#and i also. didnt know what to do with it

[thedragonpenny]

This belief also makes it hard to repair a relationship after unintentional abuse. More anecdotal evidence: My parents absolutely did not mean to do me harm, but they lacked the awareness and emotional intelligence (due to their own toxic upbringing) to recognize and correct it. Labeling them as evil for that doesn't fix the damage done to me or help me heal from it; it does the opposite, in fact

When I became an adult and started trying to unpack the damage that had been done, I got the backlash I think a lot of people can relate to getting: "other people had it worse", "at least I didnt _____" and "I did a lot better than my parents did". And all of that is true! My parents (almost) never physically abused me, there were lots of times that they were emotionally available and supportive, and there were lots of times when other people (adults and other kids) were being abusive to me and they put a stop to it.

BUT that doesn't mean the verbal, emotional, and rare instances of physical abuse didn't happen and don't still affect my daily life, and it took having a baby of my own and telling my mother in a postpartum depression haze/moment of clarity that I understand now the kind of pressure motherhood puts on you, and I've always understood that her childhood was far from safe and stable, but what I don't understand is how she could never recognize and admit that she did harm and apologize for it. It wasn't until then that she realized that I wasn't trying to villainize her all of these years. I just wanted to be heard and hear her say that she's sorry and she loves me.

Our relationship is still far from perfect, but that conversation was a turning point, and I'm not one bad moment away from tears every time I'm in her presence. I get to watch her be an amazing grandmother and have deep, loving interactions with her because now I know she's not the same person she was when she raised me. Yes, sometimes abuse is intentional and you should write that person off as evil and move on. Sometimes even when it's unintentional, there's too much damage to repair and you still have to move on. But sometimes you're saying one thing (you did me harm, perhaps unintentionally) and people hear another (you're evil and will always be evil), and that does no good for anyone.

otherwise interesting post ruined by the bold insistence that you can never accidentally abuse someone & that all abusive people are self-aware evil masterminds

[ruinix]

hi i’m just here to drop in and mention how bad Quinn wants to leave marks on your body. he doesn’t care where or how he just needs to see him on you at all times ya know?

Halloo, love, my lovely moot😚. I’m sorry it took me long. I blame my two braincells. They got distracted. [Also... i totally didnt try to repost this (i did, but it didnt happen...😭 sorry)] Here it is...ummm.... i think i have veered off in a different path. Sorry...🧎🏻‍♀️

CW/TW: 18+ MDNI, Smut or smut(ish), Sloppy kisses and Marking, Slightest bit of choking, Quinn being a love sick fool 🙂‍↔️

Count: 1448 words | Masterlist

One. Two. Three. Hmmm, that’s not right. Quinn swears he left you four marks on your neck…Why the fuck are you bundled up after all the hard work he did?

He could feel his irritation bubble up his throat, but he swallows it down—crossing his arms, eyebrows drawn—as he tracks your movement across the apartment. You’re doing miscellaneous cleaning, dusting here and there, dancing along with whatever music blasting in your headphones.

You look cute, really. Pretty and cozy in your matching sweatpants and your crewneck sweater. The colors are soft and makes your skin glow. The fit is oversized. You demanded that size when you got him to buy it—he bought five sets for you, because you rarely request something. You are even wearing your comfy and grippy socks. Adorable, really. Really—Fuck. What the fuck? Are you covering him—his marks—up? Didn’t you say you love them last night?

Before he could spiral, you finally notice him. Whatever complaints he has disintegrated to nothing. Your smile with the twinkle in your eyes takes his breath away. When you squeal and run towards him, his arms instantly drop, spreading to give in your hug. You smell like fresh laundry. Home. You smell like home. His home.

Quinn melts into your touch, head dipping where your neck and shoulders meet. His eyes dart from one mark after the other. Where is the other one?

 “Quinn, you’re home! How’s your day? How’s practice?” you ramble on, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“All good. I had fun,” he murmurs, slightly parting from you. “How’s yours?”

You happily recount your day—cleaning, work, watching a show, taking a good and satisfying bath. Quinn guesses that this day is for a nonlinear storytelling, which he has no complaints about. He could get lost in your voice, that’s like the soft patters of rain, like the soft breeze in summer, like the rustle of leaves, like soft chirps of birds. Your voice is like every calming tune of nature. Soothing. Nurturing. That’s what you do to his soul.

Mix that with how firmly your arms are wrapped around his torso, hands slipping into his shirt. They smoothen over his muscles, tracing his spine, causing shivers to run down his fucking soul. Oh, the effect you have on him, but that doesn’t appease him as it usually does. Not one bit—fine, maybe just slightly—because where the fuck is it?

While you talk about a grocery list, Quinn carefully rubs your arms and your shoulders. When he thumbs the column of your neck, you instantly pause, shuddering, breaths picking up. You look at him with wide eyes. The blush staining your cheeks deepens. Cute.

Quinn slips his thumb into your collar and tugs. He almost gets distracted with the goosebumps on your skin. Almost. Because there it is. The fourth mark. It’s just hiding under the edge. Still red and purple, the same shade as the other three. Still so beautiful on your skin. So fucking beautiful.

“Quinn?” you call, confusion etched in your face. “Did I lose you?”

Lose him? Never. You will never lose him. You’re stuck with him. He will chase you no matter where you go, stand beside you, hold your hands every step of the way.

You know that, but you’re still pouting. As second ticks, your confusion turns into annoyance. Your eyebrows furrow. You’re such a brat sometimes. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does. Your arms hook over his nape. The way your lips instantly part sends blood rushing down his groin. You’re always so eager, parting your thighs for his leg to step between.

“You ignored me,” you murmur, nipping at his lip. “You can’t ignore me.”

Fuck. That feels good.

“Not ignoring you. I heard everything you said,” Quinn whispers back in between kisses. “You know that, brat.”

He feels your smile, hears your giggle. He’s so fucked. Even that turns him on. With how your eyes shine, you know you had him in a chokehold. Well, he can have you in a chokehold too. Literally. So, he gives your neck a squeeze. A small whimper comes out your lips.

“Quinn.”

Your name spills out from his lips as a response.

You moan like he’s already fucking you, grinding your clothed cunt over his thigh. He pushes it up, letting you take all the friction you want.

When he goes for another kiss, your lips are already parted, tongue out, waiting for his. You beautiful siren. Quinn can’t hold in his growl as he meets it.

The kiss is sloppy, messy, and hungry. Your spits mixing. Your tongues lashing. Your teeth bumping and nipping each other’s lips. So different from the first one just a while ago. So different, yet utterly the same—full of love, lust, and devotion. So fucking good.

Quinn grinds his hard-on against you, raising his thigh to help you chase your high, but he stops. Not yet. You can’t come just yet. Your whines fill his ears as he parts from you. Tears threaten to spill as you try, try, and fucking try to get him to kiss you again. To get him to let you ride his thigh again. To get him to fuck himself on you.

You have to wait.

“Maybe,” he mutters against your lips, almost laughing when your tongue darts out to gaud him for another kiss. Little seductress. Quinn impatiently tugs on your sweatshirt. “Maybe you should get rid of this, yeah?”

He nearly preens when you nod—desperately and utterly wrecked. His hands shake as he helps you pull it off.

