#ANYWAYS SEND HELP IM DYING

[lxmitlxss]

Hey Hughes, how long have you had a crush on Roy Mustang

Anonymous ╰┈➤ Hughes, Maes

" You're assuming I even know what you're talking about. "

[skribbledarker]

Ugh another Zosan brainworm they NEVERR leave my head. in the hospital again yippee!! take this while im in the ER waiting room no beta we die like skribble (me)

—

hc that Sanji has nightmares post-WCI, and often hides in the galley or bathroom when he wakes up in the middle of the night until the anxiety wears off and he calms himself down.

Zoro notices Sanji’s strange absences and eventually stumbles upon him in the middle of a panic attack, Sanji’s knees drawn up to his chest and a hand fisting in his hair.

Zoro keeps finding him like that. The swordsman doesn’t know how to help at first, just sitting awkwardly beside Sanji the first few times it happens. The conversation after is stilted, tense, until they both head back to bed.

Around the third time, though, as Sanji comes down from the panic, Zoro feels a pinky hook around his own. neither of them say anything about it, but Sanji falls asleep quicker that night.

It escalates quickly into more than that— warm embraces, their foreheads touching, a clammy hand pressed against Zoro’s chest as Sanji tries to match the swordsman’s breaths.

Eventually, Sanji doesn’t bother going to the galley, just slides himself into Zoro’s bed wordlessly. Zoro doesn’t say anything either, simply wrapping an arm around Sanji’s waist and pressing his nose into the nape of the cook’s neck. It helps.

—

ok not proofread at all i wrote ts in 20 minutes but HERE. alright bye

[kunisunzacc]

wanted to try some album themed things

💔

also, fun fact, this oc was inspired by @discoholicmusic

thank yew, buddy!! :3333

[sillygooseun]

guys help i’m thinking about the finale of spn

[constantvariations]

Thinking about how the official White Fang uniform is red, white, and black, but Yang is the one to help Blake end racism 🙃🙃🙃

[arolesbianism]

Did all the upper layer core suppressions in my second playthrough today 👍 I still stand by that Netzach's healing bursts are maybe a bit too generous, but it did also happen to be the only one I didn't first try so who am I to talk ig 😔

[ashenhartkrie]

dude self publishing fucking SUCKS ASS

[ldrfanatic]

I promise part 3 of 13 is in the works 😔

[giggygiggled]

Hello! In my modern studies class we recently have been working on our assignments. For said assignment i need to have a form filled by other people. This form is about youths veiws on politics if you are interested, have 5 minutes to spare and are between the ages of 14 and 25 please fill it out! Thank you!

Heres the form!

[mythalism]

Watching a video of the "fight Solas" ending and I find myself really disliking the fact that Rook declares that the Veil must be tied to the life of an elven god. It is treated like a fitting punishment for Solas, and even in the redemption ending, Rook all but orders Solas to sacrifice himself to maintain the Veil (or the status quo). I also can't help but feel that Solas, the last of the elven gods, is being sacrificed to maintain the Veil that he, alone, is somehow expected to magically maintain, allowing everyone else to go on their merry way. The implication here is that the elves are losing the last of their history, or pantheon, and this is a GOOD thing, and now we can all move forward and live peacefully. Am I overthinking this? 'Cause if this was the intention it does sound kind of bad.

yeah. i do agree and i dont think you're overthinking. and even if you were, im about to overthink way harder so don't worry. forgive me for getting on my legal philosophy soapbox but thats my whole brand at this point so here we go: it is a very retributive view of punishment and desert (deserved-ness) that i morally disagree with and feels outdated in the political landscape of 2024 to me PERSONALLY!! the foundation of retributive justice is:

(1) that those who commit certain kinds of wrongful acts, paradigmatically serious crimes, morally deserve to suffer a proportionate punishment; (2) that it is intrinsically morally good—good without reference to any other goods that might arise—if some legitimate punisher gives them the punishment they deserve;

obviously this is how much of the western world conceives of punishment and western media is consequently saturated with narratives that espouse this. most of the time, restorative justice is seen as mutually exclusive with retributive justice, though there are some people who say they can be used in tandem. i disagree anyway.

i think solas's endings grapple with these ideas in a way that is... messy. its confusing because we dont actually know if he is truly imprisoned, in the sense that he cannot leave. we know he is in A prison, though its unclear whether its the new regret prison that rook was in, or the black city (epler refused to clarify this during the AMA because of "spoilers", while trick said the implication is he is "going back to the prison", the epilogue slides imply he is in the black/golden city, as does his quest to heal the blight which only exists in the black city). we also do not know what capacity he has to leave. with lavellan or after being "redeemed" by willingly binding himself to the veil, he does not have the lyrium dagger but he does have the capacity to free himself from his regrets (if hes in the regret prison) or heal the blight (if he's in the black city), exemplified by his golden epilogue slides. if he is tricked or fought, he is not in a mental space to overcome his regrets and does not swear to atone by healing the blight, but he does have the lyrium dagger with him, so we can assume he can just use it to leave, the way we literally see him do earlier in the game lol. whatever message they are trying to send with his "punishment", i think it is muddied by the vagueness of what actually happens to him in the end and where he goes.

