#in the remarkable and mediocre

[mindofserenity]

شكر

Acquire the skill of amazement.

Not only through sunsets and mountains but in the normality of life. Find yourself to be thankful in every way of life. You will learn to be grateful for all your blessings that we so often undermine and gain the joy of it.

Find beauty in the remarkable and in nothingness.

— mindofserenity

[pantachorei]

sorry I'm having ratiorine thoughts again but dr ratio who infamously said that only in moments of solitude and despair, when help is absent, fools grasp how to pick themselves up gave aventurine something to help him out exactly in that moment instead

[teafiend]

[anadorablekiwi]

Brain malfunctioning

Thoughts broken

Anxiety constant

Trigger unknown

Solution also unknown

[wojit]

First minute of Demon City Shinjuku was the best bit of the movie.

[cleargreyskies]

.

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

nicky parsons survived too many bourne movies smh, they had to drag matt damon back kicking and screaming just so they could rectify that

[cheayay]

Fuck.. now who's going to give me validation for my writing?

[dior-luxury]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐀𝐬 𝐀 𝐉𝐨𝐤𝐞

( ✧ ) ────── 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 . 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 - 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 .

- [𝐜𝐡.] TOP6 . rin itoshi . karasu tabito . otoya eita . yukimiya kenyu . nagi seishiro . shidou ryusei - [𝐩:𝐬] subtle jealousy.

Rin Itoshi

Rin doesn't have a good experience when it comes to telling people how he feels. And it's even more shocking that you managed to wow him enough for him to like you. He, himself, didn't want to admit that he liked you because he didn't want to feel weak. And he believes that if he shows emotion towards you, you'll end up finding him weird. Which is the opposite of what you'd prefer.

He'd try to push himself to talk to you at least once when he realized that he liked you. Whether that'd be a snarky remark of his, or a back-handed compliment. You can imagine his surprise when he finds out that you don't find him weird. Since he's used to everyone in his life hating him in some way.

So when one day, he gets enough courage to talk to you and ask if you want to go on a date, looking to the side as he tries to calm himself down and talk to you. To his surprise, you think he's joking.

He looks at you with semi-shocked eyes. Do you think he's joking? It shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. He overthinks his actions and looks at you confused.

Joking? He surely definitely isn't joking. He's serious. Why else would he come out of his way to ask you something as important as a date? Rin just doesn't get it.

"𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮."

He said confidently exaggerating 'like' heavily. He views your relationship with him seriously and wouldn't ever dream about being unserious with you.

Karasu Tabito

It's not that hard for him to like someone. Just as long as you stand out to him. Which is very hard for anyone to do. At first, he didn't know how he felt about you, he liked talking to you but didn't understand why he thought about you 24/7. Until he realized that he liked you.

Suddenly whenever he talked to you he talked to you more and began to become more friendly around you, in a way. Karasu never really wanted to tell you that he liked you, fearing that he would mess up your guys' relationship. So instead he just kept his feelings aside.

But that's not what he wanted. Whenever he talked to you he felt like he had to tell you then and there that he liked you... but he couldn't. He just doesn't leave the thought of you being creeped out alone.

He compares himself to you and feels mediocre. Like he doesn't deserve to look at you. From the outside, he seems so confident.

When Karasu finally had the confidence it was when you and him were walking together. There was a long silence when he said he liked you. A long silence that made him regret his actions.

His eyes opened wide when you asked if he was making fun of you. Just like Rin, he values his relationships seriously, it would be a curse if he didn't. Luckily he quickly shot that thought of yours down.

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐚'𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰?"

Otoya Eita

Otoya doesn't have a good history regarding feelings for people. Especially girls. One day he'll say that you guys are friends, the next day he'll act like you don't exist. He's used to brushing people off to the side whenever he feels like it.

He's known not to take relationships seriously. And would only keep talking to you if you're the one going for it. Or he'll recycle you, and move on to the next person. Claiming he only wants exciting people.

Otoya has done this his whole life, and he doesn't even recognize when he likes someone. Which led to him getting hurt, for a reason he doesn't understand. You're supposed to mean nothing to him. Why does he care about you?

He questions himself for a moment, but quickly ignores himself to go up and talk to you.

Otoya wouldn't try as much when it comes to someone he likes. But will sneak glances at you often, claiming that you're distracting him. And would blame you for making him fall for you.

But when he tells you that he likes you, he already knows what is going to happen. You're confused, taken aback, and hesitant. Not like he's not used to it. He finds people being skeptical around him whenever he says he likes them.

But in the back of his head, he knows that you mean something to him. And wants to have you to himself.

Yet, you are hesitant about how he truly feels about it. You don't want to be used, he knows that. And he says to himself that he'll never use you, and will try to make you see that.

"𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞? 𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬."

Nagi Seishiro

He doesn't know why he likes you. Nagi just thinks of you as a normal person that he talks to sometimes. He stays the same around you as he does for other people, chill, and easygoing. But for you, he may sometimes look at you when you're talking to him.

Nagi often asks Reo to talk to you for him, for many different reasons why. However, he often claims that he's lazy and doesn't want the hassle to get up. And it's true, but he's just worried about how you'll think of him.

Nagi views you as out of his league and wants Reo to help him get with you. Often when he commands Reo to do stuff, like ask you what your favorite games are. He watches from afar watching you two talk.

He hopes that one day he'll end up talking to you, one-on-one, without feeling that small feeling of nervousness he gets. So why not get Reo to do all the talking?

But one day he was feeling different, and he wanted to talk to you himself. He built up the confidence and heard all of the conversations you and Reo had, which helped him get a feel of how you acted and your vibes.

Though he knew he wasn't as outgoing as him, he believed he could do this. He tucked his arm behind his head and said that he liked you, out loud confidently.

To his surprise, you thought he was joking. Nagi's eyes opened wide and his arm dropped a little. What did Reo say her? He said in his head. Wondering how he should go about this.

He took a deep breath and wondered how he should manage to convey how felt this time.

"𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐞𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭."

Yukimiya Kenyu

Yukimiya understands his feelings very well, and others too. He often takes a calm approach when it comes to discussions about people's feelings. Just as long as they're not related to soccer. Yuki never really had a crush on someone besides when he was little.

But he did often look at people and realized how pretty they were, just like with you.

When Yukimiya first saw you he figured you were also a model just like him. He was so enamored by your appearance that he knew he had to talk to you.

He focused on every single detail about you, but never told you that because he didn't want to be creepy. But instead showed it through his long glances at your face.

Often complemented with a nice smile of his.

Yukimiya knows he likes you, and he accepts it. But it would be a long while till he gets the courage to say it, in fear of rejection. So he plans out a list of what to do before he breaks that ice and tells you his true feelings.

He takes a slow breath in and smiles as he tells you about his feelings. And how much he likes you... But it backfired for him. You weren't so used to people being this nice to you, getting you questioning.

Yukimiya realizes this and instead tries to show you through actions. Showing that he is serious and would never dream about faking it.

"𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲."

