#full time score prediction

[100percentsurewins]

100 Sure Home Win Prediction

[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text css=””] 100 Sure Home Win Prediction Introduction to Home Win Predictions Predicting home wins can be a thrilling part of sports betting, offering both seasoned bettors and newcomers a chance to test their analytical skills and intuition. 100 Sure Home Win Predictions focus on the likely success of a home team in a sporting event, leveraging various factors to…

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (i)

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

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium.��

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

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

to keep up with updates for this fic and others, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications!

also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Please write tennisplayer!reader x Oscar. Him coming to a match of hers for the first time, and her explaining stuff to him (just started to get into tennis myself). Them having a good time and just vibing at the tennis open.

Oscar had never gone too deep into tennis before, his knowledge of tennis extended to recognizing names like Serena Williams and Roger Federer. However, when he started dating you, a professional tennis player, his interest in the sport naturally grew. 

He couldn’t hide his excitement and confusion as the two of you walked through the green scenery of All England Club. In between your practice and media you took your boyfriend on a little tour to explain a few things. 

“Okay, let's start with the basics. No! Wait, we will get the strawberries first” Oscar chuckled at your sudden change of plans but went with it. 

As you led him to the food stands, you began explaining the traditions of the tournament, “So, one of the best things about Wimbledon is the strawberries and cream. It’s a must have”. You grabbed a box each and continued your walk. “Okay, now we can continue. Where was I?” you said in between chewing. 

You found a quiet area near the practice court. “See those lines? The outer ones are for doubles and inner ones are for singles”. You pointed with your finger. “Got it. And those?” Oscar asked as he gestured towards the perpendicular ones. “That’s the service box, basically when you serve, the ball has to land there. You have two tries and if you fail it’s called a double fault and your opponent gets a point”. 

“Uh Huh, but the points are weird, aren’t they? I don’t get them.” he said with scrunched nose which made you giggle. “Yeah, it’s a bit odd. We start with love, which means zero. Then it goes fifteen, thirty, forty. If both players reach forty, it’s called deuce. From deuce, you need to win by two points. So that’s how you win a game and you need six and be up by two to win a set. If it's six-six, we play a tiebreak”. 

He nodded trying to organize the information in his mind, “a tiebreak?”. “Yea, we alternate serves and the first to seven, and again up by two, wins” you explained. “Got it. And how many sets do you need?”. “Well, at Wimbledon it’s best of three for women and best of five for men. So I need to win two sets to win a match”. 

“Alright, that makes sense, I guess… I don’t know if I can remember all that” Oscar said. “Oh, don’t worry, you’re gonna figure it out as you watch. I’m glad you’re interested. It means a lot to have you here” you hugged his arm as you two walked.

The next day Oscar dressed up nicely and sat next to your team. It was his time to be your wag. He watched you take your headphones out as you entered the court. Your expression was cold, focused and determined, a stark contrast to how he knew you. He couldn’t help but to smile with pride. 

The match began, and Oscar’s eyes were glued to the court, more specifically to your side of it. He found the speed at which the serves and rallies happened surprisingly fast. He admired the way you hit the ball with full power, while still keeping it full of grace and precision. Anytime you looked at him he would flash you a big smile and thumbs up.

He found himself not caring about others while cheering louder than anyone else at every point you scored. During the game he had in mind everything you explained to him the previous day. As the match passed he understood the sport more and more, and didn’t hesitate to ask your coach when he got confused. 

The match ended with your victory, something that could be easily predicted as it was one of the first games of the tournament. “You were amazing! So fast! I’m into tennis now. You need to teach me” you heard as you approached him after the game. “Thanks Oscar, means a lot. I’m glad you like it because I hope you will be watching me here for the next two weeks” you said as he hugged your sweaty body without hesitation.

July 22, 2024

[j-jinxee]

Could I request a fic with nijiro or chishiya where reader uses a sex toy or toys on him to make him beg. I love the idea of them being whiny.

[ ⟡​ ] — MAKE ME LOSE,,

NSFW under the cut! ⊹ Chishiya x Reader

[warnings - nsfw, sex toys, begging, public(?), swearing]

A/N - tysm for the request!! hehe I loveee this :3 don't ask me how they got access to sex toys and stuff in the borderland since there's no like, electronic devices kind of yk? Just go w it hehe —★

─────

Chishiya's poker face was one to admire. He had incredible control over his emotions showing, not cracking for anyone or anything. It interested you, his whole demeanour was something no one else at the beach even came close to. The beach influenced everyone to be incredibly care free, dropping their guards and just having a good time, but of course, not Chishiya. Chishiya still kept that same unamused yet intrigued look on his face, he was so peculiar.

Fast forward a few games, you and Chishiya got pretty close. He found you weren't annoying like most at the beach, the way you spoke didn't irritate him at all, plus it was fun having someone around who was actually a challenge. The games got pretty boring after a while, sure you'd get hurt sometimes, but they eventually all got so easy. So you and Chishiya would start placing bets just to spice it up a bit, betting who could get a higher score, who got hurt the least, who predicted which players would die, you know? It was your guys' way of attempting to enjoy the games.

However this type of bet came as a surprise.

"You're so full of it! You would not be able to keep it together!" You exclaimed to Chishiya.

"Trust me I could, it wouldn't be that hard."

"Alright then, let's bet on it." You said with a smile.

His face slightly dropped, you finally got to him. You know he wouldn't be able to keep it together, let alone survive a full game. He'd be too sensitive to focus, because you'd be watching from afar, in full control of a pretty little cock ring he's wearing, vibrations running through his core as he tries not to falter.

Fuck the idea was so hot, and it'd soon be a reality thanks to your betting games. You knew from a friend of a friend that the beach wasn't too far from an adult store, how convenient. Before the next game, you'd taken a little trekk to the store, sure it was creepy and abandoned like everything else in the city, but it still looked relatively clean. Making your "purchase" of the toy, you began your way back to the beach, Chishiya's next game was tonight, so he was just praying it wouldn't be anything in the spades category.

Much to his luck — it was a diamonds game. Fuck, he might actually win.

You two had discussed the "rules" earlier, you'd be in an undisclosed location somewhere near the game arena. You'd also have an ear piece in so you could hear all his pretty little noises, but he'd have to focus completely on the game, no communication was allowed on his end.

He'd win if his poker face stayed strong, basically if no one caught on or asked him about it. He also wasn't allowed to cum, poor baby. However, if you won — he'd have to keep it on all night, all the way back to the beach, in his own bed, everything.

It was some sort of numbers game (think like the king of diamonds except not that serious). There was a screen with numbers 0-100, and a math formula that went along with it. You honestly didn't pay much attention, you weren't playing and were just here to make sure Chishiya doesn't cheat. It was more than likely Chishiya knew where you were, he always knew somehow, and right now you may or may not have been pirched on top of the roof, looking in through the high windows. It was night, and you were in full black, no one else would've seen you.

You decided not to touch the remote at all during the first two rounds, hopefully making him feel the suspense. You doubt it would have any real effect on him, but it's fun to imagine.

"Your move Chishiya, what'll it be?" Another player asked.

His lips parted to begin speaking. vrrr vrrr

You smirked as you saw him hesitate, his mouth closing for a split second before going back to his sentence. You had it on the lowest setting, wouldn't want to ruin the fun immediately.

Your mind started to wander as the game went on, thinking back to all the other pretty toys you saw in the shop. Invasive thoughts clouded your mind, beginning to think about using all the other toys on Chishiya — binding his wrists to the headboard with those hand cuffs, watching hot wax run down his bare chest, fuck. You definitely had to go back.

Two players had already had their heads blown off, three remaining including Chishiya. Your thumb dragged along the buttons of the remote, surprising you with the fact it even worked from this distance. Shiya was beginning to get restless, adjusting his posture, looking around randomly, rubbing his eyes, just trying to feel anything else to take his mind off the pleasure, threatening to spill at any second.

"mm-mmh! shit-" he quietly panted, completely unable to focus. The other players shot him suspicious glances, wondering what was happening to him.

"You alright there?" Another player asked, his expression showing signs of disgust, has he caught on?

Chishiya's little whines did sound very suggestive, even if you were completely oblivious to the situation he was in.

"Hm? Oh- yeah, yeah I'm good" Liar.

As the game continued, Chishiya's moves were less and less calculated. If he didn't get it together, he could actually make a fatal mistake. You decided to give him a break, it was the second last round, and you slowly turned it all the day down to the lowest setting. You could see sweat start to form on his forehead, quickly being wiped away with his sleeve as he proceeded with his move.

Another player was executed, entering the last round. The inconsistent vibrations were starting to make him feel sick, he would've came twice by now if it wasn't for your bet. As he looked back at the screen, his hand went up to select "01" vrrr vrrrrrr

Spiking it up to the highest setting, what else did he expect for the last round? His hand clenched into a fist, his boxers completely soaked in pre, making all the small adjustments feel even better. He resumed selecting the last number, but for some reason changed his answer.

'Player Chishiya selected 00'

He glanced to the only remaining player, giving them a little wave. His expression was horrified, realising he had just lost, and this psycho was- waving him goodbye? Not a second passed before more blood was splattered on the walls, Chishiya had won. Fuck.

You made your way carefully down from the roof, not looking forward to seeing his smug 'I won' face again. You really thought this would break him, sure the other players were suspicious, but they didn't outright ask him about it, you'd lost. However, you were met with something you certainly didn't expect.

Chishiya was barely standing, leaning against the entrance of the game hall with his head angled upwards, bulge very prominent in his pants. Once he heard you approaching, he needed this to end.

"ff-fuck is it over? Please be ove- ah! Does it count? I win right? right?" Holy shit, he was so lost in it. Of course it was over, what was he talking about? He was clearly deluded from all the adrenaline, mixed with pleasure he want allowed to experience, you never thought you'd see him like this.

You decided to play, "I don't know. We could keep going, see if you could last the night, see if anyone at the beach notices."

"Fuckkk- fuck please! No one noticed I- ahhh! I didn't even cum" you still had the ring on full power, getting him closer and closer while he was trying to convince what'd already come true.

"Didn't you? Awh what a good boy. I guess I could let you cum, you've done well enough."

"r-really? Ahh! are you sure? Please end it."

You held his face so gently, attempting to make eye contact as he struggled to keep his open. Calming him with your touch, your other hand slowly went up to stroke him through the wet fabric. "aAH- mmh!"

"I'm sure, you've won. Pretty boy can cum now."

He whined out louder than ever as the most intense orgasm of his life washed over him. Thick ropes of his hot white cum spurted out into his boxers, all his muscles tensing from the pleasure. Nearly collapsing from the pure ecstasy, you turned the small device off and sat down next to him. He was silent for a few minutes before coming back down to earth, his eyes finally opened.

"Fuck, I barely remember the game, or what I was saying. I won again though." He smirked as he looked over at you, there's that smug little cat.

"Yeah, didn't think you had it in you to be honest. So, what's my punishment? Gonna make me eat natto again?" You referred back to the last bet you lost, where he made you eat your least favourite food ever.

The smirk plastered on his face got even wider before he spoke, "no. I thought this time, I'd use your reward against you."

What does he mea- oh.

