#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc

[controversialhpmemes]

on a scale of 1-10 how badly do you want jkr to fuck you? barring that, do you want a cookie for sloppily blowing canon? maybe a gold star?

because god forbid anyone disrespect the holy sanctity of the literal children’s book by going against the poorly planned canon and world-building of an author who doesn’t actually think other women are people

not a great look :///

I usually delete hate but this one gets a response. It is not about JKR. Repeat after me. The issue is not about JKR or her dehumanising opinions.

The issue is the complete inability to hold a meaningful discussion about canon. I do not care if you use AU or OOC. I care if you DO NOT use AU or OOC.

Let us suppose you want a chocolate chip cookie, anon. You go to the store to find chocolate chip cookies. You find a box that is labelled "chocolate chip cookies" but when you open it, you find oatmeal raisin cookies. Perhaps it is an odd occurrence. You do not think more about it.

The next week you go to the store and you try to find chocolate chip cookies. You try another brand. But then the same thing happens.

More oatmeal raisin cookies.

The pattern repeats itself. Week after week you do not know if you will get chocolate chip cookies or oatmeal raisin cookies. The box ALWAYS says chocolate chip cookies but you will not know. It is a guessing game. It is annoying. You want chocolate chip cookies but you keep getting oatmeal raisin.

Canon is chocolate chip cookies. You can make the cookies many ways. Use different flour. Different types of chocolate chips. More butter, more sugar. Bigger cookies. Smaller cookies. But still. Chocolate chip cookies.

Fanon is oatmeal raisin. Looks like chocolate chip. Might feel like chocolate chip. But it is not chocolate chip.

Now suppose that there is a big chocolate chip cookie festival (Tumblr) and everyone brings their freshly made chocolate chip cookies. Canon enjoyers bring chocolate chip. Fanon enjoyers bring oatmeal raisin.

Canon enjoyers confused. Why bring oatmeal raisin? It is not a chocolate chip cookie. It cannot be. There is no chocolate. Only raisins.

Now there is a best chocolate chip cookie contest. Oatmeal raisin gets disqualified and bakers get angry.

We worked hard, they say. We put effort into this, they say. We made it so similar, they say.

But it is a CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE contest, not oatmeal raisin.

An oatmeal raisin cookie can be very good. It can be chewy in the middle and crispy. It can be buttery and tasty. But if you want a chocolate chip cookie and you find oatmeal raisin, you will be disappointed.

And if you insist that raisins are the same as chocolate chip cookies, people will disagree with you. They look similar, they might feel similar, but they do not taste the same. They are not the same. We cannot have a discussion about chocolate chip cookies and how to make them if fanon keeps insisting that chocolate chips are the same as raisins. It does not work. It cannot work.

You know what does work? If you put oatmeal raisin on the cover of your cookie. That is a nice OOC or AU tag. That way I know that when I want a chocolate chip cookie (my character or ship tag), I know I will find one. Maybe this time with dark chocolate, or milk chocolate, or semi-sweet. But when things are labeled right, there is no problem.

The recipe inventor for chocolate chip cookies does not matter anymore. All of us are in the kitchen making cookies. But we need to be able to talk about ingredients and recipes so that everyone is happy with the cookie they have.

#asked #answered #marauders era #the marauders era #fandom wank #fandom problems #fandom discourse #fandom etiquette #it is about tagging #sirius black #james potter #regulus black

[illyriamade]

bro some ppl r just rlly rude on this website — like ok, i guess i didnt get the hint that you sbed me. we were literally just sending memes and hc w each other not too long ago and then you just sb and i thought it was a mistake. so then i refollow and then you vague me that i wasnt getting the hint and that you were gonna hb me — cool 😀. yall today is just not my day

#vague tw #⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc

[loptgangandi]

// crash-lands here like a fucking 747 filled with bricks

what up my dudes

my first week of grad school is over and I’m Already Ready To McFucking Die

#ooc tag #I am so tired!! #how am i this tired!!!! #what the fuck!!!!! #actually I blame the fact that I haven't been a student for 4 years #that's my story #and i'm sticking with it #Anyway writing might happen later on tonight #we'll see if my brain resolves itself into brain-shape #instead of its current consistency #which is basically oatmeal

[afleetingimpressixn]

helo

#your prince #beardy #im not sure what made him feel like puffing up his beard #maybe it was bc he saw me messing with his food bugs #or he was just like 'ummm what the fuck are you doing' #cute tho #ooc #oatmeal

[bloodiedbiotic]

it’s 4 am and i’m salty as fuck

#* SIR ISAAC NEWTON IS THE DEADLIEST SON OF A BITCH IN SPACE ! ❞ ╱ ooc. #i read an article defending ash and literally they bashed kai.dan twenty times by the end of it #like?? i'm mad because they go out of their way to have rebuttals for all that is said about ash: she's racist or she's a bitch etc etc #but they simultaneously talk mad shit about kai.dan calling him ''biotic bowl of instant oatmeal'' #or ''he's a rice cake without the texture'' #and the whole damn article just immediately shuts me down because i get this big fat hypocrite vibe from the author #update: oh my god they're an actual author?? lmao what the actual fuck #lmao what the fuuuuuuck #i can't even #delete later //

[num8skull]

“i cant believe he enjoys (x) and hes thirty” 

do yall plan to stop enjoying the things you enjoy now just coz u get older or summin?? 

#ooc. #2k18 is almost over so: #2k19 let people enjoy what they want for fucks sake theyre not hurting anybody #just shut up and eat ur oatmeal. leave people alone about shit

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love Pt. 2 (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T? Maybe? Almost the exact opposite of the first one. Language, minor violence Genre: Fluff, mainly, with admittedly a little bit of humor? I blame my lack of sleep. And my adhd. Warnings: Implied cannibalism adjacent activities because guess what honey, this is a fucked up family, what do you expect of me??? Sure, they have breakfast in this, there's cute stuff, but c'mon, they don't eat flowers and oatmeal! Notes: Doubt it needs to be said, but this is a sequel to the good ending of part one. Also Cass has one line in this that might be OOC, or seem oddly placed, but admittedly this chapter is also loosely based on a dream I had, and I couldn't not include the few direct quotations I remembered, and she seemed the most likely to say the line. And yes, there will be a part 3, because I am weak and also kind of maybe made this one less plot-moving than intended.

{Wounded Love: The re-woundening}

Every step ached more than the last, even with Alcina supporting you. She had wanted to carry you down the stairs, of course, but you had insisted that you would be fine. Now you were just determined not to complain out loud. One yelp or cry and you’d be scooped up in her arms, surely to be carried for the rest of the day. As much as you appreciated your girlfriend’s assistance, you hated feeling useless, and hated putting a burden on others. So here you were, one arm wrapped around Alcina’s waist, limping ever-so-slowly towards the dining room.

Further ahead (unburdened by your injury) the three Dimitrescu daughters talk among themselves, voices hushed as they too headed for breakfast. It was odd to see them all awake, and socializing, as there was usually at least one who came to meals late. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with your condition… or the circumstances that had caused it.

Less than eighteen hours had passed since your fight with a stray lycan, and tension had been high since. While you hadn’t yet spoken to the sisters, you had spoken to Alcina, who had briefly mentioned their concern for you. Whether they actually cared about you as a person or just cared because you are dating their mother is unclear. Based on how they had acted while treating your wounds, though, you were inclined to think that they were fond of you. And seeing as Alcina had already vowed to get revenge on your behalf… well, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that her daughters intended to assist.

“Careful on the last step, dear,” Alcina says, positioned as to catch you if you fell. It takes a little willpower to resist the urge to hop down the rest of the way. As long as you landed on your uninjured leg, it wouldn’t even be that bad. Still, irritating your girlfriend first thing in the morning felt like a pretty stupid thing to do. Instead you just nodded, slowing down even more, and took visible care not to trip. “Good girl.”

Well, you certainly couldn’t say that being careful didn’t have its rewards.

“I have my moments,” you replied, blush rising to your cheeks. Suddenly your pain didn’t feel so bad (at least until you took another step and winced). “Damn, who woulda thought that cutting a chunk out of my leg would make it hurt more?” The leg in question throbbed in pain, as if to prove your point, protesting the weight you put on it. Changing the angle at which you stood helped some, allowing the lower half of the limb to bear more of the burden.

