#I dream of going to a fanart exhibition!! <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[redfurrycat]

🙀💖Fanart and Fangif and Fanpost Recs💖🙀

Here is a list of GORGEOUS fanarts and fangifs and fanposts I wanted to make, because I'm ALWAYS scrolling down desperately in my blog to find one post or another. I figure I'd make it available for anyone to see.

Be sure to give their authors MUCH LOVE!!!!!! (💖💖REBLOGS! 💖💖)

The way I choose to describe each post is personal, it may or may not be how their authors see it. Don't be offended or anything, it's for organisational purposes. (Though if there is a problem, message me! 💖)

It's also possible I made some typos with the names and/or links. If so, I'll fix it up at some point! :)

This is very much ONGOING! I have lots and lots and lots of posts to find!

Targeted fandoms so far: Top Gun & Top Gun : Maverick; Teen Wolf; Pacific Rim.

Top Gun & Top Gun: Maverick

{@aiko24601} Bobnix: 1, 2, 3, 4

{@aliceblakeart} Hangster: 1, 2

{@babyrooster} The Bradshaw flock: 1, 2| Daggers Squadron: 1, 2| Hangster: 1, 2| Mav tumblr : 1| TGM songs: 1, 2| TGM movie: 1, 2| TGM Screenplay : 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

{@barnes-brain} Bob: 1| Daggers Team: 1, 2, 3| Hangman: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4| Phoenix: 1| Rooster: 1, 2

{@beeeeeta} Baby Goose and family: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22| Rooster: 1, 2

{@beezelarts} Bobnix: 1| Coyote, Hangman & Phoenix: 1| Hangman: 1, 2| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7| Rooster: 1

{@betanoiz} Coyote: 1| Hangman: 1| Hangman, Phoenix, Rooster: 1| Phoenix: 1| Rooster: 1, 2

{@bodty} Goosemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

{@djdangerlove} Dagger Squad: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3| Icemav: 1, 2, 3| Mavdad & Baby Goose: 1, 2| Rooster: 1

{@epiimetheux} Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6| Icemav and Jake: 1

{@fangirling-tussisque-noncaelatur} Hangster: 1

{@farannir} Seresin: 1

{@film-in-my-soul} Pacific Rim AU: 1

{@fluffinpuffin} Daggers family: 1, 2, 3| Rooster: 1, 2

{@forsty} Dagger family: 1| Force Ghost Goose: 1| Goose, Ice, Mav: 1| Goose & Rooster: 1, 2, 3| Hangman: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8| Hangster & Phoenix: 1| Macheresin: 1| Mav & Rooster: 1| Phoenix & Rooster: 1, 2| Rooster: 1| Western Outlawrancher: 1, 2, 3, 4

{@illisius} Dagger team: 1, 2, 3| Dagger team solo: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6| Mav & Rooster: 1, 2

{@k9effect} Bobnix: 1, 2, 3| Bobster: 1, 2, 3| Bradshaw-Mitchell Family: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7| Dagger Squad: 1, 2| Dogger Squad: 1, 2, 3| Hangman: 1, 2, 3| Hangster: 1| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5| Macheresin: 1| Mav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6| Rooster: 1| Top Gun Posters: 1

{@leatherluxe} Bob: 1| Floydsinshaw: 1| Hangman: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3| Rooster: 1

{@miichiyochin} Animal!Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15| Icemav & kids: 1, 2

{@miiinnnnn} Hangster: 1| Phoenix: 1| Rooster: 1, 2

{@mustasekittens} Bob: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5| Bob & Fritz: 1, 2| Goose & Rooster: 1| Fanback: 1, 2| Floydsinshaw: 1| Halix: 1| Halix & Hangster: 1| Halo & Yale: 1| Hangman: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3| Rooster: 1, 2| The Daggers family: 1, 2, 3, 4

{@nicedaybucky} Hangman: 1, 2| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18| Hangster & Coyote: 1| Hangster & Phoenix: 1, 2| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4| Icemav & Goose: 1| Rooster: 1| The Bradshaw-Mitchell flock: 1, 2, 3

{@patbbangg} Bradshaw family: 1| Dagger family: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8| Hangster: 1, 2| Icemav: 1, 2| Icemav and Slider: 1, 2| Icemav and Goose and Slider: 1| Macheresin: 1, 2, 3, 4| Mitchegan: 1| NCIS au: 1, 2| Slicemav and Baby Goose: 1

{@oidingus} Hangster: 1, 2| Hangster & Daggers: 1| Hangster & Icemav: 1| Icemav: 1| Icemav and Goose: 1

{@qedart} Carole & Icemav: 1| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9| Icemav & Baby Goose: 1| Icemav, Hangster & Phoenix: 1| Pilots & RIOs: 1| Time Warp AU: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

{@qin-ling} Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5| Icemav and the Bradshaws: 1| Icemav, Mav & Baby Goose: 1| Icemav, pilots & RIOs: 1

{@raz-mo} Daggers: 1| Goosemav: 1| Hangman: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6| Mav: 1, 2| Rooster: 1, 2

{@reddbl} Goosemav: 1, 2, 3| Icemav: 1, 2| Mav & the Bradshaws: 1| TC playing dad: 1

{@rooster-soup} Bob: 1| Bradshaw boys: 1, 2| Goosemav bros: 1, 2| Hangster: 1, 2, 3| Iceman: 1| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4| Phoenix: 1| Rooster: 1

{@sandibullock} Daggers Posters : 1

{@selene-yoshi-chan} Rooster: 1, 2

{@sprinklersart} Iceman: 1| Icemav: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7| The Bradshaws, Ice, Mav, Sli: 1, 2

{@starryinspace} Dagger family: 1| Hangman : 1| Hangster: 1, 2| Hangster & Icemav: 1| Icemav and Charlie: 1| Icemav and Macheresin: 1| Top Gun Movies Trivia: 1, 2

{@wikla} Dagger Squad: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5| Hangster: 1, 2, 3 | Rooster: 1, 2, 3, 4

{@wzlp0} Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5| Hangster, Goose & Mav: 1| Hangster & Mav: 1

{@xivdl} Baby Goose: 1| Bobroo: 1| Floydsin: 1| Floydsinshaw: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3| Hangster & Daggers: 1, 2| Hangster and Fanboy: 1| Icemav: 1| Icemav & Goose & Slider: 1| Mavdad and Baby Goose: 1| Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman & Bob: 1

{@yoonsos22} Hangman: 1, 2, 3| Hangman, Rooster & Young Mav: 1| Hangster: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28| Hangster & Bob: 1| Rooster: 1, 2

[duskholland]

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around...   word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni.   a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3   —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand​ also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’) 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?�� You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

[ldwritesstuff]

SCP 6969SMP

you read that correctly, my inner SCP nerd saw an opportunity and decided to turn all of the Dream SMP into an SCP. I have never written something like this so please, go easy on me.  Disclaimer: I do not own SCP in anyway shape or form. Other SCPs mentioned in this belong to their respective writers and not myself.

Item #: SCP 6969SMP Object Class: Keter Level 4: Secret Disruption Class: Ekhi Risk Level: Danger Special Containment Procedures: SCP 6969SMP is currently under heavy observation and a strict censorship guide to not allow any of its anomalous properties to be known to the general public. Until there is a way to remove it from the streaming platform Twitch permanently and a global spread of amnestics, Mobile Task Force Kappa-10 “Skynet”, is working around the clock to keep up the censorship of any information that could reveal the true nature of 6969 SMP.

Anytime the other instances of it go “live”, Skynet will monitor all who are live, both documenting canon and non-canon streams, and when donations are given, the money will be funneled back to the Foundation. Those who escape from the SCP will be apprehended and interrogated by the Foundation. Afterwards, they will be giving amnestics to think they were just on an ordinary live stream and sent on their way. The illusion created by the Foundation that it is an ordinary livestream event is backed up by the SCP as well. If any of the audience members discover the true properties of the SCP, they will be apprehended and given amnestics.

Any instances that escape the SCP are to be contained and questioned to learn more about the inner workings of the SCP. any electronic devices that could run Minecraft are to be kept away from the instances of a 5 meter radius.

Description: SCP 6969SMP is a Minecraft server that streams regularly on the streaming platform known as Twitch. It appears to be an ordinary stream about a Minecraft Server. This SCP was brought to the attention of the Foundation after suspicious of another Minecraft series, SMP Live, was exhibiting similar properties that has been noted on 6969SMP. Concerns were increased when minors were being transported into the SCP. The SCP has the properties of globally being spread and gathering a cult following to its story and regular doings during the live segments. So far, the SMP has hosted 33 members and many more guests. Audiences around the world can tune in to different members streams based on their tastes. The influence of the SCP can be passed through spoken word to spark curiosity from those who aren’t affected. The SCP is more potent with gaining viewers when the general population watches the streams. The members have been observed to be able to read and interact with their audiences through the Twitch chat. They have also been observed to acknowledge fanart. It appears that if it has anything to do with the SMP, the instances are aware of its existence.

What the Foundation later discovered through constant monitoring is that the members of the SMP are actually real people who had been pulled into the SMP. They appear as their block characters with their created Minecraft skins. But after the streams, it is unknown if they revert to a humanoid state or not. So far they act as if all is normal and they are simply streaming a Minecraft server and the scenarios they come up with, such as the plot or story that is happening currently. The members have been numbered as different instances of SCP 6969SMP However there have been times when the members broke character and tried to alert the audience of the true nature of the SCP. MTF “Skynet” has worked to censor these moments and document when these moments happen. Attempts to use D-Class personnel to get into the SMP have all failed. Further testing on how one gets invited into the SMP through any means is on going. Attempts to befriend any of the members to enter the SCP have been deemed unsuccessful. It is unknown where they go after a stream ends. Theories have been proposed that when their stream ends, they remain in a state of limbo or continue to run around on the server and live their lives. When a means of getting in the SCP are established, testing of what happens afterwards will be conducted.  

There have been moments where some of the audience members have discovered the true nature of the SCP. Those who have discovered the true nature were apprehended, subsequently questioned and then given amnestics. Foundation personnel have attempted to make contact with the members through donations and through private chat on Twitch. Each attempt has been met with resistance as the SCP would shut down and remove researcher’s and D-Class messages. It has also been noted that when the server itself shuts down, one of the Instances, SCP 6969SMP-4, the member known as Callahan, would work to bring it back online. More studies on who SCP 6969SMP-4 is and their significance to the health of 6969SMP is ongoing.

Studies are ongoing as to how members are chosen. So far, it has been observed that if someone has a connection to 6969SMP-1, or commonly known as Dream, they will have a higher chance of being transported into the SCP itself. Research is looking into if 6969SMP-1 created the SCP and caused the anomalous properties from SMP Live to transfer over to 6969SMP. It is unclear the true nature of 6969SMP-1’s nature due to the fact that this instance does not stream, an anomaly within the anomaly. Further study on why this is yielded theories revolving around spoilers or removing attention from the other instances have been noted.

Some of the members of the SMP have disappeared from the server itself. Due to the careful monitoring, Foundation was able to pick up the members that have escaped and are now in Foundation custody. See Addendum 6969SMP.1 for the first instance of when one of the members escaped the SCP.  Another unique case to be brought up is when 6969SMP-15, otherwise known as JSchlatt, joined and was subsequently removed and then brought back. It has been noted that when an instance appears in our world, they must be removed from any and all electronic objects in a field of sight for instances. See Addendum 6969SMP.3.

Guests have appeared with the SCP for a brief moment, such as a single stream, as publicity stunts. It is unclear if that was the idea of the members or ability of the members to bring on such guests or if that was the SCP itself. Further study is being conducted and monitoring if/when the next guest appears and if Foundation could use that to get an insight into the SCP itself.  When a guest is ejected from the SCP, agents disguised as obscure internet news reporters are to intercept the guests and run a fake interview to get their statements on their experiences while in contact with the SCP. Reports have found that each time a guest is pulled into the SCP and ejected, the subjects have no recollection of anything that would give away the true nature of the SCP. they all believe that it was just another stream, much like the audiences.