Shidou Ryusei

Shidou has zero experience when it comes to having a crush. He's not experienced when it comes to liking someone besides how cool they are. He even surprised himself that he managed to find someone that he genuinely liked.

But he doesn't know what to do. Of course, he can go up to you and be all flirty with you, that's him without self-control, and speaking 'self-control', he has zero.

He "tries" to control himself somewhat, because he doesn't want to scare you too bad. So Shidou decides that he'll just 'try' and get along with you normally. He does have a lot of determination to make this work for you and him.

At first, he'll just come off as really "bold and cool" he says, and then slowly let you see how funny he is. Not only for him to get close to you, but to see if you guys would have chemistry.

And when he's finally fully comfortable with you, and sure that you guys could work together. He'll tell you he likes you.

Of course, it comes as a surprise for you, that he likes you. You can't help but feel it is just one of his jokes again. But little do you know he is serious about liking you.

His expression doesn't change when you question him on his feelings. He knew it was going to happen, Shidou instead just listens to you and hears you out.

But after your done questioning him, a large smirk comes on his face and he puts his face close to yours.

"𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

[cicadagaze]

pathetic stinky mop of a cat with no skills apart from crying and being very, very stinky (it rolls around in patches of wild onion and god knows what else)

also just gonna casually put its toyhouse here bc it's got a better reference image 👍

I really want to make a new wc oc...

[theresatzu]

Blue Lock characters and going against your boyfriend

Pairings: Blue Lock character x reader

Featuring: Isagi, Sae, Rin, Kaiser & Ness

Tropes: Jealousy, fluff, crack

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

You're dating a football player, and it just so happened that your friend had to play against him.

Cue you standing in your boyfriend's team's VIP box, cheering him on.

Chaos and jealousy ensues.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°●°●°

Isagi Yoichi

-> Scores more goals than your boyfriend.

-> He literally completely shuts him down, not even allowing him one foot in the box. It's basically humiliation at this point.

-> Who's Isagi Yoichi without his colourful vocabulary? Expect those insults, too.

"You're too slow. I've already seen through all your moves." Isagi swiped in, cleanly stealing the ball off of your boyfriend, Yuu.

"What? Aw, come on, man." Yuu groaned, trying to get the ball back, but he was too slow; Isagi had already passed the ball to Hiori.

Before rushing to the front to participate in the attack, Isagi glanced back at Yuu.

Just why...?

He was so mediocre. Couldn't even hold on to the ball for more than two seconds. What was it that you saw in him?

Isagi's lips twitched downwards into a scowl.

"Just a piece of advice: don't get in my way. On this field, you're inferior to me, you wash out of a striker." Isagi bluntly spoke, jealousy harnessing his acerbic words.

Yuu gaped, jaw slackened at the harshness of Isagi's cruel remark. "You...!"

But Isagi had already hurried away, his mind set on scoring a goal.

Just you wait. He'll make you'll only want to cheer him on.

Meanwhile, the ball was now in possession of Hiori, courtesy of Isagi.

Hiori played out a defender, deftly moving past him as he surveyed the box.

"Hiori!" Isagi shouted loud and clear, flailing his arms as he called out for the ball.

Hiori raised a surprised eyebrow. Normally, Isagi was eager to score goals, but his movements had become more erratic, more attention seeking.

Almost as if he wanted to be seen.

Hiori chanced a cursory look at the VIP box. A snort slipped past him. Of course. That is what had fired up Isagi's spirits.

"Hmpf. Yer presence is awfully obnoxious today, hmm? Wonder why that is." Hiori mused sardonically.

With a mighty kick, Hiori passed the ball over the players' head, aiming straight at Isagi.

"This'll do." Isagi calculated the distance from where he would hit the ball, but suddenly, an ominous presence appeared behind him.

"Hope you haven't forgotten about me, Isagi." Yuu heaved, having run the whole distance to his own half. He rushed up to block Isagi's shot.

Isagi's eyes widened fractionally, before they narrowed in a smug way.

"No, not at all." Isagi calmly replied. "I should actually thank you."

Yuu's eyes widened. "Wait, what--"

Pushing an arm on top of Yuu's shoulder, Isagi propelled himself upwards.

Yuu gasped, trying to shake off Isagi's weight. But it was futile.

Isagi was using Yuu as a literal support to score his own goal...!

This was just plain humiliation.

The ball appeared in front of Isagi, poised and swift.

"Perfect."

Isagi shot.

"GOALL!! A TERRIFIC DIRECT SHOT FROM THE AIR, NUMBER 11 HEREBY PUTS BASTARD MÜNCHEN IN THE LEAD!"

Isagi landed limbly on his feet, sweat sticking to his forehead.

His teammates ran up to him, patting him on the back and cheering exuberantly.

But his eyes were fixed on the opposing team's VIP box.

There you were.

Smiling.

Smiling at him.

A rush zipped through him, electrifying and compelling, urging him to score another goal, because there you were, blinding smile directed at him. Only him.

And maybe that was the real victory.

Itoshi Sae

-> Won't even let your boyfriend touch the ball.

-> Completely tears him apart using his ruthless logic and fearsome tactics.

-> It's safe to say that your boyfriend never stood a chance.

Fuji, your boyfriend, drove up front, making deft use of his dribbling. He was now in the middle, surrounded by a myriad of players.

But that was no problem for him.

His power was dribbling, and this was child's play for him, no one would be able to stop him.

Until someone did.

A leg appeared out of nowhere, swiftly stealing the ball off of him. Fuji's eyes widened.

No one had been able to do that before.

"Don't you know that lethargy kills off the talent of every player?" Sae emerged from out of his blind spot, eyes as stoic as ever.

"What--"

"Not that you had much to begin with."

"And the ball is back to Itoshi Sae! What will he do now?" The voice of the commentator blared throughout the stadium.

Sae tuned out the noise, his eyes darting around the field.

He rushed forward, tipping the ball upwards when the opposing central mid rushed to put a halt to his momentum.

He easily slipped past, leaving the player dumbfounded in his wake.

He was now mere metres distanced from the box, a hazardous area. Two defenders must've sensed this and lunged at him, feet extended. Probably to limit his options.

It was a fine tactic.

But a basic one.

"If you want to stop me, you'll have to do better than that." Sae kicked the ball just shy from brushing the strands of the players' head.

The ball swerved with a beautiful curve until it was received with the feet of his teammate up front.

"Wow, a magnanimous pass, Itoshi Sae is threading the needle!"

However, passing the ball wasn't the only thing Sae was capable of.

He swerved around the two remaining defenders, his refined off-the-ball movements allowing him to slip past and to position himself in an optimal place to score.

"Wait... Itoshi Sae has moved up the front?! He's in the box now! Will he assist another goal, or will he shoot himself?!"

That's right. Itoshi Sae wasn't only a midfielder, he was also a former striker.

He'd purposefully passed the ball into a tight corner, thereby forcing the front player in a tough position. Scoring from that angle would be near impossible.

Sae's ears picked up on the sounds made by the ball, swishing through the air after being passed by his teammate, making its way towards him.