“Dearest…” Alcina starts to say, looking like she was going to readdress her desire to carry you. For a moment you try to avoid her gaze, but she moves in front of you, making sure that you could still hold onto her for support. “I know how you feel, how you want, desperately, to be independent. When I was first… granted this gift, it took a long time to adjust. There was so much I had to relearn how to do, so much that I suddenly needed done for me.” A pause, a deep breath. At last you look up at your girlfriend, warmth in your heart, reaching out to hold her hand. “You have time, my dear, and plenty of it. More than that… this will not last forever. The more you push yourself, the longer your recovery will take. Now, please, allow me to assist. You have already proven how strong you are.”

“Oh, you drive a hard bargain… but if you insist, who am I to decline? Or, well, who am I to decline twice in a row?” You answer, somewhat begrudgingly. It wasn’t much farther to the dining room, you figured, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss to accept help. Or at least that was what you told yourself. Even with Alcina’s encouragement it was so hard for you to accept her help. After all, you were the one that worked for her. Never mind the fact that she was somewhat responsible for your injury- really, you were actively avoiding thinking about that.

It’s much easier to forget once Alcina carefully picks you up. One arm goes under your legs, the other under your chest, lifting you without any effort. You might as well have been a kitten or a child’s toy. The movement does, however, shift your injured leg in such a way that it aches. At this point you can hardly move the limb at all without it hurting, and even the slightest friction against the bandage makes your eyes water.

Apparently someone would be delivering some painkillers later in the day. You assumed it would be The Duke (whose name is apparently not Doug, as you had thought), seeing as he knew some special way to get to and fro without risking the same fate that had befallen you. Which, of course, made you feel a lot better. Getting someone else hurt would weigh on your mind forever.

Regardless, you were safe now, as was your strange, bloody little family. Before long you would even be enjoying a pleasant meal together. Certainly that would help get your mind off of your wound? For now, though, you were met with an unexpected impasse. The sort of impasse that really, really should have been expected.

“Why… is the doorway… so small?” You asked, jokingly, as you stare into the mildly embarrassed face of your girlfriend. It’s already hard enough for her to crouch through the gap normally. When she’s carrying you? Impossible. “Can we ask Mother Miranda for bigger doors? She gave you eternal life and also three kids, she’s gotta be capable of making bigger doors. Put me down, I’ll go call her and-”

“That won’t be necessary, dear,” Alcina cuts you off, not fully appreciating this part of your humor. Or maybe she had already asked for bigger doors, only to be told no?... Okay, yeah, it was probably the first option. With a sigh she sets you down, as gently as she can manage. Ready and raring to go, you start to hobble forward, only to find all three of the daughters waiting for you, just beyond the door. They’re grinning as they watch you, and Bela extended her arm to offer her help. “What appears to be the matter?” Alcina asks from behind you. Accepting your fate and Bela’s arm, you let the sisters guide you to the table, Cassandra holding your other side, and Daniela pulls your chair out for you. Honestly it’s pretty adorable. Evidently your girlfriend agrees, from the way she smiles as she follows.

“Thank you,” you say, more out of reflex than genuine gratitude. Again, you weren’t thrilled about needing this assistance. If the girls notice they’re at least polite enough not to mention it. They simply move to their own seats at the large table, eager to dig in. It feels… strange, to be here, on this side of things. Stranger still to realize you’re the only one intending to eat actual food. There’s wine in your glass, but it’s a much fainter red than those you’ve previously served to your girlfriend. Thank goodness, you think, after how raw my throat was yesterday, I really don’t need to taste any more blood.

Once Lady Dimitrescu sits down, the meal formally begins, with several maidens appearing from the kitchen. Several seem relieved to see you, although surprised, and one even gave you a brief smile. The smile did not last, however. It wasn’t unexpected, considering the nature of her job, the pressures that it put upon her. No one smiled at mealtimes. Well, no maidens, that is. They simply moved around, wordlessly, faces blank, doing exactly as instructed. Only a few days ago you had been among them, fear keeping you in line. Was it wrong of you to care for Alcina, knowing what she was capable of doing to others? Knowing what she might have, in another life, done to you?

A maiden places a plate of warm food, as well as a bowl of fresh fruit, in front of you. For a moment your eyes meet, but she looks away instinctively. Your heart threatens to break.

“This looks wonderful, thank you for your hard work, all of you,” you speak up, glancing at each of the women working so hard. There’s more you want to say that dries in your throat; you are valued, you are deserving, someday I will join your ranks again.

“You don’t need to thank them, they’re just doing their jobs,” Cassandra chimes from the other side of the table. Hearing her say that damn near makes you drop your fork. It’s not an uncommon settlement, particularly among older generations and the rich, but one that irks you nonetheless.

“They’re doing my job. They are taking on extra work, for no pay, because I am injured. Why would I be so cruel as to ignore them? Have I not toiled alongside them enough to call them my kin?” You ask, struggling to keep your voice even. Next to you Alcina is slowly cutting into her meat, watching the scene unfold out of the corner of her eyes, perhaps considering when to step in. On the other end of the table, Bela looks increasingly uncomfortable, as if silently willing her sister into silence. None of the maidens have reacted to what you said, likely too afraid of Cassandra to even consider speaking.

“Ooooh, this is much more fun than our usual breakfasts,” Daniela says, stifling a giggle. “Do you have any other thoughts you’d like to share? Preferably ones that aren’t about me.” At this, Alcina sets her utensils down, clearly intending to put an end to the discussion. Unfortunately for her, you were a bit… impulsive, especially considering the previous night’s activities had left your mind struggling to cope.

“Dead lycans smell terrible. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, easily, no question about it,” you answer, shrugging a little as you do. It’s such a simple thought that you almost don’t realize how the others at the table react. Until the clatter of silverware on the table catches your attention, that is. All three sisters are eying you with different expressions (Bela is confused, Cass is impressed, and Daniela looks shocked). But it’s Alcina’s wide-eyed stare that gets you to elaborate. “Should I have said ‘a dead lycan’? I only got one, so I guess I shouldn’t say they all smell bad. C’mon, though, they have to all smell bad, right?”

Suddenly Daniela shifts from shock to pure amusement, a fit of giggles overtaking her. You’re still confused, not sure what the matter was, so you just sip your wine and hope someone asks the right questions.

“You… killed the lycan that attacked you?” Bela finally says, after a few moments of her sister laughing, expression still incredulous. When you nod she sort of shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “May I ask how you managed that?”

“Oh, you know, I just meh meh-” you mime a stabbing motion with your fork- “until the stupid thing stopped moving. I had to use a tree branch as a weapon, but then it broke after a few whacks, which actually helped because then I had two stabbing implements to, you know, stab with. That’s right around when it got my leg, and it tried to bite me. Thankfully it wasn’t very smart, so when it leapt at me I just hyah-” this time an upwards strike- “right into its neck. That didn’t kill it, but it was enough to slow it down, which allowed me to stab the other half of the branch into its skull. Made this horrible, horrible sound as it died. Seeing as we are eating, I will not imitate the sound. Not that I could, now that I think about it…”

Once again there’s silence. Even Daniela has quieted now, and is watching you with rapt interest, likely hoping that you’re hiding another story up your sleeves.

“So… did you guys actually think that I managed to run away from the lycan? Or were you under the impression that it simply got bored of me and left?” You ask, casually returning to your breakfast afterwards. No one says anything, at first, taking in your words as best as they can. A few moments later both Daniela and Bela resume their meal, as nonchalant as one could be in the current situation. Alcina, however, rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze with a loving look.

“You will never cease to amaze me, my dear. But let us ensure you never have to… smell, or see, one of those wretched things again, yes?” She says, softly squeezing you as she does. You can’t help but agree, and nod eagerly, mouth too full of hashbrowns to speak. Still, there’s been a shift in the atmosphere of the room. It’s not that the family didn’t respect you before, as far as you can tell, but they evidently hadn’t expected you to prove as capable as you had. It brings a sense of pride to the forefront of your mind, making you completely forget about your injury for the remainder of the meal.

Unable to stop yourself, you insist on helping the other maidens clean up, and Alcina eventually agrees to let you wash a few dishes- as long as you stay sitting the entire time. The last thing you hear before you shuffle off to the kitchen is the start of a conversation between Cassandra and her mother.

“You picked quite a feisty one, didn’t you?”

