the dogs look at you with such uncomplicated joy, and you go home and she looks at you with such love, you can’t help but wonder what they’re seeing. Whatever it is, you wish you could see it as well.

So you trudge on, guided by your hope, and if feeding that ugly, selfish envy is the price you must pay to hold onto it, then maybe that’s a fair bargain after all.

A whole new year is stretched out before you. There’s so much you want to do with it, so much you want to accomplish. The truth is that you’ll probably fail on most of the goals you set for yourself. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a few successes, small though they may be. In a world like this one, every success is something worth celebrating.

Happy birthday, Seann. Welcome to Thirty Two.

[sub-at-omicsteminist]

Why are you atheist??

I’ve been staring at this ask for a while now since it’s such an odd thing to just ask and I was trying to figure out when I’ve ever mentioned religion so I can answer in response to what they’ve seen but I don’t know when I’ve mentioned it.

I’ve never been a person of faith, I remember in year 2 (6/7 years of age) I was at a school Mass and I realised everyone else around me believed what was being said whereas I thought what was happening was just another story. I’ve always took religious teachings as stories to teach morals and guidance but I never took them literally.

I used to attended a Greek Orthodox church on Sundays and I’m christened Greek Orthodox and I didn’t mind it because the priest was a lovely person. He would say things like Science is the pursuit of understanding Gods creation and he would talk about how important education is. But the thing that stood out to me was he once said being trans isn’t a sin, it’s the journey God planned for that Individual. So when I was younger I wasn’t aware of the more homophobic and transphobic sides of religion.

It wasn’t until I started attending the Catholic secondary that I realised that some people used religion to back up ideas of hate and I became very anti Christian and stopped attending church because as a young Queer kid the bullying and being told I’m going to hell all the time really got to me.

My mum also became very unwell, she has a chronic illness amongst many other disabilities so I also thought if there is a God he doesn’t care because why would he make a child watch there mother slowly die and loose her mind and become abusive.

I loved talking to my friends about their religions though, I’ve always been fascinated with beliefs and faith because I’ve never had any. I partook in Ramadan one year to support my friend who was finding it hard and their family invited me to Iftar and I really respected how important their faith must be for them to do this because it was very difficult. Another experience I won’t forget was watching my friends mum create a Rangoli because she put so much care and attention into it and it is still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen because of that care that went into it.

But it wasn’t until I was 17 I started recognising not all religious people are oppressive, some people use it for oppression but if you take people individually who believe in it that’s not a bad thing.

But there are still things I don’t like, for an example at my secondary we were put into religious houses and mine was house Vanier, turns out that guy was an awful person. His name is Jean Vanier if anyone wants to look him up but it’s just disgusting. Also the priest at the Catholic Church closest to where I live was found out to be preying on children, I have no idea what happened to him in the end but it was a big deal in my town. I also live near some Jehovah’s witnesses who for a month straight harassed me after pride because I assume they saw me coming home with pride face paint and stickers on and I had leaflets about sinning coming through the letter box constantly, and even now they still bang loudly on my door to preach when I’ve explained me, my mum and dad all have diagnosed ptsd and find it distressing. My RE teacher also told our class how he pressured his friend who was SA’d into keeping her baby and he was so proud of himself and it made me feel sick, he did loose his job because he told a student they’ll die and go to hell if they take the pill even though they were taking it for medical reasons.

That’s the part of religion I hate, it’s those individuals I hate. I don’t hate religion or people who practice religion but I hate the fact those things happened.

One of the kindest adults in my life was the school Chaplin, she told me she prayed everyday for my mum to get better and she prayed for me during my exams. I spent a lot of time in the chapel because it was quiet when I was having panic attacks and she used to just sit with me and talk me through them.

I’ve lost track of what I’ve written but

I’m not anti religion. Me not being a religious person isn’t anti religion. I’m anti people using religion as an excuse to be horrible to others.

