call-me-sammy - Tumblr blog

[call-me-sammy]

If you’re still doing request, is it OK if you either

Describe writing a panic attack?

Or

Describe someone who has gray eyes?

-> a link for gray eye descriptions: x

How to Write a Panic Attack

Physical Symptoms of a Panic Attack:

pounding or racing heart

sweating

chills

trembling

difficulty breathing

weakness or dizziness

tingly or numb hands

chest pain

stomach pain or nausea

feeling lightheaded

tense muscles

dry mouth

constriction in the chest

feeling like they're being choked

Other Symptoms:

heightened vigilance for danger and physical symptoms

anxious and irrational thinking

a strong feeling of dread, danger or foreboding

fear of going mad, losing control, or dying

feelings of unreality and detachment from the environment

Triggers for a Panic Attack:

something unexpected (ex: a phone call)

a reminder (objects, smells, locations, specific phrases, etc. that can be tied back to a traumatic experience)

stress (from work, a relationship, family, etc. that has been building up)

silence (ex: being alone in a quiet room. The silence can amplify a sense of isolation)

flashbacks (a trigger that causes the person to flash back to a traumatic memory)

out of nowhere (sometimes panic attacks just get triggered by seemingly nothing)

Writing Prompts:

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He couldn't breathe. Oh God, he couldn't breathe and he was going to die.

She knew the panic was building up, but it crashed over her like a tsunami that swept her off her feet. The pull threatened to pull her out to sea and it was all-consuming.

They felt the panic begin to wrap its arms around them like a shadow.

"Is it okay if I hold your hand?"

"Don't touch me-- don't touch me!"

Her mind was running at a million miles a second but she couldn't pinpoint a single thought.

"It's okay. You're safe."

An icy hand had reached through their ribcage and was squeezing their heart. They couldn't breathe and they didn't know what to do to regain their breath.

"My chest hurts. It hurts."

"I can't!"

They were a crumpled heap, stowed away in the corner as tears streamed down their face.

She felt like she was on a boat out at sea, the room swaying and adding to the nausea that was washing over her.

He felt like he was having a heart attack.

They gasped for air but each breath felt shallower than the last.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, beating like a panicked drum to the rhythm of her fear.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of a building.

They couldn't move. It was like someone was holding down their limbs, the panic rendering them utterly frozen.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider donating! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi!

[call-me-sammy]

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror

[call-me-sammy]

[call-me-sammy]

Word Counter - Not only does it count the number of words you’ve written, it tells you which words are used most often and how many times they appear.

Tip Of My Tongue - Have you ever had a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t figure out what it is? This site searches words by letters, length, definition, and more to alleviate that.

Readability Score - This calculates a multitude of text statistics, including character, syllable, word, and sentence count, characters and syllables per word, words per sentence, and average grade level.

Writer’s Block (Desktop Application) - This free application for your computer will block out everything on your computer until you meet a certain word count or spend a certain amount of time writing.

Cliche Finder - It does what the name says.

Write Rhymes - It’ll find rhymes for words as you write.

Verbix - This site conjugates verbs, because English is a weird language.

Graviax - This grammar checker is much more comprehensive than Microsoft Word, again, because English is a weird language.

Sorry for how short this is! I wanted to only include things I genuinely find useful. p>

[call-me-sammy]

The year is 2184, average earth temperature has doubled, only a few million people remain on earth. A green-movement managed to travel back to 2022. What are they doing?

Trying to convince people to convert to green energy, to drive less cars and travel more by public transport was harder than they initially thought. It was frustrating to already see the first signs of the temperature rising, and be able to do nothing at all against it. Somehow, nobody was doing anything against it! It blew their minds. Of course, it mostly was less the fault of the small people, and more of the big corporations, but still. Everybody was supposed to do their part.

Aside from doing their best to slow down climate change and stop temperatures from rising, the group allowed themselves at least some free time. They were fascinated by how green everything actually was, a lot of them had grown up thinking this was only fiction, a legend to tell your kids. Some were most in awe of the trees, others likes to spend their time laying barefoot in rich, green grass, breathing in the fresh smell.

But it was so cold, though. For the first time in their lifes, there wasn’t a single drop of sweat on anyones body. They couldn’t believe how relieving it felt to breathe cool air like this, mostly free from air pollution and clean. It was obvious, neither of them wanted to leave ever again. But, of course, the goal wasn’t to stay in the past forever and live a happy life, but to change the past in a way that would result in the presence looking and smelling exactly like this. They had work to do.

Because one thing was clear;

Nature was something worth saving.

[call-me-sammy]

Comments mean the world for authors

[call-me-sammy]

Thanks :DD

last song: Yet by The Colour Fool

Last show: Moon knight (*ฅ́˘ฅ̀*)

Currently watching: Nothing cause I got no time but GoT

Currently reading: a lot and nothing at all at the same time. It’s complicated

Tags: anyone!

was tagged by @noushbitesback (ily! 💓)

last song: thank you - dido

last show: finished season two of new girl

currently watching: nothing 😳 haven't been able to pay much attention to a show lately, i've been watching a lot of youtube though

currently reading: a good girl's guide to murder by holly jackson

tagging: @asgardwinter @writing-for-marvel @tom-whore-dleston @inklore @rae-gar-targaryen @barnesafterglow

[call-me-sammy]

peter parker

let's cuddle (dark fic by @myspideyboy)

sms story (social media fic by @petersniya)

so it goes by @spidernerdsblog

it's about time (smut fic by @octoberkait)

camp kissless (dark smut by @harryspet)

bucky barnes

call me when you want* by @bonky-and-steeb

anniversary* by @metalbuckaroo

click by @constantwriter85 (deactivated)

you were supposed to be mine forever by @turbolisedcomet

arch for me (smut fic by @blanketbarnes)

drippin' like honey (smut fic by @chaashni)

breaking the rules (series by @redgillan)

sam wilson

meet cute by @tumblin-theworldaway (can't tag them idk why :/)

non reader inserts

unexpected (parkner fic by @call-me-sammy

[call-me-sammy]

Oh my GOD thank you so much for that, made my day ngl :D

Unexpected

Peter Parker x Harley Keener (Parkner)

Word count: 1169

Warnings: mention of death

Summary

When the old arc reactor memorial had departed from the shore, nobody moved for what felt like hours to Peter. Even when it had eventually moved out of sight, and even those with super-sight could only see a blurry dot far away on the water, it took a while until people slowly started to move again and talk in low voices, not wanting to completely break the silence just yet.