As expected.

He jumped upwards and received the ball.

There. Just him and the keeper.

Sae allowed the rush adrenaline to flow through his leg, channelling all the energy into his mighty kick.

The ball swerved through the air, curved right where Sae wanted it to be.

A pinpoint execution.

"AAAAAND IT'S A GOAL! A BEAUTIFUL CURVE RIGHT IN THE LEFT CORNER! ITOSHI SAE'S GAME IS PHENOMENAL TODAY!"

A loud clamour rose up from the stands, Sae's teammates cheered, but they knew better than to drag him into an embrace.

Sae stalked back to his own half, eyes set indifferent and aloof.

But one players wasn't as sensible.

Fuji stomped over to him, fists balled, face contorted, as he roughly shoved Sae's shoulder.

Sae raised a dismayful eyebrow, remaining unmoved. Fuji flushed red from embarrassment.

"Are you targeting me?" Fuji's jaw tensed, coming up into Sae's face.

Merely raising an eyebrow, Sae responded, "I only attacked your team at their weak spot and scored a goal, something any decent player should be able to pull off."

Fuji clenched his fists. "Are you calling me a weak spot--"

"Yes. You're not even putting up a fight, are you?"

Fuji's shirt was slicked with sweat, and his hair was sticking to his temples. He'd been running off and on the field.

"Are you mocking me--"

"Right now, the crowd's looking at me. Not a lukewarm player like you." Sae ruthlessly cut in. "If you know your worth, I should stand at the sidelines."

Sae's lips tugged downwards into a disgusted frown. "Not only are you embarrassing yourself, you're embarrassing her, too." He nodded at the VIP box where you were perusing the match.

"There's no place for useless players like you on this field, and certainly not in her heart."

Itoshi Rin

-> This man full on targets your boyfriend.

-> Intercepts any play he makes, completely shutting him down.

-> Continuously lures out his strongest weapon, only to crush it with an unwavering cruelty.

As Kato walked up on the field, Rin saw you wave at your boyfriend, an excited grin on your face.

Even though the crowds were shouting Rin's name, his lips pursed together when he saw you in the box of the juxtapositional team.

Clenching his teeth, Rin hoped if you'd spare him a glance, too.

But it was as if he were only air to you.

Rin scoffed. He'd make you look.

And there was only one way to do that.

Rin's eyes shifted to where Kato stood, a beam on his face as he sent you a kiss wave.

He would wipe that smile off of his face and turn it into a gruelling wail.

The startsign went off. It was the opposite team's ball.

Kato was a central forward, so he quickly received the ball, already beginning to build up an offense.

Too bad.

Like a lawnmower, Rin completely derailed Kato's attack by instantly storming up to him and swishing the ball from him.

Eyes widening, Kato lunged back, running after Rin.

But this was well within the calculations made by Rin.

Kato Matsuda, weapon: aerial proficiency.

So Rin stooped to a halt, allowing Kato to get near.

Then, he tipped the ball upwards. Kato's jaw set determinedly as he jumped upwards, ready to receive the ball, but Rin was faster.

Rin's foot tilted it, so the ball slipped past Kato. Using Kato's momentarily force, Rin pushed himself forwards.

"Wah--" Kato fell backwards from the shove Rin had given him.

But Rin didn't even look back once.

"How... he couldn't do that before!"

That was right. But Rin's flow state could.

A sick satisfaction rumbled in Rin's chest at the destruction of Kato's strongest weapon.

And it was also Rin's flow state that managed to make a goal within the first few minutes of the match.

"A GOAL, AT THE FIFTH MINUTE? IS ITOSHI RIN ACTUALLY HUMAN?"

A boisterous cheer went along the stands, flags triumphed as countless hands clapped for the miracle Rin had pulled off.

But Rin couldn't care less about that.

In his periphery, he saw Kato storm over, a dismayed expression on his face.

Tch. Lost like a sore loser.

Kato scowled as he passed Rin. "That was a fluke. I won't let you score another time."

Rin raised one eyebrow impassively. "Try to keep up first, you lukewarm chimp."

"Oh? Are you challenging me?" Kato goaded, a glimmer of confidence in his eyes.

Revolting.

"As if you don't have enough challenge even holding on to the ball." Rin retorted without missing a beat.

Lips slanted, Kato smirked.

"I'll show you exactly why she chose me over you."

In hindsight, that was probably the worst thing he could've said to Rin on a football field.

If Rin hadn't been pumped up before, then he was now absolutely revved.

Rin could feel the anticipation thrill within him, could hear the urge, the urge to demolish everything in his path.

He closed his eyes, and drowned in the flow that would trample this match.

"Yet another ball intercepted by Itoshi Rin! It seems that PXG has set to fully shut Kato Matsuda down!"

Kato frustratedly pounded his fist on the ground.

He'd been running all about the field, but everytime, Itoshi Rin had been there, too, absolutely destroying his weapons and leaving him in his dust.

And well, that wasn't the only thing he'd lost.

There you were in the stands, eyes glued to Rin. Eyes only for you. A glint of awe, and a hint of pride.

And as Itoshi Rin scored another goal, Kato knew that that wasn't the only victory he'd dragged in.

Michael Kaiser

-> Open degradation.

-> Scores countless of goals, and celebrates them as if he's an imperial emperor back in the Roman empire.

-> Just like Rin, wholly fixates on shutting him down.

Most people make snide comments about the person they're jealous of.

Michael Kaiser takes it to the next level.

"A FABULOUS SHOT, THE MAGNUS IMPACT ELICITS SHIVERS FROM ITS MAGNAMITY!"

Kaiser coolly retracted from the goal area, sauntering off to Akira, a cocky smile on his face.

The contrast between your boyfriend and your friend was stark.

Akira was panting heavily, sweat beaded on his forehead and face ruddy from extortion.

Kaiser on the other hand, look unruffled and poised. There was just this pristine and charming air about him that lured people in.

"Having trouble keeping up, you clown?" Kaiser simpered, eyes taut in a disparaging manner.

"Shut... up!" Akira heaved, brushing his damp locks out of his face.

Kaiser looked down his nose at him.

God, he looked like a damnes dehydrated donkey.

How had you ever chosen him?

And in classic Kaiser manner, he patted Akira's hair, pushing his head down. It was a display of superiority, one that came as easily as breathing to the likes of Michael Kaiser.

"Having had enough already?" Kaiser snickered. "We're not even twenty minutes in."

Oh the gall-- delirious from fury, Akira shoved him off, scowl forming on his face.

But Kaiser was far from done.

"Why don't you go and take your designated seat on the sidelines, bench warmer?"

Akira gritted his teeth, humiliation washing over him. Yet he stood strong in adversery. "I'll score a goal."

Kaiser raised one eyebrow. "Aw, how cute. You still think you stand a chance."

He didn't. Stand a chance.

Kaiser continuously swept in, intercepted the ball, passed to Ness, and made a glorious counter that made the crowd holler and whoop like he had pulled of a miracle play.