if the message truly is that he "deserves" to be imprisoned in the fade for his long list of crimes, i find that lazy and nonsensical. first of all, he loves the fade and has been dying to return to it so thats not really a gotcha, but more importantly, which crime warrants this punishment? and is his punishment proportional? this is impossible to answer because we do not know what the punishment truly is. we also dont really even know what crime he's being imprisoned for. taking down the veil? he didnt actually get to do that. are we punishing him for something he didn't do yet? is it for killing varric? sure, i guess that one works. its the strongest of the options we have, but the game is also pretty clear that its not what varric would want. what about all of the other people he has killed? the spirits he sacrifced in that siege on elgar'nans temple? the mages who summoned and corrupted wisdom which he incinerates alive? flemythal and felassan? do they deserve retribution via solas's imprisonment? would they want that? would they find it just and satisfying? the game does not ask these questions. so we dont know. does he deserve to be imprisoned for for what he did to the titans? ok, maybe. this is stronger than the others at least. but in the trick/fight endings he doesnt vow to heal the blight, so what does his imprisonment do for the dwarves and the titans spirits? this is what i mean when i say his imprisonment is retributive, but it is not even thoroughly retributive. it does not think deeply about what solas deserves for his crimes and the proportionality of such a punishment, but it is clear that we are supposed to that he deserves to be in prison, it is morally good that he is receiving "justice", and rook is a hero for imprisoning him. his punishment is presented as a moral good because he deserves it. unfortunately for veilguard, i dont think i would ever be convinced by this message in any narrative anywhere, even if it was better written, because this is not a moral philosophy that i subscribe to.

his redemption endings feel so much better and more satisfying because his vow to use his immortality and knowledge to heal the blight that he created is restorative and has a direct correlation to his crime of creating the blight by tranquilizing the titans in the first place. his imprisonment achieves nothing outside of removing him as a "threat", which is ruined by the fact that he has the dagger and can just leave lol. devoting the next significant portion of his life to alleviating the titans suffering is not just reparative remedy that directly affects the people and creatures he has harmed, it also actively makes the world of thedas a better place. to be clear, im not saying solas is innocent. he is guilty. of a lot of things. he bears responsibility for a lot of things. he would qualify as a war criminal. but i do not believe in retributive justice. veilguard having solas kill varric because trespasser made me sympathize with him "too much" is not going to make me believe in retributive justice. for the non-atonement imprisonment endings to feel satisfying you have to subscribe to this ideology of moral desert and punishment and a lot of people do. the entire american carceral system is founded on it. so is christianity. and bioware clearly subscribes to it as well. you might disagree with me and subscribe to it yourself. thats fine. but i believe it has caused a lot of harm to our world and continues to do so. seeing it manifested in media is always disappointing to me.

regardless of the technicalities of his imprisonment, his binding to the veil is the one thing that happens regardless of his ending, and i agree that it is icky for similar reasons. the veil is his responsibility, as is the blight which he will be keeping contained with his life, so i guess you can interpret it as proportional? but again, what crime is he paying for with binding his life to the veil? is he not paying for a crime at all? is binding his life to the veil even part of his punishment? or is it just something he has to do because he's the only person alive that can do it? if that is the case, that it has to be him because he is the only proper sacrifice, and not that he deserves it, then what does it say about rook that they sacrifice someone undeserving? if he is deserving, why exactly? if he wasn't the only elven god left alive, would he still be deserving of such a fate? if the answer is no, then he does not deserve to be bound. what gives rook the right to make this call? based on the convo they have before the ending where they plan to bind him to the veil, its not clear if rook binds him because they think he deserves to be bound to one of his greatest regrets, or because he's quite literally the only option. either way, i think there is an argument for it being cruel, and unearned coming from someone like rook, who really has barely been a victim of solas's sins outside of a 2 week time-out. literally harding binding him would've been far more satisfying. or imagine if fragment mythal went rogue and did it, or morrigythal did. mythal would not be justified either but at least it would be fucking banger and evil and interesting of her. anyway.

i think your point about what it means for the elves to lose their final living god, outside of mythal who is [redacted] ? is a fantastic point. through solas's binding, they also lose the veil-less future he represented that was promised to be a better world for them. would it really have been? probably not. solas clearly thinks so. but we will never know lol. the failure of the story to grapple with the dissolution of the elves entire belief system is one of its most egregious ones, and i think this is a symptom of it. dragon age's elven lore got itself into a weird spot by veilguard and i think they just abandoned it rather than attempting to write themselves out of it. i love stories that grapple with the average person's culpability as complacent in imperialism. this is part of why fullmetal alchemist is my fav story of all time and you should watch it (fullmetal alchemist:brotherhood on hulu please im begging. but you have to watch the "brotherhood" one not the other one. its complicated dont ask). veilguard seemed to want to do something like this, but they got themselves into weird spot with the elves because their evil, slavery-based empire is a thing of the distant past, and in the present they are systemically oppressed and have no social or political power.

