#why? I don’t know. but it’s consistent

[starsjulia]

leah vs the kitchen // leah williamson

a/n : more fluff!!!

warnings : traumatised beth, mentions of sex

The moment you stepped through the front door, you knew something was wrong. The smell… oh, the smell. It hit you like a wall. Burnt… something. Not “oops, I left the toast in too long” burnt. It was the “fire department might need to get involved” kind of burnt.

“Leah?” you called out cautiously, shutting the door behind you.

From the kitchen came a crash, followed by a very unconvincing, “Stay out there! I’ve got it under control!”

You snorted, shrugging off your coat. Under control. Sure. If Leah Williamson ever had something in the kitchen “under control,” you’d eat your own shoe. You’d been with her long enough to know: Leah was talented in many, many ways. Cooking was not one of them.

“Are you burning down our kitchen for fun or…?”

“Just—just five more minutes!” Leah shouted back.

“Love, I think you’re out of time.”

You followed the smell to the kitchen and immediately stopped dead. It looked like a war zone. A pot sat abandoned in the sink, still faintly smoking. Something unidentifiable bubbled angrily on the stove, its consistency closer to wet cement than food. There were bowls, pans, and splatters of something everywhere. Leah stood in the middle of it all, wooden spoon in hand, hair falling out of her bun, and a streak of sauce across her forehead like war paint.

“Leah,” you said slowly, “why does our kitchen look like it’s being exorcised?”

She whipped around to face you, eyes wide with a mix of panic and hope. “You’re home early.”

“You said to come home at six. It’s six.”

“Well, yeah, but like six-ish,” Leah mumbled, abandoning the spoon in the bubbling pot of doom.

You crossed your arms, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “Is this… dinner?”

Leah exhaled loudly, running a hand down her face and smudging more sauce onto her cheek. “It was supposed to be. I watched two cooking tutorials for this, babe. Two.”

“Oh, you really committed,” you teased, stepping closer.

“I did!” Leah insisted, throwing her hands in the air. “But then I turned my back for one second, and the risotto—”

“Risotto?” You peered into the pot and grimaced. “Babe, that’s not risotto. That’s glue.”

Leah groaned, leaning against the counter in defeat. “I wanted this to be special. It’s our anniversary, and I thought, you know, candles, home-cooked dinner, romantic gestures… I was trying to impress you.”

You softened immediately, stepping up to her and slipping your arms around her waist. “Leah, you already impress me.”

She looked down at you, unimpressed by your sweetness. “You’re just saying that because I look cute with sauce on my face.”

“That too,” you replied, grinning. “But I’m serious. I don’t need a perfect dinner to know you love me.”

Leah sighed, resting her forehead against yours. “I do love you, though. So much it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” you teased. “Big England captain, embarrassed?”

“Only when it comes to you,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

The kiss lingered, warm and sweet, as Leah’s fingers skimmed up your back and yours tangled in her hair. For a moment, you forgot all about the smoke, the bubbling disaster on the stove, and the kitchen that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Leah kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, and honestly, you were happy to let her…

Until the front door slammed open.

“Oi! Tell me there’s no food poisoning happening this time—”

“BETH!” Leah shouted, jerking back so quickly she nearly knocked you over.

There, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, was Beth, your toddler son perched on her hip, staring at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. Behind her, Viv peered over her shoulder with a grin, clearly enjoying the chaos far more than Beth was.

Beth took one look at the smoke curling from the stove and the sauce streaked across Leah’s face and muttered, “Jesus Christ. It’s happening again.”

“Beth, get out!” Leah cried, her cheeks turning beet red.

“I knew this would happen,” Beth said, ignoring Leah entirely. She turned to your son. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

Your son wrinkled his nose dramatically, pointing at the stove. “Mama, why are you burning food again?”

Leah clapped a hand over her face. “I hate all of you.”

You, on the other hand, were too busy laughing to defend her. Beth shot you a look. “Don’t laugh! You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Beth pointed an accusing finger at Leah. “Last time I babysat, I came back early and walked in on—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Leah warned, eyes wide.

“—unspeakable horrors,” Beth finished dramatically, turning to Viv for support. “I haven’t been the same since.”

Leah groaned, grabbing a tea towel and whipping it in Beth’s direction. “You’re so dramatic.”

Beth ducked out of the way, still clutching your son like a shield. “I am dramatic because I’m traumatized. I see them kiss now, and I flinch.”

Viv snorted, clearly unbothered. “You brought it on yourself, to be fair.”

“Why do you always come home early anyway?” Leah grumbled, narrowing her eyes at Beth. “You’re meant to be babysitting.”

“I was babysitting,” Beth replied. “But he wanted his dinosaur toy, so we came back to get it. And you’re lucky I did because I think you were seconds away from setting this place on fire.”

Your son perked up at this, clearly unfazed by the chaos. “Is the house gonna blow up?”

“No, mate,” Leah said quickly, shooting you a helpless look. “It’s not gonna blow up.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You sure about that, Williamson?”

“Out,” Leah hissed, pointing toward the door.

Beth grinned, finally setting your son down and ruffling his hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll take him to ours and actually babysit. You two… do whatever it is you do when I’m not here to stop it.”

“Beth!”

She only cackled, grabbing Viv’s hand and dragging your son back out of the kitchen.

The moment the door slammed shut behind them, Leah groaned, sinking to the floor. “I’m never going to live this down.”

You sat beside her, leaning your head on her shoulder. “You’re really bad at keeping secrets from Beth.”

“She has a sixth sense for interrupting,” Leah muttered darkly. “I swear she hides in the bushes waiting for us to kiss.”

You grinned, reaching over to tug Leah’s face toward you. “Hey, it’s okay. Despite the ruined dinner, the smoke, and Beth’s trauma, I still love you.”

Leah softened immediately, a lovesick smile spreading across her face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you into her lap and pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know?”

You smiled, turning to kiss her softly. “Even though I make fun of your cooking?”

“Especially then,” Leah replied, grinning against your lips.

And as the smell of burnt food lingered in the kitchen and Beth’s dramatic complaints echoed faintly in your head, you realized it really was the perfect anniversary, chaos, laughter, and all.

[misswynters]

Just Because

ekko x fem! reader

requested by @inguuuuu

a/n. the boy deserves flowers 💐

Ekko wasn’t expecting this at all.

He wasn’t expecting the soft sound of your footsteps behind him as he tinkered with his latest project. His focus solely on the delicate machine in front of him. He wasn’t expecting the sudden hush in the air, a shift that made him look up from his work. His brow furrowed slightly as he met your eyes. You stood in the doorway, holding a delicate bouquet of flowers. They bright, vibrant, and impossibly beautiful. You were grinning like you were hiding a secret, and Ekko blinked in surprise.