And of course, he had to act the part, too.

Kaiser flashed a grin laced with a confident veneer, as he winked at the crowd.

Like he was some goddamn movie star.

And well, in a sense, he really was.

Kaiser was the main act, taking the stage as if he were made for it. His natural charisma and stunning looks enchanting and drawing all the gazes to him.

And then. Well, there was Akira.

He had miserably flunked since Kaiser had started hounding him.

His passes were off and due to the increasing pressure and stress as a consequence of Kaiser's meddling, Akira had scarcely acquired the ball from his teammates.

He was completely singled out.

A clown act that only existed to be belittled and laughed at.

After yet another goal of Kaiser, you, from the stands, eyed Akira, who was now thoroughly crushed. His eyes were casted downwards, and his posture slumped.

You winced. He really seemed worse for wear. But your gaze was quickly drawn away, as Kaiser called your name.

"For you." Is what he mouthed, pointing at you, casting you in the spotlight that was a perpetual shadow to Kaiser.

Your face heated up, embarrassed at the attention being put on you. So you opted to just stare back at Kaiser, hoping to distract yourself from the interest of other people.

However, in Kaiser's eyes there wasn't only complacency and conceit. A glimmer of vulnerability and hope shimmered through his cerulean eyes.

As if dedicating these goals to you, was akin to declaring his love for you.

And maybe, when Kaiser dipped into a dramatic bow, the closing act of his goal, it really was just that for him.

After all, an emperor bowing to you, wasn't that a confession on itself?

Alexis Ness

-> Stealthily operates from out of the shadows, you'll never see him coming.

-> Ness's derision is never obvious, but that doesn't entail that a few well-placed comments here, and a pat disguised as a nasty shove there, aren't as menacing as they were meant to be.

"I've read about you." Ness smiled as he ran up to Souta, your boyfriend, who was driving up the middle.

Souta furrowed his brows in puzzlement. He dribbled away from Ness, but Ness stuck to him like adhesive.

"You're a decent player. Reasonable stats, all-rounder. But your special weapon is your ability to get in behind." Ness topped off, ignoring the baffled noised Souta made.

"Huh--" Souta shot him an uncomprehending look.

Who started yapping in the middle of the match?

"But for that to happen, you have to be focused on the enemy. You have to seize the perfect opportunity to slip past. But..."

Ness grinned, a devilish tint to it. It was a great contrast to his deceptively innocuous countenance.

"When you're the one who's distracted, your weapon is dead."

Souta's eyes went wide as saucers, as Ness nibbed the ball off of him, his flexible ankles easily maneuvering the ball out of rang.

"Y/n's special to me, sp she should watch only me." Ness said unapologetically. "So I'll take this from you."

He then passed the ball, an illusion cross diving straight towards Kaiser, who finished it off with a thundering proficiency, and a beat later, the referee whistled, signalling the match had come to its conclusion.

A boisterous bravado arose. Of course, Kaiser was the one who received the majority of the upheaval, but it was the quiet satisfaction brimming within Ness that was enough for him.

That, and the devastated look Souta was sporting.

Ness frowned, walking up to him.

"It's rude to avert your eyes when you've played a game. It's imperative for a good boyfriend to properly show gratitude for the people who have showed up for you."

Souta's lips trembled from frustration. He was completely worn-down. Yet he refused to look up, humiliation preventing him from even acknowledging you.

Ness smiled at him eerily. "Are you disrespecting Y/n right now? Look. Up."

Souta shook his head, stomping away.

Shrugging, Ness waved at you, pleasant expressions fixed on his face, a stark contrast to the morbid look he'd been sporting earlier.

Just with some surreptitious tricks, Ness had managed to completely bring the other's team to devastation.

And all that, because of his fidelity to you.

Ness might not be the flashiest ones, but his loyalty shone brighter than anyone else's.

[bettystonewell]

ANOTHER NOTCH ON HIS BELT

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex. MDNI 18+ only 1.2k words

Tags: lil’ bit of SMUT, casual sex, Dean needs a hug, light angst

A/N: Summary inspired by the lyrics of the song “Tough” by Lewis Capaldi.

He loves the sex. 

Needs it. 

Craves it. 

The closeness it gives him. The warmth of someone else surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing below or on top of him. He doesn’t care. 

Even with the scrapes and bruises he doesn’t remember which ugly bastard he ganked giving them to him, he’s not ashamed. He just wants to fill up his heart with affection to get him through the next death he knows is inevitable, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s something he can’t escape, except maybe for the night. Tonight, if he’s lucky.

As she pours him another cup, and places the pie he ordered beside his now empty plate, he pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean he’s not watching. He just continues to hold the conversation with Sam while listening to her greet someone new.

Her voice carries like silk over the chatter of people and the ringing coming from the door. Her hands are clean, her skin soft and inviting as she pulls out her notepad and pen. 

He flicks his head up to exchange a glance, and she actually winks at him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Sammy?” He looks his brother’s way, but brings his gaze back to her the second he’s answered.

“Thanks,” he says and reads the badge pinned to her blouse aloud. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The girls in these dives they eat at are always perfect in his eyes. Their lives are just so, even if they don’t see it. 

No scars, at least not from weapons. Pliable flesh he can sink his fingers into. Grab, smooth, lick, taste. Sweet perfume that would fill a home he knows has things littered with the apple pie life he once thought he wanted. 

He’ll tell no one he still does.

He’ll also never tell Sam that’s the real reason he doesn’t bring them to the motel anymore if he can avoid it. It’s easier to leave them when he wakes up and feels out of place.

She walks away, back to the counter whence she came with hips that sway in time to the tick of the dusty old clock on the wall. Past the other patrons and tables full of more coffee and mediocre food. 

Chicken served in nugget form. Sandwiches lathered in sauce. It may be swill and smell closer to ass than edible, but if he plays his cards well, he’ll be devouring something far better tonight.

“Don’t wait up,” he says after downing the scalding liquid in one go. He’s done with waiting. Just needed the last boost of confidence before he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and grabs his phone. Brushes down his jacket, checking there’s nothing on it from the hunt, and looks up to the smile that caught his eye again. 

She’s watching him.

“Don’t do the hot coffee thing,” Sammy bitches, as he walks away.

But while Dean ignores him, a split second frown sours his face. He refuses to let his baby brother see the remark stings. 

It’s not about dipping his stick in the oil, but he’ll let Sam believe it is. The facade is easier than admitting the truth.

He steps up to the counter, where she’s taking some other chumps order, and raises the cup he never put down to gain her attention. There might be a suave grin thrown her way. Definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Can I get another, sweetheart? Hot, and…just like you?” There’s a wag of his brow now.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says with a chuckle that makes her even more desirable. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

He wants to taste. He wants to touch. He wants her arms wrapped around him while he holds her tight. So he takes the opportunity presented to him. A brush of his fingers on hers when she hands the smooth ceramic back to him. Lingering as he gauges for any reaction. Any hint that she’s interested in being his comfort for the night.