usually in these sorts of stories, someone currently living in an imperialist society who is directly benefiting from that imperialism is confronted with their complacency and asked to rise to the occasion of standing up for what is right, despite their material best interest. they often sacrifice their privilege as a benefactor of imperialism in the present to attempt to make up for the evils that system has inflicted on others. fmab does a wonderful job of this. there is at once both an acknowledgement that no, this is not literally YOUR FAULT, you did not order a genocide or press the nuke button, but you have benefited from it and/or participated every day of your life, whether that is through the stolen land you live on, the fact that you have never seen war in your home country, the way you can buy whatever fruit you want at the grocery store any time of year, or the way your tax dollars fund the bombs being dropped on children thousands of miles away, and you do have a moral obligation to do whatever you can to fight back. i believe this is a very important lesson for the average american (and canadian since we are talking about bioware), and anyone that lives in an imperialist country, that a lot of people have not yet learned ... lol.

this feels along the lines of what veilguard was going for (or maybe they werent and this was accidental, idk which is worse), but it fails because the elves are not currently benefiting from their past empire, like at all. actually, they live in squalor and at risk of constant violence from human empires. they have experienced centuries of genocide, violence and slavery at this point in modern thedas. the imperialistic success of the elvhen empire has absolutely no bearing on their current lives, it provides them with no privilege, and it gives them no culpability in its evils. they are thousands of years removed from it. and its not like "oh the british empire was dissolved 50 years ago so imperialism is over" no. because britain's wealth and power are a direct result of that imperialism, thus they do still benefit from it presently, even if the "official empire" is dissolved. this is true for most empires. but with the elves of thedas, they have none of the power or privilege that the elvhen empire accrued through its evils. if anything, it is tevinter that benefits most from the lost elven empire considering how much of their society is founded on its technology, and the fact that. you know. they are currently, modernly, presently an empire based on slavery. OF ELVES. so why, then, does veilguard present the elves as culpable? why does the angry titan harding creature say they are "thriving" at the titans expense? why does bellara take personal responsibility for the evils that elgar'nan and ghilan'nain commit when she had nothing to do with them? the messaging with this is so strange. it would make sense if elves were still the ruling class but... they're not. the only remnants of the empire that they have access to is their own bodies... which are systemically, bought, sold, and mutilated. though the game does erase much of the racism they face in what i can only assume was an attempt to make this work.

the combo of this + solas's trick/fight endings for what is fundamentally, according to this game itself, a desire for a better world for elves and spirits, no matter if it is misled or his methods are violent, is a depressing, bleak message that i find to be irresponsible to be sending in 2024 and considering the real world groups of people that elves are based on, most notably of the dalish as indigenous north americans. veilguard sees elves lose not just their understanding of their past, dissolving their entire worldview, their conception of their cultural identity, and their relationship to their religion, all without sufficient (or any) exploration of how devastating such a process would be, but by imprisoning solas, erasing his followers and supporters from existence, and binding him to the veil, it also robs them of the possibility of a more just future... while asking you to cheer because he deserved it. dont try to make the world a better place unless you do it the right way. work with the world as it is. your attachment to the past (when you werent being genocided regularly) is a disease. you deserve to go to jail because you tried to change the world in a way that that was too disruptive. get over it! move on! rot in jail!

[sanotymanjiro]

𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⋆꙳❅‧ ‧❆ ₊⋆

𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙠𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙬𝙖

𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

fluff, soft, set in whatever timeline the reader wants, high school izana, longing, orphanage, some swearing, yuzuha + senju + emma are not related to other tr character in this fic and are simply just y/n's friends

❄️ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

izana: wanna watch the first snow together?

the pinky promise you made that day was just that, a childish hope, a dream. izana left the orphanage not too long after and when the first snow did come, you watched it alone. now, five years later, christmas was approaching and so your new mum had sent you out on an errand as usual to buy some ingredients she was missing. you were a good daughter and she always told you that ever since she first adopted you, but as the adopted, you never really received the same kind of attention their biological daughter did and more was expected than you than it was from her.

buzz.

you sigh, already flinging your finger along the screen of your phone to check the message and as expected they were from your friends, yet again.

senju: y/n there's this guy that wants to meet you!

y/n: girls c’mon now. i told you im not interesteddddd

yuzuha: uh uh no thank u girl, no more of this ‘single every christmas’ streak of yours get a grip! you’re pretty af so find a man!

y/n: not funny. i don't need a man tho, senju can have him

emma: y/n!! he's top of his class, taekwondo star and a total hottie. you cant say no this time he even dyed his hair white, thats the type you like right?

your fingers hovered over the keyboard. they really did you dirty with that one. you had gotten drunk one time when you went out with them and ended up rambling on about your longing for izana despite it being 4 years already, you were still a mess. you couldn’t help it with the way that boy treated you, as if you were his soulmate. after tripping and cutting your knee the orphanage doctor had told you that it was no big deal and refused to give you a plaster but you had bawled your eyes out in the dorms later and izana was the only one who knew the real reason — you just wanted the hello kitty patterned plaster. to your shock and utter joy he had stolen it that same day and snuck into your dorm at night, gentle chubby fingers holding onto yours as he led you to sit on the edge of your bed, kneeling down on one knee and applying the plaster to your leg with care, before patting you on the head and giving you that toothy grin.

