#clean slate for the dms

[axolotlclown]

about to have a breakdown and delete all of my messages ever

[hellhosted]

[ im filled with so much fear to even speak here LMAOOO

ANYWHO i am very down to move prev. established dynamics here, just so everyone knows <3 ]

[thydungeongal]

I think a big thing with rollplayers, metagaming, "murderhobos", killer dms and the like. Is that for a long time you had v few options to play table games with, before computers. And as such. A lot of people played with assholes. And then the tales were spread, and here we are.

Yeah, and that's something where I think we need to start with a clean slate. Like, the problem isn't the fact that that guy was metagaming/powerplaying/rollplaying, he was just an asshole. Even "roleplaying" (If we take it to mean "my character wouldn't do that" actor stance portrayal) can be bad in the hands of an asshole and used to justify lots of shitty behavior, but we haven't concluded, as a hobby, that "roleplaying" is bad, have we (actually the reason for that is that despite it being a form of antagonistic play for a long time "I'm just roleplaying" was very much valorized as a way to excuse bad faith play).

Anyway we need to kill the past.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there? 

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.” 

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.” 

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you. 

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate. 

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.” 

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses. 

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him. 

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance. 

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.” 

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--” 

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.” 

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.” 

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone. 

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.” 

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment. 

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...” 

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?” 

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath. 

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.” 

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating. 

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain. 

“We may begin simple,” he intones. 

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response. 

“You have a question?” He prompts. 

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines. 

“I can tell,” he says brightly. 

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks. 

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles. 

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait. 

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.” 

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter. 

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides. 

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.” 

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.” 

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do? 

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.” 

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.  

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.” 

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair. 

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--” 

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.” 

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.” 

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.” 

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?” 

You twist around to look at the door, then to him. 

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.” 

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?” 

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you. 

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.” 

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.” 

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?” 

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away. 

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you. 

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh. 

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.” 

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.” 

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed. 

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.” 

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away. 

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table. 

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales. 

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow. 

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.” 

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall. 

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife. 

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts. 

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool. 

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream. 

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.” 

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months. 

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.” 

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side. 

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.” 

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there. 

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs. 

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand. 

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you. 

“A game, your highness?” You babble. 

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.” 

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king. 

“Your highness,” you utter. 

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.” 

[garoujo]

hi guys! unfortunately for now, if it wasn’t obvious i have decided to leave garoujo . . i’ve just not been feeling very great here anymore & as much as i have such an attachment to this blog, it’s become not fun again as it’s beginning to affect my mental state. i’m not going to deactivate for now it will be left here as an option & an archive! i may eventually private eventually but until then it’ll stay.

i’ve made a new possible blog that could be an option after a well needed break from here, but i won’t be publishing the url publicly because i feel like i need a proper fresh start and a clean slate if so. mutuals can still dm me to ask for the new url (ive followed a few already but i’ll still be logged in here to make sure i don’t miss anyone if u ask) but its mostly just a personal one for the time being. also if you happen to come across it on your own eventually, please respect my decision to have it remain completely separate from this one.

i appreciate all the kindness & support that’s been shown to me during my time on this blog despite how much it’s been through. i also want to apologise to anyone who’s ever gotten a negative impression from / of me on here or been roped into any drama surrounding me, i hope we can all just continue to enjoy our time here while we indulge in our silly little hobby!

please remember to be kind & thank you for giving me a place.

- emmie ❤︎

return to regular navigation

[nico-esoterica]

❤️😭

I feel a psychic pull to make this so I'm doing it - If you have a celeb sp, esp a romantic one, and you're at home worrying if there's a 3p or if they have eyes for anyone else, know that'll be true if you keep entertaining that story :)

I struggled with that in the past. But, imo, that has to do with a combination of negative experiences w/ romantic partners, dating, and your own shitty perception of yourself. You should be actively creating the best self concept of yourself and how relationships go for you. You can revise previous situations so the trauma's gone, unfollow toxic accounts promoting negativity about relationships, and whatever you've got to do to maintain a GOOD story about love. Because what's in your tank (brain) is going to be where your mind rests when you're focused on other things.

