#if you dont like to be tagged in things like this

[sunnyhanako1505]

back from the Dead. featuring mike wheeler ( but it doesnt even look like mike kill me now ) and the guitar from his bedroom. also Ass literature in the background. Do not Read it.

[humaling]

Mother's Day Special.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: you drag finnick along with you as you try to find the perfect gift for mother's day.

warnings: false perspective of reader towards finnick, allusions to prostitution

word count: 3.8k

author's note: dont worry guys! this is pure fluff with brief mentions of the warnings above.

The sun peeks at its highest hour, casting golden light across the stoned dirt paths of District 4. Despite the heat rising off the ground in wavering lines, it does little to stop the gentle buzz of life in the market. Children dash between vendor stalls with sticky fingers and windswept hair, their laughter caught in the sea breeze. Women with woven baskets on their hips bargain gently with fishermen and bakers, while a few older men cluster near the docks, fanning themselves with folded newspapers.

Almost every stall carries some variation of the same bright theme—heart-shaped boxes wrapped in red foil or soft pastel paper, each one tagged with a small sticker that reads: Happy Mother’s Day. The scent of brine mingles with warm bread and sun-dried herbs, carrying notes of citrus and honey through the air. The cobblestones are warm beneath your sandals as you stroll beside Finnick, your elbow just brushing his every so often.

He’s quieter than usual, hands tucked awkwardly into the pockets of his light shirt, eyes flickering from stall to stall. You know he’s never been fond of the heat or the press of crowds, but today, it feels like something else entirely. He walks close beside you but doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then, there’s a carefulness to him—a slight pause before every answer, as if weighing each word.

“Should we get a cake?” you ask aloud, mostly to yourself, slowing to admire a quaint little stall lined with aesthetically pleasing sweets. Round little cakes dusted with powdered sugar, pastel-frosted tarts, and chocolate drizzled pastries sit perfectly arranged behind a pane of glass.

Finnick’s gaze flicks toward you, then lingers on the way your eyes follow the desserts, your head craning long past the point of practicality until you’re nearly walking backwards. A quiet chuckle slips from his lips—low, amused, and fond.

Some things never change. Your sweet tooth, for one.

It hasn’t been long since he returned from another of his Capitol trips—those painfully long stretches of silence that left your days feeling dull and gray. The routine filled in the emptiness as best it could: morning visits to the docks, midday runs to the market to help restock your family’s fishery, and long afternoons at the beach, trying to scrub away the sweat and stillness clinging to your skin. At night, you’d lie in bed, the sea breeze brushing against your cheeks, imagining the sound of Finnick’s voice—its playful cadence, its gentleness. And those ridiculous, mesmerizing green eyes that reminded you so much of the ocean it hurt.

“I’m sure you’ll be the only one eating that cake, honey,” Finnick says, his voice light and teasing, the word honey slipping from his tongue like he’s said it a thousand times. He pretends not to notice the slight tilt of your head at the nickname.

You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You think you’re so smart for calling me out, don’t you, Odair?”

That earns a real laugh—not the one he shows the Capitol, all perfect pearly whites and carefully rehearsed charm. No, this one is smaller. Softer. The corners of his mouth curl into a boyish smile and his shoulders shake slightly as it bubbles up from his chest. He glances down at the ground, a flicker of nerves shadowing his features.

It’s that laugh. The real one. The one he only shares when he forgets to hold his guard up.

You’ve seen it only a handful of times, but you recognize it instantly. It tugs something in your chest.

He’s nervous again. You don’t know why, but you’ve noticed it more and more lately—the way he moves slower around you, speaks gentler, watches you with something unreadable in his eyes. There's a new layer to him now, a cautiousness that wasn’t there before. Not distance exactly. More like reverence.

And it gnaws at you, this question that won’t go away.

Why is Finnick Odair suddenly so careful with you?

From the corner of your eye, a booth catches your attention. You stop in front of a stall strung with sea glass and shells, little earrings catching the sun like tiny chandeliers. Soft blues and greens sparkle from delicate wire hooks, and the salt-kissed wind carries the faint scent of lemon oil and fresh linen.

“She likes the ocean,” you say, picking up a necklace with a smooth pearl threaded on twine. “This could work, right?”

Finnick leans in, careful not to brush too close. “It’s pretty,” he murmurs after a pause. “But does she wear stuff like this? Feels more like something you’d pick for yourself.”

You huff, setting the necklace down beside the others embroidered with seashells and pearls. Of course he knows you too well.

“That’s not a bad thing.”

Finnick falters, the tips of his ears turning a little pink. You figure it’s just the heat.

“No, I mean—it’s nice! Really nice. I just… it should be something she’d like, you know?” His voice trips slightly, then steadies.

You smile to yourself. “You’re very committed to impressing my mom.”

He clears his throat, trying and failing to play it off. “She’s important. I mean, she raised you, so… that already says a lot.”

You pause, your heart skipping a little. The way he says it—it’s careful, but full of quiet admiration. There’s something else too. Maybe nerves. Probably because he’s only met your mother a handful of times, and she is pretty intimidating.

The two of you continue weaving your way through the market’s gravel paths, sunlight glinting off every polished surface. Each stall is lively with color and sound—vendors calling out deals, children tugging at their mothers’ sleeves, the occasional clang of a dropped coin or the snap of cloth banners in the breeze. Still, no gift feels right.

Normally, your dad would be with you for this—he’s got a sixth sense when it comes to your mom. But he’s busy today. After a strong morning haul with Finnick’s uncle, your family’s store is swamped. It was Finnick’s uncle, actually, who mentioned that Finnick had come home last night and insisted he join you today.

You glance over at Finnick, who’s now leading you toward a booth on the far side of the market. He’s squinting in concentration, brows drawn, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he scans the table of handmade jewelry. His fingers skim lightly over trinkets and tiny carved charms, like he’s trying to divine the perfect choice through sheer will.

He’s really taking this seriously.

You find yourself watching him more than the table. He looks different—older. Manlier, you think. Time and distance had sculpted new edges into the boy you grew up with. He’s nearly twenty now, and the boyish softness you remember has been replaced with something steadier. Broader shoulders. Sharper jaw. Like the Capitol’s favorite poster boy finally grew into the myth they made of him.

The roots of his natural bronze hair are peeking through the sandy blond dye, the strands tousled by the wind. With the sun slanting over his face, his golden skin seems to glow, casting an ethereal sort of light. It’s almost unfair—how beautiful he is. No wonder everyone in the Capitol fawns over him. No wonder the rumors say he has a string of lovers at the Capitol.

You’ve never asked. Not once. Not even when the whispers started. And you both stopped talking about those things after you got your first boyfriend—one Finnick caught wind of the minute he came back from a Capitol trip. He’d told your mom about it, too, which somehow turned them into reluctant allies.

“Look, I know I’m gorgeous, sweetheart,” Finnick drawls, cutting into your thoughts, “but we really do have a present to find today.”

You blink, cheeks heating. Your gaze snaps to the table in front of you, full of rings and earrings you weren’t really seeing. The warmth crawling up your neck isn’t just from the sun, and the smirk Finnick shoots you says he knows exactly what you were doing.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up a pair of earrings—delicate, uneven pearls in different sizes—and holds them up to you.

“What do you think? Would your mom like these?” he asks, his voice gentler now, genuinely curious.

You chew your lip. “She already has a drawer full of pearl earrings. Like, a whole drawer.”

Finnick’s shoulders slump, and he places them back with a quiet sigh. He thanks the vendor politely before guiding you away, the light touch of his hand settling at the small of your back. It lingers just long enough to send your heart fluttering.

The two of you stroll a little farther, slower now, the rhythm of the market buzzing around you in waves—voices rising and falling, baskets thudding softly against tables, the occasional gust of sea wind carrying the scent of brine and grilled meat. You’re both starting to look a little defeated.

“Maybe chocolates?” Finnick suggests, hands stuffed in his pockets again as he squints toward a table stacked with candy boxes wrapped in red foil.

“Finn, that’s too common,” you say with a sigh. “I want something different!”

He hums, kicking a small pebble off the path. “Pillows?”

“She’s got too many of that,” you huff. “Dad’s already complaining he doesn’t have space to sleep on anymore.”

That makes Finnick laugh—a proper, open laugh that slips out before he can stop it. It draws a smile from you, too, even if your frustration is still bubbling beneath the surface.

You don’t notice the stall until the smell hits you. Something warm, crispy, and fried. Your head turns instantly.