izana: don’t forget to wear your trousers tomorrow, we wouldn’t want the staff to find out, its our secret, ‘kay?

you remember the small nod you gave after kurokawa had absolutely stolen your heart that day and continued to do so afterward, sliding some extra strawberries into your plate at dessert, reserving your favourite toy away from the other kids if he got to the playground first, sending kakucho whenever he wouldn’t be able to be there to help you out and last but not least, the small matching pokemon keyrings he had bought for you on his outings with shinichiro. your heart shattered the day izana left, especially since he had made a promise, a promise to watch the first snow with you, but then left without a word. 

you lock your phone and slide it back into your pocket deciding to argue with your friends later, it was too cold to be texting anyway. slipping on your gloves you trudged the rest of the way to the supermarket. you let out a small sigh as the warmth of the shop envelopes you and spend half an hour or so shopping for the things your mum wanted, before walking back home.

you loved the park that you would walk through on the way home so taking it now was not unusual for you despite the freezing wind sabotaging your face, you had come here through worse weather honestly. plastic bag swinging between your two fingers as you strolled puffing out warm breaths colliding with the cold air producing clouds of white. you remember when izana and kakucho would prank you saying that they had smoked before and that how they can do it while you couldn't but after trying for hours on end they finally took pity on you and admitted to their lies. two gloved, warm hands had cupped your pink cheeks, shielding them from the biting cold and majestic lilac eyes peered into your own, filled with warmth and tinged with that slight crazed look izana always had, the look you loved.

at first it was just a gut feeling, then the feeling of a pair of eyes bouncing along with your figure, lilac eyes. the first snow. petals of frozen white fluttering toward the ground, coating every surface in their way, spiralling with the slight breeze hoarding them into different streams. at first all you could do was stare and izana did the same before finally rising from the mahogany bench, light footsteps closing the distance between you, then a soft, soothing voice, his voice invaded your ears triggering that warm bubbly feeling of nostalgia.

izana: i kept my promise, mahal

y/n: ...what does that even mean?

a soft chuckle escapes him before he can stop it then those same warm gloved hands which were once so small rest against your cheekbones once more.

izana: means you're freezing.

that gentle smile, slow but not quite lazy strokes of his eyelids and the lilac orbs illuminated by something much softer than either of you could place, hair as white as the snow itself, it all reminded you of your days at the orphanage and suddenly you were 10 years old again and rosy in the face over him, the ice king. tears bubbled along the rim of your eye and a strange longing tinged with something else flooded your chest.

y/n: you...better have a good excuse for being this late.

izana, after mock thinking for a moment: i do, but right now you're crying.

y/n: it's the wind. now what's the grand excuse?

izana's finger drifted toward the trail of salty water left behind on your cheek as if it was second nature, that gentle smile never wavering.

izana: i told you, i'd see you on the first snow.

y/n: five years later?

izana, ignoring your retort: do you know what it means?

y/n: what what means..?

izana: it means love, you watch the first snow with someone you love.

you hadn't realised it till now but ever since you locked eyes with him it feels as though you haven't been breathing at all, izana kurokawa had returned to steal your heart once more and this time, your breath too.

izana, voice soft as silk now, genuine, fingers tracing patterns into your jaw: sorry y/n, for being so late. i bought it now, the thing i needed, now that i have it we can watch the first snow together.

the bench was coated in snow but for some reason as izana guided you to sit, threading a small silver ring with a heart in the centre through your finger before intertwining his with your own and settling beside you, it didn't feel the least bit cold, not with izana's arms cocooning you in their warm embrace, not with his gaze fixated on your features, as if staring at you long enough will make up for five years apart but he could never know until he tried.

y/n: i remember now, what i used to call you back then.

izana: whats that?

y/n: ice king.

soft laughter rippled from his chest as he leaned his chin to rest on your head.

izana: you really were cute, mahal

2025 @sanotymanjiro

tags (for everyone who enjoyed bubble baths and my other fics): @dolledupformanjiro | @tetsuyuuuuuuu | @artsjiwoo | @mikeysgf1 | @natsumis-stuff | @katsukisat0 | @dancingnewcat | @whyme287 | @destinyfleur | @banana-revenge | @bebacebe | @mikeys-therapy | @peensas | @afterunigoths | @skr1mps | @beetusbritt | @dollrndo | @yourbabydolllll | @cherry-blossom5 | @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe and anyone else!

lemme know in the comments if you wanna be on the taglist for these types of fics!

[roslynvb]

WHAT ARE THEIR TOXIC TRAITS?

(GENDER NEUTRAL READER AS ALWAYS<3)

Mizu

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pushes you away, overprotective

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Mizu does not want to lose you, or get too attached. it’s a difficult decision for her and she hates herself for pushing you away so much

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Mizu believes you would be better off, but she knows that she wouldn’t be.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚no matter how much you try to get her to open up, it’s going to take her a long time.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Mizu feels as if anyone could take you from her, she can’t stand the thought of it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚she worries about you, day and night. Whether you’re asleep next to her, or somewhere else with Ringo or Taigen.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Mizu likes to keep her eye on you, or have someone she trusts with you.