There appears to be a somewhat cohesive storyline as observed by the Foundation. However, due to spontaneous meta, Foundation interference and members disappearing, the story has become somewhat muddled. Dedicated fans of the series have posted the storyline in detail on platforms such as Wikipedia, Youtube and TikTok to name a few. Anything posted that is based around the SCP is screened in case it manipulates the fan material. So far no documented instance of such a thing has been noted.

The instances of the SCP have been listed and numbered below.

Dream

Georgenotfound

Sapanp

Callahan

Alyssa

Awesamdude

Ponk

BadBoyHalo

Tommy

Tubbo

Fundy

Punz

Purpled

Wilbur

Schlatt

Skeppy

Eret

Jack Manifold

Niki

Quackity

Karl Jacons

HBomb

Technoblade

Antfrost

Philza

ConnorEatsPants

Captain Puffy

Ranboo

Foolish Gamers

Hannahxxrose

Charlie Slimecicle

Vikkstar

LazarBeam

Addendum 6969SMP. 1: The Foundation had noticed the absence of 6969SMP-5 after a few days. Agents were dispatched to the subject after a post on social media showed that she had manifested in our reality. Agents and Mobile Task Force were dispatched to [DATA EXPUNGED] to locate and apprehend the subject. Upon arrival the agents discovered the house to be abandoned. Further investigation, the instance was found in a room, in the corner with a book in hand. The desktop was on with the PC monitor showing the main menu to Minecraft. One of the agents noted that the game appeared to be glitching in and out.

The subject was taken into Foundation custody along with the PC and any other electronics connected. The journal that was confiscated from the subject depicted their time while inside the SCP. From further study, the Foundation discovered that real people were being pulled into the SCP. Researcher Dr. ██████ interviewed the subject after she was brought to Site-██ [Begin Log] Dr. ██████: hello, I would like to ask you some questions 6969SMP-5: where am I? Dr. ██████: You are in a safe interview room. Now then, can I ask about your experience with the Dream SMP? 6969SMP-5: How--How did I get out? It’s impossible. Dr. ██████: Can you elaborate. 6969SMP-5: No . . . I shouldn't be here. I can’t remember . . . . this isn’t right. Dr. ██████: Please, can you tell me what happened? 6969SMP-5: STOP, I can’t be here, I can’t be out here. None of this makes sense, i’ll get pulled back. The others, oh my god the others. No, you have to help them, they hardly know. Sometimes they know, but it makes us forget. YOU HAVE TO HELP. Dr. ██████: Please, you have to calm down. 6969SMP-5: No, no, you don’t get it. They were sucked in, the whole thing is a lie, it’s all a lie. You have to help them, anyone who goes in there--you have to help them [End Log] Subject would not answer questions and became distressed. The Foundation has set up a standard humanoid containment cell. Further interviews are pending. Update: any electronics were removed after the incident with 6969SMP-15. See Addendum 6969SMP.3.

Addendum 6969SMP.2: MTF alerted the site director when one of the instances of the SCP, 6969SMP-9, known to everyone as Tommyinnit, went live and a new member had appeared. A Youtuber known as Ninja had manifested in the server and took a tour with the instance. After the livestream, MTF had discovered that the subject had reappeared in our reality. Agents disguised as news reporters interviewed the subject. [Begin Log] Agent: we came here to ask you about the Dream SMP, can you tell us everything. Ninja: it was inevitable that I took a tour there. That was a great livestream. Agent: did anything out of the ordinary occur? Ninja: nothing really, it was just another livestream. I mean i do have a bit of a headache and some fuzzy spots at the beginning and end--wait, this won’t go in the article right? Agent: of course it won’t. So everything seemed normal? Ninja: yep, nothing out of the ordinary. That Tommy kid, he was kinda loud and that Dream guy was alright, he was pretty funny. Agent: Did any of them act differently? Say anything that seemed off? Ninja: I mean, they were with me, i’m pretty well known so of course they might be nervous. Wait--who are you interviewing for again? Agent: a small gamer blog, which thank you for your help in supporting with this interview. Ninja: of course, anytime [End Log] Further questions were met with a bit of resistance. Researchers later reported that the subject has no recollection of anything out of the ordinary. Subject is unaware of the anomalous properties of the SCP. More testing is required.

Addendum 6969SMP.3: A new instance appeared in the SMP. Close monitoring revealed that 6969SMP-15, known as JSchlatt, was not very welcome based on the behavior of 6969SMP-1. Later, 6969SMP-15 was banned from the SMP. MTF moved in when the subject manifested back in our world. An interview was conducted with Dr. ██████ that same day. [Begin Log] Dr. ██████: Mr. Schlatt, you interacted with the Dream SMP recently, can you tell us your experience? 6969SMP-15: look, i paid my taxes, why did your men nab me? Dr. ██████: We just want to know about your experience with the Dream SMP. 6969SMP-15: that stupid server? Why does it matter? Look, weird shit is going on there and you might as well drop it. Dr. ██████: Can you please elaborate? 6969SMP-15: you got cotton in your ears? Just leave it alone. You want to end up in there for good? I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually--I wasn’t thinking, it just pulled me in, through my computer screen, not exactly the greatest feeling. I don’t even know what I was doing, it all seemed so normal. But the second it spat me back out, i knew, i knew, that thing is haunted or cursed. Dr. ██████: So you weren’t aware you were in the SMP during your stay? 6969SMP-15: there you go genius--wait--I-- Dr. ██████: Schlatt, Schlatt, are you?--Call the site director, something’s happened. [End Log] Subject suddenly starts to become transparent. Glitching effects could be seen during this. Before the Doctor could do anything to intervene, the subject had fully disappeared. Sometime later, some of the other instances went live and 6969SMP-15 was among them, acting as if the interview from before did not occur. There was a computer in the room at the time and theories have been proposed that the subject was pulled back into the SCP using that computer. Personnel have now been alerted to keep their electronics that could house a version of the game Minecraft away from any instances in Foundation custody. If personnel are found to be breaking this rule, they will be severely punished.

Addendum 6969SMP.4: More guests have appeared on the SMP. Each time the livestreams ended, the guests were interviewed and all produced the same result as the first guest subject: unaware of any anomalies that occurred during the livestreams. The theory that they have a connection to 6969SMP-1 continues to be proven.

Addendum 6969SMP.5: Researchers noticed that certain instances had their siblings appear on the SMP. It is unclear how this is possible or if they are even real and not some fabrication of the SCP itself. More studies are being conducted and observations occurring to come to a conclusion.

Addendum 6969SMP.6: A new occurrence has recently developed. A new instance had appeared to have access to a gamemode in Minecraft called Creative Mode. This new instance of the SCP is named DreamXD, potentially related to 6969SMP-1 but is unclear. Its purpose from what is observed is that it upholds the rule of never allowing anyone to enter the digital dimension of Minecraft known as The End. Speculations on why The End are being proposed until something definitive is known.

Addendum 6969SMP.7: When the first canon deaths occurred, Site-██ prepared for the instances to be shot back out into our world. However, when that didn’t occur, it was assumed that when any of the instances died while in the SCP, they died in our reality as well. However, the appearance of the entity named Ghostbur, the ghost of 6969SMP-14 or Wilbur Soot, confirmed that the rules revolving around death were different from our reality. The reveal of an afterlife in the SMP raised a few questions if the other instances were actually dead and their spirits now haunt the SMP. Or another theory posed by Dr. █████ is that the afterlife is more a holding spot for those who lost their canon lives and that death and the so called afterlife, is all just another prop to their story. Until more lose their canon lives to record this phenomenon, it is up to speculation. Update: the revive book that has been brought up was tested with 6969SMP-1 and 6969SMP-9. This has brought more questions about the inner workings of the life and death cycle with this SCP.

Addendum 6969SMP.8: A development between SCP 5004-B and 6969SMP-20 revealed that there are times when the instances of 6969SMP can escape the confines of the SCP itself when it is under attack or the instances are under attack. In order to help keep up the containment of the SCP, researchers at Site-██ have created Twitter accounts for the members in order to keep up appearances. Straws were drawn to keep things fair, Researcher █████ still complained about being assigned to “the 16 year old angry british child”, their words.

Addendum 6969SMP.9: One researcher noted the similarities between Jumanji and this SCP. It has now become a running gag.

[mariaiscrafting]

What if I’m Latino and want to draw sapnap as Latino as well? Is neurodivegent headcanons for the dream team okay but this isn’t?

I’ll admit, the lines are blurred with Dream SMP characters because they are both characters and representative of real people. If you want, I can talk about the various levels of Problematic™ that are involved in this question, and since I’m bored and procrastinating, let’s get into it:

First off, there is, actually a history of Tumblr fanartists in particular drawing traditionally white characters as POC and getting backlash for it, so honestly, I’m not totally agains the practice. Frankly, drawing classic characters as POC when they haven’t really been confirmed as any race - just assumed to be the default of white - isn’t a bad thing. One such example is Hermione, who many fanartists have depicted as black, with curly hair or an afro. Because Hermione’s character and story are not intrinsically tied to any particular cultural or explicit details that would make it logically flawed to hc her as non-white, there’s really nothing wrong with this.

This is different from the opposite because it is a way for non-white audiencemembers to drive home the point that non-white Americans/Europeans are, in many ways, just like their white counterparts. That is to say, whether Hermione is black or white doesn’t change who she is; she can be a white English lady or a black English lady, but being black doesn’t necessarily mean she would act any differently or be a totally different person. It is a means to combat the assumption that any American/European character whose culture isn’t explictly brought up by the creator of a work is white.

This isn’t the same as the opposite - portraying POC characters as white - because the latter is a form of whitewashing. When you portray assumed-white characters as POC, you are not erasing anything from that character, while portraying POC characters as white erases their culture, the visibility of that ethnic group/race, and any details the creator of the content might have included in their story about that character. That’s why films are criticized for casting white actors to play POC characters, and artists are criticized for lightening character’s skin tones or erasing physical features of theirs that can be attributed to their ethnic/racial identity.

Now the question with portraying Sapnap as Latino is, is this wrong, exactly? I’d like to preface by saying that everything I’ve said about portraying Sapnap as Latino has been purely my opinion. At the end of the day, I’m not an expert on racial theory or art; I’m just a poli sci major who’s taken a couple courses on racism and has talked and learned a bit about POC in media. You can come to whatever conclusions you like, at the end of the day, and portray him however you like, love.

As I see it, there are several reasons portraying Sapnap as Latino is Problematic™. First off, Sapnap and other white members of the Dream SMP already have problems with recognizing POC and the implications of POC within the SMP. Sapnap has actually answered a donation before by saying that he’s not 100% white because he’s part-Greek, completely unironically and without recognizing why him saying that was wrong. Imo, this indicates a lack of understanding for what it really means to be a POC in Western countries that so many white people exhibit. Being a person of color in Western Europe, the US, Canada, Australia, etc., means functioning within a society where you have to battle with yourself everyday your own, multiple, and seemingly contradictory identities. It means functioning within a society where you have to navigate the crossroads of oppression within you must survive. White people who falsely claim that they aren’t white like this simply don’t understand or are even aware of exactly what it means to be shaped by the oppression of being a person of color. They believe that being a person of color, beyond occassionally experiencing explicit racism, is just a label and a tie to one’s ancestry, when it’s much more beyond that. And the thing is, Sapnap can’t claim that label because he simply hasn’t gone through the lived experience of a POC in the United States. And that’s fine. It’s fine to be white, and to just be a little ignorant to your whiteness. I’m not attacking Sapnap by pointing this all out, I’m just stating facts.

Secondly, this would mean that a 100% white person is essentially playing the role of a Latino character, which is already a far-too common practice in film and TV showmaking. Then again, I will admit that a counter-argument can be made here, in that, headcanons are not actually canon to the Dream SMP plot. For example, Ranboo has told his audience he’s fine with viewers headcanon’ing his character as nonbinary, even though Ranboo himself is cisgender. This is an ambiguous aspect of his character that can be manipulated however the viewers like since there has been nothing within the canon to refute it, so far. However, it would be a different matter entirely if Ranboo, a cisgender man, attempted to write his character as a nonbinary person and then act out that nonbinary character himself. That would actually be unjust and kinda fucked. Now, along a similar vein, one could argue that audiencemembers headcanon’ing Sapnap as Latino isn’t really a bad thing since it isn’t Sapnap himself trying to portray what he believes a Latino character would be like. So I get the potential counter-argument there.