“That I did, that I did…”

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #ya boy is a simp and also technically not a boy #i am ill defined and like it #please appreciate this #if you put nice things in the tags I WILL read it #and I WILL love you for it

[germvity]

rises the moon

leon s kennedy x reader // 3 // hell's comfort

"come sit down, jill. we'll explain." leon gestures to the cot as you rest your head on his bicep. "sure." jill shrugs, following the two of you in, and settling down on the other end of the makeshift bed. when leon sits with his back against the wall, you curl up into his side, still uncertain of jill's company as the blonde speaks to her about what he's gathered so far.

genre: angst with comfort, fluff <3

tags: leon being a sweetie/protective, he wants to help, jill still may be ooc im sorry :(, big bully david >:(, there will be bullying in this chap, the entity (tm), leon literally being a big puppy, cuddles!, biggie slow burn. the entity literally just vibing. handcuffs 🥵, fighting

warnings: bullying + violence, fighting, crying, angst

---

jill had left to think already, leaving the two of you alone. both she and leon wanted to help you, but you don't know how they could when it was you (and leon) against the world here. "c'mon, you must be hungry." leon smiles, offering you his hand when he gets up. "not really.." you mumble, avoiding his soft gaze. "really? you haven't eaten since... well i'm not sure but you haven't eaten yet! let's keep your strength up." leon says, taking your smaller hand in his and leading you in the direction of the campsite. "wait! i don't wanna go there..!" you cry, jerking backwards to your shack, pulling leon with you. "okay, okay." leon grabs your arms to give them soothing rubs as he hushes you incase anyone hears your panic. "you wait in the shack, and i'll go get us some food, yeah?" the officer smiles but you refuse to let him go so easily. "can't we wait a little longer..?" you pout and leon sighs. "no, i'm making it my duty to take care of you, and that includes making sure you eat." he says, letting go of you to take your hands. "i'll keep you safe. i promise." you can't help but give in, following leon towards the campsite reluctantly.

you tense at the sight of the others, but they didn't see you or leon, too busy wrapped up in conversations. "come on whilst they're unaware." leon whispers, leading you to the fake kitchen area the entity had set up. a pot of oatmeal bubbled, and you grimaced at the sight and smell of it. "hmm.. there has to be something around here..." leon hums to himself, letting go of you to search around. "leon.." you whine at the sound of footsteps, grabbing his arm to hide behind him. "what?" he whispers back, turning to the door where claudette stood.

leon's stomach sank as she stared at you. she opened her mouth to say something but leon cut her off. "please, don't tell the others. we're just getting some food and we'll leave." he raises his hand as if claudette was a feral animal, trying to show that neither of you were a threat. claudette hesitates, glancing over her shoulder at the campsite before looking back at the two of you. "david!" she called, and leon cursed under his breath. "i'm sorry..." she whispers before leaving. "what?!" the brit yells, his eyes darkening at the sight of you and leon. "well, well.. look who's in our camp." he spits, crossing his arms. your breathing picks up and you grasp leon's sleeve tightly. "david." leon straightens up his posture, pulling you fully behind him. "what ya got there, rookie?" david taunts, jumping to try and get to you but leon moves with him, hiding you affectively. "leave them alone, king." leon demands, voice harsh.

the fighter laughs loudly, and your stability crumbles at the sight of the whole camp staring at you. "leon.." you whisper, voice wavering. "where've you two been anyway? off fucking somewhere i presume." david sneers, trying to take another lunge at leon, but the officer is quicker, still trying to keep you away from your harasser. "leon..!" you whimper again but it falls on deaf ears as leon argues with david. "you're wrong actually. unlike you i actually care for the people around me. that's why i'm a much better person than you." leon shoots back, and david snaps, swinging for the blonde.

leon ducks, pushing you out the way as he tackles david. the fight escalates as the camp gathers round, some cheering on leon whilst the majority egged on david. "leon!" you yelp, shrinking back with cowardice despite your burning desire to help him. you gasp as arms tighten around your waist, pulling you away from the fight. "leon!" you wail again, catching the blonde's attention as he punches david. "y/n!" leon yells, going to scramble after you but is stopped by david grabbing his ankle and pulling him back for more.

twisting around, leon's boot found david face as he kicks the other man away, turning back around to scramble to get you, but you were already gone. "shit." leon hisses, not seeing how jill was running off in your direction. david's nose poured with blood as he groans, getting up to swing at leon. catching his wrist, the blonde quickly detains the fighter, handcuffing him before stumbling off into the tree line to try and find you.

you whimper as jake sets you down on a fallen tree, letting him ruffle your hair. "you alright?" he asks softly, and you shake your head no. "uhh..." jake glances back at the campsite through the trees. "hold it, asshole!" a female voice snaps, and jill emerges through the brush. "jill!" you yelp, getting up to latch onto your new friend. "cool, i was just leaving." jake shrugs, trudging back to the camp. "are you alright." jill asks as she glares at jake. "leon... where's leon?" you whimper as jill sits you back down. "don't worry about him, are you alright?" jill asks, cupping your face with her hands, wiping away any tears with her thumbs. "y/n! jill! thank god." leon gasps as he hurries to you. "are you alright?" leon asks desperately as he searches you for wounds. "they seem fine, just a bit shaken." jill answers for you. you cling to leon tightly, crying against his neck as he scoops you into his arms. "it's alright. i'm okay. i'm sorry that went down, i should of had you wait in your shack." leon sighs, holding you tight. "i'm gonna go check on everyone, try and keep the peace." jill stands, ruffling leon's hair before leaving. "thanks." leon calls after her and the woman only salutes over her shoulder as she walks away.

"leon.." you whisper, voice hoarse. "i'm here." the blonde assures you, pulling away to wipe your tears. "i'm sorry he did this to you.." you frown, cupping leon's bruised face as shakes his head. "don't apologise for that asshole." leon says sternly. "it wouldn't of happened if i wasn't there! i'm sorry." you whimper, pressing your forehead against leon's for comfort as he sighs. "none of this is your fault. i'm gonna fix all of this, alright?" leon whispers, pulling your head away from him as he looks at you. you look unsure, but nod. you trust him fully and he knows it. he also knows that you both have the same idea, and leon can't help but sneak a glance at your lips as you grow a little closer to him. "leon..?" you mumble, and he smiles, pulling you a closer and closer.

"my sincerest apologies for interrupting, but i have some news." a shadowy voice interrupts and the two of you jump, leon pulling you into his chest protectively. "who's there?" he demands, searching for the voice. "i'm here." the entity purrs, deep voice rumbling in your ears. "no one is in trouble. it was quite amusing to watch your performance but mr. kennedy..." the god trails off as leon looks up at the dark sky. "i'm sorry to say that your handcuffs are being confiscated until i know you wont do this again." it says, dangling leon's cuffs above his head with a sharp claw. "i won't. i was forced to." leon reminds the entity that he started nothing, and you can practically hear the entity thinking. "i suppose so, but it is still unacceptable." the entity says, voice ever so calm. "what, and bullying your teammates isn't?!" leon snaps, standing to try and snatch his handcuffs back. "mr. kennedy..." the voice warns as it raises his handcuffs higher. "you're a monster. an absolute joke. when i figure out how to kill you, i swear-"

"mr. kennedy." the entity silences him with a firm snap and leon falls into silence. you glance at him nervously as more claws descend, grasping leon out of your hold and hauling him up like he weighed nothing.. "might i remind you that nothing can kill me. i am a god. i am your god. your pathetic little threat won't go unnoticed but for now i'm feeling generous as you are new, and most newcomers feel the same way." the entity's voice sends chills down your spine as you stare at leon anxiously. "i will grant you your handcuffs after fifteen successful trials. then you shall receive them. until then, i shall bid you farewell." the entity suddenly drops the blonde who lands on his back with a pained grunt.

"asshole.." leon hisses as the entity takes it's leave. "leon! are you alright." you rush to pamper the blonde as he sits up. "i'm fine, don't worry." leon flushes red, getting up and offering you his hand. "come on, lets get some rest, hm?" he smiles, and you take his hand to follow him into the woods.

#leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #dbd leon #dbd #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #dead by daylight resident evil #germvity writing

[nomazee]

Thinking Things Up And Not Thinking It Through

iwaizumi hajime x reader, oikawa tooru & reader friendship 

word count: 2300+

content: oblivious & ooc iwaizumi, pining reader, light swearing, (title is a reference to listerine by dayglow)

(i was thinking ab the first iwazumi/oikawa fic i posted (and the first fic i posted....EVER) and almost cried thinking about it cause its SO BAD and i felt like i needed to atone for my sins so here it is!! 

i wrote this in one day, pretty quickly, and it’s unedited & might not make sense in some parts. regardless, i hope it’s concise enough and that you all enjoy it !!

thank you for the continued support on my work. it really makes me happy to see that people enjoy the things i write. i hope i continue to make you guys happy with my stuff!!

also, as always, here’s a reminder that my requests are open!! feel free to send one in after reading my rules :)

happy reading!!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

You and Oikawa were friends. Oikawa and Iwaizumi were friends. You and Iwaizumi, however, were not friends. 

