#the old ones are also just super ugly to me-

[tangled-wires-and-a-dead-heart]

I've finally started to make updated reference sheets for my scarlet hollow mc's because I've been replaying it and I've changed some of the things that are happening in those playthroughs. So yeah those will probably be done at some point.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[nabaath-areng]

When I was little I thought one of our cats Sockan (translation: the sock) was a tiger. She was more bright orange/red IRL too compared to photos

[100-gar]

Controversial take but i watched all of jjk, in subbed, so it had my full attention 100% of the time, and i am of the opinion that it just fucking sucks.

So me and my wife were talking about it, and we were trying to figure out why people like it and we've come up short. I do not understand what's so appealing about this show for so many people. Can someone PLEASE tell me.

[eats-the-stars]

being an adult who makes my own income is also realizing i can actually buy some of the pretty art i see online. some day i might even be bold enough to directly commission an artist.

[githvyrik]

this is fully just a matter of personal taste but what’s with all these fantasy games with “realistic” graphics exclusively giving you shit ugly hairstyle options in character customization

[katabasiss]

I use so many reusable coffee cups/thermos' now at work that I'm so intensely fond of them. But I don't own a single one which I actually like :( gods toughest little solider

[bean-pronounced-bawn]

You can really tell who at work considers me black and who considers me "only" mixed/white based on 1) how they talk to me 2) the types of comments they make about my hair/hairstyle

[guinevereslancelot]

they just don't disassemble castles and rebuild them in different countries like they used to 😔

[quimichi]

·˚ ◌༘₊· ͟͞꒰➳ THEIR CONTACT NAMES FOR YOU wholesome & cursed

AN: just a super random idea, also ran out of contact name ideas

Aether 》Mine forever 》2nd Emergency food

Albedo 》Love 》(just your number)

Amber 》My BunBun 》Traveler

Al-Haitham 》Y/N <3 》Kaveh 2.0

Arlecchino 》My dear 》My annoying dear

Ayaka 》Dance partner for life 》Simp

Ayato 》Mrs/Mr Kamisato 》Professional Yapper

Baizhu 》Cure to everything 》Antidepressiva

Barbara 》Angel 》Wants to bash my stalkers head

Beidou 》Hot bbg 》Mommy issues

Bennett 》Lucky charm 》(accidentally blocked you and broke his phone)

Capitano 》Dearest Y/n 》Y/n L/n

Candace 》Dessert Flower 》Dehya's bestie

Charlotte 》Model 》My stalking victim

Chevreuse 》Babe 》Chrispy Fries

Childe 》My Girly 》Baby boo boo snuggly poo

Chongyun 》Sweet as ice 》Popsicle 🍦🧊💦

Clorinde 》Darling 》0/10 would lose in a fight against me

Collei 》Flower 🌺 》Jokes as bad as Cyno's

Columbina 》Hummingbird 》They're next 🔪

Cyno 》Love them from my head 🍅's 》Love them from my head 🍅's

Dainsleif 》My star 》Traveler Y/n

Dehya 》Princess 》Lil spoiled princess/brat ♡

Diluc 》The burning flame within my heart 》Y/n

Diona 》Big sis/bro/sibling

Dottore 》Little Labrat 》Subject 291

Dori 》10/10 wouldn't sell

Eula 》My Passion 》 (just your number)

Faruzan 》Lover from another timeline 》Grandkid

Fischl 》My dearest lover of the night 》Diener der Verurteilung

Freminet 》Pengu 》Fathers first pick

Furina 》Bubsibaby 》My Maccaroni

Ga Ming 》babes 💞 》Boss

Ganyu 》Love 》Pillow

Gorou 》Forever my mate 》No, not my "owner"

Hu Tao 》Forever mine even in afterlife 》Possible good advertisement once I'm done

Jean 》Dandelion 》The Traveler (Y/n)