Thirdly, my main problem with this whole drawing Sapnap as Latino ordeal is the hypocrisy of it all. Far too often within this fandom, I see fanartists and writers erase Quackity’s ethnic identity, whitewashing him in their art or completely disregarding his race in their work. And while one could argue that the lack of focus in this fandom on Skeppy can be explained by his infrequent streams and departure from the SMP lore, Ponk is rarely drawn or written about, and he streams regularly and always has something going on with his character, in side plots or otherwise. I just find it lowkey absurd that this fandom thirsts for a Latino character so bad that it has to portray Sapnap, who is played by a white actor, as Latino, when there are other POC whose identities are either disregarded or the characters as a whole ignored.

Fourth, my main question, at the end of the day, is, why are we not advocating for more POC in the SMP? Why headcanon characters as POC, when they could literally just make an effort to uplift more POC CCs, who are highly marginalized within the streamer and Youtube communities? I’m Latinx too, mate, and I’d fucking love more POC characters to fall in love with, but Sapnap isn’t the one to fill that hole.

Regarding other sorts of headcanons and how those relate to headcanon’ing characters as different races: my thoughts on this are way too complicated, at the moment. But to sum it up as concisely as possible: a) I am not neurodivergent, as far as I know, so I cannot do the subject nearly as much justice as a neurodivergent person could; b) my thoughts still kinda align with the same thought process as race - that it’s useful to hc characters as neurodivergent because it helps to break stigmas that ND people are so vastly different from neurotypical people that traditionally-assumed neurotypical people couldn’t possibly actually be ND; c) I would still advocate for more ND representation in the SMP, rather than try to warp the neurotypical people’s characters to fit into that yearn for representation that I so desire; d) there actually are ND people on the SMP - a couple of people with ADHD, as far as I know - who do exhibit ND characteristics in their characters/lore, as well, so frankly, why not give those characters ND hc’s?

Anyways, this was so much longer than I wanted it to be and I still don’t know if I fully articulated my take on the subject properly. It’s really just too complicated a subject to be applied to Dream SMP fanart, so my conclusion is: Imma diss people for drawing Sapnap as Latino when Quackity is RIGHT THERE, and you can draw him however the hell you like. At the end of the day, we’re both just people obsessing over block men, and there’s no significant harm  that will come from either of our opinions or your artwork. I hope this was a satisfying answer, and seriously, thank you for getting me to write this all out because it actually made me realize that I’m not as fully against the idea as I thought I was <3

[hannigrammest]

The Story of How Hannigram Became Canon to Those Who Are in Doubt

This post is mostly meant for the casual viewers who I noticed have joined Hannibal Subreddit after the news about the S4 negotiations. It is great that we are growing in numbers, but there seems to be a misunderstanding in regard to Hannigram (the romantic relationship between Will and Hannibal) and people who ship this pairing.

Hannigram is not a fanon pairing. It is not ‘just in the heads’ of silly girls or overly-romantic viewers. It is a canonically acknowledged couple that is supported massively by the cast and Bryan Fuller. Furthermore, this romance is the essence of the show, because Will and Hannibal find everything in each other. No, their relationship is not based merely on romance or sexual attraction. But also no, a more explicit romance in S4, which seems very likely and has been hinted at many times, will not destroy the complexity of the relationship. It will add to it.

The first part is canon evidence of Hannigram season by season. The second part of this huge post is tweets, quotes, and photos with Bryan and cast in regard to Hannigram. (Sorry, I can't seem to break the post in parts for easier reading, the formatting links don't work here for some reason.)

THE SHOW ITSELF

Season 1 is obviously the most ambiguous one in this regard because the relationship only starts to develop. And yes, the majority of scenes can be interpreted as the blossoming friendship, because it is a friendship first and foremost. Even several rather romantic moments can be technically classified as such — but only if you ignore the looks that Will and Hannibal give each other and the later narrative. Still, this is all ambiguous at this stage.

When Hannibal offers Will to take care of Abigail, he repeatedly calls them her “fathers”. Not “uncles” or “caretakers” or any other option — fathers, and while this word by itself might not mean much, it is clearly supposed to hint at what kind of relationship is going to unite Will and Hannibal in the future. In 1.07, Will doesn’t come to the appointment and Hannibal is pining. It is a very powerful and explicit scene, with Hannibal slowly walking to his chair, checking his calendar to make sure Will had to come, touching the phone longingly, then abruptly making a decision and going to look for him. All of this is accompanied by the corresponding music. Is this scene romantic? Some may see it this way, some may disagree. But I think most will agree that such obvious pining is a common romantic trope that's often shown in media. The focus and the way the scene is presented are everything: they didn't just show that Will didn't come and that Hannibal decided to find him. No, we had a slow focus on all his hesitant actions and his longing for contact. In any way, at this stage, it is no longer a mere friendship. It goes deeper, to the point where Hannibal can’t stand not knowing where Will is and craving contact enough to drive for hours in the search for him.

Once again in 1.07, Will brings Hannibal a bottle of wine out of blue and acts awkwardly and shyly when declining the invitation to join the dinner party. We don’t know why Will did it and it is never addressed again, but I think everyone will agree that bringing a bottle of wine to another person for no reason and just for him has a rather romantic shade.

Then, in that same scene, Will claims he can’t stay because he has ‘a date with a Chesapeake Ripper’. It is a joke, of course, but once again, it’s fiction. The word choice is very deliberate, and Bryan loves to foreshadow the upcoming events.

In 1.08, Will drives an hour in the snow to tell Hannibal about the kiss with Alana and Hannibal exhibits a very controlled jealousy, making a snarky comment about the long drive and telling Will that he had been motivated not by attraction, but by the need to find a balance.

In 1.09, Hannibal calls him and Will Abigail’s fathers again and touches his shoulder. Yes, it is ambiguous, but when (especially) you know what’s coming, you can’t help but notice how this touch is too hesitant and fragile for a mere gesture of friendship and unity. I’ll just say, even my father caught up on it right away, which is saying something.

These are the most explicit things I recall from season 1. Now, season 2 is way more direct.

Many scenes of Hannibal pining, sitting with a glass of wine and staring at Will’s chair at his time of appointments is a common romantic trope. Yes, it can be interpreted in different ways — for example, Will has already become a part of Hannibal and Hannibal misses him as the person who has the power to understand him. However, I feel like I have to emphasize the fact that it cannot be the only reason. Hannibal has already met people with extreme empathy before, such as Pazzi. He has also met people who were happy to join him and who had similar mindset, as Tobias Budge. Hannibal wasn’t interested in them, but he’s interested in Will. Will is special because he is himself, and like Hannibal will say later, love either pays you a visit or it does not. It clearly did with Will.

Soon after Will is released from prison, he goes to Hannibal to start the implementation of his and Jack’s plan. What does he choose to do? He dresses up and polishes himself up, presenting himself to Hannibal in the way that we have never seen him before. The first thought that comes to mind is ‘seduction’. Consciously or unconsciously, Will makes himself look as attractive as possible.

In 2.08, Hannibal touches Will’s face and holds it, staring into his eyes. This is romantic. It is one of the most popular romantic tropes that ever existed. ‘Transcendent’ love doesn’t require this kind of very intimate touch to be displayed. More than that, things become very dangerous here because if there had been no explicit follow-up, Bryan would have been accused of queerbaiting. Fortunately, it wasn’t the case.

In 2.09, Will has a dream where Hannibal directly calls him his ‘beloved’ several times. In 2.10, Hannibal treats Will’s hands very gently and we get camera focusing on it thoroughly. It is a deliberate depiction of eroticism that's often used in romances to create and underline romantic and/or sexual tension. In the same episode, we have a beautiful sex scene, seemingly between Hannibal and Alana and Will and Margot. However, it is there to show a very intimate and all-encompassing connection that is developing between Will and Hannibal, and it is structured this way specifically. Will reaches orgasm when he sees the Wendigo, a reflection of Hannibal. The words used before, like Hannibal's words about "never touching", are said to Alana but put on the image of Will.

Alana notices the shift in this relationship and asks Will and Hannibal about it. They talk about “crossing boundaries” and the fact that they “know where we are with each other”, and Alana clearly remains suspicious. In the end of the episode, Will and Hannibal have an intimate dinner full of lingering glances.

In 2.11, the episode starts with the eating of ortolans, which has being pointed out as an allusion to blowjob by the creator) If you have missed it, just re-watch this scene again with this in mind. It is very explicit, to the point of being uncomfortable. Hannibal’s reaction to learning that Margot is pregnant from Will is to hint Mason about it, thus endangering her and her child. Granted, he seems to genuinely regret it, but the deed is done. It is a jealous and possessive reaction, which has been further confirmed by Mads. During the con, he said: "If Margot had Will’s baby, it would be very hard for Hannibal to get over it. He’d be jealous and very grumpy." In this same episode, Alana looks at the burnt ‘Shiva’ that Hannibal has left for Will and calls it a ‘courtship’. So, we get the explicit confirmation that Hannibal is courting Will. And no, he isn’t courting an emerging killer in Will because at this point, he thinks that Will has already embraced his potential by killing Randall and Freddie and eating her. To Hannibal’s mind, Will is almost ready, but he is too lovesick to stop. Can you imagine him digging up the corpse of ‘Freddie’, decorating it, and displaying like that? It’s hilariously romantic — in a dark way.

In 2.12, Will chooses Hannibal by freeing him from the trap and then not giving him up to Jack after he mutilates Mason. Hannibal draws a fanart (!) of himself and Will as Achilles and Patroclus. For those who don’t know, these two are popular examples of lovers. This isn't just friendship. The reference to Achilles and Patroclus is often used to hint at a romance, it's a popular trope as well.

In 2.13, Hannibal talks about ‘imago’, an image of a loved one, and then says that he and Will have an image of each other and offers him to run away. Two men running away together to reunite with their daughter is romantic. Will chooses Hannibal once again by calling him, but it is too late. We get a heartbreakingly tender and intimate touch between them before the stabbing. As Mads said, "Will is the light of Hannibal's life and Hannibal killed Abigail to break Will's heart the way he broke his." Just as he said that "Hannibal was blinded by love."

Season 3 is where all subtext is taken into text. Hannibal has chosen Bedelia as a substitute to Will, and note how many people believe they become lovers. So, why Will and Hannibal running away is platonic, but Hannibal doing the same with Bedelia is not? Even though when the only person he does love is Will. We see that he is dissatisfied with Bedelia and is growing restless.

In 3.01, we get a flashback to Gideon who teases/mocks Hannibal by saying, ‘If only that company could be Will Graham’. So, in the very limited interactions, even he managed to glimpse the attraction, because let’s be honest, he didn’t have time to understand all deep layers of this relationship, but his phrase has been included deliberately.

In this episode, Hannibal meets Anthony, practically a Will mirror. He looks similarly, is smart, sassy, and he is even enthusiastic about Hannibal’s crimes. Ideally, he is everything Hannibal has wanted. But what does he do? He kills Anthony and turns him into a Valentine heart for Will. Before that, he makes an example of the heart from Da Vinci’s ‘perfect man’. In 3.02, Will recognizes it as such and calls it a Valentine and a ‘broken heart’. He asks himself, “Do I still want to go with him?”, and answers, “Yes”.

