#like WHAT A CONCEPT AMIRITE???

[kalied0skull]

Lost the game

inboxing

coughs

is this like becoming a permanent thing now or 💀

like should i just quit the game so i don't have to keep losing

because quite frankly i think if I'm just losing... ever single day... and I don't get any recharge... i think that means I'm out

and like I don't think about it

until i get an ask in my inbox

so like

looks around

wtf am i supposed to do? 😭

[echthr0s]

hitting people with the negrofication beam for no reason except "well, why not Black" is a beloved pastime of mine. it's political, sure, but it's mostly enrichment. like I remember when I decided Anders looked like this, just more dishevelled/wet-dog-ish

why? well. why not? ^__^

[liam-summers]

“wow I dOn’T eVeN liKe BaNgEl bUt I lOvE tHiS sET/eDIt”

Then why are you here? Who even asked you? Are you lost? How about this: don’t bother liking the set or the edit, and get tf off my lawn 😌

[bunni-v1]

“When they are together, you never feel as though you are an outsider to two soulmates, but instead a part of them that they cannot bear to lose. They are both softer to you than they are with each other because they need you to know just how loved you are. If you ever felt left out, I think it would kill the both of them.”

… oh really now. How intriguing.

if that’s the case how bout a scenario in which this happened, how bout a reader with with low self esteem with some good ol’ self loathing in that regard, who thinks themselves at least in the back of their mind like they aren’t good enough for their two amazing partners. Who feels like an annoying third wheel even though their self aware enough to know that’s not true.

because let me tell you not all of the self awareness in the world stops those types of thoughts from stinging or feeling true, for the reader I imagine it would be a constant thing in the back of their head- something they can ignore most times. But sometimes, sometimes those murmurings feel like the cruel and other truth. During one of these lower periods I imagine the reader would try to let shadow milk and pure vanilla alone together- they’re the soulmates after all! They can’t get in the way of that, they’ll just be over here outside the kingdom fucking off and not being a annoying.

meanwhile these two after no more than a day with minimal sightings of their beloved are like- “…?!? Where is our little cookie, our darling, hello???” Lmao

I think this can lead to some interesting scenarios and outcomes, chew on this as much or as little as you like. Love your writings either way, see ya!

🍓Bro, I'm super depressed lol. I'm really isolated in Japan, and I struggle to socialize with others, so making friends hasn't been much of an option for me. I know it'll get better, I hope it will, but it's just really dragging me down. Luckily, that shitty mood is perfect for writing angst, and what better angst than feeling left out, amirite?? Seriously though, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.

TW: None(?)

Info: Shadow Milk x Reader x Pure Vanilla; angst to fluff

Soulmates are a concept only heard about in romance novels- ones that you'd read curled up against Pure Vanilla's side. They were cheesy things, making you cringe at times from the sappy, poetic nothings the authors would come up with. Yet, you liked the idea of soulmates. You even, for a moment, thought that maybe Pure Vanilla was yours. He always smiled when you suggested it, his face full of love and admiration. 'How romantic', he would muse, then smother you in a million kisses. Thinking about it now, maybe his deflecting of the subject was a sign.

You were not Pure Vanilla Cookie's soulmate, nor were you Shadow Milk Cookie's. No, that title belonged to the two of them - a shared connection through their souljam that kept them tied to each other. A privilege that you did not have, one that you felt jealousy burn deeply in your dough over.

It's not as though either of them made you feel left out; in fact, they did everything they could to include you. There was no reason for you to feel neglected between their constant smothering. You did, though. You did quite frequently.

Maybe it was the way they seemed to understand each other so seamlessly, unspoken conversations happening with the glance of an eye. Perhaps it was the fact that they had an easy flow of conversation no matter the situation that you simply lacked when you were all together. No, those things didn't bother you, not really. What it was is the way they look at each other. Such longing and affection that you have never seen directed your way - a connection that you could never have with either of them.

You always brushed the feeling off, knowing better than to let those thoughts consume you. They'd be rather disappointed if you gave in to such silly lies. What, with how much they proved you wrong, it would be stupid to listen... This time, though, this time it was all consuming. Like flames eating up a paper house, you could not stop the spread of sheer isolation in your bones.

You had been late to a planned dinner, gotten too wrapped up in your work. It was fine; you knew they would forgive you, but you hoped that they hadn't waited up for you too long. You'd dressed yourself up nicely in a few minutes and ran to the dining hall, only to stop short of the doors when you heard their conversations. Nothing out of the ordinary, of course, just idle prattle that was typical of them... but somehow, it stung. When you peeked in through a crack in the door, it burned in your chest to see them so gleeful without you. You felt as though you should turn away and allow them to eat without you; it wouldn't be any different if you were there or not. They clearly did not feel your absence.

You would've, too, if not for Shadow Milk catching a glance at you for a moment and practically tugging you to the table. You were quiet during dinner, and their conversation did not slow down for you. It was like salt in the wound, but you swallowed the pain so as to not alert them. It was better to suffer in silence for the betterment of them both, you believed, so that is what you would do.

You quietly gave them their space, turning down invitations and outright avoiding places they would frequent in favor of quiet corners of the kingdom. Neither of them sought you out for two days, two full days. It only solidified in your mind that they did not need you around, and perhaps... perhaps they didn't want you around. They might've been keeping you at their side out of pity because you loved Pure Vanilla first, then Shadow Milk. The thought made your stomach twist sickeningly, eyes stinging with tears you refused to let fall. This was the fate of someone in love with soulmates, after all, it was not your place to come between them.

That didn't mean it wasn't breaking your heart.

What you weren't aware of, however, was how they had been feeling. Shadow Milk noticed your quiet demeanor first, feeling uneasy when you had first been late to dinner, then were practically silent the entire time. You'd hardly finished your food as well, and it was your favorite (He'd made sure of it too). All red flags that something or someone was giving you issue, yet, he stupidly decided not to press it when Pure Vanilla insisted they allow you to handle things on your own.

That hadn't worked out too well for them, now had it? You were, undoubtedly, avoiding both of them. That wasn't going to fly for much longer, not when Shadow Milk was so deprived and starved for your attention. He was going to get to the bottom of this, and Pure Vanilla was going to help, too.

"Perhaps we should give them more time. Sometimes they like to be alone," Pure Vanilla insisted again, trying his best to keep up with Shadow Milk Cookie's rapid strides across the streets of the kingdom.

Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, "Two days, is enough for any normal cookie to worry - is this how you handled everything before me?"

"Well..." He trails off, shame heating his dough.

Another scoff from Shadow Milk Cookie, and he picks up the pace, "If I were my sweet little starlight, where would I be...?"