Heizou 》Hottest babe everrr 》🍑🍑🍑

Itto 》MINE RAWR 》barkabakewooofwofbrakk

Kazuha 》My dearest Y/n 💞 》he's to wholesome for this

Kaeya 》Snowflake 》Side chicken (he's joking dw)

Kaveh 》My world/everything/love/baby/boo bear 》Mommy

Keqing 》Love 💜 》Housewife/husband/caretaker

Kinich 》Most important thing in my life 》Gf/bf/lv

Kirara 》Kitty 》Owner

Klee 》Partner in crime

Kokomi 》Little Jellyfish 》Bloopfish 🤍

Layla 》Sleepyhead #2 》Good Pillow, Good nap partner

Lisa 》Big cutie 》Book due since: 1 week 🔪

Lumine 》Big Baby, but mine 》Another Paimon

Lynette 》Catlover 》My Y/n

Lyney 》My rose 》Father approved

Mika 》I'll find them everywhere 》The one who never forgets me

Mona 》My future 》Dies by old age, 2091

Mualani 》Wookie Pookie 》Them in swimwear 💯

Nahida 》My best friend the flower 🪷

Navia 》Sweets 》Yummy baby

Neuvillette 》Fiance

Nilou 》Dance buddy 》Hopless, can't dance

Ningguang 》Princess/Prince/Royalty 》Gold digger

Noelle 》Rosie 》Lazy

Pantalone 》Sugar baby 》Spoiled brat

Pierro 》Darling 》Y/n M/n L/n

Pulcinella 》Dearest Y/n 》(your number)

Qiqi 》Y/n

Raiden 》Sweets 》The one that cooks

Razor 》Y/n but mispronounced

Rosaria 》Y/n <3 》A sinner

Sandrone 》Doll ♡ 》Doll nr.72

Sara 》Love forever 》Member 28 of the Raiden Shogun fan club

Sayu 》Nyummmm

Scaramouche 》My bitch 》That bitch idk

Sethos 》Babes 🔥 》Can't cook for shit, almost died

Shenhe 》My Y/n 》Y/n L/n (from ___)

Shinobu 》Milk (she's Kuki) 》also has mommy issues

Succrose 》Code 143 》Human experiment 81.01

Thoma 》their houshusband 》Miss Ayakas best friend

Tighnari 》My Padisara 》Laughs at Cynos jokes

Venti 》Windblume 》Non-alcoholic

Wriothesley 》Bbg/bbb/baby 》Solid daddy issues

Xiangling 》Yummiest 》Bleh but mhh

Xiao 》My Human 》(didn't even give you a contact name lol)

Xianyun 》My beautiful 》Y/n

Xilonen 》a beautiful creation 》wtf did their parents make??

Xinyan 》MY ROCKSTAR ☆ 》that one with no taste in music

Xingqiu 》The most beautiful 》(a ugly nickname lol)

Yae Miko 》🦊💞 》My simp

Yanfei 》JUSTICEMAKER 》horny jail time

Yaoyao 》Big sister/brother/sibling Y/n 🌱

Yelan 》Pretty one 》The next

Yoimiya 》CAUSE BABY YOURE A FIIIIIREWORK 》Almost blew them up, oops

Yun Jin 》My biggest fan 》Y/n - no rhythm

Zhongli 》Y/n (you're his only contact lol)

[rinnsverse]

SAY ON SKIBIDI — damian w.

After an unfortunate incident involving a ball and your kneecap, you get sent to the nurses office with Damian in tow. In the isolation of the office, Damian tells you something that makes your mind short-circuit, and proceed to make him say that he means it.

contains: bsf!damian x reader, fluff, brainrot, swearing, humor, they're in middle school — both 14 years old, mention/description of injury, reader doesn't know damian is robin, short fic

a/n: this is the most brainrot thing i've ever written but i found this idea hilarious so i had to write it out

P.E. IS A stupid elective to have is what you've concluded. Sure, you've always thought that but you were normally able to sit out of most of the activities since all they cared about was the no phones rule and sometimes cared about what shoes you wore. You were content with that though.

