#not the sexy kind though

[outfoxt]

I've got a knot quiz after fall break so

I'm learning how to tie knots now 😁

[dreamerdoesthewritething]

[Another self-insert comfort fic featuring me and Leon. Because after something I did to myself recently. I need this yet I keep putting it off because I'm distracted by DBD again. ><]

[Content warning for trichotillomania, aka hair-pulling disorder. It's a form of self-harm, so warning for that as well.]

----------------------------

It'll Grow Back

It happened again.

It's not something that happens all the time, but when I'm stressed, sometimes...

All I can think of is how Leon will react when he sees it. I might be able to hide it for a while, but not forever. He's too observant. He's also too loving of all of me. He'll probably realize something's wrong the moment he lays eyes on me. I'm no good at hiding these kinds of things...or anything, really. From him or anyone who has any observation skills.

I put on my tri-colored hoodie, pulling the hood up over my head until it almost covers my eyes. It's rare to find clothes that are big on me, and this hoodie is somewhat oversized, in a good way. It hides my shame. Won't draw attention to me, either. Leon's used to seeing me wear this no matter my mood. It's just that comfy, you know? Hell, he's even stolen it from me and worn it himself from time to time.

He's not away on any life-threatening missions, but he is at work. I have no idea what he does when the world doesn't need him to save it. I mean, I don't really know what he does when it needs saving, either, but that's because he can't tell me without consequence. Maybe the same is true for the mundane, sorta 9-to-5 stuff as well? It's fine. I don't mind being in the dark. And normally I want him home as soon as possible, but today...I don't mind if he takes his time.

I must've dozed off. Sitting on the couch with something on the television, comfy in my hoodie, and tired from just being me...It was a recipe for knocking me out. I only come to because I feel something touching me. Leon's lips on my forehead. If it was any other time, such a sweet little show of affection would've been enjoyed with sleepy enthusiasm. Not today. Because of what happened earlier, the action causes me to jolt, eyes opening wide as my hands fly up to tug my hood down to cover my forehead again.

Real smooth. Now he'll never suspect something's up with me.

Leon apologizes for startling me. I apologize for being jumpy, citing terrible sleep from the night before. I'm lying, just a bit. I am sorry for my reaction, but I'm almost always tired, so lack of sleep isn't an excuse. He sits down beside me, hip against hip, and gently pulls my hooded head against his chest as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. I all but melt into his side.

"What's wrong?" he asks after several moments of silence pass.

"What...? I already told you I'm--"

He says my name in that tone that has me shutting up. His soft yet stern spare-me-the-bullshit tone. I shrink into myself. I'd normally shrink away from him altogether, but it's impossible with his arm around me. He's all muscle, after all.

I sigh. "I really am tired...But I also just...I don't know. I'd tell you if I did, I swear."

I can't tell if Leon believes me, even though this is mostly the truth, because I can't bring myself to look up at him. The incident from earlier is affecting me, but I don't know why I did what I did. I don't know what's wrong with me, what triggered me to do it. How can I explain something like this?

Without warning, Leon pulls back my hood, acting too quickly for me to resist. My sins are revealed. I scream his name angrily, trying to cover my hair with my hands but I know it's too late. He's seen the damage. He violated my privacy and pissed me off, but there's no hiding it any longer.

"Sweetheart, what did you--?"

"Fuck you!"

I fight against his hold, and he doesn't resist. Tears are welling in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall, cursing myself for being an angry crier because it only makes me feel worse. He shouldn't have taken my hood off without my consent. He knows that. He knows he fucked up. Doesn't change a damn thing.

As I'm rushing off out of the room, he doesn't try to stop me. Good. That would be the worst thing he could do right now. Touching me, that is. As much as I crave his affection, it's also unwanted after what he did. I make my way into our room, then into the closet, slamming both doors behind me. Slumping against the closet door in the dark, I slide down until I'm seated on the floor and just start crying.

Maybe this is an overreaction. Maybe I'm a mess unworthy of Leon's love. But I'd have preferred to come around to telling Leon about my hair-pulling on my own time, when I was ready. He wasn't supposed to reveal the damage and force me to do it when I'm not ready. Like what the fuck, man? I even flushed the evidence down the toilet so he wouldn't discover all the hair in the trashcan and ask about it.

