#sorry if the pacing is weird

[zoroshark]

[Tears of the Kingdom]

So this comic was in the works around a few days after the last TOTK prelaunch trailer came out. At the time, I saw the leaked artbook where Rauru and Sonia were first shown off. So when I saw the trailer, a theory came into mind. Combining the older trailers with this one, I had a theory that something was going to happen to Sonia (who I nicknamed Basket before her name was revealed). So from that theory, I started drawing this comic. Sadly, things got in the way and I couldn’t finish it before the game came out. I still wanted to complete it so here it is.

*spoiler talk at the bottom*

So I watched the story cutscenes and a friend play the game, and it turns out I was on the right track. I dont know if I should pat myself in the back or be devastated by that fact.

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: New Normal P2: "Training"

Part 21...

Oh Mikey what have you done.

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[lost-in-fandoms]

This is inspired by my own post. Don't even look at me.

It's a long shot, and Daniel is perfectly aware of it as he rides the elevator up to Max's room, but he refuses to think too hard about it, afraid he will reconsider the sanity of it and turn back.

You see, they used to have this...thing, back in the day. It didn't happen often enough to give a name to it, but when Daniel got pole or won a race, Max would find him and get on his knees for him.

It had started in 2016, Max fresh faced and wide eyed, pulling him into the bathroom of the club they were in. Not in Monaco, not even Max was bold enough for that, but in Malaysia. It had been hot and wet, and Daniel had tangled his fingers in Max's sweaty hair, pulling hard enough to make tears spring in his blue eyes, before coming down his throat.

Their thing had always been one way only. Max had been the one getting on his knees, and Daniel had never offered to get him back. It had been a relief, when Max had started winning more than him, he didn't want to owe blowjobs that often. Not that Max would have hold him to that if Daniel didn't want to, but it would have been a matter of pride, and justice, or whatever.

Daniel has spent a lot of time in the last couple of years thinking about it. Not much about the act itself, even if he has gotten off to the memories of Max's mouth more times than he can count, but about the whole concept of it. He had started wondering if it had been Max's first (debatable, kid had been too sure of himself, but again Max always was), if Max had wanted more (probably, he had seen the looks he would get on his face sometimes), why Max had never tried to talk to him about it. Why Daniel, arguably the more mature of the two, hadn't done it. If Max still thought about it too. If he thought about it as much as Daniel did.

The last time they had done this it had been Monza, in 2021. Max had shoved in his motorhome, flushed and furious, and had sucked Daniel off with such a passionate drive it had felt like maybe he was trying to get Daniel's soul too. Or like maybe he was trying to suck Daniel's P1 out of him through his dick. It had been one of the best blowjobs of his life, had left him dazed and panting on the couch while Max had bit out a congratulations and stormed out again, his shoulders just marginally less stiff.

And now Daniel is in front of Max's door, with a P5 that feels like a P1, feeling like he's going to be taking a step right out of a plane.

He hears shuffling when he finally knocks, and it's only when he hears Max open the door that the uncertainty hits him in full force. He has not thought this through at all. Or well, he has, just not further than this. How do you ask someone "hey it's been almost three years but I would like to cash in a blowjob"??

Max looks...soft. He has a pair of sweats on, one of his white tshirts, hair freshly washed and unstyled. The blank expression and small polite smile he's sporting when he opens the door, as if he was expecting to have to send someone away, immediately morph into a blinding smile when he spots Daniel. It's always been so easy, at least for Daniel, to make Max smile like that.

"Daniel!" he says, eyes crinkling, moving to the side to let Daniel in without having to be asked.

"Hello, Max."

His room is fairly tidy, his luggage open in a corner with a few team shirts spilling out just as it had always been, but the blankets on the bed are all askew, a comfy little nest around Max's open laptop.

"Am I interrupting something?" Daniel asks, motioning towards it. He never knows when Max is working, watching something, or playing with his friends, but he hopes it's nothing important. If it's something important and Max sends him away, Daniel knows he will never find the guts to do this ever again.

"No," Max starts, then turns, smiling more, "well, yes. I was watching Lando's onboards. But they are not important now."

It hits him unexpectedly hard, the casual acknowledgement that Daniel's presence is more important than whatever Max was already planning for his evening. It's nothing new, but it's been a while since Daniel has felt it, the way Max loves him so simply. Since he has felt deserving of it.

Something must show on his face, because Max's smile turns soft as he sits down on the couch near the window, patting the space next to him for Daniel to join him.

"Why are you here?" From anyone else, it would sound rude, but Daniel has been used to Max's bluntness since day one, misses it sometimes these days, now that he's a little more careful with it, so he knows Max only means exactly what he's asking.

Daniel also knows this could be the moment to bring it up, his request, but it feels wrong to just barge in on Max's evening, get an orgasm and leave. Back then he would have done it, but they're both different people now.

"I wanted to see you, Maxy," he says, aiming for joke and hitting fond instead. It's not a lie, but the way Max goes all pink and pleased feels too dangerous for his heart, so Daniel redirects. "P2, yeah?"

It's enough to set Max off, talking about corners and turns and steering and this car. Not my car, Daniel notes. He's not surprised by the difference, but he wonders if Max means to make it so obvious, how he feels about this year's car. Or maybe Daniel is just really versed in Max-speak.