In 3.03, we get the first ‘in love’ confirmation. Hannibal is shaken after seeing Will and hearing his words of forgiveness. When talking about him with Bedelia, Bedelia says, “Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love”, and Hannibal replies, “You can’t control with respect to whom you fall in love”. The longing for Will has made Hannibal reckless, and Bedelia notices it by mentioning that he is going to get caught with this kind of behavior. In the end of the episode, Hannibal once again says that Will makes him feel love. He adds, “Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn’t.” Which love can either come to a person or not? Technically, these words could be interpreted as platonic love, but in the beginning of this very episode, we got a confirmation that the nature of this love is romantic. Will, in turn, is still reverent about Hannibal and even travels to his home to find out more about him. His attitude changes when he sees Chiyoh, who he sees as another toy abandoned by Hannibal, and it brings back the insecurities. We see it through how often Will compares himself and Chiyoh and how he is filled with anger and bitterness again (which were absent before this meeting). Chiyoh sees right through him and repeatedly states that Will is wrong to compare them, but Will persists.

In 3.04, we see that Will spends a lot of time sitting in Hannibal’s house, which is yet another romantic trope. Even Alana knows where to find him. Will admits to Jack that he “wanted to run away with Hannibal”, which also has a romantic connotation. Before that, Will was making the boat that he later uses to come and find Hannibal. This scene is intercut with his Mizumono memories, namely, with Hannibal's face that emerges every time he moves yet another part of the engine. This is a vivid demonstration of Will trying to repair what is now broken. He also literally sails after Hannibal, which is considered extremely romantic by many tropes at once. Chilton calls Will and Hannibal’s interactions a “flirtation” in this episode.

In 3.05, when discussing what to do with Hannibal, Chiyoh says, “I told you, there are means of influence other than violence” and kisses Will, thus showing him what others means exist. It is yet another direct allusion to the romantic part of Will and Hannibal’s relationship because Chiyoh basically offers him to kiss Hannibal instead of trying to kill him.

In 3.06, Hannibal says the famous, ”If I saw you every day, forever, Will, I would remember this time”. He said the same words to Clarice in the books shortly before having sex with her. It is an utterly romantic phrase that just cannot have any other meaning, especially when you count the narrative and the source material. Will adds some more romantic phrases, like “We are conjoined, I wonder if either of us can survive separation.” Such level of love is incredible, but you don’t say things like that to a person who you feel can just understand you. Nor to a simple friend or a spiritual mentor. It’s everything at once, especially when coming from Will. Things go badly after that and we get a knife and a drill. Scenes in Mason’s house are great and show that Will and Hannibal could be a great team. Hannibal saves Will and carries him home bridal-style. He changes his clothes, puts him into bed, and waits for him to wake up while writing down formulas that could change the time and erase some of the events. When Will wakes up, Hannibal admits that he has discovered Will in his Mind Palace, victorious, thus giving the power into his hands. When Will rejects him (by saying he’s not going to miss him), Hannibal gives himself up, knowing that chances are, he will never get back to freedom and he will never see Will again. Prison is the ultimate act of love because Hannibal is helpless there, completely on Will’s mercy. As Mads said during the con, "Will forgetting him was the last thing Hannibal wanted to hear, so that’s why he surrendered. The only way Will would see him again is if he’s in jail, and he would eventually visit. He was afraid he’d never see Will again otherwise."

3 years pass and we see that Will has a family. But — surprise! He is unhappy. He doesn’t even go fishing with them to have some time for himself. He hides the letter from Hannibal and goes to read it in the middle of the night. He never returns Molly’s ‘I love you’, never attempts to touch her, can’t even keep up a conversation with her, and literally sees himself falling to pieces. At the earliest opportunity, he jumps at the chance to see Hannibal. He didn’t have to do it. We are shown that he has recreated the crime scene perfectly, better than ever before, but Will lies to Jack about it and asks to see Hannibal.

In 3.09, we have a very powerful scene of Hannibal and Will reuniting, exchanging long sorrowful and heartbroken gazes. Hannibal says, “I gave you a child”, which puts him and Will in a category of parents again. He says that Will has chosen a ready-made family and Will doesn’t argue. We get a “Murder Husbands” reference from Freddie.

In 3.10, Will seeks Bedelia out. He acts catty and jealous. Bedelia calls him “Hannibal’s bride”, and calls Will out on visiting Hannibal just because he missed him, which Will doesn’t deny. He is confident and snarky at those scenes, using every opportunity to cut into Bedelia for having a relationship with Hannibal and surviving it in even better shape than he did. Bedelia says, “My relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours”, and then adds: “You are here visiting old flame. Is your wife aware of how intimately you and Hannibal know each other?” They literally place Hannibal on the same level as Will’s wife. Then we have, “Your experience of Hannibal’s attention is so profoundly harmful yet so irresistible, it undermines your ability to think rationally.”

In 3.11, Hannibal sends Francis after Molly and Walter. Will doesn’t really comfort them, we see clearer than ever what a wedge exists between them. Hannibal asks, “How is the wife?”, which is another display of blatant jealousy. Will gets it, and he can’t deny the truth any longer.

In 3.12, we have the exchange that should have settled the debates about romantic part of relationship once and for all. Bedelia compares herself and Will to Hannibal/Bluebeard’s wives, and mentions how she would have preferred to be the last — the one that Will is. Will asks, “Is Hannibal in love with me?”, and Bedelia replies, “Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes. But do you ache for him?” Will’s look and his silence speak volumes as everything fades to black slowly. This is it, the textually explicit confirmation. Fans didn’t come up with the idea that Will and Hannibal are in love, it was stated directly on screen, several times.

Shortly before the confession, Bedelia says, "It excites him, knowing that you marked in this particular way." Personally, I always felt some sexual subtext in this phrase, and it is confirmed when we regard the similar scene in the book. Clarice gets sperm on her face and these same words sound. Granted, the situations are very different, but it proves that the phrase does indeed have sexual connotations, and it was deliberately planned like this.

Will devises a complicated and deadly plan after this. He sets up Chilton, which can be seen as courting gift to Hannibal, and in 3.13, he lies to everyone to break Hannibal out of prison. Bedelia calls him out on it once again, saying, "Can't live with him. Can't live without him." Will doesn't deny it - he confirms it. When Hannibal says he'll agree to the plan if Will says 'please', Will does it - in an obviously flirting way. Hannibal calls him a 'cunning boy', which is once again obvious flirting, especially considering the way he says it. His plan results in the deaths of numerous officers, but Hannibal is free. We have another romantic trope where Hannibal pretends that Will is a hitchhiker and asks if he’s going his way. In the house, they have another loaded conversation where Will admits that he doesn’t think he can save itself, and that it’s fine.

Predictably, Will can’t handle seeing Hannibal killed, so he reaches for his gun. We know the rest. At the cliff, Will finally accepts the truth, and he gives the fate a chance to stop both of them or to set them free. They fall into the ocean under the Love Crime song, and since the water symbolizes reborn, we can guess what happens after that.

Post-credits scene indicates that Will and Hannibal have paid a visit to Bedelia and are in the process of eating her while she’s hiding the fork to stab one of them as he approaches. The deleted epilogue to the series shows that they are in perfect harmony now.")

Who's too lazy to read all of that, you can just check the quotes below and watch some fan videos where direct lines from canon are presented. My two favorites:

Reciprocity

Crazy in love

QUOTES

Initially, during S1, Bryan said he wanted to explore the idea of “heterosexual male friendship”. However, he later admitted that he was worried about negative homosexual stereotypes surrounding the imbalance in power in the relationship between Will and Hannibal, and in the podcast due to the beginning of American Gods, he confessed that he “wanted to approach “Hannibal” from the angle that no one has explored before — the angle of romance”.

During the airing of S2-S3, and beyond, Bryan was the one who pointed out romantic and even sexual subtext, and promoted Hannigram further. The cliff scene is officially labeled as "Kiss_alts".

Their love is queer

A collection

Canon. Original tweet is deleted, so only Bryan's is left. The person asked him to say whether Hannigram is canon.

Falling

Last wife

They Flip

Always

Will and Hannibal survived the Fall

Mere teasing, but it shows that Bryan does acknowledge sexual tension between Will and Hannibal: They did change clothes as well as Their lips were busy (to the question of what Will and Hannibal were doing in the car in TWOTL).

Bryan's favorite quote from the show: Is Hannibal in love with me?

Finally, the shirt Bryan wore at one of the latest meetings

Hugh on why it took Will so long to realize Hannibal is in love with him

Hugh on Will's reaction to Bedelia's answer about Hannibal being in love with him: ‘Oh crap, maybe this thing I’m feeling is love’

Hugh: Relief from loneliness

Hugh: It's romance

Mads: It was love at the first sight

You know better than to breed

Will Graham is covered in Hannibal’s body fluids

Bryan: I feel one is omnisexual and one is heterosexual and there's a lot of influence going back and forth, who knows with a six pack of beer what would happen: http://uproxx.com/sepinwall/hannibal-creator-i-wanted-to-be-sure-we-had-an-ending-for-the-story/

To the question of whether explicit Hannigram was a part of the initial plan, Bryan Fuller stated: "No, it naturally evolved because I guess I was absorbing so much of Mads and Hugh's performance, which felt like it was growing in intimacy, and it would have been inauthentic not to address it. Because all of these characters, and particularly Bedelia, was able to call out what she had witnessed [between Hannibal and Will], it seemed like a natural conclusion. I remember when I turned in the rewrite pages where Will asks Bedelia if Hannibal is in love with him, I got a note from Don Mancini, one of our writers who was always pushing for more homosexual text – not just context or subtext but text, text, text – and he was like, "I'm so glad you put that in there! They said it! They said it!" http://www.digitalspy.com/tv/hannibal/interviews/a667077/hannibal-bryan-fuller-talks-season-4-sexual-fluidity-and-how-will-became-clarice-starling/

Discussing what motivated him to verbally acknowledge the romance between Will and Hannibal, Fuller mentioned: "It felt like we had to s–t or get off the pot, ultimately, because there had been so much going on between these two men that when Will asks, "Is Hannibal Lecter in love with me?" it is very much about death and the romance between these two men. There is a quality to connections that go above and beyond sexuality. You can have this intimate connection with somebody that then causes you to wonder where the lines of your own sexuality are. And we didn't quite broach the sexuality. It was certainly suggested, but the love is absolutely on the table." http://tvline.com/2015/08/29/hannibal-series-finale-will-lecter-cliff-bryan-fuller-interview-season-4/

Remembering how the song for the finale of the series was created, Fuller said: "It was interesting. She [Siouxsie Sioux] was like, "I want to write this song, and what are the things I should really be thinking about?" And I was like, "this is a love story. A love story between a full-fledged psychopath and someone who has nascent psychopathic abilities." Actually, Hannibal Lecter is not a psychopath; he's something else entirely. But it's a love relationship between two men: one of them is a cannibal, and one of them understands those cannibalistic instincts all too well." http://uproxx.com/sepinwall/hannibal-creator-i-wanted-to-be-sure-we-had-an-ending-for-the-story/

Bryan Fuller: "Clarice never, until the end of Hannibal, submitted to that romance, whereas Will seemed to be on a slippery slope right from the beginning, so there's a contrast to be drawn between them." http://www.digitalspy.com/tv/hannibal/interviews/a667077/hannibal-bryan-fuller-talks-season-4-sexual-fluidity-and-how-will-became-clarice-starling/

Bryan in the commentary: "“After killing Francis Dolarhyde with Hannibal Lecter, he realizes this is exactly what Hannibal Lecter has wanted all along. He has wanted a partner in crime - a murder husband, as it were - and the sad truth of it all is that Hannibal was right. Will did enjoy it. Will thought it was a beautiful, powerful thing." https://omnisexualhanniballecter.tumblr.com/post/134099645797/after-killing-francis-dolarhyde-with-hannibal

Hugh during PaleyFest 2014 (prior to S3): "They are in love or they love each other, that's unquestionable. I think it's a platonic love... but it's rich in... (audience and cast laughs) Ok, we've done two seasons so far... so platonic love and they recognize each other as unique in the world, they reflect each other in a way, it's like profound recognition and relief that comes with it. And they are good looking guys." Mads agrees: "Exactly. Losing him or what Hannibal did with him in the two seasons is probably the closest he has ever been to loving anyone. And what love means in his universe we have to see later on. But it's heartbreaking everything that happens to poor Will is also heartbreaking for Hannibal."

