creep shame

She flinched when he reached out to push her hair back from her forehead, feeling shame creep up her neck the second her body reacted this instinctively, caving in like a house of cards. She hadn’t meant to pull away, not consciously, not so violently that he noticed. Pain flashed in his eyes. It was something that kept happening and was completely out of her hands, like every part of her body knew to withdraw at his touch, even though her brain, her rationality, told her not to. And she shouldn’t have, because her brain also told her that he was where she felt safe, that he was home.
“What is it?” He was careful, afraid that she wouldn’t want to talk about it, that she would grab her coat and walk out the door without explanation like she so often did when she got upset. Her mind was pure chaos, her head was throbbing painfully. The urge to leave, to run from the situation, made her legs itch and her heart pound faster.
“I-” The words wouldn’t come. She’d never voiced them, never said what fear had been buried inside her for so long. The right to know was his, as was the attempt to finally understand her. So she spoke.
“I feel so incredibly selfish.” It wasn’t what he’d expected at all, she could see that. His brown eyes were wide, his gaze questoning. “I need time. I always need a lot of fucking time to let someone in.”
“I know that.”
“I’ve been hurt in the past.”
“I know-”
“But I know it doesn’t give me an excuse to act like I do. To run from you when things get hard or when you get too close and to be so goddamn unapproachable. Everyone’s been hurt before, everyone’s heart’s been broken at least once and I feel so egoistic to wrap myself in my sadness and use it as an excuse when it’s not.” He waited for her to nod when he reached out again and when she allowed his touch, his fingers entwined with hers. She exhaled with a deep sigh.
“I just don’t think it’s fair of me to always say I’ve been hurt when others have it worse. I don’t think you should be the one that has to endure my moods.”
“But I love you. You’re scared and that’s okay. We have all the time in the world if you want to take things slow. Besides, what does it matter that other people have it worse, as you said? You have the right to remember and to cry and to complain. You have the right to take your time to heal. There is no shame in admitting that you don’t feel ready to open up again.” She glanced up at him with teary eyes and squeezed his hand.
“The pain we feel doesn’t get better or worse if we compare it to other people’s pain, remember that.”
—  excerpt

My first installment in the NOTICE US anthology (Will thought the title up not me).

Dre and I fight over her refusal to wear pants calling them leg jails. And thinking I live in some fantasy land since she doesn’t acknowledge my state as a real place. Or that i’ve never eaten some common foods until i was in college.


@therandomninjakitty @willhernandezdraws

anonymous asked:

I misspoke/typed in that last ask and I just realised when I saw it on my dash I meant to say that my inability to do things was a source of shame and finding out I had Aspergers was a relief although having to "come out" to people about it and their reactions caused that shame to creep back in a bit until I found this blog and a few other autism positive blogs. My Aspergers itself has never been a source of shame. Just the way I was treated because of it

AW IT’S OKAY ANON im sure everyone understood what you meant, dont worry

Smile {Angst Week Day 1}

IDK if this is really “angsty” but oh well!

They stare as she walks by–they always stare, and she hates it. She absolutely hates feeling their eyes on her. She knows why they’re looking–what they’re looking at. She knows that they look at her and think “dear God, what happened to her?” On some level, she can understand. She gets it. She would probably stare too if she was one of them, but it doesn’t change how awkward and hurt she feels. Like their disgust is palpable–she can feel it creeping across her flesh, burning her. The stares make her feel like those memories are being dragged out of the darkness all over again, and she can’t keep running forever.

Lucy ducks her head down as two girls pass, raw gasps coming from them. Shame creeps through her, phantom pain flaring across her cheek. It doesn’t hurt, not anymore, but sometimes she swears she can still feel it–like there’s still something there ripping through her skin–and the blood, God, there was so much blood.

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut. Absentmindedly, her fingers skate across–no. Her eyes fly open, hand dropping back to her side, and she bolts, nearly crashing into several people as everything starts coming back.

She doesn’t want to remember–she doesn’t. Her feet slip as she takes a sharp turn, her books spilling out over the floor. Lucy doesn’t stop to pick them up–doesn’t look back. The world around her blurs, and it’s almost like everything else has just disappeared. She wouldn’t care if they did. It wouldn’t matter, not at the moment.

Tears burn at her eyes as she bursts through the first door she finds. The room is empty, and she briefly acknowledges that she’s enter the girls bathroom. Her head snaps to the right–

And suddenly she’s looking into a mirror.