Should've known this would happen. He enjoys playing with my hair, despite how easily it tangles and knots and refuses to bend to the will of a comb or brush for more than a few minutes. The downside of having curly hair, you know? I've hated it for most of my life because it was always being compared to my older sisters' straight locks that rarely ever knotted and fought for years to make mine like theirs. Leon's helped me to hate it less. He's also helped me take better care of it. He knows a thing or two about hair care. I mean, have you seen his hair? He probably spends more time on it than it takes him to shower. Not that it's a bad thing.

How long did I sit in the dark bawling my eyes out? Couldn't tell you. Long enough for Leon to run out to pick up something for dinner for us. Long enough for me to get super snotty. Long enough that I got a headache, probably from dehydration. When's the last time I drank anything? My ugly crying drained me of everything. I just wanted to curl up and go to sleep...after my headache was dealt with, anyway.

There's a quiet knock on the door behind me. The closet door doesn't have a lock. Leon could just open it. But he waits for permission, or for me to do it myself. I reach up and turn the knob once I feel it in the dark, letting the door open without pulling away from it. This results in me falling onto my back out of the door, legs still crossed and bleary eyes staring straight up towards the ceiling. I don't bother putting my hood back up. There's no point anymore.

"I'm so sorry," Leon says, getting on his knees by my head. He leans over so all I can see above me is his handsome face. His hands hover above my face for a second before dropping to the floor on either side of me, supporting his weight.

"I'm sorry, too," I say. My gaze remains unfocused thanks to the tears, my feelings, and the fact I'm not wearing my glasses. No holding eye contact for me. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"No, I earned that," he insists.

"Only you'd say something like that."

"You've said it before, too."

I sigh heavily, my chest shaking slightly like I'm still crying even though my eyes are just wet at this point. "Alright, fine. Only we would say something like that. Is that better?"

He gives me a small smile. "Not really." A pause. "If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to. Let's just have dinner for now, okay?"

I nod. He offers to help me up. I hold up my arms, which he grabs and uses to lift me off the floor with little effort. That's something I'll never get used to, considering how heavy I am. Once I'm on my feet, he lets go and keeps space between us. He's as touch-starved as me, but he forces himself to hold his hands at his sides. I glance down at the one closest to me before slipping mine into it. He gently squeezes as he leads me to the dining table.

We eat in relative silence. At some point, I get up to pop a couple ibuprofen for my head to expedite relief since drinking something isn't working fast enough. Our conjoined hands remain that way throughout the meal. Makes it a little harder to eat, but we didn't mind enough to stop doing it.

After dinner, I rest my forehead on the table, closing my eyes. It would be hard to hear me talking like this, so I turn my head slightly in Leon's direction so my voice wouldn't get super muted by the table. Yeah, I'm ready to explain myself now. Well, as ready as I can be, anyway. If things went according to plan, I'd be doing this days from now, but life's a bitch and doesn't like to work with me.

Sometimes when I'm stressed, I rip hair out of me. I hate body hair as it is, hate when I grow it, and honestly, I've been tearing hair out of certain parts of me so often for so long that it barely even hurts. I'm thinking of one specific area, which if you know, you know. It's a sensitive part and yet I pull hair from that region without problem. Rarely do I ever attack the hair on my head, though.

When I do pull the hair out of my head, I often don't register I'm doing it until it's too late. It only seems to happen when I must be stressed yet am completely unaware of it and have no idea what's caused it. By the time I realize what I'm doing, enough has been pulled out that it's nigh impossible to hide it. That's what happened this morning. I just sorta blanked and next thing I know, there's a line of baldness across my head, most obvious along the right side of it. The line is like half an inch wide in a couple places, too. My pale scalp reddened, thoroughly protesting the painful act. Most of the hair has something--the root??--at the edge as I looked at it in my hands. All I could do in that moment was stare, mortified at what I had done to myself.

Then I thought about Leon and how he'd react. Embarrassment and shame took over. I flushed the hair and hid myself in my hoodie, hoping to buy myself some time. And then everything worked against me, like the universe itself was trying to humiliate me in front of my beloved Leon.

Leon listens silently to my confession, not even flinching when I absentmindedly squeeze the everloving shit out of his hand while I talk. When I finish, he hesitantly moves his other hand towards my head, tracing the line of missing hair without actually touching me. He's learned. He's not going to risk upsetting me again. In a whisper, I give him permission to do whatever he's thinking of doing. His fingertips graze my exposed scalp as he follows the trail. I wince. Despite how long ago I hurt myself, the skin is still sensitive, still inflamed, still complaining about what I've done.

"Sorry," I say.