There's no free will. So they're only going to show up how you WANT them to. If you assume they won't want you, that's also you choosing that. If you assume that social conditioning is gonna make them think you're ugly or unattractive then it's true, it will. Esp if your sp is a celeb or someone from a different culture. FUCK any limiting social 'rules.' You define them. Even if you've heard rumors, fan accounts, etc, you need to wipe the slate clean. If you WANT this person, then you need to tell yourself that they want you 1000x more. That they're obsessed and pining, looking up porn that reminds them of you, is the Gomez to your Morticia. This is your real life fairytale. All the real life groupie stories, minus the horror stories, all say the same thing. They describe how 'normal' it was to meet them and how they were just regular people behind the glamor.

You're manifesting people all the time. You think your boss is gonna be an asshole? They're an asshole. You expect your Mom to be a neglectful parent? You can change that but she's showing up that way. Your friends are always emotionally immature and disrespectful? Welp, might as well cancel those plans with em'. Your celeb sp is the same. They don't HAVE to be a repeat of your raggedy ex who couldn't even buy you McDonalds who lied and cheated all the time. They also don't have to be someone who 'always ignores you like all your old crushes always did.' Stop the narrative that all men, women, whoever, are universally difficult, disloyal, and they'll inevitably let you down. Stop parroting your miserable aunties and fave social media accounts who yap endlessly about how horrible the dating pool is. This is YOUR life. Stop giving your narrative to people who hate their lives and themselves!

There's no 3p. A third party doesn't exist. Keep telling yourself this and they'll evaporate. Your person will break up with them, things will fall a part, or they may never even have a 3p and it'll be confirmed that it was all just in your head. Your person just wants you even if they've never met you. They're going to FEEL intuitively that they need to stay single for you for some reason. Any potential partner is going to be incompatible until you're in the picture. I don't care how famous this person is. No ig model, super model, viral white girl with husky eyes, or anyone will be on their radar. Just keep that story straight and don't tell yourself anything else. But this is also why it helps TREMENDOUSLY to work on your self concept about yourself and relationships. It'll be less stressful and anxiety inducing.

Your celeb sp could be in your DMs rn stuttering and stammering complimenting you but you believe the miserable people, who are always cheated on, saying that they couldn't ever just want you.

We want you to stop getting that day 3 of Wands, 3 of Swords, Moon, 8/9 of Swords, Lovers/2 of Cups reversed, and other 'strife coded' cards in your tarot pulls! BECAUSE I KNOW Y'ALL. YOU'VE BEEN CALLED OUT!!!!

[hollyethecurious]

Can you add me to your tag list? Part 1 is great, can't wait for Part 2!

Of course! Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed Part 1. I am diligently working on finishing Part 2, so I hope to have it ready for y'all soon.

I also want to congratulate you on being the first person added to my 2025 Curious Crew Tag List! Each year I start over with my tag list, allowing people who may have moved on from the fandom to gracefully exit the list.

So...

Look alive, ya filthy bilge rats! It's time, once again, to sign up for me crew!

It's a clean slate for the new year, so if you'd like to be tagged in my 2025 fics/updates, then please comment on this post, send me an Ask, or slide into my DMs.

I set a writing goal for myself of an average of 300 words per day, which will give me just over 100k words this year, and believe me... I have at least that many words of ideas in me!

Just a reminder, though. I do not do individual lists for each fic. I have one tag list for all updates and new works, so if you asked to be added you'll get notifications for everything. However, you can exit the list at anytime by just shooting me an Ask (I won't post it) or a DM. No worries at all.

Finally, I have made the decision to no longer post on FanFiction.net. I'm sorry for the inconvenience this may cause for some of you, but the site has become so burdensome. Going forward, you can find my fics here on Tumblr and on AO3. I am HollyeLeigh over there.

I look forward to sharing my works with y'all. If you're curious as to what I'll be working on this year, feel free to send me an Ask. I love talking about my ideas and having it out there will keep me accountable, lol!