He thinks it over, tapping his chin dramatically a few times. You weren't in the library, the garden, the pagoda, or even the quiet little shady spot behind the castle. If you were avoiding them, though, being there wasn't exactly smart - and you were Shadow Milk's smart little cookie, after all. Truthfully, you could be anywhere in the kingdom, and while Pure Vanilla would happily overturn every single rock to find you, he just didn't have the patience for that.

Pure Vanilla was equally stumped and far more worried than his other half at your sudden change in persona. You had never acted like this, not once. It was odd, and it made his skin crawl with worry. You could take care of yourself, of course, but why were you avoiding them? How did they hurt you? How could they fix it? Well, they would have to find you first to get the answers to those questions.

As Shadow Milk mulls over what to do, Pure Vanilla recalls somewhere you'd shown him once. He's not sure why the memory comes to the forefront of his mind, but he's happy for it. It was a small clearing a short walk from the kingdom's gates, 'the perfect getaway' you'd called it. If you would be anywhere... well, it was worth a try.

Finding the place without your guidance was hard, made even harder by Shadow Milk's constant complaining. Still, the two pressed on, through the gates and the trees and the beaten down path until finally they saw you. Sitting peacefully as you read some novel, leaned up against a tree with a saddened expression on your face. You looked tired, too tired. What could you be feeling to make you look like that.

You turn when you hear shuffling a few feet from you, tensing a bit at the sight of your lovers. They looked worried sick, brows furrowed and frowns etched deep on their faces. Oh, you felt so guilty seeing them like this. Knowing you were the cause of it all because of silly little emotions you couldn't keep in check. You go to apologize but are cut off with a squeal as Shadow Milk tackles you into a tight hug. Pure Vanilla rushing after him in a panic.

Your world spins for a moment, but you manage to hug the cookie back just as tightly. You felt stupid for being so upset, especially when this was his reaction to your absence. You had only tortured everyone with your petty actions.

"Where have you been, Starlight? Don't tell me you've been avoiding us, because if you have been-"

"Shadow Milk." Pure Vanilla scolds sternly, pulling him back as he kneels next to you with a soft smile, "What's going on, my love? You have both of us worried."

You sigh, avoiding their eyes, "I know... I'm sorry."

Shadow Milk's eyes narrow at you. "What's the issue then?"

You hesitate, wanting to curl in on yourself and hide. They wouldn't let you though, surrounding you at both sides. Everywhere you looked there was one of them in your line of sight. You couldn't escape it, they would be getting an answer out of you one way or another, so you give up.

"I... might've... sort've... been a little jealous..." You admit.

They both seem surprised at the idea, as if it had never crossed either of their minds that this could be the issue. Shadow Milk even starts to giggle about it, in complete disbelief at your statement. Pure Vanilla doesn't pay him any mind, placing a gentle hand under your chin to get you to look at him. His expression is gentle as he takes you in, and you can see the relief in his body as you take him in.

"What is there to be jealous of?" He asks, and there is no room to argue with him. It only makes you feel more stupid.

"I just thought- you know... the two of you are..." They look at you curiously. "You're soulmates. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for me."

Pure Vanilla frowns, ready to assure you, but Shadow Milk beats him to the punch. His arms worm around you and press you into his chest. "What a silly thought. Don't you know how much you mean to us?"

"Of course I do, but-"

"Then there's nothing to worry about! Dontcha know that we wouldn't have looked so hard for ya if we didn't care?" He hummed, and you can't really argue with that.

"You complete us," Pure Vanilla joins in finally, holding your hands tightly in his, "We would be worse off without you around, so please... tell us next time."

You nod after a second, finally relaxing into Shadow Milk's side. You were surprised they hadn't been harsh about it, but... that's more proof that you mean so much to him. They love you, and there's no reason to doubt that, not when they're holding you like this. Not when they make you feel so loved, even when you feel like you shouldn't be.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (v)

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, witchcraft

A/N: it's like i never left amirite (im sorry it has been like 10 months pls forgive me ily guys let's pretend this series never went on hiatus) (i had cancer and college but now I've graduated from both and i live babyyy. anyway. welcome back to my house of horrors)

Previous part || Series masterlist

When you tell Maya you want to do witchcraft, you'd done so with the full expectation of defending your idea with the force of a PhD student who was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

She surprisingly agrees. 

“Really?” It's hard to stop the astonishment from entering your voice. Honestly, it sort of pisses you off that the Canva presentation you spent five hours on wouldn't actually see the light of day.

“Yeah, sure. I think it'd do well with the older demographic. ” She shrugs.

"Really?" Now you weren't sure she was on the same plane of existence as you were.

“Make some animals talk. Conjure up some parking spots.”

Ah. 

“I was thinking more like... hexing people and shadow demons,” you test slowly.

That seems to tether her to reality.

Her head cranes towards you centimetre by centimetre, like she was buffering in real time.

“Are you insane?" she states, not very much sounding like she was expecting an answer. "Do you want to end up on the news? Do you know how vicious Facebook groups can be?” 

“No PR is bad PR,” you preach wisely, parroting advice you’d seen bots on Twitter tell other bots. 

“That doesn’t apply to you. I already have a tough time explaining Stephen Strange and why he’s not literally the devil to the public."

Now that was a little unfair. Perhaps it warranted another Canva presentation.

"Have you considered that I'm hotter and significantly cooler than Stephen Strange?" you suggest helpfully.

She squints at you, or more likely your audacity. "I will not have another scandal on my hands this week.” 

“But next week is okay?”

Her hardened stare tells you quickly what a thousand words cannot.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Thou limit me so, Maya. How is one to find you invigorating content in these trying circumstances?”

Maya taps your shoulder on her way out, crooning, “There’s a reason I asked you to do this series. You’ll figure it out.”

You hide a smile with an all too dramatic sigh. “Thou compliment me so. How am I to not fall in love with thee?”

Maya shakes her head playfully. “Nothing that will get me called into a press conference by mid-day. No hexing. No extreme curses. ”

“Mid-level curses it is, then” you call after her.

Her leaving figure does not give you a reply.

After a week of staring at the corner of his room through the night, delirious to the point where he seriously considered using Sam’s Amazon Prime account to buy his own stupid ghost apparatuses, Bucky throws in the towel.

Clearly, he was mistaken. Sleep deprived and probably missing his family a little more than he would have ever admitted to a living soul.

Bucky's sleep deprivation adds to his already charming and sociable personality.

No one would touch him with a ten-foot pole. Bucky’s usually grumpy and while everyone had sort of built a tolerance towards his regular nonsense, he was now the very sexy combination of grumpy and sensitive.

For his part, after last week's shenanigans, Bucky has stuck to avoiding anything and everything horror.

He watches only romcoms and finds that while everyone says he seems most like Harry from Harry Met Sally, he hates that Mike Wazowski motherfucker with a passion. 

While everyone else seems to get the memo, you have chosen to ignore it blissfully, and have instead been prancing about all week, shoving meme after meme into his face.