“Uh... What’s this?” he asked, glancing between you and the bouquet, his voice still lingering with confusion.

You stepped forward, your smile widening as you gently held the flowers out to him. He hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was supposed to take them. But there was something in your eyes that made him reach out.

“Just because,” you said softly, your voice carrying that warm, comforting cadence that always made his heart skip a beat. “No reason at all. I thought you’d like them.”

Ekko blinked again, but this time, his expression softened. He glanced down at the flowers in his hands. They consisted of lilies, daisies, and something bright purple that looked almost like wildflowers. The colors were so vibrant, they looked like they were bursting with life. It wasn’t just that they were beautiful; it was the thought behind them that had him feeling a little overwhelmed.

“I—I don’t really get flowers,” he admitted quietly, a little self-conscious about the whole situation. “I mean, I usually see people giving them to... well, to girls. Not so much to guys.”

You chuckled at that, the sound like music to his ears. “And I’m not a girl?” you teased, winking at him as you slid onto the workbench beside him, your hands resting casually on the edge.

Ekko shook his head in amusement but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Yeah, you’re not,” he agreed, his fingers still wrapped gently around the stems of the bouquet. “But... why flowers, though? I mean, it’s not like I did anything to deserve them.”

“You’re why,” you said softly, turning slightly to meet his eyes. “I thought you could use a little brightness today. You work so hard all the time, and I just wanted to remind you that you’re appreciated. No special occasion. Just... because.”

Ekko’s smile softened as your words sank in, the sincerity behind them hitting him like a wave. He’d always been the one to show his affection through actions. Building and fixing things, helping others, however hearing you say those simple words meant so much more than he expected.

“Well, damn,” he said after a moment, his voice rough with emotion. He took a deep breath, looking down at the flowers again. “I wasn’t expecting that. But... thank you. Really.”

You grinned again, happy that you’d made him smile. “You’re welcome, Ekko. It’s no big deal. I just thought you might like them.”

There was a pause as Ekko took in the beauty of the flowers, his thumb brushing against one of the petals as if he were processing the gesture. Then, he looked back at you, his expression thoughtful.

“I mean, if I’m honest... I wasn’t really expecting to get anything like this, especially not from you,” he admitted, still holding the bouquet with reverence. “You’re always so... I don’t know, strong. Like you don’t need things like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “Are you saying I’m too tough for flowers, Ekko?”

He smirked, but there was something soft in his eyes. “Nah. You’re just... not the type to do things like this. It’s nice, though. Really nice.”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” you said with a shrug, your voice soft and genuine. “I don’t always have to be the one to receive surprises, you know? Sometimes I like seeing the way your face lights up when you’re surprised. It makes it 100% worth it.”

Ekko’s heart gave a little flutter at that, the way you were looking at him making him feel a warmth he couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just the flowers. It was how you knew him. How you understood him in a way that no one else really did. The vulnerability in your gesture made something stir within him. He placed the bouquet gently down on the table beside them, then took a step closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He wasn’t sure what he was doing at first, but the words came anyway.

“Well... thank you,” he said again, but this time, it was softer, more intimate. “I... really appreciate it.”

Before you could respond, Ekko reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands. The movement was slow, like he was unsure of what exactly he wanted to say next.

“You’re more than just the person who surprises me with flowers,” he continued quietly. “You’re the one who makes me feel like I can take on the world, even when it feels like I’m losing. I just... I don’t know how you do it. But I’m really lucky to have you around.”

Your breath caught in your chest, caught off guard by how open he was being. The way Ekko usually expressed himself was more through actions than words, and hearing him be so vulnerable. It made your heart ache in the best way.

“Aww...” you whispered, your hand reaching up to rest gently against his wrist. “You’re more than enough. I’m lucky to have you too.”

He smiled then, soft and almost shy, as he leaned in a little closer, his forehead touching yours for just a brief moment. The world around you faded into the background, the scent of the flowers, and for a second, everything felt perfect.

You pulled back slightly, still grinning, but this time, there was a playful glint in your eyes. “So,” you said, your voice light, “what are you going to do with them?”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, his playful smirk returning. “Well, I think I should probably put them in water before they die, don’t you think?”

You laughed, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s a good start.”

He chuckled, giving you a quick wink as he grabbed a nearby empty glass and began carefully arranging the flowers inside, though the whole time, his mind was still reeling from your gesture. It wasn’t just about the flowers—it was about you, and how you always seemed to know just what he needed, even when he didn’t.

As he turned back toward you, holding the flowers carefully in his hands, you could see how much the little surprise had meant to him. His usual carefree confidence had been replaced with softer ambiance. He was quieter now, more contemplative, but still smiling.

“You’ve really got a way of making everything better, you know that?” he said softly.

You couldn’t help but smile back, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad. I like making you smile.”

Ekko looked down at the flowers again, then met your gaze, his expression full of warmth. “Well, mission accomplished.”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, a silent thank-you for everything. You knew that this little gesture was just a small thing, but for Ekko, it was the kind of moment he would carry with him, a reminder that sometimes, even the smallest surprises could change everything.

taglist: @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin @ekkosh

[bewaryofpity]

jack's sooooo clingy he follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, especially after a long day of not seeing you.

jack has been following you around since you came back from work, yapping about anything and everything that has happened to him since you left this morning. and you’re not surprised because he has the habit of lingering close to you when you’ve been gone for a while, especially on his rare days off. today is no different.

he does follow you everywhere like a very grown and very loyal puppy, today more than ever as he followed you to the bathroom where you're trying to get ready for your night routine. he’s sitting on top of the toilet seat, babbling about his day out with nico that obviously consisted of hockey related things.

you snicker to yourself when jack doesn't realize that you're taking longer than usual to get unready, or that he’s talking for this long, but you know how much he hates boredom so you let him be. it’s just that you weren’t expecting this.

it’s cute, yes, but now you’re more interested in seeing how long he’ll yap for or rather how long he’ll stay here with you. so you finish taking your makeup off before pulling the shower curtain back and twisting the knob to turn on the water and adjusting it to the right temperature. the idea that he could easily stalk you into the shower makes you smile so you play along to his not so little rant.

“and then nico lured me to the rink because apparently the kids were practicing and he wanted to surprise them. not that i didn’t like that but then their coach didn’t look too pleased, the kids were distracted for the rest of the practice, obviously.”

you hum, “is it because they took nico’s attention off you?”

“Uh, n-no. i mean i was the one hanging out with him first, so.” he mumbles “but that’s not the point!”

jack huffs, changing into a criss cross position on top of the toilet. and it’s taking everything in you to not laugh at him because he looks like a child, pout on his lips and looking so small in this position.