It’s not like you two were sworn enemies. You got along quite well, actually. But you just… weren’t close enough to consider yourselves friends. 

It was really a shame. You were sure you were practically in love with the guy. 

Oikawa knew about this--him and his annoying, prying self figured it out after digging it out of you during a sleepover. He laughed hysterically when he found out and developed the habit of throwing teasing remarks your way whenever Iwaizumi was in both of your presences. 

“How do you manage to like someone who barely talks to you?!” He screeched into your ear that night through bouts of laughter. 

You huffed and slapped his shoulder with as much strength as you could gather in your embarrassed state. “Shut up! Half your fangirls have never had a proper conversation with you yet they’re still in love with you.” 

“Yeah, but that’s me. You’re talking about Iwaizu--”

“Can you shut up?!” 

It was just your luck that Iwaizumi seemed to shut down any advances you made towards him. Not really “shut down,” though--if he outright told you he wasn’t interested then you wouldn’t force that on him. It was more like he was completely oblivious to any moves you made to approach him. It was funny. And disappointing. And hysterical, to Oikawa. 

You knew how well Iwaizumi interacted with his teammates, and from your rare moments of sentiment with Oikawa you learned that Iwaizumi was no stranger to adjusting to the needs of his teammates and friends. 

Good to know that you were in neither of those categories. 

You put yourself out there for him more than you normally would, greeting him every morning, starting conversations, even going as far to invite him to outings in an attempt to just get to know the guy, for fuck’s sake. 

“There’s this really nice diner a few blocks down from my house. It’s family-owned and the food there’s really good. Do you maybe want to go there someday?” 

Iwaizumi blinked, looking up from his lunch tray. Oikawa had left one point to “go to the bathroom” (you’d told him of your plan to ask the ace out, and he was supportive enough to give you a window of time to do that without you friend’s presence making you nervous), leaving both of you alone as you grasped at loose threads to try and start a conversation. 

“With Oikawa?” 

“...with me.” 

“....and Oikawa?” 

Oh. Cool. So he just wasn’t comfortable with you in the slightest. Good to know. 

“Yeah. Sure.” 

You had to sit through the humiliation of explaining to Oikawa that it absolutely did not go as planned. He treated you to dango after laughing hysterically. 

You didn’t want to stoop as low as asking Oikawa to interrogate Iwaizumi about his opinion on before, but you were really starting to consider it. 

You figured maybe a gift would be easier than that. This revelation led to you sobbing in your kitchen while on facetime with Tooru as you tried to figure out why the dough for your melonpan had the consistency of thick oatmeal and glopped along your kitchen counter whenever you tried to pick it up. (Yet again, the brunette setter went out of his way to buy another small gift of condolence the next morning after being absolutely no help to you the night before.)

You eventually managed to turn out a few decent looking (and decent tasting) buns, packaging them neatly in paper bags to give to Iwaizumi the next morning. 

Iwaizumi blinked at you, then at the bag you forced into his hands without a word. “...what is this?” 

“Melonpan.” 

“...oh. Thank… you?” 

He didn’t even look into the bag. Didn’t say anything else after that. You stood in your place, expectant for some other response but knowing that, realistically, you wouldn’t be getting one. 

“I hope you like it.” And with that, you spun on your heel, stumbled, and walked away with an awkward awareness of how you were stepping. 

During lunch, Oikawa and you sat separate from his friend, making up some excuse that you two had to review something from class and sneaking away to discuss your next step. Tooru was enthusiastic about this whole thing. You were not. 

“He ate the melonpan, you know,” your friend remarked, taking a sip of canned juice before continuing. “I caught him before I went to class. He seemed to like it.” 

“Oh. Good to know it didn’t taste like shit.” 

“Hopefully it doesn’t give him food poisoning.” 

“Will you--!” Oikawa burst into peals of laughter, body bending at the waist in a show of just how amusing this was to him. You huffed. 

“This is, like, the dumbest thing ever. I’ve done so many things--”

“Like, two things--” 

“--to try and drop a hint, any hint, and he just acts like an oblivious dumbass and ignores everything I throw his way. It’s stupid! He doesn’t even talk to me! How does he put up with you all the time yet when it comes to me he can’t even look me in the eyes?!” 

Oikawa’s laughter quelled as he listened to you ramble momentarily. When you fell silent, he looked up at you and gasped at the sight of your eyes brimming with tears. 

“Hey, [Y/N]--” 

“No! It’s fine! I’m sorry, I’m just dumb and emotional and I’m not actually that upset,” that was doubtful, “but maybe I’m just… not a fun person? Not as fun as I thought I was. Not fun enough for a guy like Iwaizumi to be around.” 

Tooru was silent. He was no stranger to your comedy-induced mood swings but this seemed to be serious. This whole Iwaizumi thing was making you doubt your ability to make friends and it made the brunette’s heart hurt to see you in this state. 

“Hey,” he approached, tone uncharacteristically gentle, “you got me to be your friend. And that’s saying a lot. People like me, sure, but I don’t like a lot of people as much as I like you.” 

Your breaths slowed down. Oikawa snapped back into character. 

“As a friend, obviously. I don’t think I could handle the emotional experience of having to date you.” 

“Asshole!” 

“Love you!” 

You both laughed in the comfortable quiet before Oikawa spoke up again. 

“I don't think it’s that he doesn’t like you. Maybe he’s scared of you.” You furrowed your eyebrows incredulously. 

“How can I be scary to anyone?” 

“Well… scared in the sense that, he’s never really had girls approach him.” 

That was a shocker. Iwaizumi was a looker--a fact no one could deny. And while, yeah, maybe he’s tough-guy disposition made him a little unapproachable, you were still surprised that it wasn’t at least a little common for girls to approach him. 

“Has he ever, like… said anything about me?” 

Oikawa thought for a bit, chewing on a piece of milk bread he’d torn off. “No, not really. When I mention stuff about you, he listens but doesn’t really comment. He gets kind of quiet, really.” 

You hummed. Maybe Oikawa was right about that scared-of-girls thing. You were prepared to go through another set of trials to get this boy to warm up to you at least a little bit. 

A week later, Tooru got sick. You lectured him over the phone about how irresponsible he was with his health before simmering into a soft demeanor and promising to make him soup when you got home. (“Aww, so sweet of you, [Y/N]! It almost feels like I’m your boyfriend, not Iwaizumi.” You screamed at him for that one and threatened to take soup privileges away.) 

At the end of the day (which dragged on longer than usual due to your friend’s lack of presence), you stood under the awning, watching the downpour from beyond the protection the roof gave you. You never picked up the habit of checking the weather forecast, which proved to be your downfall many times. This being one of them. 

You sighed. You couldn’t wait out the rain. It looked like it would probably go on for a while, and you needed to get home to make food for Tooru and finish your homework. Sighing again, you prepared yourself (emotionally more than physically) to run through the rain like a madman. 

Footsteps sounded from behind you. Instinctively, you looked for the source, surprised to see Iwaizumi blinking owlishly at your lone form. 

You looked at his hand. He was holding an umbrella. 

You repressed a smile. Maybe today was actually your lucky day--you’d ask Iwaizumi to walk you home, letting you stay dry while also getting closer to the boy, for once. 

“Hey.” You greeted him. He gave a small smile and nodded back, walking up to be level with you. 

You both stood in silence for a bit, watching cars pass through wet asphalt and kick up puddles. 

You turned to him, mouth parting open to ask if he wanted to walk home together--

“Have a good day, [L/N].” With that, he walked out from under the awning and made his way home. 

Your mouth remained agape, looking at his retreating form with a mix of emotions--frustration, embarrassment, confusion. 

Minutes passed. With a sigh, you realized you didn’t have much of a choice. You took your blazer off, holding it above your head, and ran into the street. 

You got home. Made soup and suppressed shivers from the remaining cold of rain sticking to your skin. Walked to Tooru’s house (with an umbrella this time), relayed what happened to him, and tolerated his hoarse giggles once again. 

Tooru got better quite quickly, and you were lucky enough to not get sick despite sprinting through the rain and spending your evening in the presence of a sick person. 

You felt a sense of deja vu during lunch when Oikawa stood up and excused himself to the bathroom, sending a wink in your direction that made you flush in embarrassment and panic. You certainly hadn’t discussed any future plans with him. Why was he leaving you alone like this?!

Iwaizumi folded hands on top of the lunch table, playing with his fingers absentmindedly as a way to occupy himself. His lunch had been finished a while ago, leaving him with only his hands to fiddle with as he pointedly avoided your gaze and the prospect of interacting with you. You frowned a bit at the action. 