Before you knew it, you were back at the beach, on Chishiya's bed, wearing a pretty little vibrator that he had control over. Maybe we shouldn't have made that bet.

[calvincell]

Critical PSA to Balatro or Mahjong or general Roguelike Deckbuilder Lovers for the amazing looking upcoming game ULTIMAHJONG!

ULTIMAHJONG is in the exact spirit of the likes of Balatro, Bingle Bingle & other casino/gambling-based roguelikes/deckbuilders that have been inundating the indie gaming scene recently and which I’ve personally been happily drowning in! In this case the base game is Mahjong & it’s straight up Riichi Mahjong based thankfully rather than the deluge of puzzle solitaire tile matching games that overwhelm Steam

Currently has playable demo on top of being Wishlistable. The dev predicts a release this year & I’m absolutely purchasing it on day one if for nothing else than to reward a halfway legitimate Mahjong game!

Speaking of the dev, they themselves ran through a few rounds of the early game to show it off:

Don’t know how many this post will reach but I’m happy to do my part to raise the population of Mahjong Enthusiasts out here on top of supporting innovative indie devs & their projects!

EDIT:

My luck finding out about these types of personally niche games seems to remain at an all time high because I’m obliged to update this post with a 2nd Roguelike Mahjong Deckbuilder on the horizon: AOTENJO

Similar to ULTIMAHJONG in intent but with its own distinct style & also has a free demo on Steam to try out.

One of AOTENJO’s major features is the inclusion of multiple regional mahjong variants to enrich the variety of the play experience!

Unlike in the case of ULTIMAHJONG, AOTENJO’s developer XO Cat’s YT channel (under the moniker NonToxicEel), lacks a similar in-depth breakdown of the game’s demo but does have a few videos attempting speedruns of the demo and are still a recommended watch to get the game flow & feel they’re aiming for:

Once again, I’m happy for the Mahjong renaissance we seem to be getting in the realm of gaming post-Mahjong Soul & Balatro!

[rainydayathogwarts]

Ron weasley - Opposite teams

Summary: You play a match against your boyfriend, who's a very sore loser. wc: 2k

Seeing him on the pitch shouldn't have had such an effect on you, especially considering you were playing for the opposite team. The gear looked good on him, and confidence was beaming off his skin, but you were one of the best chasers at Hogwarts, priding yourself on how rarely you missed a shot. "Pull yourself together Y/N!" Flint yelled at your frozen form, still in shock of what had happened. It was all because Ron had flashed you that stupidly gorgeous smile when you were about to score that you hesitated - hesitated enough for him to read your body language and predict your next move, easily catching the quaffle when you threw it. Even your boyfriend had been surprised, well aware of how good you played from years of watching you on the field.

"Wow! It seems as though L/N is too charmed by her boyfriend to get a good shot, this is a new one folks!" Begins Lee, rousing up those in the bleachers. "And it looks like Slytherin Captain Flint is calling for a time out! Good choice I'd say!" It was already embarrassing enough that the entire school knew the time out was being called because you were too hot and bothered by your boyfriend, but your face flushed a dark red the second the Slytherin team turned to look at you in disappointment. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know what got into me, he's just so- I can't be the primary shooter I'm sorry!" The entire team looked back at you as you rambled and you felt your face get impossibly warmer realising you were gushing about your boyfriend to six teenage boys. "I'm sorry." You muttered.

"Y/N's right," Starts Flint again, "She shouldn't be the primary shooter for this game..." His voice trails off and your gaze drifting to where to Gryffindor team stands. You can see them laughing for a moment, and Harry pats Ron on the back - the reason you missed literally couldn't have been more obvious and they were having a field day about it. "Got it Y/N?" Your head snaps back to Flint, looking at you with raised eyebrows. Your face goes blank, your mouth opening as though to say 'what' but nothing comes out. "You'll switch places with Nott as secondary." Malfoy says quietly to you, and you perk up "Yes, got it!" Flint doesn't look convinced, but calls time out to be over anyway, and everyone gets back on their brooms.

"Stay focused or I'll knock your boyfriend off his broom!" The remark is clearly aimed at you, but is loud enough for both teams to hear and you glance at Ron, whose face has blanched at the comment. You turn away from him, trying not to smile, and the whistle blows. Nott scores time after time after time, and you can see your boyfriend's confidence decreasing while his anger increases. Nott passes you, high-fiving you on the way back to his post. "Good strategy change by the Slytherin team, it seems that they're back - OHH AND MALFOY CATCHES THE SNITCH, GAME OVER EVERYONE!" You're relieved to be off your broom when the game end and you sigh deeply, rolling your head in a circle to try and stretch a kink in your neck out.

You finally join your team, earning pats on the back by them, and teasing comments "Well he's not gonna be happy about that one." and "Good luck getting laid tonight." The comments follow you all the way back to your dorm since Pansy walks with you back to the common room. "I don't even know how that happened though! You never miss! Like you can't be so attracted to someone that, well that happens. He's going to be in such a prissy mood, good luck with that."

The party in the common room is in full blow when you finish showering and getting dressed. You're clad in a tight black mini-skirt with a red crop top, something your boyfriend will hopefully appreciate. "I see what you're doing." You're interrupted by Draco, who eyes your outfit once before handing you a drink. "I think you underestimate just how capable I am of getting my boyfriend in bed, Malfoy." He grins, shaking his head "Well if you have the effect on him that he had on you, I doubt it'll take much." You scoff in amusement, the jokes will never end. "Hey if Marcus asks where I am, don't tell him I'm sleeping with the enemy." But Flint is already beside you, muttering "Cheers" under his breath, so you scurry away quietly, starting your trek to the Gryffindor common room.

The Gryffindors' party is completely different. The music in the background is quiet, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team sits together, each player with a drink in hand while they talk. Others seem to be having more fun than them. When Ron spots you walking towards him, he rolls his eyes, clearly upset. His teammates, on the other hand, greet you kindly, some even joking about the slight incident on the field. You stand in front of Ron, putting a knee on the couch between his legs to support yourself when you put your hands on his shoulder, leaning into his body.

Despite Ron's free hand coming to the back of your thigh, he still mutters "I'm not in the mood." though he leans into your touch when one of your hands comes up to play with his hair. You tilt your head down so your lips barely graze his ear "You're so hot when you're angry." Ron stiffens, looking up at you, but your head is already dipping lower so you can press kisses on his neck. He shivers at the cool touch of your slightly wet hair on his collarbone, and his eyes flutter close for a moment. When he opens them back up, Harry is grinning at him and wiggling his eyebrows. Someone wolf whistles, but he doesn't know if it's directed to you. He feels your teeth graze the spot you've been sucking on right below his ear and he sighs, trying to disguise his pleasure as annoyance, pushing your hip away from him.

Yes, he wants you, but he has to at least pretend that he doesn't for a while longer because he's still angry, and wants you to feel as though you need to try a little to win him over. You've played his game before, and you know what follows. When Ron nudges at your hips one more time, you separate from him, tilting his chin up so he can look at you. He's putty in your hands, but you like to give him the illusion of being in control, so when you kiss him, it's a soft, almost desperate kiss. "Ronnie," you plead "Please." And that soft whisper is enough to make him begin to stand up. You back away, pushing your bottom lip forward and making doe eyes at your boyfriend to stop yourself from grinning in accomplishment.

His shoulder brushes past you and he begins walking up to his dorm, but when you catch up with him, snaking your hand in his, he only holds your hand tighter, so you know you've won. Ron's door slams shut behind you, and immediately, hands are on you, pushing you against the door and groping your ass while he kisses you aggressively. The kiss is filled with angry passion, and Ron's tongue is fighting against yours for dominance. Both your arms are thrown over Ron's shoulder in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer to you so your tits are pushed up into his chest. The hands on your ass move to your front, sliding up your crop top and cupping your tits, while Ron pulls away from the kiss to attack your neck.

Moans are immediately escaping your mouth in soft breaths, your back arching into Ron's hands, pulling and massaging at your breasts, teasing your nipples. His teeth bite at your neck, and one leg comes to shove itself right between your thighs and you jerk up, an electric shock being sent right through you. At your loud gasp, Ron looks down to where his leg connected with your cunt, and his hand immediately pushes your skirt up to find that you're not wearing panties. "What a little slut. No underwear under a mini-skirt? You're practically begging." He grunts, and you whine, grinding your pussy against his thigh. "Just for you, Ronnie."

The comment seems to make him happy, at least happier than he was before since he starts working on taking your top off. "Get this skirt off now." He mutters, his attention back on your tits the second they're exposed. Your bra drops to the floor at the same time your skirt does. Ron pulls away from where he was leaving hickeys on your tits, and takes a moment to oggle at your naked body. You falter under his stare, a hand coming up to grab the material of his t-shirt. "Ron?" At the sound of his name, he looks back up, taking an impossible step closer to you and pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss. "You're so fucking amazing." He mutters between kisses, all of his previous anger seemingly gone "Don't deserve this. Don't deserve you." Before you can react to his words, his hands are wrapping around your waist and carrying you to his bed, where he immediately shuts the curtains of his four-poster.

He wastes no time pressing his clothed cock against your naked, which has you moaning his name, bucking your hips up for more friction. "Take it off, take it off." You beg. He complies, chuckling at the sight of your hips bucking up, but takes his time stroking his cock once it's finally freed. His demeanour completely flips the second he pushes into you; his hips snapping at a faster pace than you can keep track of, his hands grabbing both your legs to pull over his shoulders. The angle is perfect and with the way his cock is hitting the right spot with every stroke, you're sure you won't last ten minutes.

You're tightly gripping the bed sheets and you're almost positive that your eyes are going to get stuck at the back of your head because of how hard they're rolling back. "Mmph, bloody hell you feel so nice." The compliment only spurred the pleasure inside you and you moaned louder, bucking your hips up for something more - anything more. Ron's hand comes down to your clit in a harsh slap, and quickly starts putting pressure on it, watching as you squirmed underneath him at the extra friction. His pace sped up and your legs started to shake on his shoulders, a sign that you were clearly close. Ron's hand begins rubbing quick circles on your clit and hips start erratically jerking into you as he releases his load into you, triggering your very own orgasm.

Ron rides out both your orgasms, stilling his movements when you put a hand on his chest. He pants, his chest heaving with every breath he takes as he takes your legs off his shoulders. "Christ, that was too much exercise for one day." He mutters, looking down at you when you open your arms wide for him. He falls into your awaiting arms and mumbles "Can't sleep. Need to clean you up." You moan, shaking your head at him. "Just five minutes."

[kittenintheden]

Professionals

*boops fingers together and bats eyes @ u*

Rating: E Word Count: 1,650 Content: 18+, roleplay, sex work, biting, blood kink, oral sex, PIV sex

---

Sharess' Caress is busy tonight. A woman stands near the bar, perusing the evening's johns and janes, giving them mental scores based on personality, appearance, and style. She sips her drink, eyes lidded, and turns away a four, then a six, then a seven. She can afford to be picky.

She's making smalltalk with the barkeep when she feels light fingers brush the back of her arms. She sighs and plasters on a smile, expecting another modest offering, but she's met with a full-stop ten. In looks and style, at least. If the personality matches...