Someone had set up a few tables outside, which now carried food for an buffet, but Peter didn’t feel hungry. All he felt was grief, sadness, and a numbness he hadn’t felt since Ben had died.

It was now two days after the battle, two days after Tony had—

After he had seen Tony for the last time, but that wasn’t nearly enough time to shake the feeling.

In fact, he already knew that it would take months, even years to shake it, and it wouldn’t ever fully vanish. Tony Starks death was something Peter would carry with him forever.

When more and more chatter erupted, he felt a light squeeze on his shoulder.

“How about we get some food, mh?”

Mays voice was soft, she knew how much his mentors death has affected him. Peter was grateful she was there with him, trying to distract him, but right now alone the thought of food made him feel nauseous.

“... you go eat something. I wanna stay here for a little longer.”

She immediately seemed to understand that he needed some more time for himself and just nodded, heading towards the buffet tables.

He sat down on the grass, not caring in the slightest if his pants were gonna get dirty.

The lake looked so peaceful, like nothing could disturb the smooth surface. It must’ve been great, living here. For five years. Five whole years, in which he and half of the world had been nothing more than dust. Dead. Gone.

It was still hard to wrap his mind around the fact that the battle on Titan, and the battle on Earth two days ago had actually happened five years apart. To him, it felt like almost no time had passed at all. One second he was fighting against Thanos and jumping through Dr. Stranges magic portals, having the time of his life in freaking space, the next Thanos was gone (on earth, as he would learn later) and everyone around him was crumbling into dust. He remembered Tony, Tony holding him, Tony looking scared and horrified, and then everything became kind of blurry. When he woke up again his mentor was gone, but everyone else was back and preparing to fight.

And then there was the battle, of course. That, too, was not much more than a blurry memory to him. Except for the last part. The part where he had seen Tony say those three famous words and snap his fingers. And again, people had turned into dust, but this time it had been the bad guys. The aliens. And Tony... Peter had jumped to his side, telling him that they had won, over and over again, but he could almost immediately tell that the older man wasn’t going to make it. Was never going to leave the battlefield.

God, thinking about him hurt. It hurt, and it was always going to hurt.

That’s what happens when you care about people, he thought. They got hurt. Sometimes they died. But he couldn’t help it, he just couldnt help caring.

There were footsteps behind him in the grass. He didn’t turn around, not having the energy, thinking it was May coming back to bring him food. He could smell it without trying from over here.

She stopped right next to him, and spoke with a voice that sounded way too deep for her.

“You look like you could use some company. Mind if I join your little pity party?”

‘That’s not Aunt May’ his brain provided, as always very helpful.

It wasn’t May, it was a boy around his age, probably a bit older. Golden brown hair, nice blue eyes, olive toned skin. The definition of ‘handsome’. The boy offered him a taco, before sitting down next to him. Mostly out of reflex Peter took it, and because it actually did look good.

“Thank you...?”

“Harley.”

The boy, Harley, offered him his free hand. Peter shook it.

“And you’re...?”

“Uhm. I’m Peter.”

He got a nod and half-smile in response, before they both turned towards the lake again, eating silently.

After a while Harley broke the silence.

“So... how’d you know him?”

Peter shrugged.

“I was... just an intern, basically. Well, at first. We got closer over time. Worked in the lab together. It was almost like he—“

‘Like he was a dad to me’ he wanted to say.

He let his voice trail off. It hurt too much to think about him. Harley seemed to get it anyways. Peter cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his voice.

“What about you? Where did you know him from?”

Harley shrugged and rubbed his neck with his free hand, swallowing the bite he just took before speaking.

“I helped him out once. I was like... what? 10? 11? Found him in my garage, tryna fix his suit after crashing down near my home. He needed a workshop. I had one.”

He shrugged again. Peter nodded.

“He told me about you once. He sounded like he was pretty grateful he met you. Mentioned something about a pink “Dora the Explorer” watch you gave him?”

Harley looked up with a surprised smile.

“He did? Wow, I hadn’t thought of that thing in years... it belonged to my sister, Abby. She was pretty mad when she found out I gave it away. Special edition and all...”

He trailed off, looking over the water with clouded eyes. Peter used the opportunity to study the older boys features more closely. He was very handsome, no doubt, even while chewing absentmindedly on his bottom lip. Peter couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Checkin’ me out, huh?”

Peter blushed as Harley turned his face back to him, smirking.

“Uh...W-well I—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I don’t mind.”

He winked at Peter. He winked. At Peter.

His blush deepened.

“You know, uhm... I actually don’t mind being checked out by a cute guy like you at all.”

Now it was Harleys turn to look away with slightly flushed cheeks, seemingly embarrassed over what he’d just said. Peter was still staring at him, having lost his voice for a second. Realizing that he was probably expected to give an answer, he cleared his throat, which didn't really seem to help at all.

“Uhm... thanks... and, y-you know, you were right. I was, maybe. Checking you out, I mean. A bit. I... couldn’t really help it.“

He gulped when Harley turned back to look at him with a half-smirk. But it was a kind smirk, one, that reached his eyes.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A/N: thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Let me know If you want to be added to the tag list or if you want me to add more? I could maybe make a series out of this, just lmk

@get-me-some-chai-bitch @sweet-william-writes @theresasunflowr

[call-me-sammy]

I stole this from Twitter but I’m Curious

[call-me-sammy]

A very hard truth that you will repeatedly have to come to terms with as a writer over and over again is this:

Your writing is not for everyone, no matter how crazy good you are. Some people won’t like it. Even the people closest to you - friends, family, etc. - might not like it. Even the people who have previously liked your other stories might not like your writing in the future.