“So…” You were surprised to hear him speak first, but perked up immediately to listen to him. “You and Oikawa…?” 

He didn’t elaborate any further. You stayed quiet, brows knitting together in confusion. Iwaizumi sighed. 

“You guys are a thing.” You choked at how forward he was with his statement, coughing a few times to clear up the invisible ball in your throat. “It’s… that’s cool. You guys are cute. You go together well, and stuff.” 

Oh my God. Oh my…? What?! He could not be this oblivious. He could not be this blind-- You were speechless at the words that were coming out of his mouth. 

“What the fuck.” You hadn’t even noticed the words coming out of your mouth until you saw Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at you. “I-- Sorry-- Tooru and I… are not dating…?” 

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to be confused, apparently. “What? But you guys are so close, and… you’re always around each other, and stuff. And he talks about you sometimes. So I figured, y’know--” 

“Absolutely not.” Your words were choked out between dry laughs, eyes darting left and right as you tried to gain a sense of reality again. “I would never in my life date that boy. Never. No. And don’t you think if he had a girlfriend, he’d tell you? Right off the bat? He’s no stranger to inflating his ego by bragging. How the hell did you even draw that conclusion?!” 

“Well, it’s not my fault! You two are always hanging off each other, who wouldn’t assume there was something going on between you two?!” 

“Who would?!” 

“Me, apparently! Which was stupid, ‘cause for the last six months I’ve been trying to avoid you because I thought you were off-limits and I didn’t want to get my ass beat by Oikawa--” 

“Off-limits?” 

“Well, yeah! Like, for dating.” The both of you quieted down, the silence of your table a great contrast to the petty scuffle you’d just been having. Neither of you dared to look at each other. Neither of you dared to speak. 

Oikawa came back after a few minutes, noticing the tension in the air and becoming too nervous to say anything. When he asked you about it as you left the cafeteria, you muttered harshly under your breath, “Just so you know, I would never in my life date you. Ever.” 

He only laughed, concern still evident in his features but simmering down the slightest bit after realizing you were well enough to joke around. 

Before you could enter through the doorway of your classroom with Tooru, a hand grabbed your forearm harshly, shoving you off balance at the unexpected force. 

You turned around to view your captor, freezing at the sight of Iwaizumi Hajime, in all his glory, panting as if he’d just chased after you. (Which he probably did, let’s be honest.) 

“Um,” his seemingly confident demeanor collapsed in your presence and his eyes left yours to find interest in the floor. “Friday. Let’s go to that diner, the one near your house that you wanted to go to. At noon, if that’s okay with you.” 

You paused. He remembered the diner. A smile slowly found its way onto your face and you laughed a little bit. Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked back up at yours, trying to get a read on your reaction before you could properly give a response. 

“Yeah. That sounds good. And no Oikawa.” 

“God, no Oikawa.”

#haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi #hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hajime x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu hajime x reader #haikyuu iwaizumi hajime x reader

[lustresky]

kahit ‘di mo alam [james ‘bucky’ barnes x f!filipina!reader]

summary: After an emotionally taxing mission, you and Bucky share some stories— and maybe also some leche flan along the way.

wc: 5200ish. (might have went to town on this one.. haha woops)

themes: angst (i need to chill tf out i’m sorry:’’/), some fluff ig, happy but kind of ambiguous ending (mayhaps a sequel....), mention of ptsd/trauma, hydra being shitty, bucky trying his best to comfort reader (this is my first time writing him so sorry if he’s kinda ooc..), filipina!reader, also kinda cliché idk

a/n: psa, i do not know how to bake. all i am is your typical filipina girl who has a soft spot for bucky and also thinks that there needs to be more poc centered readers. that is all<3 thanks to @ panlasang pinoy for da leche flan recipe lmao. also! title is a song by december avenue, which i think fits this story. check it out if you want!:]

requests are open! & pls don’t forget to like and reblog, thank you! c:

You hum quietly to yourself, beating the yolks with a silver balloon whisk that Tony had.

Out of all the things that you would never have thought Tony would own when you first joined the team, a full on expensive ass baking set was on the top of the list. Hell, you don’t even think that he’s ever opened the oven door before; but then again, the guy’s loaded, so maybe it wasn’t really a smart idea to wonder what he did or did not own.

Whatever— you thought to yourself. Pondering about what the billionaire did with his money wasn’t really what you should be focusing on right now, anyways.

You continue with the repetitive motion of your hand, stopping once the eggs were smooth. Gradually, you add the condensed milk, followed by the regular milk and then finally, a few teaspoons of vanilla extract. You mix the concoction once more, your bottom lip caught in between your teeth as you focus on the task at hand.

You didn’t hear the gradual shuffling of feet into the kitchen, nor the opening and closing of the refrigerator door; and so you were startled out of your concentration when Bucky Barnes himself ended up in front of you, a bowl of oatmeal in his hands as he positions himself properly on the island chair.

He doesn’t greet you— and honestly, you weren’t expecting him to anyways. You two were never really close; acquaintances at best, with how high both of your walls were built.

You really only knew Bucky from what Steve had shared. You knew that he was part of the Howling Commandos, that he’s Steve’s life long best friend, that HYDRA had brainwashed him and used him against his own will...

Even just thinking about that acronym still makes bile rise up in your throat.

HYDRA had also imprisoned you, beat you, used your body for their own gain. Your stories were similar. Two unwilling and unlucky humans— taken against their own volition, experimented on like a pack of mouse labs, memory and history wiped out to store target information…

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself.

Baking had been the only thing that you remembered from your past. As much as HYDRA tried to erase your history, the memory of your lola’s kitchen came back time and time again, relentless and the only sense of soundness that you found yourself with. The cartons of eggs, the measuring cups, the light dusting of flour all over the table, the rays of the hot afternoon sun peeking through the curtains, the smell of the freshly baked pandesal wafting through the air…

It was comforting, sometimes it was the sole thing that made you calm down. The only pleasant memory that you had left of the simple life that you barely remembered, but greatly missed and longed for.

Hence, before you knew it, you were in the spacious kitchen of the compound; making leche flan to calm your nerves and trying your best to forget what had just happened a few hours ago.

The mission had ended with the team’s victory, sure, but you don’t think that you’ll ever forget the image that had seared itself in your mind. You desperately wanted to forget the sight of Bucky, vulnerable as he lay on the ground with his metal arm torn off of his body, right before an enhanced individual gave him a powerful blow square on his abdomen.

Blood had spluttered out of his mouth, red, bright, coating the brick walls that you were both enclosed in. The mission should’ve been simple: break in, grab the information needed, and then bring said information back. There should’ve only been a few guards. It should’ve been a quick mission— but the sight of Bucky being plummeted with no remorse brought you back memories. Memories that you had tried so desperately to forget.

You bite your bottom lip harder, unintentionally gripping the bowl and whisk in your hands tighter as your arm mixes faster— faster and faster until you suddenly find yourself with a splatter of batter on your cheek.

You groan. Nice one, Y/N, you thought.

You hear a small snicker in front of you and you look up, embarrassed and annoyed. Bucky just stared back at you, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Taking a quick but good look at him, you notice that he had cleaned himself up. His hair was still damp from a shower. It was wavy, pulled back into a small ponytail behind his neck. His face was clear of soot and blood, and he no longer wore his combat outfit.

You can’t help but flicker your eyes over to his left arm, familiarity getting the best of you. You know that you should be rational, but you still feel your shoulders sink as your gaze missed the glint of metal that you were accustomed to.

Bucky senses your wandering eyes. He shakes his head, head dipping back into his bowl of oatmeal. “It isn’t your fault.” He mutters, voice raspy.

You huff, setting down the metal bowl on the marble counter with a bit too much force. You take off your apron and with it, you hastily wipe the splashed part of your face clean; or at least, as clean as you can without a mirror.

“No,” You argue, feeling your throat tighten as the memory and your emotions flashed through your mind once again. You ball up the now dirty apron, throwing it onto the counter. “It is.”

When you had seen him lying on the floor, taking hits every single second, you were unable to move. You had felt helpless, weak... cowardly. It was dumb. You were an Avenger, for Christ's sake. Your life was plenty of danger— seeing people getting hurt had never shook you so hard to the core before. Hell, you survived HYDRA.

Yet the memories were enough to make you freeze up.

Thankfully, Steve had showed up right before the enemy had landed his final blow. If it wasn’t for him, you highly doubted that Bucky would’ve been sitting in front of you right now, casually eating his oatmeal as if he didn’t almost just die a few hours ago.

When Bucky tilted his head up to look at you, ready to retaliate, you stood your ground and stared right back at his light blue eyes. Neither of you said a word.