“well then, was it fun at least?”

“duh, baby.” hands flailing around him. “the kids loved it, they kept asking us questions and some didn’t make sense –they were like four years old, you know– and like, we had to stop for even longer because they wanted us to sign some of their stuff.”

that must be why he also took longer to text you throughout his day.

“i bet, love.” you nod along, pulling your hair up in a bun so it doesn’t get wet in the shower, finally at the right hot temperature. “i’ll shower now if you don’t mind.”

“oh, now?” eyes wide like you told a child you’ll leave him in the parking lot.

“i mean, we’re in the bathroom, and i’m in a towel, and it’s been a long day. so yes, now.”

and jack’s cheeks have a faint pink tint as he shamelessly watches you unravel your towel and step in the shower. totally not because he saw you naked for a split second, it’s just the steam from the really hot shower, right?

“uh yeah, okay” he says as he stand up. “i’ll get unready too before i go then.”

you hum in reply as you go on about your shower, but you’re actually simply standing under the water, trying to keep an ear out for his movements and words.

suddenly he’s taking his sweet time to wash his face and you think he might start brushing his teeth soon too for the hell of it.

but his talking doesn’t stop at all. he blurts out random thoughts in between before going on to ramble about some hockey plays he’s been looking over, asks you what you had for lunch. he even asks you which body wash you’re currently using –which is none yet because trying not to laugh is revealing to be harder than you thought. he’s truly finding the most random topics to fill the silence.

and the talking does finally stop, but it’s replaced by jack’s whistling, clearly out of things to say. yet you know your boyfriend better than he thinks so you know very well what he’s thinking about.

“you still there, jacky?” you call wittingly. you can see his blurry figure through the shower curtain, an excited nod coming from his silhouette.

and you bite your lip as one of his hands reaches to scratch at the back of his neck. “i guess i’ll go now. uhm… i’ll wait for you to come out. i’ll get us take out, anything you’re craving? because if you want there’s a new italian place down the street that luke suggested to me and he says it's really good, so i think maybe–”

omg he’s so cute.

you pull the curtain back, just with your head peeping out to find jack with one hand hovering the door handle, still lingering around.

“jacky?”

“yeah baby, what’s up?”

“do you want to shower with me?”

and like a kid opening presents on christmas morning, his eyes light up so quickly. his head shakes with an overly enthusiastic nod, and he’s already clumsy in pulling off his clothes that he almost trips getting his sweatpants off. you’re not surprised at all, the lack of grace and coordination are not exclusive to when he’s on the ice.

a stupid, wide, boyish grin spreads over his lips when he finally steps into the shower in front of you. 

“hi, baby,” he grins, leaning forward to hold your face in his hands and peck your nose.

“you know, if you wanted to join me, you could’ve just asked.” your smile now matching his. jack squishes your cheeks between his palms, “well, where’s the fun in that?”

[fruitbasketball]

ncaa recap: uconn vs. usc

first of all: what a way to lose a completely winnable game. WHAT a thing to do. truly!!! i applaud it. i’m SHOCKED at it, really - bc no way you wanna lose every fucking top 10 matchup y’all have. there’s just no way!!!

and now i have to do the thing i have been dreading all season, bc i have such immense respect for this man.

geno. what. the fuck. are you. doing.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING BRO????????????

what’s the game plan?? HUH???? no matter what happens, it’s paige’s fault??? the best player in the fucking country stayed an extra year to play for you, and THIS is how you do her???

quit playing her off ball bro PLEASE matter of fact she can’t play off ball. yup! CAN’T do it. every single one of her numbers but efficiency is down from last season, so i can conclude that you need to stop playing that bitch off ball.

put the ball in paige’s fucking hands luigi or i swear to god i will shove it up your ass. you have the most CREATIVE, TALENTED, INTELLIGENT scoring pg in the country and you’re playing her OFF BALL???? WHAT THE SHIT?????

and paige bro. we don’t get to pick and choose when we wanna play basketball. you don’t get to ONLY show up the second half. and MAN was that a fucking monster second half. like my legs are still shaking from it jesus fucking christ. but when we do THAT SHIT!!! right???? when we DON’T PLAY THE FULL 40???

it comes down to a freshman and her free throws. sarah strong, you are a perfect angel. you did NOTHING wrong. the play was all wrong, it shouldn’t have come down to you, i am so so sorry it did. sarah has been so unbelievably consistent, and i just KNOW she’s blaming herself for it.

what’s the reasoning behind these last few possessions. like what the fuck is up bro. why are we going for the 2 when we’re down 3. why are we fouling with no fouls left to give. if you’re gonna do that shit take the 3!!! close the gap completely. why are we willing to widen the possession margin??? i understand the technicality of the strategy here, and it might be the smartest thing possible in ANOTHER situation.

in MY mind tho: take the 3, tie the game. get a stop on the other end, set a decoy, have paige or ash take the 3. or send jana down low for a 2. but it was so obviously a matter of geno not trusting the defense. which is NUTS - because this is one of the strongest defenses in the country. and it wouldn’t have been a perimeter job. probably not!! probably would’ve been a juju middy or kiki down low!! REALISTICALLY!!!

i just, like… those last few CRUCIAL possessions were really muddled and it pissed me tf off. like actually made me so fucking mad.

anyway bro’s yapping again - bc if kk is a game changer, keep her in the fuckin game dawg. idk just a thought.

SIT ice, START jana, and SHUT THE FUCK UP ‼️‼️‼️ hm i wonder who will be a better match for the best power forward in the nation - the 6’5 paint beast, or the big who’s been showing you she lowk CANNOT PLAY BASKETBALL

anyway i just wanna say - to anyone who thinks paige got outplayed this game, fuck all the way off. juju couldn’t even guard paige the whole game, while paige did not let up. if juju had a hard time scoring, it’s because paige was in her mouth the whole time. that’s a two way player. so i don’t wanna hear shit.

in conclusion: MANE FUCK THIS SHIT

[seeingivy]

sukuna and “ we have to stop meeting like this” plssss

we have to stop meeting like this x ryomen sukuna

**part of my tortured poets concert event

--

“we have to stop meeting like this.” 

sukuna can tell when he’s in trouble. 

he’s seen the look hundreds of times – when he used to talk too loudly during lectures in college, when he’s late to meetings at work, from his brother when he misses his nephew’s basketball games – to the point where he’s able to pinpoint it down to the expression. 

narrowed eyes. furrowed eyebrows. a pursed expression. 

and sukuna can evaluate that, at the very least, he’s not in trouble with you, because you have none of the three, despite the fact that he’s most definitely earned it at this point. a testament to your overwhelmingly large well of patience. if sukuna’s bruised eye isn’t betraying him, he’s almost convinced that he sees a whisper of a smile on your face. 

sukuna readjusts himself in the bed, shifting awkwardly from how small the stretcher is, as you make your way over to his side and pull the shiny blue latex gloves over your hands. 