"Hello, lovely thing," he purrs, his voice sending a tingle up her spine. "Don't you look delicious. I'm called Astarion. And you are?"

"Very interested in what someone like you is doing in a place like this," she says playfully, lifting her glass to her lips for a sip. The liquor inside stings just right. "But you may call me Lily."

He grins, seductive and predatory, and places a satchel of gold on the bar. "Five hundred gold says I can call you whatever I like, I think. I’ll be honest. I’m a connoisseur, and there are occasions when I’d like to partake in… top-shelf talent. I believe you fit the bill, if my instincts are correct. And they usually are." He tilts his head to the side, daring her to say no.

She gives him a hard look up and down, finally meeting his ruby eyes. She sets her glass on the bar and uses two fingers to nudge the coin purse toward the barkeep. "We've a high-rolling customer," she says to them. They give her a knowing smirk, look over the john, then accept the bag.

"The Chartreuse Room is free," the barkeep says, going back to their mixing.

"After you," Astarion says, gesturing to her to take the lead. She does. As they ascend the stairs, he ghosts his fingers against her lower back. Gentlemanly, one might think, if one’s unfamiliar with the different ways people touch. She is not unfamiliar.

The Chartreuse Room is, predictably, quite green. Bottles of liquor line a shelf on the nearest wall beside a small bar. Lily walks around, trailing her fingertips over the polished wood and leans onto the surface, letting her cleavage rise up enticingly over the top of her corset as she gives him a coy look.

"Could I make you a drink?" she says. She reaches out and teases the neck of the nearest bottle suggestively.

Astarion moves toward her, already undoing the buttons of his beautifully embroidered jacket. He smiles, showing off too-sharp canines. "I didn't come here for a drink, pet. Not of that, anyway."

She shrugs. "Thought I'd offer, nonetheless." She pushes off the bar and approaches, letting her shoulders rustle the strings of glass beads hanging from the ceiling so they tinkle together. She stops in front of him, admiring his bare chest before raising her gaze to his face.

"And what would you like?" she says lowly.

He shrugs off his jacket and undercoat. "Honestly? I'd like to bite. Hard enough to break skin." As he speaks, his timbre drops seductively. Almost like he’s trying to seduce her.

Cheeky man. Cheeky man with expensive taste. She can work with that.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Well. That's not one I get often. But, for such a generous patron, I'll allow it."

"Good," he says. Then he's on her, fast as lightning, a hand on one side of her neck and his sharp teeth piercing through the opposite, a jolt of cold radiating through her nervous system. She gasps and grips onto him, surprised, but in seconds she's relaxing into it, eyes going half-lidded as pleasant numbness spreads. Before she goes weak in the knees from blood loss instead of lust, he pulls away, licking her off his teeth.

Blood play. Unusual, but not her first time.

"You are... fantastic," he breathes, dropping his chin and looking at her from under his brows like he wants to consume her another way. "Now... on the bed, on your stomach."

"Yes, saer," she says, swaying on her feet a moment before walking toward the low, round bed, covered in cushions of varying shades of green. She takes her time, lowering herself to all fours and stretching forward like a cat, her back in a deep arch with her arse in the air before she brings it down. Once she's in place, she hears the beads tinkle as he comes closer, then feels the weight of him on the mattress as he puts his knees on either side of her legs.

He leans down over her, not quite touching, and puts his mouth to her ear. "Call me darling," he says. “And I’ll call you whatever strikes me.” Then she feels his fingers at the sides of her hips, undoing the laces keeping her shorts on her body.

"Anything you like if you keep doing that, darling," she says.

He disrobes her from the waist down, pulling every article of clothing from her with aching slowness. Lily bites her lip, desperate to turn and see his pretty face again, but he paid his fee and he's calling the shots. She feels his weight shift lower, his dexterous hands spreading her open and angling her hips, and then she feels his tongue run along her. Instantly, she arches her back with a groan.

"I think that's supposed to be my job," she gasps, pressing her face to the silken sheets and biting her lip as he continues to work her like an expert. "I feel like I should be paying you. Darling."

He chuckles against her most tender of places, giving her another long draw from behind. "Hush. Let me enjoy my night."

She’s certainly not going to argue. A john who gives back? What a rare treat this is.

His hands draw her closer until he's drowning in her, until he shouldn't be able to breathe, and he lavishes her in a way she knows no other customer down below would ever. As her pleasure builds, she squirms against the mattress and he puts a firm palm on her lower back to hold her still, humming every now and again, the sensation making her shiver and cry out.

"Darling," she pants. "Darling, darling, darling."

Finally, she can tell his collected exterior is beginning to crack. At every cry of the pet name, he goes a touch sloppy. As her peak comes closer, he begins to murmur and pant against her as if sensing her heightened arousal, as if it drives him mad. Finally, she screams into the sheets as she comes harder than she has in recent memory, his mouth relentless until she can barely stand it. She doesn’t even have to act. Not a bit.

Astarion rolls her over, his chest heaving and his chin covered in her slick, and crawls over top.

Her head lolls as she gazes up at him in adoration. "What now, darling?" she whispers.

He goes up on his knees to undo his own laces, his arousal clear and present against the material of his fine trousers. He keeps his eyes on her.

"Now I make love to you like you're the only person who matters, Tav," he says, voice like gravel, and she melts clear into the bed. Whoever Tav is, they must be very lucky, indeed.

He's naked and beautiful, lowering himself over her, kissing her deeply. She accepts, circling his tongue with hers, tasting her cunt and her blood and her passion on him. One by one, he unhooks the buttons keeping her corset on her body and tosses it aside.

Briefly, she wonders how she ever managed to score this big. His hand, cooler than it should be, palms her breast firmly and then he's inside her and she moans like a wanton… well, whore.

Astarion kisses her neck, gentle on her sore spot, and sighs out his own pleasure. "You are perfect," he says. "The only one in the entire place I could ever... oh, you make me lose my mind. Tav. Tav."

She wraps her legs high on his waist, seeking better connection, and he angles himself to draw over the place near her entrance, the one that lights her up, and she clings to him like he's life itself. The range of motion in his hips is absolutely maddening in the very best way. He’s fucking her better than anyone else ever could and she uses every single technique in her book to give it back to him.

They rock and thrust against each other. He kisses her. She kisses back. They climb, and climb, and climb together, reaching for the sky.

Toward the end, his facade fully breaks to pieces and he sobs tiny breaths into her ear.

"Darling," she gasps. "Love me, darling."

"I love you," he says. "Always you."

Their mouths press together in open ecstasy as they come one after another, bursting into delicious, whole-body pleasure.

Astarion all but collapses on top of her, her legs spread wide to accommodate him. She gasps in several deep breaths, coming back to earth. Then she breaks into giggles.

"Stop that," he grumbles at her. "I'm a paying customer."

"Oh, that was good," she says, wiping the corner of her eye. "That was a good one. We have to do that again."

He sits up on an elbow, staring at her bleary-eyed. "How many asked before me?" he says.

"At least three," she says.

"Should've been much more than that," he says. "You're top-shelf merchandise."

She cuffs him upside the head. "Well, someone didn't let the scene go on very long, did he."

"We have the room until morning?" he asks, avoiding her accusation.

"So the barkeep told me when I asked."

"Well. Better make it worth five hundred gold, then, shouldn't we?"

[lucawrites11]

the lionesses biggest problems against france and my solutions

keira walsh unable to lose her marker

the lack of a left footed centreback

poor defending of corners especially from hampton

terrible substitutions

a lack of speed and players in the box

a lack of creativity in line-ups making us completely predictable

okay, let's look at these problems in depth:

sarina loves a 4-3-3 or 4-2-3-1 looking something like this:

however this line-up has multiple problems. the first is that it's predictable, it is a slight modification of the same line-up with the same people that has been used since the euros except it no longer has the same level of success because the opposition has figured out it's weaknesses.

the first major risk is the reliance of Keira Walsh. Germany had figured this out by the Euros Final. as one of the best holding midfielder in the world, she's absolutely crucial in terms of the passes she provides forward and her ball recovery but if you just put one player on her all game (in France's case it was Kenza Dali) you can mark her out and remove England's ball recovery ability and ensure that they struggle to get the ball forward.

Another weakness is that if Sarina choses to start Greenwood, as she did yesterday, there is no defender with a good left foot and that leaves the defence vulnerable and also limits the connection that Hemp can have with her full-back down the left. Furthermore, without Lauren James, Ella Toone doesn't provide the same speed running in behind in the 10 role and that switch with Russo to allow Russo to overload the midfield and start goal scoring play. It was something that she did multiple times against France but Toone didn't make her way into the box like James and there is no finishing. English is struggling without that out and out striker, and Lauren James compensated for that gap. Without James, speed in the frontline is also lost, leaving Hemp the fastest forward player and no one chasing after her to get into the box with her.

Also loosing Earps meant that Hampton was shaky and thrown off coming on and she has never been as strong at set piece defending. Khiara may be a better option to defend set pieces where France are deadly but that's too much pressure for a debut game almost. I would like to see Khiara get her first England cap in the next Ireland match to allow be more of an option for Sarina as competition for Earps and Hampton. Sarina also failed in terms of not making a subsitution until the seventieth minute and bringing on experience where England clearly needed more speed and fresh legs. Leaving Jess Naz, Grace Clinton and Jess Park's speed on the bench was criminal.

what's the solution?

in my opinion, sarina has to use an entirely new line-up that does a few things:

either takes Walsh off the pitch or uses a midifeld overload that allows her more freedom

brings more speed into the attacking line

places a winger or ten behind Russo with the ability to get into the box

makes space for a left-footed centreback

there are a few options:

3-4-3

this is my least favourite option. it solves the keira walsh problem by taking her off the pitch but that leaves stanway as the sole holding midfielder. furthermore, it gives space for a left footed centreback in alex greenwood but it means bronze is pushed into the midfield which she can play effectively and would allow for speed in the attack but can leave a defensive hole on the wings. also without a clear left midfielder (carter could maybe play where i've place clinton and if she does, clinton should replace kirby). however clinton has speed to get into the box and as does kirby. this is also tiring for the midfield however england does have the midfield depth to bring on in park.

4-4-2 (diamond)

4-4-2 is on the left and the diamond option is on the right

both are strong choices for this england side and i think that hemp can also play up front next to russo with mead on the right with bronze and clinton or stanway on the left. two centre-forwards in russo and mead/hemp allows the centrebacks to be occupied and for a high press which can interfere with the french attempt to play out from the back that they love. clinton allows has the pace to run in behind when russo or mead manage to steal the ball allowing for a quick counter attack. four in the midfield can also overload the three that the french place in the there and challenge their ability to mark keira walsh out of the game. furthermore, a strong press in russo and hemp/mead allows the midfield be bypassed because the four doesn't always provide a full overload. two upfront can also compensate for when russo drops into the midfield and to hold up the ball, this also allows for the full overload with five in the midfield to pull markers off keira. with a strong left back in greenwood who can play centreback, williamson can also drop into the midfield for an overload. a four at the back with the left-footed defender allows for a deep block if the ball is lost, something that is likely to happen if france play in the midfield again.

