#drew this last night and immediately went to bed what's good gamers

[anonymouspuzzler]

not canon for several reasons but in my heart this is how Davey would come out to Minnie given the opportunity (thank you Shirts That Go Hard)

[euphoria-vmin7]

tiger flower | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader 

genre/warnings: angst, hanahaki! au, non-idol! au, heartbreak, unrequited love, swearing, a n g s t

word count: 1,830

summary: tiger flower. it’s his birth flower. it’s the flower that you can’t have. 

rating: pg-15 (swearing) 

-- a/n: so this is my first submission for the BGW BINGO BASH! i was listening to crystal snow and then i got really inspired and so this was born at 2 am :) it’s for the “hanahaki!au” square. i hope you all like this! 

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ஓ๑♡๑ஓ 

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“Dammit (Name)!” Jungkook groaned, throwing his hands up in the air with utter disbelief. ��Why the fuck did you kill me?!” 

You winced and shot him a glare. “I’ve never played this before!” 

“Well I wouldn’t have let you play if I’d known you’d suck this bad,” Jungkook tossed his controller to the side as you struggled to keep fighting on your own. Sadly, your character died pretty quickly without the help of the expert gamer next to you. You turned fully to grin at his angry scowl and punched his shoulder, which of course didn’t faze him at all. Stupid muscles. 

“Oh quit being such a baby, Kook,”  you teased, leaning back to lounge against his worn out couch. “It’s just a game,” 

“A game you suck at,” he muttered, standing up and heading into his kitchen. You chuckled at his salty tone. You had probably just broken his spotless winning streak or lost him his spot on the leaderboard or something trivial like that. Well, it was trivial to you, but obviously not to him. Jungkook lumbered back into the living room, shooting you a pointed glare before plopping down next to you. He tossed you a bag of chips and grabbed the remote to fiddle with the channels on his television. You raised your legs and draped them over Jungkook’s lap, an excessive show of making yourself comfortable that earned you another glare. 

“I don’t need your sweaty feet in my face while I’m eating my precious chips, (Name),” he snapped irritably. 

“Well there are a lot of things you don't need but you get them anyway,” 

“Fuck you,”  

Despite all his complaining, Jungkook didn’t make any move to get your feet off his lap, an action that made you grin when you realized it. You watched with a sweet concealed smile as he lazily shoved chips into his mouth, not minding how much he was spilling on his old grey hoodie. You chuckled quietly. What a slob. 

Technically speaking, it had only been about three weeks since you had last seen Jungkook. You both had headed to your hometowns for break to spend the winter holidays with your families, which was basically the only time you were apart. It had only been three weeks, and yet somehow it felt like lifetimes. Maybe it was because he was so deeply ingrained into your daily life. Maybe it was the play fights that normally ended with you holding an ice pack to your shoulder. Or maybe it was the spontaneous knocks on his apartment door at two in the morning with nothing but the pajamas on your back. Or maybe it was the hushed whispers of childish secrets under fortresses made of blankets and pillows. 

Or maybe, it was just him. 

Maybe it was because you just missed seeing that annoying yet frustratingly pretty face that told you he was up to no good. Maybe it was the disarmingly handsome and boyish smile that fueled the competitive rage within you. Maybe it was how despite all his tricky smirks and winks, he still looked like he was hand carved by angels when he slept, like they had put utmost care in crafting the most perfect human in the universe. 

Maybe. 

You should’ve known better than to let these thoughts fill your head once again. You could daydream about how much you hated and loved Jeon Jungkook for hours. If only he’d actually let you do it in peace. 

His fingers twisted mercilessly into the skin of your thigh and you yelped at the sting. It was partly your fault seeing as you had made it easy for him by putting your feet right in front of him. But still how dare he?

“Are you even listening to me?” he asked, letting his fingers rest after the sharp pinch. It was your turn to glare at him and you reeled your foot back to kick his knee, not too hard but not gently either. 

“No. I don’t listen to stupid things,” 

You knew what he was thinking: That’s such an eight year old thing to say.

Well joke’s on him. If you were eight years old then so was he. 

“I was asking you...” he rolled his eyes, leaning back to stare at the TV again. “...how your break was?” 

“It was good,” you smiled a bit. “Spent time with my family. Had my dad’s food after dealing with your horrible cooking for so long,” 

Instead of the same glare you had been on the receiving end of for the better portion of the night, Jungkook rewarded your statement with a good-natured chuckle. At least he knew his cooking was subpar. You grinned. 

“How about you?” 

“Ah y’know? Same thing as you. Spent time with the family blah blah. We went on a road trip,” 

“Nice,” you sighed, still smiling as you leaned back into the couch and closed your eyes. “You came back a week earlier than I did though,” 

“Yeah that’s because you and your family took that fancy trip to Europe,” he mocked and you smirked. 

“You could at least try to pretend you aren’t jealous,” 

Jungkook scoffed out a chuckle and began surfing his channels again, letting a comfortable silence overtake the both of you. Well, of course it was comfortable. Awkwardness was not a thing when it came to you and your best friend. Keeping your eyes closed for too long almost always led you to falling asleep, and you would have gotten there this time too, if it wasn’t for the sudden yell from the boy next to you. 