Fuck. You’re just wearing an almost-sheer crop top underneath. Your nipples are already taut, begging for him to touch, to kiss, to suck. Your low neckline showcases your beautiful skin littered with different shades of kiss marks. Some are old. Some are new. All his.

Yet. Not. Enough.

Not when there are still lots of blank spaces of skin to mark. Not when many of them are already fading. Not when you can still hide them. He doubts it will ever be enough. He just needs him on you.

His kiss marks.

Different from cum and spit which you—or he, depending on your mood—wash away.

Different from the occasional fingerprint bruises he leaves on your hips and thighs from holding you so tightly as he fucked you until you couldn’t stop cumming, until he’s left with watery cum or with nothing because your sweet pussy already sucked him dry.

Different because it shows the whole world how he worshipped you, your skin, your being.

Different but they always come one after another. He can’t have you all marked up with your pussy unsatisfied, can he? No. That’s not possible. An offence that he would rather die than commit.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes, grazing his knuckles over your ribs. His other hand tenderly holds our hips, keeping them pressed against his, not letting you do anything else. “So pretty.”

He nearly chokes on those words. He relishes the feel of your hands on his shoulders, fingers casually tugging the tips of his hair—a demand for him to stop fucking around.

Well, can you blame him for taking his time? He just loves you so much.

Then, your little tugs turn more desperate, fingers wrapping around his locks. You tug on his hair like you want to rip it off, but you would ease and scratch his scalp effectively seducing him.

But first, he needs to remedy his problem. He grips your arms, holding them against the wall, as he partakes on your skin. The way you surrender—when he starts sucking and adding marks on your neck, even craning it to give him more access—almost made him fall to his knees. Oh, he is essentially on his knees, because you are his love, his law, his Goddess. He is always kneeling for you. His existence is nothing without you now. He can only beg that you always be with him—of course, he will ensure that.

But he can’t be on his knees right now. How can he reach your neck then? How can he hold you up when you are melting with every suck and lick and kiss then?

Later, he can be on his knees. Later, when he needs to mark up your belly, your hips, your thighs, the creases between them that leads to your pussy, and your beautiful fucking ass. Later.

Right now, he needs to mark up your neck to show everyone—honestly, just him, fuck everyone else—that you are his and his alone.

[satkru]

*๑♡՞ . cnc , dead dove: do not eat , extremely dark themes , usage of power over another individual (forgot what thats called) , gun-play , threats , little to unknown amount of consent , read at your own discretion , possibly could be considered a crack fic?? , also slight revenge fucking

p.s . this is a more filler fic than anything as i try to get my writing schedule under control, im mostly getting ideas as i watch the 2nd season of squid games, other than that, i hope this fic can fufill ur dark fantasies!! also this isnt any specific triangle guard, but hes tall and lanky w a big dick, who also seems to be ur ex

y/n didnt know why he even got himself in this predicament, all he wanted was to get some money to pay off the loan sharks and be done with them already. but he was too blindsided by the thought of winning all the money for himself to realize how much of a fuck up he really made, now, he was stuck in a murderous game filled with all types of shitty people who were just like him. y/n lied in bed as the announcement notified the rest of the players about their set bedtime.

he tossed and turned, and even when the lights officially turned off, he still couldnt find a wink of sleep inside his system. so to appear like all of the others, y/n closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. minutes went by and the silence in the dark room annoyed y/n more than when the other dunces were screaming their heads off.

in the midst of the silence, y/n couldnt help but hear the shuffling of baggy pants legs rubbing against each other, seeming to draw closer to his bed. suddenly, the noise stopped and the silence that was originally in the room began to seep back in. "player 037, please get up from your bed", the familiar voice of a guard made y/n's eyes shoot open and sat him up straight. the sight of the triangle on the guards mask made y/n tremble, and the assault rifle in front of him scared him shitless. "follow me."

y/n got up from his bed and waddled behind the guard, his heart and mind racing every passing second. the two passed through the door leading into the room that led to the multitude of different games, climbing up the stairs and eventually stopping at the top.

the guard led y/n into the men's bathroom and dragged him into one of the small and isolated bathroom compartments. "your pants." the guard instructed, y/n nodded his head vigorously and dropped his pants as fast as he could, thinking he had some sort of contraband hiding on him that the guards didnt take already.

"turn around." the guard ordered, causing shivers to run down y/n's spine. yet again, the man followed the orders and whipped around as fast as he could in such a small space. the sound of pants unbuckling and clothes shuffling off of someone made y/n's heart drop. "w-wait..! w-what are you doing—!" y/n's question was cut off as he felt his underwear fall from his hips and something shoving its way into his tight hole.

y/n shrieked, the feeling of pain, but also pleasure, ran through his veins and nerves at the same time. "so tight..." the guard whispered as he then began to thrust inside y/n, causing the man to let out confused noises and moans. somehow, such a situation made the man grow harder than he had ever been. could he really be into such a thing?

"keep it down 037.. fuck.. youre so much more tighter than I expected you to be.." the guard let out breathy groans, his hips thrusting into y/n without any hesitation. his arm wrapped around the throat of the player, putting him into a headlock, but not putting any pressure on his neck. it was more like a way to keep y/n's moans low and quiet.

the guard threw his head back in pure bliss, the feeling of his cock being swallowed up by y/n's gummy walls made his groans more audible. "stop squirming 037.. or else i'll have to use more forceful actions to keep you from moving.." the deep and harsh voice commanded y/n once again, "fuck! guard- sir-! im gonna cum!!" the timid and shaky voice of y/n warned the guard that he was soon reaching his climax.

but the guard did nothing to stop the inevitable action y/n would soon face, instead, he quickened his pace and bent more forward. y/n cried out as he was soon taken over by the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, his cock spilling out ribbons of white cum onto the lid of the toilet.

"n-no..! stop! i already came!!" y/n begged as tears dropped from his eyes, his shaky hands tried prying off the arm of the guard from his neck, but there was no use. as his strength slowly left him, the feeling of pure bliss slowly filled the emptiness that his strength had left. "player 037, stop resisting.. oh fuck.. or else.. you'll face a more graver punishment...".

the guard's thrusts became more sloppy and ruthless, leaving y/n breathless and desperate for a break. the sound of wet skin to skin contact filled up the bathroom, echoing off the porcelain tiles of the room. "go on and cum again.. i know you want to" the deep, but also sweet voice of the guard whispered directly into y/n's ear, causing him to lose more of his mind to hysteria.

"im going to fill up this tight hole with so much of my cum it'll be flowing out of you for hours.. you'll have to sit out of the games unless you want my cum to seep out of you and stain your pants.." the guard loosened his arm around y/n's throat and instead grabbed a fistful of his hair. "you want it dont you? just admit you want it all in your guts baby.." although y/n couldnt see it, he knew that the guard had a smug smirk plastered on his lips.

"fuck off why dont you.." y/n choked out before succumbing to the moans bubbling up in his throat. "dont be so mean my love, dont you remember me?" the guard dragged his hand down to y/n's cock, slipping it into his hand and gently caressing it. such a small action made y/n go absolutely mad, making his hole tighten around his aggressors cock. "i could care less on who the fuck you are!! just quicken your pace!!" y/n barked back, his limbs were growing more weak each thrust, causing him to wobble and shake like a newborn horse.

the guard simply chuckled and quickened his pace, "youre still as commanding as you were when we were together.. it riles me up so good!.." y/n couldnt hold back any longer and released his second load of cum onto the toilet once again. "o-okay stop! fuck! please stop!" y/n sobbed, but his cries fell on deaf ears as the guard then released his own load inside of y/n's guts.