TAIGEN

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚jealousy, envy

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚taigen loves you more than anything, seeing you talking with someone else no matter who it is, makes his heart feel all weird.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚although taigen knows that you wouldn’t cheat on him or any of the sort, he has his doubts.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚if you ask him about it or tell him to knock it off, he’ll bite back with a cocky remark, trying to keep his own ego up

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚taigen doesn’t like to know that you’re better at something that he is passionate about

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚he gets bitter, and works even harder to be better than you

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚he snaps whenever you tease him about something he’s passionate about when you’re better than him at that specific thing. Of course he doesn’t mean to be this way, he loves you. And is proud of you whenever you accomplish something. He can’t help it either way.

AKEMI

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚anger, ignores you, guilt trip

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚sometimes, akemis anger gets the better of her. She lashes out at you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚akemi will ignore you when she’s angry, and will not come to you until she’s ready

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚which could be awhile..

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚if you even try to speak to her just for a second she will walk past you like your just a servant.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚if you do something that akemi does not like, she will use some kind of excuse to pull you away from it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚she won’t go overboard as she has her own limits, but she’ll try to persuade you as much as she can.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚akemi was lucky enough to be with you, and she wants to take advantage of that. her father could never allow it, so she’s trying to be the best she can.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚she loves you, and can be overbearing sometimes, but she definitely has her good moments.

(HI POOKIES!! It’s currently 2 am and I am so glad I got this done😭 anyways I hope you guys are doing well…I lowkey can’t believe the amount of attention my writing has been getting and I’m so grateful for it…to those who celebrate, happy early thanksgiving!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS IM DYING)

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[w1tched]

the more i dissect and analyze boothill's character, the more convinced i am that this fella is someone's passion project on the HSR team. i was analyzing his e6 the other day and it's actually filled with so much symbolism... either that or im just crazy

anyways, diving into boothill's e6, it's important to remember that this specific eidolon is meant to represent a character in their most vulnerable state (at least, that's the consensus within the fandom... idk if this has ever been confirmed). the fact that it's in this eidolon that we get to see boothill with his human body makes it so fucking beautiful. getting to see boothill's human body instead of his cyborg one solidifies the fact that one of the main reasons behind why he chose to undergo the cyborg surgery was so he wouldn't be vulnerable anymore.

he's put up literal metal walls around himself to keep himself safe after all that he's been through!! keep in mind that boothill has been dehumanized by the IPC well before the bombing of his planet as the IPC mentions that the locals of aeragan-epharshel are uncivilized and woefully behind in terms of technology. even now, his humanity is stripped by the propaganda that the IPC pushes of boothill being nothing more than a bloodthirsty thug who won't think twice before shooting someone.

to be human is to be vulnerable and that's a luxury that boothill can't afford.

anywho, moving on, character e6s typically shows a character's shoulders and within spirituality, shoulders symbolize responsibilities and burdens and it's so fitting for someone like boothill. once again, burdens and responsibilities aren't anything new for him. we have to remember that back on his home planet, boothill was highly respected and had high status amongst his community due to his courage and undoubtedly, the rewards from his various adventures and fights. furthermore, it's not hard to imagine that someone like boothill would've been very approachable to the locals and would be someone who people turned to for advice and help.

it's after the bombing of his planet that boothill's responsibilities take on a new form where he now has the burden of seeking out justice and revenge for his friends and family, the burden of remembering and honoring the past and keeping it pure as well as the burden of serving as a walking grave for those he lost.

something that i find particularly interesting about boothill's e6 is the fact that both of his eyes are covered by his bangs. the eyes are considered the windows to one's soul and the fact that they're covered can symbolize his guarded nature and the fact that after the tragedy of aeragan-epharshel, nobody (that we know of) has gotten close enough to boothill to be able to know who he truly is at his very core. it's hard for someone like him to trust others after what he's suffered, hence why so many characters have a bad first impression of him and why boothill appears to have so few allies (among the playable characters).

boothill's e6 also appears to have autumn leaves fluttering around him which can symbolize how he's shedded his old body the same way trees shed their leaves every autumn. furthermore, autumn itself is associated with the feeling of nostalgia which we've seen boothill show, specifically in the messages he sends us about his home. autumn is also a season of dying and rising which is so fucking fitting for boothill since he says his past self has died and in his stead, the persona of boothill has risen instead from the ashes. autumn also symbolizes change and renewal which we can see in how boothill has undoubtedly changed from the man known as "loaded gun" and renewed himself with a new identity, new mission and a new path.

also also also!! boothill's e6 is called "crowbar hotel's racoon". crowbar hotel is american slang for prison and it's been implied before that boothill has ended up in jail in the past (pre-cyborg era btw). plus, boothill is referred to as a racoon and it could be due to him matching the overall color scheme of one (white and black hair with gray on his body) but also because he shares similar traits as racoons. racoons are animals that are known to be playful, courageous, intelligent and adaptable creatures and all of these adjectives can be used to describe boothill as well !!!

all in all, boothill's e6 is absolutely beautiful and deserves all the love

[voidcat]

i. welcome to summoners rift

characters: narumi gen, gn!reader

a/n: the game i had in mind while writing this is league of legends.. boo i know. anyways i tried to keep the LoL terms down so itll be easier to understand. reader is implied to be a part of first division- part time operations leader but more involved in data collecting and medical side of things, (I’ll decide fully later)

. i need to make this pathetic loser suffer in games so bad its not even funny anymore... first of many more fics to come im afraid

The first few times to play it safe and because it’s what you’re used to, you take a generic support class— Seraphine got crowd control, enough damaging spells to trigger a DoT or do some extra last minute damage, provides shield, speed and health.