“Oh fuck, wait! I forgot to tell you!” he screeched, his eyes going wide. You jumped, eyes peeling open before scowling at him and punching his bicep. 

“What the fuck, Jeon? What is it!?” 

“So while you were gone...I did it,” he grinned, sitting up straight. Immediately, you knew what it meant. As much as you wanted to pretend like you didn’t get it, you knew. The way his cheeks began to slowly bloom with color was another huge giveaway. That only happened for one thing. 

“Shut up,” your jaw dropped, lips twitching upward. “You didn’t!” 

“I did,” he said proudly. His smile was so genuine, so real, and it made you so indescribably happy. And yet it didn’t. 

“And?” you pressed, moving to sit on your knees and grabbing his arm. 

“And…” he drew out with a concealed smile. “And she said yes!” 

You cheered loudly and he laughed, his arms naturally coming to wrap around you and give you a squeeze. You giggled at the feeling, the feeling of comfort that came from being next to him, with him. 

“Aw I’m so happy for you, Kookie,” you mumbled, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. His laugh shook his whole body as you buried your face into his sweatshirt. 

“Thanks Peanut,” he chuckled. “I was so fucking nervous you should’ve seen me,” 

The thought of your normally confident and suave best friend being all flustered brought a smile to your face. Oh, how you wished you could’ve been the one to see it. 

“Yeah that’s because you’re scared of girls,” you teased. It was a running joke amongst Jungkook’s closest friends. A joke that obviously wasn’t very true. 

“And what about you?” he laughed. “Are you not a girl?” 

“I’m not that type of girl to you,” you smiled ruefully. 

“Nah,” he grinned, his eyes shining in blissful ignorance. “You’re my special girl,” 

But not that type of special. 

Other than the smile you gave him, you didn’t respond to that. You don’t know what to say to it anymore. You stayed there for a few more minutes, shamefully enjoying Jungkook’s arms around you. You hid your weak smile from him because he’d immediately be able to catch how upset it was. How selfish could you be to take advantage of his love for you? He loves you. You’re his special girl. He said it himself. He’s not lying. 

But you’re lying to yourself when you say that it means something. It means something. But not what you want it to.

How many times had you shakily typed into the search bar: How to confess to your best friend?

How many more times would you need to type before you realized what you already knew?

Jungkook gently pushed you off of him, not in a way that was intentionally cruel and yet somehow it felt that way. He stood up and stretched, a tired groan leaving his lips as he popped a few joints. 

“I’m going to bed. Are you coming?” 

“In a few,” you smiled, the facade taking over you easily. Of course, after all this time, the practice had made you a master at hiding. He grinned at you, the boyish grin that masked the tiredness in his eyes. Tired eyes that lit up when they looked at you. But sparkled and softened when they looked at her. 

You sat there on the couch for a while, a few measly minutes that felt as though they were stretched into long hours. Thinking like this, alone, was dangerous for you. No matter how many times you’d tried to clear it, Jungkook remained, his hold on you becoming stronger as every second passed. It wouldn’t get any easier in the future. You knew this and you knew it well. 

The pain in your chest came fast and familiar. You brought your hand up to your lips to muffle the sound of your harsh cough. Pulling it away, you looked down at the petals in your palm. 

Tiger Flower. 

Poetic isn’t it? His birth flower. You smiled at your palm. With your other hand, you reached into the small bag at your feet, the bag reserved for overnight stays at Jungkook’s house. The pamphlet you pulled out was curled at the edges and crumpled in certain areas due to how much time you had spent looking through it. 

Your mom had told you about the surgery as soon as the petals started coming. Everyone was worried, because they knew what would happen if you let it go. Everyone except him of course. Poor thing, he didn’t even know. 

You stood up and walked into the bathroom to dust the petals into the trash. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to let Jungkook go. There was no pain that would be greater to you. Jungkook was real and he was the only real thing that mattered to you. You were his special girl. How could you even think of letting him go? 

Chuckling to yourself, you made the decision and felt your heart tear. 

You grasped the pamphlet in both hands and tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths, until it was nothing more than uneven shreds in your palms. With a bittersweet smile, you dusted the shreds into Jungkook’s trash can, before following him into his room, ready to build another fortress of blankets.

.

.

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[scartale-an-undertale-au]

Papers of Homelessness - Chapter 39

(This banner had been made by the awesome and amazing artist @benteja​. i am so honored that she had drawn this banner for this story. please go and show her all the love in the world that she deserves!!! \[^o^]/)

BEFORE | NEXT

a/n: i wanted to write another scene for this chapter, but i totally forget about it until i finished the drawing. and now i’m too sleepy to concentrate. so enjoy some confused chara and grillby having a petty argument over the tip jar.

p.s. sorry for anything weird. like i said, half hallucinating.

Your eyes opened slowly to reveal the familiar pale color of your room's ceiling. You blinked, not recalling ever leaving your classroom.