Bucky Barnes smiling compilations that were 7 seconds long. Bucky Barnes social media fanfictions that showed him replying far more than he had ever replied to anyone in real life ever.

Bucky’s learnt to ignore you with a long-suffering glare. You adapt quickly, skillfully dodge the daggers shooting out of his eyes and shove another TikTok in his face. It is an edit of him to Toxic by Britney Spears. He doesn't want to ask where they got some of the footage they used.

After the fifth Twitter screenshot, he takes to avoiding you like the plague.

Unfortunately for Maya, that involved avoiding the set too. He sees on the official The Graveyard Shift channels that there’s an announcement put out about an episode delay. 

It is undeniably his fault. No, he still won't answer the group chat or the several knocks at his door every day.

But because the universe is invested in his sorrow, you seem to find him wherever he goes.

In the garden, digging through the vegetable bed.

In the storeroom, looking through oversized cookware.

When he walked into the alley behind the Tower and found you there, he hissed at you like a feral cat and you asked very loudly what the fuck was wrong with him. 

He checks every part of him and all his clothes for a tracker but no-- you just seem to have a karmic connection level of being exactly where he is. 

When he runs into you for the fourth time at the library, he really thinks he’s lost it.

“Are you following me?” he asks, voice sharp.

You look at him in wonder. “Your ego is so big it could have its own gravitational pull. How do you carry around your massive head all day?"

“Everywhere I go, you’re there.” He continues, finger pointing in accusation. 

“Bitch, you're the one who walked in here," you exclaim. "I’ve been here all day.”

“Doing what?”

“Who’s following who now?” you dare.

“Because you’re in this section.” He does a quick check to see what section it actually is. Witchcraft and Wizardry. He may not have known that when he accused you but he definitely was not wrong.

“Why do you care what I do here?”

Because he's wondering if he’s managed to shut down production permanently and sent a bunch of people into unemployment.

“I don’t trust you here," he settles on instead. "What are you actually doing?"

“I’m learning things. Gaining knowledge. And such." You gesture vaguely before you narrow your eyes at him. "Not that you would know, you ape.”

He scoffs. He had the intelligence of a thousand suns, mind you.

“You don’t even have a book," he counters.

“So? I’m gaining knowledge through osmosis.” You look around. “I’m absorbing.”

His nose twitches, teeth clenched.

“Whatever,” he mumbles instead, turning his attention to the bookshelf.

As he thumbs through various titles he’s too annoyed to read, a small movement catches his attention. 

He watches you from the corner of his eyes. 

“What?” you demand, this whole exchange too damn loud for a library. 

“What?” he challenges right back. “Why are you watching me?”

“Why am I– you’re the one staring at me.” You throw your hands up. “First you follow me here, second you accuse me of things that would get me burnt at the stake a couple of years ago, third you accuse me of watching you just 'cause you know you're pretty. You–”

Bucky narrows his eyes, not missing the random compliment you slipped in.

“Hold on just one second. That’s why you’ve been avoiding everyone all week.” You stare at him, wide-eyed and unrelenting.

He thinks he must have missed some part of the conversation because he has no idea why you're looking at him like you've figured him all out.

“That’s why you’ve been so jumpy and sleep deprived ever since that episode you filmed.”

Bucky’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his mind races and his breath falters for a second. There’s no goddamn way you knew what had gone down, he’d deleted every footage that could possibly–

“You missed me.”

He stops his overthinking right in its tracks.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” You tilt your head, face full of pure sympathy. “You filmed one episode without me by your side and realised you couldn’t live without me.”

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, eyes pressed closed tighty, partially in relief. 

“You want me, don’t you? You want me so bad it makes you throw u–”

“Fuck off.” Bucky turns on his heel at the speed of light.

“You have a fat, raging crush–”  

“I’m fuckin' moving out.” His voice is like rocks.

“You can move out, but you can never move on, baby,” you whisper-shout. “When’d you realise you liked me, Bucky? Night one? The first hou–”

He slams the library door behind him. 

From: Stevie Left some strawberries outside your door. They’re good. 

From: Stevie How are you doing today, by the way?

From: Bucky alive

From: Bucky and thanks 

From: Stevie Anything we have to talk about? Your wood chisels didn’t break again, did they?

From: Bucky nothing im fine

From: Stevie You sure? Time for a Cypress Hills visit?

From: Bucky no im fine 

From: Stevie You haven’t left the room in a week. Beat your old record and I'm going to start getting worried here.

Bucky stares at his phone wondering how he ended up with a mother a century after his own died, before sighing.

From: Bucky going to film a video this week. im fine

From: Bucky promise 

Because there really was no other way to convince Steve that he as leaving the cave he constructed from his comforter.

From: Steve Good to hear. I’m always across the hallway if you need anything. 

From: Bucky i know. your gramophone won’t let me forget it. 

From: Steve Dick.

From: Bucky it is too damn loud. old ass

From: Steve Got a new record. Haven’t listened to it yet.

From: Bucky ill be there in 10

That Friday, Bucky walks onto the set in his finest black hoodie and darkest sunglasses, looking less like a badass and entirely like a hungover teenager. 

Before he has a chance to even register what’s going on, he is ambushed by lights, a team touching up his face and his stupid dollar store sunglasses leave him before he has a chance to protest.  

“I told you he’d show up,” you pipe up proudly from your place at the table. “Lil' shit simply missed me too–”

“Stop,” he interrupts, finally getting around to look at the set when the foundation brushes stop assaulting his line of vision. 

For a hot second, he thinks you've taken over Steve's cooking show. 

There are candles floating around, which he assumes you're holding up. A large… cauldron, gigantic wooden mixing spoons and 50 little bowls worth of ingredients are neatly arranged on the table.

“What the hell is going on?” he questions immediately. “What is all this?”

“Mise en place, baby,” you reply, shutting a book you had on the table loudly before looking at him. “You’re on dish duty. Come on.” 

“What?” His eyebrows pull into a frown. 

You dust off your hands before reaching under the table and chucking an apron at him. “Back when I worked as a line cook, the number one rule was to clean up as you go. I like to think of it as--”

“What is going on here?” he specifies, already trying to piece together your timeline in his head with every new piece of lore.

“Welcome to my kitchen, motherfucker.” Your grin is nefarious. “We're gonna do some witchcraft.” 

After he spends fifteen minutes on the phone with Maya confirming that yes, that is indeed the episode and that the heads up he needed would have reached him if he opened the seventeen million messages on the group chat– he finally comes to stand behind the bench with you, a tick in his jaw but also with enough self-awareness to be sheepish. 

He thought his grand return to the channel would be a simple video with some ghost reading or whatever, not… this. 

He turns to you, ready to reach a compromise that ends with him not having to be there at all.