You were angry. Mad. Furious. At Bucky? Maybe. Him dismissing the fact that you almost let him die and treating your mistake lightly was a thing in its own, but fuck. You were mad at yourself.

You feel incompetent. Useless. You almost let a teammate die, even if physically, you were completely capable of saving them. You drop your head down, unable to continue looking at someone whose life was in your hands just a few moments ago. A life that you were fully capable of protecting, but couldn’t, just because of some stupid fucking memories coming back to haunt you.

Before you know it, a hot tear ran down your cheek— and you hurriedly wiped it away with your arm. Now isn’t time, you hiss at yourself. Baring vulnerability in the middle of the kitchen? Ha. you thought to yourself.

Pathetic.

You grip the edge of the marble tiles, steadying yourself and trying to control your breathing. In and out. In and out. One, two. One, two. It was shaky at first, but after a few seconds of repeating the exercise, you managed to get a loose grip on it. Just enough of a hold to straighten your posture and set aside your mixture, before bolting away from the kitchen and into your bedroom a few doors down the hall.

Once inside, your resolve crumbles. You didn’t even have time to lay on your bed, your legs just giving up and leaving your body down on the carpet. Fresh hot tears ran down like rivers on your face, your nose stuffed, your eyes blurred. Your lungs heaved, just trying its best to give you enough oxygen, but you’re sniffling, your throat’s dry, and your mind’s weary and everything just feels like absolute shit.

You don’t remember how long you had sat there, your legs against your chest, head in your knees and hands on the back of your head as the rest of the water in your body leaves in tears.

You hate feeling like this. Emotional, vulnerable, sensitive… You aren’t supposed to be like this. You have a job. You can’t let your own personal problems get in the way of accomplishing what needed to be done. There isn’t any backing out in what you’re doing. There isn’t a delete nor reverse button. If you fuck up, you fuck up, and that’s that.

Your bedroom door suddenly opens, the unexpected sound making you flinch. Fuck, you forgot to lock it.

Still, you hold your head down against your knees. You don’t want to see anyone right now, you don’t even think that you have any energy left to make a proper conversation. Your throat’s dry, your nose is stuffed, your eyes are sore. You absolutely feel like shit.

The intruder continued their pace, before stopping in front of you. You hear a shuffling of legs, and something being set on your nightstand, until you feel a warm hand lay itself on the side of your left leg. They gave you a couple of soft pats.

From your position, you can’t really see who they are; you had a gut feeling that it was Wanda— but then again it can also be Nat. Or maybe even Steve.

Whoever it was, you know that they’re just trying their best to help, and you appreciate their concern, truly, but you just don’t think you’re capable of talking about something so close to your heart with someone else.

At least, not right now.

Except, you also know that they wouldn’t leave without any verbal cue, and so you force a smile, a truly fake and horrible one as you lift your head up to try and convince whoever it was who decided to check up on you that you’re fine, thanks, and that you just need some space— but as soon as your eyes focused on the person in front of you, your act drops, as the one who you expected the least stared back.

Before you can even ask him to leave, he beats you to it. “Here,” He says, getting up on his knees and retrieving the bottle of water that he had placed on your night stand. “Drink this.”

Wordlessly, you comply. The quench of the water on your tongue clearing your head, hydrating your body back.

Eyes glued to the carpet, unwilling to look anywhere else, you pass him back the glass. Bucky takes it and places it back to where he had originally put it.

He clears his throat. “Listen, Y/N… I— I know that we aren’t really… we aren’t really on the best of terms but— if you want to talk about it, I’m all open ears— but if you want me to leave and forget about this, I’ll head straight out the door.”

“I just—“ Bucky continues, and although your eyes were still fixating on the tufts of wool of your carpet, from the corner of your eye you could still see him shuffle awkwardly on his kneeling position. “I just want you to know that I’m here for you. We all are.”

You… didn’t really know what to say.

Here Bucky was, a soldier, another person who had undergone through HYDRA’s torment, someone whose walls have since been taller then, a teammate who you respected but aren’t close to— hell, barely even really friends with; offering you comfort, a place to vent, a shoulder to let your head rest.

As much as you barely knew him, you feel a pull in you to let him stay.

Bucky, however, takes your silence as refusal. Your eyes catch his legs unfolding from their position, straightening out as he stands up. He doesn’t say anything else as he turns towards the door.

“No, wait—“ You croak, cringing mentally at your voice. Looks like the water didn’t do as well of a job as you thought did. Letting out a much needed sigh, you finally let your gaze strike his, and once it made contact, you saw him. Clearly.

His eyes are cloudy, concern evident in his features. His dark brows are furrowed, lips set in a straight line.

You muster up some courage, and whisper, “Stay.”

Bucky’s expression flickers for a moment, concern turning into total surprise for just a millisecond, and if you had more energy you would have maybe laughed— but you didn’t. Instead, you cast your eyes back to the floor as you hear him shuffle back to you.

He sits to your left, legs crossed, arm on his lap. He doesn’t say anything for a while, the sound of your breathing and his being the only sounds filling your bedroom for a few minutes.

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, some awkwardness from you both definitely seeping through... but nevertheless, your eyes start to get heavy.

Bucky, somehow sensing your current situation, clears his throat— effectively gaining your attention. Your head snaps up to meet his eyes.

“If you want… you can, you know…” He gestures to his right shoulder with his hand. He doesn’t continue his sentence, knowing that you had caught on to his proposition.

Too tired and sleepy to say no, you let out a breath and say fuck it.

You shuffle closer to his body, and as you lean your head down, a wave of fatigue washes over you. You hear Bucky inhale a breath as you finally drop, the left side of your face colliding with his shoulder.

As much as your body was pleading for you to simply close your eyes and just… rest— it still feels too awkward to do so. The silence is deafening, and as much as you appreciate Bucky lowering down his walls just a bit, you can’t help but let the next words tumble out of your mouth;

“What was it like in the ‘40s?”

You feel him stiffen beside you, and for a moment you worry that you had asked for more than you can chew, but within the next second Bucky lets out a small chuckle. He shakes his head slightly, a few strands of his freshly washed hair subsequently grazing over your face. It tickled.

“It was…” He starts, seemingly finding the proper words to say. “It was definitely a different time.” He concludes, sounding nostalgic and full of wistfulness.

His voice: deep and gravelly, began to lull you to sleep. You’ve never heard him quite like this before, often, his words were quick and precise and straight to the point. Never full of sentiment, never so… warm.

You want to hear more. So you hum in response, wanting to know more about his old life, urging him to go on— and go on he did.

He talked about the memories that Shuri had helped him remember from his time in Wakanda. His secret rendezvous, his childhood with Steve, their adventures and misadventures. He went on, his own memories making place in your own mind and pushing aside the ones that had you freezing up before. The ones that had broken you down are now being replaced by silly anecdotes, wistful memories and nonsensical stories.

Without even noticing it, you find yourself asleep on his shoulder, a small smile on your face as Bucky recounts another thought from the past.

You don’t know how long you had fallen asleep, but the crank in your neck was enough to tell you that it might have just been a bit too long. Your bottom aches, sore from the not so cozy flooring, and your back definitely needs to be stretched. Your body hurts, but at least your chest feels lighter.

You lift your head up from Bucky’s shoulder, feeling him flinch from your sudden movement. His head pulls back from its resting place on your wall. He looks back at you, confused.

He meets your eyes, and it seems that he had just woken up as well… had he fallen asleep too?

Bucky just continues gazing into your eyes, and you can’t help but just… stare back. Thankful for his comfort.

“I…” You whisper, about to thank him, until you remember the dessert that you had just hastily cast aside before bolting to your bedroom. “The leche flan!” You cry out, worried— fuck, if you leave it out for too long it could spoil!

Bucky, however, became even more confused at your outburst. You calm yourself down for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“My— uh, my dessert.” You explain, embarrassed. “It could spoil if I leave it out too long— I need to… I need to get back to it.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, thankfully understanding your dilemma, giving you a nod. So you lift your body up, stretching it just a bit, your bones popping themselves back into place.

You’re almost out of your door when you hear footsteps from behind and to no surprise you see Bucky, hair disheveled and lounge clothes wrinkled. You fight an urge to giggle. The all powerful soldier, looking all messy and drowsy... It’s definitely a sight to behold, maybe even a precious one at that.

He runs his hands through his hair, loosening his ponytail and settling his hair tie around his wrist with one hand. You try to ignore the way his fingers easily managed to do that. “If… I mean if you need a hand… I can— help?” He suggests, voice dropping to an unsure whisper by the end of his sentence.