Did you blank out or something? Probably all the fatigue from Muffet's stalking getting to you. You shifted in bed and attempted to rise, instantly holding your head when it exploded in pain.

You took a few deep breaths and lied back down, the pounding in your head feeling like nails drilling into your temples.

That's strange… you had a strange vision during the test, but you didn't get such a severe headache from it. You probably slept on the wrong side or something like that. You pushed yourself up once more and placed your feet on the floor, trying to think past the dizziness and pain.

Were you sick or something?

You spotted from the edge of your sight a glass of water and some tablets of painkillers. An all too familiar scene from the many books that you have read.

…

You got drunk?!

Might explain the lack of memory and your shitty mood. But you didn't know how you were as a drunk man since you never tried to get drunk. Felt too troublesome.

Well, seemed like there was a first time for everything.

You gratefully downed the tablets and drank the water, slowly getting on your wobbly legs and walking carefully to the door. When you finally managed to get your feet under you and so more confidentially opened the door and turned towards the kitchen to grab food before you headed out back to college.

A red blur rushed towards you and you managed in the nick of time to duck behind the wall and watch as the big woman crashed into the floor.

"What the hell are you doing in my house, Undyne?" You asked in annoyance. Was she driving you to school? Does Grillby really think that you couldn't protect yourself? And what about Frisk? Are they forcing her to stay at the diner from now on? She would go crazy if she stayed there for too long.

You needed to talk to Grillby about that.

"I was worried about you, you punk!" Undyne exclaimed, jumping to her feet and pulling her mussed up hair back to a braid. That was a strange new look for her…

"Did I really get drunk that badly?" You muttered and she raised a brow in confusion.

"Drunk?"

You stared at her. "I did get drunk… right?"

"Huh? Of course not! You passed out on the bus I told you not to go on! You're lucky I drove to the last stop just to yell at you! The driver was going nuts, already about to call the ambulance on you."

…

"I fainted?" You asked in disbelief. She nodded. "But I don't recall anything that could have made me faint…"

"Apparently you called for someone named Void about winning something." You drew a blank. "Is he like a gamer or something?"

Undyne shrugged, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the dining table, where two nylon covered plates were placed on. An orange bottle standing between the plates. "Now go eat something. Your mom made breakfast before she left."

Applause for mom.

Your stomach let out a loud rumble and you quickly took your place at the table and unwrapped your plate, eagerly eating the scrambled eggs, cucumbers and toast. For some reason, you were starving.

"Did she say where is she going?"

"Nope. She just said that she was extremely worried about you. Seriously, man. That was super scary seeing you all unconscious in the poor driver's arms. You looked dead there for a moment," Undyne sighed.

"…Sorry? I don't even know what happened."

"Huh…" You two went back to eating.

Seriously. What did you even do to make you pass out like that? Relieved another strange vision of that other life or something?

…

Wait, you said something about 'void' and winning. Perhaps you did see something and the pain was too great… that would make sense since your visions tended to leave you half-hanging to life.

Great… it progressed to passing out and memory problems…

What a way to begin the day.

Frisk looked unhappy when you came to work

To be honest, so were you. You got a good grade, but it was lower than usual so you had a talk with the professor about redoing the test since you were 'sick'.

Undyne drove even faster than yesterday if that was even humanely possible and you nearly puked when finally getting off at the campus.

You asked her to drive her slow mode when she gave you the lift to Grillby's.

"Not happy with staying at Grillbz'?" You smirked at her. She huffed and pinched your side, ignoring your yelp. "I was being nice!"

"…No, you were sarcastic."

Touché.

"So any signs from wanted no. 1 stalker?"

A shake of the head. "Left a note…"

Great… "Can I see it?"

Frisk nodded and slinked back to the backroom, so you took over her until the paper slipped into your hands. You told the costumer to wait for a moment before reading the slip of paper.

'I have all the information I need.'

Wow, so ominous.

"You think she's going to act now?" You glanced at Frisk. She shrugged, hidden face lowered. You decided to change a topic while you began the order. "Want to try and uncover your face for an hour?"

Frisk thought over the offer and then shrugged again, hands rising to pull the hood back. She took a deep breath and then opened her eyes. When no strange sounds were heard because honestly, no one here cared about looking at the baristas, she relaxed and went to clean the tables.

You grinned and placed the cup of coffee in front of the costumer, who had given a small patient smile. Oh great, a talkative client.

"It's very sweet of you to encourage her," The costumer said in her elderly sweet tone.

You shrugged. "No one really cares so I just do that to show her that."

"Still very sweet of you, young man," She placed a few coins in the new tip jar you had got. Take that, Grillby! "Good luck."

"Thank you," You said genuinely, glad for the tip. "Have a good day."

"Will do."

She left and you greeted the next costumer. You sighed in relief and quickly changed the song playing from the jukebox to some jazz before returning to your order.

An hour later and a switch to classic rock, you saw Grillby exit the backroom and gave him a cheeky grin and pointed slyly at the tip jar. "Who was the one who said that no one gives tips? Who? Who?" You poked the half-filled jaw at each 'who', grin widening.

