i fantasize too much

I feel so stupid sometimes because I fantasize too much about the people I like; I invent stories with them, I imagine entire days with them and how nice the future will be with pictures and letters and other tender things that makes a lot of sense in my mind. then the reality turn to be so much different and meaner and maybe the reason why it’s so difficult for me to accept it and letting people go it’s because I just want my future to be happy. in all my stories and castles I build inside of my mind, sadness just does not exist

When we got the 21.21 clip, and then the 21.21 text, I checked out what that meant in “time” lol. And the meaning of 21.21 is supposedly “a whirlwind romance”. So after I found out about that I looked at the other “important” times and 03.03 are supposed to mean “knocking at your door, love”. So now I’m wishing for a clip where Even comes knocking at Isaks door at 03.03 in the morning, so we can have a freakin amazingly romantic scene. 

Hnnnggggggg

OMG okay, just going to leave this one here…

This would be a good one for the ‘Imagine Data’ blog.

Imagine Data standing up on the balcony of your house and you had to work late. You pull up in your car and get out and there he is, standing there looking at you like this, his face illuminated by the moonlight. And he is just like ‘I was waiting for you. I made dinner. Come inside, I’ll run you a nice hot bath. I know you have had a stressful day.’

UGH. Yum. I mean this could be Lore too. however you look at it. Its up to you.

Why Ryou and the Ring spirit avoid being around Yuugi and his friends. 

anonymous asked:

Anon said: When you on some Tom's blogs they all focus on his sex and his buttock. A bit weird.😉 they fantasexe too much.- Well, I fantasize a lot about Tom. I'm a Tay fan and I think I'm mature enough to admit it, LOL. You can't resist this guy.

I think they mean that’s all some seem to care about at all. I mostly drool over his beautiful face and voice lol.

shufukuu  asked:

im fin and i fantasize about potential rp plots way too much

I WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU GUYS SO MESSAGE ME YOUR NAME AND SOMETHING ABOUT YOU

list three with @hcnorcoded rn

anonymous asked:

Come on! I'm pretty sure every single person in the Hoover Building views Scully as a sexual prospect and has fantasy about her at least once. Most might be intimidated to approach but that doesn't mean they don't want to :D

On-screen or it didn’t happen.  

Most of the interactions we see between Scully and anybody who’s not Mulder, Skinner, Kersh, Spender, or Fowley are people giving her weird looks or calling her Mrs. Spooky, so unless they’re into threesomes, I doubt they’re fantasizing too much about her.

Once, on another site, I wrote about how idols get overly dehumanized (examples: fanfics and roleplays). People’s comments were mostly “lol” and that seriously disturbed me. It’s like, do they not know what dehumanizing means? It’s erasing human qualities, their identities, their personalities. Fans worship these idols like gods when at the end of the day, being a celebrity is only their job. I just worry for people who take things too far. Fantasizing too much is disturbing and unhealthy.

Not Your Type

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier, Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon

Rating: G

Original Idea: I have too much time to think and fantasize in the shower.

Notes: I don’t like the ending. But I got a little carried away with this one.

^^^^^

“Hey Chaos!” Sam Wilson called, jogging up to me in his running clothes while I ate cereal in my pajamas, watching a bad reality TV show without really watching it. I smirked at the use of my codename. No one knew my real one because I’d never told them—except Natasha because she’d stolen my SHIELD file once. But she’d sworn not to tell anyone. I turned tiredly.

“Hmm?” I inquired.

Sam dropped into the seat next to me. “Would you like to go out on a run with me? I know you have like super-speed or something but I want to go out with someone other than Steve.” The bitterness in his voice made me grin.

“Sure. Let me go change.”

That took about two seconds.

I sat back down next to him, fully decked out in my own running outfit—gray tank top complete with Cap’s shield emblazoned on the chest, bright blue shorts, and gray sneakers. “Shall we?” I stood up and offered Sam my hand. He was a good guy and always there for everyone should they need it. I liked that. He’d quite quickly become my friend when I was first dragged away from home to be a part of the team. The others had slowly grown on me but Sam was there from the beginning, cracking jokes about Steve being old and reassuring me it would be okay. I always felt like I owed him.

So we went out running.

It was agonizingly slow for me, but he seemed to keep up a pretty good pace for a normal human. We were out on the track of the New Avengers Facility, going around and around. Occasionally poking fun at each other or some of the people running around in uniforms—probably former SHIELD agents. Sam didn’t dare challenge me to a race though. He knew I’d win—even without using my powers to any major extent I was still much faster than him.

And then we were joined.

“ON YOUR LEFT!” Steve shouted at the same moment an unfamiliar voice called, “ON YOUR RIGHT!”