3-5-2

this is my favourite line-up

the five in the midfield allows for a complete overload that can release walsh and give her the freedom to pass forward. furthermore, there is the left-footed centreback in greenwood. bronze and hemp playing as wing-backs also allows for a deep block when they drop back and they are both fast at getting both back and forward on the defense and attack which can be the main weakness of this line-up however bronze and hemp can play well as wing-backs. furthermore, bronze, hemp and clinton can overload the final third to support the high press of russo and mead that ensures players in the box and speed on a break to that can work quickly to throw off a french defense and a build up of play from the back

i think this will solve a lot of england's problems going forward and back and release keira walsh in the midfield as well as throwing france off with a new line-up that they wouldn't be expecting

i would also like to see jess park and aggie beever-jones up front to provide support as a striker for alessia russo or speed in behind replacing grace clinton

[prettynice8]

Kinkmas Day 20: Hatefucking

Paring: Katsuki Bakugo x male reader

This guy

Summary: after smashing Kirishima, Bakugo meets up with you to settle the score a little bit more

Warnings: Swearing, kissing, marking, smashing, creampie, hatefucking DUH

Word count: 886

(This is a part 2 to my day 12 Kirishima fic)

You were walking out of Kirishima's room that night at 2 am, wearing a borrowed T-shirt and underpants that you took from him. You two went at it over and over again, with the occasional break that was actually quite nice just talking to him, but not near as good as his dick plunging into you for hours on end. Though it did make you awfully sore. The bite marks all over your neck, the random bruises throughout your body, and not to mention the numbness of your ass.

It was near impossible to get back to your dorm, almost falling over at least 10 times. It was during this when you met that old shit head Bakugou.

"Fucking slut." He spit out at you, voice full of disdain at the thought of you having sex with Kirishima.

"Jealous?" You asked, smirking.

"What's there to be jealous about? Kirishima's just too fucking stupid and you're too fucking easy." He started bitterly.

"You know what dude just fuck off, if you don't like me so much then why are you here standing right next to me talking. Get a life for fucks sake!" You said with an exhausted tone, just tired of his bullshit. He answers by predictably shoving you into the wall and pinning you.

But then he surprises you by gripping your arm and taking you to his room. You don't fight back or anything because at this fucking point you're just too tired to deal with anything.

He throws you in and then closes the door behind him. You walk over to sit on the bed, having been standing for far too long.

"You're such a fucking slut." Bakugo stated, almost sounding disgusted.

"If so, then why did you bring me in here?" You asked.

"Because you being a slut is perfect for me." He confessed before getting on top of you and kissing you roughly, not a sign of romantic attraction in it at all. You reciprocate, already mixing saliva, his tongue dominating yours easily.

He then goes from your lips to your neck, noticing the many marks littered there. He makes some of his own, biting and nipping at your neck roughly, unlike the more affectionate way that Kirishima did, and honestly, you kind of like it this way more. You knew he wanted to fuck you for months now, not even being very secretive about it with the more than necessary attention he gives you constantly.

"I need to make some of my own, just so people know how much of a cock hungry slut you are." He exclaimed before actually tearing off your borrowed shirt, while neatly taking his own clothes off. You do have to admit that his dick is pretty impressive, it's not as long as Kirishima's but it's way more girthy, if that is even possible.

"Fuck, you really are a whore." He said honestly, noticing the bruises scattered throughout your entire body from your previous escapades that night.

"Well, are you gonna fuck me or just stay here talking about much a of a slut I am?" You asked, just wanting this to be over with so you can go to bed. "Even though you're literally the one who brought me into your room, and the one who started to kiss me first, and the one who always walks up to me trying to catch my attention. But no totally, I'm the man whore."

He answers this by flipping you over and sticking his girthy member straight in your ass. It slides in relatively easily, Kirishima's cum being a pretty effective lube. Though he is still massive, and you're extremely sensitive, so it still hurts a decent amount.

But Bakugo doesn't care about that, so he immediately starts slamming into it at full force, not giving you any time to adjust. You scream out in pain, your nerves going haywire from how sensitive they are.

After a few more thrusts from him, it does start to get better. Your yelps of pain slowly but surely, not to your liking, turning into moans of pleasure.

He's pounding like a highschooler would, slamming into you with little technique, just reckless pounding to chase his own sexual needs, not caring much about yours and essentially only using you as a human flesh light. Apparently, you're quite the good human fuck toy, because you can clearly hear his groans that he tries to hold back in vain.

To be fair, he must be doing something right too, because after only a few more rough thrusts, you already climax. Bakugo follows soon after, shooting his load into your already filled ass.

"Now fuck off!" He screamed after pulling out of your ass. Before he needs to say another word, you've already left, taking one of his T-shirts to replace the one he destroyed.

While you're walking the halls with even shakier legs than before, you trip, well almost, because luckily Izuku is there, leaving his room to go to the bathroom, to catch you.

"Are you ok?" He asked, putting you back on your feet, fairly certain on what happened, you two were pretty loud. "If you want you could stay in-"

"Shut the fuck up and get out of my way, I'm done with fucking for the day!" You denied.

THE END

[annieqattheperipheral]

sid wizened old man on the mountain with decrees of his successor? sure not like I'm not already overly emotional about davo this week😭

yohe's dramatic ao3 style is always appreciated

*taps kudos

full article:

Sidney Crosby is famous for many things, one of which is his availability and patience with the sometimes-obnoxious media.

For years and years, I’d see Crosby patiently sit at his locker and absorb questions. One flavor of these questions was more predictable and consistent than the rest. Whenever the Penguins faced a player who had been drafted No. 1, just as Crosby had been in 2005, Crosby would be asked about comparisons to and opinions of the latest hotshot to enter the league.

Patrick Kane. Steven Stamkos. John Tavares. Taylor Hall. Ryan Nugent-Hopkins. Nail Yakupov (remember him?).

Crosby was unanimously the best player in the world at the time but would still be gracious and glowing about the draft picks. He wouldn’t bristle — that wouldn’t be his way. But there was a slight sense that Crosby didn’t really like the questions. He’s one of the least egotistical superstars in the history of the sport, but to be that great, you still need an ego. He knew he was better than those players, even though he respected them greatly. He knew he wore the crown.

In the fall of 2012, Crosby knew full well who his successor would be.

That year, the NHL was embroiled in one of its periodic work stoppages, this one a lockout.

Players were allowed at practice facilities, but team officials were not. Crosby took on the role of media relations director. A day in advance, he’d tell the media what time Penguins players — usually around a dozen — would be working out. One time, in a particularly endearing moment, players canceled the next day’s workout. So, Crosby called me and asked me to tell the rest of the media not to show up. It was a very strange time for hockey and especially for Crosby, who had just lost 100 games in his prime due to a concussion. Now, he was missing more time in his prime because of a lockout.

Also because of the lockout, Crosby had plenty of time for introspection along with his hockey player and media relations duties. He had time to pay close attention to the rest of the hockey world, too, a privilege he typically isn’t afforded in October.

Two hours north of Pittsburgh, a 15-year-old sensation had arrived in Erie, Pa. — Connor McDavid was taking the Ontario Hockey League by storm. I had decided to travel to Erie with Penguins broadcaster Paul Steigerwald on Saturday, the night of McDavid’s second home game, when the Erie Otters were taking on the London Knights.

On the game’s first shift, McDavid split defensemen Olli Määttä and Scott Harrington and then scored to finish off a highlight reel goal.

Dan Bylsma, then coaching the Penguins, was there. Following the game, he chewed out Määttä and Harrington, a couple of Penguins draft picks, for allowing that goal on the game’s first shift. After seeing the interaction, I joked to Bylsma, something along the lines of, “I don’t know, that McDavid kid is kinda good.”

Bylsma looked at me and said: “He’s 15. They shouldn’t be getting split like that.”

I relayed this story to Crosby, who asked if Bylsma really said that. Then he took my side.

“Doesn’t matter how old he is. He’s different,” Crosby said.

Oh?

Crosby always politely answers questions about players, but he doesn’t typically go out of his way like that.

Then it occurred to me that Erie Otters games aren’t televised in Pittsburgh. I had assumed that Crosby had never seen McDavid play.

“Got some time on my hands these days,” Crosby said with a smile. “I’ve seen him. I’ve seen highlights of him.”

The greatest player in the world is checking out YouTube highlights of a 15-year-old hockey player?

“Yep,” Crosby said.

Then he said something I’ll never forget. Sensing that he saw something in McDavid that was different, I asked him if McDavid reminded him of anyone. In a non-arrogant way, Crosby quietly said, “He reminds me of me.”

Make no mistake, he admired all of the players who were compared to him. He once told me that, if he could shoot the puck like Alex Ovechkin, he wouldn’t pass as much as he does. I once saw him shake his head when he watched Patrick Kane stickhandle around an opponent on TV.

But he never anointed other players, even if he would marvel.

With McDavid, stylistically, Crosby saw himself. And he saw talent that was out of this world.

Crosby didn’t feel threatened. He understood that someone else always comes along.

I imagine Wayne Gretzky felt the same when he traveled to Laval, Quebec, to see Mario Lemieux play a junior game in 1984. Lemieux, knowing Gretzky was in the building, scored four goals in the first period. At that very moment, months before even winning the Stanley Cup for the first time, Gretzky knew the identity of his successor.

During the 2012 lockout, McDavid couldn’t have known that Crosby was watching him from afar, but he was. There is an understanding, I think, between the all-time greats. They recognize traits that only they can recognize because only they can understand the genius required to be historically good.

We are seeing McDavid take the Stanley Cup playoffs by storm, becoming the first player in history to post consecutive four-point games in the Stanley Cup Final. It’s remarkable. It’s great for the game. A superstar is the center of attention in his very prime, which the NHL badly needs.

So much of Crosby’s prime was robbed by the concussion and the lockout. But his hockey sense and vision were spot on, even when he wasn’t on the ice that autumn.

He always knew McDavid was the successor, that he played the same way, that perhaps his physical gifts even exceeded his own.

He was right. McDavid is in a class with Gretzky, Lemieux, Crosby and Bobby Orr. And now, we wait to see if McDavid can pull off this seismic comeback and win a championship.

Crosby surely will be watching. He always has been.

[maaneskin]

GOODBYE, MY PEACE. inarizaki vb team x f!reader, 1.1k

note, this is not serious in the slightest — it’s also old

“no,”

“please!” the boy with the newly dyed blonde hair, smiled brightly, nodding his head up and down. right behind him was an identical face but with newly dyed gray hair instead of the blonde atsumu had chosen. he – atsumu – was most definitely not using the purple shampoo you got for him after the dye job; his hair was more yellow than blonde.

despite popular belief, osamu was not less annoying than atsumu. sure, osamu was quieter, more laid back, and usually let atsumu take the lead in whatever stupid activity they had come up with, but he was not any less annoying, “(name), please,” his voice was also deeper and had a more nassaly tone to it.

watching the two do their best puppy dog eyes to you in an attempt to get their way, was somewhat amusing but also somewhat annoying, “i don’t want to be your manager… again,” your time in middle school was spent watching the two idiots you called your best friends play volleyball and somewhere during your second year they convinced you to become manager for the boys volleyball club. you did have fun, though you would rather be set on fire than admit that. watching them play, watching them score and win brought you deep satisfaction.

atsumu tried again, pleading with you to, once again, become manager for the boys volleyball club, “aran wants you to join too. you love aran,”

you paused, “i do love aran,” ojiro aran had more than once been your savior for when the twins got out of hand and you didn’t feel like dealing with them. he was all around a nice guy with a kind heart. one of your most trusted companions.