But in the fifteen minutes he had turned his attention to the call, you’ve somehow convinced them to start rolling before he gets the chance to leave, so he’s immediately hit with a--

“We’re on in three…two–”

“Where is your apron?” you demand, looking him up and down.

“I’m not wearing that shit.” It had some stupid slogan like ‘Life is about taking whisks!’ and he had already been through enough.

“Jeez, annyone would think that you're not in love with me--"

"I'm not."

"--by the way you're so ungrateful. I got that custom-made for you,” you tsk. “I could've gotten the other one. Mine could've said ‘he’s my sweet potato’ and yours could've said ‘I yam’.”

Bucky experiences a whole-body chill. 

“Whatever," you dismiss with a wave of hand before looking into the camera. "Before we get started, we recognize that for some, witchcraft is a deeply meaningful religion and spiritual practice that should be approached with respect and curiosity.”

“We’re not claiming this is the definitive guide to witchcraft, we’re simply trying out a book that’s been highly recommended for better or worse, and seeing where it leads us. Whaddya say, Bucko?

You look at him for input. Bucky stares at the dusty, hole-ridden monstrosity on the table.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asks finally after a long pause.

You tap the thick, old book. “Witchcraft for Weenies: A Totally Legit Guide to Authentic Witchcraft by A. Harkness.”

“Is that the actual name or are you just making it up?”  

“Rich coming from the only one between us who actually lied on camera--" you glare at him. "I would never fabricate my sources, I’m a champion for academic integrity.”

You pick up the book to show him, flipping it towards the camera too and sure enough, the book that was basically falling apart at the binding was called exactly that.

“Let’s-a go, baby.”

You stare at him, lips pressed together. Bucky gives no inclination towards changing his answer. 

“Fine. We’re going to do this the hard way, I see.” You exhale, reaching into the pocket of your apron. 

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together when you brandish a deck of cards, yank his arm towards you and drop it into his open palm. 

“Shuffle," you command.

Something very familiar faces him.

Bucky stares at the cards before looking back at you. “Why’s my face on it?”

“It’s a tarot deck I got from Comic Con,” you insist. “Avengers themed. Now shuffle it.”

He thinks you left that card on top on purpose, but regardless, he's already been too much of a menace to the crew to be the cause of any more disturbance.

So he slowly begins, careful and skilled, before you scoff in his face.

“Faster, grandpa," you chide. “I’ve seen the way those hands cut garlic when no one’s around, I know you move faster than that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but complies anyway, shuffling the cards with the adeptness only a certain Jim Morita could have taught him in a dark tent to keep him awake on a night watch. 

“Faster,” you goad, face smug. “Faster. Come on now, Barnes, your age finally catching up to you?”

It’s stupid– he doesn’t even know why he’s actually complying and increasing his speed. He can’t believe that he was letting you pressure him.

“C’mon, faster, Barnes, you abso-”

His hands were moving so fast by then that they’d have to put the video in slow motion to catch all the movement.

“Faster–” and in the commotion, a few cards fly out.

“Brilliant, thanks.” You slam them down on the table, plucking the deck out of his hand before he has a chance to process why the fuck he actually went ahead with what you were trying. 

“Right, so the universe has decided that these will be your cards,” you tell him, and he finally looks down at what had fallen out of the deck. 

The cards show Sam’s Captain America shield, Carol Danvers, and Spider-Man, with words written below.

“The Star, Six of Cups, The Hanged Man,” you read out thoughtfully.  

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll fall out of his skull. 

“You know, I’m going to just make a general assumption and say you need help.” You hum to yourself. “I'm gonna make a potion to get you some.”

“Get me some?” He's too busy trying to figure out what the cards could possibly mean to see that he's walked straight into that one.  

“Get you some perspective. You need an advisor who’ll dish it to you straight. Give you the facts, no bullshit–”

"No." He had too many of those in his life and he has had enough of people being “honest” and "straightforward” and telling him his moustache was ugly every time he dared to try out a new look–

Until you reach under the table and again and suddenly, there’s a white creature buzzing around on the table in front of him.

“Behold– your new advisor,” you announce.

From the corner of his eye Bucky can see the production team scrambling to figure out where the hell this was going. He lip-reads producers’ orders to find adoption links or resources to insert during post-production, and teasers on social media, to make this look more planned. Great, so no one was prepared-- it wasn't just him.

“Whose fucking cat is this?” He looks down at it, all white except for a few brown spots all around, green eyes and evil in her aura.

“Relax, I'll give her back when we're done.”

“Give her ba–” he echoes. “Where did you get her?” 

“The alley outside,” you coo, rubbing under her chin. “I checked and she doesn’t have an owner. But look at her, she’s meant to be here.”

Bucky looks at the cat. The cat looks back at him, irises narrowing into slits. His nose twitches. 

“You can’t just bring a cat–”

“Remember to adopt, not shop,” you say to the camera before clapping your hand. “Anyway. If my potion goes according to plan, she will be giving you unsolicited life advice for eternity.” 

“You will be unemployed, then,” Bucky manages to add while watching the chaos unfold behind the camera.

“Nonsense, I’m irreplaceable.” You grin. “Besides, you can't manufacture chemistry like this even in a cauldron.” 

You send him a flying kiss. His glower was as sharp as laser beams.

“Let’s get started.” You grin at the camera. 

Bucky tries to pet the cat. She hisses at him.

Well all-fucking-right then.

One hour later, things have descended into madness of the most mundane kind.

It was precisely when you started telling him ten minutes in that a book had nothing on your instincts and raw intelligence that Bucky knew that this was going to shit. 

The cauldron was on an electric stove unlike the open fire demanded by the book because the team had enough foresight to know it would be a fire hazard.

You toss in something that looks like cardamom but he isn’t sure at this point. He just wanted to get away from the bright lights and the strange smiling liquid boiling awai.

The cat sits obediently by your side, watching curiously. He is convinced that she is evil.

Unfortunately, Bucky has had to hold her back twice when she tried to stick her paw in to attack a bubble, and at this point, he doesn’t think he has it in him to do it a third time. 

You read the recipe as if it makes any sort of fucking difference now.

“We’re almost done,” you sing. 

Bucky nurses his headache.  “Don't give me hope.” 

“Put some more reegelbeetle seeds in,” you dictate. “This is gonna work, I can feel it.”

Bucky uses his free hand to do as you say. He doesn’t even think it’s the right one, he just reaches for whatever is closer to you and you don't seem to care either.

You toss in some more seeds, stir twice and then turn off the stove. 

“Boom.” You lift the spoon up, watching the thick liquid drip back. “This is either a talking potion or a hex.” 

"Hex to do what?”

“I think it activates dormant allergies.” You squint at the book that literally had no significance besides being a prop. “You got any?”

“No.” But it makes him think of Steve’s pollen allergies. 

“Oh. Well, then there’s only one outcome here.”