He also notices the tension around his eyes a couple of times, when Max mentions the team, and if it was another night he maybe would have asked; it never took much for Max to tell Daniel things, especially when he was unhappy about something. But today he got P5, and something about the blush growing on Max's cheeks as he gets more and more animated, making his eyes looks even more blue, firmly sets him back on jumping off the plane and send it plans.

He waits for Max to slow down a little, then nudges his calf with his foot, enjoying the way Max immediately reacts by jabbing a finger into Daniel's side, tension disappearing from his face.

"P5 is not P2, but it's still pretty good, right?"

Max's smile is his best one yet, all bright and proud as he nods, reaching for Daniel again to squeeze his shoulder.

"Of course, you have been very good today, Daniel! I am glad you are again feeling the car right."

Always so sweet and earnest. If he hadn't already teared up a little before press, face hidden in Blake's shoulder, Daniel would have probably done it now. As it is, he just smiles back, lets Max talk through his lap, quietly pleased by the knowledge that Max had obviously watched his onboard already, before Lando's. Maybe, if he dares to hope it, even before George's.

It's probably that, feeling like he's still important to Max, what gives him the confidence to throw things into motion.

"Feels like a P1, mate."

For a split second, he doesn't know what to expect. Will Max understand what he means? Maybe Max has not been thinking about their past times together, maybe saying P1 will mean nothing to him, maybe he will just go on another rant on how different P1 is of course from P5. Or maybe he will understand Daniel, and he will just slide off the couch and onto his knees, and Daniel won't have to say anything else.

Max, obviously, because he's Max, does neither thing.

His expression changes, something focused and pinched, as he tilts his head a little and stares at Daniel, lips slightly pursed.

"You want to feel like P1?" he asks. To someone else it would sound like a perfectly normal question, but Daniel knows that Max has understood, because somehow Max always gets him, even now. He also knows that he will not get out of this without talking about it at least a little. They're both different people, he has to remind himself. He's not the only one who's changed.

He nods, because he's not one to go back on his steps when he's already decided to send it, but he doesn't say anything else.

Max still looks deep in thought.

"We..." he starts, then immediately changes trajectory, "I can. If that is what you want."

As if Daniel might have walked all the way over without wanting this, without wanting Max. He nods again, watches as Max shifts a little, eyes flicking down to Daniel's lap, then to his own hands. His ears are red.

"Why now?" he blurts out, fingers twisting together. "You have of course got P5 before, but you have never come to me."

For a second, Daniel feels breathless with the knowledge that this whole time, Max would have been willing. This whole time, he could have asked and Max would have said yes, even after all these years, even after his championships, even after 2022.

"It didn't feel the same," he answers, before adding in a whisper, a belated confession, "I missed you."

He sees the way Max's shoulders jolt, his head snapping up again, eyes wide and surprised. Daniel doesn't get it, they have said it before, but he doesn't get time to dwell on it before Max is smiling again, grabbing a pillow and gracelessly following it on the floor.

Suddenly, just from seeing Max on his knees, Daniel is half hard. No wanking memory could hold a light to the real thing, to Max, broad and solid and real.

He lets Max get his hands on his legs, spreading them gently and shuffling forward, fingers sliding up to his thighs. It's hard to swallow now, the air in the room suddenly heavy with anticipation.

"I have missed you," Max rasps, kneading at Daniel's legs, not even reaching for his waistband yet. "I have missed doing this for you."

Daniel closes his eyes, lets his head fall back, but he regrets it immediately when he realizes it means not looking at Max anymore. Max, who's now looking up at him, pupils blown and lips red. For a moment, Daniel wishes things were different, wishes this thing was one where they kissed too, where he got to drag Max in his lap and get to touch him, feel all the way he's different now.

"Up," is all Max says, breaking his dangerous train of thought, and Daniel just obeys, lifting his hips and letting Max take down his pants, leaving them pooled at his ankles.

He's sure he's imagining the sigh Max lets out, the way his fingers are trembling a little when they reach just barely inside his underwear, grazing the top of his thigh.

And then Max leans forward and licks over one of Daniel's tattoos.

The sound Daniel lets out is a mix of a yelp and a moan. He can feel the little shit smiling against his skin, right before he does it again, adding a bite at the end, followed by an apology kiss, and this too is different from how they used to do it, quick and dirty, straight to the prize. Daniel is not going to complain.

Max takes his time, kissing and licking his way up his tattoos, until his nose hits the side of Daniel's clothed dick, now well on its way to fully hard.

"Hello," Max whispers, like a nerd, flashing a cheeky smile up at Daniel, who's tempted to swat at him until Max opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head of his cock, underwear and all.

Daniel barely has time to squeak out a curse, hips bucking up in surprise, before Max steps back, smile gone. When he looks up again, he looks so intensely hungry Daniel struggles to swallow, and for his next revelation of the day, he understands that the gangly and overenthusiastic teenager who had drooled all over his dick in a club in Malaysia must have gained quite a lot of experience since then.

He refuses to analyze how that makes him feel, at least for now.

Max doesn't waste any more time, luckily, since Daniel is now hot and straining, making quick work of Daniel's boxers and of putting his mouth on him. For a second, with Max's lips around his tip, Daniel gets thrown back in time, and maybe things are not so different after all. Then Max takes a breath and sinks all the way down.

"What the...shit!" Daniel swears, scrambling for something to hold onto and finding Max's shoulders, as his brain goes completely blank, fuzzy with static and pleasure.