You could spend the whole hour yapping Damian's ear off and he never objected to it all throughout the countless amount of times you did so. That was something you were thankful for since he was surprisingly a fantastic listener despite himself also being a yapper.

However, the one time a game has mandatory participation in P.E. is the one time you get hurt. What was the game? Dodgeball, because of course it had to be dodgeball along with the kids with the super good aim for some reason all being on the other team. Minus Damian, mainly because you begged him to stay.

Was it a good call though? Not sure since he'd end up by your side regardless of what team he was on, in the nurses office.

"What was the name of the boy who hit you?" the nurse asked, walking through the door, ice pack in hand.

"Dunno," you simply responded, gently taking the ice pack from her. Nodding your head in thanks, you wince a little at the contact with your ugly purple bruise and the sheer coldness of the ice pack.

"You both can stay here for the rest of the period which will end in," she cranes her head to look at the clock behind her, "roughly fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks."

"Thank you," Damian nods.

The nurse smiles in response. "It's not a problem," she says before she exits through the door and closes it halfway.

Once he could no longer hear the soft sound of her shoes stepping on the cold tile floor, Damian lets out a sigh. "That dude really needs to watch how hard he's throwing things."

"I know," you scoff, gently pressing down on your bruise with the ice pack, "But it's whatever I guess, he didn't intend on seriously hurting me anyways. I don't think so at least."

He merely tsk's at your statement. "How can you be so nonchalant when someone hurts you? Intentionally or not, how can you act so normal about it?"

You tilt your head in confusion at his words, "What do you mean by that?"

He just looks at you for a moment before shaking his head. "Never mind, I just don't want to see you hurt. Physically or emotionally."

"Is... Is this your way of saying you care about me?"

"Do you really need me to say it out loud for you?" Damian sighed.

"Yes," you eagerly nodded, a smug smile on your face as Damian ran a hand through his black strands; head hanging low as he slouched against the wall he was leaning on.

"I care about you," he lifted his head to look you in your eyes.

Your smile soon turned into a wide-toothed grin at his words when a brilliant idea popped into your head. "Say on skibidi."

"Excuse me?"

"Say on skibidi. Say on skibidi that you care about me," you repeated.

"The brainrot has gotten the better of you, you're going to need more than just that ice pack," he deadpans.

"Wow! That's so mean," you gasp, lifting the ice pack slightly to glance at the bruise which has now turned into an icky yellow color. "C'mon, just say it."

"This is shameful," he says exasperatedly. "On skibidi," he visibly shudders, spitting out the word as if it were profanity, "I care about you." His head was turned away, facing the nurse's bathroom door instead of you with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Yipee!" you laugh at his facial expression when he turned his head back towards you, Damian's lips curled into a frown as well as an eyebrow twitching in annoyance. "See? It wasn't that hard to say."

"My pride has taken irreparable damage, I will never recover from this experience," he monotonously said.

"Now you're just being dramatic!" you huff out, "Are you really incapable of being silly?"

He pauses for a second as if in thought, "Maybe."

Truth was, it was a reoccurring thought that passed through his mind multiple times whenever he hung out with you. Being so carefree and open was never a luxury he got to have, even when he moved in with his father he still felt some form of obligation of stoicism in the manor.

"Wow, we really need to find a way to heal your inner child," you mention offhandedly paying more attention to your knee, not noticing the way Damian's eyebrows rose.

"Maybe," he muttered, barely audible enough for you to hear. His inner child, huh? He didn't know if it was still there at this point but your antics made him self-aware of the reality that he's a child soldier, his childhood wasn't the same as his peers and he knew there would always be a disconnect.

Though, maybe he could finally live as a child instead of a soldier around you.

a/n: turned more into a character study at the end there and it was kinda bittersweet but womp womp

[obaewankenobis]

born to die ; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk it's not that bad. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful. 

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl… 

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

 You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied? 

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only… 

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat. 

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

 Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before  him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none. 

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get. 