“please,”

“i don’t know,” you sighed, tilting your head.

atsumu clapped his hands together, “please. we won’t fight for the rest of the week!”

you raised an eyebrow as osamu stuffed his hand in his pocket to pull out his phone, “what day is it today? thursday, we can do that,” the brothers made eye contact, having a mental agreement. they both nodded, “yeah, we can do that,”

“no fights until next thursday! and i’ll think about it,”

they both grimaced but nodded, shoulders hanging low. you rolled your eyes, “you’re so annoying,”

“she’s talking about you,” osamu taunted his twin. atsumu, as predicted, began throwing a tantrum, “she was talking about us both!” osamu put his hands behind his head and began walking away, knowing the blonde would follow, “you’re the annoying one, so it was about you,”

you sighed deeply, watching them leave the vicinity with loud voices. one thing about them was they never failed to entertain you. you muttered that it was about both of them, but they were too far away to hear you. atsumu turned back around and yelled for you to meet them at the gym after school, to which you gave a lazy wave and walked in the other direction.

the miya twins weren’t all that bad. despite how you act most of the time, you treasured them both deeply and were happy to have them in your life. you didn’t regret talking to the teary-eyed boy who had been looking down at his fallen onigiri for ten minutes straight. he had been somewhat unconsolable, having removed his tears but still in a sad mood. at least until you offered him some of the stirfry you had in your lunchbox. apparently he had never tasted anything better, for the next day he was by your side when the second lunch was called and didn’t leave you alone until lunch was over. with starry eyes, he asked if he could have some of your food and in return you could have some of his. (“my name is miya osamu!” he introduced himself with his mouth full of food, you could barely understand what he was saying). he later introduced you to atsumu and they never left you alone since then.

that did not mean you wanted to be manager again. it was a lot of work all the time and being around sweaty high school boys seemed more and more like a nightmare the more you thought about it.

you had half the mind to ditch them and just go home instead of going to the gym, but when thinking about the consequences of doing that, you decided against it. with a filled out club application in hand you headed for the gym. maybe you could convince the coach to reject your application. you gasped, stopping in the middle of the hallway, “i’m a genius,”

—

“please let me be manager, i’m a huge fan of the miya twins!”

kurosu norimune, head coach of the inarizaki’s boys volleyball team, looked taken aback for a moment and then sighed heavily as if this wasn’t the first time he had heard those words today. it probably wasn’t, given how, even as first years just out of middle school, the miya brothers’ were already popular.

“(surname) was it? we really can’t–”

“ah, (name), you’re here?!”

most times you consider ojiro aran to be a blessing. he and you formed a special bond from having to deal with the miya’s. but right now, he was more a curse than a blessing. what if he fouled your super genius plan of not becoming the manager for the boy’s volleyball team.

“coach, sorry for interrupting you!” he bowed in an apology, “i just hadn’t seen her in so long,” he explained, scratching the back of his neck.

“you know her?” kurosu asked, taking a second look at your filled out application.

with a horrified expression, you, subtly but rapidly, shook your head, mouthing the words ‘no, you don’t’. he was going to expose you.

“yeah! she’s close friends with atsumu and osamu, so we’ve met many times before!” he smiled.

you closed your eyes, accepting your fate.

kurosu looked back at your defeated face. the situation turned over in his head and he barked out a laugh, “i take it you’re not actually a fan?” he asked you, finding amusement in your inevitable doom.

having already accepted that you’re not getting out of the situation, answered him honestly, “i’m more of a hater if anything,”

he laughed again, “i’ll consider you for the manager position then, (surname),”

“please don’t,” you muttered under your breath. he left after asking a few more questions and you directed your attention towards the guy who was apparently praying for your downfall.

aran smiled sheepishly to you, “sorry?” he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it felt like doing so would be the best course of action.

“you should be,” you snapped, “now i have to deal with dummy one and dummy two again,”

the male had half the mind to say you were dummy three. while you knew how to restrain yourself most of the time, you had your moments when your intelligence dropped to the lowest and you joined the twins in whatever bullshit they had going on.

“i’m going to die, aran,”

he chuckled, patting your shoulder, “it won’t be that bad,”

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance knows the tradition. And as much as he often rolls his eyes about doing things just because “that’s how it’s always been done”, there are some things about it he really loves. Someone on their knees, in front of friends and family in some beautiful location, asking you to give them the honour of marrying you?

Absolutely fuckin’ dreamy. Lance would love that shit. He would be unashamedly riding that attention high for years. He used to daydream about it, to; talking to his siblings when they were up late, painting their nails and talking shit about whomever for fun. He knows he’s definitely explained ad nauseam his preference for a pretty diamond ring placed on his finger to the backdrop of the sun setting on the waves.

But, as it always does, life does not go according to plan.

His faceless daydreams were only fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with them — fantasies are fun, and can even be a basis for reality — they just didn’t match up with where he ended up! At no point in his life could he ever have expected to fall so deeply in love with the man he’d sworn so vehemently to hate. At no point could he ever have predicted being swept up into a war beyond his greatest comprehension with that man at his side, or to lead a war with that man. He could never have predicted the softness that would bloom between them, the gentle moments that would be just as frequent as the intense competitions.

Honestly, he never could have predicted Keith. Who could have? Keith is… he’s just so much. Of everything. There’s not a single thing he does that he doesn’t do with his whole heart and soul. He cares so deeply and intensely; his love is so all-encompassing… sometimes Lance lies in bed and is rendered breathless by the force of it; of him. He can scarcely believe that he is so lucky, that the universe aligned so carefully, that he has the chance to love Keith and be loved by Keith, in every day and in every way.

It’s a lot. It’s everything, really.

And so that’s why it has to be perfect. Away with the small crowd of friends and family, with the public space and pomp and circumstance — as much as Keith loves their family, and loves indulging Lance (seriously. What Keith wouldn’t do to make Lance happy… it makes Lance giddy just to remember it. He is so, so fucking lucky. He scored), Lance knows he values his privacy. Hell, it took nearly an entire year for anyone else to know that they were dating. Not because Keith was ashamed of him, or because either of them were afraid, but because Keith kind of likes to keep things to himself. He likes it when it’s just him and Lance, when they have inside jokes and secrets and moments that are just theirs.

Lance likes it too, frankly. Plus, there was nothing funnier than the pure outrage on all of their friends’ faces when they realised they’d been blind to Keith and Lance for eleven whole months. Truly a moment Lance has cherished.

All this to say that Lance has been preparing to finally ask Keith to be his husband. He’s told no one — not even Hunk — but several weeks ago he measured Keith’s ring size as he slept, and worked carefully with a jeweller to design something he knew Keith would love. That was the easy part. The harder part has been carving out the right time in both of their schedules; a time when they can give each other their full attention for long enough that Lance can do the asking and then have some time after for… ahem, celebrating.

(Lance has been looking forward to that part especially.)

But finally all the stars aligned — the two of them had a week off after spending three months on a Balmera with restoration efforts — and Lance can put his plan into motion.

The first thing he does is send Keith on some random errands. That buys him a few hours to set up the alcove by their front door — a collage of pictures of them over the years, pinned artfully to the wall; bundles of Keith’s favourite flowers, poppies and California lilies and sunflowers and desert roses; and perhaps most ostentatiously, a goofy banner that Lance hand-painted with the magic question. Is it elegant? Not really. A little tacky? Possibly.

But although Keith would rather surgically remove his tongue than admit it, he eats this shit up. He grew up with Shiro, for Christ’s sake. The man as watched every romcom ever made, and loves them all to pieces. Lance has watched 10 Things I Hate About You with him more times than he can physically count.

Once he’s satisfied with how the alcove is set up, he digs the velvet box out of its hiding place, tucking it carefully into his jeans pocket and settling into the truck to go pick up Keith.

If Lance was following his daydreams, they’d both be dolled up to the nines and heading to some fancy restaurant. Instead, Lance is wearing his dark red shirt that he knows makes Keith cross-eyed and his good jeans that make his legs look long. He knows that Keith is wearing his favourite flannel and his rattiest pair of converse, which Lance has had to literally patch back together because Keith refuses to throw the damn things out.

It fits better, somehow.

“Where are we headed, Casanova?” Keith asks, after trying (and failing) to convince Lance to let him drive. (As if. It’s Lance’s turn. The schedule says so and everything.)

“Surprise,” Lance says vaguely. He glances as surreptitiously as possible into the backseat, making sure that he did, in fact, remember to pack the food and the blankets.

(He did. He has also checked fourteen billion times. He is, although he knows it’s silly, the slightest bit nervous, apparently.)

“C’mon,” Keith prods, sliding a free hand into Lance’s hand. “Can’t I get a hint, baby? Just a little bit?”

“I am trying to drive. Keep that shit up and we’re gonna crash, you walking distraction.”

Keith laughs — cackles, really — but pulls his hand away.

“Loser. If I drove, you could distract me all you wanted and we’d still be fine.”

Lance reaches over blindly to grab Keith’s hand back, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the tops of his knuckles.

“Not a chance, babe.”

———

When they finally make it to their destination (after an hour of Keith complaining about the drive, trying to convince Lance to tell him where they’re going, and switching through every available radio station twelve thousand times before he’s satisfied), Lance throws the truck in park and practically sprints to open Keith’s door before he has the chance.

“Dork,” Keith teases, flicking him on the nose as he hops out.

Lance grins. “You love it.”

“You’ll never prove it.” He takes Lance’s offered hand, then looks around. “Where are we?”

Lance hums, carefully swinging the backpack he brought over his shoulders and tugging Keith away from the truck.

“Well, you see, my boyfriend is this massive nerd,” he starts playfully. Keith rolls his eyes, grinning.

“Nerd, you say, as if you don’t have alphabetized samples of cool rocks from every planet we’ve ever been on.”

Lance ignores the jab, plowing right on. “And because he is this massive nerd, I figured he would appreciate frolicking through the desert until we come to a decent spot, then eating this dope ass dinner I made for us —” he pats the backpack — “while watching the meteor shower that’s supposed to be visible tonight.” He grins widely at Keith’s excited gasp. “I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before a million times, but I thought it’d be nice.”

Keith says nothing, using their joined hands to yank Lance towards him and kiss him soundly.

“Sounds good to me,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to Lance’s lips, his jaw, his throat.

“Keith,” Lance says, breathless. Like everything with them, this has rapidly escalated off-course.

Why are they like this, again?

“We’ve got an itinerary, babe, we’ve gotta — oh, God, do that again.”

He feels Keith’s smirk against the hollow of his throat. “Wouldn’t be the first time we messed our plans in favour of the truck bed, sugar.”

“Itinerary,” Lance tries again, weakly.

“Truck’s right there,” Keith reiterates.

Lance has a lot of discipline, okay?