Hugh: You could say that during the second half [of season three]-I mean, obviously we’re jumping ahead here, but Will comes back to Hannibal. He’s now got this family, and Will, independently and pretty quickly, starts coming to the conclusion that it’s not sustainable for him to have that family. Like, he’s not the guy. He’s not the right person to be able to look after them, to live with them. It’s not compatible with who he really is. And you could argue that Hannibal is just driving him more quickly to come to that realization. So in that sense, it is kind of brutal, tough love. His love is saying, “Know thyself.” Mads: As Hugh is saying, it’s unavoidable. It’s going to happen sooner or later. Might as well happen sooner, before he’s stuck. [Interview http://oh-dr-lecter.tumblr.com/post/129331180920/theyll-say-were-in-love-fangoria-august-2015]

Mads Mikkelsen on ‘Which scene has been the defining moment?'

"Probably one of the moments early on, maybe mid first season, where I spend some quality time in therapy session with Hugh and he’s flying away thinking about something and I have the chance, Hannibal has the chance, to watch him. And he becomes very warm watching him. He sees not only this brilliant person but he sees something he loves. I think that is the definition of Hannibal." [https://twitter.com/noforts/status/1071952333221888000]

Bryan and Hugh discussing Will's motivation in TWOTL at the cliff and beyond (in the commentary to S3):

Hugh: The point was that it wasn't the horror that drove Will to do this, the horror was secondary, it was a horror in reaction to how much he loved what happened between him and Hannibal. We have seen so many moments of Will is covered in blood and shaking and horrified and this moment he suddenly realizes it is his true self.

Bryan: I remember the day you shot the closeups, you both came running to me and I remember Mads was particularly giddy, giddy as a schoolgirl, he said we really went for it, we really went for the love story, we almost kissed and it's all there and you can use it.

Hugh: We had to push in that direction so that there is no point pretending otherwise.

About Bedelia's leg:

Bryan: The false interpretation is she cut her leg which is a crazier version of Bedelia than I understand. Of course the intention is they survived and there are three place settings."

Hugh, answering the question what is happening to Will and Hannibal now: "Let's just say they're on a beach somewhere. [Interviewer] Just chilling on a beach? [Dancy] Yeah, just chilling on a beach. Drinking something out of a coconut."

Also, the reports from people who visited one of the cons mentioned the following."Today at Red Dragon Con it was announced by Mads that Hannibal and Will are now married, have dogs which he calls “the ugly carpets” of the relationship, and live in seclusion for 4 years before hunting together." Regardless of whether it is going to come to fruition or not, this is how Mads imagines Will and Hannibal's life Post Fall.

Mads in May 2018:

"“I think that Hannibal and Will… they’re not really alive without each other. They are a piece of the puzzle for the other one’s soul.”

A great video where Mads talks about Hannibal and his feelings in S2 final.

Question: Was Hannibal suspicious of Will before he smelled Freddie Lounds or was he completely clueless about it at that point?

Mads: Hannibal doesn't have a masterplan. He's living from day to day and he's seeing possibilities and opportunities, and one of them is Will Graham, who he is obviously in love with, in a certain way - that way. But I think at that time, Hannibal has been blinded by Will Graham. He believes truly that he will walk down the path with the light, hand in hand, with Will - and Abigail. That's his dream, that's what he wants, and I think it does surprise him and it does break his heart. It is a turning point for Hannibal when he becomes the cleaning man instead of the man who loves. Until then, he'd been a man full of love, and after that, I think he is... slightly angry. It was a surprise for him. He was tricked.He got blinded by love.

Interesting interview bit:

IGN: Reba’s final scene was another where you got to really pull direct quotes from the book. But here, I was reading it as Will can also be projecting about himself, as he talks about what it might be like to have a serial killer in love with you. Was that in your mind too, given you had these great quotes from the book but that it could definitely be maybe be a bit more of an echo here, given the situation.?

Fuller: Oh, absolutely. It was a great synchronicity of events where everything that Will was saying to Reba in the novel actually applies to Will Graham in the television series. So there was the want of seeing that scene because I haven’t seen it in any of the adaptations where we get to see Reba, post all of this, and have a quiet moment between the two people who were in love with serial killers.

Bryan: "My ship is canon" (https://twitter.com/BryanFuller/status/1072599788581998593)

Bryan about Will and Hannibal's relationship: "Will accepts who Hannibal is. It’s also narcissistic, in the way that we fall in love with people who make us feel better about ourselves and who make us feel like we’re a better version of ourselves. That makes us feel more secure in our bodies, in the dysmorphia of who you are on the inside versus who you project on the outside. That disconnect narrows dramatically when somebody sees you, understands you, accepts you and loves you. It’s transcendent." (http://collider.com/bryan-fuller-hannibal-silence-of-the-lambs-interview/)

Bryan about Will's reasons for jumping, surviving, and attacking Bedelia with Hannibal: "I think one of the reasons it seemed so organic for Will to go over the cliff with Hannibal at the end was that, in his mind, as he understood the universe in his world, he had peaked. It’s also stopping a monster and stopping himself from becoming a monster, but I think part of him was thinking, “That was beautiful. I don’t think I can do that again and feel as high as I do now.” Everything overwhelmed him and he went over that cliff because there was an apex to his experience, in a way that was poetic and dramatic. ... The kind of suicide where somebody jumps off a bridge, part of them hopes they survive and part of them wants to be over. I think a lot of people are hoping for some percentage of survival that may change them because they’re looking for change within themselves. So, I think there was some bit of that. For the ending with Gillian [Anderson], there are two place settings for a reason." (http://collider.com/bryan-fuller-hannibal-silence-of-the-lambs-interview/)

Bryan about Will and Hannibal's relationship in S1: The relationship between Will and Hannibal in this first season is the seduction. It is Hannibal Lecter recognizing in Will Graham for the first time in anyone that he has ever encountered in his life the opportunity for a friendship, a real friendship, because he sees something in Will Graham that he also sees in himself. They are both unique in their crazy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzU7O7Q0R5U)

Hugh about the start of Will and Hannibal's relationship: "It’s an instant love between them, it is as if Will met not the best chess player in the world, but the only absolute, the only person he can play with, that enters in the room - or rather, in his life - with a chessboard in hand, and this provokes in him a pleasure and an incredible relief. When we find Will at the beginning of the second season, he was betrayed and thrown in jail, so he is not in a really enviable situation, but the connection he had with Hannibal has remained unchanged, it is something which he can not get rid of. This time, however, he manipulates their connection because Hannibal still needs him and their friendship, but beyond the practical utility must be said that the bond with Hannibal is, even for Will, a source of uncontrolled, involuntary pleasure.”

Mads about the start of relationship: "Hannibal sees an opportunity in this young man. And so he can hopefully, one day, walk hand in hand down the road of life." https://k-s-morgan.tumblr.com/post/187266698258/hannibal-sees-an-opportunity-in-this-young-man

Mads during S1: "When he sees Will, he recognizes himself to a degree. [Hannibal] has empathy, but [he] uses it as a tool; Will has empathy, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. Lecter sees an opportunity to open this man’s eyes and see his full potential realized. And he also sees the opportunity for a friend, which is probably not what he’s had too many of. Even though Hannibal is the puppeteer, he really loves Will." https://screencrush.com/hannibal-lunch-preview/?utm_source=tsmclip&utm_medium=referral

Bryan: "The tricky thing with this show is that it is a story about two men and their relationship. But if it were just about male point of views, it wouldn’t be interesting. I feel like we haven’t done as good of a job, in Season 2, of representing the female characters and their point of view of the world. I think there’s a greater opportunity in Season 3 to do that, and do more of that. In Season 2, we knew the story was about these two guys, and everybody else around them were pawns. Jack Crawford was a pawn. Alana Bloom was a pawn. It was all about what was between Hannibal and Will Graham." https://collider.com/hannibal-season-3-details-filming-europe/

Bryan about S4: I'm still hoping for more Murder Husband adventures!

source: https://www.reddit.com/r/HannibalTV/comments/72bk89/the_story_of_how_hannigram_became_canon_to_those/

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

Barbie may not be out of the closet yet, but her fans sure are

Has there ever really been a gay doll? 

Well, yes and no. In 1977, "Gay Bob," marketed as the world's first gay doll, was sold through mail-order ads in gay magazines. And I'm sure that Mattel still thinks about the "Earring Magic Ken" fiasco of 1993, and his "necklace." 

But there's nothing inherently gay about dolls themselves – they're toys, pieces of plastic after all. In the same vein, there's nothing inherently gay about doll collecting as a hobby, as a passion, as an art form. 

Dolls are cultural reflections of the times, for better or worse. But doll brands like Barbie that are symbols of hyper-heteronormative, old-school femininity are being reclaimed and reinterpreted by adult LGBTQ collectors in a new way. And don't think the toy companies are unaware — they’re not, and they are absolutely involved. 

More recently the main way collectors are expressing this kind of love and solidarity, and where community can be found, is through the internet and social media. This is a space where the toys' brand narrative has usually been out of corporate hands. But companies like Mattel are in it now, noticing these LGBTQ fan communities, and vying for their digital eyes.  

Now THIS is what the Dreamhouse should look like.

Image: THE SIMPSONS/ Fox

Coming out of the (doll) closet  

Many adult collectors choose dolls because of the nostalgia associated with collecting toys from their childhood. Younger LGBTQ collectors aren’t connecting as much over the nostalgic dolls themselves, as much as they are using social media to connect with other gay fans. 

Tumblr user @dolljunk, who used to collect Barbies as a young boy, got into it again as a young adult through online fandoms. “Internet groups were a great way of connecting to other collectors. I had never even heard of [doll-related social media], let alone other collectors and when I went to my local library, I found a multitude of forums and fan sites that detailed how people collected dolls such as customizing, photography, and numerous guides for doll releases. It really opened my eyes to another side of playing with and seeing dolls.” 

LGBTQ collectors are also identifying with the messages of newer doll franchises, and the potential for what the dolls can represent. Monster High collectors in particular are mostly Millennials who never grew up playing with the dolls themselves, but with whom the brand's identity has resonated. 

Dott, a doll collector active on social media, introduced her collection, saying “I mostly collect Monster High, but there's some Barbies, Ever After Highs, and Descendants strewn in there." For reference, all of these brands were created after 2009. "Monster High's my main focus because...well, I think I connect with the lore the most. Unlike a lot of doll collectors, I love the lore aspect as much as, if not more, than the actual dolls. And there's something about the MH media that I just adored.” 

In an article from the University of Connecticut titled "Valuing queer identity in Monster High doll fandom," author Sara Mariel Austin wrote that "Monster High's recent ad campaign claims, 'We are monsters. We are proud.' Race, ethnicity, and disability are coded into the dolls as selling points. The allure of Monster High is, in part, that political identity and the celebration of difference..."

View this post on Instagram

The #Goochella monsters couldn’t get enough of the #FierceRocker’s freaky-fab cover of @LadyGaga’s song, Born This Way! 🙌💁🙌 Thanks for showing us that any dream is possible if you are brave enough to put yourself out there! 💪❤️ #KindMonsters #MonsterHigh

A post shared by Monster High (@monsterhigh) on Apr 21, 2016 at 8:05am PDT

If the messages intrinsic to these brand identities are like this, it's no wonder that LGBTQ doll collectors connect with these dolls on an emotional level. Social media doll communities like "Dollblr" and "Dollstagram" have also inspired other ways for a group that's traditionally marginalized to express themselves.

A passion for fashion: doll artistry and expression

Doll collecting is, inherently, at least somewhat escapist. There’s something that feels revolutionary about being constantly bombarded with the idolized bodies and lives of cisgender heterosexuals on social media, and then going “screw that! I’m gonna take this toy, make it a representation of me, and imagine a new world with it.” 

Utilizing dolls as an art form – through mediums like photography, clothes-making, customization/modification, and fanart – allow for LGBTQ collectors to envision a world free of toxic masculinity. Creating doll art in and for an online world allows a safe space for folks to literally “play” with their own femininity and subvert gender roles as they see fit. 