“Alright, here we go.” Of the gigantic pot that you’d just stirred, you fish the tiniest amount out on the smallest spoon he’d ever seen, which you also apparently stored in the vast space that was your apron pocket.

The cat watches you hold the spoon near its face.

It takes a sniff. Then two. Finally, after deeming it non-poisonous, it sticks out its tongue the tiniest bit and takes a lick.

The whole crew is silent.

Bucky’s hand is still pressing against his temples.

“Tell us your name,” you urge, voice hopeful.

The cat looks at Bucky, and for a second, something akin to understanding flashes in its eyes. It’s uncanny and weird and something about it unsettles him deeply. 

You seem to catch it too because you look at him in surprise. He looks back at you, face pulled into a frown. 

And for a moment, he wonders. If you'd somehow done it. Because there’s no fucking way–

Then it meows.

He exhales.

Your shoulders drop as you let out an “Aw, man.”

"Great. Goodbye. Like and subcribce to the bell icon," he calls out, dusting his hands against his pants.

Someone from the production crew sneezes.

Both of you turn to him immediately. 

At the same instant, someone else all the way on the opposite end sneezes again, and the whole crew turns to look at them, before another sneezes in the front.

“We did it!” you cheer.

“We didn’t do jack,” Bucky interjects immediately as the crew errupts into a cacophony of chatter and sneezes.  

“It’s a hex that activates allergies and they’re sneezing,” you point towards them with the spoon, triumphant.

“You threw fifteen fuckin' pounds of pepper in there,”  he argues. “You've turned this room into a sandstorm of dry spices. This proves nothing.” 

“I’ve connected the dots.” Your eyes shine, ignoring him.  

“You didn’t connect shit.”

“I’ve connected them.” 

Someone in the corner sneezes. He wonders if Steve’s allergies would be activated by the trace amounts of... cursed soup that he carries with him back to the floor. 

“Well, we can’t leave them like this, Bucky.” You look around, tsking. “We gotta make a reverse hex or something.”

“You can,” he says. “It’s called opening the windows.”

“Nope,” you pop the last syllable. “We’re making another potion. C’mon.”

“First of all, this is not a potion–” he begins, but is interrupted by a buzz on his phone, the screen lit up by a text on the groupchat. 

From: Maya I don’t give a shit if it’s placebo or not. Make a damn potion before you get sued for hexing employees. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. 

“Beautiful. Grab the ash sphinx flakes,” you brandish another big cauldron from fuck knows where.

Bucky stares at you, unmoving.

“Just get the oregano,” you sigh. 

The cat tries sticking her paw in the pot again.

Bucky feels a sneeze incoming.

Whether the hex and subsequent anti-hex Maya forced you to make at gunpoint was real or not, is yet to be determined scientifically.

What actually does happen, is the damn apron you give him carries enough trace amount of your stupid experiment, that it somehow activates Steve’s very real pollen allergy. Bucky finds himself on edge for the rest of the day every time the man rattles the walls with his middle aged dad sneezing.

It carries on over to his show, which means Steve’s episode on baking a 1950s chocolate cake from tomato soup is edited extremely strangely to cut out every sneeze.

Which means Nat’s episode on spy inaccuracies in Argylle takes twice as long to film because they have to take a few seconds every time Steve’s sneezes interrupt her from the set next door.

Which means Bruce’s video on the science behind memory is delayed on shooting.

All in all, something does seemed to have been hexed, but it mostly seems to be everyone’s fucking productivity.

Finally, everyone manages to get through the day, and the videos are sent to post production.

The same night when everyone’s gathered at the dining table to commemorate the end of another shoot day, Bucky slips out, knowing that Steve would save him a slice of pizza if he never returned. 

He goes back to the library to return his copy of Understanding Wood Finishing, when his curiosity leads him back down a familiar path. 

It’s where he finds you again, in the same corner as the last time, on the floor, surrounded by shelves.

“You again.” You quirk an eyebrow when he appears from the shadows. "Aren't you supposed to be eating pizza?"

“What are you absorbing now?” he asks, voice low for once, respecting the sanctity of the library now that day had slipped into night and everything seemed a bit more solemn now.

“Nothing,” you answer.

“Then why are you here?” 

He figured you’d be out there, introducing everyone to the cat that was now set to be roaming the halls, before someone assumed it was a shapeshifting enemy and dealt with it accordingly.

“God forbid someone get some peace and quiet for once,” you mumble. “It’s too loud out there.”

Oh.

You don’t say anything else, leaning back against the bookshelf with your eyes closed.

There really isn't a need for more words. He gets it. 

The understadning leaves silence in its wake. Bucky doesn't really have anything to say.

“Did you come here just to stare at me?” you ask finally. “Did you finally admit your feelings?” 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “I’m not in love with you.”

“Only a matter of time.” You smile before changes to something more subdued, a bit more serious. “You wanna talk about what’s actually been bugging you for the last week?”

Bucky looks at you wearily. “The tarot cards tell you something?”

You eye him. “Not more than what’s obvious. Wanna talk about it?”

He swallows, throat suddenly feeling like it's closing in on itself. 

“No.”

“Alrighty.” 

You say nothing more than that, leaving the both of you in relative quiet, save for the buzz of the warm fluorescent light above. 

Bucky takes an awkward seat next to you on the floor.

You pry open an eye to look at him in suspicion.

“Y’mind?” he manges.

“Mind what?”

He gestures to himself uncomforably, readiy to jump up and leave at any second.

You observe him for a second, and for once he stares back with no irritation in his look, just permission.

“No, you can sit.” You close your eyes. “So long as you don’t tell anyone else 'bout this place.” 

If there’s anything Bucky’s good at, it’s keeping a secret. 

He settles back into the shelf with an exhale, letting the weight of day roll off his shoulders.

You wordlessly slide a thermos towards him. He doesn’t even have to open it to know it’s the damn soup from that afternoon.

And if he’s being honest, it doesn’t taste that bad at all. 

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

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Next part

[citrusickness]

There are a handful of concepts that I feel are under-utilized in burp-related content, and I want to ramble about them. Spread some awareness, you know?

* Humping

Oh, the underuse of this one damn near physically pains me. So many aspects of it are so good. One, I find humping, grinding, and whatnot, to be criminally hot in and of itself. It makes the person doing it seem so desperately horny and needy. And two, when a tummy is so uncomfortably full of gas that grinding it against something as light as even a pillow works up that air — hot damn, amirite? Combine the two, and you've got, subjectively, the best scenario ever. The stuffed person in question gets relief in both the sense that they're pleasuring themself by humping something/someone, and all of the grinding against their stuffed tummy forces up a bunch of burps that make them feel so much better.

* Being burped

Helping someone burp is hot on its own, but it's even better when it's specifically described as "burping them." There's not much else to it, really. Rubbing and patting overfull tummies, or a stuffed person's back to help them burp? Good, great, wonderful. Burping someone by doing any of those (or anything else you can think if, I guess)? Chef's kiss.