This does not make you a bad writer.

This does not mean your story sucks.

It means you haven’t found your audience.

No matter how many times you encounter this, it will never, ever get easier. Imposter Syndrome will be breathing down your neck hard and fast every single time.

Remember, this is your story. No one has to like it. You just have to tell it to share your vision, your dream. To express yourself and find freedom that only writing a story can give you.

[call-me-sammy]

The Soapnutmattcrackfic

Here’s a silly – and I mean silly – idea some people (including silly me) came up with some days ago on a Discord whump server. Don’t ask why, but one thing led to another, and we finally decided to challenge each other by writing a Daredevil crack fic. Containing… wait for it … Soap nuts, white shirts, walnuts and Aldi’s. 

Here’s mine :) The other participants: @call-me-sammy, @tallbisexualwantstobeloved​ and @whumpdoyoumean​

Keep reading

[call-me-sammy]

A Hard Nut to Crack

A/N: Sometimes when you're in a writing rut and make new friends on Discord, you end up writing crack fic. :) This ain't my usual but enjoy! @tallbisexualwantstobeloved @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @call-me-sammy

xxx

They’re eating noodles outside of the new Japanese fusion food truck when Foggy, after three days of watching in concern and saying nothing because Matt is a stubborn hard-headed asshat, finally decides to say something. He leans forward, lowering his voice just in case anyone is listening.

“Dude!”

Matt freezes mid-slurp, noodles suspended between mouth and the chopsticks in his right hand. His left hand has, for maybe the first time all day, stopped scratching at his chest. “Hm?”

“You’ve been scratching for, like, three days now. Are you okay? Is there--” he lowers his voice even more. “Is there some awful new wound that’s healing under there or something?”

Matt slurps the noodles the rest of the way into his mouth and chuckles. “I’m fine, Foggy. Besides, I have not been scratching for--”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Matt’s mouth pulls down into a petulant frown and he drops his left hand to the table. “I’m fine,” he says. “No more scratching.”

They go back to eating in silence, and it isn’t long before Matt’s leg starts bouncing, fast, shaking the whole table. His left hand is curled into a tight fist, and he looks immensely uncomfortable.

“Matt, come on,” Foggy says.

“I’m fine!”

“You’re grimacing.”

“I’m not--oh damn it.” And then he’s scratching again.

As kind of funny as it is, Foggy feels his eyebrows furrow in concern. “How long has this been going on?”

“I dunno, maybe a week?”

“Have you had any other symptoms? Fever, headache--”

“No, Foggy!” Matt interrupts with a smile. “I swear, I’m fine.”

Foggy takes another bite of his udon miso carbonara and watches Matt with narrowed eyes. He’s said that before. One time he said that and nearly died in the car a few minutes later while Foggy rushed him to the hospital.

Foggy’s determined not to let that happen again.

xxx

The walk back to Matt’s apartment is filled mostly with Foggy talking about various people he knows who have had rashes that turned out to be horrible illnesses--lupus, meningitis, lyme disease, measles chicken pox shingles syphilis--

“I do not have syphilis!” Matt cries, nudging Foggy in the ribs.

“Ow!” Foggy says with a laugh as they walk into Matt’s apartment building. “Okay, yeah it’s probably not syphilis.”

Matt turns to Foggy as he lets them both into his apartment. “Wait, so your great uncle Percy had syphilis? The great uncle Percy that you got your middle name from?”

“He was a great man! Also, please don’t tell any of my family that you know, it’s supposed to be a secret.”

Matt laughs, but it quickly dies off as the skin on his chest flares up again and he finds himself scratching at it once again. It’s been driving him crazy for over a week now, alternating between crazy itchy and stinging, with only brief intervals of blessed relief from both.

“Let me see,” Foggy says, and his voice is surprisingly gentle.

Matt sighs and unbuttons his shirt. He knows there are bumps, some of them probably raw from the scratching, but he has no idea what it looks like, only that Foggy draws in a sharp breath.

“God, Matty.”

“That bad?”

“I mean, it’s not great. I’m calling Claire.”

“Don’t do that,” Matt says, balking at the idea. He’s fairly sure Claire will not enjoy a phone call from them on a Saturday night. She won’t enjoy a call from them any time, but on her night off? Nu uh. The poor woman needs her rest. “I’ll just get some hydrocortisone cream or something, don’t call Claire.”

“It’s too late, I just hit call!”

Matt can hear the phone ringing a second later and groans loudly. He hates that Foggy has turned the keyboard sounds off on his phone so Matt can’t hear him typing anymore.

“Foggy…”

“It’s a video call.”

“Foggy!”

Before he can snatch the phone away, Claire’s voice greets him.

“What did he do this time, Foggy?”

“Nothing!” Matt calls at the same time Foggy says, “He’s got some kind of rash!”

“You--you called me for a rash? Oh, Foggy. That’s what GPs are for! For fuck’s sake…”

“I’m sorry Claire!” Matt says.

“Look, you know he won’t go in unless he’s dying, and even then...Could you just take a look and make sure it’s nothing serious? If it is I’ll drag him to urgent care myself, I promise.”

There’s a long pause, with Matt contemplating how he’s going to get away with murdering his law partner, when Claire finally sighs loudly.

“Fine, show me.”

“Here,” Foggy says. “Can you see that?”

“Yeah, I can see it. Does it itch at all, or hurt?”

“Uh, kind of both,” Matt says. “Mostly itches like crazy.”

“Have you gotten any new soap lately, or laundry detergent?”