"It's not me who you should be apologizing to," he says, continuing to run his fingers over that path on my scalp. Is he trying to soothe the skin with his touch? I'm not sure it works that way, honey.

"Can't apologize to myself. I'll never forgive me."

"You're so hard on yourself."

"So are you, on yourself."

He chuckles. "This isn't about me."

That's unfortunately true, so I fall silent again. Leon leaves me temporarily, cleaning up after our dinner. When he returns, he scoops me up into his arms, much to my shock, and carries me back into the living room. He sits on the couch where this all started, holding me on his lap and cradling my head against his chest. I'm not as relaxed as either of us would like me to be. How can I?

"Don't worry too much. It'll grow back," he says.

"It'll take months," I say. "I'll be even uglier than normal til then."

He scowls. Of course he does. He hates when I make these kinds of comments. I know. I try not to when he's around, but this one slipped by before I could stop it. Whoops.

"Let me get the scissors. I'll match you," he says.

I bolt upright in his grasp, wrapping my arms around his head. His face is smothered in my chest, but that doesn't matter. "Leon Scott Kennedy, don't you fucking dare! Don't even joke about it!"

"It's just hair," he says, his voice muted.

"Your hair is pretty and gold and gorgeous and does not deserve to be maimed just cuz I fucked up! No! No, no, no!"

He laughed, gently pushing me away from his head. "Alright, alright! Just don't insult my beautiful girlfriend. Nothing she could ever do will make her ugly. Not to me. Not in my eyes."

"You're such a dork, you know that?"

"Maybe. But you love it."

"I do. And I love you."

"I love you, too."

[fauvester]

kingmaker

[kaddyssammlung]

[skunkes]

[chellodello]

It’s my birthday and I can share it with Zim if I want to!

[sneezarify]

people with loud, forceful, productive sneezes who still need to sneeze in multiples must be out to kill me!

[giddlygoat]

idk how superstar saga will end but this is my prediction. i pray to god i called it ngl

[risingsunfish]

dang ol' FEH dragging me out of retirement for one last dumb Splatoon crossover with these guys

[hanzajesthanza]

(Adam Dudaczyk) The fact that vampires drink blood to get that *meaningful hand-neck gesture* - you made that up? (Andrzej Sapkowski) Yes, I didn't model myself on anyone here, I don't know anyone who wrote before me about the fact that vampires drink blood not to satisfy their hunger, but to satisfy their thirst for… entertainment. Texts: the guys sent me to get blood, I was flying drunk… The fun was great.

as i reread this i couldn't stop thinking of this meme

[maliciousalice]

How sad it must have been for Chakotay to co-exist with a holographic copy of his former captain and dear friend, a seemingly immortal impression at their most peak, and not get to experience them age by his side. A scar of better days taunting you as you try to cope with your doomed situation.

[deer-with-a-stick]

I love how all of the companions' stories revolve around autonomy and I love how some of the romances show the whole "I love you for who you are"

Don't love how so many people are misinterpreting them though

[compacflt]

in regard to the icemav convo about american made cars: I think it would be funny if after mav gets his regular license, ice buys him a truck that they can use for transporting stuff to the hangar and when he gifts it to mav all the man can do is laugh bc stamped across the ass is MAVERICK. It’s a 2023 ford maverick (in area 51 bc I’m partial to that color)

and mav likes it, but he doesn’t love driving it bc it’s so big (and he just likes being a passenger princess too much), so ice drives it mostly which inspires a whole lot of jokes about ice liking having maverick’s name stamped on his ass. bradley gags from the other room every time.

if it matters to u, i agree with this hc 150% on rhetoric grounds. thank god for your mind.

however i would like to raise the issue that recent american pickup trucks have become non-useful, overexpensive, and suburban-coded in a way i think ice and mav would reject. the ford maverick was built with the intention of dropping kindergarteners off at school, not of actually doing hard labor. see below infographic for what I mean.

It’s a fucking travesty. Trucks are so ugly and useless now. the maverick is not immune to this. (maverick below)

what good is having a fucking truck if it can’t even hold two REGULAR ASS BIKES in the bed. & when the bed is empty the chassis is unbalanced in a way that leads to more accidents etc. (tbf that was true in the 70s/80s too but im feeling more hateful towards modern trucks rn). In short—the modern American pickup truck is no longer useful, it’s a way to virtue signal to other Americans that you *think * you know what hard labor is, even when you’re driving around in a glorified odyssey with a teeny tiny bed that can barely hold a couple bags of mulch for the back garden

ice & mav don’t even have any little kids anymore, i think they’d consider a backseat useless & a waste of space

SO i would like to offer you a Compromise, which is that ice & mav buy either (or both) a 1974 ford maverick AND/OR a 1990 ford maverick

for the Funny Name & coolness factor (& the “making Bradley vom cause of how cute his parents are” factor), and then soup up, like, a 1984 Chevy C10 for actual towing/hauling purposes.