Thank you to those who have been with me both this past year and the years prior. Your continued support and encouragement means the world to me!

Tagging the 2024 Curious Crew so they can decide weather to come aboard.

(add to tag list)

@kmomof4 @jrob64 @zaharadessert @laianely @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @killianxswan @mie779 @motherkatereloyshipper

@jennjenn615 @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @superchocovian @caught-in-the-filter

@winterbaby89 @wyntereyez @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @gingerchangeling

@exhaustedpirate @cocohook38 @donteattheappleshook @lfh1226-linda @teamhook

@jackieorioncat @paradiselady19 @snowbellewells @earanemith @ultraluckycatnd

@pirateherokillian @calmjoonie @unworried-corsair @tiganasummertree @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @kday426 @djlbg @fairytalepretzkle @maggiegreenvt

@natascha-ronin @ilovemesomekillianjones @iamstartraveller776 @deckerstarblanche @shadowsaur

@qualitycoffeethings @idristardis @phoenix-untamed @bluewildcatfanatic @bananachickens

[highprettybabyy]

intro post :)

welcome to my fanfic blog! (18+!)

about me: [ lesbian (she/her) ][ 22 years old ][ professional yapper and dumbass ][ UTC +1 ]

<3

asks and dms are open

the lovely anons: 🍟, 🍉, 🍯, 🍄, 👺

HPB Masterlist:

Characters:

i currently write for: natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, kate bishop, wednesday addams, -

requests are welcome <3

natasha romanoff

- Guilty as Sin?

- Hi(gh) baby

wanda maximoff

- Cookies on the kitchen counter

- Pregnancy Problems

wednesday addams

- Don't make me jealous

Actresses! (do not read if you're uncomfortable with this)

jenna ortega

- And they were roommates-

- Series: Seeing Red

Part 1 - The Last Person Alive

Part 2 - Tense Team-Up

Part 3 - If We Don't Say It

Part 4 - Yours, Mine, Ours

Part 5 - Clean Slate

Part 6 - Please Don't Die

Part 7 - Day One

Part 8 - Breaking Bread

Part 9 - The Villa

Part 10 - In Which They Nuke a Parking Lot and Feel Things

Part 11 - Finally

Part 12 - Garden Guest

Part 13 - New Roots

Part 14 - Back To Where It Started

Part 15 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

Part 16 - The Time Was 2:46pm

Part 17 - The Aftermath

Part 18 - I Love This Curse On Our House

Part 19 - Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?

Part 20 - Second Entry

[fallenstars-au]

2024 update blog post :

I can never promise I'll ever do anything with this AU again, even if i'll always stand by the idea that this is the official "version" of the AU, because I had too many unique ideas that I think nobody else could feasibly replicate without being inside my head. But I truly think often about cleaning the slate on this AU and "rebooting" it, in the sense that i'd just re-design most of the characters (except sans honestly?) and re-write the lore to be a lot cleaner. I wouldn't completely peel away the old lore just for archival purposes, i'd try to record that stuff in a different accessible document of some kind, but I do love this AU. It's just i made it when I was like 17 with a friend of mine and i'm 23 years old now, so I just don't have my priorities in the same place anymore is all? I still, absolutely admire the amount of love for this AU I see flood my dms every so often, the fact it's reached as far as Japan is wild to me. Thank you all so much for making me feel proud to be a part of something bigger than myself, and for making me happy by telling me how this has inspired any of you to pick up a pen and draw, or to compose music because of the OST's fantastic musicians.

I love you all, thank you for everything.

[bunnieonherknees]

being transprogrammed is sometimes quite nice... my new handlers/programmers won't have to worry about any other pesky programming getting in their way, ill truly be a clean slate, a blank canvas offered up to them in the hopes they would turn me into a masterpiece

- dms/asks open (not for minors)

[diivineray]

Okay, don't hate me but i'm nuking my inbox. After being in the hospital for the past two weeks I am wiped, but I wanna get stuff going again but I feel like I need to wipe the slate clean. papa don't preach but I'm keeping my drafts at least. my bad also to peeps waiting on me for stuff, whether replies or dms, its been a real hectic time for me and will continue to be so. life is cray ya'll. BUT WE'RE TRYNA GET BACK IN HERE.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: you all are beautiful.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The professor’s shadow looms over you in your dim room. Now you have a face for your disappointment. The thought of his staunch expression fills you with dread and somewhat motivation. So it is that you at least try. Just try. Simple as that. Try. 