* Uncontrollable burps

I'm really not into forced burps, I prefer the natural ones much more. So, turn them up a notch, and I am one happy camper. I love when, no matter what someone does, they just can't stop their tummy from making them burp. It's especially hot if they're in an embarrassingly inconvenient situation, where burping would be taboo. But, I also like the idea of someone just getting frustrated with their gut for not giving them a moment's rest from belching, even if they're alone.

* Burps getting stuck/Holding in burps

Whether it's by force of nature, or because someone isn't allowing them to, I love the idea of someone simply not being able to burp. No matter how uncomfortable or desperate they are, they just can't get the air up. If it's stuck, then it's real hot if the gas finally comes up at an untimely moment. And if the gassy person is being made to hold it in, then their relief would feel that much better once they're finally allowed to burp.

Alright, that's all I've got. Thanks for coming to my yap session, and have a good day~~

[spider-stark]

RECKLESS

paring | foggy nelson x reader

summary | statistically speaking, fucking your annoying coworker is never a good idea. but who cares about statistics?

warnings | MDNI 18+, sexual themes & situations, no real plot (just concepts & vibes bb), your yearly reminder that i can't write smut, not edited we die like foggy in dd:ba (fuck that show)

word count | 660+

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy–”  

“Foggy!” Your voice was sharp. His face—cheeks tinted rosy pink—was so close to yours that, with the slightest movement, your noses were at risk of bumping together. “Stop. Talking.”  

His breathing was erratic. His gaze flitted between your eyes and your lips, as if unsure of where to look. “Sorry.” A second of quiet, and then: “It’s just—are we doing this? Like, actually doing this?”  

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kill him.  

You wanted him to shut up and to never stop talking ever again.  

“Foggy?”  

“Yes?”  

“I mean this in the nicest way,” you told him, though your tone indicated otherwise, “but don’t you think now is a little too late to be asking that?”  

Your skirt was pushed up to your goddamn waist. Whatever skin wasn’t covered by the thin fabric of your panties was pressed to the smooth, cool varnish of his desk. His palms pressed flat against the side of your thighs, fingers occasionally flexing with the urge to squeeze, held back by a most infuriating sense of restraint. 

His hips were wedged between your legs. Even through the barriers that separated you—his slacks, your panties—you could still feel him pressing against your core.  

Hard.  

Thick.  

“Well, you know what they say.” He gave a little shrug, nervous and adorable. “No time like the present, amirite?”  

You couldn’t agree less.  

But this was what Foggy was good at, wasn’t it? Pushing your buttons, getting under your skin. The two of you were opposites. Oil and water, yin and yang. If you said down, he said up, if you said red, he said green.  

And if you said Let’s Fuck, Foggy Nelson was for sure the type of guy to look you dead in the eyes and say: Actually?  

“Franklin–” his nose scrunched at the use of his real name “–I can feel every inch of your dick pressing against my–”  

His grin widened. “How are you feeling about that by the way?”  

You sucked an agitated breath through your nostrils.

“Presently? Not so good, Franklin.” Your glare bored right through the soul of him, menacing as it was in any courtroom as you stressed, “Not. So. Good.”  

You hated this.  

You hated him.  

Just minutes ago, the two of you had been at each other’s throats—a common occurrence during late nights at the office. The catalyst had been stupid. For tomorrow’s opening statement, you wanted to present the teenaged client as wholly innocent. But Foggy—stupid, stupid Foggy!—wanted to paint them as misguided youth. That way, he argued, if the plaintiff brought forth enough evidence to prove the client guilty (which, to be fair, they definitely were), then the jury might still take pity on them if it seemed they’d been failed by a larger system.  

It was risky. Reckless. No better than a blatant admission of guilt, really.  

And that was exactly the point you’d been trying to make—your finger jabbing against his chest, his jaw clenched with frustration—when, suddenly, the Earth shifted on its axis and his lips crashed against yours.  

As a lawyer, you prided yourself on being a person of extreme logic.  

Facts and figures, reason over impulse. You valued sense. Statistics. You never made a move without ensuring that success was not only possible, but probable.  

And workplace relationships? Ugh…  

Let’s just say the numbers weren’t in your favor on that one.  

“Foggy,” you raked your fingers through his soft blonde locks. Tugged, relishing in the way his eyelids fluttered shut, plush lips parting with a sweet, almost whimpering, sound. “I’m only going to tell you this one more time.” Your voice was low, firm. “Stop talking and start fucking. Got it?”  

He was already nodding, already fumbling for his pants, before the last word had even left your tongue. “Yes ma’am,” he choked out, so dutiful and submissive that you forgot all about facts and figures, reason over impulse.  

Fuck statistics.  

You were doing this.  

Definitely, definitely doing this.

a/n - god. if i knew how to write smut? i'd love to continue this. such a fun concept (in my opinion). anyways, hope you all enjoyed this little short piece about the most precious human to ever live (count your days, born again).

as always, could be ooc, but I do my best so cut me some slack lmao

[1dcommunityficrecs]

Rec List: Book AUs!

A bit late because such is life (especially when you're reading a good book amirite)(that's not what I was doing but it could have been) but here are four fics based on books, for your reading pleasure!

As always, please like, reblog, kudos, comment -- show the authors love in all the ways!

it was all by design ('cause i'm a mastermind) by tempolarriefics/@tempolarriefix (22000, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

childhood friends to strangers to coworkers to enemies to lovers fic (inspired by The Hating Game)

The Unselected Journals of Louis W. Tomlinson - Vol 1 by YesIsAWorld/@louandhazaf (1049, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

In the little town of St. Crispian's, objects have a tendency to Wander unexpectedly. So it's only a little bit surprising when one day, Louis walks into his living room to find a bright pink dildo sitting erect on his coffee table.

Reccer says: This story had me laughing aloud, the concept is so funny (or maybe I just relate to it on an ADHD level)

his blue-eyed summertime smile by LiveLaughLoveLarry/@loveislarryislove (4338, Teen, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson) – fic post

A Camp Half-Blood AU, where Harry is a son of Demeter and Louis is a son of Apollo.

Reccer says: I always enjoy seeing different ways that the gods' areas of influence can manifest into powers and interests and skills. The way these two enable each other's mischief is also great.

I've been thinking 'bout it all day by lsforever/@kingonafiftymetreroad (7833, Explicit, Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson)

Harry gets a job in Perrie and Louis' potion shop. He wasn't planning on the huge crush he develops on his boss.

Reccer says: I always love watching a dynamic grow and blossom, getting more comfortable with each other until it blooms into love

[madischoolreport]

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! NO! It's a SUPER AD!

Share an image of a sign/ad with a key concept in action. You heard it here first folks! The Amazing SUPERMAN in PRINT! Hear of his greatest exploits and his most dastardly villains!