[septimusmoonlight]

You doing ok?

hi

[puckleberryfinnie]

covey!reader in the quarter quell (opening ceremony!!)

read these first for this to make a bit more sense!

original idea post: click me!

introduction story: click me!

thank you to anyone who showed support in any way on the first introduction for this, it means a lot <33 there’s a lot of just reader content in this (mostly because I’m still working on doing a large amount of dialogue between characters), so if you want, you can skip to later down into this to find more interesting stuff!!

summary: reader goes through the opening ceremony process, meeting people along the way!! - reader meets a bunch of the characters! (Finnick, Johanna, Katniss and Peeta)

warnings: fem!reader, slight mention of ptsd?, alcohol, really bad writing (specifically dialogue)

“Get to know those new winners, the lovers. It’ll be good for your image,” she had said, pouring herself another cup. “It’s not lookin’ too good, kiddo. I’ll miss ya’, if I’m honest.”

Both of you knew your partner- the 50 year old, previous farmer, current jobless winner, would be no help to you. He’d made it known very early on that he hated you- hated the Covey as a whole, if we’re being honest. No amount of kindness, no amount of cheerful smiles could make this man like you. If he saw you in the games, he’d kill you. No hesitation, especially if it meant his chance at survival.

The predestined goodbyes made your heart ache, but in reality, they were better than none at all. Getting one last word in was something of importance to you, with anyone you loved. The games had forced you to realize the value of human life more than ever.

Those lovers, though. Katniss and Peeta- You’d have to understand them, before you arrived. Even if you couldn’t make it out alive, you’d like friends in your final moments. Someone to talk to. The last games had been filled with sleepless nights alone, humming melodies to the mockingbirds in the trees. “K-A-T-N-I-S-S,” typed slowly into your search engine device, one implanted into a high-tech table on the traveling train, headed for the Capital. Millions of articles popped up, lighting up the screen with bold titles, attached with colorful images. This Katniss girl, she was something different from the tributes you’d met. There was no determinable factor to it, she just had something about her that made you curious. You dismissed the thought, closing out the browser before turning your head, looking out the fast-moving train through the pristine, freshly cleaned windows.

It didn’t take too long for you to arrive at your all-too-familiar destination- the Capital buildings towering over you, providing shade for your short trip to the training/housing facility. There were people calling out your name as you walked along the gold paved path, asking you questions. All of them wanted to get the inside scoop on the nearly-dead, newly returned tributes, getting their last words before they reached the end of their life. You smiled, waved, said hello to the reporters before escaping them through the front doors of the tall building in front of you.

The outfits available to you for the opening ceremony were better this time around. Your stylist, bless her heart, knew nothing of Covey fashion, and struggled with finding something with farmy-like elements of District 11 while still reaching the level of luxury an event like this one required. This year’s selections were much better- she took the Covey’s bright colors, taking inspiration from patterns found in the little art markets that used to be found in District 11 and 12, tended to by Coveys looking for some extra money for dinner. You picked the one you found the most suitable for yourself, knowing you’d at least semi-match with your partner.

Exiting the building into an area close to the path for the ceremony, you saw many familiar tributes standing around. Johanna Mason. Finnick Odair. Beetee and sweet old Mags. Despite the screaming from the crowd who’d catched a glimmer of your appearance, you calmly walked towards your pair of horses, placed in front of District 12’s. Katniss was standing there, brushing her hand along her horse.

Walking up to Katniss wasn’t a problem- your mama raised you to be confident like that, knowing that’s the only way to live the Covey life. Smile raised, you prepared to give a classic Covey welcome, sure to draw anyone in!

“Katniss, right? Y/N L/N! I love the dress.”

Poor Katniss had been a bit frightened, not planning for anyone to approach her during this experience. She’d seen you before, though- in the games before hers. She’d remembered Prim saying something about her wanting to win the games like you had- no killing, no violence perpetrated on her part. It’d stuck with Katniss after her own games, knowing she’d played against her sisters ‘morality rules’ with her ever-lethal bow and arrow.