Lucy freezes, her mouth going dry–and then, her heart drops into her stomach, bile rising in her throat. Her reflection stares back at her, and she sees wild, terrified eyes, pale skin–as if she saw a ghost, her mouth stretched into a grim line. Shaky fingers raise to her face, lightly grazing her cheek, just below the–

Lucy shakes her head, backing up until her back hits the wall behind her.

It’s never easy to face the truth. And this isn’t something she wants to see.

The scar–red and angry and cutting across her face, marring her features–is the only thing she can see. And she hates that it’s all anyone else can see.

Eyes wide in terror, Lucy couldn’t do anything as she was dragged into the alley and shoved against the nearest wall, a hand over her mouth. A sudden weight was thrown against her, the drunk man over her leaning against her and pressing her into the wall. Realization hit her, though she wished it didn’t. It was the man that had been following her around at Fairy Tail earlier during her shift. He had already been drunk then, but at that moment he looked beyond smashed. He had been harassing her, following her around and asking her to “smile.” She had the first few times, if only to make him leave, but he had become even more persistent after that, daring to get closer, touching her shoulders and back, hands drifting lower and lower each time until Elfman had dragged him away, tossing him out onto the street. She thought he had left.

Seems she was wrong.

The man leaned in so that she could smell the alcohol on him, his warm breath on her exposed neck, nose sliding across her skin slowly. “Can you smile for me, Sweetheart?” he breathed against her skin, lips latching onto her neck, followed by a vicious bite, his teeth sinking into her flesh. Lucy screamed against the hand on her mouth, struggling to break free, but he only bit down harder, jerking her away from the wall, only to slam her back against it, her head hitting the concrete with a loud “crack.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as he pulled away, throwing her to the ground roughly, only to fall on top of her moments later, crushing her between him and the ground. His dark eyes met hers, hazy and unfocused, something cold and cruel there. He reached behind him with one hand, blindly groping for something, and she reacted instantly, hand flying up to claw at his face.

She caught him off guard, and his head snapped to the side with the force of the blow. Three bright, angry red lines marred his cheek, blood welling up from the scratches. Lucy felt satisfaction bubble in her for only a moment, because in the next her own head was knocked to the side from his harsh blow to her jaw. She yelped, freezing when something cool pressed against her throat. Her heart lurched into her throat, skipping a beat.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered, lips on her jaw. “Shh. Just smile for me, Baby. Smile.” He pushed up on his elbows, what she realized was a pocket knife pressing tighter to her neck. The flat of the blade was dragged up her neck, not cutting her, but surely scaring her. She released a squeak and he backhanded her quickly. “Shut up!” he roared, grabbing her jaw in one hand, forcing her to look at him. The knife was pressed to her lips. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, squeezing her jaw tightly. “You look better when you smile,” he whispered, fingers caressing her cheek.

The knife slipped between her lips, the blade close to  her skin, nicking the inside of her cheek. “Smile for me,” he demanded, the blade pressing harder when she refused. “Com on,” he cooed, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. “Smile, smile for me.” She squirmed beneath him, trying to shove him off.

The blade ripped across her skin, tearing through her skin as if it was nothing. Lucy didn’t even have it in her to scream as her flesh was torn, blood spilling down her face.

“You look pretty when you smile.”

Lucy leans back against the wall, sliding down slowly and burying her face in her knees. A sob rips from her throat, tears welling in her eyes. Her hands fist in her hair, fingers absentmindedly tracing the scar on her cheek. Her eyes squeeze shut tightly.

It’s not something she wants to remember, but it’s a day she’ll never be able to forget entirely. She doesn’t remember what happened after that man sliced her face, just that she woke up two days later in the hospital, stitches across her cheek and her jaw wired shut to prevent her from popping them. Natsu was beside her, and as soon as he saw her eyes open he jumped up from his chair and kneeled on the bed next to her, arms wrapping around her as he whispered how much he loves her, over and over again, breathing the words against her temple, lips lingering against her skin and tears wetting her hair.

She learned later that Gajeel and Elfman found her on their way home from the bar after their shift was over, and that it was Natsu who called them, asking where she was when she didn’t answer any of his calls.

And God was he terrified. She could see it in his eyes when he pulled away from her, his gaze tracing her features, drinking her in as if he was afraid he would never see her again. And then, he ducked his head down, nose nuzzling hers as he placed light butterfly kisses across her cheek and jaw and chin, whispering nonsense to her, voice thick with emotion.