You feel your mouth pull into a small smile, and this time, you let it do so. “Sure.”

So to the kitchen both of you went, a comfortable silence and understanding settling between you two. You quickly spot your metal mixing bowl from before, alone on the island counter. A relieved sigh falls from your lips as you peek an eye into the container to see the mixture untouched.

“So…” You start, grabbing the apron that you had thrown onto the counter in a fury. You don’t bother with getting a new one— it’s only slightly dirty, anyway. You put it on, tying it around your waist and patting it down slightly in less than a second. “Let’s get you an apron, shall we?”

You open the cabinet in which you keep the aprons and pick one up at random, giving it to Bucky with one hand— your back still turned away from him— as you use your other hand to close the door. When you turn back to face him, a complete look of hesitation is on his face.

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Bucky clears his throat. He looks up at you, and then at his arm, sheepishly. “Can you…?”

Eyes widening, you quickly nod, ashamed that you had forgotten about something so important. “Yes, of course.”

You walk to his side, grabbing the piece of cloth on his hand and positioning yourself behind him. “Here.” You say, grabbing the bib part and looping it around his neck. You brush his hair out of the way, inadvertently appreciating its softness, as the neck ribbon then lays itself properly against his neck. “Arms up.” You order, Bucky complying instantly. Taking the other two pieces of ribbon by his side, you wrap it around his waist and tie it by his back with a small little bow, tightening it just enough for it to not fall off but still be comfortable. “There.”

“Thanks.” He mutters, turning around to face you with a grateful smile, hair swishing as he did so. You smile, but then you realize that he should probably tie it just so that it won’t get dirty or in the way.

Before you know it, you ask him, “Want me to tie your hair, too?”

Bucky’s eyes widened, and upon realizing what you had just said too, your eyes did the same. Was that too much? You quickly open your mouth, desperately trying to apologize. “I’m just— it could get dirty or in the way if you don’t… and doing it with one hand must be…” You explain, inwardly cringing at your own words and not even trying to finish your statement.

Thankfully, Bucky quickly catches up to what you were trying to say. He flashes you a reassuring grin. “I would appreciate it, doll.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach at that little nickname.

Getting the hair tie from his wrist, you desperately ignore the way your hands brushed against his. You angle your body towards his back once more, raking your hands softly in his hair, grabbing it gently and putting it into a comfortable ponytail.

“Thanks again,” He turns around to face you, gratitude clear in his eyes. You just smile back at him, feeling the heat creep up to your face. Thank God your skin doesn’t easily show colour.

You had never been this close to him before— and the bedroom incident (You had decided to label that... ’moment’ in your mind like that as of right now.) just a few minutes ago didn’t quite count as you weren’t looking at him, nor were you a hundred percent conscious during that encounter.

Before things get even more awkward, you quickly turn your body back to the kitchen island. “Well then— let’s continue with this, shall we?” You announce, wanting to just calm your feverishly beating heart and the rise of heat in your cheeks. Maybe agreeing to let him bake with you isn’t as good of an idea as you had thought.

Bucky just gave a hum as a response, and so you went about and explained to him each and every step that needed to be done. Thankfully, you had already finished mixing up the batter, and so now all you really had to do was heat up the sugar, pour the batter into the moulds, and then steam it all up. Just three more steps and you’re done.

“So,” You start, grabbing the metal containers that you had already pulled out from the cabinets before you had started. “This—” You lift one up, pointing at it with your index. “Is called a llanera. What we’re basically going to do is pour some sugar in it, heat that up until it’s nice and brown and syrup-y, and then we add the batter. Got it?”

“A yah-neh-rah?” Bucky asks, rolling the word over his tongue, getting the feel of it. You smile at his well-executed attempt.

“Yep,” You reply, placing the mould down onto the counter. You grab the sugar jar and a tablespoon, dipping it into the container and sprinkling a generous amount all over the metal container. “Actually— I’ll heat up the sugar and then you can pour the batter in, that sound good to you?”

Bucky just gave a hum once more, signalling his approval of your plan.

After about two tablespoons, you put it aside and walked towards the stove top, Bucky following beside you in earnest with the metal bowl containing the egg mixture in his arm. Turning the dial up, you put on an oven mitt as you wait for the range to get hot enough; and once it does, you hold the metal tin a few centimetres away from the top of the burner. Within minutes, the sugar caramelizes, turning into the familiar, brown syrup.

The scent that then fills the kitchen is heavenly, pure sugar wafting through the air. You hear Bucky sniff, and you let out a smile, happy that he liked it too.

You place the hot tin onto a cooling rack. “Your time to shine.” You smile up at Bucky, motioning for him to go ahead and pour the batter in.

With a gentle and cautious hand, Bucky slowly tilts the bowl into the mould, the creamy mixture pouring itself out. After a few seconds, you say, “Okay… that’s good— you can stop now.” He swiftly follows your instruction, stopping when there‘s only 2 or more so centimetres left in the pan before the batter touches the rim. He looks up at you, expectant.

Before you know it, the thought passes by your mind. How cute.

Biting your lip, you set aside the flutter in your stomach. You give him a huge grin. “That was great,” You praise him, genuine pride rushing through you. “Now let’s finish the other ones, shall we?”

Bucky and you then continued on, filling the rest of the llaneras up. It was a pleasant experience, discomfort and awkwardness not present at all while both of you worked on your respective tasks. It was… soothing, you could say.

“Nice!” You cheer, clapping your hands together as Bucky finishes filing the last of the moulds, setting down the empty metal bowl in the sink right after. “Now, let’s cover it with aluminium foil and then we can steam it and eat it.” You grin up at Bucky, who simply nods back at you.

You grab the aluminum foil, eyeballing the sizes for each of the containers. It doesn’t really matter anyway, they just had to be big enough to cover the pans. Within a few, quick minutes, all of the llaneras were ready to be steamed.

Opening up the steamer, you place three of the moulds in— mentally telling yourself that you should ask Tony to buy more steamers so that you can simply just cook the next batch of leche flans all at once. You then close the handle, setting it on medium heat and the self timer on. “There.” You announce, hands unintentionally going to and resting at your hips, proud.

You face Bucky, who seem to be just as proud as you are. It seems like he had something on his mind, though, and so you tilt your head. Curious. “Something on your mind?” You ask.

He hums, hand going back to scratch the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” He starts, giving you a reassuring smile to show you that he meant it. “But… how’d you learn how to bake?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at his question, caught off guard as the answer flashes in your mind. To say you were surprised was an understatement. You had assumed that he would ask you when the leche flan would be finished— not about your… past.

Though, you figure that he deserves to know about your history, now that you basically know all about his own. He had recounted his entire life to you just an hour or two ago, after all. It’s only appropriate that you share some of your own life with him back.

You let your hands fall from your waist, resting them in front of your stomach as you fiddled with them as you compose your answer. “Well—“ You start, taking a deep breath. Bucky, patiently, urges for you to go on with a small nod. “I don’t— I don’t really remember much from my past… just a few memories here and there.” You take a pause.

“But— there had always been this one memory, which… always stood out from the rest.” You bite your lower lip, the recollection taking place in your mind, making you smile. “I was in my lola’s— my grandma’s kitchen, dough in my hand and flour everywhere and we were—“ You feel your throat tightening up, making you take another pause. Bucky, still as patient as ever, gives you a small smile and wordlessly urges for you to go on. “We were making pandesal… a type of bread…” You continue, smiling, remembering the sticky hands and the rays of the hot southeast sun passing by the blinds. “It was a calm afternoon… just me and her, baking...”

“That’s all I really remember of her, and so I… every time I feel overwhelmed or every time I’m having a bad day I just— bake.” You conclude, looking up at him. There was more to the story, more that you have yet to tell him, memories that are still hard to share; but even with the small piece of it leaving your chest, your whole body feels lighter, grateful for having been listened to.

Bucky just stares back at you, respect evident on his face, a small smile still on his lips. “I’m… thankful that you shared that with me, Y/N.” He says, and as your name rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but smile back.

You were about to say something, but the moment was cut off by the steamer's angry beeping. You let out a small giggle as you see Bucky flinch. “Well— let’s check up on those lil’ things, shall we?”

Opening up the steamer and waving the steam away from your face, your mouth waters at the sight before you. They looked perfect.

Quickly grabbing a serving plate, you take one of the tins out and place it upside down on the ceramic— it would probably be even better if you let it cool down first in the fridge, but you can hardly wait. You give it a couple of taps, stopping once you hear the familiar ‘plop’ sound.