“how else am i going to see you, doc?” he asks. 

you roll your eyes. 

you’re not particularly fond of downtown los angeles. 

there’s too many people – bustling in the streets, clogging up the sidewalk – to the point where you feel like you see hundreds of people every single day. and while the initial thought of moving was exciting, of the unknown, you very quickly realize that you detest it. 

you work in an emergency department that houses almost hundreds of patients everyday. strangers going in and out, coworkers cycling through to the point where you can barely remember anyone's name, and it’s a severely stark culture shock from the ten manned hospital you used to work at out in the suburbs. the same few patients you saw every few months. 

nothing is consistent in los angeles. except for the promise of a local bar owner, by the name of ryomen sukuna, who always tumbles in around the holidays with some type of injury. 

halloween. new years eve. thanksgiving. a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, a viral infection. 

“you know, i almost thought you weren’t coming.” you joke. 

“and miss out on valentine’s day with you?” he asks. 

you reach forward, fingers light on the side of the face as you guide him to look straight at you, so you can assess the damage. there’s a deep cut on the side of his forehead, superficial, accompanied by bruising around the soft warmth of his eyes. 

and while his pretty face is intact, his arm evidently isn’t. there’s a deep gash, one that makes him wince loudly as you touch the bruised skin around it. you narrow your eyes at him, before craning your neck over your shoulder and whistling. 

“yuuta.” 

“yes, dr. l/n?” 

you give him a polite smile. 

“can you get me a suture kit please?” you ask. 

he gives you a polite nod, quickly scurrying away towards the supply closet, as you turn back to sukuna. 

“don’t make that kid do my stitches.” 

“why not? that kid has to learn, you know.” 

“well, he can learn on someone else, for fuck’s sake.” he mutters. 

sukuna leans forward, giving you a bright grin, and whispering so quietly it sends a warm shiver down your spine. 

“you’ve got a special touch, doc. i’m only going to give you permission to patch me up.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. 

“will you really say no if i make him do it?” you ask. 

he gives you a nod. 

“plus, that poor kid has been staring at that girl with the green hair the entire time. you should let them play hooky.” 

“i should let my residents play hooky?” you deadpan. 

sukuna shrugs. 

“where’s your sense of romance?” he asks. 

you cross your arms over your chest, as yuuta sets the suture kit down on the counter and reaches for the gloves. you raise your hand in the air, gesturing for him to stop, and note that you’ll slightly regret this gesture in a few hours when you have to do the paperwork.

“no need, yuuta.” 

he gives you a frown. 

“i don’t mind, boss. you should take a break.” he offers. 

you shake your head at him. 

“you should go into my office and go to the desk on the left. there’s a box of chocolates that someone gifted me in my top left drawer this morning that you should share with dr. zenin.” you note. 

yuuta’s eyes go wide. 

“what do you mean?” he asks. 

“everyone can see that you’re hopelessly pining over maki. including my patient, who has very graciously convinced me to let you be a romantic. get out of my face before i change my mind.” you respond, making your best attempts at a stern voice. 

yuuta flickers his eyes in between you and sukuna, an unmistakably delighted look on his face, as he lightly taps on the door on his way out. you turn back to sukuna, who now has his eyes narrowed at you as you open up the suture kit. 

“you’re telling me there’s other people that give you gifts?” he asks. 

you scoff. 

“you give me gifts?” you asks. 

“the pleasure of my company at your workplace. on every calendar holiday, mind you.” 

you roll your eyes as you clean up the area around his skin, pulling out the silk material for his stitches. sukuna’s well versed in your stitching techniques, and with a pain tolerance so high, it only takes a few minutes. 

“what did you do this time?” you ask. 

“occupational hazard. who gave you the chocolates?” 

you scoff. 

“where do you work? the mma boxing ring?” you ask. 

“do you think i’m fit enough for that? more fit than the dumbass who gave you the chocolates?” he asks, a wide grin spreading across his face. 

you shrug. 

“evidently not. you can barely…

you pause to lift the chart left on the table, yuuta’s messy notes scribbled on the top, before you look back to glare at him. 

“...take down a christmas tree at the bar without injuring yourself. looks like you’re irritatingly possessive too.” you state. 

sukuna places his hand on his chest. 

“i told you to take it down earlier when suguru was still in town.” you note. 

“in my defense, i was protecting my beloved nephew, yuuji, from injury. he crawled underneath and almost got trampled.” he exaggerates. 

you give him a smile. 

“heroic.” you deadpan. 

sukuna gives you a smile, before lifting his hand up to cup the side of your cheek, the touch warm as he rubs a circle into your cheek. you lean into the feeling as sukuna reaches back and fixes the flyaways to the back of your ear, before you return to stitching up his arm. 

“i’m starting to think you’re injuring yourself on purpose just to spend time with me, ryo.” you murmur. 

“would that be wrong, baby?” he asks.

you roll your eyes. 

“wait for me to come home, dumbass. i’m literally off in five hours.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes right back at you, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. he retreats as you set your forceps down, reaching for the roller bandage as you wrap it around his arm. you secure it with a piece of tape at the end, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder to signal you’re done. 

sukuna interlocks his fingers with yours, lifting your hand to press your fingers to his lips. 

“thanks, doc.” he murmurs, tone uncharacteristically soft. 

you can’t help but sigh – the aching feeling of seeing couples doting over each other all day hitting you in full force, that you’re spending your first valentine’s day away from him – as you reach forward and run your hands through his hair. 

“be careful. i’m wrapping you in bubble wrap next time.” you warm, reaching forward to lean your head against his shoulder. 

sukuna welcomes the touch, with three warm kisses spread between your forehead and your hairline, as he shows you the three pictures of the little valentine’s day card that yuuji made for you that’s waiting at home. 

you grant him twenty minutes – twenty minutes before you tear yourself from his side to go process his discharge paperwork – and send him on his way. you can’t help but sink into the chair the second you see his pink hair dart out the doors, as you type the last of his notes into the chart. 

“did the boyfriend enjoy the chocolates?”  

satoru’s hovering over your shoulder, a bright smile on his face, as he expectantly waits for an answer. you lean back in your chair, heaving a great sigh as you eye the clock.  