“Ooh! Wait—there!” you point suddenly, grabbing Finnick’s wrist before he can ask what you’re talking about. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you drag him toward a small, crowded street food stall wedged between two larger booths.

The stand is simple, its faded canopy fluttering under the sun. A woman stands behind a sizzling grill, flipping golden pastries with expert ease while a younger boy bags orders and takes coins from a queue of hungry kids. The air smells like garlic and butter, with a hint of sweet something you can’t quite place.

“Break time,” you announce, already tugging a few coins from your pouch. “My treat.”

Finnick raises an eyebrow but follows you without protest. “I didn’t know indecisiveness came with snacks.”

“It does when you’ve been in the sun for two hours and still haven’t found a single gift,” you mutter.

You order two of whatever looks best—some kind of flaky bread folded around cheese and herbs, still steaming in the paper when it’s handed to you. Finnick’s lips part in surprise at the first bite, eyebrows raising like he wasn’t expecting it to be that good.

You both lean against the edge of a nearby booth, half in the shade, munching quietly for a moment. The food is warm and comforting, and even the market seems less loud here.

“So… maybe no to chocolates and pillows,” Finnick says after a beat, licking a bit of butter off his thumb. “What does she like, other than your dad and yelling at Capitol broadcasts?”

You snort, nearly choking on your bite. “She likes—cooking. And books. And stuff for her kitchen. And collecting those little hand-painted bowls. Oh! And dried lavender. She keeps some in her pillowcase.”

Finnick nods slowly, absorbing all of it. “Alright. That’s better. We can work with that.”

You glance sideways at him, smiling behind your paper-wrapped pastry. “You’re really taking this seriously.”

“I told you,” he shrugs, looking at you like it’s obvious. “This is your mom we’re talking about.” 

You’re halfway through your snack when something soft drifts on the breeze—faint and floral, cutting through the heavier scents of the market. You pause mid-bite, nose twitching.

“Wait… do you smell that?” you murmur, eyes narrowing as you scan the rows of stalls ahead.

Finnick pauses mid-bite. “Is that… flowers?”

“Lavender,” you say quickly, suddenly alert. “Come on!”

You toss the last bite of your food into your mouth and grab Finnick’s wrist again before he can protest, weaving through the crowd toward the source of the scent. He stumbles after you with a faint “I’m starting to think I’m just your personal market tug toy,” but he doesn’t try to pull away.

The stall is tucked to the side beneath a faded lilac tarp. Jars of dried herbs sit lined in neat rows, along with bundles of flowers tied together with twine and tiny cloth sachets printed with little seahorses and coral designs. There’s a small display of lavender oil bottles, each with handwritten labels, and beside them: handcrafted cutting boards, wooden spoons, and delicate tea towels embroidered with patterns of fish and ferns.

You gasp softly, reaching for a sachet. “This is perfect.”

Finnick lets out a low whistle. “Smells like a field. In the nice way. Not the itchy way.”

You laugh and hand him one of the smaller boards. “Do you think this would match our kitchen?”

He turns it over in his hands, inspecting it like he’s considering buying a new boat. “It’s pretty. I can see your mom using it to chop up sea bass. Or whack your dad when he complains about pillows.”

You snort, nodding in agreement. You end up picking out the sachet, the board, and a tiny bottle of lavender oil for her nightstand. It feels right. Thoughtful. Like her.

Now, you just need something to pull it all together.

“We should go to Junie’s,” you say as you leave the stall, the brown paper bag in your arms rustling softly. “She has baskets and all that pretty wrapping stuff.”

“Stationery shop Junie?” Finnick asks, brows raised. His arm stretches out so his hand could get the paper bag from your grasp. “The one who sold me pink star stickers that said ‘good job!’ on them when I was ten?”

“Yeah,” you grin, absentmindedly letting him take the paper bag like it’s second nature to you. “and she also has ribbon and twine and those little filler shreds. Come on.”

The shop is only a few blocks away, nestled between a clothing store and the district’s small library. Inside, it smells faintly of parchment and glue, with shelves stacked with pastel paper, notebooks, and crafting supplies. You spot the baskets almost immediately—small woven ones with handles, just the right size.

Finnick trails behind you, watching with quiet amusement as you examine a roll of soft purple ribbon.

“You’re doing that face,” he says.

You glance at him. “What face?”

“The face you make when you’re about to make something look very cute and pretend like you didn’t spend two hours planning it.”

You scoff but don’t deny it. “It’s for my mom. She deserves a cute basket.”

You both end up at the small table by the shop’s front window, where Junie lets customers use the space to wrap gifts. You kneel beside the basket, arranging the board and sachet and bottle just so, while Finnick tears small bits of tissue paper and hands you ribbons.

He’s careful, quiet—his fingers brushing yours every so often, gaze flickering to your face when he thinks you won’t notice. You do.

“You’re really good at this,” you say softly.

He shrugs, cheeks pink again. “Just want it to be special.”

You look at him then—really look. And something about the way he’s watching the little lavender bundle settle into its spot in the basket makes your chest flutter.

You carefully tuck the last bit of tissue around the lavender oil, smoothing the layers like it’s something sacred. Finnick ties the ribbon into a neat bow, his fingers slow and focused as if doing anything too fast might unravel the moment.

“She’s going to love it,” he says quietly.

You glance up, your hands stilling. “You think so?”

Finnick nods, not quite meeting your eyes. “Yeah. I mean… if my mom were still around, I’d want to give her something like this.”

The words settle between you, gentle but weighted. You feel them lodge in your chest like a stone dropped in water—quiet at first, but rippling outward.

You don’t say anything at first, afraid to break the silence in the wrong way. So instead, you reach out, your fingers brushing his wrist before resting there lightly. “You think she would’ve liked lavender too?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, something almost fond flickering across his face. “She was more of a mint person. Used to hang sprigs of it by the door so the house would smell fresh. Drove my dad crazy.”

You smile softly. “She sounds cool.”

“She was,” he says, and then he shifts slightly, meeting your gaze now. “You remind me of her, sometimes.”

The basket sits finished between you, neat and pretty with its lilac bow and gentle scent filling the small corner of Junie’s shop. It doesn’t feel like just a gift anymore—it feels like a bridge. A small act of love for your mother, and maybe, in some quiet way, for Finnick’s too.

You watch him, eyes tracing the line of his jaw, the way his hands still hover over the basket even though you’re done. You want to say something that matters. So you take a breath.

“Finn,” you start, hesitant. “Would you… would you want to stay for dinner tonight? With us? It’s just going to be something small, nothing fancy, but… I think Mom would like having you there.”

His head lifts immediately, eyes wide like he didn’t expect that at all. “Dinner?”

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah. I mean, it’s Mother’s Day. And you helped with the gift, so it only feels right that you get to be there too, right?”

Finnick blinks, then laughs quietly—but it’s not a deflection. He’s just surprised. Giddy. His whole face softens, lit up by a kind of boyish joy you haven’t seen in a long time.

“Are you sure?” he asks, tilting his head a little. “I mean, your mom… she’s okay with that?”

You give him a pointed look. “You helped me carry her present through half the market while melting in the heat. You’ve earned it.”

“Okay. I’d like that. A lot.” Finnick’s smile stretches wide, his green eyes bright as sea glass under sunlight. He shifts the basket carefully in his hands, then glances at you with a playful tilt of his head. “What should I wear?”

You cross your arms and slowly look him up and down, cocking an eyebrow. “Just go shower. You look greasy.”

His jaw drops, exaggerated. “Greasy?”

You stifle a grin. “You’re literally glistening.”

“That’s sweat. That’s hardworking, sun-drenched charm, thank you very much.”

“It’s grime, Odair. Go rinse it off.”

He presses a hand dramatically over his heart. “So ruthless. I slave away helping you pick the perfect gift, and this is the thanks I get?”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you say, grabbing the corner of the basket. “Here, let me carry—”

Finnick pulls it slightly away with a small shake of his head. “Nope. I’ve got it.”

You roll your eyes. “Finn. It’s literally not heavy.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s for your mom. Which means it’s sacred. I’m not letting you carry it after you let me sweat my soul out at the market.” He flashes you a smirk, and you hate how smug he looks while being so unnecessarily gallant.

Still, you fall into step beside him as he cradles the gift basket like it’s spun glass, walking back toward the housing rows near the docks. The wind’s picked up a bit, soft and salty, and you let the quiet settle between you comfortably.

Finnick glances sideways at you, his voice softer now. “So… dinner, huh?”

“Don’t overthink it,” you say, nudging his elbow gently. “You already passed the hardest test.”