And sometimes she wonders just how close to dying she must have been–just how much she must have scared him for him to practically be sobbing, cradling her against him as if he was afraid to let her go. And all she could do was hold on just as tight.

She had tried to speak, tell him that she loves him too. That’s when she noticed the pain and the stitches, how it hurt to swallow and she couldn’t move her mouth.

It left a scar.

It’s an ugly thing, she knows. It stretches from the corner of her mouth, all the way to the back of her mouth, rippling across the fleshy part of her cheek, marring her features from the inside out. She doesn’t want to think about how bad it must have looked when they found her. The skin over her cheek had been split in two, leaving the left side of her face a mangled mess of torn flesh and blood.

Her fingers graze the rough, raised skin, tracing it with a light finger, eyes squeezing shut.

She hasn’t smiled in months.

Crying into her knees, Lucy doesn’t here the bathroom door open, or the quiet footsteps that stop in front of her, not until a hand falls on her shoulder. Lucy jumps slightly, flinching away from the touch, about to push herself up and run again.

“Hey,” the person whispers, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “It’s just me,” a familiar voice tells her. “It’s just me.”

“Natsu?” she sobs, blinking at him through her tears. Bright green eyes meet hers, his eyes sad as he looks at her. She turns away from him, hair covering her eyes and scar. “What are you doing here?” she asks, trying not to look at him. “This is the girls bathroom.”

Natsu leans forward, wrapping an arm around her as he settles on the floor next to her, tucking her against his shoulder without a word. She curls against him easily, tossing her legs over both of his and slinking her arms around his waist. His lips meet her temple, lingering against her skin for a long moment.

“I don’t care,” he breathes against her hair, lips brushing her skin. “My girl needed me. Like hell I wasn’t going to come in.” His fingers trail up and down her arm slowly. “Are you okay?”

Lucy nods, shifting her head to rest against his chest. Natsu pulls her into his lap, both arms going around her, locking her against him as he cuddles her into his chest, almost as if he’s trying to swallow her whole. “It’s just hard,” she whispers, head over his heart. “Everyone looks at me like I’m damaged, like I’m broken and no one is ever going to want me.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “And every time,” she snarls, fingers digging into his shirt. “Every time I look into a mirror I think they’re right.”

He growls, arms holding her tighter. “Don’t you dare say that,” he murmurs, voice rough and thick with something she can’t explain. “Not while I’m right here.” He pulls away enough to see her face, both hands coming up to cradle her in her palms. “I love you,” he tells her, leaning in and giving her a heartbreakingly sweet kiss, lips moving against hers slowly. He veers off after several long minutes, placing gentle kisses along her jaw, lips never once leaving her skin. And then, his lips brush her scar. Lucy startles, trying to jerk away, but Natsu holds her in place with a gentle hand against the back of her head. “I love you,” he repeats, kissing the marred skin. “I love you so much,” he breathes against the scar. “I will always love you, scar or no scar.” Tears well in her eyes, a few sliding down her cheek. A low whine pulls from Natsu’s throat. “Don’t cry,” he says, voice cracking. “Please, don’t cry.” His nose bumps hers in a silent apology.

Lucy releases a watery laugh, her arms squeezing him tight as she pulls away from him, meeting his eyes–

And then she smiles for the first time in a long time.

Here’s what stops more people from writing than anything else: shame. That creeping, nagging sense of ‘should be,’ ‘should have been,’ and ‘if only I had…’ Shame lives in the body, it clenches our muscles when we sit at the keyboard, takes up valuable mental space with useless, repetitive conversations. Shame, and the resulting paralysis, are what happen when the whole world drills into you that you should be writing every day and you’re not
—  Daniel Jose Older

i’ve kept these screencaps to myself for too long. here it is. solas creeping on mahvir like some sort of fucking disney villain

just fucking??? staring in the background



and then he does and mahvir is just like

creators help me why are my crushes never normal

im just one person. but the anger and hate and guilt and shame that creeps in makes me feel like im big enough to attack the sun. and that i should.

You decide to try out a sensory deprivation chamber. You step inside and end up falling asleep. You wake up and dont know how much time has passed. You open the door and the light blinds you. No one is around. You step out and feel delirious and it takes you some time before you come to. You still cant find anyone. Your clothes are where you left them. You check your phone. It opens up the facebook app as soon as you turn it on. A friend from college is posting a article that says “10 Reasons Why Creep Shaming Is Wrong”. In the “trending articles” you see a link to a Breitbart article talking about the whitewashing in the Stonewall movie. You start to get the feeling that this can not be the same world that you came from.