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

 But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

[soaps-mohawk]

I just saw someone talk about Simon Riley being a rapist and the only way they tried to confirm it is by saying that he is a war criminal and all soldiers are misogynistic and sexist and they also talked about how he dreamt of hurting women in the comics when that's quite literally a normal reaction by being raped by both men and women (what I mean is that abused people sometimes dream of becoming someone they're not and don't want to be) but they conveniently forgot to mention how that "dream" was a nightmare. (Just wanted to rant about this and see your opinion)

The sigh I let out when I saw this ask this morning.

I'm so sick and tired of seeing this discourse. Not just in this fandom but in every fandom. Maybe it's just because I'm old and my frontal lobe is fully developed, or maybe it's because I was in fandom back in the days where there were no tags. You were lucky if you got a warning at the beginning of a fic. Most fics you walked in blind and if you didn't like something? You hit the back button and found something else.

This sudden mainstreaming of fandom has ruined these spaces. People come in, refuse to "learn the rules" that most of us learned by just existing in these spaces and watching others interact. There were no written rules back then. We learned by observing and occasionally being guided on fandom etiquette by those more experienced than us. Now it's just like people come in expecting fandom to be like every other space on the internet and then get defensive and angry when they realize it's not. Fandom is cringy. It's nerdy. It's happy and sunshine and it's dark and ugly like every media out there. Us creators and those of us more experienced in fandom have been screaming how to exist in fandom spaces from the rooftops but no one is listening and then everyone wonders why creators are leaving these spaces. Why fandoms keep getting abandoned.

All of that aside, this discourse about FICTIONAL characters pisses me off. Simon Riley is a FICTIONAL character. He has no morality, there is no right or wrong because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him do whatever you want to do because he's NOT REAL. You can give him wings and have him fly and guess what?? Cool, that can happen because he's NOT REAL. You want to make him a rapist? Cool, you can do that because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him whatever you want to make him because he's a character. He's not a living, breathing human being. There are no consequences of his actions because he's FICTIONAL!!!

Don't even get me started on this sudden discourse about dark fics and dead dove that's appeared recently. Dark media has existed for literal centuries. The Epic of Gilgamesh from 1800 BCE. The Odyssey. Mostellaria by Plautus. The Castle of Otranto published in the 1700s. Frankenstein. Dracula. The works of Edgar Allan Poe. Lolita. Hell, look at the Bible. The Bible, especially the old testament, is fucked up. Even in the watered down, bastardized King James version, the things the old testament "God" supposedly did, when you sit and actually think about them outside the lens of religious brainrot, are super fucked up.

People have been creating dark media for a long time. Horror has existed for a long time because it plays to our worst fears. It gives us a safe way to express those fears and to experience them without having to experience them first hand. You wouldn't bitch at a horror movie director for including things like rape and gore and murder in their movies?? So why is writing different? You think every horror movie director agrees with the things they portray on screen? You think every horror movie director would go out and murder someone just because they made a movie about it? No, because we're allowed to portray things in all forms of media, we're allowed to write things without morally agreeing with them. Guess what, most people that write rape or assault or violence, aren't going out and doing those things in real life. They don't support those things in real life. In fact, people that write dark fanfics are some of the loudest protesters against those things.

If you want to make Simon Riley a real person, guess what? He's not going to be even morally grey. Most people in the military are not good people. They're not. The people that are good people in the military, or were in the military, are the ones saying that the loudest. People that got tricked into joining, people that got promised things, people that did it because they had no other choice and then realized what it was really like after getting in? Those are the people to listen to. Not Call of Duty, not the people trying to convince you to join because they're glorified sales people and have a quota to fill. Look up videos of what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan at the hands of American and British soldiers. You would not like Simon Riley if he were a real person.

But he's not real. He's FICTIONAL. Even as a fictional character, he's not a good person. So many Call of Duty fans put on the blinders and ignore the fact that these men are out here committing awful acts of violence and killing people because they're "the good guys." People love to forget that Price literally kidnapped a woman and a child and had them held at gunpoint to get information out of someone. Not only that, he was okay with it. If he were a real person that did that, you would not be questioning if he were a good person or not. You can tell the people that have never played the games or watched playthroughs, who only know these characters through the lenses of fanfics and artwork and headcanons.