Yes, Max has definitely gotten more experience, because what the fuck is this. He's still enthusiastic, moaning and drooling around Daniel, tongue swirling as if his dick is some sort of delicacy, but the technique is different now. It's like he graduated in cock sucking or something, like he's trying to prove he's not only a racing champion, but a sex champion, or maybe like he's trying to kill Daniel. Or all three together.

Daniel knows he's being loud, moans and swears tumbling from his lips without hope of being restrained, but it seems to only spur Max on, as he fucking deepthroats him again with no sign of gagging. What the fuck.

"Max, Maxy, babe," Daniel tugs at Max's hair, struggling to string enough words together to let him know that, embarrassingly, he's already close, but all that does is make Max moan, the vibration of it feeling like sparks up Daniel's back.

Luckily, Max seems to still get the message though, because he lets up a little, gently suckling at Daniel's tip, pressing a kiss to it before pulling back completely to look up at Daniel.

He's like a vision, cheeks red and eyes bright, mouth spit slicked and a bit swollen, hair falling on his forehead, and Daniel's desire to kiss him comes back in full force. Again, almost as if he was reading it on Daniel's face, Max stops that particular train of though.

"Can I swallow?" Max asks, voice rough, as if it is a totally normal question and not a way to make Daniel feel like he's going to die on the spot.

"Do you want to?" Somehow, Daniel's voice is worse than Max's, all breathy and fucked up, and he can see Max being pleased about it. Menace.

"I always want to."

Max always used to, even back then, but Daniel had never questioned if it was because he thought that was how it was supposed to be or because he wanted to. Having the answer now is devastating. He groans, letting his head fall back and nodding weakly, hoping Max will just have mercy on him and finally kill him, but it doesn't seem good enough for the other, who reaches up to grab Daniel's chin, gently but firmly pulling his head back down.

"Yes?"

Daniel is acutely aware he had never explicitly asked for consent before, and neither had Max.

Things are different now.

"Yes."

It doesn't take long after that, Max throwing himself back into it like a man starved, and Daniel falling apart under him, unable to control his hands, his hips or the volume of his voice. He swears Max moans when Daniel finally comes down his throat, shaking and twitching as Max sucks him through it. He's still dazed and out of it while Max helps him back into his clothes, fondly patting his dick before tucking it in, and he can only watch as Max hauls himself to his feet again, wincing slightly, and dropping back on the couch next to Daniel.

"Good?" Max asks, because he's a nerd and a little shit.

Daniel limply hits him with his eyes still closed, feeling himself smile in response to Max's laugh.

This is different too, he distantly thinks. Usually it was Max coming to him, and he would always leave immediately after, never hanging out for Daniel's comedown. Now, when he finally opens his eyes, Max is curled up next to him, still looking flushed and happy. Still obviously hard.

Things are different now, Daniel reminds himself, checking with himself for a second as he reaches forward to tap on Max's knee.

"Want help with that?"

[seldomsee]

ok not to be a hater but

They replaced this really cool moment where Khun recognizes Bam through his vocal tic of calling everyone Mr. or Ms. with this generic line

for no reason that I can comprehend

[sarcasticratsims]

He does have the nosey trait... After coming home from the record store and deciding not to mention the odd confrontation to Sam, Roy does some investigating on Simstagram.

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[somethingsomethingrenga]

I really wanted to draw them in Miya's school uniform :3 Also baby version, because middle schoolers are basically babies to me anyways

Poor Langa forgot he doesn't need his winter wear at his new school - but Reki saw they were both wearing green and decided they were besties!

[royjamierot]

Roy/Jamie fic idea: Jamie is actually more deeply hurt about Roy duping him into going out for that beer. He’s actually in love with Roy and just went along to Keeley’s because he was pissed. Jamie starts to withdraw from Roy, who’s still being stubbornly dense. Roy realizes eventually and had to figure out how to get his best friend/the prick he might have feeling for in turn back

ahhh thank you!! i had so much fun writing this!! i really appreciate the request! sorry it took so long to get it out, i hope you enjoy it. this is a little different than what you asked but in my defense i kinda took it and ran

Jamie runs the night over in his head again. He thinks about the way Roy had asked him to come out with him. He replays how Roy had said he was proud of him.

It's been hours since it happened, but Jamie stands in his kitchen, thinking about how Roy said he was proud. It still makes something inside him twist. He wants to hear it again, and he knows it'll keep replaying even if it was just a fuckin' lead in to Roy telling Jamie he was getting back with Keeley. It was all a lead up to Roy saying that he knew Jamie had feelings for her, but they were starting something back up. Basically that he should stay out of the way.

Such bullshit.

Jamie takes a deep breath, puts his hands out on the table in front of him. He's back home, in his kitchen, and he meant to make something to eat but he's been standing still replaying the conversation over and over again.

There was that stupid thought in his mind, that the trip to the bar was a date. Everything they had done before, just the two of them, had always been followed by or preceded by training. This was the first time Roy invited him out, to a bar, to let him drink and everything. So something stupid and deep inside of him hoped and let himself think it was a date.

He had sat down, and Roy had sat down right next to him. The memory of it still lights him up. He wishes he could still feel Roy's side pressed against him. He's not sure he'll ever get that warmth again.

He had looked at Roy so fondly, and Roy looked back, and said he was proud. Jamie is sure he blushed. It was so good. It was everything he had ever wanted. He had gotten ahead of himself. In hindsight, he had gotten too excited and assumed things he wasn't told explicitly. That's his fault.