Grillby stared at you for a long time before he approached the cashier. "…Tip to Frisk…"

"Hey!" You cried out in indignation. "I was the one to get the tip!"

"…Don't gloat…"

"Grrr…." You growled and held the jar to your chest. "Mine!"

Grillby gave you a long gaze. "…Less pay."

"You're being petty!"

"…You too."

"Shut up..." You jolted and turned to see Frisk stand before you two, looking even smaller than usual because of her height next to the tallest of the bunch Grillby. But being small did not smother her glare.

She really was unhappy.

You shuddered despite yourself. Grillby, however, simply nodded. The smug little bastard.

Which reminded you…

"Frisk, can I have a talk with you after close up?" You inquired and Frisk tilted their head in confusion before nodding, sending a glare at Grillby.

The redhead shook his head. "…Today as well…"

The jukebox let out a string of drumming.

Frisk huffed and turned on her heel, walking briskly back to her task cleaning the floor, but not before changing the channel to soul music. You turned to Grillby and frowned. "You know she hates being confined here."

"…Safe here."

"She can take care of herself. It's not like she's your daughter or something."

"…Granddaughter."

"Huh?"

"…Joe… like a son…" Grillby's glasses gleamed and he sighed, fixing them. You caught glance of his tired green eyes and the multiplying gray hairs in his hair, standing out between the dark red strands.

So Grillby was affected by everything that has been going on lately as well… you wondered what kind of things he sees at night when he's alone.

Having Frisk here probably wasn't helping. And Muffet lurking in the shadows with the idea that she's wanted by the police and wants something from Frisk… he was probably more worried than he lets on.

You might be socially awkward, but you were no idiot. Grillby was probably keeping Frisk here more for his sake than hers…

"So you see her as a granddaughter? I thought grandparents pamper their grandchildren," You gave a lopsided grin and nudged him.

He shrugged. "…Can't... Too reckless…"

"Frisk?" You snorted. "She's manipulative for sure. But she's not reckless."

You heard a small chuckle and your eyes widened at the small quirk up of the older man's mouth. "…She is… a lot… of things…"

You gaped at him, not used to the smile and the way his face became younger with the laugh. Grillby noticed you gawking and his smile fell, his serious demeanor returning.

You immediately felt like a scum for ruining this moment and cleared your throat. "Well, whatever she is, you still got to understand that she's not a baby. She doesn’t like to be forced to stay here or being babied."

Grillby nodded. "…I know…"

You rolled your eyes and gave up on convincing the older man. It was said that older men are always stuck in their beliefs and you knew that you won't win an argument with your boss. "Whatever, Grillbz. Just don't push her too far. Maybe even get your daughter to come by. Give Frisk a chance to meet her aunt," You smirked at your owner when he gave you a piercing look.

But after a moment, Grillby sighed. "…Why not…"

You grinned in triumph.

NEXT

[junker-town]

NFL Dad, Week 8: Halloween is my daughter’s Super Bowl

Here’s what seven hours of RedZone is like when your two young kids can’t go outside because it’s raining.

As a lazy person, it’s hard to enjoy Halloween. When I was single, the thought and effort that a costume required always made me want to crawl in bed and hide from the holiday. Only the promise of alcohol and sexy costumes lured me into participation.

Kids have changed all that. As a parent, you get to spend WEEKS hyping up your kids for Halloween, brainstorming costume ideas, and talking about candy. The last part is especially fun, because my wife and I deprive our children of candy all year long. Cake? Sure, if there’s a party. A donut? Probably once a week. Ice cream? Well, maybe as a special treat. But candy almost never happens, save for the occasional lollipop at the doctor’s office. Halloween is their Super Bowl.

And even though trick-or-treating is only one night, we are getting some MILEAGE out of this year’s costumes — shark for my son (our choice), ghost for my daughter (her choice). Last Sunday, our friends had a Halloween-themed birthday party. On Friday, our nanny took the kids to a costume party. Monday: another Halloween party. Tuesday: daughter wears costume to school AND we’ve got trick-or-treating that night. I am getting to be a PRO at hand-washing chocolate out of these costumes. And I’m barely a day away from stealing half my kids’ candy after they go to bed Tuesday night.

So much of the parent experience is trading away the things you used to love to do for soul-filling love and constant exhaustion; it’s a surprise and a delight when the trade is suddenly enjoying something you never liked as an adult.

EARLY GAMES, FIRST HALF

— RedZone has seven early games on the docket today, and Scott Hanson shows us the lineup in OCTOBOX format, with the eighth box a weather map of the Eastern seaboard. The forecast: lots of rain.

— It’s raining here in New York, too. I took some photos of my kids in their rain slickers, but I’m not going to share them because my son’s hair looks like Jon Gruden’s. And maybe Gruden’s OK being seen in public with that hair, but I’m going to raise my children better than that.

Maybe Gruden’s OK being seen with that haircut, but I’m going to raise my children better than that.