"I missed that feeling so fucking bad.." the guard slowly pulled out and watched as his cum drooped onto the floor, y/n's hole was pounded into oblivion, the swollenness and puffiness made it obvious to onlookers. "damn thats hot" the guard purred, his voice low and and barely above a whisper. "a-are we done now..?" y/n asked, hiccups interrupting his breathing every now and then.

"done? oh baby im just getting started.." the guard smugly stated as he took the gun off his shoulders and shoved y/n forward so that the stall would have enough room to be able to thrust his handgun in and out of y/n's already gaping hole. "w-what are you doing?!" y/n screamed and began trying to squirm out of the bathroom, but was stopped when the guard pulled on his hair and shoved him down.

"jeez do you really need to make everything more difficult..?" He snarled before wrapping his arm around y/n's hip to hold him up. Y/n couldnt help but shuffle around, uncomfortable with the humid air constantly hitting his bare ass, along with the harsh degradation from the guard.

Y/n gasped at the cool but sensational feeling of cold and untouched metal at the entrance of his hole, the unfamiliar feeling felt confusing but in that confusion was pure bliss and lust. "thrust.." the player whispered with his face buried in his forearms. The guard smirked under his mask and gladly began to thrust the weapon in and out of y/n.

Y/n through his head back in pleasure, moans coming out of his mouth automatically. drool seeped down his chin and fell on the rim of the toilet. "faster..! i need to cum a second time" y/n commanded, his words laced with sexual frustration as the pistol barely hit any vital points.

"you got it boss" the guard chuckled as he tightened his grip and began to fuck the pistol into y/n's already leaking hole. slight squelching noises bounced off the stall walls along with moderately loud moans. y/n's knees bended more, to the point where they were leaning on one another for support.

y/n's voice progressively got more desperate, his breath was beginning to weigh on him and he could feel another orgasm tightening up in his abdomen. "just a few more baby, then we'll be done" the guard hummed, his own cock strained against y/n's thigh, twitching at every moan and whimper y/n let out.

"im cumming..!!" y/n whined out, he could feel the knot in his stomach slowly untying every thrust the guard threw his way. The gun was coated in cum and moisture from y/n's insides, the mess reached from the start of the pistol all the way back to where the trigger was. y/n loudly moaned as he felt hot ribbons of cum shoot out of him.

"god that was so hot.." the guard whispered, slowly pulling the gun out of y/n, making sure he remembered every last inch of that pistol. y/n's head hanged low, he was trying to regulate his breathing but had difficulty due to the steaminess both him and the guard's questionable actions.

"I'll meet you tomorrow night, be prepared player 037"

[broocksz]

this is the best EVER

Ship chart but it’s not a ship chart it’s a friendship/found family/QPR chart

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair— Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra–”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is–” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here–”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get–”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right– what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months–”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking–” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it–”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great– I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo–”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just– shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you—"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph—" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips–”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly– he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with– is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the—”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"—transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally– 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this—some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all—

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm– oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all—"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You–"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I– I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead–"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through– 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that–?"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you—"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining–"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin’ role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being—"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like-- I don’t know– trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

[yutassweetangel]

Val special ♡

kiss kiss fall in love! 💋

song: ᵏⁱˢˢ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ・┈ I know, you know, chska

❥⁀➴featuring ! jjk men and how they'd confess to you through cliche ways! (+ kiss chu!)

︶🤍Pairing ! gojo, yuta, yuji, geto x reader

🤍 Cr ! @enchanthings-a , @ethereal-graphics

︶🤍authors note ! Had sm fun designing this! Oh yeah and im alive :D.Working on a fanfic heheheheehheh. Enjoy for now and happy valentines ♥ im alone.... As usual... heh.... Also the colour for the borders dont fit... Heh... Happy (late) valentines day! PS. This was kinda rushed sorry if the writing sucks.

🤍 word count ! 2.1K

︶🤍 warnings ! geto almost chokes you and loves to tease you, he kinda lashes out on you, but he's tired so dont blame him :(, mentions of kissing, biting and licking your lips 💋 mentions of tongue ON TONGUE YAHOOOOO, no smut but there is A LOT of spice in the kissing part

gojo

confession

not so cliché..... but gojo would confess through flirting. yes, flirting. it honestly sounds like him... one moment you'd be talking to him, just chatting. next second he's grabbing onto your hand, rubbing circles that would relieve you of any stress and anxiety before popping the big question—smoothly of course.

"did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" gojo compliments, and you giggle at. "no like, do you want me to confess right now how much i want to be yours?"

your blood rushed to your cheeks and you look down, to notice gojo rubbing your soft, delicate hands. "y/n. how about i make you mine right now, hm? your cute, im cute, lets make cute children together eh?" he confessed.

you giggle. you can tell he wasnt joking by the way he looked deep into your eyes, searching for an answer. "gojo if this is another one of your jokes...." you said, jokingly and gojo looked hurt.

"am I THAT unserious?" gojo asked, chuckling. "yes." you agreed. "yes to my confession? love you pumpkin." you were about to retort before gojo pulled you into a hug, and squeezed you so tight, it took your breathe away.

i guess you'd let him win...... for now.

kiss

your first kiss with gojo is as expected. rough, but tender. he'd kiss you by grabbing your arm and pulling you into the most hot and intimate kiss of your life. he'd tilt his head to get better access to your lips. he'd bite, lick and nibble on your bottom lip before finally sliding tongue in once your mouth was open. he'd leave you breathless after the kiss, leaving kisses on your neck before feasting off your lips again. he'd place his hand on your chin too, for a much better access. the heat of your body radiating off his. rough, hot, passionate and tender. but also, sweet

________________________

yuta

confession

definitely through letters. what can you say? yuta is a scared and anxious guy. he's tried to confess before, but fumbled so badly you'd think he was saying his first words.

yuta's first time was so bad he'd get second hand embarrassment from it. he walked up to you in an empty classroom, his hand behind his back as if he were a little kid. unbeknown to him, you had ear pods in one ear at full volume so you could barely hear a word he said.

yuta cleared his through loud enough to get your attention. his soft cheek would turn a light pink as he looked to the ground and immediately stammer on his words before finally making a comprehendible sentence.

"erm... y/n.... I..i.... like you!" he squeaked and he immediately felt embarrassed. he wanted to disappear so badly right now. lucky you didnt hear him.

"what?" you shout, taking your ear pod out. "you like what?" you ask him, and yuta froze up. he was both happy, and disappointed. happy you didn't hear his very awkward confession, disappointed you didn't hear his awkward confession.

"I said I like poo, good-bye." yuta dashed out of the the room in embarrassment and you stood there confused.

his second confession is.... too embarrassing to say. since both his approaches failed, yuta decided since he cant voice out his love for you, he'd write out his love for you.

its a usual friday morning as any usual one, until a letter falls out of your locker. a love letter? on Val? thats so cliché yet so cute. you read the letter and it said:

"I love you. I love you, every time I breathe in, and every time i breathe out, im reminded just how much I love you. the way your cheeks rise up when you smile, the way you twirl your hair in class, the way you bite your pencil when you dont know the answer to a question, the way you jump up when your excited. the little things, I love that too. I wish you could hear how much my heart races every time i see you. I love you. they may sound like just empty words, but if I have to say it a million times before you believe me then so be it. I love you.

so can I be yours and yours only?