Matt is taken aback at the question, and it takes him a second to answer. “Yeah. Yeah, actually, the stuff I got at the bodega was discontinued so I had to get their new stuff.”

“I think you may be allergic,” Claire says. “That looks like contact dermatitis. I can get you some cream that should help with the itching and any swelling, in the meantime you need to stop using that detergent.”

“Right,” Matt says, desperately trying to hide his embarrassment. “I, uh, I will do that. Thanks, Claire. And sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks Claire!” Foggy says.

“And?”

“...And sorry.”

“Good. Next time you call me on my day off, someone better be dying. Actually no, you know what? If someone is dying, call 911.”

“Got it,” Foggy says, but she’s already hung up.

And Matt has crossed the room and picked up a pillow, which he launches at Foggy’s head, hitting him dead on.

“Hey!” Foggy cries.

“I told you it was nothing! Lupus, really? Claire probably thinks I’m an idiot. More than before, I mean.”

“It’s not nothing. Your detergent is making you itchy, now we know! And we can fix it so that when we go to court you’re not scratching at yourself and making everyone think the defense has fleas!”

He actually has a point there--not that Matt would ever admit it. “Contact dermatitis is nothing,” he says, purely out of stubbornness.

“Look, I’ve got the perfect thing. Marcy uses them, they’re super eco friendly and hypoallergenic. What you need is soap nuts.”

“Soap nuts,” Matt repeats. “Foggy, what are you talking about?”

“Soap nuts! You just stick ‘em in the washing machine and they clean your clothes!”

“...How?”

“I dunno, ask Marcy! But I’m telling you, they work great.”

xxx

They do not, it turns out, work great. Matt did all of his laundry and not only do they not smell clean, but his gym clothes still smell like, well, gym. He picks up his phone.

“Foggy, I need you to come over. These nuts aren’t working!”

“Uuuuh, look, buddy, you’re my best friend but that’s not something I feel comfortable or qualified to help you with.”

“What? Oh! God! Foggy, no--the soap nuts! They aren’t working! Could you come show me how to use them?”

“I’ll be right over.”

And he is--he’d been in the area, because apparently he couldn’t get enough of the miso carbonara. He comes in without knocking, as usual, and Matt throws a tank top at him as soon as he’s in the door.

“Smell that!”

Foggy gives it a sniff and makes a fake gagging sound. “Oh! Yeah. That is not clean. What did you do?”

“I dunno, I just kinda...threw them in there?”

“Did you call Marcy?”

Matt groans. “If I ask Marcy how to do my laundry she will never let me live it down.”

Foggy chuckles at that. “She would not. We can figure this out! We’re two intelligent, resourceful men, armed with sharp wit...and google. To the washing machine!”

They walk to the little laundry space, and Foggy makes a strange sound in the back of his throat.

“Are...are these them, sitting on top of the washer?”

“Yeah.”

And then Foggy starts cracking up, laughing harder than Matt has heard in a very long time. Matt lets out a confused chuckle, equal parts loving hearing his friend laugh like this again and embarrassed because he has no idea what he’s laughing at.

“What?” he asks.

“Well, I-” Foggy gasps, catching his breath as his laughter wans. “I think I know what the problem is.”

“What is it?” Matt presses.

“Where’d you get these?”

“The grocer on 7th.”

“Well the grocer on 7th ripped you off, Matt. These are walnuts.”

Matt lets out a groan as Foggy starts laughing again. “I need a beer,” he gripes, trudging over the fridge “You want one?”

“What do you think, Matt? Yes! Beer me! You want me to call Marcy?”

Matt sighs as he takes out an extra beer for himself. “Yeah…”

He’s going to need it.

xxx end

[call-me-sammy]

Daredevil, Crackfic challenge.

@call-me-sammy @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @whumpdoyoumean

Matthew Murdock was walking silently, focusing hard on his -available- senses to find what he was looking for.

Unfortunately, the solo vigilante couldn't seem to find it and, thus, turned to the next aisle.

As it turns out, enhanced hearing and physical abilities are not exactly suited for looking through an Aldi for clothes.

Matt passed quickly through the current aisle he was in -as all he could smell was soup- and turned to the next with the hope of finally finding the shirts he was looking for.

Why do they always change the layout of this place? He thought, annoyed.

At long last, Matt picked up the scent of new clothes, freshly out of whatever garage they were kept in before being put on the shelves.

Slowly and meticulously, he felt the cloths to check the material.

He would have to ask an employee about the colour of the shirts he was picking since he didn't want a repeat of that time; Foggy still cried with laughter when remembering that incident.

Matt held out his white cane in one hand and a shirt in the other and set to find any employee to help him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to look far as one rushed to him, immediately asking if he wanted help.

"Yes, could you tell me what colour these shirts are?" He asked, presenting the clothe to the worker.

"White." The employee said with a little too much excitement.

First day, Matt thought and asked for the size of it.

The shirt in his hand was in his size, luckily, and he went back with the same employee to get more of them.

Lord knows how easily they get dirty, so it made sense for the lawyer to buy them in bulk.

"Would that be all, sir?" The employee asked, basically balancing on the balls of their feet, in his hands were five shirts that they insisted on carrying.

Matt thought for only a second before he decided to ask about what kind of clothe detergent would be appropriate for hard stains.

The employee lead him through the building and into an aisle that had a suspicious lack of the usual scent of chemical cleaning products.

"These do wonders for all kind of stains and odors!" The worker said as Matt stood there, very much unable to see whatever 'these' were.

"Oh, shit!" Matt heard being whispered and next thing he knew there were small, odd textured balls in his fist and a slight scent of vinegar wafted in front of him.

"Throw these in with the clothes and they'll be just like new!" Matt could practically hear the worker's excited smile, just like a salesman he had seen on television one late night when his father hadn't yet returned from the ring.

Matt put on his best smile and thanked the employee before he was lead -more unwilling than not- to the checkout after saying that he didn't need anything else when he was asked.