Incidentally, I took the photos on the way to get his hair cut. I asked for a low fade and the barber gave him a high fade that wasn’t blended very well, so he ended up with the preferred haircut of stylish soccer players and media-savvy Nazis. And let me be crystal clear: My 18-month-old son is not a neo-Nazi. He doesn’t even have a Reddit account.

— The Saints’ Alvin Kamara scores the first touchdown of the day, and I reject this world where Drew Brees relies on a competent running game. THROW FOR 5000 YARDS OR RETIRE!

I like Kamara, though. I’m not messing with anyone whose name is a jiu-jitsu submission.

— I put my daughter down for her nap, and when I come back to the living room, Melvin Gordon is running untouched for an 87-yard TD to give the Chargers an early 7-0 lead over the Pats. I picked the Chargers at +7 today, so this pleases me.

HE WILL GO ALL THE WAY!@melvingordon25. 87 yards to the HOUSE. #Chargers http://pic.twitter.com/mOTI7SKWm9

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

— I’m a little worried about my daughter’s nap. We’re potty-training her right now — she’s behind schedule, I KNOW, the broken collarbone really set us back — and she wouldn’t pee on the little toddler potty before her nap. She hasn’t peed since we changed her overnight diaper and put her in undies this morning. You can lead a toddler to the potty, but you can’t make her pee.

So my wife and I tell her, “Hey, if you feel you have to go pee-pee, call us and we’ll help you use the potty.” But the last couple days, this has just led to a wet bed and more laundry. YAY, MORE LAUNDRY!

— Wait, we gotta talk about C.J. Beathard’s face. The camera cut to him and he BARELY had more confidence and composure than Bill Paxton in Aliens.

Photo by Elsa/Getty Images

You can smell the fear on him.

— With the score tied at 7 at MetLife, Matt Ryan loses a fumbled snap for the second time today that leads to a Jets field goal. I know it’s raining, but it’s also still the first half. Get your shit together, Falcons. Or don’t, I picked the Jets +4.5.

— Ah, I see the Colts are in the red zone. Time for a nap!

— I open my eyes 24 minutes later, and the only eye-raising change in scoring is in New England, where the Pats have improved from a 7-7 lead to take the lead, 12-7. Apparently, Travis Benjamin crapped his brain out of his butt in the middle of a punt return.

Worth it for the refs signaling safety at the exact same time, though.

— I’m typing today with a Band-Aid on my right index finger, having sliced my fingertip with a pumpkin saw while carving our jack-o’-lantern the night before. No medical attention needed, but I lost a little flap of skin that has me playing through pain today. I’m a gamer, though. Don’t worry about it affecting the column.

— Cincinnati, playing at home against the Colts, has had a lackluster first half, but this Joe Mixon screen is electric.

.@andydalton14 finds @Joe_MainMixon and he nearly goes the distance! #Bengals50 http://pic.twitter.com/saSRSZiC9C

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

That sets up a short touchdown to A.J. Green to tie the game at 10.

POINT OF ORDER: I will be actively avoiding this game the rest of the afternoon. These teams are butt. Also, I have yet to mention Carolina-Tampa Bay at all today. That is not an accident.

— Josh McCown tosses a gorgeous sideline throw to Robby Anderson, who got past Desmond Trufant. It’s 17-10 Jets, and if they win today I’m calling it: The Falcons are trapped in a body-swap movie.

— This morning I went to church with my family, and this may surprise you, but toddlers aren’t really wired for an hour of Catholic mass. I took the kids out to the adjoining courtyard so they could burn off some steam. The rain had let up but it was still wet, so naturally they both immediately fell on their faces/butts and got soaked.

They kept playing, though. The key feature of the courtyard was a four-foot ramp at a 15- or 20-degree angle. My daughter ran down it repeatedly, each time saying, “I shoot down the slide!” My son is also eager to run down the ramp, but he’s only a year and a half old — he’s barely mastered walking. He’s all desire, no skill.* So I stage at the bottom of the ramp and catch him before he can eat a face full of concrete.

*This sentence also sums up my athletic career after the age of 11.

Every generation has its Ted Ginn.

— The Bills score a defensive touchdown to open up a commanding lead on the Raiders, then Steven Hauschka forces a fumble on the ensuing kickoff. And I saw a lot of love and surprise on Twitter — “Wow! The kicker!” — but not nearly enough people were pointing at the exquisitely talented doofus who fumbled: Cordarrelle Patterson. He can’t do something awesome without disappointing you the following week. Every generation has its Ted Ginn, it seems.

EARLY GAMES, SECOND HALF

— My wife is taking the lead on tonight’s dinner, a pot roast recipe from Ina Garten. Now, I love Ina Garten; she’s a total boss. But if you’re going to try a recipe of hers, know that:

It will require a cut of meat that costs a staggering amount of money. “I go to my butcher and get four pounds of filet...” (Recipe serves 2.)

It will require about 150% of the work in any other cookbook to taste maybe 10% better. Related: Ina Garten does not have children.

She will demand that you use “good olive oil.” It is never just “olive oil.” Ina suspects you have cheap olive oil and a separate bottle of good stuff for special occasions. Guess what, bitch? EVERY INA GARTEN RECIPE IS A SPECIAL OCCASION. Don’t disrespect her art with shitty olive oil!