“Thanks,” he says through a grin of goof and charm, and she smiles. Doesn’t even move her hand, and he knows he’s in with a chance.

“Can I get you anything else…?” she asks.

“Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” she repeats, and he wants to hear it again. Underneath him. On top of him. Legs wrapped ‘round his waist as she chants it into his ear. 

He’d settle for it once if it was on her doorstep, following an ‘I had a good time last night,’ and so he’s bolder. His choice of words, just as. “Any chance you’re getting off soon?”

And she chuckles, hearty and soft. Nods her head in consideration, tongue playing with her cheek as she looks him over nice and slow. “You don’t beat around the bush, huh, Dean?” 

“Depends on the carpets,” he says. 

It’s cheesy and cringe and doesn’t even make much sense, but it works. She’s placing the pot of coffee down, leaning in closer to him, hovering over him a couple of hours later in a room that’s both foreign in foundation and comfort.

Plush bedding that’s clean. No smoke or dust or grime in sight. 

A light that never flickers and appliances that don’t buzz.

There’s a thigh on either side of him, bent at the knees just as he wanted. A sheen of sweat between. Her hands, warm and soft, creep over his skin, tracing patterns with tingles that curl his toes and tense the muscles in his shoulders and glutes.

His arms pull her down on him, pushing himself further into her. Giving her more of him, and she moans. He does, too. The squeeze of her walls on the covered tip of his dick is wonderful, but it’s the look in her eyes that does it for him. 

There’s a connection, now, even if there might be none come morning. This lust that he can mistake for adoration is what he needs. What he craves.

He’s wanted. She feels. Her body is alive, and she cries his name. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks with a snap of his hips, savouring the next sound she makes. If they go another round, he’ll do it again. When he’s alone with just his hand, he’ll chase it with the memory of her trembling lips, thighs and chest.

He’s pulling her tit into his mouth. Wide to capture as much of her smooth skin as he can. He’ll remember the saltiness, too. The way her nipple pebbles as his tongue swipes over and around it. The way her pelvis rocks.

She’s grinding down on him. Her fingers are tugging into his hair, and as her nails scrape down to the nape of his neck, he’s pulling her stomach to his. 

He’s grabbing her ass and raising it up. He’s chasing both their highs.

And when it hits, and he feels his balls tighten, and her around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, he’s burying his nose into the junction between her hairline and ear. Inhaling the soap and shampoo. Her perfume. The sweat on her skin. He’s taking it all in and holding her tight.

In this moment, she’s his. 

The closeness she gives him. The warmth of her surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing on top of him.

He craves her.

He needs her.

And he’ll continue to, because it’s not just about sex. He loves the intimacy.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

[bbyseok]

Nights Like This : Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x GN!Reader

Word count: 3k words

Content: Avenger!Bucky, gender neutral reader, petnames ‘sweetheart’ and ‘doll’ used, rivals to lovers, canon typical violence/injuries, some explicit language, romantic/sexual tension, suggestiveness

Synopsis: You’re a SHIELD agent with the night off… until a certain super soldier shows up at your door.

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything and this is my first time writing for Bucky, so please enjoy! <3 And ty to my pookie Moony for moral support :3

— — —

You’re off duty. It’s a quiet night, a rare moment of peace where New York or any other place on the planet isn’t facing some impending danger.

So here you are in your quaint Brooklyn flat, rather than your designated room in the Avengers Tower in order to maintain this temporary peace all to yourself. No ongoing missions, no super enhanced roommates, no interfering AI (though you know JARVIS means well).

Curled up on the sofa, there’s some mediocre action movie playing on the TV screen as you nurse a bowl of your chosen snack. The last few weeks have been rough—tactical work on the field always is.

Your body can feel the exertion taking a toll on your limbs now as you sink further into the couch cushions with a sigh. Honestly, you’re tempted to doze off right here and now when suddenly, something proves that your peace is indeed temporary.

A knock sounds at the door.

You stir, a frown on your lips as you glance at the source of the noise. You hadn’t been expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour. You mutter, “Who the hell…”

You set aside your bowl on the coffee tabble and reach for your handgun you had placed aside. (What? One can never be too careful in this sort of profession.)

Not bothering to turn the TV off, you creep towards the front door and peek through the eyehole for a person—only to be met with the sight of something even worse.

It’s Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes, the formidable Winter Soldier turned redeemed Avenger, a force to be reckoned with in the throes of combat. Though, you know him as something else entirely.

A pain in the ass.

You don’t even remember how it started. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been on your nerves. From criticizing your performance during missions to making teasing comments when you’re minding your own business in the Tower.

(It doesn’t help that he looks damn good when doing it, but hey, no one heard that from you.)

With an exasperated sigh, you unlock the door and swing it open, fixing him with an unamused expression. “What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?”

He looks a little worse for wear. You remember that he had been assigned a long mission a while ago, which it seems like he had finally wrapped up considering the fact that he’s still clad in his gear. His metal arm is definitely dirty, but it still gleams somewhat due to the hallway light from above. His hair is messy and there’s a few cuts on his face.

(He still looks good. Unsurprisingly.)

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky simply greets, a ghost of a smirk curling on his lips as he leans on your doorframe. You’re tempted to shut the door right in his stupid handsome face... but then you notice he’s clutching his side with his flesh arm and— shit, he’s bleeding. “You gonna let me in or what?”

You blink hard in disbelief. Disbelief that one: he had come to you out of all people after getting injured apparently, and two: that he had gotten injured in the first place. Now you know he isn’t invincible, but it still takes you by surprise.

“There better be a good explanation for this,” you grumble under your breath, swinging the door open wider to make way for him.

Bucky eyes the gun still in your hand. “Hope you aren’t looking to put me out of my misery and using that on me,” he remarks dryly as he makes his way inside, still clutching the bloody side of his abdomen.

You roll your eyes and shut the door promptly, but not without casting a surveying glance outside just to ensure that he hadn’t been followed. You doubt it ‘cause it’s Bucky, but again, one can’t be too careful.

Bucky makes his way to your sofa, and you internally cringe knowing all the grime and dirt he’s going to leave on it.

He’s only been in your apartment once.

A few months ago, when he had insisted on walking you home himself after a night out with the rest of the team drinking. Vaguely, you remembered through your headache the following morning of him helping you into your apartment and tucking you into bed.

(He hadn’t brought it up afterwards, so you didn’t too.)

“Do not sit your filthy ass on my couch, Barnes,” you stop him before he can do such a thing, and he turns to offer you a glare. His icy gaze is enough for you to feel the chills, but you point to another door.

“Bathroom,” you inform, “I have first aid in there.”

With a grunt, the super soldier trudges over to the door. Before you follow him, you toss the handgun back on the coffee table. He’s taking in the appearance of your bathroom when you join him inside. He meets your eyes in the mirror, and you can tell he’s about to say something.

Before he can though, you forcefully make him sit down on to the toilet seat, to which he blinks up at you with that same icy stare.