It didn't take long for the cashier to scan his items and soon, the lawyer was on his way to his apartment to drop his things off before heading to work.

It was still early enough that he didn’t have to run but Matt didn't want to dawdle for long.

After all, he had customers waiting for him.

Unfortunately, it was while thinking of one customer that he missteped, tripping over the little crack on the pavement and falling onto the ground.

As both his hands were currently occupied, Matt didn't have a way to break his fall, unless he wasn't against using the perfectly placed trash bin beside him.

Well, he was, and thus opted to fall to the ground.

And, this being New York, the ground was the worst choice that won you four different kinds of tetanus and more importantly, dirt. So much dirt.

So, it wasn't surprising when Matt's perfectly clean-and-ready-for-lawyering shirt went from white to a nice brown-gray almost immediately.

Instantly, the people on the sidewalk on his side came to a stop, looking at the downed blind man for a moment and promptly walking away.

This is fine, Matt thought and picked himself -and his bags- up by seeing through his fire-filled world.

Once up, Matt decided to grab a fresh shirt while he left his bags at his apartment; walking a little faster since he didn't want to be late for work.

It wasn't long before he had the fresh, clean smelling, shirt on and running out of the door as quickly as a 'blind' man could without bumping into every corner.

A relatively short walk took Matt right outside the building's main door and through their office's one.

He greeted his coworkers, Foggy and Karen, as per usual and sat down on his own desk to get started on reading some new cases they debated taking.

It wasn't until an hour later that Matt got up to get [something]. The [whatever] was above his head and Matt reached his hand up to grab it, already hearing Karen getting up to help him if needed.

Foggy looked up from his own papers for a second, bit did a double take fast at the red colour on Matt's white shirt as his suit jacket lifted with the movement of his arm.

He got up and slowly walked over, Karen still looming behind the blind lawyer while said lawyer held [REDACTED] in his hand.

"Matty, can I speak to you for a second?"

Matt tilted his head slightly and nodded, allowing Foggy to lead him over to his office before closing the door.

Foggy let Matt's forearm go as soon as they were inside the small room and sighed;

"It's way too early for this, Matt."

Matt frowned in confusion at the, what felt like, scolding that was brewing inside Foggy's mind.

"It's 12 P.M., Fog, we both decided on the time to come into work." He said, genuinely confused.

"What? No, I don't mean that it's too early for work, I'm saying it's too early for all your-" Foggy waved his hand around like he was performing a spell, -Matt would have laughed, had he... you know-, "-vigilantism."

"I wasn't vigi- I wasn't fighting bad guys before work, Foggy!"

Foggy's silence said so much to Matt as he could feel the dubious side eye he was getting.

"I wasn't fighting bad guys before work today, Foggy."

He heard Foggy huff at that but he seemed to relent.

"Why are you bleeding, then?" Foggy whispered angrily.

"I'm not bleeding." Matt said, seriously confused now.

"Yes, you are." Foggy insisted.

"No." One word to kill a man.

"Matt! You have blood here!" He said and poked his finger right where the 'wound' was, absolutely taking into consideration that that could have hurt. Absolutely.

Matt felt the poke but it didn't hurt so he put his own hand above the spot Foggy had pointed at.

He felt an odd texture over the spot, unlike the texture of the rest of the shirt and realisation hit him.

"This... is an old shirt."  He said quietly, "Shit, I grabbed the wrong shirt."

"Let's just go to your apartment to grab another one." Foggy suggested, "Unless you can produce one from thin air." Matt couldn't.

Both man grabbed their suitcases before making a beeline for the exit when Karen stopped them.

"Where are you going, guys? The office is swarming with customers right now." She said as she pointed it to their very, very empty office space.

"We won't be long, Ms Paige!" Foggy announced, practically dragging Matt behind him.

-

The two avocados found themselves in Matt's apartment soon and instantly Foggy raided the closet for a clean shirt for his friend to wear while Matt took off the dirty one and threw it in the washing machine.

Foggy stopped looking through the clothes -or lack thereof- when he heard strange scrunching sounds.

The man really got a kick when he saw Matt trying to open a plastic bag with some kind of nuts in it.

"Matt..." He called out, "What have I told you about making sure you eat in the morning?"

"This isn't breakfast, Fog." Matt said while still struggling, "This is for the washing machine."

"Your washing machine is hungry?" Foggy whispered, perplexed.

"No." Double homicide.

Foggy walked closer to Matt and saw more clearly the little baggie.

"Oh, walnuts! I thought they were out of season." Foggy said in a moment of enlightenment.

"They are not walnuts, they're soapnuts!"

"They're what now?"

"Soapnuts. They're supposed to be great at cleaning even the hardest stain."

"Uh, even blood?" He sounded doubtful, as he should.

"Well, the worker at the store said they work wonders."

"Okay, but. Blood, Matt. That does not come off easily as you know."

"We'll just give it a try, Foggy." Matt said and threw some of the nuts in the washing machine before starting a half-hour cycle.

Foggy mumbled a variation of 'alright' and went back to the closet.

He grabbed a shirt that seemed new and threw it at Matt who was busy "staring" at the wall right next to the washing machine.

Matt caught the shirt moments before it fell to the floor after hitting his face and put it on with a 'thanks, Fog.

The half-hour washing cycle turned out to take up three quarters of an hour, so that was a fucking lie, and Matt got the wet shirt out of it, holding it up;

"Perfect!" He exclaimed and heard Foggy shuffling next to him.

"Matthew?" His friend said slowly, carefully.

"Mhm?" Matt replied, eloquent as ever.

"The shirt is white, right?"

"Yes. Isn't it?"

"Uh... Pastel pink has some white in it, I guess."

"Well, yes. Pastel pink has to have whit- Wait a minute!" Matt stopped abruptly, "This shirt isn't white anymore, is it?"

"Nope!" Foggy popped the 'P' like he was a 14-year-old girl getting ready to be lawfully abducted by a boy band.