I’ve just never had any sort of beliefs, in my mind everything is just a coincidence. I don’t believe in an after life, ghosts, superstitions or anything like that either. But that’s who I am and I don’t think that should offend anyone. But I also know I could be wrong and I can’t tell anyone their religion is wrong or right because I simply don’t know that.

I think I prefer the term agnostic (a person who believes that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God) over atheist because it’s as simple as I don’t know but I don’t think anyone is wrong for having faith.

But also I want to add I’m a white person talking about religion and my experience, all over the world people have different experiences so it doesn’t actually matter what I say. I’m just answering an ask and if you ever want to talk to me about religion I’m always happy to.

[thebittercorvus]

it was three in the morning when the realization that i really left hit me, alongside a wave of nausea and a headache that was forming in the deepest corner of my damaged brain.

to be completely fair, i've never been made for long distance trips. or short distance trips. or any trip at all because i've always hated leaving the confort and safety of the broom closet that i oftentimes found myself calling bedroom, even though it was more closely related to a cave or a glorified storage room with a bed crammed inside.

but, as i looked through the window and into the endless void of the night, and wondered why is that driving through a rural area always left me with such an unsettling feeling of being followed to the ends of the world, burdened with the knowledge that i packed everything i owned inside a school's backpack and yet everything i ever cared about was left behind alongside a decade of work stored inside a box, inside another box, and hidden away from my mother's treacherous hands and unprivy eyes that would undoubtely search through my most private thoughts under the guise of being worried, as mothers do, but was actually looking for yet another excuse to martyrize herself and in turn mortify me even further. mother, i would wish to say only to end up saying it to myself, if all of your problems can only be solved by blaming others, then i'm afraid none of them will ever get a solution you'll be happy about. somehow i've been to blame for everything and nothing at the same time ever since i was born, both dearly beloved and deeply detested but perhaps that's just something you gotta learn to live with when you're the eldest kid and also a woman.

i left everything behind and yet it felt as if i was carrying too much.

where i was going didn't matter as much as the fact as i was finally leaving, an idea as terrifying as the fact that what i carried with me was nothing more than three days worth of clean clothes, twenty bucks on cash and absolutely no phone, so that if i died no-one would be able to locate me- not that somebody would notice for at least a month really. and of course the fact that my past weigthed more than all the belongings i carried with me combined and those i had to bring, unlike all of the things i actually cared about, my own heart included which i ripped out of my chest and exchanged for a single chance, and that i left inside a box, inside another box, hidden under a stash of poetry books i've read a thousand of times trying to find exactly how my words should look like and barely protected with a prayer to the god of the unheard that, for all was unholy in my life, my family wouldn't decide to go through everything i left behind.

the driver would leave me in the border. from then on, we would be on our own.

it was more conforting knowing that we were on our own for sure, than thinking we could rely on something or someone just to realize it really didn't got our backs, unless it was to stab us of course. for that, we would eventually have a coyote, whom i would have to trust with my life for the entire course of the six hours i spent hidden inside the ruins of a shit smelling bathroom just outside of the military station right at the borders more than what i've trusted my father with a bottle of rum in his hands my entire twenty years of life.

i wonder if alcoholism and narcissism are as hereditary as depression and heart related diseases. i wonder if i can also hide those in a box, stored inside another box, and pray so that no-one will look inside.

i didnt see the light until i got to the other side, though there were plenty of sunrises. each day i wondered how the future would look like and if i would be able to eventually stop carrying my past. the light at the end of the tunnel could be freedom. could be another train coming at you. both ways are the end of a journey.

eventually i arrived to a place that was strange and hostile and made my skin dry out. they also blamed us for everything and nothing for reasons as creative as the place i was born and how it only gave birth to thieves, crooks and man stealing whores. it was better than waking up to the sound of a fight exploding right besides my glorified storage room, but it made me realize i loved greenery of my mountains, my mercury contaminated river and the unpolluted skies of my city that was really just a sligthly-bigger-than-average town a whole lot more than i loved myself.

one day i might be able to trade all of the time i've spent slaving myself away for the comfort and safety that can be found in her arms, and maybe on that day i'll finally find out if it's true that home is where the heart is.