“he was here, got injured taking down the christmas tree at the bar. and the boyfriend insisted i give them up for okkotsu and zenin. they’re probably kissing in my office for all i know.” 

satoru gives you a polite tap on the head, lightly ruffling your hair, before pulling up the chair at your side. 

“well, you should be flattered. sukuna’s so dedicated to spending time with you. so romantic of himself to injure himself just to come down here.”

you scoff in response. 

“dedicated to being a dumbass is what he is.” 

satoru shakes his head.

“i think he’s just a big fan of getting doted on. being cared for, patched up by you, and all that.”

[raylaismad]

“Why did you take Him from me,” said Life and Death.

Chaos didn’t look and the other, “I didn’t take anyone from you.”

“You were supposed to die first. You’re supposed to be The Canary. You know that.”

Chaos sighed, “You know that’s not how that works,” the being spread its burning wings, “I was never going to stay a consistent pattern forever, that’s not how I work, You know that.”

Life and Death whipped Its head around, “It wasn’t supposed to be Him. You know how much He means to me.”

“You know about Your curse. If You really wanted Him alive, You would have stayed away.”

Life and Death glared at Its equal, “You don’t get to speak about curses,” It’s pitch black wings puffed out, “and You don’t get to speak of staying away from people You know You’ll only hurt.”

Chaos sighed, “This is just like You isn’t it,”

Life and Death tensed, “You know nothing about me.”

Chaos said, “I know that You always blame others for the misfortune You cause. I know You are over emotional. I know You hate not to get Your way,” Chaos rolled Its eyes, “but most of all I know that You hate to see me win.”

“I do not!”

“But You do! I know You do because You are trying to blame me for His death when I did nothing!”

“You laughed at His grave!”

“You laughed at Mine.”

“…”

“Do You hate that I survived? Do You hate that I tried and I managed to almost make it? Was that why You killed Me? Is that why You killed Her?”

“Jimmy..”

“Shes a better sibling than You ever were.”

“…”

“All I did was survive.”

“…”

“You were always the lucky one.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Leave Me.”

—————————

Zero clue what possessed me to write this anyways @solidaritygaming-fanblog, @grian-fanblog, @moss-moths-eyes-and-whimsy cry lmao

[thebaldursmouthgazette]

You didn’t prove anything, because literally ALL of your sources are propaganda that we know to be false propaganda meant to increase the gods’ influence. It would be like arguing Elgar’nan is actually the good guy because all the old tales say he is the loving and benevolent creator god. The old tales do say he is the loving and benevolent creator god, but that’s because the old tales are bullshit propaganda intended to gather worshippers.

Give me one single piece of evidence that it was Mythal who did the ritual (did the ritual. Not that she was involved. Not that it was her idea. Not that she ordered solas to do it. That she, personally, did the ritual), that is not filtered down through several thousand years of “Mythal the protector” propaganda that co existed with several thousand years of dread wolf propaganda. I’ll save you a trawl through the wiki: there isn’t any. You’ve proved nothing, because you don’t understand what your sources are. You don’t understand you are citing false propaganda written by an unreliable narrator. It’s not supposed to be read as historically accurate, yet you’re treating it like the absolute truth.

My evidence?

1) The initial memory: Solas says “it is awful, what we’re doing”. The dagger is created, but his job does not end there. He is not just giving the dagger to Mythal, he is continuing with the task of sundering the titans

2) the discussion: after the first memory, Emmrich mentions that they have all “experienced a memory”. While the player sees a shot of the mural and hears spoken dialogue, the actual characters have experienced the memory. Experienced Solas’ memory. So when they go on to discuss that solas did the actual sundering like it’s established fact, that is because it is. They’ve actually experienced the memory and do not need to dissect the specific wording. They actually know that solas went on to do the ritual.

3) Solas’ guilt: one of the revenants we see is the “slaughter of the pillars”, the pillars being the titans. The other two revenants are “betrayal of Felassan”, representing Solas murdering Felassan in his sleep, and “fall of the protector”, referencing solas killing Mythal at the end of inquisition. These two revenants are both direct actions that solas took. He did not get someone else to kill those people, he killed them with his own hands. The slaughter of the pillars revenant is the same. It would not make sense for this guilt to hold such a high place, among those he had killed with his own hands, had he not also sundered the titans with his own hands.

4) Solas’ reaction to being accused: during the banters before the final battle, Davrin and Harding both confront him for sundering the titans and causing the blight. He does not make excuses, as he almost always does. He does not find a loophole, as he almost always does. He does not find a way where he is technically not to blame, as he almost always does. If he had simply made the dagger and given it to Mythal, with the warning that she should not go through with her plan, he would mention it. He consistently takes any and every opportunity to make excuses for himself. This is one of the major parts of the plot, it is a major part of why he is unable to leave the regret prison. He finds any excuse he can to lessen his responsibility for his actions. If there was such an obvious way for him to do so, he would take it. He doesn’t, because it does not exist. Because he did not simply give the dagger to Mythal and advise against using it, he is the one who performed the ritual. And as it is, instead of trying to find, as neve puts it, “a pretty excuse”, he practically admits it.

5) yes, the art book: if it was just the art book alone then no, that would not be enough evidence. But it’s not the art book alone, and, importantly, I am not using the art book as a piece of canon. I am using it as proof that that was the writers intentions at least at some point in the process. There was a point, in the creation of veilguard, where they were intending for Solas to have been the one to do the ritual. And this was the case so late into production, that the art book was printed with that as fact. Even if they changed their mind, it shows that none of the sources from the previous games contradict solas being the one to have done the ritual, because at the very least it would be lore compatible for it to be solas, and more likely it would be because that was the plan in the pretty well planned out lore the entire time. And that they would have had to change their mind, because Mythal was not the original intention. With this insight into the production process in mind, it becomes clear that everything I have mentioned was written with the understanding that it was solas who did the ritual. Given that they wrote a lot of stuff pointing to it being solas, because the intention was that it was solas, and left it in the game and didn’t put anything in to suggest that it wasn’t solas, it stands to reason that that is because it was solas. They didn’t change it. It was solas.

You know in retrospect sundermount is a hell of a name for a mountain

[fairycosmos]

do you ever just get sooo angry at the amount of useless untalented people who make millions off their mediocrity… literally the only reason they’re rich and famous being that they’re conventionally attractive. and i always see “you’re just jealous because they’re rich” as an argument and it’s like yes you’re right! because they don’t deserve it 😂 there’s so many beautiful people in this world who deserve that wealth more than them and here they are just swimming in it like it’s nothing. i hate it honestly.

ughhhhh i hear you and i know the conversation about nepo babies is so tired but this is the exact feeling i get whenever im forced to hear about them LOL. "you're just jealous because they're rich" is such a nothingburger of an argument because it's like well.........yes! i don't think rich or even consistently financially stable people understand how much struggling with money eats up your whole life. you can't self actualise. you don't have much or any freedom. you can't even relax. it's not so much about money inherently as it is about quality of life which is something they'll never understand bc their quality of life has never been threatened!! they can move through the world taking on shitty passion projects and being awful at what they do without worry and without repercussions and this is why no matter how hard they try they will never be able to relate to the common person. no matter how badly they want to be able to emulate our authenticity LOL. it is infuriating and you're right to be mad!!