"Damn." Matt sighed.

"Careful with those damns, Matthew."

"Sorry, Father- FOGGY!" Matt shouted, scandalised.

Foggy snorted as he and Matt put the, now, pink shirt away and grabbed their things to head back to the office, wondering how Karen is doing.

-

Karen sat on her desk, typing away at her computer all the people she saw today with new cases.

It was a busy day with more customers that usual.

Two.

~end

[call-me-sammy]

About Walnuts... or something

Matt Murdock crackfic

Word count: 1444

This was great. Perfect. Awesome. Just what he needed right now.

With a sigh, Matt shed off his jacket, dropping it to the ground next to him. The crack of his neck echoed through the alleyway he’d been forced to back into, as he briefly warmed himself up for the upcoming fight.

Fucking kingpin and his stupid goons. They’ve always had a shit sense for timing. Fuck them and their habit of ruining his good mood.

He raised his fists. The scarf he was always carrying with himself since the last time he had to act quickly without his suit (he’d learned from his mistakes, mind you) was now dangling around his head, covering his eyes and nose. Time to beat up some bad guys.

Five minutes later, with a nosebleed and a few bruises that would surely be a dark shade of purple by the time he got home, he kicked the last goon hard in the side. Not because it was necessary (he was already very much unconscious), but because, frankly, the guy was a dick.

He looked down on himself. Or rather, he dropped his chin to his chest and concentrated on taking in all his surroundings.

Now, the stench of blood all around him became obvious. Fuck, he hated the smell of it. It wasn’t his own blood for once, thankfully, but it was still on his hands. And his face. And clothes. On his shirt. On his white, button up shirt.

Awesome, another one of his good shirts ruined. It just had to be one of the button ups he always wore to work, didn’t it? Those goons had no respect for fashion (or sense for it either, considering what they were wearing). Did they have any idea how expensive good clothes could be??

He let out a huff as he kicked him again, this time in the face (just for good measure), before turning away and making his way back towards his apartment, casually picking up his jacket on the way and slinging it over his shoulder.

He’d have to go buy some new shirts.

--

“Hey, sorry, excuse me, could you help me find some, uh... walnuts...?”

He spoke the last word hesitantly, suddenly not entirely sure if he remembered correctly. He’d heard someone, somewhere, mention them being a good, ecofriendly substitute for detergent. For some reason, he had remembered that conversation today of all days, shortly after his afternoon fight, and he’d thought hey, why not try if it actually works? Doing good for nature and all, you know.

Now, he wasn’t entirely sure about it anymore though. Walnuts. It had been walnuts, right?

“I just need help finding them because I, uh-“

He waved towards his eyes, trying to explain to the Aldi employee why he needed her help.

“Well. I’m blind.”

Yes, she knows Matthew. You’re wearing toned glasses and you have a white cane with you. It’s pretty obvious.

The employee just shrugged. “I kinda figured. So, walnuts, yeah?”

“Yes. Walnuts. I need them for, uh. For washing.” He added dumbly, regretting it immediately. Now she was gonna think him a weirdo, great job Matthew. Who even used walnuts for washing, anyways?

“....and to eat them. Of course. Cause walnuts, uh, they make smart... from what I’ve heard. Uhm...”

He trailed off, as soon as his brain, helpful as ever, informed him he was only making it worse. Yeah, he could really use some “smart” now. Damn it, Matthew, get your shit together.

The girl didn’t even bat an eye, she just shook her head slightly and gently took him by the elbow, guiding him down an aisle.

“This way.”

“Oh, and I also need some new shirts? I got bloo- ...blond. Uh. Blond hairdye, on my shirt, because I was... dying my hair—“

He could’ve slapped himself. You have dark hair, Matthew.

She just rolled her eyes (not that he would’ve known) and got him to the clothing aisle next. Customers.

Five minutes later he stood outside of the Aldi again, clutching a bag of walnuts and a maxi pack of plain, white shirts. He also bought a glass of stracciatella yoghurt, cause he was hungry, and impulse buying’s a thing. Sue him, it just smelled good.

Now he didn’t even really need to wash his old shirt anymore since he had new ones, but he was still gonna do it. He was curious now, if it was really gonna work.

Back at home he dumped all of the new shirts plus the old, stained one straight into his washing machine, then put a few of the walnuts in a sock and after a second of hesitation, just threw it in there too. He started the machine, turned away and then just forgot about it for the next couple hours.

---

“Damn, I’m gonna be late again, damn it damn— Foggy, hey!”

He almost crashed into his friend, while hurrying down the corridor as fast as he could while still trying to look like a normal blind guy.

“Christ, Matt, you gotta slow down or you’re gonna break your neck running into someone, man. Where were you? You’re almost late again, and— oh Jesus, what are you wearing?”

Even without seeing it, Matt could feel Foggy's horrified stare on him. Or, rather, on his shirt.

“What's wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Fuck, Matt, is that blood?”

Foggy's voice was a harsh whisper. He pulled Matt into an empty room, pulling the door close behind them.

Matt sighed. With his luck, out of all the shirts he just had to pick the old one, didn’t he?

“No, it’s-“

“Matt. Stop bullshitting. Man, what did you think wearing an obviously bloodstained shirt to work? Are you insane?”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Yes, it is! Can’t you, like... smell it or some shit?”

Matt was growing increasingly annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest. As if this was his fault. Stupid walnuts.

“No I can, normally, but I washed it. It just smells like soap now. No blood.”

“So what, you just threw a bloody shirt into the washing machine without doing anything else with it before?”

“Yeah, why, what should I have done with it? Isn't just washing enough?”

Foggy shook his head, incredulous.

“Geez, how are you so clueless about all of this? Wasn’t your dad a boxer? You need to wash the blood out first, with cold water, and then treat it with lemon juice or vinegar or something before actually washing it. It won't wash out completely if you don't, man. I feel like you should know that by now.”