“Care to tell me why you’re here?” you pry with a slight frown. You can feel his eyes lingering on you whilst you open a cabinet for the required items for first aid.

“The end of the mission just went differently than expected,” Bucky says curtly with a shrug. However, with the movement of his shoulders causes a strained hiss of pain emit from him.

You set aside some of the things—alcohol, wipes, some gauze—to meet his awaiting stare. “That’s not what I meant, Bucky,” you reply in a quiet tone, your brows coming to a furrow.

He blinks at you real slow.

“I meant.. why did you come here?” you ask more firmly, shaking your head, “I’m sure you can get patched up at the Tower. Or hell, maybe even a hospital nearby.”

Bucky is silent for a few heartbeats. “You were closer. Saved me the trouble,” he clarifies. He then adds, “Unless you want me to leave.”

For some reason, that last part irks you. You heave out a sigh. “No, you’re already here. As funny as it would be, I don’t think the team would appreciate you dying out on a street after I sent you away.”

His lips twitch into something of amusement. “Don’t know. I think Stark would find that pretty funny too.”

You almost laugh. You match his amused expression before tapping at his right arm that’s still applying pressure to whatever wound he has. “Lemme see.”

He gingerly moves his arm out of the way, but it’s hard to determine what the wound is with the gear still on. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to take this off, Barnes,” you comment, narrowing your eyes at the blood staining the material.

Bucky huffs but he begins tugging and removing the straps and buckles and whatnot. It’s a struggle considering the fact that he’s tired and injured—but touching him feels too awkward, too intimate.

Eventually, he removes the top part of his suit off with a grunt and— oh, he’s shirtless.

You try not to stare. Obviously it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. After some missions, days in the training room, in your dreams… but he can’t ever know that.

“That bad?”

His voice abruptly stirs you out of your staring. You can see the injury now—it looks like a bullet grazed his side just barely. You hum in acknowledgment, “Unfortunately, you’ll live.”

A hoarse chuckle leaves Bucky then. “You don’t sound so thrilled now, doll.”

You grab the bottle of isopropyl alcohol and some of the gauze you had placed near the sink to dab at the wound. He grits his teeth at the sting, but other than that, he doesn’t move.

“Oh trust me, I am beyond elated,” you retort, voice dripping with sarcasm. You try to focus on completing first aid, rather than the fact that you’re touching him—his bare skin.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything in return. But honestly, you wish he would because you can feel his eyes burning into you. It’s almost unnerving. He lets you finish in silence.

The quiet that fills the space of the bathroom is heavy but not uncomfortable. It’s just the sound of you cleaning and patching up his injury and his soft breathing.

When you’re finished, you sigh. Your eyes flicker upwards to his face, your lips flitting into a small frown to see his face still bruised and cut. Without another word, you start tending to that too.

Bucky blinks in brief surprise. “You don’t have to,” he says lowly, but he doesn’t protest any further nor move away from your touch.

A particular cut on his cheek makes him wince when you go over it, and absentmindedly, you grasp his chin to tilt his head back your way. He blinks hard again.

“Stay still,” you chide, pursing your lips in concentration. He does just that.

Finally, you’re done. When you pause in your ministrations, your breath nearly catches in your throat as your eyes meet his. It’s only now do you realize just how close the two of you are with you leaning in.

You can feel the warmth of his breath when he speaks. “Thanks,” he murmurs quietly into the very little space between you.

“I…” You don’t pull away, not yet. The stormy blue of his eyes up close like this is almost startling. And then you lean back. “Don’t mention it,” you brush off.

Bucky shifts on the toilet seat, eyes still watching you like a hawk as you fix and put away the first aid items away back in their place. “You gonna kick me out now?” he jests, something to ease the tension in the atmosphere. At least, you think that’s what he’s trying to do.

It works, at least. “I’m sure you can show yourself out the door,” you retaliate. You turn back to glance at him. “Unless you need me to hold your hand.”

He rolls his eyes and stands with a grunt. “I think I can manage.”

Oh, fuck, he’s still shirtless—you blatantly realize as he rises to his full height. Suddenly the bathroom feels much smaller than it actually is. If it had been another time, you might’ve laughed since he looks so out of place standing there.

“Well,” you clear your throat, suddenly feeling awkward, “Have a good night, Barnes.”

Bucky shifts on his weight, his combat boots shuffling on the tiles. “That’s it?” he gets out gruffly.

You quirk up a brow. “So you do want me to hold your hand?”

At that, he puffs out a chuckle, tilting his head in a way that makes his hair frame his face. “Lemme borrow a shirt, at the very least. I don’t think putting my gear on again will be any good.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now as you head out of the bathroom. But he does have a point, so you start your way to the bedroom.

“You owe me then. You’re going to stain one of my precious shirts,” you throw a teasing remark over your shoulder.

But he’s right on your heels, trailing after you. You didn’t think he’d been following so closely behind you, so you quickly look back ahead.

He hums aloud. “You’ll let me pay you back in some way.”

“Damn right.”

The two of you enter your bedroom and you make a beeline for one the dressers in search of a shirt that might fit him. Digging through the clothes, you’re still hyperaware of his presence standing by idly.

You fish out an old tee that he might manage to fit in and hold it out to him.

Bucky takes it into his hands with a tilt of his head. “You’re being awfully kind to me, sweetheart,” he tells you.

His comment prompts you to cross your arms. “Well, you did insist on me helping you out,” you argue with a soft shake of your head.

Bucky only stares. “You still could’ve turned me away.”

“Look, I already told you,” you say, exasperated, “I might not like you but I’m not just gonna not do anything when you show up bleeding in my apartment like it’s a patient room or something.”

“Yeah?”

The man still makes no move to put the shirt on, unrelenting in his stare. (Sam is totally right about his staring problem.) It’s unnerving. Dare you say you can feel a flurry of butterflies stirring in your stomach under the weight of it.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Bucky closes the distance between you ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he affirms, the fabric of the shirt twisting in his grip, “I mean it. Really.”

His genuine gratitude almost makes you take a step back. Instead, you swallow and nod. “You said that already.”

“I did,” he agrees. He takes another step closer. You don’t move back.

But you blink—uncertain, cautious. “You’re acting strange.” You decide to be blunt and confront him on his current antics. His behavior tonight has confused you too much.

It’s the usual back and forth banter that happens between you—but something felt different… too intimate. The way he had showed up at your door, the proximity in the bathroom, this current confrontation right where you’re standing.

“Only on nights like this,” comes Bucky’s reply as he comes to stand right in front of you. He’s not as close as he was when you were patching him up, but enough to where you can smell the lingering alcohol you had used on his wound.

You blink at him. “Nights when you’re injured?”

Bucky puffs out a laugh. It’s a soft sound. But his next words catch you off guard. “Nights when you make it hard to hold back.”

What?

Your surprise must be colored all over your face because you can see the faintest of smirks on his lips. It stirs up another set of butterflies within you.

“Bucky, what the hell are you talking about?” you manage to inquire, trying to steel your nerves. If he’s implying what you think he’s implying, your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.