—yuta, your classmate if you dont remember:)"

fuck. yuta hated it—the feeling of waiting that is.

he paced around the classroom, deep in his thoughts. what if you hated it? what if you saw it as too cliché? what if—

"yuta?" your sweet, sugary voice called out to him and he froze. "y-yes?" you looked at him, both amused and in adoration. he was so cute, you thought to yourself. you ran up to him and hugged him.

yuta was stunned at first, but he quickly reciprocated it back. having you in his arms, made him the luckiest man on earth.

kiss

yuta's kisses would be just like him. soft, gentle, intimate and a little rough. yuta had this exterior of a softy, but deep inside he was an animalistic fool, and it showed most when his kissed you. he'd cup your cheeks and pull you in immediately, and then he'd go berserk. finding ways to make the kiss as deep as possible so you can remember it all day. biting your lips until they bleed. feeding off them like they're a midnight snack. then when he's done he'll ask you in his usual softly and gently tone, "are you ok? did it hurt?" as if he doesn't know what he just did. but you had to admit, they were always the best.

____________________

yuji

confession

yuji gives of MAJOR football, basket ball, or just any sports typa guy. but for the sake of these headcanons we'll do football (american yk the one where they tackle people)

yuji would definitely be the star player of the football team due to his resilience, endurance and his strength. his way of confessing would be through writing on the field for you to be his.

it would be the hottest game of the season, if yuji's team won this, they'd go to nationals. one. more. goal. that was all that rang in yuji's head as he crotched down, eyeing the opposite team member holding the ball.

he looked up to see you in the crowd holding a banner with his team name. he had to win. not for his team, not for himself, but for you. then he could pop the big question. for you to be his.

the referee blew the whistle and in an instant the ball went flying in the air, yuji immediately went after it, catching the ball and running towards the opposing teams post. he pushed, fell, stumbled and crawled his way to the goal post.

as he ran he looked at the timer, sixteen seconds left. a group of the opposing team jump on him, and just in the last second he threw the ball into the opposing teams post.

"goal!!!!" the crowd scream and erupted into cheers, some crying and cheering yuji's name, other groaning and calling the game a fluke.

yuji looked up at you, excited, happy and gorgeous as you hugged your best friend beside you in happiness. with the tension of the game finally at ease, yuji asked the big question. he ran up to the head cheerleader, whispering something into her ears before going back onto the field.

and there it was, written on the cheerleaders pom-poms and on a big paper, which his team mates held. "may I be your boyfriend y/n?"

you immediately gasped as you looked at yuji and everyone in the crowd turned to look at you. how could you ever say no?

you shouted out in the crowd a big "yes" and yuji couldn't help but smile as the crowd erupted into big cheers.

kiss

yuji's kissed would be unexpectedly soft and gentle. he'd kiss you by holding onto your waist and smash his lips onto yours. despite the way he did it, he makes sure to go soft and easy. its after sometime that he'd finally slide his tongue into your mouth—with your permission of course. your tongues would share a dance before he'd pull out, breathy as ever. a irresistible smirk on his face. oh, you just want to wipe it off... chu!

____________________

geto

confession

geto is a calm, quiet and reserved guy who doesnt seem like the type to just put himself out there and tell you he liked you and has been dreaming about kissing you, touching you and being with you every other night.

he'd confess similar to yuta's own, through poems. he seems like a man who knows his literature. he'd write you the sickest poem in the world, but he can't just make it just off the bat.

you were someone special, so this poem had to be just as special as you.

one night, while geto was brewing an amazing love poem for you, you knocked on his door and geto would respond with a tired "come in"

you allowed yourself in and was amazed by the outcome of his room. geto was a germaphobe. so to see his room, scattered in crumbled up papers and for him to writing with only a dim, yellow night to accompany him was crazy.

"hey..," you leaned on his door, crossing your arms on your chest. "are you ok? your room is... not.. you." geto sighed, running his hand in his hair and rubbing his temple in frustration.

the single light that lit up his whole room shined on his face and you could see the very visible eye bags under his eyes.

"I'm just... tired." he said, his voice deep and hoarse from the sleepless nights. you looked down at what he was writing, but couldn't see it due to the lack of lighting.

"whatcha writing about?" you asked, stuffing your hands into your pockets, your posture relaxed.

"about you." "what—?

"fuck, y/n, this is what love does to you. it drives you crazy and makes you do stupid shit," has he lost it? "look at me! I'm a mess, for you." why was he lashing out on you?

"listen geto, your tired, I think its best you get some rest." you suggest and geto sighed again, nodding his head to your suggestion. "ok. yeah, I do need some rest." geto gets up and walks over to his bed, rolling over before closing his eyes and immediately falling asleep.

you watch him and sigh before looking at the lamp. you lean over to turn it off before you look into his book.

"if now is the only time and only place, the only place, then let be with you. if i have to hold cars our heart together, then let it be with you. I want to with you, despite how mad you make me. how sad you make me. how crazy you make it. how much you break me. please, im begging you now, please say yes..."

the rest were just scribbled and crossed out words. a smiled creeped up your face as you turned the lamp off and closed the book before shutting the door behind you and smiling to yourself.

kiss

geto would pull you in for a kiss, holding onto your chin. he'd pull you so close with your eyes closed shut. waiting for him to close the distance between yours and his lips. then he'd smirk, knowing how much he's been craving for you everyday. now that your his, your craving for him. then he'd pull you in, finally closing the proximity and you'd taste his tongue, feel his hot breathe, feel how much he's been wanting this for like, ever. he'd grab onto your neck as if he's choking you, but he doesn't, he just wraps one hand on your neck, the other on the back of your head. it was like poison. his mouth, tasted like poison.

do not copy, translate. All credits to original author @yutassweetangel

if gotten inspiration from please give credits <3

[cepheusgalaxy]

[ID. A drawing of Kim Dokja from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, on his 73rd demon king form, with red horns and a pair of black wings. His coat is black and there is a massive red sphere behind his head. End ID.]

Febuwhump day 15: Icarus

The doomed king

Call that twink death

Febuwhump Masterlist || taglist: @whumpinthepot || @for-the-love-of-angst @thewhumpywitch || @febuwhump

Also:

[ID. A meme in the shape of a Tumblr post and its reblog. It goes as:

OP: ppl who celebrate fictional character brthfays are annoying pass it on

Reblogger: FUCK this post and happy birthday []

The caption "kim dokja" has been slapped over it. End ID.]

[anisangeldust]

Cupids Arrow | S.M.

Summary: After falling pathetically in love; Sam Monroe decides to give Valentine’s Day a chance.

Pairing: Sam Monroe x popular!Fem reader

Warnings: annoying Sam, use of “faggot” (in a playful way) and “gaybo” (derogatory), lwk self loathing, loser in love Sam, kinda a heavy make out sesh, semi public smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation ? Whimpering Sam, reader teases him and he gets off on it.

A/N: this is lwk self insert and I’m not ashamed abt it. Also I lwk hate it but wtv :( happy vday!!

“Naw bro, she’s fine as fuck” Josh nudges his friend as you walk past. You’d switched high schools and joined the previous semester. It’s as if you were an overnight success, fresh blood, pretty face, and rich parents, a recipe for being the top of the social ladder.