—the fate of the moon; [?] thebittercorvus

[ruminate88]

Contemplating 07/12/24

So twice yesterday two separate places were screaming “therapy” and then someone post the word “contemplating” and it was like wooooow.

I understand that what Andrew, Cody and Jake did to me was impactful on my self worth and brain function. God has helped me so far. I’ve been learning how to grow my hair back and get my digestive health under control. I found a good magnesium citrate supplement that’s helping with that 🙏🏻 I don’t know anyone personally who has ever done therapy, so I can give no advice there. However, I would say to just be careful who you talk to and what advice they give you. Counseling I’m sure can be good if it’s from a good source. I haven’t opened back up to my husband, since he had to threaten Andrew to leave me alone becuase I don’t think he’ll understand truly what emotional abuse is and I don’t want him to make me feel bad for it. I think he wouldn’t purposely want me to feel bad, he just maybe wouldn’t know what to tell me. So I’m being choosy in who I talk to these days. Altho if the door opened, I would try to speak up to my husband.

I’ve never understood “trauma” growing up cuz I didn’t think I ever experienced such a thing until this past year, especially after I fell at Christmas off the ladder putting up lights. That fall was quick but hard. The initial fall didn’t hurt. It was afterwards, when I’m left sore and covered in bruises 😢😢 that’s EXACTLY how it felt with Cody and Andrew. The actual abuse wasn’t painful. It was after they betrayed me and broke my heart, then I felt the pain and was left with deep wounds. After Cody ghosted me, wow…. I kept seeing a “zipper” being zipped up anytime I would try to pray and my mom says, “sounds like you need closure” and that’s ALL she said, she didn’t ask me questions and I did NOT tell her or anyone close to me about Cody. 🥺 I kept him a complete secret and yet he left this big gaping hole inside my heart that wouldn’t ever close up and I didn’t know why. 😓

Yesterday I read the famous verse and quote about love: “Love is long suffering, it’s kind, it’s not jealous or puffed up.” Wow ❤️‍🩹🙏🏻 I have suffered long for Cody and Andrew. I don’t hate them and yet they abused love…. I AM working so tirelessly to forgive them. I’ve not been seeking any revenge on them. I’m simply sad for them. Sad for myself too. They made love out as a selfish and evil game. Yesterday I posted about how I believed love had healing power but some reason my love didn’t seem like it affected cody or Andrew. Yeah, they’re manipulators and so they’re bad company to be around. I realize that now. I STILL believe in love. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 even when I can’t “feel it” or “see it”. Andrew and Cody did NOT steal my love away or the ability to have it. They will NOT get revenge or anger from me. They’ll only get healthy anger from me. I want them to be better men ❤️‍🩹 I will pray and wish them well. I will let them live their lives in peace. I will not reach out to them or react in abuse back to them.

Will I ever be able to forget how much I loved them two? Probably not. Cuz my love was real and legit. I do believe each day, I’m another step closer to stop hurting over them and healing these deep wounds. I wanna be able to show my loved ones just how powerful love, forgiveness and healing really is. ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹 all my life I’ve felt stupid because school labeled me 😭 I wanna show off just how powerful overcoming labels are!!

I have been saying this past year, “Even if you can only put a toe down at the moment, it’s still a step forward” ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[storieswithmit]

The End of an Era: the Mit MJ Rips Story

Today marks the end of an era in my life. I decided to finally pull the plug on my rap career. I decided to make the jump from rapper to just a writer. I still love music dearly. I hope my words inspire the next generation of writers.

I wrote this update video years ago. Then, I got the music bug several more times. Now, I am officially putting this out with a more definite this is the end. I went on debating back and forth about whether I should quit. With the aid of prayer and reflection, I decided I am a poet not a rapper. I will share my poetry within my prose. I also made the decision to delete everything on YouTube.

The reason behind deleting everything, even the not music related videos, is that I want to add on to the stories I had published. I am going to be focusing on remaking my older work and finding a good platform to share my written works.