“What’s that?”

“You made me laugh while we were both sweating to death in the middle of the market. Not many people can do that.”

He chuckles under his breath, and the sound makes something light settle in your chest.

“Then I guess I better scrub off all this ‘rugged charm’ before I see your mom,” he teases. “Wouldn’t want to blow my chance.”

You bump his arm lightly again. “Finnick. You already have.”

And though you keep walking like it’s no big deal, you feel his glance linger a little longer on you, and the smile that tugs at his lips tells you he caught your meaning.

By the time you and Finnick start to make your way back to your home, the sun had already begun to dip when you and Finnick reached your front steps. The sky behind the house is painted in soft shades of pink and gold. The scent of salt still clung to the air, but it was quieter now—the market’s noise a distant memory.

You unlock the door and step inside, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards greeting you like always. The scent of something cooking wafts faintly from the kitchen—probably the beginnings of your dad’s famous seafood stew. Your heart picks up a beat.

Finnick lingers in the doorway, suddenly a little unsure of himself. He holds the basket in both hands like a peace offering, shifting it slightly as if debating whether to step in with his boots still on.

“You’re allowed inside, you know,” you say with a smirk, toeing off your shoes near the door.

“I know. It just feels like…” He trails off, then breathes a small laugh. “Like I’m walking into something big.”

You glance at him. “It’s just dinner.”

“With your mom.” He raises an eyebrow. “And your dad.”

That makes you snort. “You’ve met them before, Finn.”

“Yeah, but never while holding a gift basket like I’m some kind of suitor meeting his fate.”

“You’re not—” you start, but you can’t finish the sentence. Not when your cheeks are already warm and Finnick’s looking at you with that knowing glint in his eye.

“You want me to set this on the kitchen table?” he asks, already making his way there.

“Yeah, just—wait, don’t let my mom see it yet! I want to help wrap the ribbon around it first.”

He pauses mid-step. “There’s a ribbon?”

You give him a mock-scolding look. “Of course there’s a ribbon. We’re being thoughtful, remember?”

Finnick hums, placing the basket gently on the kitchen counter and turning to you with a grin that somehow manages to be both charming and a little bit shy. “Right. Thoughtful. Got it.”

Just then, you hear your mom’s voice from down the hallway—calling out your name to ask if that was the front door she heard. You meet Finnick’s eyes, both of you freezing like kids caught sneaking dessert.

“Well,” you murmur, smoothing down your shirt, “here goes nothing.”

Finnick gives you a lopsided smile, his voice warm. “Let’s make a good impression, sweetheart.”

[rowanraven08]

Like I understand the point of this but how could anyone think that some of these dysfunctional????

Like I feel like that’s just a red flag that schools apparently DONT want you to put though into decisions, “Needing "all the information" before coming to a decision” LIKE THATS JUST BEING LOGICAL. Everyone should be doing that, that is literally how we end up with terrible politicians. “Needing a rule or instruction to "make sense" before they can follow it” I’m sorry are neurotypical people following instructions that don’t make sense? How?? Why???? Like I saw people in the tags were having the same thoughts as me, but like, how could that be concerning at all??????? It means schools are literally encouraging us to not think critically about rules or decisions that should be the NUMBER ONE thing they teach us istg

POV: mister Devon Price, PhD, telling me that I am right about everything

Source: Unmasking Autism, discovering the new faces of neurodiversity

[greendest1ny]

Do you have any headcanons with Lloyd and Garmadon?

YESSSSSS. so many i dont even know if i could fit them in a single post >:D anon you have no idea how happy this question has made me

Lloyd's first word was 'Dada'. Garmadon cried about it multiple times

Lloyd wears Garmadon's old dog tags from the serpentine wars, and he never takes them off

They look very very similar, but Lloyd's facial features are softer compared to Garmadon's and he's shorter and less muscular.

lloyd feels safest in his dad's arms but he will never admit it

they cuddle ALL THE DAMN TIME. mostly in the evenings, when they're both sleepy and lloyd's not-so angry about everything that's happened between them

whenever he's really upset the first thing lloyd thinks is 'i want my dad'. he doesn't know why, and he'll never admit it

lloyd's love languages are physical affection and words of affirmation and acts of service, so garmadon tries to mimic this, despite being rather uncomfortable with being so vulnerable. he does it for lloyd. he's good with acts of services, though, as that's his own love language

garmadon is lloyd's glorified teddy bear. that is to say lloyd drags him everywhere with him for comfort even though he doesn't fully trust him yet

they have very similar music taste! they both love heavy metal and rock music, but also slow, relaxing songs

cole practically FORCED them to go to family therapy due to how much it helped him and lou, and it has helped them both greatly despite how they both were extremely reluctant at first

though he doesn't show it, garmadon is EXTREMELY protective over lloyd. he wants lloyd to be able to defend himself, which is why he will very reluctantly let lloyd fight his own battles, but if things look like they're getting too overwhelming for his son, he'll step in

garmadon braids little parts of lloyd's hair when they cuddle, but only if lloyd is sleeping. he's too worried about somehow disturbing the moment otherwise

lloyd LOVESSSS it when garmadon runs his claws through his hair. puts him straight to sleep. Garmadon never trails his claws down to lloyd's neck however. he never touches lloyd's neck

garmadon isn't the type for nicknames, but he does have a few, very basic ones for his son. 'pup' 'baby' 'little one'. he very seldom calls lloyd 'baby', usually only when he feels unusually emotional

they play fight!! at first, they didn't, they were both too uncomfortable with it since it reminded them of when they seriously fought, until one day lloyd randomly initiated it by bapping garmadon until he reacted. since then, they've been play fighting, though garmadon is careful to not play too roughly. he's very scared of hurting his son again

lloyd uses garmadon's chest and biceps as pillows

garmadon doesn't like physical touch, but he knows that lloyd enjoys physical affection, so he forces himself to be a little more cuddly and allowing lloyd to drag him around

garmadon will purr to calm lloyd down and help him sleep. he'll also make his son nests out of blankets and pillows, his oni instincts telling him to make his pup a safe and comfy place to sleep

garmadon grooms lloyd like a mother cat grooms her kittens. lloyd finds it INCREDIBLY embarrassing, but understands it's garmadon's oni instincts telling him that this is ensuring his pup is taken care of

garmadon will randomly make lloyd food. plates of sliced fruits and randomly making dinner for him

they say goodnight to each other every night because they're both equally scared that the other has been separated from them again

when lloyd was little, Garmadon was a stay-at-home dad. they found it helped keep the venom at bay

oni have very distinct smells, only identifiable to other oni. lloyd naturally gets relaxed when he can smell garmadon's scent. it used to be the opposite, and he'd get incredibly anxious, but since they've started repairing their relationship, lloyd has started associating garmadon in general with safety once again

parallel play is a core part of their relationship!! lloyd likes reading his comics in the kitchen, and garmadon will sit opposite him, cleaning his katana.

garmadon tries very hard to understand lloyd, meaning sometimes he'll mimic his son, which always makes lloyd laugh

garmadon also kept newspaper clippings of lloyd and his accomplishments, up until they were reunited

lloyd still has nightmares about garmadon. garmadon knows this, and he hates it

garmadon helps lloyd bleach his hair, though he ALWAYS ends up bleaching parts of his fur blond in the process

they love cozy nights in with pizza and watching crappy movies

when garmadon faked his death in the crystallized finale, he actually passed out for a moment, and while he regained his strength he watched lloyd activate his oni form. he didn't want to admit that he was being dramatic so he lied

garmadon has an abundance of weird and wonderful home remedies that he vaguely remembers from before his revival, and lloyd can only watch and snicker as garmadon does the weirdest shit to him to try and cure his snuffy nose

i have SO many more, but i fear if i wrote them all down here, i'd be here forever!! ty for the ask!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

i dont know how many asks you have built up, but hullo :3

Wondering if you could make a little fic of reader with a biting kink and sub!Steven? It could go any way you want, but I can just imagine this scene:

Marc waking up, feeling all sore and stingy in certain areas and seeing reader blissfully sleeping like they didn't just bite the fuck out of the body. He stumbles to the bathroom, looks in the mirror to see bite marks all over his neck, chin, shoulders, arms (and some on his thighs 😼). Marc, talking to Steven in the reflection, asks why the hell would he let reader keep chomping on the body like a chew toy, and Steven was just like "well, bruv, you should have seen them on top of me last night. I couldn't say no to that face" Marc, Steven and Jake have been dating reader for a while, and they know all to well about their biting kink, that a different reason they summon the suit to heal (even though they sometimes keeps the bite marks on like a display to others that they have a sex life. I feel like Jake would taunt others and be like "yeah, my lover owns me" and other people could be like wtf??)