But Keith is convincing. He knows exactly which buttons of Lance’s to press.

And, if Lance is being entirely honest, he loves indulging Keith as much as Keith loves indulging him.

———

Their food goes cold.

“This is your fault,” Lance says, pointing a fork at the perpetrator in question. “I had this hot and ready to eat, and you stubbornly decided to be a distraction, you dick.”

Keith is entirely unapologetic.

“There was something else that was hot and ready for me to eat,” he says, looking pointedly at Lance’s ass and grinning wolfishly.

Lance smacks the shit out of him with a pillow.

“You are a dog!”

He’s laughing, though, as he says it, so it doesn’t quite have the desired effect. Keith has no qualms with teasing him right back, either, both of them spending as much time eating as they do roasting each other.

God, Lance cannot wait to put a ring on this bitch. The meteor shower better hurry the fuck up so Lance can take them home and get down on one knee, already.

As soon as Lance thinks it, Keith gasps, grabbing Lance’s arms and pointing at the sky.

“Look! It’s starting!”

It’s slow going, at first, barely one flash of light every five minutes, but eventually shooting stars are racing through the sky as thousands of rocks burn to nothing in Earth’s atmosphere.

Lance nudges Keith’s side. “Bet you’re wishing that Hunk brings another dozen eggs to the next diplomatic meeting to throw at people when they say stupid things.”

“There’s no way you knew that!” Keith protests immediately. “I must have spoken out loud!”

“Nope! I just know you, baby.”

“Well, I bet you wished that Allura and Veronica will finally kiss this month so you win the betting pool!”

They spend the rest of the meteor shower like that — frantically shouting out what they think the other wished after each star that shoots by. They’re both right a good half of the time, too.

It makes something warm and fiery ignite in Lance’s belly, to have someone who knows him so deeply. Without even talking about it.

It’s the best thing Lance could possibly wish for.

———

By the time the meteor shower ends, they’ve eaten their food, and it’s something like three in the morning. Keith yawns every few minutes, and doesn’t even bother with the radio on the way home, simply resting his head on the window and closing his eyes for a while. He doesn’t fall asleep — his hand is tangled with Lance’s, and his thumb runs constant lines over the backs of his knuckles — but he’s too tired to be fully awake, either.

Not Lance. Lance feels like he’s buzzing, the breeze from his cracked-open window the only thing keeping him from going supernova. He’s so excited he can barely breathe.

When they finally get home, Lance rushes again to open Keith’s door, who grins tiredly at him and presses a kiss to his cheek before following him inside. Lance takes a deep breath before opening the door, stepping quickly to the alcove and grabbing the ring from his pocket as Keith walks in.

Aaaannd… right past him.

Lance’s jaw drops. Keith is so tired he doesn’t even notice the newly decorated alcove, or even Lance — he simply walks to the kitchen with their picnic supplies. Lance hears him hum as he starts to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher, their leftovers in the fridge.

“Lance, babe,” he calls, “do you care if I eat the last of the pan frito? It’s better fresh.”

Lance glances down at the ring. He barely holds himself back from cackling with laughter, because of course Keith is so distracted that he didn’t even notice Lance down on one knee.

“How about you come in here for a second, first?” Lance responds, voice shaking with amusement.

“What? No, come here if you want some! I’ll share, but I just mopped the floor yesterday, I don’t want to get crumbs all over it.”

“Keith,” Lance tries again, “come here for a goddamn second, will ya?”

“Alright, Jesus,” Keith grumbles. In what Lance assumes to be spite, he takes a couple minutes, before he finally turns the corner and sees Lance for the first time.

His freezes, the dishtowel he was carrying flutters to the ground.

“L-Lance? What’s going — what —”

“I have a question for you, sweetheart,” Lance says. He grins teasingly. “Would’ve asked earlier, but you walked right by me.”

“Oh my God.”

“You paying attention, now?”

“Oh my God!”

Before Lance can blink, Keith rushes forward, tackling Lance to the ground and pressing kisses all over his face; anywhere he can reach.

“Yes! Yes! Yes —”

Lance sets the ring in his lap so he can grab Keith’s frantic, fluttering hands.

“I haven’t even asked yet, babe.”

“Well, get to it!”

Lance snorts, but complies. “Keith Kogane,” he says, smile softening and gaze steady. “Will you marry me?”

Keith laughs, holding his left hand out to Lance, his right hand wiping the tears that have dropped down his cheeks.

“Yes, Lance McClain, I will marry you,” he chokes out. Lance grins brightly as he slides the ring up Keith’s fourth finger. The second the ring is in place, Keith smashes their mouths together, knocking Lance flat on his back.

He doesn’t mind.

It’s way better than a traditional proposal, anyway.

———

based on this video (ninth slide)

[imagineyourgassyotp2]

Imagine Person A and Person B are both absolutely cracked at the rhythm game Dance Dance Revolution. A is very physically fit and plays on the arcade machines, whereas B is somewhat of a shut-in and uses a controller on the PlayStation. One day, B decides to go to the arcade and try out A’s play style to see how they’d perform. B has impeccable reaction time, but they just don’t have the stamina to last on the arcade machine for a full song. As they get tired and sweaty, their accuracy starts to falter, and those farts they’ve been holding in all day just come out at full force. They press on, determined to at least avoid failing the song, but in the end they’re humiliated not only by their low score but by the scene their gas caused in the arcade.

They had planned to try again a couple of times, but noticing how the smell seemed to stick to them, they rush to go home as quickly as possible. When they return, A asks them what’s wrong, and B explains what happened. Wanting to cheer them up, A assures B that they’d probably do just as terribly if they were to try with a controller, so they boot up the game on B’s PlayStation and give it a shot to prove that. Predictably, A’s hands aren’t quite as nimble as their legs, and they fail the song just as B did at the arcade. In an effort to further soothe B’s embarrassment, A lets out a loud fart on purpose, the first of many as they get comfortable and decide to try the song again.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 3, Episode 13, Part 1, Aka Pickle- Gate

Lorelai and Rory are informing the Grands about their plans to traverse Europe after Rory graduates.

Two screen shots with incredible future meme potential. Emily: Richard, they want to sleep in a park like a couple of squirrels! What are people going to think when they see a grown woman bunking down with a bunch of 20 year olds? Lorelai regularly bunks down with a certain 18 year old boy here at home, soo... Time to prove me right, Predictable Gilmore!

Speaking of squirrels..

Hey look everyone, it's Dean. Let's point and laugh at him. Ha ha! He looks so stupid! LOL! I hope he takes his helmet off and a chunk of cinderblock falls on his head and renders him permanently comatose! lmao! Please tell me this is the episode where Dean asks Jess for extra pickles so Jess threatens to filet him and dump his lifeless body in a ditch.

Okay Patricia, I'm going to need you to chill. And where is my barf bucket? Time to simultaneously cross off "Miss Patty is Horny" and "Dean and Jess Sexual Tension" off my episode Bingo card (which I've been spotty about remembering to complete).

You know, the general sentiment seems to be that Miss Patty is absolutely slaying, but if she thinks this doofwad is worth wasting that pickup line on. it's likely she hasn't actually gotten laid in years. Or she might want to get checked for cataracts.

Jesus. Patty and Lorelai should both be on some kind of sex offender registry.

Oh Lucas. You sure know how to make a girl swoon.

Luke: This book just talks about fancy tablecloths and dish design and nothing about the food. Jess: You're going through a lot for this lawyer. Luke: She's not just a lawyer, she's also a lady, a very nice lady who probably expects good food on fancy plates and sparse yet elegant decor. This is what you do when you're dating.

Okay, sooo, no good food, fancy plates or elegant decor for Rory. Got it. Here's what Jess and Rory eat from:

IT'S PICKLE TIME!

Let's keep score, shall we? Of who comes out on top (snicker snicker) in this interaction.

This might be the one and only great snappy comeback that AmyShermanPalladino has ever assigned to the character of Dean. Dean delivers a brutal verbal blow. Jess is not completely unphased. He's clearly a bit shooketh, but probably just because Dean is hella annoying and is invading his personal space. He lets it go. 1 point to Dean. In Dean's defense, it wasn't actually that lengthy an order, certainly not "an order for the entire state of Connecticut" as Jess calls it (it was only 6 burgers) but it shouldn't have been a problem for Jess if he were just writing it down like the good little diner monkey he is. No points added or subtracted for either fella. Dean didn't really didn't do anything wrong, and Jess should have been doing his job.

Half a point to Jess for this quip. Could have used a little more spice, but a solid effort.

AMAZING. Calling Jess a female while also observing the job he does. 1 point to Dean because I started imagining Jess in a 50's diner waitress getup after that. Dean is at 2, Jess is at .5. Come on dude, you gotta catch up.

MEOW! Dean is on fire! With homoerotic longing, that is. Aching, yearning, crushing. Another point award to Dean, who stands at 3 points and Jess stagnates at a measly .5. Okay, okay, I'll bump the "Taylor's Errand Boy" quip up to a full point. 3 to 1.

Luke is lucky this place existed before Yelp reviews were a thing.

Half a point for Jess doing the bare minimum and writing down the order, and also because he's a cutie patooty. Dean stands at 3, Jess at 1.5.

Okay, when Dean first gave the order, it stood at a reasonable six burgers. It's now ballooned to over 15 overly complicated sandwiches, PLUS four hot dogs, two salads, five fries, five onion rings, an order of pickles, and a partridge in a pear tree. Half a point back to Jess, because he's been bamboozled and this order is truly fucking insane. This is why online ordering was invented. Lacking that, you don't just pull up to a restaurant and place an insane order like this on the spot. You call ahead, Dean Boy. It's just good manners, which you are sorely lacking. Even if he can write down the order, who's going to cook all this stuff so quickly? You know this place is woefully understaffed and Luke and Caesar are the only two people who cook for this entire place. 3 to 2.

Damn, Dean! You're really killing it today. Making up for all those years of hilariously stupid "You're the one who's going" and "you're wearing a tie" insults. Metaphorically killing it, that is. Jess is doing some actually killing. You should be scared. 4 for Dean vs 2 for Jess.

He's killed before and he's killed again Dean. Do you want to end up like Shane, Dean? This is how you end up like Shane. You might not be so lucky to be reincaranted after your death as a graceful yet vengeful bloodthirsty swan either. You should probably back down and take your order to Denny's instead. Due to the sheer insanity of threatening to filet a customer over some pickles ,Jess wins, of course.

AN UNEXPECTED NOPE! Bless. D: These men work for Taylor which means if you get it wrong they're going to send it back. You could be making this order until you die. (psssst, Dean, you know Jess isn't actually the one cooking the food, right? You goof a doof. This is only going to be a burden on poor Caesar I guess because Luke just skedaddled a few minutes ago). Also, both of you will have the good fortune to escape Stars Hollow and probably not die there. Rory, on the other hand. J: (with a knowing, homocidal smirk): Reads back entire order.