— Behold, the majesty of a Philip Rivers pump fake:

Let’s check in on Philip Rivers http://pic.twitter.com/MbkDJysXMe

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) October 29, 2017

Rivers recovered his own fumble (the least he could do after forcing it), and on the very next play, he hucks it downfield. When the ball re-enters the atmosphere, there is one Chargers receiver on the screen, and SIX Patriots defenders.

Next play: Throws into sextuple coverage http://pic.twitter.com/Yhbo2I2EhU

— Pete Blackburn (@PeteBlackburn) October 29, 2017

I love that intense weirdo SO MUCH. The Philip Rivers Quarterback Experience is like if the star of the debate team also had Tourette’s.

— My wife: “You picked great leeks, Matt.” Hell yeah I did! I have an eye for fine produce. But chopping four leeks and two large onions in a small apartment with all the bedroom doors closed is tough sledding for people with sensitive eyes. I open a window three inches; rain INSTANTLY soaks five children’s books on the sill.

— With the Bears trailing 14-3, Mitchell Trubisky throws to Zach Miller, who makes a great catch for the touchdown! Oh no, Miller stays down. Seems hurt. OH GOD I SAW THE REPLAY. Look away from the TV! Look at the computer! OH GOD I SAW THE GIF. UGHUGHGHHHHHH. (Update: Miller almost lost his leg due to vascular damage. Jesus.)

Dude, I JUST saw Gordon Hayward’s ankle snapped on live TV a few days ago. Hey, sports? Can we go a week or two without maiming someone, please?

AND THEY OVERTURNED THE TOUCHDOWN. WTF, YOU REFS ARE ANIMALS.

If you break your leg on the catch it should be a catch

— Evil Dead 2 Magary (@drewmagary) October 29, 2017

If you break your leg while even vaguely holding onto the ball it should always be ruled a catch

— Pablo S. Torre (@PabloTorre) October 29, 2017

— My daughter calls us, much more urgently than she usually does after her nap. My wife rushes in. Incredibly, my kid held her piss in throughout her nap, and actually used the potty. HUZZAH!

Even more incredibly, she didn’t pee between 7:00 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. NOT GREAT. We’re gonna have to get better about that or next week’s column is gonna be about bladder infections.

— Here’s a cool Alshon Jeffery touchdown:

"GET OFF ME." - @TheWorldof_AJ, probably. Touchdown, @Eagles! #FlyEaglesFly http://pic.twitter.com/aMeckAYr3i

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Consider that the shot that puts this one away for the Eagles. And now a 49ers chaser:

Fun stat: 49ers have only won three of their last 27 games, all of them against the Rams.

— Vince Mancini (@Filmdrunk) October 29, 2017

— I have a note that just says, “rasperries and laughter,” but I no longer remember the specific context. I think my daughter was laughing because my son was trying to blow raspberries on her, so I pulled up his shirt and blew raspberries on his stomach, causing him to shriek with laughter. That sounds right, but I could be mixing that up with other memories.

(I should note that in between writing that three-word note and trying to expand it into a paragraph, I watched Texans-Seahawks and Game 5 of the World Series. My brain has been puréed into a sports smoothie with an Adrenaline Boost™. A day later, I only see my two children in the context of lead changes. Great hug! I love THIS one more now!)

— On 3rd and goal, Matt Ryan scrambles to his left and finds Mohammed Sanu at the back of the end zone to give the Falcons a 22-17 lead. Ryan then fumbles the snap on the two-point conversion. Even when the Falcons are winning this year, they do it in the least convincing way possible.

Even when the Falcons are winning, they do it in the least convincing way.

— My wife takes the dog for a walk in the rain, as well as the kettlebell with legs that passes for my younger child. My daughter cuddles next to me on the couch. I put my arm around her and give her context about the teams on the field (“Do you know what a buccaneer is?” —No. “A buccaneer is a pirate”), but mostly, we sit together quietly. This is approximately as content and fulfilled as I can be.

— PERSONAL GAMBLING HELL UPDATE: The Jets, trailing 22-20, are about to get the ball back late in the game and look like excellent candidates to cover the 4.5-point spread. They fumble the punt because they’re the GODDAMN IDIOT JETS. The Falcons OF COURSE kick a field goal to go up by five. New York will have a chance to win the game if they can go 90 yards with no timeouts in 50 seconds, but I don’t need to give you the details on why that doesn’t work out.

The Pats kick a field goal to take an eight-point lead with one minute remaining, and I agonize over the Chargers’ mistakes that will cost them a cover: Benjamin’s idiotic safety, a failed two-point conversion. I am SO happy I don’t put actual money on these games. I would ruin my family.

The Saints have the ball, a five-point lead, and a pressing need for one more score to cover 9 points at home. Stupid Bears. There’s a glimmer of hope after Brees throws a bomb downfield, but shortly after Mark Ingram loses a fumble — his second of the game — and the Bears have a chance to win. (The Bears do not capitalize. The Saints kick a field goal at the end of the game to push the lead to 8. THANKS FOR NOTHING, JERK-ASS.)