Call of Duty is military propaganda. They paint these men as heroes, make it easy to put the blinders up and ignore the things that are happening, the things they're doing so that they can convince young men that they want to do that and they should join the military so they can go out and do that too. That's Call of Duty's audience. That's who they're creating these games for. These young, impressionable boys who get excited by the violence and the action who will go on to fill quota numbers for recruiters. Call of Duty was not made for us, the people writing fanfiction and creating art for it. This side of the Call of Duty fandom will be the first to tell you all of this.

This side of the fandom creates fanworks which would turn Activision's eyes red. We babygirlify their military propaganda because it actively goes against what Activision is trying to do. It goes against what Call of Duty is at its core. Sure, some people water it down a lot, and others keep it more realistic to what these men would be like in real life, because it's FICTION. You can portray these characters however you want because that's what fiction is for.

And guess what, anon? Rape kinks exist. Consensual non-consent exists. It's well known. And guess what? Victims of sexual assault and rape can develop those kinks as a coping mechanism. Here's a study from the NIH website, and if that's too complex for you, here's a VICE news article that uses that study. People can write rape and rape kinks and CNC and noncon and not support it in real life. People can write those things to bring awareness to the fact that they happen to people in real life, or because people in real life have those kinks. People write those things to help victims, to support them. It's cathartic. Dark media most often is created for catharsis. It gives people an outlet, and it allows people to experience those things in a safe, controlled environment for whatever reason.

And that's the thing, anon. People don't have to give anyone a reason for why the consume that kind of media. Creators don't owe anyone an explanation as to why they create it. It's none of your business, and if you're not comfortable with it, then don't consume it. You can turn off the TV if a horror movie is too much for you. People walk out of theaters all the time because a movie is not what they were expecting, be it because it was bad or because it was too graphic or violent or disgusting. You start reading a book and you don't like it for whatever reason? You put the book down and pick up another. Why do people have such a problem with not reading fanfics they don't like? Why do people have such a hard time just blocking creators that make things they don't want to see. Most dark fic and dead dove creators put ample warnings on their blog and their posts. That's why those tags exist. You don't like it and you don't want to see it? Then block and move on and let others enjoy what they want to enjoy.

You pearl clutchers are ruining fandom and soon there won't be anything for you to enjoy. If you can't handle fandom, then don't be in it. There is no algorithm here. You're going to see things you don't want to see and it's very easy to just block and filter tags. There was a time on Tumblr where you couldn't filter tags. I remember those days. You had to download the X-kit extension to block things, and that only worked on desktop. The fact Tumblr gave us the option to filter tags on the site and on the app was a big deal when it was rolled out. I remember so many people that didn't want to use the app when it first came out because you couldn't block potentially triggering tags.

It's not a creator's problem if you were triggered by their media. Life doesn't come with trigger warnings and it's a blessing that it's become so normalized to include warnings at the beginnings of fics. There's websites that exist for other forms of media that will give trigger warnings. If you can look up trigger warnings for a movie and decide not to watch it, you can look at the trigger warnings for fics and decide not to interact with it. You're not out here emailing the directors and producers of movies that include triggers you don't like, telling them they're awful people for including those things in their movie and they shouldn't. Yet you have no problem coming into the comments and inboxes creators who do this FOR FREE because we wrote one dark fic. Because we wrote something that's triggering to you.

And yes, some abuse victims go on to be abusers, some people continue that cycle because they don't have the help and support to break it. It's a sad thing that happens, but it happens. It happens in the fictional world and it happens in real life. People can make that happen to fictional characters for whatever reasons they want.