Even sad, mopey, emo Sam Monroe wasn’t immune to your charm

“Fuck off dude, she’d never go for you. You look and act like a faggot. She needs a strong man.” Josh’s friend flexes and raises his eyebrows up and down at you. You rolled your eyes playfully and continued walking to class.

With a scowl, Sam’s eyes followed the whole interaction. What of you did want him? Why did he care? Sam didn’t want you, or your preppy attitude, you fluffy hair that fell above your boobs, your low rise Abercrombie & Finch jeans that barely pass dress code— No. No. He didn’t care about or notice you. You or your big eyes and full lips— No.

And he especially didn’t notice you or the way his heart rate sped up when you smiled at him.

——

If there’s one thing Sam hated more than his father it was P.E. You were the only thing that made the class tolerable. Except he didnt think that because he barely noticed you or your teeny Juicy Couture shorts at all.

Even worse than P.E. (And Sam’s dad) was dodgeball. Fuck dodgeball. Sam thought as he stood in the corner of the gym and watched all the popular guys peacock for your attention.

A star ball hit Sam in the face, and the accompanying voice of one of the jocks followed “you’re out gaybo! Sit the fuck down!” And Sam rolled his eyes, sitting down as he flipped off the guy.

Like a guardian angel sent by a god he didn’t believe in, you threw a ball at the jock and got him out, playfully flipping him off like Sam did.

You go up to Sam and offer a hand. “C’mon, you’re back in. You okay? Looked like a nasty hit.” You smile.

Despite the bit of chill in the winter air, Sam felt a warmth spread across his face. “Yeah no.. whatever. Im good. Im fine” he scoffs, taking your hand to get up and dropping it suddenly when he realizes he just accidentally held your hand

“M’kay” I smile and saunter off to keep playing.

——

“It doesn’t mean anything. Shes nice to everyone” Sam sighs and rubs his face as he and Corey sit in the roof of his station wagon.

Corey takes a long inhale of their shared cigarette “yeah but..” he exhales “she helped you.. or some shit. I don’t know. But I can feel it. She likes you dude” he lays back.

Sam leans back and looks up at the sky, biting his bottom lip in contemplation. “Yeah but— fuck man. I can’t just ask her to be my valentine. That’s corny. And she probably has one” Sam sighs

Corey rolls his eyes “does she even entertain the other guys? There’s no harm in asking. Just like, buy her flowers or chocolate or something I don’t know. But ask her” Corey takes a puff.

“Y’know what. Fuck it man. I’ll ask” Sam nods and takes the cigarette, taking a long breath in and letting the exhale dwindle away in the night sky, his mind on you, you and your plump lips..

“Do you think Angel likes roses?” Sam groans

Corey huffs “probably. Get some chocolate too. Shit dude, maybe even a card” he giggles.

——

Walking through the halls of the school had never been so embarrassing. Who did Sam think he was? Using the little bit of cash he had that he’d usually spend on weed for chocolate and stupid flowers? It was too late to back down now. He had to focus.. but even as you got closer he could feel your eyes on him..

Clutching the six roses in his hand, Sam clears his throat to get your attention. “Hey.. uhm— could I talk to you..?” He murmurs and looks around at your friends. Your popular friends, all hanging around your locker. This was a bad idea.

The gentle smile that teased the corner of your lips almost made him forget to breathe “Of course.” You smile and lead him away to a different hallway “we’ll be right back” you look back at your friend then focus on him.

Oh god he was going to do it. “Uhm.. I was wondering if maybe you’d like.. I dunno.. be my valentine?” He murmurs and holds out the roses, opening his backpack and grabbing the chocolate.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, he was so close to just walking away, but the gentle sound of your giggles bring his gaze back. “Of course I will Sammy” you take the gifts “thank you, these are beautiful.

He was shocked. You said yes? This was a joke. A bet. You were just pitying him. “Really?” He whispers, not quite registering that you actually agreed. “Well uhm.. how about I like.. take you to dinner..?” He spews before his mind can catch up with his mouth.

You smile wider “Yes really. And I’d like that.” You take out a notebook and scribble down two things “here’s my number and address. Let me know the details” you kiss his cheek “Bye Sammy”.

He’s eyes followed you like a magnet “See ya..” he mumbles, bringing a hand up to where you kissed him, gently touching the spot with the pads of his fingers.

——

Nervous wasn’t even in the ballpark of emotions he was feeling. This still had to be some elaborate prank, a joke, never mind that he’d called you 3 times and told you to be ready for a dinner he planned, his heart swelling at the excited tone of your voice. You’d stand him up, he’d drive to your house like an idiot and you’d tell him you weren’t serious.

Telling his parents was arguably just as nerve wracking.

<<Hey mom uhm, could you help me.. maybe?>> Sam mumbled to his mother, Robin, as she cooked dinner, her eyes widened in surprise as not only did her angsty son talk to her, but he was asking for help?

She smiled << yeah i suppose.. with what..?>> her tone was gentle, almost hesitant.

Sam shrugged <<I uhm.. like.. maybe have a Valentine’s Day date..>> he cleared his throat and had to stop the smile as his mom rattled on about who you were and then helped Sam with all the details.

Standing at the door of your very nice home, in his only pair of decent dress slacks and a black button down, Sam clutched the bouquet of roses his mom helped pick out and rang the doorbell.

A middle aged woman with sleek brown hair answered the door. “Ah, you must be Sam” she smiles.

Sam nods, running a hand through his black and blue hair “yeah.. that’s me” he gives a lopsided smile “is your daughter ready?” He asks.

“She should be.” Your mom turns into the house “darling! Your dates here!” And the click clack of heels meets Sam’s ears.

You looked stunning. Breathtaking. Sam was flummoxed as he met your gaze. Your dress was a beautiful blush color, and your makeup matched. Sam reminded himself to blink as you approached “Hey.. happy Valentine’s Day” he quirked up his lips and held out the bouquet of flowers.

“These are gorgeous. Thank you” you smile and take his hand, this time on purpose, and walk to his car. Sam opens the passenger seat before climbing in the drivers seat and twisting his key.

Mr. Self destruct by Nine Inch Nails starts to play up again and Sam quickly turns it off “Sorry.. I was uh..” he flushes with sudden embarrassment at his music taste.

You turn the dial back up “don’t apologize. I’d be happy to listen to the music you enjoy” you smile and admire his side profile as he drives, your eyes drawn to the way his hands fiddle with the gear shift, taking in the faint scent of weed that lingers on the leather seats. It was so him, so perfect.

——

The date was perfect. A beautiful awkward mix of Sam’s corny jokes and your elegant aura. It became clear that not only was it not a pity date, but maybe you actually liked him back? He tried not to let himself dwell on the idea. But as the server called you guys “cute” and you just thanked him, Sam could feel himself falling deeper into this boyish crush.

Walking out of the restaurant hand in hand, Sam decided to deviate from his original plan “We should get ice cream. I know this lookout point I smoke at sometimes. It’s perfect for stargazing” the sudden boost of confidence he had talking for him.

“I’d like that a lot” you take his hand and walk to his car.

——

For the first time Sam felt like the universe was on his side. Eating ice cream on Valentine’s Day, sitting in the open trunk of his car with the girl he likes and watching the stars after a successful date, the only thing that would make it better was if he didn’t have a raging boner from watching you lick cream off your lips.