— A Bengals defensive lineman makes an incredible play for a pick-6 that gives Cincy the lead. This game is still butt, but at least it’s functionally over.

— Wife and son and dog are back, and I dry my dog off with an old towel. When Stella gets wet, she obsesses over drying off. She gleefully wags her entire body into the towel, and she rubs her face in between my legs to dry her face off.

Yes, a 65-pound dog shoving its face under your crotch is disconcerting.

And in case you’re wondering, a 65-pound dog forcefully shoving her face under your crotch is SUPER disconcerting. I’ve had her for a decade, so I’m used to it now, but she’s also done it to strangers before. It’s a helluva way to meet your neighbors.

— Philip Rivers has no timeouts and a running clock to get a touchdown. And if you thought the self-fumble and sextuple-coverage heave was his two-play highlight of the day, AU CONTRAIRE. T’was merely an appetizer for this delicacy:

Philip Rivers emphatically celebrating a spike with 1 second left is the most Philip Rivers thing I've seen since Week 1 #Chargers http://pic.twitter.com/SOXBeKM78I

— Clay Wendler (@ClayWendler) October 29, 2017

The next and final play is an interception floated into the arms of a Pats defender. In fact, there seem to be about five Patriots closer to making a play on the ball than the nearest Charger.

Philip Rivers losing it dot gif http://pic.twitter.com/oSpwAlCBPX

— Vikings Blogger (@firstandskol) October 29, 2017

I’m gonna miss that guy when he’s gone.

LATE GAMES, FIRST HALF

— With six teams on bye, there are only two late games for RedZone to toggle between: Texans-Seahawks and Cowboys-Washington. They’re good games, but at some point I’d almost prefer a commercial break to Scott Hanson narrating sponsored highlights. “No commercials here on RedZone! And now for Fantasy Feedback, presented by Genesis.”

— As a Seahawks fan, I’m cautiously optimistic about today. I think the offense will perform well, and the run defense can bottle up Lamar Miller. I expect DeAndre Hopkins to win a couple battles versus Richard Sherman, but over the course of the game, I expect the defense and crowd to be a little too much for a rookie quarterback, even one as good as Deshaun Watson.

My biggest concern early is actually Will Fuller. If the Texans can get him the ball early, before the Seahawks have a chance to adjust to how fast he is ... oh look, RedZone’s flipping to Seattle now.

.@deshaunwatson goes DEEEEEP. And @Will_Fuller7 gets behind the LOB for SIX. #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/vDFvZPVeiG

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

CRAP.

— The Texans continue to movie the ball with ease, but on 3rd and 10 with the Texans in field goal range, Earl Thomas jumps a route and takes it for six the other way.

Know where @Earl_Thomas is on the field at ALL times... PICK-6. #Seahawks #LOB http://pic.twitter.com/j4EZXZHlMs

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Any time there’s an interception in the secondary, the analysts always say how the defensive back read the quarterback’s eyes. But there’s more to it than that:

Texans lined up Hopkins in the slot to get Sherman in space, Thomas had a pretty strong idea of where the ball was going.

— Bill Barnwell (@billbarnwell) October 29, 2017

Earl Thomas benefits from instincts and speed that most safeties would kill for, but he’s not just reading a quarterback’s eyes. Formations, route combinations, down and distance, and a quarterback’s tendencies all get plugged into a pre-snap calculus that helps Thomas figure out where the ball’s likely to go before the QB has even made a decision.

I’m not the kind of guy who watches All-22, but Earl Thomas makes me want to.

— Washington is wearing throwback uniforms, and I’m annoyed that their burgundies don’t match.

Photo by Patrick Smith/Getty Images

The jerseys are damn near purple, and while that may be partly due to the rain, the gold numbers are also markedly different than the yellow on the helmets.

And to you homers getting ready to mansplain it: I already KNOW that the NFL doesn’t let teams change their base helmets for any uniform. It’s a bad rule, and these uniforms look like ass because of it.

(Washington could have dealt with this by making the throwbacks match today’s helmets. All the old photos are black and white, who cares if the hue is historically accurate? I mean, if you want REALLY accurate Washington throwbacks, only the white players should wear them. Just the way George Marshall intended!)

— In an attempt to lessen our laundry workload by one percent, my wife tries to trick our daughter into organizing a pile of her socks into pairs. My daughter instantly recognizes that it’s a chore and hurls the socks around the room, resulting in one percent more work for us.

— Trailing 14-7, the Seahawks challenge a 3rd-and-2 incomplete pass. Russell Wilson had his throwing motion disrupted by Jadeveon Clowney, and Pete Carroll wants it ruled a fumble — the ball went downfield and was recovered by tight end Luke Willson.

This game is powered by hallucinogenic speedballs.

After review, the refs agree: First down, Seahawks. Finally, the Seahawks’ “Let defensive linemen assault our quarterback” offense is starting to pay off.