The transition of being a rapper to just focusing on the writing part has been on my mind lately. Thinking over if my words would mean more if I didn't have a beat. My rhythm was the biggest obstacle in making a good song. I had zero skill on the music front. I tried singing but I don't have the voice for that. I came to the realization that maybe music isn't my thing.

I decided today to drop the name Mit MJ Rips. The name I created in high school. I have been writing music ever since under the alter ego of a born-again Catholic. My music reflected my life. I wrote about heartbreak, religion, and other personal things.

Mit MJ Rips is going to be a character instead of a pseudonym. I am going to post under the name of Timothy Morgan from now on.

One of the first tracks I made under the name Mit would be "New Life." This is how it went.

New Life

Intro

I was only dreaming

Attempted murders…

Tim

This intro started on a beat I found online. I decided to remake the intro when I made my own beat for the song.

Had an inner struggle with my foe Dim

Enter muggle swift a poe named thou Rex

I had a battle with my past-self Tim

Left me confused rattled with a complex

Dim Tim was my first rap name. This song kicks off the change that came with ending Dim and beginning Mit.

So someone told me my new name

I’m done it’s a joke just a game

No, the voice whispered trust me lame

Saw myself broken at the knees

With the words spoken I grabbed beads

He told me to pray the Rosary

Now holding them it got less scary

I started with the Apostles Creed

As I prayed my old wounds did not bleed

The chains fell now I could succeed

No longer held down I will praise

Hoping that one day I would raise

The Rosary really did help me when deciding to change from Dim to Mit. I was stuck in a cycle of pessimism and hate. Finally saying no to that opened up a gallon of inspiration. I would write over a thousand songs under Mit. A number of which are going to inspire new short stories when I get to them.

The Chains of sin broke

The Son always here

With the Words he spoken

No reason to fear

Yeah I have no reason to fear

The Chains of sin were broken

The Son always here

With the Words he spoken

I have no reason to fear

I opened a Bible to Paul

I learn how I was a close call

From spiritual libel flip the table

The Holy Spirit’s why I am Abel

Inside I’m still Cain

Who would kill in vain?

Who is half insane?

Now that I’m over one little hiccup

Maybe I need a new name like Jacob

Maybe Mit MJ Rips

How it flows from the lips

I took much inspiration from the Bible. I thought that my new name should be connected like when Old Testament people and even a few New Testament figures got a name change. God showed me the light and I changed my whole personality at the time.

Cause my whole life was backwards

This line is a reference to how Mit is Tim backwards.

I admit through his new words

And broken from old goat herds

MJ'll live another day

All the way to Judgment Day

So now I struggled with seven demons

I have toggled being an even role model

With my odd past grievances deepens

With different lens no mask or bottle

I only get one chance in life

So why forget one dance in strife

I’ll be here playing with a fife

Rocking with the drummer boy

Knocking with my summer joy

So will anyone answer?

Fulfill what was done dancer

The Almighty Lord has reconcile

But they say go forth in your style

One mile no I will go two while

I proclaim His Name through my work

I will not be same its change clerk

Even though I die I will live

No eye for an eye please forgive

Sin held me back got me off track

Shout out to Kendrick

Because I love Myself

The name is attached to over a thousand songs I recorded in the past. Sometimes, I wish I still had all those different tracks. I deleted all my music from the internet and my hard drive. I still have the lyrics which I will feature in my writings in the forms of poems.

As an example, here is a poem I wrote called "I Quit Rap"

I feel I cannot ride a beat

I feel tired of being a cheat

I work the syllables but can't unite

My last two albums ended it

Diamond and Complete Honesty 5

That's it no more

I quit like Mankind

I didn't want to say it

But someone forced me

This is referencing the infamous I quit match between the Rock and Mankind. Basically, the match ended when The Rock took a sound bite of Mankind saying I Quit from an earlier promo.