As you got down to the bottom of your cone and started to lick the melted desert off your fingers, Sam wiggled and tried to pull away. But you noticed. Of course you noticed.

“Something wrong?” You look at him and scoot closer.

He swallowed audibly “nothing.. nothing wrong.. I’m great” he shakes his head vehemently.

You lean your head closer, the hot air mingling between you “you sure? You look flushed” you giggle and tease.

He dares to lean in “am not!”

You smile “are too” and then your lips attach. The kiss is heavy, full of Sams insecurity and your desire. His inexperienced tongue moves around your mouth, his pants growing tighter from the taste of your lips.

Climbing onto his lap, you finally see the source of his awkwardness “mmm.. is that what’s wrong?” You tease and gently move your hips over his hard on.

Sam gasps into the kiss, whimpering and letting his mouth part “y-yeah..” he stutters, trying to latch onto his last shred of gentlemanly thoughts.

“You’re so adorable” your giggles make him flushed.

“I’m not adorable.. I’m.. I dunno..” he stutters pathetically, panting into the kiss and bucking his hips up.

You keep moving “pretty sure you are. You’re whimpering like a loser. A cute loser” you kiss and suck on his jaw.

Sam lets out a moan “nuh uh..” he tries for the last time to hold on, but as he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, he’s done for. With one finally little whine, he cums in his pants, bucking his hips up and kissing you.

Both if you look at eachother with wide eyes, the look in his is terrified, the look in yours in playful “did you just..?” And he tears up

“Sorry.. ‘m so sorry.. couldn’t help it..” he pouts and looks at his lap.

You flick his nose to get his attention “I’m not mad Sammy.. that was.. hot” he giggle and kiss him again.

“Hot..?” He mumbles and his hands find your waist.

“And pathetic. Hot and pathetic.” You confirm with a nod of your head.

[oscconfessions]

I showed my mom inanimate insanity. She HATES silver spoon with all of her guts. From the minute she saw him she saw only disgust. Every time we had started a new episode she was praying on his downfall. I dont know if it was his voice, personality , or looks, but she HATED him. Its possible it was all three of those! One time I asked my mom for a silver spoon shirt for christmas and she SCREAMED. LITERALLY SCREAMED. “WHY HIM?!” In the car. I never got that shirt. When ii16 came out and we were watching it together there was a visible frown on her face when he spoke. When we went to a fan organized ii18 screening she had asked for a paintbrush t-shirt. I made her one, but put silver spoon on the back. Should’ve gotten me that shirt. But i get it. She would probably be disgusted if she saw HIM multiple times a day on my shirt. Im glad I didnt show him to her before the iixbfdi meetup. She would probably be horrified if she heard silver’s voice out of nowhere. I would show her the silver spoon video Justin Chapman uploaded on tt, but that would probably make her hate him more, as any time silver comes on screen she hates him more, no matter what he does. This has been going on for months. She hates, even loathes silver spoon. Its possible paintbrush is one of her favorites just for ticking him off! She has once never said anything positive about that spoon. If she found out he had a possible (?) crush on Candle she would probably be so bad for her, saying she could do better. Oh also she doesnt think the objects can be shipped because theyre objects. But at the same time she ships payjay. And fireafy.

.

[maplegyu]

THE WAY I CLICKED THIS SO FAST BECAUSE OF THE TITLE!!!!!??!?!

I RECOGNIZE THAT QUOTE ANYWHERE 😭 (its even the header of one of my sideblogs!!)

BUT I DIDNT WANT TO ASSUME SO WHEN I GOT TO THIS PART!!!!!! I ACTU SQUEALED

I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING. I KNEW WONU WOULD CONFESS IN THE BEST MOST CREATIVE MOST ROMANTIC WAY POSSIBLE BUT I WAS STILL WAS NOT PREPARED WHEN I FINALLY READ THE FIC THROUGH!!!!!!! One of the best shortforms i've ever had the pleasure of consuming!!!!!

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting.

Of course the visions in my head for this was *the* Darcy hand clench scene

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

PLEASE THE WAY THE WRITING TRANSLATED INTO A VISUAL MONTAGE IN MY HEAD???!?! HOW COULD I NOT SWOON!!!! HOW COULD I NOT ROOT FOR THEM!!!??! MY GODDDDD the seed of wonu being an austen-coded man has forever altered my brain chemistry. I truly love any and everything remotely austen-adjacent!!!!

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

Just stellar writing and imagery all around. One of the first things i thought was that this is such a fantastic example of figurative language! 💖

This whole scene... god ITS LITERALLY MY VERSION OF READER'S: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

THE CONFESSION WAS SO GOOD AND CONFIDENT. THE FOREHEAD RESTING IS SO REGENCY-CODED I KNOW ITS MODERN DAY BUT THE CALLBACKS TO THINGS PLAYING OUT A LITTLE OLD FASHIONED PERIOD JUST FEELS SO ROMANTIC TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,”

I LOVED THIS LINE SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!

idk what it is... it made it feel like the stakes were extra high but wonu was just that sure/confident!

“You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

I loveddd this too!!! It was so cute and suchhh a mood! Hahaha

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

PERFECT FREAKIN ENDING. everything was just lovely from start to finish! this is perhaps my fave wonu fic ive read to date!!! 💖💖💖

Thank you for writing and sharing this 🥰

if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen. you hold your breath.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightly finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

[sexybread-png]

just elaborating on the previous ask

no, it is not because she “has a bush” and no it is not transphobic or misogynist to point out that you specifically drew her hairier than any other character when she is the darkest black women you have drawn or portrayed ESPECIALLY when you are portraying a real cis black actress who does not have the arm hair you are putting into your artwork.

women can and do have hair i am not saying that, but black women in particular have a long history of being forced into a realm of masculinity that is purely because of their skin color, maybe look into that instead of an article on “women and hair” if you are trying to show that you listen to criticism

hello again anon

to reiterate, i do want this to be a conversation, im not trying to shut you down or downplay your concerns by bringing my own. i do feel its relevant to inform you that you bringing up the fact that cynthia is a cis woman and should thus have less hair IS breeding grounds for those concerns.

on that note, i am NOT portraying the real life person cynthia erivo in my drawings, but elphaba thropp the fictional character. elphaba, if u didnt know, is not cis. shes intersex, as stated in the books. i do understand that using cynthia's likeness makes elphaba a black woman and so i have been careful abt my portrayal of her, but elphaba is not cynthia erivo. its important to make a distinction between the actress and the character

further, if the arm hair ur speaking of is the armpit hair, cynthia probably does have arm hair and chooses to shave it. i just dont think elphaba the character would be the type to shave.

if ur talking abt this drawing though i will point out that this is an alternate universe in which elphaba is a werewolf, as stated in the post, which is why she is so hairy. if i drew galinda as a werewolf, id draw her just as hairy! (which is smth ive done in the past, drawing white ppl / non black ppl as hairy werewolves.)

also, i have drawn darker skinned women who weren't as hairy:

my goal isnt to draw black women more masculine than non black women. my goal is to just draw women, all kinds of them, and it includes hairy black women bc i believe women being hairy does not make them more masculine. my intention shows in my drawings too: im not drawing elphaba less of a person or less pretty than galinda bc shes hairier. she just is hairier

in an effort to have a wider perspective on the subject, i did talk about this with my friend. shes an indigenous woman so to clarify shes not trying to compare her experiences to black women's, just offer her own perspective and she means all of it in good faith. i asked if i could show what she told me bc i felt like she explained things in a really thoughtful and intelligible way