I've written dark fics. I've written several. I consume "disturbing" media for fun. I've read books and watched movies that would send these pearl clutchers to the hospital. Hell, I've probably written things (some published, some that will never see the light of day) that would turn these pearl clutchers inside out. Guess what? That's okay because it's FICTION. It's cathartic. I don't have to give my reasons why because it's no one's business except those I decide to tell because I trust them and I know they'll support me. I don't support those things in real life. Just because I write for Call of Duty doesn't mean I support the things the game portrays. If you consume Call of Duty media be it the games or fanfiction, does that mean you support what the game supports? What the creators of the games support? What militaries around the world support?

Think about that next time.

I’ve made my stance very clear here before, but I’ll do it again. In real life, I am anti military, anti war, anti gun violence, anti genocide, anti fascism, anti terf, anti homophobia, anti conservative, anti rape, anti domestic violence, anti colonialism and pro choice.

Just because I may create or consume media with those things in it, does not mean I support them. It's high time some of these pearl clutchers learn that.

The next time you want to come into a creator's inbox or comments and spew hatred towards them because of the things they write, why don't you do something useful with your time instead.

This will be my only discussion on this topic. I will not be answering any more asks like this. I will delete and block anyone who tries to come "well actually"-ing into my inbox. If you don't agree with this stance, then get off my blog and block me.

[diremoone]

whipped cream apology | r. sukuna

fights are uncommon between you and your fiancé, but there are times they do happen. you know you’ll never hear a verbal apology come from him, but you know he’s sorry; Sukuna’s apologies always come in the form of gifts, food, or acts of service. this time is no different :3

w — modern au, chef! sukuna (he owns and works in his own restaurant but that’s not elaborated on), itsy bitsy sprinkles of angst bc of a mentioned fight, fluff, this is super duper short haha, food and food descriptions bc I am a woman who loves her food so sue me :3 this is just a random lil fic I wrote in like a day so i won’t be surprised if this flops lmao

[ divider credit to @/inklore ]

You don’t know how you go to sleep angry, but you do.

Last night had been awful. Maybe you’d blown everything a little out of proportion, maybe not. Your energy hadn’t been so great coming through the front door of your home. You’d just been stalked by a couple of guys that wouldn’t stop leering at you, and to top that off you had an old woman at the register of the store get ugly with you. All you wanted was the nice dinner you know would be awaiting you and to not be bothered for awhile after that.

Problem was, was that Sukuna was also in a bad mood. Someone at the kitchen of his restaurant had put him in a super bad mood by not following orders, and a food critic was to be coming by in a few days. And when you mixed his bad mood with yours, it led to you two going to bed on bad terms.

But now, you’re not even sure that Sukuna had come to bed.

Did that idiot sleep on the couch?

Just as you’re about to get out of bed, you see a note on the nightstand with your name on it. You grab it, unfold it and read: ‘Stay in bed and text me when you’re awake.’

Your sleepy brain goes blank for a moment, but you oblige your fiancé’s request anyway, texting him that you’re awake with a pink heart afterward, hoping he still wasn’t upset with you.

Sukuna’s answer is almost immediate.

Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be upstairs.

But you do need to pee really really bad. You make your bathroom trip as quick as possible and hop back in the bed, miraculously just as Sukuna comes through the door with a large tray of what you smell to be food.

“Morning, baby,” he greets you.

You can see the solemn look on his face, one of upset. He’s still bothered about last night.

“Morning, ‘kuna,” you reply, smiling at him. It seems to partially work, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

You flatten out the blanket as he sets the tray over your legs. Your eyes can’t help but blown open so wide in shock and excitement that you accidentally make them hurt. To your expression and blinking eyes, Sukuna chuckles.

“An apology, for my shitty behavior last night.”

There are several plates of food on the large tray. Perfectly cooked eggs, bacon, sausage; all of your favorite comfort foods all sit before you.

But right in the center is a heaping pile of one inch-thick, fluffy pancakes the size of your head, four stacked atop of another. Butter runs down underneath the sweet maple syrup. Neatly placed around the edges of the plate are bananas and strawberries. And on the very top is a generous pile of whipped cream in a fancy swirl.