A well balanced support and pretty, Narumi cannot help but think as the Seraphine on his screen hits ctrl+3 and dances for the third time while waiting for the opposing team to make a move. You seem to know what you’re doing, you placed wards, dance when it seems idle but keeping your attention enough to cut it when you suspected an ambush few times. Plus it’s one of the most recent skins you got for the champ so he knows you know how to play the champion, despite your low score on her-

After all, not everyone has been playing this damn game for 5 to 10 years now, a newbie is no problem as long as they know how to play and show it. You leave the minions to him, heal him at critical moments the enemies thought he was dying so he can attack back and get them one by one— you’re good, and you’re especially good with him.

By the time the entire team gathers on the same lane, pushing to the opposing team’s base, you send your ult at the perfect moment, charming four enemies at once and creating the dream situation of any player.

Well, the rest of your team slowly dies because of heavy damage over time they took but it’s alright. The screen says in big letters: PENTA KILL! With his champion icon right under it, and in the game chat even the opposing team congratulates him, saying it was insane game play.

Then Narumi hears that same melody since the beginning of the game whenever you hit the dance animation and a new message in the game chat:

> victory dance for that lovely penta ( *｀ω´)

Reading the message, he watches your champion dance with his eyes glued to the screen, heat rising up to his face… absolutely adorable is what it is. Standing there with his champion, he then hits ctrl+3 as well to join you on the dance, letting the minions carry on.

The game is about to end, the opposing team begs in the chat to not end, to keep playing, meanwhile his team makes some jokes referencing early minutes of the match. Then at the last second, Narumi quickly types in and hits send.

The chat box reads: ‘support diff’

Before queuing up for another game, his hand acts on impulse and invites you to the lobby.

And to his surprise, you accept!

The sound of message notifications reaches his ears short after and he quickly reads over.

>awww >seems like someone enjoyed my presence;P

Adorable and cheeky, this just might be his best in game interactions by far. without a word, he queues up another game and another, the night goes on.

messages from you in-game keep on coming, at one point he thinks to himself "what he hell is a fryslan bop" to which you just send a keyboard smash followed by a "its a song lol"

so you are a chatter, he gathers quickly. not often but when you do, you send in a lot. he soon catches up to when you're actually talking versus spamming a song's lyrics while having Seraphine dance in your stead.

until you cancel the queue start up and send a message.

>gotta go >its late >booo >we jst got started >work tmr sry T-T

with a sigh, he watches as you leave and tries playing another match, but for some reason during the entirety of the match, he has no fun.

when you log into your game accounts in the evening, relieved to have an easy day, you notice a few friend request. "kaijuslayer"

you click accept and before you can open another tab, you instantly receive a lobby invite. its unreal how quick this person is... and how much he enjoys gaming, apparently. with no plans for the night and no desire to do anything else, you accept the invite.

Narumi is over the clouds to see not only has his request being accepted but also his invite too. gaming is more fun when you are winning, and thus playing with people who know what they're doing. you pick the same champion again and accomodate to his various picks, supporting him however he needs. it's perfect, it's distracting. while the two of you wait for the client to find another match, you begin to talk. since it's a friday, he tries his shot and asks if you'll stay for longer this time.

>nah >my v much serious v grownup job has saturdays too >and awfully early waking hours >sucks to b u> v serious v grownup huh >yea? >im starting to suspect u might b a child >OLIFSDJFIGOJSDOLŞGJSDFOLŞG >the calls coming from inside the house

before Narumi can send a reply, the 'match found' screen pops up and the two of you leave it there.

the match starts off smooth. he's farming a good amount, the two of you reached level 6 before the others, and as the opposing lane tries an ambush, you hit them with your ult, charming them in the process. as narumi begins to unleash his combo, your slowing down waves slither there gently, quitely. then follows your shield and speed buff, and right before his very eyes, your now-powered-up-double skill hits the enemies and the screen reads: "TRIPLE KILL" with your icon next to it.

as much of an ideal support as Seraphine is, Narumi remembers the fact all too painfully that Seraphine was first released as a midlaner... a very much capable AP damage unit if built that way. a part of wants to see, and a part of him is afraid of what he might see if he goes to check which items you have purchased- or if it was a brilliant calculation by itself.

as Narumi stares at the screen, Seraphine dances again, sometimes ending the animation to go around him. seeing him frozen for far too long, you ping him few times. as if his misery, and his kills stolen wasnt bad enough already, your team's jungle has the audacity to send a message to in-game chat. 'supp diff'’

complimenting his support? his duo? Narumi begins to see red.

as you begin to teleport back to the base, you send an emote of one of the characters, tongue poking out, winking and doing a peace sign.

and on his side of things, narumi gen cannot find it in him to stay mad at the turn of events- because just look how endearing and cute you are! it's alright if you took a kill or two by accident, you're still his support, his duo after all!

despite the... technical errors, the game ends in another victory and with you doing a victory dance again, now pinging him if he's staying idle until he joins you as well. his heart cannot take it. it's too much... and as if you are dead set on being the final blow, you send cute emotes, and whenever he sends one back, you reply with another, it goes and goes until the matches end.

a flood of message notification sounds brings him back to earth again.