[youcouldmakealife]

SOTM: Bryce/Jared, Holden, Canucks; the bad place

For the prompt: What Bryce said to Holden in the box

Jan can’t say he ever considers being in the penalty box a good thing, but some times are worse than others. Typically, being sent to the box as a proxy for someone else is the best case scenario: he didn’t do anything wrong so his coach isn't pissed at him, and he might just get a breakaway on his way out the door if he’s lucky. There’s a reason they put Jan in if they have to pick a dude: he’s fast. If he gets behind the play, there’s a good scoring chance for him at minimum, and it isn’t like he’d be playing regardless, because they don’t use him on the PK. So what if he has to sit in a plexiglass box rather than on the bench? A seat's a seat.

This should be the best case scenario. But Jan is not having a good time right now. Neither is the penalty box attendant, he imagines. Jan thinks anyone except maybe Math would prefer not to be anywhere near Bullet at the moment, literally shaking with anger beside him. Jan can feel the vibration through his knee, before Bullet’s twisting around, knee knocking Jan's, and yelling, “You’re a fucking dead man!”, temporarily deafening Jan in the bargain.

He accidentally meets the eye of the penalty box attendant, who gives him a commiserating look. Jan’s sure he’s heard worse, but he also suspects Bullet isn’t going to restrict himself to that, and unfortunately he is right.

He didn’t hear what Chase said to Bullet, and he doesn’t want to ask — he thinks it’d only make Bullet angrier, and frankly Jan doesn’t think he needs any help — but whatever it is, he crossed a line, and Bullet is letting him hear it. And hear it. And hear it.

“There are children right behind you!” Chase yells, when Bullet finally stops long enough to take a breath.

Jan didn’t peg Chase as a ‘think of the children’ type even before he goaded Bullet into the box by saying presumably shitty things about his husband, and judging by his smirk when Bullet quiets, he thinks his instinct is correct. Jan also doesn’t think any parent who bought tickets directly behind the penalty box has the right to be particularly offended by any violence or profanity their children may hear. He’s fairly sure, in fact, that many who pick a seat near the box do it hoping for this exact occurrence.

Jan would tell Bullet all this, but he thinks he and the attendant deserve the temporary break.

Jan doesn’t know if Bullet comes to the same conclusion as he did, or if he simply can’t restrain himself — it’s a toss up, considering he’s still shaking with fury, the air practically vibrating with it, his knee actually vibrating against Jan’s.

Jan looks up at the clock, sighing when he sees a full minute remaining. They always seem to go to commercial after a penalty. He knows it’s just because it’s a stoppage in play, but he thinks they should have some sympathy for the players serving the penalty. But considering it’s a punishment, he supposes they don’t.

Jan didn’t even do anything wrong.

*

“—and learn to play defence, you fucking pig fucker!”

“Pig fucker,” Jan says faintly.

“I don’t know where that came from,” Bryce admits, then yells, “Never mind that last part, but I stand by the rest! You suck at D! The hockey kind, not the — you fucking suck, Chase!”

“Pig fucker,” Jan repeats.

“I took it back!” Bryce says. “What do you want me to do, here?”

Jan just shakes his head. “You suck at D too,” he murmurs.

“I’m getting better at it!” Bryce says.

*

“I don’t have to tell you not to go after him again, right?” Gabe asks.

Bullet’s mulish face says that isn’t a correct prediction, and Gabe internally sighs. Besides holding the obvious position of not wanting one of their top scorers in the box for extended stretches, Gabe doesn’t like the idea of Bullet going back and forth with a dude so soon after getting off the IR, especially twice. And he really doesn’t like the idea of how cranky Jared will get if Bryce gets injured. When Jared’s in a bad mood, he emanates displeasure until everyone around him is too.

“Can you let the refs do their jobs?” Gabe asks, without much hope, and Bryce’s face gets…Gabe is pretty sure ‘mulish-er’ is not a word, but it’s still the best way he can describe it. Stubborn doesn’t do it justice — there’s too much simmering anger in it for that. Apparently beating the dude up and then calling him a pig fucker didn’t get the rage out of his system.

“Jan doesn’t have to tell everybody about that,” Bryce complains.

“Not condemning it,” Gabe says. “Just impressed with your creativity.”

“I ran out of stuff,” Bryce says. “And repeating myself seemed, you know.”

“Pedestrian?” Gabe asks, and Jared, beside him, snorts. He’s ‘not talking’ to Bryce right now, but he’s practically sitting in Gabe’s lap, he’s eavesdropping on their conversation so hard, so Gabe doesn’t even think Bryce is buying the act.

Bryce looks confused as well as mulish now, probably wondering what the hell walking has to do with anything. Dima raises his eyebrows and gives Gabe a thumbs up behind Bullet’s back. He wasn’t actually trying to distract him, but Bryce is quiet for the moment, and he doesn’t try to rip Chase’s head off, the next shift they’re on together — possibly because they only overlap briefly, but Gabe decides to be optimistic.

Nobody needs to take matters into their own hands: the refs seem as done with Chase’s shit as Gabe is. Canucks fans are too — a decidedly mocking cheer goes up when Chase goes to the box for the third time tonight. Gabe knows Stephen was planning on watching this one, and he bets he’s sitting on the couch laughing his ass off right now.

Gabe does not laugh, because he knows there’s a chance it’d twist into some ‘poor sportsmanship by Canucks as refs unfairly target Holden Chase’. Doubly so when homophobes are trying to find any chance to hate on Bryce and Jared without giving themselves away.

It’s difficult, though. Even more difficult after Gabe looks across the ice, where Chase appears to be arguing with the penalty box attendant, because of course he is, and he hides his face in Dima’s shoulder for a moment, so the cameras won’t catch his grin.

[cixl-writes]

hiraeth — kang haerin

SYPNOSIS — `` | it was almost scary to think that history repeats itself.

PAIRING — `` | kang haerin x fem!reader

GENRE — `` | honestly i don't even know

WARNING(S) — `` | brief mention of bullying and homophobia. mentions of divorce.

NOTE — `` | longest fic i've written :D hope you guys like it

CONTINUATION — `` | minji version // hanni version

the world is scary.

that was what kim y/n has learned from her experience. as a child, she would often get made fun of for having 'weird parents' when really, she only had two mothers.

she didn't know what those kids and their parents meant with weird but y/n always looks up in admiration whenever she sees her parents.

it has always been them against the world, they didn't care whether or not they were hated. all they care about is their little family.

growing up, y/n loves to witness her parents dance to slow songs, often being enticed to joining in. the atmosphere was always full of love, care, and warmth.

until it wasn't.

her parents, minji and hanni seems to be in a silent war— it's been 4 years. y/n is now 16 and not so naive, she already noticed the now cold exchange of her parents ever since she was 14.

she thought that they'll get past it soon enough but it just got worser and worser.

y/n once saw them in a heated argument, about how neglecting hanni was; her mom always chooses to drown herself with work, that much y/n knows.

it wasn't like hanni, out of all people, was neglecting— she always made time for her family.

perhaps, her mother was just finding a reason to finally put on an end on this damned war.

y/n hated seeing her mother cry as she finally ordered her mom to get out of the house, it was heart-breaking. her mother barely cries, especially at the presences of both of her love ones. so when she saw those endless tears streaming down her cheeks, she immediately dashed to embrace her beloved mother.

it's almost amazing to think that her parents lasted those 4 years that is full of arguments and snarky remarks together.

"y/n!"

oh right, she was in the middle of playing against their rival school. she really have to stop her mind from wandering when she's in an important game.

the girl quickly glanced around before deciding to set to the left wing, trusting her with scoring the last point for their win and knowing that there was no blockers in front of her. cheers and whooping were all y/n could hear after the loud spike sounded.

she sighed in mild exhaustion and irritation, walking to the bench to not get caught in the team hug— predicting it like always. "great job as usual, you genius!" her captain pats her head roughly once she caught up, making the setter grumble.

"...thanks."

y/n didn't bother hearing the older one laugh boisterously, eyes scanning the busy crowd for a certain friend.

ah yes, that kang haerin— the girl that continously plagued her mind. that girl who saw y/n breaking down in the swings after hearing the result of her parents' divorce.

once they've made eye contact, haerin lowers her recorder and gave y/n a small smile. "good game." she mouthed meekly, making the other smile sarcastically and to reply. "of course, i played in it."

the kang rolled her eyes, playfully. the other chuckled before running up to her beloved best friend, avoiding the approaching fans of hers whilst doing so. "so how'd you get here, rinnie?"

"every classmate of ours wanted to watch your game, so our adviser convinced the school to take all of us in your game." y/n scratched her nape in slight embarrassment, another voice joining in with teasing in her tone. "haerin, however, was the one who convinced our adviser the most!"

hong eunchae laughed delightfully when she saw a tint of red on the kang's cheeks. "aw, you did, rinnie? man, if i had known that, i would've showed off more." y/n whined playfully, clutching her head and shaking it with faux disappointment. eunchae laughed at the act.

haerin scrunched her nose a little, smacking her shoulder before huffing. "shut up, y/n. go and take a shower, you stink."

y/n gasped dramatically, "i do not stink!"

"you do." haerin could barely hide her grin. "i do not, kang haerin!"

"can't hear you."

"hey! i do not–! kang haerin!"

pham hanni stared at the scene with a slight frown, heaving a light sigh. of course, she was happy that her child was finally getting along with someone who doesn't make fun of her for having two mothers! it's just that she was reminded by y/n's dynamic with kang haerin of her former dynamic with her ex-wife, kim minji.

and that couldn't be a good sign.

but pushing those thoughts aside, hanni forced a smile as her beloved daughter came bounding over to her with her friends in toe. "hi champ! congrats on winning~"

y/n smiled widely at the sight of her, "mom, you're here! thank you." hanni ruffled her hair with a now genuine smile. "let's celebrate?" the kim brightened up completely before glancing unsurely at her friends, something that hanni immediately caught on.

"of course, they can come with us too. i'll have to get permission from their parents, though."

then, the pham was scanning her daughter's clothes judgingly. "but first, take a shower and go change, y/n. you stink, child." haerin grinned like a cat, "see?"

"i do not stink!"

y/n blinked at the thing that caught her attention.

she tugged at the only adult's sleeves, whispering in an entranced manner. "mom, can i buy something first?" hanni, although curious as to what caught her little one's attention, nodded with a sweet smile. "of course, we'll go ahead and take a seat on the restaurant so be quick."

y/n smiled lightly before jogging to that store, hanni's gaze following her with a smile of her own. but that smile soon turned into a parted lips as soon as her eyes caught sight of the name of the store.

a sense of déjàvu filled her body as her daughter's figure in her vision changed into her ex-wife's. part joyful and part bitter memories from back then hits her like a truck, she had almost cried right then and there.

the pham shook her head to wake herself up before guiding her daughter's friends to the restaurant near by, pushing those thoughts at the back of her mind.

that couldn't be.

meanwhile, y/n looked through the vhs tapes that was displayed in the shelves neatly, humming with fascination as she browsed through the different antiques. she had always been interested in antiques, just because her parents showed an old tape they took when they were young.

it was a beautiful tape, to say the least. y/n was hooked right off the bat.

back to the scene, two tapes, in particular, caught her attention the most. she carefully took it into her hands, afraid that she might put damage in it, and observed it with curiosity swimming in her eyes.