[skele-doll]

God i hate men who victimize and act oppressed. Tell me why i saw a bunch of butthurt men in the comments of this one video saying shit like "Opened up once.. never again." "And they wonder why we dont talk to them.." "This is why we dont talk about our emotions" like LMFAO WHATT For reference, the video was of this man sitting outside alone with a spool of wire, His wife said "What are you doing out here alone? I thought you were working?" and he said "This spool of wire has been with me for 40 years, and now its almost gone, look at what's left of it!.." and he was laughing and smiling. His wife had been filming him, confused on why he was sitting out there alone and concerned. In the end she said something along the lines of: "Oh, im sorry you feel that way, but im a little concerned because youre wearing your jetts hat and i thought they lost" and the man said "Goodbye" and rolled his eyes before getting up and leaving. There are MULTIPLE issues with this. The most prominent one here being the lack of communication on the mans end. She thought he was being happy because he was smiling, he didn't tell her he was out there because he was feeling sad or down, he just said something and she thought he was reminiscing. And because of this miscommunication, he got mad. He could've just said "No, i was out here because i feel like life has just been flying by recently. Can we sit here and chat?" and she would've listened, i mean, she came out there to check on him and was obviously concerned sooo..??

Also, people got pissy about her saying "i thought you were working".. LMAO?? She's just asking because she didnt expect to see him outside alone as its getting dark. The fact that she asked about his jetts hat as well makes me think he's done something irrational before when the jetts lost. I feel like men just can't communicate at all 🤷‍♀️ The men in the comments saying they'll never open up again over (1) issue is just sympathy seeking. They can literally find another person to talk to?? Think guys.. If you met someone who really messed you up, would you go looking for someone who acts just like them?? No. You'd avoid those types of people. So, it is EXTREEEMMELY easy for these men to just find new friends and people who will listen if they know who to watch for. 🤦‍♀️ This is so different from what women face, yet they find ways to compare us and see who has it worse despite the facts. Women run into evil people regardless of whether were looking for them or not. I was 15 when some 20 year old dude got into a relationship with me and groomed me. When i tried to leave, bro threatened to go back to the military and get himself killed. (He wasn't ever IN the military, he just wanted to make me feel guilty.) Little girls, young women, and mature women, will always have some asshole trying to get with them or some asshole trying to harass them. They cant simply walk away from that unlike men.

[princeofassassins]

Im sorry but I dont get how people can view the conclusion of Vax and Keyleth as something reduced to “oh I guess they all worried for nothing and could have waited 30 years” or “I guess the lesson is keyleth shouldnt move on because she’ll get what she wants later”.

Because Vax and Keyleth arent treated as if they were just humming along as a 30 second unskippable youtube ad played. They were molded by their experiences. If Episode 102 didnt happen, and Vax didnt make the bargain with the Raven Queen (that he saw as the only chance to help his friends he had) he would be a substantially different character than post C3 finale Vax.

The indignation from Percy and Keyleth, Scanlan trying to save his Wish for Vax, these are all things that would have kept Vax himself but they failed. The consequences of their failure aren’t reversed by this new development. The Vax they knew is dead. There are parts of him still around but much like Kingsley isnt Molly, this isnt the Vax of back then.

Vax also still has his duties as a servant of the Raven Queen, he wasnt freed from his duties, he still plans to faithfully serve the matron but he now will be doing so on the material plane. Its not a get out of jail free card, he still has a job to do but because of the new support he has from Morrigan and others to come, it wont be as tireless. The burden can be shared and supported mote evenly.

Keyleth has also suffered a lot, she’s been almost killed, had her loyal soldiers permanently killed while protecting her from a threat she couldnt see coming. Her very presence was used as bait by Ludinus to open a new front on this battle.

She’s also been designated as one of the leaders of this fight because of her power and station and has had to think of people in a warlike setting. This move will cost this many troops but we can get this far etc. For such an empathetic person who values all life, the prospect of bearing this burden has go to be life changing.

These are not the same characters, the only thing bonding them together is memories and experiences of the people they used to be and thats why its so brilliant they start again. They more than anyone else knows how things can never return to what they had so if they want to try, they’ll have to create something new.

[soulidarity]

Hello! So I just read the one where reader is insecure about wearing a bathing suit, and Raf asking "are you afraid of me?" inspired me, so...

Can I please ask for a scenario with - separately - Rafayel and Sylus (and if you feel like it, throw in the other non human bois too) where (fem or gn) reader actually IS a bit scared of them after finding out that they're Lemurian/dragon/etc, and like they're conflicted because on the one hand they still are in love with the boys, but on the other the fact that they're non human is... intimidating. And the boys catch on to that and try to confront or reassure them? 🥺 Tysm

(also if reader can be not MC pls)

afraid

She walked in to rafayels home, sneaking around, she had come back early from a buisness trip and wanting to surprise the artist told him the flight was delayed.

Through the window, she caught his purple hair on the pool. Quickly making her way towards him, she started to make out a fin coming out from the pool. Weird, did he buy new pool toys? Getting closer, she noticed it was moving. She picked up her pace, standing at the side of the pool, getting a full view of rafayel resting with his eyes closed and a big tail instead of his legs. On his face and neck, scales were scattered around.

"What the fuck?!" she screamed, dropping the present. Startled, the lemurian went underwater briefly before popping up with a big, nervous smile, his teeth unnaturally sharp.

"Cutie!"

In a fight or flight response, she bolted out of the home, quickly getting in her car and driving away. She could Rafayel grunting and getting out of the pool, trying to follow after her. Due to the time it took to detransform, he was too late.

In the safety of her home, she locked the door, the window, closed the courtains and locked herself in her room. What was that? What was he?

the phone was ringing, she ignored it. a part of her wanted to block him, but this was her boyfriend.

the texts started flooding in

[please]

[please pick up i dont wanna do this over text]

[please, i am begging you]

another call. after the third ring, she picked up

"...hello?"

"oh thank god! Look I promise it has an explenation and like, i didnt think youd get here so soon! you didnt tell me!"

"rafayel, i dont know what i saw but i know that that is not normal. im trying to trust and believe you right now after seeing the sharpest teeth i have ever seen and youre making it kinda hard"

"youre right... youre right... you know lemuria?"

"the linkon version of the atlantis myth?"

"well its not really a myth more so an ancient civilization..."

"rafayel. i just saw you in a monster form, please get to the point"

silence

a light sob is heard on the other line

"im... im not a monster... I swear... I swear I'm not"

"oh! raf thats not- im sorry i didnt think it through I'm just scared..." she took a deep breath in "can we restart?"

a shaky exhale is heard before he continued "I'm lemurian. When you're away I like to shift into my natural form since keeping up the glamour of being human can be... exhausting"

"i see..."

"Im not dangerous-! well, I'll be honest. I can be dangerous but I swear on everything that I will never hurt you... not again"

"again?"

"I- I meant like you getting scared! yeah, that."

she chuckled "can i come over?"

"id like that very much"

○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○

okay so! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REQUEST! i MIGHT write sylus version later but as my pinned explains i write xav and raf, however i really like this idea and maybe i should get out of my comfort zone and write other characters.

that being said, i found this one hard lol.