On the next play, Wilson throws a touchdown to Paul Richardson. It’s 14-14 in the first quarter, and this game is powered by hallucinogenic speedballs.

— The Cowboys go for it on 4th and 1 a few yards short of midfield. They’re down 10-7 early in the game — the circumstances aren’t dire, but it’s the sort of situation where the numbers say GO FOR IT while football coaches scream PUNT. It’s good to see Jason Garrett is willing to let his kickass line and Zeke Elliott execute those favorable odds. The Cowboys get the first.

— MIRACLE: Both of my kids are eating their dinner without complaint or hesitation. They ignore the TV to pay attention to the Halloween book my wife is reading. Years from now, when their grade school teacher praises their attention spans, I’m gonna get up in the middle of the parent-teacher conference and do Mick Jagger’s rooster strut.

— Crap, Will Fuller has another TD. Look at this awesome play design:

ANOTHER @Will_Fuller7 TD grab in Seattle! #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/4WroLy1s7A

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

Fuller now has seven touchdowns on, like, four catches this season.

Moments later, Russell Wilson responds with a downfield heave that Tanner McEvoy hauls in for a 53-yards gain. That sets up Paul Richardson’s second touchdown. Tie game again, 21-21.

— Washington kicks a field goal to go up 13-7. Or maybe 13-10? I dunno, it’s hard to pay much attention to this game. Dallas-Washington is like a football game in the rain when the other viewing option is a burning fireworks factory.

LATE GAMES, SECOND HALF

— Can I cut the bullshit for a second? I do not want to be a Seahawks fan narrating play-by-play for the game of the year that the Seahawks end up winning. That would be very fun to do for our Seahawks blog, but that’s more hollerin’ than I’d feel good about for this here national site.

From a slightly more objective viewpoint, I want to point out that the highlight package from this game is MORE THAN 12 MINUTES LONG. I’m going to embed the video even though the NFL usually blocks it from being played on any site but YouTube. That’s how good it is.

OK, back to diary mode. I promise: Minimal fist-pumping from here on out.

— After a sack pushes the Texans out of field goal range, Watson faces 3rd and 14. All he does is calmly avoid pressure, set up his downfield blocking (RIP Justin Coleman), and get just enough for the first down.

Patience. @DeshaunWatson sets up his blocking, rushes for first down. #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/lpLeEzEcnx

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

The Texans kick a field goal and retake the lead.

— The pot roast sauce is boiling, and my wife is busy giving our daughter a bath. I bring it down to a simmer, add a butter/flour mixture to thicken the sauce, and remove the scorched wood-handled spatula from its proximity to the burner. Man, a kitchen fire would have really spiced the end of this column up, huh?

— The Seahawks TWICE have to settle for field goals despite having the ball inside the Texans’ 5-yard line, and even though they have their first lead of the day, it feels like a missed opportunity. There’s no chance the Texans are done scoring touchdowns.

— Washington loses a fumble, and somewhere while I was paying attention to the better game, the Cowboys seized control of this game. With a better line and a better running game, the away team looks unlikely to cede the lead.

When the camera cuts to the sidelines, everyone looks miserable. And I don’t just mean the home team, I mean EVERYONE: the players, the fans, the camera operators, the refs. It’s SO MUCH rain. Playing sports in the rain can be fun, but I can’t imagine watching it for three hours while standing in a deluge. Not without Wellingtons, dry-fit winter socks, and three Camelbaks of whiskey and hot cider.

— I’ve been pausing RedZone on and off so I can help with the kids’ bedtime routine — bath time, pajamas, brushing teeth, etc. By the time they go to bed, the Cowboys are up by ten with a quarter to play, and there are 11 minutes left in the Texans-Seahawks game.

Rather than go haymaker-by-haymaker, I’m going to add up the numbers: In the final 11 minutes of that game, there are five plays of 34 yards or more, four touchdowns, and two interceptions. That’s half a season for the Browns!

— The pot roast is pretty good, by the way. Our entire apartment smells like red wine and red meat. Probably not worth the cost or the effort (in other words, a typical Ina Garten recipe), but this will be the foundation of three meals for us this week. Pre-made meals are the cornerstone of a good marriage when you have kids.

— Trailing by four, the Seahawks have 1:39 and no timeouts to get a touchdown. They go 80 yards in three plays. Paul Richardson goes up and steals a 48-yard bomb, Tyler Lockett snags a 19-yarder, and Jimmy Graham goes uncovered on the game-winning score. As a wildly cynical Seahawks fan, I am agog at the ease and speed with which they pull it off; I barely had time to worry about failure before they took the lead.

The defense does much the same thing: With two timeouts and 21 seconds, a game-tying field goal isn’t out of the question for the Texans -- it might even be an easy assumption given this game. But Frank Clark sacks Watson on first down, and Richard Sherman’s second pick ends the game. What an absolutely incredible game.

Two of the best in the game. #Seahawks #Texans http://pic.twitter.com/hlQx2dzYci

— NFL (@NFL) October 29, 2017

— It has come to my attention that I started Dak Prescott over Russell Wilson in fantasy football. WHOOPS.