"to the one i love the most. - kim minji." one read, making her eyes widen a little. her mother's vhs tape is here? her gaze moved to the other one she had in her hands. "my love for you is everlasting. - pham hanni."

what is her parents' tapes doing here?

"hm? oh, y/n!" danielle marsh, her childhood friend, called out with her usual bright smile as she walked towards her friend. "dani!" y/n was almost surprised to see her friend here. "what are you doing here? mom would be so glad to see you so interested in our items."

wait— the marsh's owns this store?

oh right, she could faintly remember danielle mentioning it once. "ah, tell auntie i said hi! also, can i buy these?" the marsh blinked at the items she had before smiling once again, remembering how interested her friend is with vhs tapes. "of course! let me just ring it up~"

the girl followed her friend to the cashier, still staring at vhs tapes she had on her hand. "how have you been? i haven't seen you for a while now!" danielle striked up a conversation, not minding about the fact that y/n is still staring at the tapes so intently.

"i've been doing fine, we won championship earlier so that's one good thing that happened. we're going to nationals soon." she paused before pursing her lips. "oh, and mom is here. she's the one taking me home since mother is out of the country."

danielle was immediately worried, slightly perplexed at her friend's tone. "really? you don't sound too happy about it, though." y/n shook her head, conflicted about her own feelings. yes, she was happy that hanni took time off her demanding work as a singer just to watch her game but she felt like a nuisance to her.

she had heard about the comments about how hanni should just cut off her connection with her ex-wife and daughter, stating that she could have a better life than lumping herself with them.

her company had released a response as a result, saying that her fandom shouldn't interfere with her personal life and that hanni loved her daughter more than anyone.

still, y/n is unsure. "it's not that, it's just— it's just that i feel like i'm getting in the way of mom's work." danielle frowned lightly, taking the tapes from her friend's hands before speaking once again.

"you've been reading through those comments, aren't you?"

danielle knows her so well, it's almost scary.

"no—" the marsh lightly rolled her eyes, interrupting right away. "i swear, you're the most obvious person i've known in my entire life." the korean-australian huffed in distaste. "no use in lying now, kim y/n. what's going on in that mind of yours?"

"...i'm just wondering whether i deserve to be born with both of them as my parents or not. i mean, i know that they love me and all but— they had me when they were in their prime; i got in the way of mom's work as a singer and made her go on a hiatus for a whole year. then, mother had to give up on her dreams just to take care of the sick little me." she paused for a little while, taking a deep breathe before continuing.

"that costed their relationship's downfall, i know that damn well without them even needing to tell me. there's no way in hell that a person could say that it wasn't my fault after knowing all this shit." y/n ranted her feelings out, feeling a hand patting her head right after she finished.

danielle had a small smile, it was small but it had that comfort she needed. "they love you because you gave them a new reason to stay together longer than they intended, mom told me that before."

longer than they intended? what does that mean?

as if she heard her question, danielle spoke up once more. "auntie hanni loved auntie minji so much to the point that she'll risk her life for her, and vice versa. they dated when they were in high school but no one in their family supported them throughout the years they spent together, mom told me that auntie hanni always came crying to her after fights with auntie minji about her family saying rude remarks."

the marsh gently placed her friend's items in a paper bag, humming lightly. "soon enough, the both of them got tired from the constant snarky remarks they received and gave to each other, they planned to end their dying relationship when they found you in the orphanage." the korean-australian handed the paper bag with a light smile.

"mom said that you were like their light in the dark times of them, auntie hanni and auntie minji never got into fights anymore when they first adopted you." y/n took a deep breathe, shocked. "you're basically the glue of your family, y/n/n."

danielle chuckled before leaning forward on the counter, her signature simper present like always. "but that's enough story time about your parents. look who's coming to get you, lover girl." the girl tilted her head to the side but before she can ask what she meant, a familiar voice echoed behind her.

"kim y/n, auntie hanni told me to get you. you're so slow when it comes to antiques, seriously..." kang haerin called out with an exasperated tone as she approached. y/n scratched her nape before looking back at her childhood friend, "i'll be going now, dani. i'll text you later."

danielle grinned happily and nodded, winking. "you better! bye, lover girl~"

the girl walked out of the store with haerin by her side, right after glaring at the now cackling marsh. "what'd you buy?" the cat-like other asked as soon as she took notice of the bag.

"oh, it's vhs tapes!" y/n stared at the paper bag she had on her hand, not paying any mind when haerin kept on glancing at her with curiosity.

"wanna watch it together, rinnie? come sleep over at mom's house tonight!" the girl didn't wanted to be alone whilst watching these two tapes, having the kang haerin by her side is much more better.

the cat-like girl hums, pretending to think about it. "i don't know... mom said that i have to be back by 9..." she smirked, knowing her mom has indeed never said that. kim y/n deadpans, "your mom that said that is gone for a conference in america, i hope you don't think that my memory is shit."

haerin laughed a little before finally agreeing, "fine, you got me. of course, i'll agree to that." y/n lazily threw her arms up in the air, nonchalantly celebrating. "yay."

the kang smacked her friend's arms with a small pout.

"ready?"

y/n questioned with a raised eyebrow, haerin quietly nodding her head in confirmation once she settled herself in a comfortable position in the other's bed. "okay~" the girl in front of the tv smiled before playing the tape, rushing up to her bed in excitement.

the kang laughs a little but is hushed right away by the now focused kim. the video started with a younger pham hanni's face up close in the camera, a smile showing itself on her lips.

soon, she backed up to a fair distance, waving at the camera with visible excitement as she grinned. "hello!" her mom's aussie accent is completely evident as she spoke in english, taking haerin aback when she recognized that voice. "you bought your parent's vhs tape?"

"you may be wondering about what this tape is for! this tape is completely dedicated to my love, the one i promise to spend my entire lifetime together, my home, kim minji!" y/n scoffed, lightheartedly mocking her parents. "and yet, they can't stand each other anymore."

haerin snickered but didn't say anything. "i'm only doing this because a friend thought that making tapes about your partner is the trend right now so, here i am! let me start now," young hanni smiled innocently before averting her gaze to the side, eyes softening. "i will always love you, kim minji. even if the both of us go through the toughest problem out there, i'll always be by your side. you'll never get rid of me!"

"get out, pham hanni!"

"you will always be the one i will love! even if the world wants us apart, i will never— never! leave you."

"it's over for us, and you know it."

"once we grow older, i'll find a job that can provide for us both and then, we'll be set for life! maybe have a child as well, but that's something only the future can decide on. i'd like to name them y/n, isn't it such a cute name?" hanni tugged on the neck tie of her school uniform before chuckling in mild amusement, seeing her friends get anxious behind the camera at the thought of getting caught filming something in the roof of their school. "they're telling me to hurry up and finish, so i'll end this quick!"

"i love you so much, minji. i hope this tape reaches you safely. my love for you is everlasting, my min." and then, the tape ended there.

haerin furrowed her eyebrow before glancing at the awfully silent y/n, worried. "you okay there?" the other sighed deeply, feeling tears forming in her eyes. "yes, uhm, just fine."

"liar, you're crying."

"no, i'm not."

the kang rolled her eyes but didn't forced the matter, giving her a few more minutes in silence. small and hushed sniffles was then heard as the cat-like girl stayed quiet, waiting for her to compose herself.

"...i feel like it's been ages since i've heard my parents say those things to each other."

haerin hums as she reaches to pat the other's back. "that's understandable, you did said that they were on each other's throat for four straight years before getting divorced." the girl quickly regretted her choice of words, apologizing right away. "sorry..."

y/n dismissed it easily, not really all that bitter at the mentions of her parents' separation anymore. "it's fine. anyway, i wanna watch the next one." she stood up, taking the tape she placed in her desk.

haerin watched as her friend trudged towards the television, looking around before spotting what seems to be love letters on the other's desk. she felt a pang of an unknown feeling hit her, confusing her to no end. why was she feeling that way?

opening her mouth to ask about it, the girl was cut off by the kim who huffed in mild disbelief. "it's taking so long to load."

"you're so impatient, sit down first."

begrudgingly doing so with her bottom lip sticking out, y/n sat beside her and stared at the flickering screen. she didn't even noticed the way haerin admired her side profile that is being highlighted by the flickering lights, smiling to herself unknowingly.

"hm? oh, it's finally working." kim minji's very recognizable face appeared so suddenly in the screen, deep voice echoing slightly in the room. "hi~ i'm being forced by hanni to do this." a faint yell of protest was then heard from the background, a mischievous smile on her mother's visage.

"i'm just joking. anyway, i heard that saying a message to your partner is the new thing these days so i'm doing it as well." minji adjusted her seat before continuing, tapping on the table with a light smile. "to the one i love the most, hanni pham. i hope you know that i love you so, so much, to the point that it hurts."

"i hope that in the future, we will never fight," her child snorted ironically. "and that we'll stay strong for each other. i heard that most people files for divorce after a few years of marriage, but! we'll never be like that. or at least, i hope so."

"let's not— minji, stop. don't you care about how y/n would feel?!"

"it's been 3 years since you've answered my confession, and well, look at us! staying strong and very much still in love with each other~" y/n softened completely when she noticed the stupidly in love grin that was on her mother's lips when her eyes met her mom's own. "i heard that you also said that you wanted a child?" minji's smile grew wider.

"y/n is such a cute name, my han. i'm sure our child would love it~" haerin couldn't even focus on the video anymore, finding herself stuck in admiring y/n's side profile. if someone were to see her, they would laugh. because is that really kang haerin? that kang haerin who continously denies the rumors about her relationship with kim y/n?

so why does she look so lovestruck right now, if she doesn't like her that way? how confusing.

"my love, i promise to never leave you when you're at your worst. your problem is my problem too, isn't it? so don't be shy, hanni, and seek for me when you have a problem. i won't let you down. that's all i have to say." minji chuckled before waving at the camera, gesturing for her girlfriend to come in the frame. when hanni reached her side, the pham buried herself in the other's open arms.

"i love you so much, pham hanni."

"and i hate you so much, kim minji."

the tape ended there, making y/n huff. "well, that's... unexpected." not really. "now, i want to make a tape too." the kim pouted, turning her head to look at her friend for support. "you wanna make one with me?" haerin recovered quickly, smiling mischievously.

"what? like we're going to confess on each other?"

y/n rolled her eyes at that before taking her friend's camera, turning it on and pointing it at the kang's way. "just say whatever you want." haerin scowled playfully, "you didn't even gave me time to prepare myself."

y/n snickered behind the camera, finding amusement in that scowl. "anyway, i don't know what to say."

"say whatever comes into mind, it doesn't matter what it is." the kim encouraged with a simper. the kang stared at the other's features, blinking blankly. "i like you."

y/n almost dropped the camera in shock, making haerin snicker. "what?"

"i like you, y/n. it's about to make me insane." kim y/n has stopped functioning for a little while. nonetheless, kang haerin continued, "i just realized this earlier when we were watching those tapes, and well, maybe i'm inspired by auntie minji and auntie hanni's confession too." haerin smiled lovingly, tilting her head to the side as she stared right at the camera.

"so, i'm saying this now. i like you so much, kim y/n."

"i love you so much, pham hanni."

"and i like you too, kang haerin."

"and i love you too, kim minji."

what a sweet ending.