[ageravena]

The maggots are participating in strange evening activities

Sorry if this week’s post was a bit too freaky, something possessed me again

So, context to what’s happening: uhh Peri and Dale are ummm doing something and err they don’t want to get caught and stuff… or, well at least Dale doesn’t want to. Poor dude always has that terrified and tired look in his eyes when I draw him

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but like my vision of their relationship is the COMPLETE OPPOSITE to what I've seen most people imagine. Like I have not seen ANYBODY make them be like "I will fix him and it's actually working +it's kinda wholesome" (okay, well actually it's a bit more complicated than that, but still). Though that could probably be because I'm the only one with a lethal amount of microplastics in their body /j

Still, I hope that at least some of you can fw it (considering my follower count has risen from 30 to 50 in a matter of a few months, maybe you do care. Or then you're just here for the art/AU/something else and the ship is just something you'll have to deal with lmao, that would be hella funny)

Also here's some extra art. I absolutely love drawing in my chibi style, they look so stupid adorable

Peri really found himself a tall half-Russian bisexual bottom billionaire with internalized homophobia. Good for him

(Yeah, that’s right, Peri's a TOP!!! Probably weren’t expecting THAT!)

(The headcanon inbreeding has gone too far)

-------------------------------------------------------

I’m having trouble with my art style again! I mean the current style looks nice. It’s got the roughness and the edge I’m looking for, but it still lacks a certain softness. All the artists I’ve gotten inspiration from paint traditionally, so trying to recreate the same vibe is difficult when all the digital brushes feel too… digital, and fake

I’m currently in a weird transition phase where my art, especially my rendering style, isn’t consistent. Maybe I’ll figure something out. We’ll see. In the meantime, don't be surprised if my style changes a bit with each post lol

If you ever wonder why it takes me so long to post: it’s because of these long ass descriptions lol. I know most, if not all, will skip them, but I still like to add them for my sake. It’s also great English practice!

Also guess whose silly ass got sick right before Christmas. Mine did! Oh yeah, Merry Christmas or happy Holidays or whatever you’re celebrating or not celebrating btw 😍

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco Saga. A Retrospective After Season 2

Part 1.5: A brief intermission on The Flashback Issue™, (un)reliable narrators and Silco committing infanticide

Why the timeline isn’t fucked, actually

A common issue I see people have with Season 2 is that some of Vander’s backstory messes with the timeline established in Season 1. While it is true that Vander in the S1 flashback on the bridge appears to be significantly older than the Vander in Silco’s drowning flashback - implying that the two events took place years apart and not, as Vander’s letter says, one right after the other - I would like to offer an alternative reading on the S1 Day of Ashes scene, which in my opinion can be explained in a way that doesn’t necessarily mess with canon too much.*

Arcane S1 has a very interesting way of using flashback scenes, and POV shots in general: they are always firmly rooted in someone’s POV, but despite being subjective, we the audience are led to believe they are fairly reliable narrators. There’s only one person who’s shown as being consistently unreliable in their POV: Jinx (a choice which narratively makes sense, as she suffers from psychosis). Jinx is also, coincidentally, the person who’s POV we see in the Day of Ashes flashback. Now, this might veer into headcanon territory (which I’m OK with), but nonetheless, hear me out: is it really that far fetched to think that Jinx, being very young and in obvious distress, would misremember this event, and superimpose the face of the father she knows as an older child on that of his younger self? While I don’t mind people coming up with their own HCs on this event, I think that there’s a much simpler way to interpret this “incongruence”, which fits both the general canon narrative as well as a specific trait of Jinx’s POV.

*There’s obviously one reading of this incongruence between the designs of Day-of-Ashes-Vander and Drowning-Vander where this continuity mistake can be attributed to external reasons, such as the writers not having a clear idea of the backstory in S1 and later retconning in S2, which I don’t have a huge problem with either. It happens all the time. However, I find a possible in-story reason for this incongruence much more elegant and appealing.

Silco says ‘Fuck them kids’ (except Jinx)

Another complaint I have heard, which I personally find pretty funny all things considered, is that having Vander and Silco know Vi and Jinx’s mother (and, consequently, Vi and Jinx) before the betrayal “cheapens” their story in S1, and makes Silco’s intent to kill them in Arc 1 seem more unrealistic due to his previous connection with her mom. I find this logic quite baffling.

As I have already pointed out in my previous post on Silco’s relationship with Jinx, the main point of his self-asserted narrative is that he was essentially reborn as a new man after his own attempted murder by Vander, unburdened by the sentiment and affection his older self held for others. This belief Silco holds about himself is perfectly in line with his treatment of Vi and Jinx in the first arc of S1: he doesn’t care about them, and he’s perfectly willing to get rid of them if it serves his end, just as much as he’s perfectly OK with killing Vander, because those are connections that only his older self cared about, not the new, “updated and improved” Silco.

The only reason Jinx is saved from an unfortunate fate is that Silco, in a moment of weakness following an extremely stressful series of events, instinctively identifies with her; thus, he creates an unsolvable conflict between his need to uphold his own rebirth narrative (which is really nothing more than a dysfunctional coping mechanism) and this newly found but extremely powerful self-identification with this child. His adoption of Jinx is his own way of trying to have his cake and eat it too: he can still hold on to his ideology, while also offering some sort of comfort to this suffering child, which is actually himself, thus also reinforcing the idea that he is right.

There’s obviously no such ethical conundrum when it comes to his relationship with Vi in Arc 1. Silco quite clearly sees her only as a projection of Vander, an incarnation of his ideals, a continuation of his legacy best exemplified in her physical prowess as a fighter. And since his goal during Act 1 is to either convince Vander to work with him again, or get rid of him altogether, I don’t see how he shouldn’t apply the same logic to Vi. It doesn’t matter she’s an innocent bystander in his conflict with Vander, or the daughter of a former close friend. Silco, after his “rebirth”, is a man who is willing to see the world only within the black-and-white paradigm of his own narrative. Therefore, killing her is no big deal for him.

This indifference towards Vi then turns to visceral hatred in the following two arcs, as she becomes a double threat: a symbol of Vander and a wedge between him and Jinx, the only relationship he can't stand to lose. So yeah. Fuck them kids.