Extra points of reader is a demihuman 😼

Thank you so much for the ask! Ahhh!

Sorry this has kind of gone in a different direction.

Love Bites

Steven Grant x Marc Spector x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Marc has a problem he needs to share.

Warnings: Kissing, biting, pet names, Marc and Steven having a conversation (bickering), fluffy silliness, swearing, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 973

Steven moans softly as you straddle his thighs, your hands on his cheeks as you kiss him and lightly push him back against the pillows. His fingers dig into your waist as he kisses you back, leaving him breathless, lightheaded. 

Which isn’t helped by the blood rapidly rushing downwards. 

You rock against him lightly as you lick into his mouth and nibble on his bottom lip, breaking away for just a moment to tug his t-shirt up and off. Steven helps you eagerly, throwing it to the side as if the material had personally offended him. 

When you go back to dragging your lips along his throat, he groans loudly, wriggling under you in excitement, his heart thudding in his chest. 

“Love,” he moans, needy and wanting. He places his warm hand on the back of your neck, applying a firm but not oppressive pressure. 

You know what he wants, what he craves. But instead, you smile and run your tongue along his jugular. 

“Love.” He pants, a little harsher this time and you just about manage not to giggle at the indignation in his voice. 

‘Steven.’ Marc’s voice echoes in his head, clear as day and he rolls his eyes. 

‘Bit busy now mate.’ 

There’s a pause, and even though Steven doesn’t look over to the mirror, he can feel Marc shiver, the sensations starting to bleed over, his arousal. 

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Marc pauses, but doesn’t fade back. 

You nip lightly at the spot under Steven’s ear. He shudders, whining beautifully. 

‘Maybe you can…’ Marc swallows. 

‘Spit it out mate, come on. Me and Jake have talked to you about this. It’s not really fair that you’re constantly dropping in on, well, intimate moments with us, but when it’s the other way around, you get all pissy and-’

‘This isn’t about that.’

‘Isn’t it?’ 

Steven can feel Marc frown at his sarcastic tone. But neither of them comment on it. 

‘Look, it’s about the biting-’

It’s almost like you can hear them. At the exact moment the word is out of Marc’s mouth you sink you teeth into Steven’s neck and suck.

Steven yelps, arousal burning in his lower stomach. His grip on you tightens. “Oh, fuck love, yes, that’s what I want.” 

‘Steven.’ Marc tuts. 

‘I don’t care if you’re here or not, don’t act like I can’t tell when you’re in the background watching to get your rocks off. You’ve got a vouyism thing, I swear down, all high and mighty on your horse acting like you don’t when you watch all the blood time and-’

‘Steven-’

‘But do not give me the condescending mother goose voice when I am trying to have a nice time here, yeah? It’s a bit of a mood killer.’

‘I’m not trying to kill the mood!’ Marc snaps back, going from his stern slowness to matching Steven’s fast pace. His accent is stronger when he’s frustrated, and now it’s out in full force. ‘It’s the biting! Does it always have to be with the biting?’

‘First, is this really the time to be discussing it? Second-’

‘I think it’s the right time, the best time. You hardly ever-’

‘Second, you one to talk!’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s true!’

‘What the fuck are you talking about, Steven?’

‘You love getting bitten.’

Marc gasps, trying to sound insulted. But it falls short. ‘I don’t.’

‘Yes you do!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Protest all you want, but I know you do Marc.’

‘That’s a fucking lie.’

‘You’re a fucking liar.’

‘Steven, I’m not, shut up!’

‘You just use the suit to heal them after, but I know, Jake and I both know.’

‘Bullshit.’ 

‘What’s the real problem here?’

‘I…’

‘Yes?’ Steven waits. 

Marc sighs. ‘Look, can you, you know, heal them after too?’

‘Why?’

Marc squirms a little, embarrassed. ‘‘Cause… I get… worked up… when I see them, feel them, on the body…’ 

Steven snorts involuntarily and then quickly stops himself, internally apologising. ‘Are you saying you get a boner from some bruises?’ 

He can feel Marc’s glare. 

Steven chuckles. ‘You do!’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Oh, you really do. That’s bad mate, really bad, a fetish for sure.” Steven teases and Marc scowls. 

‘Fuck off.’

‘A deviant they’d call you.’

‘Like you don’t fucking get the same?’ Marc snaps. ‘Acting like you’ve never got turned on by anything.’

Steven relents, internally holding his hands up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just teasing. I’m not trying to really upset you.’

Marc pauses. ‘Yeah… I know… sorry. I just…’

‘I’ll heal them after.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Marc says quietly.

‘You don’t have to fuck off either, you can stay and…’ Steven pauses, realising that your lips are no longer on his neck. He opens his eyes to look up to you, confused. “Love?” 

You smile at him. “Marc or Jake or both?” 

“Hmm?”

“Who you were talking to?” You lean down again and kiss his cheek.

“Oh, how did…?”

“You go still and sort of, move your lips a little, like you’re asleep.”

Steven blushes a little. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why?” You shrug.

“Not very sexy, is it?” 

You chuckle, “It’s fine, I’d do the same if someone was talking to me.” 

“Still…” Steven smiles. 

“So, who were you talking to?” 

“Marc.” Steven touches back into their shared space. Marc’s still there, though he’s stepped back a fraction. But he’s not pretending he’s gone. “He’s hanging out.” 

You smile and stroke his hair. 

“Now, I believe you were in the middle of something?” Steven wiggles his eyebrows at you, giving you a cheeky look. 

“Oh, was I?” 

Steven nods. “Something that you’ll have to finish, love. You have no choice.” 

You giggle at his teasing tone, “Oh, well,” you shrug, pretending as if it’s some great chore. “If I have no choice.” And lean back down to suck a love bite into his skin.

Thank you for reading!

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[mia-can-yap-too]

synopsis :- You can only see colors after meeting your soulmate. You saw it. He did, too. He just walked away like an emotionally repressed cryptid.

warnings :- this is more crack than fluff, reader almost breaks in the boys locker room, canned coffee, parking lot confessions

a/n:- okay fine i inserted myself as the best friend SUE ME

@uzmacchiato for dividers

png by me dont steal pls

You were not asking for a soulmate.

You were asking for iced coffee and peace and a day where it didn't feel like the world was personally out to get you.

Your umbrella broke in the rain, you stepped in some gum, and your coworker tried to mansplain email folders to you again. You were already at 'burn the world down' levels of tired.

You came into the convenience store, hoping that maybe some cheap canned coffee would help. And then you touched hands with some guy that was reaching for the same thing and—

— the world exploded.

Color.

So much of it.

Your eyes blew wide. His did, too. You locked gazes.

The world blazed into reality.

Bright red fire hydrants, silver glossy soda cans, electric pink gum on the bottom of your shoe. And the stormy teal in his eyes that felt like a punch to the throat.

You opened your mouth to say something soulmate-worthy like "hi" or "Are you actually my fine shyt?" or perhaps the might, "Woah, shawty, can I get that number?"

He blinked.

And then, he walked away.

The cashier tapped the counter. "Ma'am. He left. Are you gonna pay, or do you need five more business days?"

You stared, stunned, at the exit.

Then, at your coffee.

Then, your hands.

"What the fuck just happened...?" you asked no one.

"Girl, I felt that," the cashier whispered. "Why'd your soulmate ghost you like a Netflix show that never got a season two?"

You left the store wet, confused, betrayed, and in full color. It was worse than heartbreak. It was rejection in high-definition lighting.

You spiraled. Just a little.

You even told your friends about him.

"He just left?!"

"He looked you in the eyes and then fled the scene?!"

"Was he hot?"

"Okay, but like, worth chasing down hot?"

"Maybe he's colorblind?"

"Maybe he's emotionally blind.."

You spend the next week checking every street, every Instagram story tagged 'Shibuya' like an obsessed Victorian widow. Nothing.

He just vanished.

You moved on. Or well, tried to.

The world stayed in color. Unfortunately, teal was everywhere. On street signs, on product packaging, on the Clavin Klein underwear ad featuring this super hot model named Leon Kennedy. Ugh, he wouldn't leave you alone (in memory).

You nicknamed him in your head. The Cryptid Bastard. My Ex-Husband. Pinkie Pie, too, ironically.

You tried Googling him (nothing).

You tried asking the cashier for CCTV footage (denied).