Haymitch had mentioned the girl, too- “she’s not much of a threat- that voice of hers is her only weapon when it comes down to it. But she’s smart- slick and sneaky in the arena. An ally like her would mean more sponsors (her adoring fans) and better hiding places.”

Before Katniss could even get in a word to you, a large arm was wrapped around your shoulders, making you tense up slightly before relaxing at the slight of the boy next to you. Finnick. Finnick Odair. You didn’t know him very well, but whenever you sang for those Capital parties, he’d make sure to send a compliment your way, sauntering off after talking for a moment.

“Now, what’re you girls talking about? Me, I’d suspect?” Finnick gave Katniss a nod before looking down at you, smirking.

“You wish, golden boy,” you laughed, taking a closer look at his ensemble of clothing (or lack thereof) for the evening. You turned back to Katniss, still very aware of the touch between you two.

Katniss gave a strange look to the two of you before saying “Yeah, definitely not talking about you… maybe that ridiculous outfit, though.”

“Ouch! I think it looks pretty nice, don’t you think, singer girl?”

“It’s alright, I guess. Not much to look at, though.” You answered.

“Oh, believe me, singer girl, there’s plenty to look at.” He winked, before walking off with a smile on his face.

You watched as he walked away, realizing what he was insinuating. You slowly turned back towards Katniss, shaking your head before resuming your conversation, the one left unattended when Finnick had blessed the girls with his presence. Now, however, a new person has joined your duo- Peeta. Peeta looked a lot kinder than Katniss, his overall aura more inviting.

“Anyways- I wanted to come meet you, given we’re the two newest winners.” You smiled before lowering your voice to a quiet whisper, leaning closer to the pair. “Covey has loved what you’ve done so far, with the movement and everything. I’ll help in any way I can.” Noticing the cameras pointed right towards you three from above you, you ended the conversation as quickly as possible with: “Well, thank you for your time! I better get to my ride before it leaves without me.” You waved before walking quickly to your place in line, fixing your outfit before getting ready in your pose.

The opening ceremony was the same as last year, for the most part. Not as much smiling, though. A lot more frowns and angry faces were found on the faces of tributes highlighted on the giant projector screen. You kept your smile, though. Smiling and waving is what you knew best. Before long, the event was over, and you found yourself heading to your assigned room. Considering your living space was the second highest floor (District 11 bonus!)taking an elevator was your most efficient mode of travel. There weren’t too many tributes left on ground floor level, most of them had found their way to their rooms at this point.

“Mind if I step in, Songbird?” Johanna Mason, leaning against the elevator door, smiling expectantly at you, waiting for an answer.

“No, no, I don’t mind. Come on in!”

Johanna strutted into the elevator, standing awfully close to you, both of your shoulders almost touching.”Thanks. Johanna, by the way.” She said, turning towards you.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Y/N.”

“Oh, believe me, I know your name. I see you singing those songs of yours all the time. Pretty good, if you ask me.”

“Oh? Well, thank you! It’s… disappointing that my music will be going away pretty soon… with the games and all…”

“I think there’s some more song left in you, Songbird.’ Johanna sent a slight smile your way before stepping forward with the ding of the elevator. The doors open to her floor, and she steps out before turning around again, “Nice talk, Y/N. See you soon.” The doors close, leaving you alone in the elevator.

You fell asleep promptly after arriving in your room- the day had been quite tiring for you, and you needed to prepare for the next day ahead of you, too. You’d begin training tomorrow, and soon enough you’d have your all-too-stressful skill evaluations. And there always was the impending doom shadowing over every thought in the form of the start of the games, just a week away. As you drifted off, you thought of relationships you’d form in these next days, vital to keep your ever-falling spirits from reaching rock bottom.

ooo they’re flirting with youuuu

I hope you guys liked this little part of the story, let me know if you want more or want to be added to the tag list for this series <33 I’m soso sorry this took me so long, too!! I already have some parts of another chapter started, so it should come sooner!! hopefully my writing had improved just a little, I promise I’m trying <33

INBOX IS OPEN FOR REQUESTS OR CHATS <33

tag list (love you cutie patooties so much 💋💋)

@randomgurl2326

@marvelescvpe

love ya!!

[sciderman]

I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with so much Iranian hate and drama <:[

oh anon. hate to break it to you (a lot of people make this mistake) but iran and iraq are two entirely separate nations.

and also i think reducing it to the words "hate and drama" kind of doesn't cover it, anon.