After your meeting, you spend the day cleaning your room, hoping for a clean slate to start over. You spend a bit too long contemplating useless possessions as if putting off the inevitable. Eventually you have to sit down and do the real work. Once you do that, you will be forced to face reality. This is the flip of the coin; success or failure. 

The next morning you turn on the overhead light, casting the space in a brighter tint than usual. You aren’t used to the clarity or the tidiness. You can see the floor. There isn’t clutter on the desk or the bookshelf and it just feels easier. 

Anxious to begin, you sit down and boot up your laptop. You open your notebook and find your place. The course book takes some time to load as you yawn and rub your forehead. You need coffee before you begin. That’s it. No other distractions after that. 

You get up and cross the room, a needling above your left eyebrow. Yes, coffee is a must. You come out into the hall and listen to the silence of the apartment. It’s early and you know your mother had a late night. You woke up several times to inexplicable thumps. 

You shuffle into the kitchen and wash out the dregs of yesterday’s coffee from the pot. You empty the filter and put in a new one; measuring the grounds particularly. Everything you do is deliberate now, it has to be. You pour water in the tank and pop the lid down, hitting brew to cap off the process. 

You lean on the counter and yawn again. You hang your head as your eyelids grow heavy. You can’t be sleepy all day. You need your energy. The equations will certainly do little for your pulsing head. 

You hear your mom’s bedroom door and you shift over towards the sink. A figure appears at the edge of your vision but you don’t look over. You assume it’s her until the deep rumble rises from the man’s throat. Lee nears and before you can sidle further, he’s behind you. 

“Mm, coffee smells good,” he rasps as he pens you in, reaching over your head to open the cupboard. His stomach presses to your back as you stare down at the sink, “scuse me.” He takes down a cup, lingering a moment before he backs away and sets the cup down with a loud clink, “you’re up early.” 

Him too. You keep the thought sewn up behind your lips. You shrug. 

“Heard you last night too. Skittering around in your room.” 

Your blink at him. He wears only a pair of white underwear, his belly pudgy but his arms firmly muscled. He hardly seems bothered by his bareness. He takes the pot off the burner mid-brew and fills his cup, emptying what’s there before he places it back. You tuck your lower lip under your teeth and cross your arms. 

“Night owl, huh,” he comments as he pulls the sugar dish away from the wall. He takes the lid off and sprinkles the sugar into his coffee without a spoon. You stand and watch him dumbly. 

He swirls the mug and takes a sip. He lets out a satisfied sigh, “mm, you make good coffee.” 

You bite into your lip before you let it free, “thanks, sir.” 

He scoffs, “sir? Ain’t got my badge on right now.” 

You nod and cross your arms. 

“How old’re ya?” he turns to lean on the counter, slurping loudly. 

You’re put off by his curiosity. Your run-ins are few and far between. That’s on purpose. You avoid your mother’s men and often, the do the same with you. You answer him and he hums, eyes slitting as he thinks. 

“And you’re still living here with ma?” He wonders, “old enough to be out on your own, ain’t ya?” 

“I guess,” you lock your arms tightly, your shoulders hurting from the tension. 

“Mmm,” he takes another gulp, his eyes still on you. “Ain’t bad. Ain’t bad at all. Bet lots of men wouldn’t mind.” 

“What?” You shift back on your heel. 

“Yeah, not too bad on the eyes, are ya? I mean, ladies are all the same when you get em naked,” he chortles and stands straight.  

“Sir, I... I got... I got homework,” you turn, swaying awkwardly as you drop your arms and march away. 

“Ah, smarty pants, huh? Men like that too,” he taunts after you. “Don’t matter much when they young like you.” 