>heeeey >r u gonna start the queue some time this year? >oh btw pick a color

puzzled at the last message, he says a color, not expecting much out of it. until he sees you have picked another skin with the chroma he said. candy and teeth- you are so adorable and charming, so bad for his poor health. waiting in your lane, you begin the dancing animation again and narumi grins at the screen, watching you dance.

oh no, this is bad. this is pathetic even for him now... he cannot be possibly finding some gamer maybe across the country, someone he never saw nor even heard the voice of charming...

maybe that annoying part time operations leader was right about his... pent up frustration... if he's this down for a game model supposedly representing a person, maybe you had a point when you implied he goes to seek some action and revive himself of whatever's been building up down there.

there is no way he can let anyone learn about this- worst of all, you. with your stoic face and condescending eyes, you'd never let him live that down.

Him! Narumi Gen! the first division captain and the strongest anti-kaiju combatant! he'd rather die than give you the satisfaction of knowing he's so desperate to get some sort of friction he's starting to mix an online person with the character they're playing.

aggressive pings snap him out of his running thoughts and he realizes he's a little behind game-play wise.

now, looking over at the match stats, it doesn't seem all to unsalvageable. he better get to it, there's a match to win and a lovely duo to impress.

[ghostgirl-22]

Idk if you write this kind of thing but i have ocd and i always see art as having it. Im just imagining Art spiralling, becoming neurotic and obsessive over his appearance, hygiene, schedules, social interactions ect til he has a nervous breakdown/panic attack

Mostly just imagining patrick being there for him over the years, calming his attacks, distracting him, helping him loosen up and telling him everything is okay and he loves him, he can always tell when arts mind starts drifting again and he squeezes his hand to ground him and remind him hes there ❤

Ooh lovely anon sorry this took forever <3 I wrote the whole thing from Arts perspective and realized I really don’t have much (read: any) experience with ocd and didn’t want to go to deep into thought processes so I just decided to scrap everything and try it from Patrick’s pov. I probably still fucked it but I hope that you will forgive me and let me know if I’ve harmed you in anyway by writing this. It is definitely not my intention so I will happily fix any issues<3 I will say some of Patrick’s language and reactions are awkward on purpose because he’s not a trained psychiatrist just some guy trying to be there for his friend.

Anywho! This is SFW. The smallest hints of homoerotic tension but that’s because this is challengers yall!! it’s not conclave which is also a great movie btw!

Everything is romantic 💝

—-

Patrick doesn’t always understand it. He remembers the first time Art had a panic attack in front of him. They were 12. Art had heard news that his grandma had fallen down and was in the hospital. Patrick didn’t know that but he woke up to Art trying to catch his breath. He was soaking wet, just out of the shower, splotchy red, still in his towel. Head down between his hands. Fists clenched around his ears, shaking like he couldn’t get comfortable if he wanted to. Patrick had panicked a bit, thinking he was having a seizure or something.

He hurried out of bed and sat next to Art on his, asking what was wrong. Art could barely get the words out but he grabbed onto Patrick when he got up to alert their floor monitor. “Please no, s-stay with me.” Art gasped.

And so Patrick did. He felt a little uncomfortable at first and started making stupid, tasteless jokes about celebrities just to cut through the heaviness. Surprisingly it got Art to smile and relax his fists just a little bit. He even brought up the time his sister dared him to dress up like Britney Spears and do the dance. That really made Art laugh. “I want to see a picture.”

Later on Art admitted he was afraid he’d caused his grandmas accident because he’d done something dirty (touched himself) the night before she got hurt and maybe God was punishing him. He’d been scrubbing himself raw in the shower trying to redeem himself. Intrusive thoughts in his head about her getting an infection, thoughts about her dying if he didn’t get clean.

“No way, you don’t have that kinda power,” Patrick said gently. “Besides God has so many people to worry about. I don’t think he’s sending all his punishment to a random kid for touching himself when there are murderers out there getting away with it.” He didn’t think Art really believed him but he was definitely calmer before they turned off the light. Luckily his grandma was fine. Just a broken wrist, no surgery required and she went home a few days later.

It wasn’t always related to something as serious as his grandma’s health. Coach told them a few years later that they were on the shortlist to earn recognition for being advanced players (especially for their age) during the end of year banquet. Patrick enjoyed the attention but he didn’t need recognition to have fun on the court. He and Art had managed to become a well oiled machine as doubles partners, they were 14, playing kids who were 17 and the best in their state and beating them. That was enough recognition for Patrick.