Flashbacks pt. 2: Kids don’t know shit

I think the general logic of “very young kids in Arcane don’t have reliable memories” can be used to explain why Jinx and Vi don’t seem to remember Silco pre-betrayal. First of all, while I keep harping on the fact that Silco’s narrative of dual identities is total bullshit, it doesn’t mean that pre-betrayal and post-betrayal Silco aren’t two very different people to an outsider’s perspective. The pre-betrayal Silco we see in Vander’s memories is humorous, gentle, soft, thoughtful. We do see some hints of an underlying grittier nature (his very serious tone before he subverts our expectations with the “Bozo 1” joke is a perfect example of him already knowing he can be very intimidating if he wants to), but he appears, to all intents and purposes, as a completely different man than his post-betrayal persona. There’s also the factor of physical disfigurement and change of look between pre- and post-drowning Silco which would seriously impact any ability of the girls to recognize him.

Another important factor to keep in mind is also that It’s made pretty clear in both S1 and S2 that the kids don’t know about Vander’s betrayal of Silco, and therefore probably have no idea why Uncle Sil didn’t show up at the Last Drop after the Day of Ashes. Even if Vi and Jinx were close to him pre-drowning (which we aren’t even sure of, since he doesn’t appear in any flashbacks with them as young children), they probably think he’s dead. It’s pretty obvious throughout S1 that both Vander and Silco have kept the whole drowning affair a secret, the first out of guilt and shame for his actions (which he spends the rest of his life trying, unsuccessfully, to repent from), the second because it would make him appear weak against his rival. Vander, when admonishing Vi about her willningess to use violence when fighting Piltover’s oppression, only vaguely hints at the reason why he thinks this approach is dangerous, mentioning how much Powder means to her and asking her what she would do if she lost her (a clear mirror to his own failure towards Silco, but Vi doesn’t know that). On a lighter note, when Ekko hilariously asks Best Timeline Silco, in S2ep7, “Didn’t you try to kill him?”, he’s clearly referring to Silco killing Vander, while both Silco and Vander interpret it as Vander killing Silco, making it for a very awkward interaction between the two.

(On a side note, I love Silco’s sappy “power to forgive” answer. Oh Best Timeline Silco, you softie. This is what having the Nation of Zaun and being gay married to your best friend does to a MF. )

It also kinda makes sense that Jinx, who eventually has a clearer picture of what happened between Silco and Vander, still doesn’t remember him as a part of her childhood. We are told several times that she has very few childhood memories of her family before the Day of Ash. It also makes sense that Silco wouldn’t mention Felicia or Connol to her. The Silco that knew them, after all, drowned in the Pilt the same day they died.

I think this also hints at the fact that Silco probably wasn’t very involved with the girls as kids, which, again, goes very well with his characterization as someone who cares more about The Revolution™ than about the individual people of Zaun. The flashback with Felicia gives us a hint that this was one of Silco’s characteristics even before the drowning: while Vander toasts about “raising an ankle-biter or two”, Silco only raises his glass “to the Nation of Zaun”. I don’t think these are just meant to be throwaway lines: they perfectly encapsulate their future priorities, with Vander dedicating himself to his mission of nurturing Zaun’s people to the point of giving up the fight, and Silco becoming such a radical that he completely looses sight of the people he’s fighting for. (They are both cringe boyfailures and I love them for that.)

[sflow-er]

For YR Faves Fest organised by @youngroyals-events Prompts: 2. favourite teen side character (Henry), 7. favourite (not-quite) friendship, 9. favourite season (S1)

To accompany my Henry & Simon analysis post, I thought it could be fun to post a selection of scenes from my S1 longfic Other people's secrets as Sunday snippets!

These three scenes consist of 1) Henry observing Wilmon on the night of the Society party, 2) him trying to small talk with them the next day, and 3) him apologising to Simon after rowing practice some days later. They should be easy to follow and enjoy even if you haven't read the entire fic.

The first scene is under the cut, and I will reblog this twice (later today) to add the others!

1: The night of the Society party

When a cold breeze touched Henry’s ankle, he realised he had failed to close the window after climbing in. As if on cue, there was a noise from outside – it sounded like someone falling down, followed by muffled voices arguing.

“Fuck, not again. Get up, Wille!”

“Sorry, sorry! Just need to catch my breath.”

“On your feet now, come on!”

“It’s nice here, sit with me for a bit.” Sounds of a scuffle again. “I want to sit with you, come on!”

“No, you’re going to get up and point me in the right direction. Unless you want me to just leave you here.”

“No, don’t leave me! Everything’s spinning and I just, uh. I need a minute to – ungh…”

As more struggling followed, Henry gradually unfroze to look over at his roommate, who seemed to be fast asleep still. He wondered if he should wake Walter up for this but decided not to waste time. This sounded like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of situation. He curiously approached the window and peered out through the corner pane, hiding behind the curtain to avoid being seen from the outside.

It was dark, but Henry could make out two figures on the lawn. One was pulling the other to his feet, but the one reluctantly getting up – Wilhelm, obviously it had to be Wilhelm – threw his arms tightly around whoever was helping him and slumped against them.

“Damn it, Wille, get a hold of yourself! We’re almost there.”

“Don’t be mad,” Wilhelm slurred, still hanging on for dear life, even though the object of the hug tried to pry him off. He sounded desolate saying, “Don’t leave me, Simon, please don’t leave me.”

Henry’s eyes widened as he mouthed the name: Simon? His thoughts were a whirlwind in his still slightly inebriated brain. Why was Simon bringing Wilhelm home from a party he had not even attended, and more importantly, were they really this close?

This was best-friend territory. Not something any two classmates would do for each other. Henry for one couldn’t imagine other than Walter dragging him home like that. Simon didn’t even live here, so he was really going out of his way to do this.

Henry squinted his eyes to see better as Simon let out a stifled grunt and heaved his clingy friend off. It was too dark to see their faces, but luckily there was enough moonlight to catch their silhouette.

“Of course not, I just said that to get you moving again.” Simon held Wilhelm by the elbow as the prince almost lost his balance from the push. His other hand was gesturing towards the windows. “Now, focus: which one is your room? How do we get in?”

“That one over there. I left it open. I’m clever like that.”

“Just not clever enough to say no to whatever junk they put in front of you,” Simon muttered, lifting Wilhelm’s arm on his shoulders and starting in the indicated direction.

Wilhelm groaned and signalled his reluctance to move. He grabbed a handful of Simon’s jacket and whatever he was wearing under it, most likely a hoodie knowing how Simon dressed. Then, he actually nuzzled his face into the crook of Simon’s neck.