You even started writing passive-aggressive soulmate poetry like :

roses are red,

violets are blue,

I saw color,

and so did you,

so why'd you run,

you stupid shrew.

It didn't help.

Rin's POV

Okay. So.

He accidentally met his soulmate.

Saw color.

Felt a weird amount of chest pain.

And left.

Like a normal person.

It's fine. It's fine.

You probably didn't even notice. Maybe you thought it was a weird lighting trick. Maybe you don't know what he looks like. Maybe you've forgotten all about him.

He tried to focus on football.

Football is good. Football is safe. Football doesn't judge you when you meet your literal other half and then run like she's a debt collector.

He tried to bury it all in a mental soulmate box titled 'DO NOT TOUCH EVER'.

It doesn't even pretend to work. He opens the box everyday.

Because now everything is in color.

And it's the worst.

Green grass? Annoying.

Sunsets? Emotional terrorism.

The concerning brown of the canned coffee he keeps buying? It gives him heartburn now.

He doesn't even know your name.

All he knows is that he saw you once, made solid eye contact, and chose violence via disappearance. Now he's living in 4K Ultra HD regret like a clown in high-definition.

If fate ever brings you back, he's going to say something normal this time. Something not insane.

Like "Hi" or "Sorry I ghosted you, I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon" or "Please don't press charges".

God, he's doomed.

Also, has Isagi's hair always been that horrid blue?

Your POV

Months later, your best friend, Mia, forced you to come to a Blue Lock match with her. Something about needing to bag a guy named Isagi or something.

You weren't particularly fond of football. Too many rules. Too many men running around like angry toddlers with a ball fixation. Personally, you'd share the ball, but maybe that's just your opinion.

Then, he walked onto the field.

Number 10.

Black hair.

Stormy-teal eyes.

Rin Itoshi.

Your brain short-circuited.

It must've been obvious because Mia asks you if you're okay.

You stood up. You point at him. "THAT'S HIM! That's Ex-Husband! That's Pinkie Pie! That's–OH MY GOD, MY SOULMATE IS AN ATHLETE?!"

Rin didn't look at the crowd once. Of course, he didn't.

He played like his life depended on it. Sharp, controlled, aggressive. He scored two goals, and he didn't even celebrate. He looked as emotionally open as a bank vault.

You were left staring. Woah, that's your man?

After the match, you were unwell.

"I have to confront him."

"Girl, he's in the locker room."

"I'm breaking in."

"PLEASE, don't get arrested over a man who literally ghosted your existence," Mia begged.

You ignored her. While you didn't break into the locker room, per say, you waited by the players parking lot like a perfectly normal, not-at-all deranged person.

He came out looking well....HOT. Alone. Hood up. Earbuds in.

You stepped in front of him.

He blinked. "You..."

You gawked. "THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!"

"I figured you would be mad."

"Mad? You triggered a soulmate moment and then VANISHED. I went full K-drama for three months!"

He didn't move. Just stared. "You still remember that."

"Oh, I remember it, Rin. I remember your stupidly symmetrical face, what's your secret? Gua Shua? AND, I remember the canned coffee too! AND, the color coming into my life on full blast before you ran away as if I was the plague!"

He scratched the back of his neck. "...I panicked."

"You... you PANICKED?!"

He nodded. "Didn't expect it. Didn't know what to say. Didn't want to ruin it by being...me. But I suppose I did anyways..."

You blinked.

"Oh my God, you're an emotionally repressed idiot."

"...Yes."

"I can't believe I fell for a hot wall of internalized issues."

"I play football for a living," he said flatly. "We all are."

You huffed at him. "You owe me coffee. A good one. And three months of therapy."

"...Okay."

You paused. "That's it? Okay?"

He shrugged. "I saw color. So did you. I wanted to run. But you're here now. You tracked me down. You yelled. You're terrifying. You...win."

You narrowed your eyes. "Is this you asking me out?"

"I'm asking you not to leave. Or yell anymore. I'll buy us coffee. We can talk."

A pause.

"Can we not walk in the rain, though?" he asked. "I associate you with weather-based trauma now."

You blinked. And then, you laugh.

Hard and loud. Not lady-like. The kind that took you both bt surpirse.

"...Fine. But you're paying."

"I already said that."

"And if you ghost me again, I will commit crimes."

He smirked. "Noted."

Ah Shit! Here We Go Again — Masterlist

[gaylordscooter]

[A pile of carefully torn-out pages sit stacked neatly inside a drawer]

entry number 1

I've lost everything. my brother, my friends, my house, my universe. all of it is just gone now

to top things off, the last thing i was doing was running away from temmie. i thought they were my friend, but after they got the six human souls somehow, they went on a rampage and started killing the remaining monsters left and right.

the only reason i escaped was because this otherworldly being dragged me through a body of water and brought me somewhere else.

this being's name is ink, they're a skeleton like me—they even look like me.

It was explained to me that my universe shattered from "too many plot holes" and i didn't know what that meant! what do you mean my world has too many "plot holes" it's not like it's a STORY.

WELL APPARENTLY IT IS A STORY. AND I DONT LIKE THINKING ABOUT THAT FOR TOO LONG.

So anyway, alternate realities are in fact real and there's a whole multiverse. Cool. Awesome. I just want to go home and for everything to go back to normal

But apparently my universe is completely gone, it doesn't exist i'm the only thing that remains from it. while there are some universes that have parallel realities mine was the only one if it's kind.

COOL. AWESOME. I'M BEING NORMAL ABOUT THIS.

IM THE ONLY THING THAT REMAINS OF MY UNIVERSE. MY UNIVERSE DOESNT EVEN EXIST ANYMORE. WHERE AM I SUPPOSED TO GO. WHAT DO I EVEN DO? THIS "INK" PERSON IS WEIRD

When I was freaking out about my universe being GONE, he gave me this notebook and pencil to "calm down"

HOW IS THIS SUPPOSED TO CALM ME DOWN?! NOW I'M VENTING TO A NOTEBOOK WHILE HE STANDS THERE WATCHING ME FURIOUSLY WRITE!

entry number 2

It's been a day since my world was destroyed, I already miss my home. I've been missing my friends and brother.

At least Ink let me stick around. I've been staying at his place along with someone else named Dream, but I have yet to meet him since he's never here. It's comfy here, at least. I even have my own room (which looks suspiciously close to my old room actually. i think ink did that on purpose, maybe to cheer me up? i don't understand him).

Right now's around the time I'd study with Undyne, actually...well. at least i don't have to worry about getting into the royal science division.

Papyrus isn't around to read this. I feel bad that I've never told him this, but

I never really wanted to join the Royal Science Division. Even though I acted like it was my dream, it wasn't. I wanted to learn more about space.

but of course that's not possible when you live in the underground. (i guess that's not really a problem anymore? this doesn't make me happy)

and we've always been low on funds. the pay for it was too good to pass up. I've stolen so much just to keep us afloat. I was good at hiding that, though.

Too good. Maybe I should've told Papyrus once he was old enough. He never knew why I was kicked out...

How would I even tell him? There's so much I haven't, because I don't know how to word it.

"By the way, brother! Mom and dad didn't exactly like me 'trying to be someone who i'm not' and disowned me like i disowned my name! That's why we grew up in a scrapyard."

[there are various scribbles and dots here]

"You didn't have to follow me, y'know. you could've lived with them instead of stubbornly staying by my side it would've been easier"

no i wouldve missed him. even if it's selfish i'm glad he tagged along. he was always there for me

i wish i could say the same. I SHOULD be able to say the same but i CANT what poor excuse of a brother am i?

maybe. no. they'll never be right.

entry number 3

I met Dream for the first time. He's really. unique. I know he's dressed like someone straight out of an anime but I didn't expect him to ACT like someone straight out of an anime!

The way he talks, the way he moves. There's something uncanny about it, honestly. He also looks on the brightside like that's the only direction he can look. When he heard my universe was destroyed? Told me at least he's glad it's led to me meeting him and Ink??

Like No Offense To You Two But I Don't Think Losing My Entire Universe Was Worth Meeting You Two.

That's not to say I'm not glad to meet them! I am glad! Just not at the expense of my home and everyone I love!

wait when have i ever watched anime? where did i even learn what that means? it was one of my friends—or acquaintances that introduced me to it, surely. Why can't I remember?

I need to ask Ink something, maybe. hopefully he'll know.

entry number 4

so a consequence of my world shattering is that it's really easy to forget about it. because it doesn't exist.

after ink told me that, i can hardly remember anything about it.

it's like there's a big gap in my memory and all i remember is that i'm forgetting something.

like my scarf. i know there's a sentimental reason i wear it. there was something about it. something about the material it's made out of i think?