But he was so excited. There was a warmth on his cheeks and his lips that he wanted to share with the man next to him. Roy was being so kind, and he invited him out but-

Then Roy had said "I know you have a lot of feelings for Keeley-" and his stomach dropped right there. Everything he said after that mattered but also it didn't, because only then Jamie realized it wasn't a date to Roy.

It was like there was a sharp poke to the muscle around his heart, and there was a surge of pain and resistance.

Jamie doesn't know how it happened so fast, but suddenly he wanted to scream at Roy. He wanted to tell him he was the densest man Jamie knew, tell him that it's not Keeley Jamie has feelings for.

Jamie didn't say any of that.

It wouldn't have changed anything, probably would have made it all worse.

He hadn't screamed at Roy. He just pretended every feeling of anger eating him up then was about Keeley. It was easier that way. It was easier to fight and push and insult and make up over shared stupidity than it was to say something true.

Jamie snaps to reality when he accidentally tips a cup over when his shaking hand brushes it.

He sighs and picks the cup up and puts it in his sink.

His mind won't do anything besides run the night around over and over, hoping to find some proof it all didn't happen or-

Or that Roy feels the same way for Jamie.

Jamie's traitorous heart still hopes.

Even now, after relentlessly picking apart the night, Jamie hopes for something impossible.

He had let himself hope too much and he was let down. It's the hope that kills you, he thinks.

Another deep breath, another look around his kitchen. He eyes his freezer, says fuck it, and pulls out the pint of ice cream he bought specifically for Roy when he's over. Roy doesn't deserve it anymore and Jamie wants to wallow like he just got broken up with.

If you told Jamie a year ago that his self proclaimed cheat day consisted of one singular beer and a half eaten pint of rocky road, he would have called you insane. If you told him he was in his feelings about Roy Kent, he would be marginally less surprised. His feelings about Roy aren't exactly new. He's self aware enough to know that.

He plops himself down at the telly, turns on whatever show was first on his continue watching, and promptly passes out before he can even get a fifth bite of ice cream in. So much for a cheat day.

Jamie doesn't sleep easy or comfortably. He has a vague nightmare where a growly voice calls him stupid for ever hoping for something more. Jamie knows who the voice is, but even his subconscious isn't cruel enough to put Roy's face to the voice.

He wakes up to the sound of pounding on his door. He can't make sense of where he is for a moment, cause he's not in bed, but then he sees the cup of melted ice cream still in his lap (thankfully not spilled) and it all comes flooding back.

Fuck.

He pads his way over to the door, not bothering to check the time because he can see it's still pitch black outside and by the way Roy is banging on the door he's probably late. A little after four AM then.

He opens the door mid knock, and he's greeted with an angry, and then confused Roy Kent.

Before saying anything, Roy reaches up towards Jamie's face. Jamie snaps back.

"What the fuck mate?" He looks at Roy incredulously. He'd like to think he didn't flinch, but he knows he did.

Roy sort of stills with his hand in the air for a split second before touching his own face.

"You've got somethin'- What is that?" Roy rubs at the spot on the edge of his mouth.

"What- Oh." Jamie mirrors him, and sure enough there's ice cream dried on the corner of his mouth.

Roy's hand drops to his side and Jamie realizes with a flush to his face that Roy was going to rub it off himself before Jamie jumped back.

He tries to not let himself think about it. He can't.

Except, well, he can. It'd be so easy to think about Roy's hand on his face, it'd be so easy to wonder what Roy's thumb on his face would be like. He could think about all of these. But he won't think about all of this.

That's the difference. He won't.

"You look like shit." Says Roy with a skeptical look, and Jamie straightens his back and doesn't let himself back down from Roy's analytical eyes.

"Fuck you too, grandad. Maybe you need some glasses in your old age." Jamie snaps, and it's harsher than he meant it to be, but whatever. Serves him right.

Roy looks taken aback, almost confused again, and Jamie can't fucking stand it. It's too early for this. He can't look at Roy's face anymore.

"I'm gonna go get changed." Jamie says, and he closes the door on Roy before he can even say anything. He would usually invite him in but it's that kind of shit that made Jamie hope in the first place. They're friends, and that's exactly why Jamie needs to put this distance here.

Jamie bounds up the stairs and grabs a shirt and shorts that are a touch too tight, and Jamie still can't help but wonder what Roy will think of it.

He feels like he's gonna throw up. Roy doesn't want him like Jamie wants him to.

He's back down the stairs, and he fills up a water bottle. He frowns at the way he notices his hands are still shaking while he fills up the bottle.

He screws the lid on, and goes back to the front door. Another deep breath, and he's back outside. He doesn't look at Roy before shrugging his way past. He takes off in a jog that's just a little to fast to the point that he knows Roy can't keep up.

Jamie doesn't want to talk to him right now.

He runs too hard, stretches thoroughly, and ignores the screaming from his body when he works too hard just to make sure Roy can't criticize him for anything. Jamie pretends he doesn't notice Roy's eyes on him at any given time, or the way he squints like Jamie is a puzzle he can't find the missing pieces to.

It continues that way for a while. It's uncomfortably silent, and Jamie prays Roy can feel it. He wants Roy to feel a fraction of what Jamie feels.

Something ugly builds in Jamie in place of the silence. Something so angry and vindictive and jealous. He can't stand the way Roy doesn't say anything, doesn't apologize. If anything their little hissy fit was Roy's fault.

