bloodyknucklesforme
Currently Writing a Cannibal AU
Mae (she/her) / COD: MW fanfic writer / Requests are open/ 18+ only / This is a side blog
2957 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
confidenceiscrucial
scam spotter
aidakipurusuika
KilluGon, KilluGon
Don't you want to make a son?
hcs449-blog
HCS 449
jr0sebabyxx
My Mommy Life
Text
Less than 5 minutes into the first episode of Sugar and we should let Colin Farrell use his real accent more. I think it would improve his character. An Irish private detective is much sexier than an American one.
1 note
·
View note
Text
Anyone else who works food service have shit fall off shelfs and hit them? Or is it just my job?
0 notes
Text
I promise I'm working on stuff but I also need to finish the star wars quests in Fortnite. i hope you all understand
1 note
·
View note
Text
writing Johnny being sad and gay when I Bet on Losing Dogs starts playing
0 notes
Text
Cool Girl
Ghoap x female reader / 18+ / previous
You live your life like nothing happened.
Or at least, you try.
You go to work after the weekend is over, smile at yourself in the mirror repeatedly to make sure nothing seems amiss, fix your hair, your makeup, your clothes until you appear collected- and cool.
It's much easier to shove it all down, to try to block it out, instead of really thinking about it. Dissecting it until it turns your stomach and makes you sick.
They didn't choose you. Get over it.
Still, a piece of your heart latches onto the bouquet. The look on Johnny's face. The way he begged.
Maybe...
No.
You're fine, and you don't need them, and you're unaffected.
You're dead on your feet by the time you get home. The entire day was a slog, slow and heavy, and you spent most of it wading through paperwork and numbers, lines of spreadsheets blurring together in your head until they became a jumbled mess.
You need a glass of wine.
Or a bottle.
It doesn't take anyone much convincing. You manage to wrangle two friends into meeting up at the bar down the street, the one that has half priced bottles on Monday night. It's a match made in heaven, for your sanity and your wallet, and it feels good to let go a little bit. Try to let them go, even.
One bottle turns to two, and you hardly bat an eye. The misery you're doomed to experience because of this is a tomorrow problem.
You're stuck on the sidewalk.
Tab paid, friends gone, and you're still here, back against a brick wall, staring at the street, watching cars and people pass by.
You're frozen in time. Trapped inside this moment, turning yourself over and over in your mind.
Maybe you'll end up alone. Maybe it just won't happen for you. You'll always be a secret, a casual fuck, a nothing to no one.
A nothing to them.
The idea, the thought of being alone for the rest of your life washes a cold chill over your skin.
It's a breezy night, comfortable by all standards, but still, you shiver, trying to maintain your balance in the sloshing sea of your equilibrium, overpowered by too many glasses of Malbec.
You stare at your phone. It feels like you're not in the driver's seat, in this moment, like you're not in your body. You're watching yourself scroll through you contacts, watching yourself open Johnny's, click the icon for a phone call-
and then you're silent when he answers on the first ring, your name cracking from his mouth like a thunderclap. Panicked. Excited.
But you say nothing. There's noise in the background, people out on the patio, on the sidewalk, talking, laughing, carrying on. Spilling out from the mouth of the bar like a flood.
"Can ye hear me?"
"Yeah." you whisper, like it's a secret.
"What're ye doin'?"
"I'm drunk." you blurt, eyeing a group of guys. "Think 'm gonna take someone home." What? What are you saying? Stop talking.
"Where are you?" It's Simon now, keyed up, rough and impatient.
"At a bar."
"It's Monday." You never go out on Monday. You know that, and they know too. You're always in bed by ten, ready to get up at the crack of dawn to head into work.
"It's Monday." You repeat, steel edge of your phone digging in the skin of your palm.
"Where are you?" He demands, again, and you shake your head.
"Dunno-" the denial is interrupted by a hiccup. "At a bar, like I said." What're you doing? You're antagonizing them.
"Love, tell us where ye are, we'll come-" You press the big red button to end the call. Cutting him off, cutting them both off, shutting them out.
And then you know, you can feel it in your bones-
You shouldn't have done that.
743 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love Palestine more than you hate Israel. Love trans people more than you hate transphobia. Love the poor more than you hate the rich.
Always love who you fight for more than you hate those who you fight against. Otherwise when the Uniting Enemy is gone, you might start to hate as well.
Anger is part of revolution, but love is too.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
People liking your personal OCs is still such a crazy feeling, I've been doing this for years and ppl asking about them still fills my entire heart with warmth and idk how to handle it
You enjoy this fictional guy I made up for fun?? Whose only content is random artwork or writing made by me and a handful of other artists at most? They have no show/book/game with a large fandom, it's just one person with an art blog?? I love u
12K notes
·
View notes
Text
working on next chapters of Carnal and Red Summer today
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tattoo flash sheet inspired by Simon "Ghost" Riley (2022) because I hate the ones they gave him in the game 😇
1K notes
·
View notes