[ghostboy512]

Get to know your mutuals: tag game

thank you for @mapofyourstars and @ashestxr for tagging me 😊😊

What's the origin of your blog title?

when i was a teenager being a closeted pre-transition trans guy i felt really invisible and like i didnt fit in anywhere, a "ghost". and 512 is the name of a song i listened to a lot at the time. nowadays i find the url a bit cringy but im too lazy to change it lol

OTP(s) + Shipname:

honestly at the moment i only care about cherik haha but i appreciate raven x emma and logan x ororo as well :)

Favourite colour:

black for clothes, pink for literally anything else i own

Favourite game:

i have 1500 hours of stardew valley on steam lol. its an absolute obsession. it comes in waves tho, like twice a year ill get hooked on it again and create a new farm to achieve perfection on. other than that, i really loved playing undertale and graveyard keeper.

Song stuck in your head:

this is kind of embarrassing but atm im a bit obsessed with daisy by ashnikko (the ft. hatsune miku version).... I LIKE BETTER MUSIC TOO I SWEAR

Weirdest habit/trait?

pacing around my apartment thinking abt my current obsessions... i used to be so embarrassed but ive come to find out lots of people do this too so thats fine i guess

Hobbies:

reading and playing games, mostly. ive been trying to write more lately too

If you work, what's your profession?

ESL teacher. its not the coolest thing in the world but i really enjoy it

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically?

literature professor in uni/published author

Something you're good at:

(literally the same thing ashe, who tagged me, said) i believe im a pretty good writer despite being slow and not doing it that often lol

also i know im a very good teacher (i know its my job so duh but youd be surprised with some of my coworkers...)

Something you're bad at:

keeping secrets, especially my own 😭😭😭

Something you love:

cats, wine and contemporary brazilian literature

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff:

why i love charles xavier so much and queer/feminist theory.

Something you hate:

uhhhhhh idk my ex i guess (happy valentines day!)

Something you collect:

hello kitty merch 😌😌😌

Something you forget:

dates and appointments, its so fucking bad i put everything on a calender above my desk and i still manage to forget them sometimes

What's your love language?

im very touchy and affectionate but i also love acts of service, like surprising people with small gifts (i believe thats part of acts of service?)

Favourite movie/show:

my favorite movies are xmen fc, dofp and xmen II (obviously) but also amelie poulain and fried green tomatoes

my favorite series are breaking bad and the office, ive watched them both multiple times

Favourite food:

chicken!!!! fried chicken, roasted chicken, chicken with pasta, chicken with rice and beans, chicken with mashed potatoes, give me!!!!!!

Favourite animal:

i was OBSESSED with cheetahs as a child, still love them but in general rn id say cats. also love monkeys

What were you like as a child?

a very idealistic dreamer with a bit of a savior complex (hello charles xavier). not the sharpest social skills.

Favourite subject at school?

in high school it was english just because it was so fucking easy bc i was fluent lol

in uni any of my literature classes

Least favourite subject:

hated physics in hs i was so fucking bad at it. and in uni i'd had ENOUGH of pedagogy classes they were soooo boring and repetitive

What's your best character trait?

im very honest and if i love you i will do anything for you

What's your worst character trait?

probably snapping at ppl sometimes. i know its terrible but i really try not to and i always apologize. up until last year also i always let ppl treat me like shit and didnt set boundaries. im unlearning that now.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

have enough money to only focus on my studies and not have to work lol

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

maybe kim jonghyun. he was my favorite singer when i was younger and he passed away in 2017 :( he was such a great person :(

im not sure who has already been tagged in this but ill tag @caramelc0rgi , @foxherder , @disasterhals , @eriknocherikyes , @stinkrat-aleks , @mooniel, @eriksdefender and any other moots who'd like to do this!

[softxsuki]

Hello! If requests are still open I would like to submit one for the valentines day event? I would like a confession letter from baji (he's liked me for a LONG while but bc I have low self esteem/been in a bunch of failed friendships and relationship (some of wbuch he had a part if bc he didnt wanna see me with another man), I only saw him as a friend and didn't really allow myself to have feeling for him (like im a really optimistic/extroverted person but I'm also rlly scared of getting close to people as my most recent friendship breakup resorted in me getting fucking insomnia that took weeks to recover from). Tone: hurt/angst to comfort/fluff where after I try to go out on a date (and fail), he finds me crying onnthr curb, ion wanna see his fsce (bc we got into an argument) and then he tries tos ee what's wrong but I'm hiding my feelings, we get into an argument and I run off (it's super dramatic too). Other info: we've been tight since middle school (i saw him as a big bro/cool guy figure. Looked up to him) ans latches onto him even as I gained and lost friends gjnffjdnmd

Sorry if its too confusing or complex dndndn

Have a lovely day!

Confession Letter from Baji

This event is now CLOSED, but you can view the masterlist for the other letters here.

| Pairing: Baji x Gn!Reader| Genre: Comfort, Fluff | Post-Type: Letter | Word Count: 500 |

Warnings: mild language, jealousy, crying

Note: You painted a whole scene for me, so thank you. Hope you like !

You were at home sulking over the events of the day; a failed date once again due to your inability to fully trust a guy again, to Baji finding you crying on the curb, the argument that ensued after, and you running away from your own feelings, taking yourself back home.

You felt so pathetic, why couldn’t things work out for you? Why did you have to have these feelings for your friend despite how much you tried to push them away? There was no denying them anymore.

A knock at your door, forces you off your feet, opening the door to find no one there, but instead, a letter on the ground with your name on it.

Strange…

You wipe away your tears and bring the letter in with you, opening it;

Y/N,

Before you crumple this up and throw it away, please wait…I’m sorry okay? I was just…upset. I realize I’ve been holding my feelings back for so long that my instinct is to scold you for going out on dates…it’s probably jealousy honestly.

We’ve been close since middle school and I’ve seen all the crap you’ve been through with fake friends and failed relationships…which I’ve probably scared a few potential love interests of yours away myself…but I can’t help it. I like you. What man stands around and lets other guys talk to the person they like? Despite how lame I’ve been to keep it to myself instead of just telling you…

But after tonight, I can’t hold it back anymore. I like you, Y/N. I have for a while and I hate to see you hurting…I know I could treat you well. Our friendship is proof of that, but I want to be more than just your friend. I want to hold you when you’re hurting and kiss your tears away. I want to reassure you and build you up after all the times you’ve been knocked down by losers who don’t know how to treat their lovers…

I’m tired of running from my feelings, I just hope I haven’t pushed you away by telling you this. 

Come find me, please.

Love, 

Keisuke.

You can’t help but smile at the letter, the guy could hardly spell (let’s pretend like there were many spelling and grammar mistakes in the letter…the editor in me couldn’t actually do it BFHKEAF), let alone put words together on paper, but he tried for you, and it was beautiful. 

Maybe these feelings you had for him weren’t so bad after all. Maybe this could be your first good experience with a relationship. Baji always treated you well, despite the times he’d get moody after you’d mention dates you had gone on, but now you knew why–he liked you back.

You laugh to yourself, wiping the remainder of your dried tears. Time to find happiness with your best friend. The thought filled you with hope, making you excited for the idea of dating him. 

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

Posted: 2/14/2025