Ahh, the 1960's. I remember it well. It was several decades before I was born and DC Comics were coming in HOT with Superman! The key concept here may not be very identifiable at a glance, but with the aid of Superman's X-RAY VISION, I'll shed some illumination! The concept I'm highlighting here is audience, and for a big reason.

When you think of advertisements, what do you think they are trying to promote? "Hey, I know you're having fun over here, but we paid the service you're on to tell you about our product that we have over here!" It's usually advertisers pointing to their product through other products. You see it in baseball stadiums telling you to get Geico, you see it on billboards telling you to read a bible or you'll combust, you see it on YouTube telling you to shop at Temu or vote one way or another (election season amirite?). But one ad that you might not think about are the HOUSE ADS! Out of all the advertisements, I, personally, find them to be the most wholesome. House ads are advertisements that promote internally. That is to say ads that promote themselves. In comics, you'll see regular ads for shaving products or even Geico again? Are you kidding me, how are you everywhere? But when making comics, the editors will intentionally leave blank space to put those pesky little Geico ads in there. But, occasionally, there will be spaces that aren't filled by Geico and nobody is paying for ads there. So they will do some self-promotion! This has two big purposes. One is obviously is to fill up ad space since they can't just have a blank page, but the other purpose is to get the audience excited and wanting to learn more about other series that they are putting out. So it gets consumers interested in other products that they are selling. And since they're already reading comics that they bought, they're more likely to give the advertisement a try as it is typically more of similar products or content. Who better knows their audience than the people who already have them hooked?

(Heya, I got a lot of info, as well as the Superman image from author Dan Greenfield at this link. I wasn't alive at the time of the ads posting, but it is fun to learn about them from the perspective of people who were around at the time! Give it a read, it's really interesting looking back through time!) Source: https://13thdimension.com/paul-kupperberg-my-13-favorite-1960s-dc-comics-house-ads/

[sewer-sermon]

sucks that isuggestforcefem is a transmisandrist weirdo U_U would love it if we could stop treating eachother like enemies for five fucking seconds!

she's reblogged posts abt how transmisandry isn't real in the past but just for more proof id like to show y'all the post of hers that made me personally suspicious, so y'all know what to look out for

i don't think...that's what the people reblogging this post intended with their words at all. i think tumblr users have a history of reblogging posts that aren't about them and making it about themselves, that is a very annoying part of the culture on this website, but it is not exclusive to the oppression of women/silencing of transfem voices. it wasn't even entirely men that were co-opting the post, the third person was clearly nonbinary, but fuck nonbinary people unless they can further my narrative of "men bad women good" amirite?

so, disproportionately upset reaction to the concept of transmascs on a post made for transgender people about egg cracking, check. let's look in the replies to see what kind of community is being fostered by this blog's followers, at least! maybe someone will be able to point out the--

oh. so we're just throwing new-age slurs around now. That's nice.

yeah okay listen if you let your followers call people "theyfabs" you have a fuckin problem with the way you run your blog and the type of people you're allowing to get comfortable in your space.

and then there's also this post that i didn't even have to scroll through to find, just in case i needed extra confirmation

"yessss inform me of your genital situation so i can feel safe around you otherwise you're a bad person 😍😍😍"

weirdo behavior. very disappointing to see from such a prolific blog

[harrypotterfuryroad]

Can you please explain what you mean by your latest post? What don't we understand? Why shouldn't we be celebrating the EO? Not saying that Trump isn't a POS, or that he genuinely gives a shit about women, but what's wrong with that specific order? I read the whole thing and it seems positive.

if you read the words "person" and "at conception" in the same sentence and didn't have alarm bells go off then you're overlooking a couple things

we said this during the election but gender ideology was an obvious weakness of the left that was really easily exploited by the right, all they had to do is say "yeah those pronoun people are nuts amirite" and people agreed with them on the surface

but the problem is that they're acting like they're the sole arbiters of the truth of biological sex, when you don't really get points for making that observation. there's also a problem inherent in legislating against "gender ideology" as a whole, when the whole point of it is that it's squishy and hard to define concretely (this is what supporters of it and opponents of it agree on). when the government gets to enforce something that doesn't have a definition there's gonna be some collateral damage, and we're gonna be left holding the bag

[kalied0skull]

obligatory birthday boy drawing!

happy birthday to steve randle :D

now playing : It's My Party — Lesley Gore ♪

this drawing is fucking GIGANTIC in person (full hand size!) and was a delight to draw ... even if he does look miserable.

what better way to celebrate steve's birthday than to make sure he absolutely hates it amirite or amirite /silly

ramble under the cut !

this drawing funnily enough originally started out as me being insanely overstimulated and needing to draw something big to cope. there was several other steve drawings i made for this post but this one STUCK and is was oh so fun to make

thinking about the lore i did of steve being beat the fuck up yesterday on the soda blog, i thought it'd be interesting to also incorporate the fact it's his birthday today in that story (which I'll be writing about on the blog later hehe) which is what inspired my "steve in pain and crying" concept of this art

aside from him being miserable, there's also this fun stevepop doodle i made of soda and him talking about his birthday! :D

(transcript in the alt since it's hard to read, but i usually always add transcripts anyways)

anyways it was really fun to doodle steve crying unfortunately 💀 it's not often i do different expressions, let alone large , detailed drawings !!! and i really enjoyed making him all bloody and wahhh cryyingg wahhhhh

i like to imagine this (the first) drawing may have been right after a fight, and steve's just found out "fuck, of course it's today." and now he's absolutely losing it. disgusted in himself, and upset at the world for damning him with yet another terrible birthday.

his hair was an absolute nightmare to figure out and the head/body proportions are a bit off, but I'm not THAAAAATT mad at how it all looks, it was in my own moment of stress and needing-a-distraction so I'm actually content with the small errors. plus, the body was very much a second after thought addition just because i thought a headshot looked a bit plain 💀

steve in my books had a terrible birthday today , but maybe in someone else's stories he got a nice one ... guess we'll just have 2 see ! :3c

[tobiasdrake]

I'm not sure what it is, but Goku's characterization in Dragon Ball Super just feels "off" somehow. What do you think of his portrayal in the series?

Oh, it's definitely off. I still haven't forgiven Super Hero for having Vegeta explain to Goku the concept of releasing your ki only in short bursts at the moment you strike, while belittling Goku for being too stupid to grasp it. You know. This.

A highly advanced method of fighting that Goku developed not just for conserving stamina but also to pull off higher multipliers of Kaioken than his body's endurance could naturally allow.

This is why he was able to fight Frieza with Kaioken x10, despite the fact that a multiplier of x4 will break his body in seconds. Because he taught himself how to flick it on and off in an instant and minimize the toll it takes on him.