You take off the llanera, and a pristine and perfect looking leche flan greets you back. You hear Bucky hum in approval beside you as you take out a fork, getting a slice. Turning to your side and raising the utensil up at him, you ignore the slowly rising heartbeat in your rib cage as you muster up the courage to say, “Want the first bite?”

Bucky seemed to be taken aback at first, and for a moment you fret that you might have overestimated and overstepped your boundaries, but a small nod from him eases your worry. Lifting it up to his mouth, he lets you give him the slice. You decide to ignore the intimacy of the moment, as is the heat in your cheeks; instead focusing on his expression.

He doesn’t show nor say anything at first; and you furrow your eyebrows. Was it too sweet for his taste? Had you accidentally let some egg whites mix in with the yolks?

Before you have the chance to ask him what he thought of it, Bucky swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as his lips curled into a huge grin. “Damn... that’s really good Y/N.”

Relief rushing through you at his approval, you laugh, happy that he likes it. Not wasting another second, you open your mouth and give yourself your own slice; savouring the creaminess and sweetness of the desert. It tasted heavenly.

Looking back at Bucky, you startle yourself out of your sweet paradise as he stared back at you. Light blue— almost cerulean— eyes gazing back into yours.

“Thank you.” were the only words out of his mouth, but that still didn’t stop your heart from fastening it’s pace nor the butterflies from welcoming themselves into your stomach.

His deep and raspy voice clearly enunciated every single emotion, and you know, deep in your heart, that he wasn’t just talking about the dessert.

You smile back at him, eyes crinkling, as you say, “You’re welcome.”

#lily’s lil’ stories #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes x you #poc reader #poc!reader #filipina reader #filipina!reader #this was very self indulgent haha oops #also might do a sequel to explain readers past...... so look out for that;) #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you

[marionsblack]

Intro; Marion.

❛ ☆ › landon liboiron & he/him male ‷ watch out , marion black has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 27 years old and celebrate their birthday on november 28th . they are from almira, WA, have lived in roswell for 2 years, and are currently working as a librarian at roswell high. one thing you should know about them is he has a two year old daughter named violet!

CHILDHOOD

Marion Black was born to perfectly bland parents, in the perfectly bland small town of Almira, Washington (pop. 217). Growing up surrounded by more trees than children, Marion was always a pretty lonesome child, with a tendency to latch on to anyone who was kind and stuck around for more then a few weeks. A tendency that would follow him into adulthood. Almira being the small town it was, meant that everyone knew everyone's business. So when word got around that Marion's father hadn't come home from his current worksite in a few months, it was no big surprise. Teachers would stop Marion in the halls at school as ask after his parents with thinly veiled glee, eager to glean some exclusive gossip straight from the source.

But Marion knew about as much as anyone else did, and was no help to the local gossipers. His dad was just... gone, and his mother was a wreck because of it. By the time everyone had kind of accepted that Marion's father was gone for good, Marion had become largely self sufficient in hopes of relieving the burden of raising him from his mother. He picked up shifts at the local diner and tutored on weekends to make sure the lights stayed on and there was food in the house, and later to pay for the many prescriptions the doctors put his mother on; not that they seemed to do much.

PAST (TRIGGERS: PREGNANCY, BABIES, ABUSE, SELF HARM MENTION, CHILD ENDANGERMENT, KIDNAPPING)

When Marion was 25, he met a girl. She'd come bursting into the diner one night just before close, yelling wildly into her phone and very much pregnant. There was more life in her than he'd witnessed in his entire life, and he was half way in love before he even poured her tea. By some stroke of luck, Marion managed to talk to her and got her number. There was never really a friendship between the two; instead they jumped headfirst into a serious relationship. She had just moved to Almira, and Marion was quick to offer her the spare room in his apartment. His mother was hardly coherent enough to butt in and knock some sense in her son, and the locals were too greedy for drama to maybe let him know that generally speaking, you don't move in with someone before you even go on a date. He wouldn't have listened though, too blinded by first love. They moved in together and life was like a movie; they ate breakfast in bed, and danced in the kitchen, and went on silly dates into the surrounding forest to skinny dip and scream at the moon. The only real dark spot in their relationship was the baby. She flat out refused to talk about it, or even really acknowledge that there was a baby at all. Marion, in all his wild googling, had read about post partum depression, and how it could sometimes present during the actual pregnancy, and figured her indifference was not unusual. He took the lead with anything regarding the baby, prepping their apartment and making doctor's appointments, and dragging her to said doctor's appointments. He made potential baby name lists, and spent a weekend converting their walk in closet into a nursery, and when the baby was finally born, he was the first to hold her (the only one willing to hold her). After Violet was born, there was a direct change in their relationship. Everything Marion did was suddenly annoying, or stupid, or insulting. Violet was a serene infant, hardly ever crying, but any noise from her seemed to set off her mother. Marion kept the two apart as much as he could, still chalking her personality change up to post partum. He'd tried to talk to her about possibly seeing a therapist about it, but that had only resulted in a huge fight; her yelling and slamming doors, him trying to calm her down while avoiding whatever she could get her hands on to throw. She accuses him of awful, entirely fabricating things, says she'll kill herself if he keeps treating her this way. Marion didn't mention therapy again. As the years went by, Marion was forced to accept that the drastic change in his girlfriend's personality was nothing to do with post partum depression, and everything to do with her just being a bad person. Things he'd seen as endearing when they first got together he looked back on and saw them for the red flags they were. Her possessiveness wasn't so amusing when he was being accused of fucking the woman who babysat Violet every so often. Her impulsivity wasn't so thrilling when she disappeared for days at a time to party with friends he wasn't allowed to meet. The longer he stayed, the more trapped he became, and the more comfortable she got with her treatment of them. Marion learned to sense her moods, hiding Violet away if he had the chance to. He would have left ages ago ( he tells himself he would have left, anyways) if not for Violet. Despite her complete lack of interest or affection for her daughter, she never hesitated to use the toddler against him. He had no legal claim to Violet, after all. So what if he was her sole provider, and the girl hardly even recognized her mother? He's working a late shift at the diner, Violet at the neighbor's house, when he gets a call from the neighbor. She's frantic, but he finally gets out of her that Violet's mother is at the front door screaming and trying to break in. When he gets there she's just bashed in a window. Anyone on their street can hear the commotion, hear the screaming baby, but no one so much as investigates. It takes him what seems like hours but is only actually about 15 minutes to defuse the situation, leaving the neighbors with his meagre tips from that night's shift and a promise to never involve thme in his drama again. He packs a couple of bags in the middle of the nights and grabs Violet and the cash from the oatmeal canister on his way out the door. Fuck legality, he's not letting the shittiness of his life ruin his daughter.

PRESENT

So now technically a kidnapper and criminal, Marion picked the most random place he could think of to settle down and build a new life for him and Violet. He changed their names, spent a good chunk of their emergency money on new papers for them, and the tiny family of two settled down in Roswell. He took the first job that was willing to take him, set Violet up with a puppyish nanny, and now does his best to ignore the previos two years. As far as anyone in Roswell is aware, Violet's mother died recently and that was why they moved.

OOC:

this got long af i’m sorry!! I’ve just had him for so long that i tend to go on and on abt him. but yeah, so hit me up for any plots or connections, I’m open to anything with my sad boy!

#roswellintro #intro;marion

[illyriamade]

nice, get sb by someone who i actually really wanted to write with. fantastic. this night has gone to utter shit. i hate this site sometimes. if you need me, IM me for my discord.

#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc #negativity / #negativity cw #negativity tw #i give up. #i want to rip my own hair out #i want to bawl my eyes out #i fucking hate this place #i cant do this anymore #self harm tw

[illyriamade]

re-established september of twenty - twenty one. hello!  my name is lizzy and this is my highly selective and private , independent game - centric and literary centric multimuse. some fandoms include : acotar , the infinity courts , cyberpunk2077 , soc , s&b , monster hunter , and more. please dont be afraid to send asks if we are mutuals , its the whole point of being mutuals , right? — mun is seventeen . ( rules & muses ) — ( promo )

#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc

[illyriamade]

the urge to archive and revamp and use a new pen-name :’) — sometimes its refreshing to start from a clean slate!

#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc

[illyriamade]

ONCE AGAIN ALEJANDRA SUPREMACY

#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc #⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. visage⠀」… alejandra #⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. muse⠀」… alejandra #fnaf //

[illyriamade]

maybe its the bad new year i had last year but right now i rlly feel like i annoy everyone and i clog up the dash so catch me on dis.cord

spectre.#6969

#⠀「⠀. ❀ ུ˚. what the fuck is oatmeal⠀」… ooc #negativity / #negativity tw #negativity cw