You’re brittle, about to break. You don’t need another reminder of how much of a loser you are. Even when you try, it’s just not enough.  

You don’t look back, your skin crawling as he belches and you hear the carafe hit the top of the machine as he lifts it again. You close yourself in your room and frown at the wall. You didn’t even get coffee for all that. 

You pout and drag your feet to the desk. You sit down and brace your head in your hands. You’ll try to wait him out. He’ll have to leave eventually. Coffee doesn’t matter. You got to get through this course book. You promised you would. 

📓

It takes two days to finish the coursebook, faster than expected. A gleam of pride flashes through your mind but quickly fizzles out as you attach your work to an email. It might be done but it matters more that it's done correctly.  

You don't know much of Professor Smith or truly of people in general, but he seems to be very precise. Forgiving in moments but given his feedback on previous submissions, he is strict about the numbers themselves. You make yourself hit send. 

You could take the afternoon on some self-congratulatory celebration, but you still have work to do. You open up coursework five and wait for the case studies to load. The most difficult part for you are the spreadsheets. There's so much data to sift through though applying the formulas and balancing them are easy enough. 

After a few problems, you stretch your fingers and lean your head on the heels of your hands. You yawn at the desk and roll your shoulders as you sit up. If you can get through just one course, you might just be able to do this. 

It's a bit ridiculous. The smallest of things are so big to you. The simple are overly complicated by your self-doubt and yet too often those doubts have proven true.  

You shake off the wave of grimness and stand up. You stop halfway, hovering between the seat and your feet, as an email chimes in. It's Professor Smith. You sit and blink at the laptop. 

'Thank you. I will have a look over and return with feedback. Hope you are keeping well. Good job on the speedy work. 

Best, 

Raymond' 

Your cheeks pinch as a smile threatens. He hasn't said whether you've done well or not but the acknowledgement feels like sunshine on your skin. It makes you want to keep going. 

You forget about the whim to have a cup of tea and settle back in to work at the next problem. If you get through the first section of the coursework, you might just be able to sleep. 

📓

Groggy, you rub your eyes and grumble. You lean forward on the toilet and let the trickle out. You woke up with a horrible fullness and it hurts to let it out. You sigh as you stand and pull up your sweatpants. 

As you crank on the sink, you hear a groaning hinge that mirrors the noise. There's staggering and the shatter of glass. A body hits the wall just outside the bathroom door. You turn off the faucet and face the commotion.  

Your heart races as your mother cries out and there's the crack of flesh. Your reticence has you cowering as fire speckles over you. It's not just fear, it's anger, the frustration you tamp down each time you hear her bawling. 

"No good lousy bitch," Lee snarls as there's another slap. This time he grunts, "what the hell do ya think ya doin'?" 

You near the door and slowly turn the knob. You inch it open and see your mother crawling away from the man. The scent of vodka permeates the air and a broken bottle litters the carpet around her. 

Lee boots her rear and sends her to her stomach. She yelps as he steps over her, dropping down to straddle her between his knees. She's wearing one of her tattered night shirts and nothing else, one sleeve down her shoulder. 

"Now, I waa being nice and you just had to go and yip like a spoilt bitch," he grabs her hair and forces her head up as she whines. The thrashes out, the glass cutting into her arms and legs, as he shifts his weight and the elastic of his briefs tautens as he tugs at it. "Lemme show ya what you're worth--" 

Your heart races and your throat lumps. Your chest tightens and your adrenaline wakes you completely. You don't know what to do. Do what you always do; hide. 

You push the door towards the frame and your mother sobs again. You close your eyes and stop. You don't know what you're doing. Why you're doing it. It never helps. It never works. Not since that little girl ended up at the bottom of the stairs all those years ago. When she learned to keep out of the way. 

Those memories fade and you swing the door inward. Your feet stomp out across the floor and you leap onto Lee's back as he bares his ass. You hook your arms around his thick neck and he falls backwards as your mom yelps again. 