Two men ran past us. Steve, as mentioned, and another one. Tall, brown hair, fit, wearing a black tank top and running pants. His left arm was metal with a bright red star on the deltoid. Dang, I thought as I shamelessly stared, lips open and tongue tip pressed to the roof of my mouth. He’s one fine specimen!

Bucky Barnes.

I’d never seen him before—except in old pictures from WWII. He was a lot more attractive in person.

“Tell us, Sam Wilson, how does it feel to be slower than two ninety-six-year-olds?” Steve joked in his impression of a news reporter, jogging backwards slightly ahead of us. Sam rolled his eyes while Bucky laughed. Steve and his best friend turned back around and they went back to running.

I glanced pleadingly at Sam as the two super-soldiers started to pull away from us. “I’ll be right back!” I pleaded.

He sighed. “Fine. Go have your fun,” he relented.

I smirked and blasted away.

“IN BETWEEN!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as I bolted between them at about fifty miles per hour. I knew Steve’s average was around twenty six, so I was only going twice his usual speed, but it was still fast enough that I overtook them in seconds, running through the gap in between them, cackling, red blur trailing behind me. I zipped around the rest of the track and then caught back up to them again. “Tell me, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, how does it feel to be slower than a twenty-year-old girl?” I taunted in my own impression of a news reporter, turned around and jogging backwards, giving them a taste of their own medicine. Their blue eyes glared at me. I was shamelessly staring at Bucky Barnes, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I cackled again, circled the track, and went back to my steady, normal pace next to Sam.

He chuckled lightly. “Well, you certainly showed them,” he remarked sarcastically. I grinned.

“Yes I did,” I replied happily.

When we were finally done—it took forever for Sam to run like three miles—we went inside, showered, and went back to our own business. I braided my hair and put on a dark red T-shirt and black capris, not bothering to wear shoes. I preferred being barefoot.

I went and found Steve. He was sitting on a sofa in a parlor, reading a newspaper, already showered and dressed. “You didn’t tell me your friend the Winter Soldier was that kind of eye candy,” I remarked, lounging on the sofa next to him casually.

“Well I didn’t think you were interested in the former-brainwashed-assassin types,” he replied.

“I don’t really have a type,” I retorted carelessly.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head back. “Hey Bucky! Chaos has a crush on you!” he shouted in a singsong voice.

I covered my face with my hands. “I hate you.”

Steve shrugged. “I know.”

At that moment, Bucky Barnes came out of a doorway to who-knows-where, wet hair dripping and only wearing a pair of jeans and some black combat boots. There was a towel in his hands and his upper body was glistening—except his left arm, which looked like it had just been dried or had never gotten wet at all. He’d probably just gotten out of the shower. There was also an amused smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “Do you really, Chaos? Didn’t think I was your type,” he commented. There was a totally shameless joke in his tone.

I sighed heavily. “I don’t have a type,” I repeated.

Bucky Barnes placed the towel on the doorknob and jumped over the back of the sofa, sitting solidly in between me and Steve. He looked me right in the eyes with a spark of humor to his entire being. I very pointedly kept my eyes on his, doing my utmost not to give him the satisfaction of looking down at his body—no matter how tempting that seemed.

Finally he smiled brightly. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to change that, won’t I?”

“Meaning?” I edged.

“Steve, if you’d so kindly bring up that song you were listening to on your record player when I shot Director Fury,” Bucky requested his best friend. My eyes widened. What?!

Cap chuckled and did as he was asked. It’s Been a Long, Long Time started drifting from the speakers as Bucky jumped back over the back of the couch and landed softly on the hardwood floor. He extended both hands out to me. I took them and let him help me over the back of the sofa.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Bucky shrugged. “It’s been a long, long time since I danced,” he answered simply. He held my waist with his normal arm and my hand with his metal prosthetic. With a very strong grip he led me in a simple dance I didn’t know how to do. I was pretty good on my feet—hello, I was a speedster!—but dancing was beyond my capabilities. I stumbled over my own toes several times in only a few seconds, but he didn’t seem to mind.

I remembered Steve once telling me about Bucky—about how he oozed charm and charisma—and looking up at him right then I knew exactly what Rogers was talking about.

At the lyrics of the song, “Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again,” I was awarded a few light kisses on each eyelid and my forehead. To be honest, I was quite shocked. This was definitely not how I thought my day would go when I woke up that morning.

Steve was smiling over Bucky’s shoulder, doing his best to pretend to be absorbed in his newspaper—and failing.

Bucky was staring at me, head tilted to the side. “It’s okay, darling, I like you too.”

He bit his lower lip and winked.