All the negative reaction

I switched to focus on the words

That is why I am spoken word artist

Forget the beat just put the words right

I have more freedom

I like rap and hip hop

But this will be the last drop

Critics are the enemy to art

But I have played my part

The old albums will stay

But I will write to this day

Welcome to my therapy session

Obsession is my lesson

I had no rhythm but lots of poetry

One of many. Are critics the enemy

I listen to Tech N9ne

And that one line

Hoping you gobble a jimmy and die

Listening to it the first time I won't lie

I feel the same about my music

Never got around to make a classic

Tech N9ne was a great inspiration, and I love the song fragile, which I interpolated in this poem.

This song I wrote to be on a spoken word album called Therapy. Therapy was all about what I dealt with during therapy. That project never saw the light of day. Maybe, I will write something using the idea of therapy. This is confirmation of the fact that I quit rap.

I created this as a poem at first. The track got reworked into a rap, which appeared on "From a School Kid to Artist." This was a visual extended play that followed the story of me quitting rap. I returned to rap in freshman year.

This means a lot to me to quit music. I loved it for a long time. Writing was already my favorite part of the process. I think my work would be better if I didn't present it as a rap and rather poetry.

I am working on a ton of short stories, novels, novellas, and poetry. I may need some time to think over all these things in my head before posting.

With the new reinvention of my channel, I am going to work on older work and bring it up to my newer standards. I might add to existing stories.

It is going to be fun, which is all I really care about. Music hasn't been fun in a while. I have so many great ideas and am ready to make art out of art.

I don't know what I am going to post first, but I am happy to share as much as possible.

Timothy Morgan is the name of my channel now. Real name, no gimmicks.

[am3ricanj3sus]

4/25

song of the day:

today was genuinely mind boggling. so much happened. so much that I can’t even get into to. I think it’s taking a toll on me tbh. but we not gonna get into that. i’ll talk about what makes me happy.

well I don’t think this’ll make me happy but my friend got a gf. and it’s the one that asked me to got somewhere the other day with him. he never said it was a date but he never like clarified anything. and he randomly was like “I have a gf” and I made fun of him for walking around with this girl. I was like oh? I cant be mad I never said anything and i’m happy that he has someone now. but at the same time I js have that little dark thought. maybe if he never stopped hanging out with his old friends than he never would have gotten with her. and ik it’s mean but I felt it and I can’t stop that. i’m not really feeling anything about it tho. I mean im happy. I said that. but I really am. he deserves to be happy. anyways. to mr c.

I saw him js once today I was so sad. he was wearing school merch and he js looks like a sweetie pie bro. like he’s always smiling. I love him. I scrolled to the bottom of his face book and we went to the same elementary and middle school. he was like in 6th grade when I was in preschool. funny goofy. my friend was talking about how he’s seen where mr c lives. and I was like spill!! but that’s weird. i’m not that crazy. I think. but ugh I just need him now. i’ve never had a class with him i’ve never talked to him i’ve only ever had him as a sub one time. I wish I could talk to him about everything. so much is happening in my life at the moment and I need an adult to talk to it about but my parents it’s js weird to and my other teachers js don’t ugh. I think he would be great to talk to. he’s like a business teacher he has to be okay to talk to. I hate not having one of his classes cause that means i’ll never talk to him but I hate business classes. like I took one freshman year with the other business teacher and it was super easy but like ew. I was the only girl in that class and it feels weird. but also if I were to take a business class I would be the only girl in the class with him. muah ha ha.

anyways. life goes on. i’m sure i’ll be fine. I hope so. I pray to god sometimes and it feels nice but I feel like I don’t deserve to pray. I feel as if I do so many bad things and think praying makes up for it but I don’t think that’s how it works. i’ve never been super religious though. I belive theres soemthing out there. maybe not one god. but mutiple. ik he’s all powerful but you can’t build this universe by yourself. there’s something out there I don’t know. but when I do pray I like to state that if any gods would be willing to help me. because the probably busy doing other things. so I don’t want to bother them with my nonsense. but today. what I prayed for I really need it to happen. I don’t want to lose her. I cant. but that’s something for another time. I feel as if I didn’t write as much as I usually do. I feel useless. good night now.