Oddly enough Art didn’t take the news well. He was already very strict about his training routine but he went a little crazy at the idea of earning that award. He was up everyday before dawn for two weeks. Running himself ragged in training.

By now Patrick had been roommates with him for 2 years and he could somewhat recognize the signs of an impending breakdown. And inevitably it happened after practice. Everyone else was exhausted, in the locker rooms, showering, changing eager to go home and get food. Art stayed on the court, hitting against the wall. Patrick cleaned up and when he came back out to convince Art to come with him to the mess hall, he noticed that Art was breathless, crying, slamming tennis balls against the wall over and over with all the force he could muster.

“Hey!” Patrick called several times trying to get his attention. “Hey, Art! Stop. Stop,” Patrick said when he got close enough that he could wrestle the racket away from him. Art sort of crumpled in his arms. Breathless, sweaty. His body tense.

That time Patrick sat on the tennis court with him until he started to calm down. Talking nonsense as it started to get dark around them. After a while Art finally admitted he didn’t feel like he was good enough for the award. He’d missed a few backhands while they played in the tournament against Piney Creek Academy and he’d been beating himself up ever since, forcing himself to get it right. “I feel like you carry me. Like I’m not even fucking good.” Art mutters.

“Dont be ridiculous. Yeah, I’m a little bit like a crazy person. But you’re a fucking machine. And I mean that in a good way.” Patrick explains.

Art snorts, little fireflies are beginning to light up around them, the cicadas and crickets are singing. “I don’t think that’s a good thing.” He says.

“In tennis it is…look at Federer. Look, nothing phases him. That’s just like you on that court when you’re not in your head. When everything…like all your mental whatever…when that leaves your head and you’re really playing… it’s like nothing can shake you. Least of all me. I fucking need you baby. Fire and ice. That’s us.”

Art smiles. “You’re comparing me to Federer?”

“Dont let it go to your head but yes. Hell fucking yes,” Patrick says. He still can’t figure out whether or not he’s saying the right thing. He read somewhere talking through it and distractions helped with panic attacks but it doesn’t specifically mention what to talk about. He probably shouldn’t be waving off Art’s very real mental thing as “mental whatever” but he does seem more relaxed. Enough that he’s finally ready to go inside for food. Which Patrick is starving for.

He’s aware of a lot of Arts ticks by the time they’re at the top of the school. He knows about ocd, he’s read a lot about it over the years. He can identify the types of things Art obsesses about. Even the compulsions. He’s still a little sucky at figuring out when he’s contributing to Arts anxiety but he’s really trying not to. And he’s really good at identifying the panic attacks. He’s even been able to stop a few before they got out of control.

When they're on the bus back from an away game and everyone is excitedly chatting about prom that night. Who they’re going with and how fun it’s gonna be. Patrick notices it when Art starts dissociating, when his eyes go glassy and he starts to rock back and forth anxiously in the seat beside him. Touch usually helps a lot to ground him back in reality. So Patrick grabs hold of his thigh, making Art aware of his presence. Maybe too aware. It brings him back down to earth but with how close they were…Patrick couldn’t help but notice it woke up something else. He didn’t want to freak Art out so he decided to ignore it for now, though he grips Arts fingers instead.

“You feel better?” He asks, quietly.

“Yeah,” Art says, clearly grateful that Patrick is pretending not to notice as he adjusts himself. “Um it’s a whole thing about prom and expecting to embarrass myself and the thought of that making me panic and then the idea of panicking in front of everyone being embarrassing and then panicking about that yeah…I’m…” he makes the crazy gesture. He’s much more comfortable talking about it to Patrick now. He’s been in therapy and also Patrick’s been there with him since they were little.

“You know Maddy’s not perfect, right?” Patrick says amusedly talking about Arts prom date.

Art nudges him playfully with his leg, “I know.”

“Try to relax and have fun. And remember she came in 10th place in the girls round robin. Dude Stevie Miles beat her.”

Art laughs and takes a breath, continuing to smile fondly. “Yeah…okay thanks Pat. Sorry about—“ he gestures awkwardly to his lap.

Patrick brushes it off. It does intrigue him but he figures now isn’t the time or place to press. “It’s no problem.”

“And I mean thanks for always… I don’t know. Thanks for not freaking out when I…even when we were kids. I’m so glad I got you as my— thanks.”

Patrick shrugs, swallowing on something in his throat. “Listen dude go easy on the punch tonight,” Patrick says, changing the subject. He wraps his arm around Arts shoulder talking a little quieter. “We’re gonna spike it.”

“You’re not,” Art says, eyes wide.

“Dont look so innocent you heard us planning it.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

“When am I not serious?” Patrick smirks.

“Whatever just don’t get expelled you idiot. If I have to play those Austrians with Miller as my partner at the Open I really will freak out.”

“Oh no don’t worry,” Patrick laughs like it’s fool proof. “I’ll be there. I’ve got you.”

(I ask that you suspend your disbelief because I needed to put Serena/federer/Nadal and Murray into a previous tennis generation so I don’t have to think about the idea of Art beating Nadal on a clay court cause my imagination is not that big lol. Also I can’t recall who Art and Pat played against in the junior us open. I should probably rewatch the movie 😅)