Entry number five

i had a brother his name is papyrus

i had a brother his name is papyrus

his name is papyrus. he's my younger brother

don't forget him. don't mistake him for the other papyruses in the multiverse.

he woreWhat did he wear? what was he Like? oh my god what was he like

papyrus. don't forget him. he isn't like the other papyruses in the multiverse don't use them as a point of reference don't let them replace whatever memories you have left of him.

"he isn't like the other papyrus's" HOW CAN I KNOW THAT FOR SURE? I DON'T REMEMBER WHAT HE WAS LIKE

entry number 6

The more I learn about the multiverse the more my memories of my universe are skewed. Also I learned (or, heh, remembered) I have memory issues in general on Top of the whole "universe not existing means it's hard to remember" thing.

So that's great

I was being a bit of a downer because of the revelation and Ink caught on so he asked me what was up. I decided to tell him, even though I thought he wouldn't really get it since he doesn't seem to be bothered by anything ever.

Oh man was I wrong. He completely understands

He also has memory issues. He told me he was soulless—which wow, I'm surprised he felt comfortable telling me—which really messes with your capacity for remembering things.

Even though he uses paint as a substitute for a soul, it doesn't fix his memory issues. So instead he writes stuff down on his scarf. He suggested I should do something similar, write down important things.

He told me that even if I can't necessarily hold information in my head for a long time, if I can hold it in my head long enough to write it down, that's enough.

It was reassuring.

entry number 7

Dear Papyrus,

I've seen a lot of different places in the past few days, places I wouldn't ever imagine seeing. Some of them are pretty, some of them are a mess. It's a bit hard to wrap my head around it, how small we are in comparison.

I already thought space was big, learning there were multiple universes made me feel even smaller. But even so, out of everything I've seen. I have yet to find a world like ours.

But if the universe is infinite, the amount of multiverses should be too, right? Another version of our universe, one that hasn't disappeared, has to be somewhere.

I'll look for it.

I'll find it.

I don't want to pretend to be talking to you through letters. I want to see you again. There's so much I have to tell you.

All the lies I've told you. I thought I was protecting you. I was really just saving myself the trouble of explaining everything.

i miss you, bro. i'm sorry i'm the one that made it and not you

entry number 8

i lived in a house with papyrus in snowland sity. i remember it was spelled like that specifically for the sake of alliteration, even though it'd still count as alliteration if it was spelled properly anyway.

i was an intern for the royal science division, papyrus was too but he wasn't all that serious about it. i was friends with the head of it, undyne.

she was real big into gundam anime and tried making those mechs a reality. i helped her with that so i have some experience in robotics and mechanical engineering.

she was able to build at least one functional robot, their name was blookbot. they were the underground's biggest music artist. i was a pretty big fan of their music

i went to college and got a degree in psychology. i was supposed to go to medical school, but, i either failed my classes or didn't make it in i think. or maybe i couldn't afford it.

there were a few humans that lived underground, under queen toriel's care. she had a polices about not killing humans which some monsters didn't agree with, including her own (now ex) husband who thought she was prioritizing humans above her own people. technically she was prioritizing humans, in a way, since we kinda need their souls to break the barrier—but hey all those humans fell down as kids im not gonna blame her for deciding against killing. and those humans specifically weren't to blame for us being trapped underground, it was unfair to fault them for it.

there was a group of monsters that did take action against these policies. the rebels, they called themselves. it was a straightforward name. they managed to kill some of the humans that's fallen down, specifically the ones that decided to leave the safety of queen toriel in favor of finding a way out.

while the amount of monsters that were apart of the rebels was pretty low, there's always been a threat of a civil war over the queen's policies. the main thing preventing it was that everyone was very much aware that a civil war could spell the end of monsterkind. so the monsters that disagreed with her policies kinda just, went deeper into the underground and were left to their own devices.

temmie was my friend. i thought. they were...a peculiar being. not quite human or monster, they were a sentient plush toy. they were very vocal about thinking queen toriel was dumb for not just killing every human that fell underground and that if she did, we'd have enough souls to break the barrier by now. but to my knowledge the rebels only have two souls in their possession and there's five that live with queen toriel. we'd be missing one

hah! i remembered all that! fuck you, multiverse!

hopefully this information is accurate. god

entry number 9

MY NAME IS NOT BLUE. ITS SANS HOW THE HELL DID I FORGET THAT???

Ever since my universe was destroyed Ink's been calling me "blue" like that's been my name my whole life and i ended up forgetting that it's NOT!

GASLIGHTING! ME!

Only reason i remembered was because someone called me sans while we went out to a different universe to eat.OH YEAH SPEAKING OF THIS UNIVERSE

It's SIMILAR to mine, not quite the same but it feels much more familiar than the other ones have so far

they're called "Underswap" universes, because some people "swap" roles and personalities with someone else.

Ink calls my universe "Botchedswap". not that flattering of a name but i suppose it makes sense now that ive seen underswap

so like. is my universe just a "botched" version of that universe?? or variant, that's what ink calls them

variants are universes that derive similar traits to the "main" universe they're based off of. so like, botchedswap is an underswap variant since it's based on it. BUT WHO IS BASING IT ON UNDERSWAP? WHAT EXACTLY DOES THAT MEAN? IS SOMEONE WRITING THIS? IT'S A STORY. THATS WHAT INK TOLD ME

i haven't really thought about how this is all a story after ink told me. i've kinda been avoiding it. it's like my mind automatically yanking my hand away from the stove, it's hard to think about it

i guess im sorta not supposed to know about that?? i mean. this is like some horrors beyond my comprehension probably. definitely, what the fuck do i mean probably?

so if this IS a story. i'm a character in it then? I'm probably a background character aren't i? i probably hardly even show up. who's the main character? would it be ink? oh then i probably wouldn't be a background character at that point.

That's so weeeird. If i was a main character that'd mean a lot of people saw my every move! Horrible! Or i guess not, why should i care what the hypothetical audience thinks about me?

Geez, there is an audience, isn't there? Unless this story's private or something.

I'm writing something down right now and im in a story. That's pretty weird. What if I wrote a story then? That's a story in a story, would that make that story more fictional than me?

wow im a fictional character.

The dread's not really hitting. Is that because i'm unable to or because i actually don't care that much? Is the writer of the story controlling my every move. What does this say about my capacity for free will. What does this say about everyone who isn't "on-screen"?

WELL. GOING OFF THE IDEA THAT I AM NOT A MAIN CHARACTER. THAT MEANS IM NOT BEING WRITTEN ABOUT THEN. WHICH MEANS THE WORLD DOES CONTINUE ON EVEN WHEN THEY AREN'T IN THE STORY.

OK MAYBE THE DREAD IS HITTING. IS THE AUDIENCE LOOKING AT ME RIGHT NOW? CUT THAT OUT!

WOWZERS, I AM A FICTIONAL CHARACTER. ok what do i do with this information. this is weird. im not supposed to know this right? well, ink told me so i guess it's allowed???

quick write something to show i have free will. uhhh what was that saying. from uhhh that one human. rene descartes?? is that how you spell his name. there's an accent on there somewhere

cogito, ergo sum

yeaaahhh yeah. i leaned that phrase from my philosophy class. i dont fucking remember what that means, go me

entry number 10

Wowzers, it's been a second since i opened this thing up! Welp, I'm in a much better spot now. Kinda embarrassing reading back on these entries now.

These are pretty personal too. I don't really wanna continue writing entries like this, I was never big on diaries cus I hate reading back on them.

So I ripped these pages out! I can't just waste the rest of this journal, the paper's pretty good quality. plus it's a gift from ink technically

But I can't just toss these pages out so I'm putting them in my bedside drawer. I'll probably forget I did that so this is sorta like a time capsule, I suppose.

So if i have rediscovered these pages, Hi! Hello! Future, hopefully-even-more-well-adjusted-me! Probably shouldn't destroy these pages because they have important memories written down in them! Push past the cringe of seeing me in agony! Or rewrite some of the key stuff, i dunno.

If you are not Blue, Sans-from-Botchedswap The Skeleton,

FUCK OFFF!!!! BARK BARK BARK BARK!! STOP READING THISSSS IT'S EMBARRASSING COME OOON. or hi ink, i told you NOT TO SNOOP IN MY ROOM!!!