Then that anger gets dislodged a bit when Roy grunts out "good job" and Jamie feels his flush face despite himself.

Until he reminds himself that he's not supposed to react that way.

Then Jamie wants to cry again. How could he be so stupid to hope. It's the hope that kills you, he tells himself again.

He thinks he'll never hope again.

He'll move on.

Jamie is doing burpees now. Faster than he's ever done them. Jamie can feel Roy watching him, and he fights the bile building in his throat. Not well enough, of course. He pukes into a bush on the edge of the cluster of trees bordering this park. Nothing really comes up because he didn't eat this morning and the only thing he ate last night was ice cream.

A drink of water, and he's back to the burpees. He's going even faster than before. Everything fucking burns and he wants to go home, he wants to be alone.

"Oi! Tartt-" So much for Roy not talking to him. "You're working yourself harder than I do. Take a seat." He gestures to the bench next to him, but Jamie sits on the grass where he was standing.

Jamie sits and looks at everything besides Roy to the right of him. It's nice out. Jamie can imagine himself and Roy joking around if it was any other day. The thought makes him sick.

"Jamie-" And Jamie does not look at Roy then. He freezes at his first name, he freezes at the tone of his voice. It's so much softer than before.

"I'm sorry about last night. I was stupid and Keeley isn't an object and I had no right to claim her like I did and..." Roy talks slow, like it pains him to say it. "I wasn't just being nice, I don't want our feelings for her to get in they way of our friendship."

At that Jamie does look at him, for the first time since he showed up at Jamie's door. He looks so fucking sorry, and his eyes are wide in the way Jamie has only seen when he's worried about him. He says all this but he still doesn't fucking get why Jamie is upset. Roy tricked him! Jamie thought they were going out, and they weren't, it was all so Roy could say Keeley was his. That stupid adoration inside Jamie made him crave that ownership from Roy, but it was always impossible.

Jamie feels angry again, angry about 'our feelings for her' and 'friendship'. It's annoying how much Jamie feels about all of this. It takes over his body in a way he tries to hold back. It frightens him, the anger. He's scared of hurting people again. Scared of hurting Roy. He's not sure he'll ever escape the anger. It's a part of him he thinks. It eats at his insides and tries to undo every nice thing Jamie's ever done for Roy, every feeling of companionship.

Another wave of nausea overwhelms his senses and forces his eyes shut, trying to keep every cruel word from his mouth.

Despite it all he wants to hurt Roy the way he hurts and also deep inside that's the last thing he's ever wanted. He wants to call him an old twat. He craves to admit he's the best friend he's ever had and that he'd spend every morning and night with him.

And also he wants to say he's sorry too. Taking accountability and all that. He did rip Roy's shirt and insult him a lot.

His two sides fight internally, and he has to keep the nausea and the mean shit from escaping him. Roy is barely there to him anymore, it's just his own circling thoughts, his own whirlwind.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Roy. Who's still taking him apart with those annoyingly handsome worried eyes.

"Thanks." Is the only word that leaves Jamie. It's not an apology but it's not an insult either. Jamie grunts as he stands, and he thinks about throwing in a 'grandad' there too.

He doesn't.

Instead he turns, and starts walking. Walking away. It's a few moments before Roy is up and right behind him. Jamie can't stand it, he just needs to be away. If he's next to Roy for any longer his mind will keep going about his stupid anger and his even stupider love.

Because he knows that's what it is, love. Jamie doesn't fall often and when he does he falls hard.

What a fucking realization to have while walking away from the man you fell for.

He feels fingertips brush his hand, trying to grab it.

"Jamie-" Roy sounds confused. Jamie thinks he'll do something stupid if he turns around.

He runs. He takes off sprinting. He'd be using this sort of pace on the pitch. He runs and runs until he's out of the park, and then he runs some more until he's home.

That's the only solution he feels like he's ever known. He knows how to run. It's way easier than looking at Roy again and explaining the reason he's so upset is that he's actually in love with the twat.

He slams his front door behind him and realizes he left his water bottle at the park.

Whatever. Deep breath. He can buy another one.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Deep breath. It's not Roy. He ignores it.

It's like that for a bit. He's sort of catatonic besides the purposeful deep breaths he takes, like Dr. Fieldstone taught him. His mind races with the same thoughts that they were before, somewhat subdued since Roy isn't right next to him anymore.

He wonders what Roy thinks about his behavior. Obviously he thinks this morning was about Keeley. He's not even sure why Roy is so hung up on Jamie having feelings for Keeley. He hasn't had feelings for her in a while. Why does he think Jamie's in love with her?

He doesn't get it.

The rest of Jamie's day is half hearted. He watches TV. Makes a sandwich. Buys another pint of ice cream. Eats the whole thing. He finds now he can't really give a shit about what Roy told him to do, at least not while Roy isn't here.

He passes out in front of the TV again, this time the pint of ice cream is fully eaten. Even if his stomach is gonna hate him for it in the morning.

Another restless sleep.

Another early morning for Jamie, who's awoken to pounding on the door.

He stands up and places an empty ice cream pint on the kitchen counter.

Same thing as yesterday, he goes to the door and opens it, and hopefully convincingly glares at Roy.

"I'm sick." Jamie says before even thinking.

"No you're fucking not. Listen, I let you have your space yesterday especially after the shit with Keeley but you cannot run away from training and you can't-" Roy momentarily cuts himself off.