“Huh, oh,” she wriggles and drags herself from under you and Lee as you wrestle on the floor, “sweetie, no--” 

She reaches for you and Lee kicks her again. She falls back and you squeeze him tighter, as hard as you can, ignore the bite of the glass as it pierces through your shirt. He elbows your side and you gasp, the pain ringing through your ribs.

Still, you don’t let go. You don’t know why. Maybe because if you do, you lose. 

“What’re ya—dumb little brat—just like your ma,” he snarls as his weight crushes you and he tries to peel your fingers from around your forearm. “I’m gonna teach you--” 

“Don’t hurt her!” You mother jumps on him, further adding to the pile. You can’t breathe as you’re flattened beneath them. “That’s my daughter! My daughter...” 

Her words slur drunkenly as she cries and lays her fists weakly into the man atop you. He shoves her off of him easily but she doesn’t relent. She lands on her ass between his legs and yours. You barely keep hold of him as you head begins to thrum. 

“Hold him, baby,” she orders as you can only see the top of her head over the chaos. She jerks and the man atop you grunts and shrivels his hands flying down to cup below his waist. “God--- Irene. The—fuck.” 

“Baby, let him go,” your mother huffs and heaves as she struggles to her feet. 

She pulls on your arm, tugging you out from under him as he rolls onto his sides, his hand between his legs. She must have got a good shot in. She stumbles and sways as she pulls you up, hanging onto you as she almost topples again. She’s drunk. Very drunk. 

“Go to your room, sweetie,” she brings a hand to your cheek. “Please--” 

“But...” you trail off and look down at the man as he puffs out through gritted teeth, “make him go, mom. Please. He’s going to hurt you.” 

“It’s alright,” she coos and pets your face, “it doesn’t hurt so much.” 

“Wh-why?” You sputter. 

“You gotta go, baby,” she coaxes, “let me take care of him.” 

“Mom, please,” you beg her, eyes glazing with tears. “We can call the cops--” 

“He is the cops, baby,” she lets you go and turns to him, falling over him as she rubs his arm, “Lee, honey, I’m sorry. I was just scared--” 

“I oughta--” he chokes out, “that damn daughter of yours...” 

“Shush, honey,” she comforts him and bends to whisper in his ear. 

You stare down at them, mortified. All that effort and for what? She just folds for these men. Goes right back to taking the abuse. Over and over again. They don’t even treat her nice. 

She looks up again, her eyes glistening, “go. Lock your door.” 

Her hiss nips at you and has you scrambling to your room. There’s nothing you can do. You don’t know why you thought for that instant that you could. You don’t know why you think there’s anything you can do right. It all just ends the same. 

[line2j]

LOOKING FOR AN ALEXA BLISS FOR MY RANDY ORTON

Hey! I'm a 21+ writer searching for a long-term, dedicated partner for an enemies-to-lovers storyline featuring my Randy Orton and your Alexa Bliss.

ABOUT ME & MY RANDY:

I'm a huge Orton fan (over 10 years!) and love writing a version of him that feels authentic.

My writing style is semi-lit. I typically write a solid paragraph per reply (~6 sentences). I appreciate quality and consistency more than lengthy posts.

I love chatting OOC, plotting, and sharing ideas about our characters.

ABOUT YOU & YOUR ALEXA:

You're passionate about writing Alexa and know the little details that make her character feel alive.

You enjoy building a story with depth and emotional development.

THE PLOT & VIBE:

I'm a huge fan of the "enemies to lovers" or "hate to love" dynamic. I have a few ideas, but I'm also very excited to brainstorm with you!

My favorite starting point is something classic like forced proximity. For example: imagine them stuck in the same town after a show, with only one hotel room available. But this is just one idea! I'm completely open to other scenarios, as long as they fit that tense, slow-burn dynamic.

Most importantly: I'm looking for a plot-driven story with a natural, slow burn romance. While our RP will be 18+ and can absolutely include mature/smutty scenes later on, the story, character development, and emotional connection are what I care about most. I'm not looking for a story that is only about sex.

WHAT I'M REALLY LOOKING FOR:

A dedicated and exclusive partner. This is super important to me. I want to find my main, long-term writing partner to focus on this one story with.