“...wait, how do you know all of this?”

Foggy shrugged.

“Had to listen to one of Karen's rants about it.”

“And why would Karen know that much about washing out blood? I thought I was the one beating up people here.”

Foggy gave him a disappointed look, the words “you gotta be kidding me” basically radiating off of him.

“...she’s a girl, Matthew.”

“Yes, I know that, thank you, but why— ...oh. Right.”

“Jesus, Matt, I thought lawyers were supposed to be smart. But you’re just one hell of a dumbass, seriously..”

He shook his head and pulled Matt's jacket closer together over his chest to cover more of the stains.

“...c‘mon, let's just go to my place real quick. It’s closer, but we’ll still be late though. Well, better be late than have our new clients see you wearing that. Would give one hell of a first impression, that's for sure.”

Matt only hummed in response and was about to walk out again, when Foggy held him back.

“What did you wash it with, anyways? Smells a bit funny.”

Matt had noticed too, of course, but it just smelled a bit different from his usual detergent. There was nothing wrong with it. Not really.

“Oh, uh, with Walnuts.”

There was a short pause.

“....with walnuts? Why would you- what? ...Why?”

“I think I heard someone talk about it once? How it’s more ecofriendly and better for nature and all. Just thought I’d give it a try.”

He shrugged, and then grew more and more concerned and confused when Foggy didn’t respond. Then, after a good five second pause, he burst out laughing so hard that Matt actually flinched.

“Soapnuts, Matt, they’re called soapnuts! Not fucking walnuts, soapsnuts!”

Foggy was laughing so hard he was close to tears, wheezing breaths in and out.

Matt on the other hand was blushing hard in embarrassment. Oh god.

“Oh. I thought they said- I didn’t know-“

Foggy just hugged him briefly, a single tear running down his cheek.

“Fuck, Karen is gonna love this!”

---

About a week later, Matt received a package. No sender, just his adress and the word “walnuts” written on it in black ink.

When he opened it, he found a wooden corset inside. Made out of walnuts. (He looked damn good in it.)

@tallbisexualwantstobeloved @whumpdoyoumean @do-androids-dream-ao3acc

Note: alright folks, what you here see is a weird crack fic me and three other people wrote, just for fun. The idea came from a dumb joke and a, admittedly, pretty weird but hilarious conversation, and somehow we decided to make a challenge out of it? So all of us wrote a fic for it. You can find them here, here, and here. I really recommend reading them cause frankly they’re pretty hilarious XD

Thanks for reading!

[call-me-sammy]

Helpless

6 Underground

Prompt: helpless/panic/chained

Word count: 638

Warnings: implied torture, knives, needles etc., threats

AO3

Billy gets caught. Again.

There were chains. On his arms. On his legs, too.

That was the first thing he realized when he woke up. A lot of chains. Rattling, metal chains. Everywhere.

The second thing he noticed was the hard back of the chair he was sitting on.

Bound to. Chained to.

The chains were wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles, cutting painfully into his skin.

It was... it was dark, too. There was nothing over his eyes, as far as he could tell. That meant... he was in a dark room. Which also meant, there was no way of knowing if he was alone, unless he listened closely.

He listened.

There was some distant shouting, but otherwise, it was quiet.

With a loud click, the lights went on. Billy squinted his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness.

“Fuckin’ hell, little warning next time?”

When he could finally see again, his breath caught in his throat.

There were... tools. Lots of them.

A belt. Needles. Knives. Pliers. A drill. And... wires.

Above all of these stood a guy, smirking down at him. His eyes were glinting maliciously, as if he enjoyed all of this immensely. Billy knew right then and there that nothing good ever came from this man.

“Well, look who’s finally awake…took you long enough.”

The stranger clicked his tongue, looking down at the table in front of him. He studied the tools, a slight frown between his brows, before looking up at Four again.

“They’re beautiful, aren't they?”

He picked up a dagger, casually cleaning out the dirt under his fingernails with it.

Billy was shaking in his chair, but there was no way in hell he’d show this guy, whoever he was, how scared he felt.

“The fuck you want? I got nothin’, I’m just a thief. I got no money or nothin’, you picked the wrong guy to rob, seriously-“

“You’re quite the talker, aren't you?”

The guy strode over to his side, smiling sweetly. Billy felt sick.

“I’m curious if you’re still gonna be able to talk after I’m done with you... it’s gonna be a bit hard to speak after all that screaming, don’t you think?”

Billy said nothing. There was no way he’d get out of here alive anyway, he might at least keep his dignity.

“...just kill me then. Just do it. Get it over with.”

The laugh the man let out sounded wrong in Billy’s ears. Too loud, too high, too shrill.

“Oh, oh no. You got it all wrong. You’re not here because I want you dead. You wouldn’t be sitting here anymore if I did. No, you’re here to talk.”

His grin looked more like that of a shark than a human’s. It looked downright evil.

“...talk about what?”

“Oh, you know. Ghost stuff. Let's start with the location of your hideout, what do you say, Billy? Or should I call you Four?”

Billy's blood froze in his veins.

“No.”

He wouldn’t betray his team like that. His friends. His family. Never. He would rather die. Which... he probably would, by the looks of it. But better he died and they lived without him than have all of them captured, tortured, or killed.

The stranger feigned a disappointed look, but he failed to hide the glee in his eyes and the joy he felt at the statement, and the prospect of what it would bring.

“...no? Mh. Shame.”

He shook his head in false disapproval, before going over to the knives, studying them closely. He picked up an especially sharp one.

He looked at Billy, twirling it in his hands, a hard look in his eyes, the smile gone and every hint of playfulness vanished from his face.

“You’re gonna give me exactly what I want, the easy or the hard way. Your choice, pretty boy.”