"You're my fucking friend Tartt, and my player, and this shouldn't get in the way of that. Grow up." Roy grunts instead, and furthers his statement with a point at Jamie's shoulder.

That ugly emotional thing is back in Jamie's chest, and he has felt too many fucking emotions the past few days. Grow up? He's grown the fuck up, he knows how he feels, it's not his fault Roy is oblivious to what's right in front of him. It's like he's rubbing in his feelings for Keeley every possible second he can. It makes Jamie sick to his stomach. He's never been good with jealousy.

"Any advice on how to do that, grandad?" He snaps back, and that stupid thing inside him starts mixing with guilt. He doesn't like being cruel. He doesn't know why he is.

Roy is glaring at him until his attention snaps to something behind him. Jamie turns to see what he's staring at, but as he does Roy brushes past his shoulder as he walks in.

"Fucking hell mate, didn't your mum ever teach ya' some manners?" Jamie half shouts at Roy and doesn't notice what he's walking towards.

"The fuck is this?" Roy is holding up the empty ice cream pint that Jamie had left open on the kitchen counter. Shit. Fuck. He had been fine with ignoring Roy's direction without him knowing but-

"What's it look like?" Jamie snaps, because he doesn't know how to deescalate. Because he doesn't want to. He wants Roy to yell at him because he wants a reason to hate him. There's a hope that Roy will do something that justifies the terrible emotions in Jamie's chest.

Jamie looks at Roy waiting for anything that will make him feel less guilty for the anger inside of him.

Instead, Roy sighs, and throws the empty pint in the trash. He walks over to Jamie, who squares up his shoulders and stands a little taller, prepared for yelling. Prepared for a fight. Just instinct, innit?

Roy stops a few feet in front of him, and Jamie eyes him cautiously. He's staring at Jamie like he's trying to communicate something telepathically. Jamie doesn't get whatever he's trying to say.

"Can we talk about this?" Roy asks.

"The ice cream?" Jamie asks incredulously.

"No, fucking- Us. Can we talk about us?" Roy groans. It's like a punch to the gut. Roy is fucking trying to talk to him about his emotions, about their relationship. All of this while Jamie is standing in front of him, praying he'll get frustrated and leave like most of the other people in Jamie's life. It'd be easier to move on that way, if Roy was an asshole.

Roy isn't like he used to be though, and neither is Jamie. They wouldn't be here, in Jamie's kitchen, talking about their relationship, if they were like they used to be. Jamie hasn't wished it before, but in this moment he wishes they were like they used to be.

But, well, he doesn't wish that at all, because he can tell Roy is so confused and Jamie doesn't know what to do.

What are they doing?

They stand in front of each other in an uncomfortable stretching silence. Jamie considers why they're here.

They're friends fighting over a girl. That's all they're supposed to be. Roy wants Jamie to get over it and explain why he's still upset, but if Jamie says anything about anything he'll end up saying something he regrets. Something too mean or something too true, it's all the same result. Losing Roy.

It's silent as Roy stares at Jamie, who's trying to piece together what to say without getting overwhelmed over basically nothing.

Deep breath.

"What is there to say? We both-" Jamie is cut off by a break in his own voice. "We both want what we can't have."

"Right, we both can't have her, so why are you so fucking mad still?" Roy says.

Jamie hasn't wanted Keeley in a while. All of this had been on the assumption from Roy that he still loved her which he doesn't. If only Roy could see that. He's sure it's obvious to everyone else around him.

"You have no fucking idea." Jamie says, and he knows he shouldn't but he sort of laughs at how oblivious Roy is.

"What?" Roy snaps, and Jamie wishes he could go back to two days ago when he was in love and still hoping Roy felt the same way. Right now he's in love and trying not to pick another fight with his favorite person in the world.

"Can you just go, mate, please?" Jamie groans.

"You're supposed to be training right now." Roy says. It's not even stern or commanding, it sounds like a plea. Jamie wants to punch him in the stomach, kiss him on the lips. He doesn't want Roy to leave, but he needs that to happen, otherwise he'll do something stupid.

Like punch him. Or kiss him.

Jamie tightens his jaw and stares Roy down, silently begging for the mercy of abandonment.

"I just don't understand. Keeley said you haven't tried to talk to her since we went to her house-" Roy has talked to Keeley about Jamie? " -and now you look like shit and you're running away and you won't talk to me and I don't understand what the fuck is wrong."

"I wish you didn't give a shit, that was easier." Jamie snaps and turns away, not even thinking about what he's saying.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Roy asks, and Jamie needs him to leave. Everything he's felt in the past 48 hours is building inside of him again. Every hurt feeling and shameful and soft enough.

His hands find purchase in the countertop he now holds himself against. He leans over his sink, facing the wall and pointedly not Roy. It's easier to speak when he's not staring directly at the thing making his life so much more complicated.

"Please just go-" He grunts, once again hoping for something he knows is impossible.

This conversation is short but with the way Jamie's mind is racing it feels like hours.

"I'm not going until you explain what the fuck is wrong." Roy sighs, and Jamie groans.

That unnameable beast inside of him rears its ugly head and forces Jamie to take what he wants even if it'll ruin all of this.

Something inside him snaps, and he does it.

Something stupid.

He turns and doesn't look at Roy before he kisses him. Because he's a stupid twat who knows this will further ruin whatever they already have. He'll get pushed off, and he'll die of embarrassment and transfer to a new club, fuck off to America if no one will take him.