(Which is also why you can't see him using the distinct aura of the sustained Kaioken during the fight with Frieza despite Piccolo assuring everyone that he is. Because he's not sustaining it. He's flicking it on and off every time he makes a move. He's only in Kaioken form for a millisecond.)

Meanwhile, in Super.

YOU TELL HIM, WHIS! Jiren was so powerful only because he had devised this incredibly unique, brand new method of utilizing his ki that no one had ever heard of before! Something that dumbass Goku is too fucking stupid to comprehend.

You know that Goku. He just mindlessly trains and trains and trains without a single thought to technique or creativity. Just a big, stupid rock coasting on his natural gifts. He's never even heard of the value of rest.

That's not relevant and I don't know why you're bringing it up. The point is, Goku is a stupid lunkhead coasting on his natural gifts and not a true martial artist like Vegeta, amirite!?

There are a lot of problems with Goku's portrayal but this, I think, really sums it up. DBS reinvented a method of fighting that Goku originally came up with so that it could shame Goku for being too stupid to understand it.

[corviiids]

might i possibly ask what you meant in telltale when L says this?

“Do I love you?” Light asks. “It doesn't really matter to me,” says L. “Do you love me?” “That doesn't really matter to me, either,” says L.

if he had said it doesn't matter, i would have thought it was a comment about Light, but since he says it doesn't matter to him, i am curious about what L is feeling here.

i mean, L is a projection of Light's feelings in the first place, but "accept the premise for the sake of argument that you can think for yourself," amirite? ;p

hello GREAT question thank you so much for reading and for asking i appreciate your attention (fic in question) (and death note spoilers in this post) i don't know if this answer is going to be very satisfying because the whole thing is very abstract on purpose and the answers just don't really exist, but i can at least share some thoughts. sorry I've been sitting on this ask because i forgot to answer it

the dynamic i was going for in telltale was domesticity and romance without truth or feeling, which ideally should create a kind of sickening facsimile of intimacy. canon to telltale is that neither L nor light had romantic feelings for each other when L died. their soppier interactions in the dream world should feel sort of uncanny and incongruent in that light. L says: “Domestic life, it's more a matter of going through the motions, isn't it?” so the romance in the dream world is more a manifestation of/metaphor for some other unresolved thing

assuming L is real to any degree:

i pretty firmly believe L doesn't love light in general. i also pretty firmly reject any "happy ending" concept which involves L switching sides to protect light/kira, ESPECIALLY if his reason for doing so is because he developed feelings for light. i just can't see that ever happening, and i don't personally want it to happen. the thing is i also believe L wouldn't really give a fuck about light if he wasn't kira. so this thing they have basically would never work. there's almost no situation where they get and stay together.

even if L is in any way real, this is a world that only exists in light's dreams. L didn't of his own volition seek out light to date him. there's no coherent timeline to their relationship. in one dream they've been married two years, in the next it's ten. so basically, L only exists within this realm of "light's dream world relationship". this is the reality of that world and it only exists when light is dreaming, there's no timeline outside of it, it's not the afterlife, light isn't dead yet. so L is in this relationship whether he'd want it or not. it's a fact of the world just like whether or not their living room has a chair. and he's a pragmatist. so the feelings don't matter.

separately, i don't think L cares if light loves him, because L doesn't love him back, and their relationship is clearly being carried on for some other reason entirely, though light never really works out exactly what it is. i realise this is a super unsatisfying answer haha because im basically just telling you there isn't one, but I really enjoyed playing with the dream rules where their behaviour shifts constantly and is never really internally consistent - L is affectionate with light as though they've been established for years, but also freely tells him it's irrelevant whether there are any feelings in their relationship or if it's just being played out like a script, doesn't seem bothered at all by light's standoffish confusion. all of that happens simultaneously.

assuming L is a construct of light's:

i think it would still say something about light that his projection of L doesn't care if they love each other. i do think dream!light eventually grows feelings for dream!L, but not real ones. more just like....... emotions that grow from proximity or habit. it's still not a real relationship. light understands that. and once he wakes, his waking self doesn't have those feelings anymore. so i think light understands dream!L to be a construct, and he also believes L is not the kind of person who would feel or act in such a soppy way in a relationship, which is why again his behaviour should feel so uncanny. ironically dream!L saying this makes him then feel more real, because light probably thinks love doesn't matter much to L.

this is one fic i did intend to leave pretty open. some of my death note fic is less intended to be open (although people sometimes interpret it that way anyway if i didn't explicitly write down what happens), but in telltale i really did want to leave it mostly up to interpretation as to whether L is real at all. as a matter of interest only, i personally think he's a construct of light's but also not solely a construct of light's. there isn't necessarily anything supernatural going on, but you know. there's probably something in between those

[our-arospec-experience]

as an arospec, falling in love is already weird. you know what's weirder?

FALLING OUT OF LOVE????

does that shit only happen in romance? what?? like, yeah, sure! I've heard of 'falling in love', it's everyhwere. my aro ass is forced to 'understand' the concept of falling in love and now i find the norm that people also apparently,, faLL OUT OF IT?!?!?

smh. romance has the weirdest rules on how love works. abolish it amirite

.

[gureumz]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8LnC5dR/

no thoughts just playing russian roulette with sunghoon omg

WARNINGS: mention and use of a gun

a/n: i feel like i might read something similar to this concept but i can't remember where so any overlap is not an attempt to copy ;;;

what if...ghostface sunghoon 😵‍💫 some creepy dude starts terrorizing your small town with disturbing phone calls and you seem to be his favorite, telling you things like "come on, sweetheart, give me a show. i can see how short that pretty skirt is on you."

and after some time you finally get a visit from him and you should be scared but you can't find it in yourself to be men in masks amirite not when his voice sounds so good, deep and resonant and he's taunting you with just enough to keep you wary and alert but also enough to have you intrigued

he casually pulls out a revolver and points it at you. "won't you be a darling and do what i say? you really don't want to find out which one of these chambers is loaded."

so you let him touch you, the gun set down on the kitchen counter, right in your field of view, a gentle reminder of your agreement. you fight the urge to sigh when you feel his gloved hands smooth down your thighs. he takes his gloves off then, letting his bare palms pry your legs open. you won't lie to yourself and say you aren't dripping wet from the whole ordeal because you are and this dude can feel it now that he has two fingers buried inside your cunt.

he reaches up with his other hand and your heart jolts when you realize he's about to pull his mask off.

"hello, sweetheart."

you gaze up at the face of your next door neighbor, the one that has his bedroom window across from yours. the one that waits with you at the bus stop in the morning so you can ride to your quaint community college together. the one you have an evening class with, that offers to walk you up to your door to protect you.

"sunghoon," you whimper as his fingers curl up against that sweet spot within you.

"keep going," sunghoon says with a grin, bordering menacing.

"i like it when you say my name like that."