A/N: thanks for reading! Likes and especially reblogs are always very much appreciated :) (also yes I know the title is shit and boring, I couldn’t think of a better one sorry. Im open to suggestions haha)

Taglist: @the-living-typo @tallbisexualwantstobeloved

[call-me-sammy]

Preying on you tonight

Winterfrost (Loki x Bucky)

Word count: 1160

Warnings: mention of blood, otherwise nothing I think

AO3

He just has to hit a club, show his fangs off, find another dumb prey, feed on them, and be on his way. It’s what he’s been doing for years. Shouldn’t be a problem, right?

The air was gloomy. Some might’ve described it as chilly, but he had lost any and every sense of coldness a long time ago. But even Loki felt the stark contrast from the outside air to the sticky, disgustingly sweet air inside, that was filled with laughter, smoke and light, as he stepped into the club. It was crammed with people, as expected, being already far into the late hours.

Before his eyes the usual scene unfolded, that he’d already seen so many times:

Drunk people dancing on the dance floor, laughing with their friends, partners or hookups, and everywhere drunk people making out with other drunk people. He shook his head in disgust. He simply didn’t see the point in doing this, he never understood why mortals did the things they did. Frankly, he didn’t really care either. They only held one purpose to him anyways.

Smirking smugly, he ignored the occasional longing glance that was thrown his way. He was aware of his good looks.

Stupid girls, he thought, they don’t know who they’re looking at. If they knew, they’d be either running the other way, screaming, or begging on their knees for forgiveness, for even looking his way. He rather liked that thought, actually.

But no, none of them were good enough. He was looking for someone special tonight. Someone like...

Something caught his eye. Razor-sharp jawline. Piercing blue eyes. And that neck...

The Vampire licked his lips. Him. He was perfect.

There was something special about him. Something... he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The strangers stare practically screamed ‘dangerous!’, but that only made him want to get to him more.

Without another thought he pushed his way through the crowd, through people with bad breath, but for once it didn’t bother him at all.

Humans got their high through alcohol, his kind however had their own ways. And he was so close now, so close...

And then he could smell him, and gods did he smell good... like sweat, and wood, and blood—

The question why the he had already smelled of blood when they met would only occur to him later, but right there and then he didn’t care in the slightest. If anything, the smell of it only increased his bloodlust.

There was no holding back now anymore. He had his eyes on his prey, and nothing could stop him from getting him, from tasting his blood, and he would, whatever the cost—

He was greeted with a smirk.

“Had enough of the staring and decided to come get a closer look?”

It was silent around them. Except it obviously wasn’t, since the music continued to play, and the people continued to laugh and talk. But to him, to Loki, it seemed that there was silence around them.

After he didn’t reply, the stranger with the flawless face and the even more gorgeous voice extended a hand and shit, look at his hands, they were perfect too—

“Name’s Bucky. Yours?“

He took the offered hand. The touch sent a shiver up his spine.

“...Loki.”

What was he supposed to do now again? Just bluntly ask him to make out?? He needed him to get comfortable, to be vulnerable. But how did he get there again? How did this work?

Everything, thousands of years of knowledge and experience seemed to be wiped off his mind. And here was this gorgeous, perfect man, looking right into his eyes with this slight smirk that almost drove him crazy. He simultaneously wanted to stare at it all day, and rip it off his face. With his fangs. And lips. Gods, he wanted to kiss him.

The stranger, Bucky, was still staring at him, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest in a casual, seemingly bored way. He was obviously expecting him to say more than just one word. Loki shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his human jeans.

“So... you come here often? To drink and get a good look at the ladies, I assume?”

Gods, he sucked at this. Where did the usual charming, always snarky Loki go?

Bucky took a step forward, closer towards him.

“I’m here more for the guys, to be honest.”

A warm shiver ran down the vampires spine as he stepped closer too as well, closing the space between them.

“Me too, if you can believe it... and you“, he let his eyes slowly trail up and down the other mans body, pointedly licking over his lips, “seem like a perfect way to start off the night.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle, a dark, hungry look in his eyes.

“Mhhh, what would you say if I ended it as well?”

Their lips crashed together as they both made the same move at the same time, leaned in.

The kiss felt like a fight. A battle for control. Both confident in what they were doing, both edging the other on. Neither of them got the upper hand.

Loki could proudly say he was a good kisser. With immortality came years and years of practice. Bucky seemed to know what he was doing too, though. He showed no sign of hesitation in his movements.

When this didn’t seem to work out like he had intended to, the vampire decided to try a different tactic.

He grabbed Buckys jaw, forcing his mouth open, slipping his tounge inside. When he opened his mouth though, the other man did the same, smirking as he did.

Both their eyes shot open at the same time, staring into the others, when they felt it, but neither broke the contact.

Both of them had fangs. Buckys were similar to his own, only smaller and broader. A werewolf.

People left and right went out of their way as they stumbled through the croud. Someone spilled their drink when Bucky pushed Loki past them, before he grabbed his shoulders and violently shoved him back against the wall, pressing him against it with his whole body.

Loki let out a grunt and tried to push them around, trying to regain control, but the grip on his shoulders was firm, not allowing any movement. One hand, which was made out of metal, Loki briefly registered, found it’s way up to his throat, and then he couldn’t breathe anymore. Literally.

His lungs felt like they were about to burst, his heart was racing in his chest, but still he showed no sign of weakness, or even acknowledgement that he had trouble breathing.

And then, finally, when he thought he was about to actually die making out with this stranger, who he knew nothing about other than his name, without even getting a chance to taste his blood, the grip loosened.

The warewolf was staring down at him, an animalistic grin on his lips, while Loki was doing his best not to look like he’d just nearly been strangled. There was a rumble in Buckys chest.

“... your place or mine?”

Notes: Thanks for reading!! Reblogs are always appreciated if you liked it :) I don’t usually ship Winterfrost, so this is probably gonna be the first and last time I’m gonna write for them. But I wrote this for the prompt/summary my friend @pengwengs-writing wrote!! (Go show em some love please they’re awesome) Moodboard is made by me with help from @quacky-keenu :)