Jamie kisses Roy softly, chastely, contrasting with the way he stormed over to Roy. There's the scratch of his beard, and his surprisingly soft lips, and Jamie wishes again. He wishes this wasn't happening like this.

It's over in a second and there's not a second before he's talking again.

Holding back tears, he says "It wasn't about Keeley. It was about you, you stupid twat."

Jamie is staring at the floor when he says it, before promptly turning on his heel and once again making a run for it. Everything inside of him is gone, washed away by the tide of mind numbing emptiness.

"I'm sorry." Jamie murmers back as he makes a start to dash up the stairs.

Jamie is already crushed by the weight of his own shame for doing that, for pushing himself on Roy. He had gotten better about his impulses, but he's still Jamie, a fact that disappoints himself almost daily. He'll never not be himself.

He's not three steps away before a hand catches his wrist and pulls him back.

A solid hand steadies him when he stumbles back, and another hand cups his face far more gently than he deserves.

Fucking hell.

Roy is kissing him. Roy is kissing him back, really kissing him, and Jamie is just standing here. Roy's hands hold Jamie's face, and his wrist, and he's kissing him.

The shock barely wears off in the few seconds before Jamie is kissing back. Holy shit. This is real.

He's at a loss for a way to describe the way he lights up. A candle could take his place and Jamie doesn't think it'd be any warmer or brighter than he feels.

The kiss is almost familiar, and sort of pushy and insistent. It's Roy fucking Kent.

It's not enough before Roy pulls back. Jamie holds back from chasing his lips.

Jamie inhales sharply and opens his eyes to see Roy in front of him looking so fond and so handsome.

"Jamie- I'm sorry. I like you too." He murmers.

That does a number on Jamie too.

What the fuck? Jamie thinks.

"What the fuck?" He also says it out loud. "But you like Keeley-"

"I was- um-" Roy suddenly looks squeamish and now he won't meet Jamie's eyes. "I was jealous of Keeley, I think. I saw you two talking and I thought I was jealous of you but-" He waves his hand between the two of them.

Jamie can't help the way he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach at the fact that Roy just admitted he was jealous of Keeley for just talking to Jamie.

"Oh. Oh." Jamie breathes out softly, scared that if he talks too loud it'll ruin the delicate admission.

"Yeah. I didn't realize until last night when I realized I had thought about you and fucking worried about you more than I had thought about Keeley in a while."

"You're so stupid." Jamie laughs to himself, pulling Roy into a hug just a touch too tight.

"Fuck off, what?" Roy says right next to Jamie's ear.

"I'm so down bad for you mate, you have no clue." Jamie smiles into Roy's neck.

There's a new overwhelming thing inside of him, warm and burning in a pleasant way. He wants to kiss him again.

So he does.

"We can talk about this later, can I kiss you?" Jamie asks, and Roy nods, and it's like nothing happened in the past day.

Jamie no longer has to fight those emotions inside himself and it's a breath of fresh air after having nearly drowned. Jamie knows the anger but this is new. The rainbow after the rain.

He could live in this moment forever.

[athina-blaine]

man the griffin soup chapter and the changeling chapter really just happened to fall into the same episode bracket huh ...

[wpmz]

weird ad i just got while looking up whether acetaminophen or ibuprofen is better for headaches

[thatonegayship]

I loved the cowboy comic so much that I wrote a oneshot for it. https://archiveofourown.org/works/50934235 🥺 your art is BEYOND amazing, ty for the food

INCREDIBLE!!!!!

[nowordsformylove]

[youhavethewrong]

do you guys remember when Attack On Titan had a fucking Looney Tunes Babies style spin off where all the characters were in junior high and the titans were just bullies and eren was mad at them because they ate his hamburg steak and it was legitimately better than the original

[yuckydraws]

Sleepless, Snowy Nights

Pairing: (Wine/reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh as you watch the falling snow, your breath clouding around you for a moment, before dissipating. You have work in a few hours. You should at least try to get some sleep. Yet, your bare feet don’t move from the cold concrete of the back patio. The brisk chill of the winter air should feel frigid, but after the nightmare you just had, it grounds you. These past few days have been full of stressful, restless nights, and you’re starting to feel the effects.

The end of December, and the first snow of the season is finally here. Chunky, full flakes fall delicately on the grass, slowly yet surely covering up the green.

It’ll be a snow day tomorr- er, later today.

But for now? It’s just quiet. A quiet that only a good night-snow creates. Cars rarely fill up the roads, it’s too early for the plows to be out, and it almost seems as though everyone else in the world is peacefully asleep.

Except you.

“MY LOVE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE IN JUST YOUR PAJAMAS?” You hear your ‘mate’s voice call as the back door creaks open.

And Wine, apparently.

“Just watching the snow.” You answer softly, exhaustion creeping into your voice.

You turn your head to peek at him over your shoulder, to find him approaching you with a blanket. He drapes it over your shoulders, effectively covering most of your body, besides your feet. It doesn’t take him long to notice that, either, because just as he settles in, hugging you from behind, he lets out a small gasp and pauses in the kiss he was about to leave on your shoulder.

“STARS! NO SHOES EITHER? ARE YOU TRYING TO GET SICK?” He chastises, adjusting his hold so that he can instead scoop you off of your feet - holding you in a “princess” style. Once there, he uses his blue magic to tuck your toes under the blanket and cocoon you in. “THERE.” He smiles, satisfied with his work, only to falter when he meets your tired gaze.