“It's something that's a nice escape from real life? We aren't worrying about gay stuff if we're rerooting a doll head, cause we keep pricking our fingers on accident, and our wrists and palms are sore from using pliers. In all seriousness, I think it's a form of self-expression,” Dott told Mashable about the physical art of doll modification and customization.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Barbination™ (@barbination) on Mar 10, 2019 at 3:31am PDT

The way that @dolljunk connects to his collection emotionally through art is similar. “Dolls and toy collecting [are] a great creative outlet...and can encompass fashion design, hair styling and face painting/makeup while also offering a way of creating new items,” he said. 

"It resulted in me becoming more secure in my identity and interests because Barbie, for better or for worse, is a symbol of hyper femininity that doesn't allow any room for toxic masculinity in her world. Being able to get in touch with my feminine side and interests was a big contributor to accepting my sexuality as being an intrinsic aspect of myself that didn't need to be changed,” @dolljunk said.

  View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Barbievette (@barbieboyvette) on Dec 31, 2018 at 1:52pm PST

And for many LGBTQ folks, especially gay boys and trans girls, that's incredibly important. Even Carlyle Nuera, who is now the lead designer for Barbie Signature at Mattel, sees the growth in these social media communities as being rooted in collective childhood experiences. 

“I think for a lot of us, in different ways, for different reasons, we feel repressed growing up," Nuera said. "Depending on our homes, our family situation, we might not feel safe expressing ourselves. I think a lot of people when they start to have expendable income, they kinda create this fantasy world, this beauty that they never really had access to as a kid. They can see it — and I think they can sort of create it with their own dolls, by customizing their own dolls, or with photography. And then also to share with other people, cause you can connect with other people [on social media].” 

Dolls are humanoid, so it’s easy to project our wants, desires, and dreams onto them. And if we alter their resemblance enough, they can mirror us back in ways we hope society will someday. 

Does life in the Dreamhouse have to be so straight?  

Toy companies, though, are already creating their own miniature worlds with their own identities for the dolls through tie-in media. With various outlets and extensions of their brand, they impose their own meanings onto the products. Mattel and Hasbro, for example, have their own TV shows and movies. Barbie has the Netflix series Life in the Dreamhouse; Monster High and Ever After High had their own movies and webisodes, and Hasbro has the massively successful My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic series.

They also have flashy social media accounts with good fashion photography and witty interactions. Barbie is now an Instagram influencer, as well as a vlogger with her own popular YouTube series. Mattel once ran an entire in-universe Monster High school newspaper through their Tumblr account. 

The presence of toy companies on social media is intriguing though, given that the minimum age for Instagram, Tumblr, and Facebook is 13. So who really is the audience for these branded doll accounts? 

While these companies likely don’t want to risk alienating the parents who buy dolls as toys for their kids, it's also seems fair to say they want to capture this LGBTQ adult interest in their products. There have been brand partnerships like with Crayola, meant to solely market towards kids. But when you have Mattel partnering with Lady Gaga’s Born this Way Foundation for Monster High, it’s obvious that they spend at least some time thinking about their messaging that can be subtly aimed at the LGBTQ community. 

Especially since in a lot of their media franchises, there's a heavy focus on messages about being yourself, accepting others, and celebrating our differences — great lessons for kids of course, but all of which resonate deeply with LGBTQ doll fans. 

Milissa C. is a big fan of the Monster High and Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse series, alongside collecting the dolls themselves. She believes that the connection between the brands and the fans is deliberate. "[We] members of the LGBT+ community are oftentimes made to feel like we are not normal because of our feelings and our identities. Monster High encourages people to celebrate what makes them unique, 'freaky flaws' [as the main character Frankie Stein says] and all. LGBT+ doll collecting communities will certainly imagine more of their dolls to represent themselves. Every time I see a post from the official Barbie Instagram accounts where Barbie is obviously having a date night with a lady friend, I think — bi queen!"

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It’s a museum date! Taking in the @mickalenethomas exhibit today at @mocalosangeles. See more from the galleries in Stories. 💙 #MickaleneThomas #barbie #barbiestyle

A post shared by Barbie® (@barbiestyle) on Feb 1, 2017 at 2:26pm PST

Connecting to the storylines as much or more than to the dolls themselves is a celebration of LGBTQ identity, in Dott’s case. “Mostly because Monster High's entire concept is centered around embracing who you are. Plus, it was my special interest when I realized I was a lesbian. Mattel never gave us any canon gay characters in that franchise, but I find it profoundly moving that lots of lesbians/bi girls see themselves in characters like Clawdeen [daughter of the Wolf Man] and Twyla [daughter of the Boogyman]." 

Yet, she's right — the representation so far hasn’t been that explicit. There’s a line between using broad metaphors to illustrate big concepts (mainly for kids), and allowing the diversity of the real world to exist and be seen on the small screen. 

Despite knowing that he is far outside the target demographic, @dolljunk says that toy brand media “influences or recontextualizes the designs of the dolls I collect. A good piece of toy tie in media often encourages its audience to invest in the universe they have created, and I've seen it result from kids to adult collectors to go on to create their own fanart or fan characters. That being said, in the future I really do hope they are able to innovate and modernize for an ever changing audience in a world with changing attitudes and values.”  

From the Ever After High episode, "Dragon Games." This was supposed to be "CPR". Yeah, right.

Image: NETFLIX / MATTEL 

Dott says she always hopes for more explicit inclusivity. “Put some canon LGBT characters in your doll and toy franchises. Show kids that it's okay to be gay or bi or trans! It hasn't got to be something big; maybe a boy character has a schoolyard crush on another boy, you know? Just something small like that to get the ball rolling. Companies still have to do better.” 

Not having canon LGBTQ representation is not unique to doll media, but because the companies have opened the door by putting these messages front and center, doll collectors engage with the media as a way of reclaiming identity, and then push the representation further than canon allows for. Toy companies arguably owe it to both children and adults, LGBTQ and not, to step up with better depictions of diversity because they're already toeing the line. 

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A post shared by Barbie® (@barbiestyle) on Nov 21, 2017 at 2:36pm PST

Progress is being made, slowly but surely. There are new dolls and action figures coming out of prominent IRL figures and fictional characters who are LGBTQ. Last year on Instagram, Barbie wore a shirt that said "Love Wins." Even in doll-related media, companies are beginning to test to waters — in 2016, Mattel's movie series based on the doll line for Ever After High featured an on-screen kiss between two princesses.

For many collectors, it's not enough anymore to simply admire and collect these fashion figures. They want to see themselves in the dolls that they've been projecting onto for decades. 

So while we wait for the brands' next move, gay culture will keep claiming dolls because we know in our hearts that they're ours as much as anyone's. Barbie? More like Bar-bi. 

WATCH: Lady Gaga hopes award shows will become gender neutral

[2w33k5]

03/30/2020: 6:50PM

I’m feeling worried today – more worried than I have since the first day they told us that we’d have to leave. I spoke to a friend earlier in the afternoon whose father owns a pizzeria in NYC, and he told me how much of an impact this had had on them all – his family I mean, his dad. I asked him about how he felt about the possibility of Trump locking down New York City, and he said that that would no doubt be a disaster for them all. For anybody who has a blue collar job: it would be a disaster. My dad owns a barbershop. We’re not sure of how this all will shake out. I’m supposed to have an exhibition in the Summer – July 3rd – but I’m not sure how that will shake out either. I’m tired, I’m exhausted. I’m taking an Arabic class now that’s so different from anything I’ve taken to this point. But I can’t drop it now; how would I secure my humanities minor? As of tonight, I can no longer go to to the park or they’ll arrest me. Or, at least that’s what Lary Hogan says.

So I hope that I might be forgiven for not keeping up so well with my artistic practice.

I’ve been thinking lately; what kind of art would I make if I had nothing to lose? No reputation, if I had no one’s respect to lose? So I’ve been thinking a lot about fanart, anime. I think that my work already incorporates some elements of that style already; the eyes mainly, the exaggerated proportions. But I’m thinking about going full tilt into the anime realm, painting self-insert fanart. Nothing that I would have ever painted myself when I was 12 and self-aware… Nothing that I would have painted then or now at school. But now I’m thinking about the number of black people that I’ve met who have deep and enduring relationships with anime. And not just black men, but black women as well. I’m thinking about what a part anime played in my experience as a queer black girl, when that was perhaps one of the only space in which I could constantly think about girls, and draw scantily clad girls all day long. So I’m thinking about that.

             But I don’t know, because now I’m thinking about all of the cringey things I used to be interested in. I’m following art fairs, the galleries that are open right now free to the public. I don’t want to watch the news all day, so I’m consuming that instead or watching movies and television. Perfect Blue again and again, Akira, Midori, The End of Evangelion: things that I feel free to watch now when nobody is around.

I keep wishing that I’d go to bed and wake up and that it would have all been a dream. 

[hideyoshii]

ive been tagged by @sasukeuchihayas and @uchihasaskes thx hoes

1. Name/nickname: jo/joe

2. Gender: cis female

3. Star sign: pisces, rising in gemini

4. Height: 5′6 / 1.72m

5. Hogwarts House: ravenclaw

6. Favourite animal: c a t s

7. Hours of sleep: usually around 8 hrs

8. Dogs or cats: cats!!

9. Number of blankets: duvet +1 blanket

10. Dream trip: japan (both kyoto and tokyo) (im a weeb i know)

11. Dream job: i just hope for a decent paid job after finishing art uni lol

12. Time: 10.30pm

13. Birthday: 9th of march

14. Favourite Bands: asian kung fu generation, gorillaz, bts, arctic monkeys

15. Favourite Solo Artists: mac demarco, g-dragon, daoko

16. Song Stuck In My Head: knock knock by twice lol

17. Last Movie I Watched: literally no idea LOL i havent watched movies since forever

18. Last Show I Watched: black mirror

19. When Did I Create My Blog: uhhhh 2016

20. What Do I Post/Reblog: pastel/pink anime posts lol. anddd also art/fanart, memes and whatnot

21. Last Thing I Googled: an exhibition im supposed to go to tomorrow

22. Other Blogs: nah

23. Do I Get Asks: ehhh not really

24. Why I Choose My URL: because its watashi with a double t and looks/sounds nice lolol

25. Following: 193

26. Followers: 672 thank y’all

27. Lucky Number: hmmmm 11 

28. Favorite Instrument: piano omg i lov it

29. What Am I Wearing: pjs

30. Favorite Food: sushi aaaaa and also all italian food

31. Nationality: romanian

32. Favorite Song: damn i cant chose dont do this to me

33. Last Book Read: im currently reading (and its put on hold cos im lazy like that) the windup bird chronicle by murakami anddd shokugeki no souma if manga counts

34. Top Three Fictional Universes I’d Like To Join: idk i just wanna die

i tag: @chinatsuhiyama @iheiharu @kaijohs @tkoyami @09kageyama and whoever wants to do this!!

[yugihell]

Rowan Reads YGO Volume 2

<– First  <-- Previous 

In which I (fairly pointlessly I know) liveblog my reading of Volume Two of the manga and talk about the things I found interesting, be they plot or character. Hey, there are free pictures, so it’s all cool.

In this volume we meet a Blue-Eyes-less Kaiba, electrocute a bunch of people and meet Shadi - the human incarnation of ‘A Bad Time’.

Next --> 

Volume 2

Duel 8

Joey is the type of guy to drop 400 bucks on a pair of trainers #confirmed

Tristan thinks this is dumb, but Joey still knows that he’ll come with him to get ‘em back after they’re stolen. Synced.

However pacifist you want to make Yugi later, right now Yugi is not at all bothered by the idea of Joey and Tristan beating people up.

In fact is possibly turned on by it.

Note: Atem does not appear when Yugi originally gets beaten up by those people, but does when Yugi is angry about the injustice of the man selling the shoes being in charge of the thieving operation.

Pictured Below: Atem entering a shop in the least heterosexual way imaginable.

(Yes Atem, that is how shops work.)

Atem doesn’t even need to penalty game the guy, just lets the scorpion go to town. …Atem, no you can’t keep the scorpion, no matter how unloved you think it is.