No cheating storylines. Let's give our characters a clean slate.

Interested?

→ LIKE THIS POST if this sounds like you and you'd like me to DM you!

→ Or just SEND ME A DM directly!

[tmnt-write-fight]

The Discord has been shut down for the time being. Nobody has been kicked, but all channels on it have been archived, and when it comes back they will all be clean slates.

This is an alert to anyone who attempts to join after this, as well as anyone who for whatever reason missed the warnings on the server itself about this change.

If you need acess to anything, such as au-related content, DM a moderator and we can try and find the conversation.

[mayhemhq]

please beware of that writer, there's been someone who played those characters in another group that just got removed for major drama.

i think some of you tend to forget that this is rp and it’s taken way too seriously. there is no shade in those words.

as admins, we aim to give everyone a fair chance based on their current behavior in our group. we’ll definitely keep an eye on things and step in if any drama starts, but we also want to avoid judging someone solely on their past. we try our very best to be fair, non-partial and non-judgmental admins.

if the “major drama”’ was substantial and ooc, enough to make someone uncomfortable here, please direct it towards our dms and not in a tattletale-like anon. we cannot base someone off their past in every past group and be fair admins. in that case, anyone could simply message us and say someone is problematic and we’d have to remove them. we want to give everyone a clean slate when they join our group. we understand that people can grow and change to a certain degree.

we have our own little list of banned muns, but it’s based off ooc actions that go beyond just in-character drama. these are people who have consistently shown toxic and racist behavior, disrespected boundaries and created a negative environment for others in the group.

if you have concerns or questions about this, feel free to reach out privately—our priority is always the well-being of our group. if anything does come up, no matter what or with who, don’t hesitate to bring it to our attention so we can address it quickly and maintain a positive environment for everyone.

we love you guys and hope to be around a long time, and we do our best to do right by all of you and the collective. 🖤

[maxdibert]

How do you take care of your mental health?

When you’re vocal about politics, when you ditch the digital pseudo activism and get involved in the real world, when you care and stand up for human rights I feel like everything cuts you deeper and it’s so disheartening. I’m medicated and it still gets to me, just yesterday I found that two, three people from the Snape fandom, people that I’ve been following for months are blatantly pro-Israel, posting about Palestinians needing to get over themselves that surely —and just like Israelis once did, they too can build their lives somewhere else and that minuscule thing was enough to make me feel like shit.

Sorry for the rambling. I’m asking this and over sharing in anon because I have a lot of respect for the way you speak your mind.

First of all, could you DM me who those people are? Just so I can block them, I don’t want to like or reblog anything from some shitty pro-Zionist if I can avoid it, thanks.

Secondly, I have really thick skin because for a long time my personality was super self-destructive, and I always say that the person who can hurt me the most is me. So, honestly, whatever crap someone might say to me is probably something I’ve already thought myself, because anticipatory anxiety has always made me go through all the worst-case scenarios for anything I do, and the possible ways I might respond to those situations. It’s not healthy at all, but when I’m in obsessive-mode at full force, it’s just something I can’t help doing.

Thirdly, it depends on the moment. We’re all human and we all have our ups and downs. When I feel like I can’t take it anymore or I’m burning out, I usually wipe the slate clean. Especially on social media. I’ll step away for a while—sometimes for months or even years—and when I feel like it again, I come back. The important thing is being able to tell when you’re reaching your limit and setting boundaries to protect yourself. And I do the same in real life. I’ve been involved in associations and unions, and when I’ve had enough, I’ve just walked away.

It’s also true that I have really anxious tendencies and extremely intense hyperfocuses, so when I’m fully in one, nothing gets to me. But once that hyperfocus fades, I just move on. I actually think that’s a blessing. But yeah, at the end of the day, what matters is knowing how to set limits. Like, if being on the front lines defending your ideas gives you dopamine, that’s great, but if it starts draining your emotional energy, then give yourself a break. It’s okay to acknowledge our vulnerability and understand that it’s part of who we are. Just like there’ll be moments when we feel invincible, there’ll also be times when we need more care.