On the off-chance you are not from my plane of existence, uhhh I guess i can't stop you? And i guess i shouldn't care since i won't see your reaction nor can you tell anyone about this so. whatever. go at it, voyeur.

not the right word to use sorry. yeah no. wrong word. not what it means.

See this is why it sucks knowing there's an audience what if i say weird shit!?!? Ughhhh. probably shouldn't care about it, but alas, my feeble soul, i am sensitive that even the possibility of the hypothetical audience thinking im weird hurts me so

[tvlandofficiall]

i literally cant get over how good your deltarune theories and ideas are like are you sure you dont secretly work for toby?!????

(also i love love love ur ideas for rouxls,, im literally obsessed)

i can guarantee i don't, but the honor is much appreciated nonetheless! i really enjoy the way toby fox weaves humor and thematic meaning together to create strongly written and vivid characters, and so i'm happy the influence he has on my work shows! making stories that build on the foundation he's set, whether i think they've got a chance of actually being canon or not, is a grounds that's always very rich for storytelling opportunities as well, and i'll likely hold on to and keep building on many of these stories long after we've got the full game. the "canon divergence as of this point" tag gets a lot of love from me.

as for rouxls, i think it's safe to say that he's a fascinating character to me. there's a lot you can do with him – rouxlster was a fun concept to play with in tvland, even though i super don't think it'd be canon, because it's such a well-known theory and the contrast between how sinister rouxlster is and how ridiculous canon rouxls is made a lot of the beats we wanted to write hit the way we wanted them to for the audience. there's a certain level of "not THIS fucking guy" you get whenever he pops up, amplified by rouxls-as-gaster being a concept we knew most of the audience would already react to like that. and it's characterful; you have this shakespearean actor who has a monikaesque habit of almost always facing toward the camera, and he's the same guy as this scientist who's obsessed with having the attention of the audience and makes a child for the express purpose of appealing to them.

and kaard kingdom is similar. the "how" isn't fully-formed, as i've never quite settled on one concept; sometimes a new fountain is made in the same location, sometimes the knight takes our trio through the great door and into the kingdom's ruins, susie is occasionally involved. but the general gist of the part of it that involves rouxls' character is largely the same – he's tagged along on every adventure so far, trying to get in good with whoever the route boss is and be their lackey. given the knight seems like an important boss in the game, there's a solid chance it'll end with rouxls trying to do the same to them, which opens up another thematic avenue given that the knight's a lightner and by that point in the story we'll be knees-deep in grappling with the darkners' fates. and since rouxls is a recurring opponent, his strength will no doubt scale with ours as we continue, opening up a gameplay avenue in seeing him grow from a weak miniboss into a genuine threat. combine these two things with a cavalcade of puns and lots of characters for him to play off of and you have what could make for an excellent penultimate chapter idea (at least in my opinion!)

[dailymanners]

#long post#I feel like 'i dont do small talk nobody cares about the weather' had a negative impact on social interaction#I mean yeah sometimes small talk about nothing gets awkward. but often it leads to the most interesting conversations#just asking 'what kind of music do you listen to at the gym' or 'have you read any books lately' could be such a lovely subject#I'm sometimes socially awkward despite being a huge extrovert. that's why etiquette is such a great thing#if you don't know how to act around people just stick to the etiquette rules. if they have a problem with it they're not for me anyways

Sorry @darlingdear but I couldn't let this stay in the tags.

I say this as someone who is neurodivergent had grew up very socially awkward, but recently I find the "screw small talk, I wanna get to know the REAL you" attitude to be pretentious as well as a demonstration of a lack of boundaries.

But also, I think a lot of people who have this attitude don't actually really know what does qualify as small talk. The definition of small talk is any topic that's of no real consequence and includes topics like food, pets, sports, music, whatever show you're currently streaming, whatever book you're currently reading, and yes, the weather. A lot of people who have this "I hate small talk / I don't do small talk" attitude probably think it's only reciting a bunch of secret scripts about the weather, and don't realize how much they engage in small talk whenever they talk about their pets or their favorite foods or the really cool show they're watching right now.

Small talk is just about boundaries and getting to know someone *before* you move into more serious and personal topics. The older I get the more I learn you really can't just trust anyone with more serious and personal subjects. Small talk first is important to gauge if they're someone safe and trustworthy first before moving into more serious and personal subjects. If you really genuinely refuse to get to know someone before immediately discussing serious and personal subjects you may have an issue with boundaries and should consider working on that.

I feel like in the rush of “throw out etiquette who cares what fork you use or who gets introduced first” we actually lost a lot of social scripts that the younger generations are floundering without.

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

speaking my truth…

bychance shippers who ship it as a crack ship, i have nothing against y’all. you do you. you have free will after all. to each their own. ship and let ship.

but uh.

what in the world made y’all think your ship will actually sail. like. i hate to sound like a milkvan but its NOT happening, alright? and if it does that’s just really, really, REALLY poor writing.

first of all, why would you think that will ‘not possible’ byers, will ‘but you make ME feel like I’M not a mistake at all, like I’M better for being different’ byers, will ‘the wise’ byers… the nerdy gay kid who’s been bullied and abused for his queerness all his life… who’s been hopelessly in love with mike for YEARS… would just— rip the band-aid off and go for CHANCE, of all people? The jock, the bully, a guy FOUR YEARS OLDER THAN HIM??

And why would CHANCE fall in love with Will???

And why would the duffers introduce bychance in the last fucking season?????

And to y’all who want bychance to happen for the sake of jealous mike… uhm. let’s not 😀

seriously guys, we don’t need a SECOND love triangle in s5!!! i fucking hope the duffers will focus on byler throughout the whole season. this is the season mike and will are getting together y’all. this isn’t a fanfic on ao3 with all the most common tropes and clichés, this is stranger things 5 and byler is finally fucking happening and y’all want to throw all of their development out the window for BYCHANCE??

and for y’all who want bychance to happen instead of byler… because apparently mike doesn’t deserve will blah blah blah will deserves better blah blah blah… idek what to say to that. like. I could make ten posts consisting of the same amount of words that the Bible has EACH on the topic of byler and why it should happen, HAS to happen… and y’all still wouldn’t get it probably. what are yall even doing reading this post. what are yall doing on the byler tag bro.

but if we ignore the fact that byler must be and IS endgame for a sec, and we go with the narrative of will finding someone else to be with… FIRST OF ALL, why would his new bf be introduced in the last season after he’s spent the whole fucking show pining amd longing for mike?? SECOND OF ALL, anyone but fucking CHANCE, istgggggggg. If yall want Will to get together with someone other than Mike, anyone but Chance. like. HOW DO YALL SEE THE APPEAL?? IN FUCKING TWEAKINV I DONT. UNDERSTAND. YOU GUYS.

But uh. Yeah anyone who ships bychance as a crackship… it’s not my cup of tea, crackships aren’t in general, but I respect you and i respect the ship. Honestly all my reasoning for why bychance doesn’t make any sense doesn’t apply to it if it’s a crackships. Crackships are meant to make no sense, after all. It’s just the ppl who seriously ship it that baffle me

[frutiestorange]

Supernatural fic recs for people like me who dont ship destiel or wincest!!(mostly sam focused)

>You Can't Rule with a Broken Upper Hand-inkandpaperqwerty-A03-castiel focused (top on my to reread list, and inkandpaperqwerty a lot of other bangers too)

Successfully killing Lilith and keeping Dean out of Hell has the brothers ready for a good, old-fashioned, hunter-on-demon brawl. It's time to get back to the basics, back to the way things used to be, when monsters got ganked and that was the end of things. That said, they are not ready for a new kind of creature to appear in the middle of their fight, covered in blood and begging for mercy they aren't supposed to give.

Meanwhile, Castiel is panicking. He's been tortured senseless for four decades straight, and now he's been thrown down in front of two hunters. If he thought his brothers were bad... well, all angels knew how cruel hunters were... and Castiel has no idea how to convince them he doesn't need to be, in the shorter one's words, ganked.

>Living expenses- by Tolakasa-sams stanford era focused-Fanfiction.net (i love it sooo much go read it rn)

Preseries. Scholarships don't pay for everything. When you're not talking to your family, that makes summer the worst time of the year.

>Damaged Goods-by Taizi-A03-childhood abuse,dean and sam-(Taizi NEVER misses and i will die on that hill, go read all of their works and tell them i sent you)

"It really didn't happen all the time, dad wasn't abusive. And he loved us, Sam, you know he did. It's just- everything got to him, you know? Mom, and Yellow-eyes, and all the daily shit we had to swim through, sometimes it was just too much for him and he drank it all away."