Yugi ‘woke up’ holding the shoes with the owner being taken to hospital. Not aware, but getting suspicious perhaps?

Duel 9 p.1

“The game is set up so both players are wizards. They use their cards to cast spells or summon monsters to fight.” Somehow that actually explains the Ancient Egyptian stuff more to me than the show did.

“I’ve heard of a fan in America who sold his house just to buy one.” Haven’t we all.

Yugi recognises Kaiba, who has apparently been in his class this whole time. And yet somehow doesn’t count as a celebrity or a student with a job. Ok.

Look, Joey’s so full of hope for a new friend.

“Come back after you collected at least 10,000 cards.” What the fuck are you Kaiba, a side-quest?

“I-I’ve never even seen this… I never thought I’d actually hold one.”

Wait, so Kaiba doesn’t have 3 Blue Eyes at this point?

Ok, so Arthur still gave Gramps the card in this universe, and so he treasures it. …Arthur from America… Who we see living in a trailer with his daughter in the anime - WAS HE THE ONE WHO SOLD HIS HOUSE?

Yugi is weak to Kaiba’s smile, but I think we all understand that, and shouldn’t think any less of him for falling for Kaiba’s card-swapping trick. Which in fairness, because he’s a pumpkin, he noticed immediately but didn’t want to mention in front of everyone, so as not to embarrass him. I love this boy.

It was all fun and games until you failed to understand the importance these people place on emotional bonds (slash that other-Yugi being very literal and seeing the card as Grandpa’s heart). Now Atem is gonna have to kick your ass.

Again, note that this is the catalyst for the transformation, not Yugi being hit in the face by Kaiba’s briefcase.

Duel 10 p.2

Kaiba is either an adrenaline junkie, or one of those people who just like to skirt death for the hell of it. That can’t be good.

“Off with her head!” Very Alice In Wonderland of you Kaiba.

Ok, so if you’re feeling bad about skipping turns in duels, remember the manga was doing it first.

“This game’s rules went out the window when the monsters started coming to life.” Look I’m not saying I agree, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get his reasoning here.

Kaiba telling ‘Yugi’ he should enter the next tournament. Already getting those tingling feelings we’ll call desire ‘to duel’.

Ok so the Blue Eyes is loyal to Grandpa and would rather destroy itself rather than attack ‘Yugi’. Which is, as Kaiba is rightly thinking, bullshit.

Then Atem uses Monster Reborn to bring back the Blue Eyes to his side. Oh that DSoD parallel bookend meta.

WAIT

STOP

Atem was the first person to trap someone’s soul in a card???

Oh boy.

Duel 11 p.1

There’s an empty desk - yeah Yup, cus Atem shoved Kaiba into a trading card- oh we’re talking about Joey. Alright then.

And we find out that Joey never skips class, interesting. And that he always gets an A+ in P.E. even if he flunks everything else.

Téa grudgingly admitting it’s lonely without him - aw, she does care.

Tristan’s known Joey since Middle School apparently.

Dad’s clearly been relying on those drink calories for the two days Joey’s been gone.

Rintama’s the ‘rough school’ I take it.

Seems like every part of this volume is trying to make it clear that it’s kind of Yugi’s ‘decision’ to switch, rather than Atem being protective and jumping in. Yugi gets punched in the face (and threatened with someone cutting off his hair - which if you’ve ever had ‘weird’ hair, is not a threat you take lightly) and no appearance from Atem at all.

Téa’s good feeling about Joey has gone.

And we learn that Joey nearly landed in Juvie because of his fights in gangs when he was rolling with Hirutani. Now I don’t know the Japanese or American education systems, but Middle School can’t be that old right? Who gave these babies knives.

Yugi decides they should go and get hime back, Tristan agrees, and Téa finally gets to tag along on one of the excursions too. Admittedly Honda’s doing most of the punching, and they’re just watching him lay into the guy, but it’s moral support.

“Whatcha thinking’ about Jonouchi? You rather be playing house with star-head.” Closeted bi Joey feels intensifying.

“No way I’m letting that pass…” Because he implied you were gay?

“No way I’m letting you get away with hitting my friend!” Oh good, that’s much better.

Duel 12 p.2

So they’re taking Joey “To the Torture Chamber”. Is that a thing gangs have?

Tristan insists on going into the gang’s place alone because Rintama means these guys are next level apparently. No ‘Téa = girl so obviously you can’t come’ line, which is nice.

“Yugi! Even though you’re my friend… I don’t want you falling to my level! ‘Kay?!” Cute.

Tristan bashes into that place like a superhero. “Honda The Man is here!! Give Jonouchi ba-“ You know this guy has white knight fantasies.

…Ok. That got weird fast. Headcanon that they totally know Joey isn’t straight.

The guy knocks out a dude with a taser while his hands are literally tied behind his back, can we get a ‘hell yeah’ for Joey right here.

Yugi uses the Millennium Baedar to find Joey, and the glimpses he sees of them electrocuting Joey are apparently enough that the ‘nope’ switch is flicked.

Maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see, but that looks like a very ‘Yugi’ Atem. “I’m gonna electrocute these guys.” “Go for it.”

I need some fanart of that scene - Yugi/Atem just standing there with that ‘You’re dead, and you’re dead, and you’re dead’ look in his eyes, with the rain running off him.

Atem gets punched in the face, and has a sort of ‘Ready Steady Cook’ moment, where he works out how to use the items he fell into to make a death game.

Note of interest: Atem can still stay up-front if he’s a short distance away from the puzzle. We see him hang around in ghost form when Yugi’s not wearing the puzzle (when he’s hung it on his bed post or whatever), but this is the first time I’m aware of him fronting without it on.

I can only assume Atem is using Yugi’s knowledge here (or has been around while Yugi’s been watching some violent films - also possible), because electricity+water+standing on a rubber tire is not an equation I’d expect an ancient pharaoh to come up with.

Either Atem or Yugi’s got Joey down by the time the others arrive. Also we don’t see the bodies of the people in question. Maybe Atem’s got savvy to not leaving dead people lying around so obviously - Yugi watched a crime drama perhaps.

Joey moans Yugi’s name and grabs onto him in a way that could mean he’s happy to see his actual white/grey knight (sorry Tristan), or that he saw what ‘Yugi’ just did and is trying to ask what in the fucking fuckedy fuck.

Duel 13 p.1

The Ancient Egypt exhibit is coming to town, so maybe we’ll get to learn a thing or two.

First thing we learn is that Joey is MiddleClass-White-American level afraid of curses. Téa is a horrible friend who brings up the fact that everyone who found the Puzzle all died mysterious deaths, making Joey panic that Yugi’s cursed, while Téa howls with laughter in the background: “Of course I’m not cursed! (Don’t scare him, Anzu…)” - you’re all adorable.

“But still… Ever since I completed this Puzzle, there’s been times when I lose my memory… I’d better not tell everyone… They’d think it was creepy…”

Um, Ginny Weasley wants to have some words with you. (You know that could make for a good crossover fic. And these items kind of are like Horcruxes… Sorry, I digress.)

Joey telling Yugi not to wear his uniform at weekends. Come on Yugi, you could get in on a child ticket, there’s a good reason to have people assume you’re about ten years old today.

Yugi doesn’t want to let Kanekura display the Puzzle, but agrees for one day. Picturing Atem in there like a kicked puppy.

Shadi arrives in the most ominous plane landing shot of all time. This is why we couldn’t set Yu-Gi-Oh in America, there’d have been too much time spent on ‘random security checks’ for a guy dressed like that. (Pages 323-451 Shadi gets his Millennium Items held by customs and has to fill out 16 forms before he can get them back).

Yugi thought “Archeologists were treasure hunters with dreams of making it big” and has his dreams shot down by a guy who tells him that’s just in the movies, and it’s one of the worst paid professions. This is why you got to get into becoming a Pro Duelist and indie board game maker. That’s where the money’s at.

I half think that the reason Yugi’s ok with all this weird stuff is because he has been way too warped by TV to know what’s normal and what’s not.

We get to see a Mummy (that some people think is Atem’s - honestly I say it’s someone else’s, just because of how it looks (taller and more angular) and that it’s implied he has a name - unlike ‘the nameless pharaoh’. Similar enough to Set though, if you want that agony.

Shadi pats Yugi on the head and calls him “a nice little boy…” and Yugi inwardly seethes. That uniform trick doesn’t work when they’re not from around here, sorry.

Yugi sat outside the museum on his own, counting the minutes until he gets his puzzle back. Oh my heart.

Shadi murders the guy who wanted to buy the Puzzle between one panel and the next. Ok.

“My bloodline has guarded the tombs for 3,000 years.” …Is he related to the Ishtars? Is that a stupid question?

Shadi is smart enough to know to follow the money to find the real ‘tomb defiler’, good for you bro. Break the system and all that.

The shadow game he plays involves a Scale-based game of truth or dare, with the dare being ‘dare to lie and you will die’. What happens if you tell the truth - answer correctly. Does the scale still go down because the actions ar bad, or is it simply because you lied?

Yugi waiting for the Puzzle. Still cute.

Kanekura gets eaten by Ammit - figuratively, uh well, mentally, but it’s still a horrible image.

Shadi wants to use the Key to see if Yugi has “the same power as my blood line” which… doesn’t match up to Atem. Magic then? Answers on a postcard please.

This turns out to be a mistake, as it sounds like Atem has been wanting a ‘visitor’ for quite some time.

…This is gonna be some Saw shit isn’t it?

Duel 14 p.2

For the first time it’s implied to us that Atem is not just a separate being, but also a pharaoh - Shadi’s remarks on his room’s decoration. But Shadi doesn’t seem to know who he is.

Note: Atem is reflecting Yugi’s current appearance, in that he’s not wearing the Puzzle.

Shadi’s now changed his tune and admits to Atem that he doesn’t know what power is bestowed on the person who completes it, because no-one ever has. “And if that power is needed… I will draw it into my bloodline…” ???

“You know the routine… This is a game! A shadow game!!” Atem self-aware enough to lampshade it at least.

Shadi says he can “Redecorate” and control that person at will, and even destroy their personality, which appears to perturb Atem, as it should. But Shadi accepts and starts to traverse the trapped maze, while Atem leans on a wall, trying to be all cool. Then he teleports away to the proper room, because this isn’t a dimension with physics.

“This boy’s soul is tightly closed against strangers.”

We need to do something with that line, that is a good line.

Atem pretends to (?) consider pushing Shadi into the final trap, but helps him up instead.

“I don’t like your hobby of peeking into people’s souls.” There’s so much double-thinking going on here I can’t process Atem just said that.

Yugi says Shadi closed his eyes and stopped moving, implying he was conscious for Shadi’s adventuring. So the fronting soul keeps up front, and Shadi’s actions are not instantaneous in ‘the real world’.

Shadi says he owes ‘the other you’ but Yugi laughs at him, saying he’s the only ‘me’ there is. Shadi tells him he must discover his ‘other self’ to awaken the true power of the Millennium Puzzle.

Shadi reveals his name is ’Shadi’ and says it is the first time he’s ever told it to anyone - HOW HAS DSOD MADE SHADI EVEN MORE CONFUSING THAN HE WAS BEFORE????

Duel 15

We’re going to have a ‘sorry a dude you know died and you might be cursed’ trip to Professor Yoshimori, and Yugi is having his first ‘guided by heart’ moment in that he wants to come along with his grandpa, but suggests Téa and Joey don’t come along when they happen upon them on their way to him. (This also means Joey and Téa spend social time together - nice.)

Shadi’s having a rootle around Yoshimori’s soul room.

“His heart is cluttered with his obsession with the past.” -sips tea and looks at Atem, but says nothing-

Once he realises Yugi is coming, he then redecorates the soul room to turn Yoshimori into his puppet, to draw out Yugi’s power in the second stage of his game with “Yugi within Yugi”.

Joey: “I hate schools at night! They’re so creepy!”

Téa: “You don’t have a shred of courage, do you Jonouchi?”

She goes for his life every time, I swear.

Shadi has his puppet strangle Jonouchi and-

Cut.