“I…” He trails off, his look shifting into something more serious. You can feel the heat of his breath again… but when had he gotten closer? He then murmurs, “Just let me thank you.”

His right hand brushes against the length of your arm, and you can feel the goosebumps he leaves along your skin as he does so. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.

“Put the damn shirt on already, Barnes,” you whisper. You don't even realize that your voice is quieter than you would’ve liked—not with roar of your heartbeat in your ears.

Something cheeky comes across his expression. His smirk returns, and there’s a flicker of mirth in his blue eyes. “I don’t think you want that.”

He’s right though.

You don’t.

“No,” you voice out your agreement.

Against your better judgment, your own hand comes up to tenderly dust your fingertips over his chest. His bare skin is warm and smooth to touch, even with all the scarring both old and new.

Bucky’s breath stutters. It’s a barely audible sound, but you hear it.

What the hell are you doing? Bucky drives you crazy and annoys you to no end—and until now, you thought it had been the same for him. (Turns out you had been driving him crazy in a different way.) There’s a blooming sensation in your chest the longer you stare into Bucky’s eyes.

The words leave your lips before you can think twice.

“I want you to kiss me.”

The world seems to stop for just a moment.

Your lips part in order to say something, anything… maybe to take back the words you had just uttered—before Bucky leans in and kisses you silly.

A groan resonates from his chest as he does. The shirt drops from his metal hand since you can feel the coolness of it cup your cheek, angling your head into the kiss with need.

Your hand mirrors his, feeling the stubble under your palm whilst your other hand allows its fingers to tangle themselves into the threads of his hair.

It’s a blur of what happens next—both of your feet are shuffling against the carpet as you stumble back with his persistence, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed and allowing the two of you to fall onto the mattress.

Bucky presses open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, a hefty laugh sketched onto your skin there. “And here I was, under the impression that you didn’t like me, sweetheart.” He refers to your earlier words.

You want to retort, but you’re a little distracted with the way his weight settles on top of you. God, and he’s still fucking shirtless. You huff, but it’s a fond noise.

He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at you. “Thank you,” he says for the nth time that night. The look in his eyes is enough to make you melt into the bed, but in a pleasant way.

“For what?”

Bucky’s smile radiates charm. For being a man out of time, he’s still got it. “For patching me up. For letting me kiss you. For.. being here for me.”

His unfiltered fondness has your heart thudding faster against your ribcage. Saying “you’re welcome” doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel enough. Not for Bucky—not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now. So you say the next best thing.

“Shut up, Barnes.”

And then your fingers are curling into the nape of his neck to pull him down towards you for another breathless kiss.

Hm. Maybe you can get used to having the night off.

[weaselandfriends]

hi bavitz, I'd be interested to hear what other webfiction you keep an eye on / recommend

I'm probably not as prolific a reader of web fiction as I should be. My reading has much more frequently tilted toward the classics, where there's a lot less of a need to sift large amounts of mediocrity for hidden gems. The way web fiction is monetized also encourages works that are absurdly long compared to conventional fiction. A million words seems to be the baseline for any big-name webfic; this is the equivalent of three 1,000-page novels. This length, it seems, is often accomplished via bloat rather than variety and depth of things to say, and it also makes actually engaging with these works a full-time job.

That said, here is a list of web fiction I've read that I would recommend to others:

The works of Nostalgebraist: He has four novels, all of which are worth reading. One of the most unique and fully realized voices in the webfic scene, especially with his later output (Almost Nowhere and Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen). The Northern Caves is his most notable and page-turning work.

Worth the Candle by Alexander Wales: Though a million+-worder (and currently stubbed for publication on Amazon), this is a pretty remarkable pinnacle of the LitRPG isekai genre that absolutely infests the mass-market male-readership webfic scene, using the genre as a vehicle for complex and at times harrowing personal introspection. The climax is incredible.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere by Lurina: Another million+-worder, this time in the vein of Umineko. An intersection between philosophical debate on the goals of medical science and a dissection of the meaning of personal identity. Currently ongoing.

Chili and the Chocolate Factory by Gazemaize: Really funny. Leans into the slasher horror aspect of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which is good because slasher horror is the ultimate form of fiction.

Antilia by Pigoseg: Highly obscure author compared to the others on this list; they're on my radar because they originally wrote fanfiction of Fargo and Chicago. Antilia is their first original work, a short but perfectly-constructed story with an incredible concept. I currently have the first draft of their next novel, a Doki Doki Lit Club fanfic where Monika makes a society of clones of the other characters who then get into a race war, and so far it's shaping up to be even better. Name to watch out for.

CORDYCEPS by Benedict: Another short, tightly-constructed work with a lot of punch. Very strong emotional climax despite the more formalistic puzzlebox construction of the narrative.

Detective Pony by sonnetstuck: Modern Cannibals but more deeply rooted in academic postmodern thought.

How the Questing Beast Chased, and Caught, Her Own Tail by Avunvain: Very interesting prose stylist, which sets this work apart from a lot of the rest. A heady and psychological work that can take some close reading (and rereading) to parse, which is always a rewarding experience. It's Madoka Magica fanfic. Ongoing.

I'm probably forgetting something else (edit: I did, and edited it in) but this is a pretty good list. (I'd love to fill it with some more Fargo/Chicago fanfic like London but that'd probably be too self-indulgent.)

[leashybebes]

If it sparks joy:

Cuddling in a blanket fort for BT ☺️

it sparks so much joy. also for @mediocre-mee, because great minds think alike. warning: remarkably little cuddling, but lots of blanket fort

"You guys are really bad at this," Denny says as the third blanket in a row flutters to the floor. He has his hands on his hips, eyeing them critically.

"Give us a break, kid," Tommy says. "We had sad childhoods."

Buck fights a wince but Denny just rolls his eyes at Tommy, picks up two blankets and starts issuing directions. It was Tommy's idea, when they started talking about fostering, that they should start looking after the 118 kids in larger numbers, kind of a series of trial runs. He called it practice, but apparently he doesn't need practice. Maybe Buck does though - he's starting to think Chris is the exception that proves the rule. Once they get past around five years old, kids think Buck is embarrassing. Tommy, though? Tommy's cool, even if he can't build a blanket fort to save his life, even if he's saying objectively uncool things.

They move furniture around under Denny's watchful eye, repurpose lamps and chairs and picture hooks to build the blanket fort of Jee and Mara's dreams.

"Okay. Not awful," Denny concludes. "I'll go get the girls."

"I'll start the popcorn," Buck says.

Jee and Mara are delighted with their blanket fort, and rightly give Denny most of the credit, the three of them piling into the fort to watch a movie while Buck and Tommy work on dinner. 

When Karen arrives to pick up the kids later, Tommy, Buck and Denny are drinking root beer on the porch, while the girls are sleeping off dinner in the blanket fort. 

"Oh, they have you wrapped around their little fingers," she crows at the sight of their living room. 

"Yeah," Tommy admits, completely unembarrassed. 