“… WHAT’S GOING ON?”

That’s all it takes for your lip to start quivering, and your eyes to well up with tears.

“Oh Dear, Let’s Get You Inside, Hm?” You just bury your face into his chest to avoid answering.

You hate crying.

Shaking, whether from the cold or from the pure exhaustion you’re experiencing, you’re not entirely sure. Nor do you really care.

Wine squeezes you close to him, opening the door with his magic, and closing it behind him. You hadn’t realized just how cold you were until the warm air from your heated home engulfs you.

He doesn’t take you all the way to bed, like you were expecting him to. Instead, he beelines to the living room, carefully sitting on the couch, cradling you in his lap. You just let him adjust your body, too tired to bring your face from its hiding spot. His carefully manicured claws move to stroke your hair, and you feel his worried him reverberate through his ribcage from where your face his pressed against him.

He doesn’t push, or prod, or rush you, he simply lets you release a little bit of that stress into the embrace - and it doesn’t take long for your tears to slow to a stop.

Even crying seems to take up too much energy.

You risk peeking up at your ‘mate… only to find those knowing lights of his trained on your face.

There’s no hiding from Wine. Stars knows you’ve tried.

“IS THIS ABOUT YOUR DOG?”

“… kinda.”

“THE HARDEST PART IS OVER. HE’S OKAY. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S NOT OKAY. DON’T THINK I HAVEN’T NOTICED HOW YOU’VE BEEN SLIPPING AWAY FROM BED AFTER YOU THINK I’VE FALLEN ASLEEP.”

Busted.

“I-I just didn’t want to wake you. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

“I BEG TO DIFFER, WE BOTH KNOW THAT I RUN JUST FINE ON A FEW HOURS OF SLEEP. YOU, HOWEVER, BECOME A WALKING ZOMBIE.”

You scoff.

“I do not.”

He deadpans.

“BUN, WHY ELSE WOULD I FIND YOU HALF NAKED OUTSIDE IN THE SNOW?”

“… I don’t find you funny.”

“THAT LITTLE SMILE YOU’RE TRYING TO HIDE SAYS OTHERWISE.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face.”

“NEVER.”

You grumble, knowing you’ve ‘lost’ this round. He is right, though, you can’t keep having sleepless nights… it’s really getting to you.

“WHY IS THIS HINDERING YOUR SLEEP? I KNOW YOU’RE WORRIED, BUT-”

“What if I wake up and he’s gone?” You interrupt, causing his jaw to click shut as his sockets widen ever so slightly. “A-and I would’ve had the chance to help but I was fucking sleeping, and he was just alone in the end?”

Oh, well, hello tears, nice of you to make another appearance.

“Oh, My Love… I Hadn’t Realized This Was Getting To You That Much. I Am So Sorry I Assumed You Were Okay.”

“‘s fine.” You croak, wiping at your face.

“It’s Not, Though, I Did Exactly What Those Assholes Used To Do To You.”

You bite your lip to hold back a rising sob, taking a deep breath, instead. Your next words need to be spoken with certainty, not shakiness.

“You’re not them. You couldn’t be, even if you tried. Despite not being a big fan of dogs, you’ve been loads more supportive than they ever were.”

“I Appreciate That, But I Should’ve Been More Mindful, I’m Sorry.”

In lieu of answering, you just reach up to flick his nasal cavity, causing him to scrunch his face up a bit.

“Stop apologizing for something that isn’t your fault.”

“OKAY, OKAY.” He cracks a smile at you. “BUT, YOU KNOW… YOU ARE SAFE TO SLEEP.”

“B-but-”

“HE’S OKAY. HE’S JUST RECOVERING AND HE NEEDS TIME. AND SLEEP. JUST LIKE YOU, BUN.”

“Okay, b-”

“AND, WE HAVE THE WORLD’S BEST ALARM SYSTEM, ON THE VERY UNLIKELY CHANCE SOMETHING DOES HAPPEN - HIS SISTER WON’T LET HIM MAKE A PEEP OF STRUGGLE WITHOUT ALERTING THE WHOLE HOUSE.”

You snort.

“… I guess you’re right.”

“I THINK YOU WILL FIND THAT I USUALLY AM.”

“Okay, mister, tone it down.”

“ONLY BECAUSE YOU’RE SO TIRED.”

“Lucky me.”

He just chuckles at your grumpiness, leaning down to press a skele-kiss to your temple. You can’t help but lean into the affection.

“MAY I BRING YOU BACK TO BED?”

“Are you coming on to me right now?” You tease, earning you a roll of his eye-lights. Your giggle turns into a squeak when he pinches your bum and all but tosses you over his shoulder as he stands up.

“ALWAYS, BUT WE BOTH KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE THAT ENERGY RIGHT NOW, SO HUSH UP.”

“Ppppprrt.” You blow a raspberry in response.

“MATURE.”

Your cackling takes on a little bit of a hysterical form, but it feels good to be laughing.

It’ll be okay.

[july-19th-club]

love season 2. i'm concussions! and i'm psychic visions! the headache brothers

[cowsaresushi-coral]

feelin' weirdly dispassionate

all i do is study, sleep, game. i want to talk to people, but i also don't want to. i still talk to people plenty on discord, but it's weird. i finally have the time to draw, but i don't want to.

it's weird.

it may also be "i should go sleep" but eck, weird summer