Hey, literally nothing happened that chapter besides set-up. Aw man.

Next -->

[s-nnyd]

all of the ask me meme :) please stop talking about naruto

i think that was this one?

rose: what makes you feel beautiful?

man, hmm, when my hair falls just right and it looks like the hairstyle that could be used in like a romcom drama oh or when the sun starts to set because everythign just starts to feel like the right color and it makes it just about everything right

lace: how would you describe your best friend(s)?

complete idiots i love hanging out with

wish: what are your favourite memories?

oh fuck dude my favorite memories? okay so back in middle school when there was the open house and i signed up for one of the shifts i just stayed in ms. dean’s room and like it was raining and pouring and i was just kinda fooling around with some friends before our shifts started and like we ordered pizza and my goodness it was cold and wet as fuck but it was such a genuinely nice memory of just the feeling during that time also when were painting murals for  art ds like shit man that was like the time of my life and i genuinely get all these heartfelt feelings each time i think about it (oh oh oh oh and like mrs q said that like shes trying to make things work with walker about doing a mural inside the class and im like holy fuck please like im legit gonna cry if that happens) and although its super embarrassing just like all the times ive ever really had talks and hung out with mrs q like they were genuinely nice memories and esp friday too like she told me stories about the previous schools she went to and the types of students she had and i love hearing stuff like that and yesterday was truly enjoyable

heaven: describe your ideal date

hhhhhhhh okay okay okay okay so its raining out but we still were supposed to meet up and im standing outside with a cup of hot choco with extra whip cream just the way she likes it cause i wanted to get it for her and when she comes to meet me she also has a cup of hot choco with extra cocoa for me and its just the kinda heart and chest swelling kinda moment cause we both were thinking about each other and then we head over to watch the movies first something stupid yet enjoyable and after going to have some lunch at like a really good tofu house and then after going to an art museum and then ill say somethign cheesy like man im surprised you dont live here ‘why?’ cause youre a work of art  or you know whats the most beautiful piece of art out of this whole exhibit ‘ooo was it the ______ or the _____ one or maybe its the ______?” nah its you and thats the main commentary im making through out the whole exhibition and like after that we head over to my place and the rains still coming down my head on her lap and her fingers through my hair as watch a movie both of us has seen far too many times already that it this point its just for the sake of background noise and like we swap spots where shes on my lap now adn eventually she falls asleep i carry her to the bed and let her nap for a bit and she wakes up after a while and comes into the kitchen and im cooking fried rice at like 3 in the morning and its just lazy hugs and bad singing but all in all its just relaxing soothing loving and everything i really want

angel: what is your dream aesthetic?

oh man like okay have you seen that godzilla jacket that was floating around on tumblr for a while like like that specific aesthetic where its super cool stitching and japanese words that i can actually read for once OH OH OH or like just absolute artist like just paint splatters and charcoal and pastel that wont wash out and jean jackets with patches and just yeeeeeee

wings: list five things you love about yourself

hmmm i think my determination to always be improving, my loyalty, my ability to think from multiple angles of a situation, my creativity and the multitude of ideas that come as a result of it , and mmm prolly the fact that when i love someone or got a crush like more than anything id love to give them the absolute most like id give them the world if i could if it would make them happy and like they dont gotta accept my feelings or anything but jsut please dont reject my gifts like i just want you to be happy and i wanna see you smile and laugh and like even if this aint gonna turn anything im glad i got to love you and have this experience

marble: what do you look for in a partner?

oh man okay so like ive noticed that every single person ive ever had a crush on like  i dont necessarily got a type in the sense of like looks or anything like that cause they all look super different and there is no one “type” but like its a lot closer to a “type” as in a type of person like someone whos generally super open minded and caring and gentle someone who even though they dont believe so theyre changing and helping so so so so many people around them someone who has the best laugh that id do anything to hear and the prettiest eyes and the most amazing smile that id truly do anythign to see someone whos usually loved by many but even in close relations theyre extremely close heart to heart and very attentive someone whos got a great head on their shoulders and the mindset to keep moving forward and improve someone who rlly pushes the idea communication, trust, and honesty and like man theyre people with the most beautiful minds and hearts and like it ends up being a case where theyve got the most beautiful face too

velvet: describe your dream home

oh fuck dude i couldnt even talk about this for my project for japanese i cant do it here

pearl: what is your favourite: scent, flavour, sound, texture?

shit dude ive really gotta say that my favorite scent is prolly the art and the ceramics room like really its super calming my fave flavor would maybe be honey? (i just had a honey stick rn so) my favorite sound is the sound of my crush’s voice and laugh, fave texture has def gotta be my paint like fuck i love sticking my hand in that shit

sunlight: list five things you find to be beautiful

link, zelda, my crush, the specific color of cerulean blue, okay and oddly enough that scar thats on my leg from when i fell off my skateboard

cherry: what words of advice would you give to a stranger?

if you think someone’s got a cool shirt, pretty eyes, a nice laugh, the cutest button nose, a soothing voice, or is just in general attractive to you, just tell them like the smile on their face is worth a whole lot and i promise you that it could make their day

blush: describe your ideal future

oh fuck okay so its one where i got a like four big dogs (cause these are my faves), a samoyed a husky a german shepard and a pit bull, and im living in a nice decent place with my loved one i have a job either at one of the major animation studios or im working with a huge game company (preferably Nintendo so i can work on some loz games) and ive also got a seperate place thats a block or two away from my home and its my own personal studio a place that is just a whole floor dedicated to working on my art whether it be two dimensional traditional or digital and i also got a throwing wheel and a place to put my ceramics and ive made some movies and games that ive dedicated to mrs q and mrs y because theyve brought me so far in my art career and also played such a big role in my life in general and id love to make them proud and like honestly that soudns like the absolute shit to me

sea: what music, art and/or literature brings you peace?

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man just seein loz fanart is the best but also like fuck dude like mmmmm when i see an art style i really love that has literally the best fuckign composition and color usage like fuck thats my shit like theres some specific ones that i dont know how to describe

wine: talk about something you are looking forward to

working on that mural if mrs q can make it through cause that is legit what i really wanna do like i fucking love working on murals oh oh oh also when we can finally order the new j shirts cause i finished the design and i really wanna see everyone wearing them im really proud of this year’s design aalsososoooooooo like im really excited to work on the next project for ceramics like were makign slab boxes and we can basically tell a story and do whatever the fuck we want with it and man im just so excited for that (wow i legit realized that like everything ive listed that is part of my dream or makes me excited or happy is like art related like wow)

honey: what do you do to relax?

i watch shitposts oh that or i talk to my cousin lynnette cause really shes super understanding and its really easy to talk to her

silk: describe your most recent dream

man i forgot the bulk of it but i think like it was one where i didnt finish my charcoal portrait or my coil pot in time and then i woke up in a cold sweat

matte: what is something you are proud of?

hmmmm at current im proud of the presents i gave to mrs y and mrs q cause it made the both of them really happy and like i really wanted to show them how thankful i am to them and like they genuinely liked the posters and the flowers

gloss: list ten songs you love right now

lmao shit uh

feelings - hayley kiyoko

maple - hayley kiyoko

redbone - childish gambino

forrest gump - frank ocean

shes so mean - matchbox twenty

perfect - ed sheeran

and legit just like all of the soundtracks for all the loz games

satin: what never fails to make you happy?

oh oh oh oh oh when i give a present to my crush or i do something nice for them and they just give me the biggest smile or the best laugh ive ever heard and theres just the crinkle at the corners of their eyes from smilign so hard and because theyre trying so hard to keep eye contact with me while but theyre laughing really hard and they can only keep one eye open and like just the genuineness of joy and all

opal: talk about your interests and passions

hhhhhhhh dude dude like mannnnnn like hhhhhh okay imma talk about loz for a sec and like i know i brought it up before but i love like so much okay like oot was my first time playing time playing any loz game and my lord it was the shit like the storyline the characters the graphics the sound track the quests and side characters liek everything really made it feel like so much mroe and like i feel so much for it like heres link growing up and hes like what around ten or so and hes got some friends and he finally gets his fairy and then his tree dad goes and dies right after telling him lmao sorry but you kinda gotta save the kingdom k bye and like this kid this kid literally knows jack shit about anything but he goes on and does it anyways he goes and helps zelda he goes and helps the people who are in trouble along the way and plays some rad ass tunes on his tiny lil ocarina of time while doing it and like even when he gets put into the future like he sitll has the mindset of a ten year old hes still as innocent and earnest and pure hearted as when he first started and like holy fuck dont get me started on sheik like shit sheik is so damn cool and like knowing that it was zelda all that time like fuck yeah zelda can kick ass fuck yeah zelda got muscles for days fuck yeah she can punt you across the kingdom and like at the end when she thanks him and sends him back and time so he can enjoy the lost time like shit dude i know zelda meant well and all but like hes experienced so much with and for her hes done so much give the kid a break and then even then navi in the end like leaves and then eveything continues in majoras mask and again hes in his ten year old body but now wiht the experiences and knowledge and basically memories from being seventeen like hes got so much mroe than what his body and mind should handle at this point and he wanders into the forest again all in search for an old friend to look for navi and like when he gets sent to termina after trying to chase after skull kid and like havign those nightmares witht he scrubs like hes gone through so much and i only want more for him and like he doesnt have to save termina he doesnt he doesnt need to do anything he can let termina get smooshed to smitherins by the moon for all the work hes already done for hyrule but he does it anyway and he rewinds time again and again and again and again so he can fix all of these problems for all of these people he does all of this to bring some sort of proper ending for these people who have the last three days of their lives the last three days before their deaths repeat over and over and over and over and over again and he saves them each and every time he rewinds time and he goes through all this shit i mean this ten year old mother fucker is doing olympic bakc flips and twirls and shit after oot like shit boi and then like oh myy gooddddd like damn botw like fuck dude that game means a whole lot to me like its lacking a lil bit in the presence of an evil and i mena i know its ganon and all but like shit i could ignore that motherfucker for all eternity if he wasnt being such a total asshat to zelda and like i mainly beat that motherfucker up just for zelda like for once in a game ive never wanted more to save her like they went so much into detail abotu her and like dude those memories thos cutscenes? like that shit made everythign and i truly love her she works so hard and shes held up to this image of being extremely spiritiually adept because of all her ancestors ebcause of all the other zeldas but she jsut cant she jsut cant do the same thing and so she tries in other ways she tries to udnerstand and get a grasp on sheikah and ancient tech so she can at least be prepared to stand against the calamity when it does come and like the champions all worry about her like the girl nearly got herself killed in the process of trying to awaken her so called spiritual powers and like dude finding out that in the beginning zelda legit hated links ass like they put so much mroe into her like she she hated seeing that he was a prodigy that he didnt have a single trouble in the world and then finally link speaks up and he tells her he talks to her about why he keeps quiet and like the two finally bond and like the two dorks love each other so much that it really does go beyond friendship and romance like they legit would die for each other that one time that zelda was this fucking close to getting her ass handed to her on a silver platter and link was beat the fuck up like he went to save her and then the time when link was basically on his death bed and a guardian was about to pulverize him zelda stood between him and the guardian this bitch wasnt even thinking about having her spiritual powers she was legit ready to die for him if it meant he could run away and get to safety and i mean luckily she her spiritual powers did come out but she legit realized it when she was so genuinely scared but chose to stand up cause she cared for him so much and like these two kids fight so much and have gone through a lot both on their own times and also together but like i love them so much no matter what timeline theyre in

kiss: what do you want from life right now?

my lord i want life to point me in the right direction tbqh or at least give me a mentor for some help like please ive been guiding and doing everything myself this whole time give me a break like after reading all the stories for lang and lit like it makes me feel so lost in what im doing like after catcher in the rye and playing the role of holden caulfield and denying that i fit any part of the role and then realizing how similar i was to him and then reading death of a salesman and relating to biff and reading raisin in the sun and relating to beneatha like shit i really felt lost like ive been talking about it with my therapist lately and like yeah i think i really need some direction or reassurance or a mentor or at least something in my life thats consistent cause right now im a complete mess