>Misconception-by authoressjean-A03-hurt/comfort,all the winchesters together including mary and john-NOT WINCEST in the SLIGHTEST, but John sure thinks so.-(Once again, go through all of authoressjean's works if you want the best fics ever)

A view or opinion that is incorrect because it is based on faulty thinking or understanding.

AU of 14x13. Instead of rushing to get John back to his own time, they decide to let him stay a little longer. Time won't completely collapse with one night with their dad, so what harm can him staying do?

For Sam, a lot of harm. John believes something about his sons and he's determined to set all the blame at his youngest's feet, revealing painful secrets that Sam would've preferred to stay hidden, things he feared anyone finding out, things John feels are wrong.

Too bad for John that Mary and Dean don't feel the same way and are more than ready to back Sam.

NOT WINCEST in the SLIGHTEST, but John sure thinks so.

Two-shot.

>The Gate is Straight, Deep and Wide-by ratherastory-A03-(i havent read this one recently but i remember it being pretty good)

Part of the Fusion 'verse. Sam walks out of hell and finds his way home. From a prompt at the First Time comment-fic meme by the lovely and talented de_nugis: The first time Sam gets that Dean does unreservedly trust him again, coupled with the first time Dean gets that Sam really does want nothing more than he wants to be with Dean.

>One Saved Message-by ratherastory-a03-VOICEMAIL FIX IT!!-(one of my all time favs)

After a hunting accident puts Sam out of commission for a couple of days, Dean decides to surprise his brother with a new phone, since his old one is toast. Even better is when he finds that he’s been able to save all of Sam’s old information and restore it to his cell. That’s when he discovers an old voicemail that Sam has kept saved for the last two and a half years… Charity fic for help_japan. sinka won a fic from me and requested some Voicemail fix-it fic, and that is what I have attempted here. Spoilers for all aired episodes up to 6.19.

ok these are as many as i can bother to dig up but i have so many more, my fellow non-shippers stay strong out there and comment if u want some specific tags or tropes (!!i have mostly sam focused fics!!) or just want more recs!! ill be sure to dig some more up for u (or if you have any recs for me(preferably no ships BUT if theyre really good ill check them out anyways) i will love you forever

[nyxi-pixie]

HIIIII I was wondering if you had any ideas on what music would bsd characters listen to?? all i see is people saying dazai is a msi listener HE IS NOT it makes me wanna rip my nails off

PLEASE. msi mention in the big '25 this is a horrendous world we live in. now i honestly dont have specific answers but i willlll gavel to wood judge their general vibe. i had entirely too much fun with this started doing everyone😭

for chuuya its canon he likes rock, so his tastes probably close to stuff like granrodeo. reckon the sheep were into some really cringe fake edgy stuff tho and chuuya thinks hes really cool for listening to it. when he went to beat people up for them, shirase would be behind him somewhere so chuuya could say something embarrassing like 'hit it! i need something to get my blood rushing🥶🥶🥶' and shirase would play dogshit out of a busted speaker. hashtag my cringe fav!

dazai obviously listens to jokey stuff to be disturbing (suicide song). i do think the stuff he listens to to be annoying he does genuinely enjoy though, such is often the nature of dazais lies. for the most part i dont actually think hes very picky about it. listens to anything if its on, will judge other peoples taste despite not really having his own😭 i can imagine a slight preference for instrumental when alone if only bc mori seems like a classical music guy and i imagine that rubbed off a bit. also real to me that he intentionally got into various bands chuuya was into and did a lot of 'i actually like this more than you. youre a fake fan bc you dont know the bass guitarist pissed himself during the recording of this track and they kept it in' and such like when they were teens just for the purposes of pissing him off.

for the rest of them. the akutagawas are into old school goth music that sounds kind of silly unless youre also into it, like some real 'she liiikes the darkkkk' type shit😭 atsushi has the worlds most extensive taste ever. comes out of that fuckass orphanage having heard like 3 songs in his life and has zero taste. thinks every song is the best song hes heard. higuchi listens to the most pop pop to ever pop and then just a lot of breakup songs that she imagines dramatic scenarios to. sat in her car looking out the rainy window and everything. kyouka probably says something like 'the only music ive heard is the screams of the 35 people who i was forced to murder' and you go okay kyouka would you like to listen to this silly pop song. look heres the band wearing bunny costumes. and she becomes their no.1 fan <3 yosano exclusively listens to female artists, says she cant listen to male singers bc their voices annoy her (hashtag my favourite misandrist) she prefers stuff with a little edge but can get down to some real basic girl shit for messy club going. in another life shes in the trenches defending her favs on twitter, doxxing people about it and all. tachihara is obsessed with saying hes 'discovered' an artist and keeps trying to get the black lizard on to some shitty soundcloud shit where 90% of the song is just a repeating producer tag. hirotsu insists the only music he listens to is live music in a smoky bar, but is in fact secretly hooked on one of higuchi's sadgirl breakup songs. kunikida googles 'music to better my health' and listens to the first thing that comes up. fukuzawa says he listens to classical to focus on his work and sometimes he does but usually hes got earphones in and hes listening to a cat choir.

[stardustedseas]

you guys can't just blow my mind clean open with wintersenrty then only have like 12 posts in the tag

something something bucky understanding the fear of yourself, of something that is technically you but isnt and what it can and has done. the fear that at any moment it could take over and make you something no longer human while youre trapped inside your own mind. the being used and seen as only a weapon (albit bobs was shorter lived but still horrible it happened), them both being abused and wanting to be better but not knowing how or if they even could.

bob finding comfort in the fact he isnt the only person to experience this, sure their situations arent the same but theyre similar and bucky understands,he really really does. hes able to empathize and help bob in ways that not many others can simply because they just dont have the same experiences. maybe thats how their relationship of sorts really started, just with bucky being there and sharing his story and how he copes (or how hes starting to cope ajjsjdhd). showing bob that he isnt alone, he isnt the only person to feel like this and he doesnt have to suffer in silence because while he may have been by himself for a long time, he isnt anymore.

maybe what started out as bucky awkwardly trying to comfort bob when hes having one of his lows turns into a regular thing of them being there for each other. when bucky wakes up from another nightmare, he knows he can just go sit in silence or talk with bob, the other more than willing to just yap to help as a distraction or just be there as a comforting presence. maybe because bucky heals faster and can take a lot more punches without it being fatal, he helps train bob to physically fight without overusing his strength and doing unnecessary damage to someone, or just learning the basics so if theres a situation where he cant use his powers, he will at least be able to hold his own for a bit.

maybe what starts off as semi acquainted friends who can be a comfort for each other sometimes and training partner turns to more casual meet ups and a closer bond. instead of only spending one on one time together when they need a shoulder, they actively just hang out. bucky may not have been there from the start like yelena, ava or j*hn, but hes here now

also tell me bob wouldnt have daddy issues lmfao

[amethysttable]

YAYYYY ty for tagging me exooo (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Favorite colours: Purple, black, and gold :3

Last song: Say it by the crane wives

Currently reading: You by Caroline Kepnes and The Island By Max Brooks

Currently watching: Sooo much stuff uhmmm Martyns Secret life, rewatching grians 3rd life (im stuck in the desert ｡⁠:ﾟ⁠(⁠;⁠´⁠∩⁠`⁠;⁠)ﾟ⁠:⁠｡), and shows like stranger things (for the first time, ik crazy!), You, The dragon prince, andddd rewatching arcane <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

Currently craving: Any sort of food in my system, have not eaten yet

Tea or coffee: COFFEE FOR LIFEE (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆)

✧ @quinnn-n @amethyst-art @warden-draws-sometimes @theyesandperson ✧

(i dont have 6 people to tag 💔)

get to know your moots tag game!

✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

Thanks for the tag @kiraandhervibes

Favourite colour: blue and purple

Last song: the challenge from EPIC

Currently reading: I just started Silverborn

Currently watching: rewatching Series of Unfortunate Events

Currently craving: nothing in particular rn, but I’m always craving iced tea

Tea or coffee: tea!

Npt: @somanyquestions-featuringanxiety @shelbeforgotten @sparkleylittlepoo @stars-and-leather @ravensncrowsx @permetutotheworld + anyone else who wants to

[collgeruledzebra]

the thing about trying to recommend fiction podcasts to someone who isn't familiar with them is that not only are so so many genres represented but also the level of production can fall anywhere from "basically an audiobook" to "major motion picture minus the pictures"

[umblrspectrum]

nevermind i figured out how to draw her