You grin at his meticulousness of making such a wonderful plate that’s only just going to get messy.

“Sukuna—”

He scowls. “Don’t even bother me with apologizing back. I don’t wanna hear it. I’m the asshole. You did nothing wrong.”

Love swells in your heart and soul for the man you’re soon to marry. God, you love him.

“You’re sure?”

He tsks. “Positive.”

You smile brightly. “I love you.”

His cheeks and ears go pink. “Just eat.”

“Cheeseball,” you call him, cutting into the pancakes. “But don’t mind if I do.”

“If you can’t eat all of that, I’ll eat the rest.”

“Fuck off, it’s mine.”

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[hezuart]

LITTLE NIGHTMARES 3

aaaaaaAAAAAA

DANG OKAy

So I had a premonition for Little Nightmares 3. Last night I had a dream that Mono was just growing old in a tower he chose to stay in as a hermit and just retired there. The runaway kid's real name was revealed to be "Gilbert" and he summoned UFOs that performed a wicked cool airshow over the sea, but then the USA government shot them down and captured them for experimentation. The government was also after a bunch of super powered teenagers and children. They all swam away and tried to escape. Six was amongst them. One of the teenagers took a liking to Six and used her powers to change Six's (super long???) hair a bright red. It was then revealed the government figurehead in charge of the capture raid was Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story. I should also mention every single person including the kids in my dream looked like they were from the Lorax movie. Like imagine Little Nightmares but all Onceler style. I woke up to several dozen messages of Little Nightmares 3 trailer and well... I'm very relieved it's nothing like my dream.

~~~

Anyway! I had very low, negative expectations for LN3. I didn't think it would ever come out, and if it did, it wouldn't be the same. I am SO glad to be wrong. This developer apparently also worked on Little Nightmares 2, so they had a feel for the story, concepts, atmosphere, and gameplay. Little Nightmares 3 trailer doesn't give us a ton to work with, but I see high inspiration from previously unused concepts. Like the crows and mirrors in the Little Nightmares comics, and the giant baby from Little Nightmares 2 concept art.

The crow boy looks as though he can go through mirrors and technically fly with a black-feathered umbrella he uses to float. The girl has a wrench, and at first, I thought she was wearing an ugly gas mask, but it's apparently an old-fashioned pilot hat. So I touched it up in my drawing to make it look more recognizable... and cute. Already their designs are very intriguing. Can't tell what the full story is about, but they're new characters in a new setting, I'm very excited to see the world get expanded!

It's still a somewhat different style and atmosphere to the previous two games, but this developer really seemed like they paid attention and made it as authentic as they possibly could, and for that I am so grateful, I respect them so much. I am now changed! I've got a hopeful and optimistic mindset for the future of this series.

ESPECIALLY AFTER LEARNING IT'S ACTUALLY GONNA BE CO-OP. HELLO?!

WHO WANTS TO DROP ME OFF A CLIFF?? LETS DO IT

[localcoffeeshop]

Imagine being princess bubblegum in the winter king universe. You have probably never had any bitches, not a Single one. Instead there's an ugly old ice bitch next door. then one day he does something and you snap and get all nasty, you get heterophobia in your eyes AND your lesbianism evaporates and you start uncontrollably lusting for your bitch MAN neighbour whos now super-hot and classy as fuck Brian David Gilbert. and then you mutilate all your candy citizens to be ugly and nasty as fuck like you and you start acting up and it goes on for like one hundred entire years until he acme laser gun disintegrates into ashes after kissing a woman which restores your sanity so you're normal again and you go kiss the woman who just killed the guy who made you a heterosexual unbathed freakazoid. and then you learn she also murdered and further mutilated all your candy citizens so now you're alone. no friends, no citizens, no vampire girlfriend (LOSER!!), not even an enemy to hate on, and the one girl you tried to true-love's-kiss just fucked off into the aether with a sad normal alternate version of the guy who did all that wacky shit to you. wow. What a horrible life. i would literally jump into the giant blender and hope it kills me