"This is why we're the favorite uncles," Buck says, from where he's sorting through backpacks, making sure all three of the kids are leaving with everything they brought with them, apart from the friendship bracelets that had been earnestly delivered - Mara's been on a kick lately and Jee is, as ever, delighted to learn from her.

Once they've waved them off, Buck claps his hands together and says, "Okay. Should we put the room to rights?"

"Absolutely not. C'mon, get in the blanket fort with me, Buckley."

"You're kidding, right? It barely fit Denny and the girls. We'll have a structural collapse within five minutes."

Tommy tugs on Buck's hand, pulling him in for a kiss and then leading him into the living room. It takes a bit of effort, but they manage to crawl through the blanket tunnel Denny had carefully constructed and Buck lets Tommy pull him into his arms without protest. He looks so good in the glow of the string lights Jee had cooed over, so handsome and so big and so steady, smiling happily at Buck.

"You know," Buck says, "I used to think I'd hate anything that promised this level of mess on a regular basis."

"And now?" Tommy asks, smiling like he absolutely already knows the answer.

"I'm going to be a wildly indulgent father," Buck admits. "Stick-on stars on the ceiling, redecorating on a whim, cake for dinner. You're gonna have to hold me back."

"Good luck with that," Tommy says, tucking Buck closer into his arms and kissing the top of his head. "They learn that pout from you and I'm a goner."

"Our kids are gonna be demons," Buck says with a sigh.

Tommy strokes his back. "But they're gonna be happy."

In the cosy warmth of the mismatched blankets, in the endless safety of Tommy's arms, Buck smiles.

[killerpancakeburger]

Jealousy headcanons

🧼 & 💀

I also have scenarios partially based on those hcs incoming ☆

Tags: Price'sAssistant!Reader, fluff, protectiveness, possessiveness (but wholesome).

SOAP:

Was actually working on asking you out. Needs it to be perfect. Getting maniac about it.

Outraged when another guy makes a move first. Especially one that mediocre. Although if he was honest, he doesn't think a single dude on base is worthy of you. Yes even himself

So petty. Will hold a grudge forever. You'll have all but forgotten about it, but not him. Oh no. He mentally branded his rival for life. Dude is in his sights. He won't do anything that would put the other's life at risk, but make his life suck? Easy peasy. Will back down when the other back down. ...For now.

Will switch your jacket with his. Yes it's childish, so what? Only when Gaz mentions that if you two are dating in secret, you’re not being very discreet, and once you’re done choking on your drink, you learn that there's MACTAVISH written in big bold letters on your back. (Didnt notice cos you have the same type of jacket as em in the same size since they didnt have one in your own)

Very vocal and agitated about his distaste and resentment. Rants with hand gestures, forever if you don't stop him. Accent and slang getting more and more scottish as he goes.

“Ain't you all sunshines and rainbows today!” you tease him, a bit overwhelmed by his fervor, and by how personally he's taking this. You assume it's a TF141 thing - they've always been protective of you since you're the civilian of the team and the least experimented, even acting as buffer between you and other soldiers. You’re their assistant, their teammate, and no one else's.

Unbeknown to you, your wannabe suitor had boasted about the move he made on you to other soldiers. To make himself look good, and to get some kind of reassurance. The minute Soap heard mention of your name, he couldn’t help but join the group to listen in.

Galvanized by the feedbacks of his mates, the guy gets bolder in his remarks. Johnny will never report to you what he heard - it would only hurt you. When he calls out to the man, the private still doesn't realize his mistake. He replies to the sergeant with enthusiasm, thinking he's here to join the locker talk.

To think that guy dared to think Soap was on his side - would sympathize -, simply because of some implicit bro code. He was boiling until now, but that was what made him snap.

Before he could even think about it, he already had knocked the private on his ass with one punch. The altercation was broken up before he could do more.

He's itching for a fight, but he'll settle for a punching bag. Unless the guy intimidated you, or made you uncomfortable in any way. Then he's already leaving the room after you’re done telling him about it, and if you stop him, he tries to convince you it's for the best. Letting him deal his own brand of justice. It's kind of his specialty, after all.

Either you give in, and you two talk again afterwards, or you resist, despite his arguments turning into supplications. In both cases you end up asking the one burning question: "Why does this bother you so much?"

He suddenly looks like a child caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar. Avoiding your gaze. Grumbling to himself. You have to insist for him to make his speech audible again. Replies with another question. "Why wouldn’t it?"

You sigh, cross your arms. "You know what I mean. I never saw you so fired up over something that wasn’t work-related." You eventually manage to extract a confession from him.

"He... he's not your type." More grumbling. You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, before a smirk stretches your lips. "Oh? And what is my type, Sergeant?"

He looks almost pained for a second, and you feel guilty, even though you don't know what for. Then his expression changes, to one that reminds you of a condemned man in front of the gallows - a blend of resignation and resolve. He wraps his arms around you and hides his face in the crook of your neck. "Don't tease me, Bonnie." Before you can comfort him, moved but still confused, he adds: "Or I won't be able to hold back anymore."

You try to remove from his spot, but his embrace prevents you from backing down and his head doesn't budge. "Johnny... look at me. Tell me what's wrong. Let me help. Please?"

He finally meets your gaze, forehead almost touching yours. He looks more vulnerable than you've ever seen. "Go out with me?" Before you can answer, he adds: "I'll be so, so good to ye, swear it. Hell, ye've got me wrapped 'round yer finger already."

GHOST:

In denial about his feelings for you. Doesn't stop him from feeling super possessive though.

Two words: starring problem. Whether it's menacingly at the other guy, or at you, to make his disapproval known, just in case the absurd idea to accept his advances happened to cross your mind.

You're way too good for that bloke who doesn't even have the balls to face you himself (he left a note on your desk). Who the bloody hell does he think he is?

If the guy happened to scare you or coerce you in any way, he's done for. Gone. You'll never know what Ghost did, but you never saw the dude again. And when you ask around, no one seems to understand who you’re refering to...

If he's not starring at you from afar, he's with you, magically appearing at random times of the day.

When you ask him for explainations about his behaviour, he grumbles that he knows about the private's confession, and how that bloody wanker is obviously beneath you, and that you could find so much better.

You never planned to accept the other guy's advances anyway, but you’re terribly intrigued by Ghost's unusual behavior. He brags about his own skill here and there, but doesn't waste time ranting about others' lack thereof.

"I don't know about 'much better'", you argue, only half-serious. The men who've approached you can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and none of them was... adequate. But you don't really want to talk about it with your tall and dark lieutenant, a man that manages to intimate you as much as he charms you.

The sentence barely left your lips that the creaking of his chair makes you look up, and you can read something akin to "you can’t be serious" in his eyes before he stops in front of your desk. "Simon?" you call out, confused, but instead of answering, he cradles your face with one hand, the other lifting his mask halfway.

"Bite me if you don't want this" is the only warning you get before his mouth meets yours. You keep your teeth to yourself. He overwhelms you completely with just one kiss. When he releases you, you need a moment to pull yourself together.

"How's that for much better?"