Simon, who was quite clearly at the end of his wit, tried to push him off again.

“I don’t need this from you, okay? I know you’re hurting, but this is not the way to fix that. I can’t be dragging your ass home high in the middle of the night, it’s not fair. Okay?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Wilhelm whined again. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

“We can talk about this when you’ve sobered up,” Simon said, obviously mad.

Henry was holding his breath, transfixed. This was a much more private conversation than he had expected. He tried to get a better look, but all he could see was Wilhelm’s frame slumped against Simon while the shorter boy insistently dragged him along.

“Will you stay until then? Please stay.”

“Well, somebody has to make sure you don’t choke to death in your sleep.”

Henry stifled a giggle at the similarity with the sentiment Walter had expressed earlier about him potentially dying in the woods. Yes, definitely best-friend territory, although he couldn’t really imagine himself being quite that physical, even with Walter. Hugging, sure, but the nuzzling was a bit much. But then, Wilhelm was obviously high out of his mind, so it was no wonder he was acting strangely.

“Thank you, Simon. Thanks for coming. I can’t believe you came.”

“Of course I came.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Wilhelm sounded sincere, his voice small and broken.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Simon replied a bit more bitterly than Henry expected.

“I didn’t really want what I wanted.” It was getting harder to hear Wilhelm’s slurred words now as they were getting further away. Henry silently pushed the window slightly further ajar to catch the rest. He couldn’t risk looking out anymore for fear of being spotted, but at least he could hear better. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Now, is this your window?” Wilhelm did not say anything in response, but he must have made a gesture to that effect, because the next thing Henry heard was the window creaking open. “Get in, and don’t make any noise unless you want your bodyguards to rush in.”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Wilhelm proclaimed at a volume that was anything but. He proceeded to knock something over on his way in, then cursed as that something clanked against the floor. His bodyguards must have heard, but they probably had enough tact to avoid catching the crown prince in the act.

Simon laughed quietly despite himself, and Henry could imagine him shaking his head in exasperation. Wilhelm muttered an ’oops’ and shushed himself, still extremely loud in the absence of any other noise.

When Simon spoke again, his voice sounded less angry. Instead, it was laced with affection. “Real smooth. Now get out of the way.”

Henry heard Simon climb in and close the window. It was quiet again, and he turned back towards his sleeping roommate in disbelief. He really should have woken Walter up for this, because he had no idea what to make of it on his own.

“Well, I guess that’s what happened to Wille,” he whispered to himself. Rubbing his wrist on his cheek, he realised he had blushed vigorously at the awkward excitement of watching and eavesdropping on something he so clearly wasn’t supposed to witness.

He shook his head to snap out of it, then he shut the window and curtains. He lay down to contemplate the discussion he had just witnessed, hands behind his pillow.

Obviously, Simon and Wilhelm had to be very close friends based on everything they had just said and the touchy-feely nature of it all. But if that was the case, why were they hiding?

[---]

He lay awake for about an hour, listening to Walter’s steady breathing from the other bed and feeling low as conflicting thoughts swirled around his slowly sharpening mind. Witnessing that interaction had made it abundantly clear how different Wilhelm was with a true friend than he was with Henry and the others – and if Simon had been able to get through Wilhelm’s seemingly impenetrable walls, there had to be something special about him.

The more Henry thought about how wrong his approach to them both had been, the larger and heavier the ball of guilt inside him grew, until he had to clear his throat in an effort to move it. Thankfully – or unfortunately, he wasn’t sure which – Walter didn’t seem to stir.

And so, he whispered quietly into the dark, “Maybe we should try to be nicer to Simon.”

[enduracarrotchips]

devastated abt champions tunic upgrade materials

[dantoru]

rui’s cardigan…

[arandin-art]

Here you go with my War Games fanart sheet!

I though there would be two drawings in the space I left on the right (where the colored piece ended up) but… Obviously I chose a scene that feathured three main characters. So… I had to say good bye to Dumpling, sadly. :’( I’ll draw that round baby another time that’s it!!!

So…. @lovelyelbowleech, here's your fanart dump that I told you about!!! I really hope you won’t mind my messy style, and you’ll like those.

As you can see, I picked scenes as I was re-reading War Games from the start. I had to do a quick re-read of War Crimes to remember the injuries they acquired, but I’m pretty sure I forgot most of them anyways…

Each drawing had it’s own struggles but I’m still happy with them. And I had the joy of linearting that nightmare of three people posing sketch. (I love doing lineart, it feels like a treat earned after all the disastrous mental gymnastics you had to go through to figure out the characters’ poses.)

[insidethekaleidoscope]

I grew up in a fix-it family (but of a bit more of a completionist variety), and oh I’ve got the hubris. My family has a tradition of doing a puzzle every year on Christmas, and one year instead we all just sat around and disassembled then reassembled an espresso maker.

my family is fucking addicted to macgyvering and it's becoming a problem. every time something in this house breaks, instead of doing the sensible thing of replacing it or calling someone qualified to fix it, we all group around the offending object with a manic look in our eyes and everyone gets a try at fixing it while being cheered on or ridiculed by the rest.

it's a beautiful bonding activity, but the "creative" fixes have turned our house into a quasihaunted escape room like contraption where everything works, but only in the wonkiest of ways. you need a huge block of iron to turn on the stove. the oven only works if a specific clock is plugged in. the bread machine has a huge wood block just stapled to it that has become foundational to its function. sometimes when you use the toaster the doorbell rings. and that's just the kitchen.

it's all fun and games until you have guests over and you have to lay out the rules of the house like it's a fucking board game. welcome to the beautiful guest room. don't pull out the couch yourself you need a screwdriver for that, and that metal rod makes the lamp work so don't move it. it also made me a terrifying roommate in college, because it makes me think i can fix anything with enough hubris and a drill. you want to call the landlord about a leaky faucet? as if. one time my dad made me install a new power socket because we ran our of extension cords

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Roy wakes, fully hard and – two seconds later, when the details of the dream return to him – fully panicked.

Fuck.

---

It’s not like he’s never had sex dreams before. Come on. But none of them had featured men (except that weird one about Lee Pace in a banana costume and that hadn’t left him so much turned on as thoroughly confused) and abso-fucking-lutely not a single one of them had starred Jamie Tartt.

Jamie Tartt, who is now standing right in front of him in the dressing room, saying something about football something something, right Coach, something free kicks, and all Roy can think about is how he now has a very vivid idea of what those lips would look like when wrapped around his cock.

Jamie pushes a strand of hair of out of his eyes. They look grey now; in Roy’s dream they were green-tinting-towards-brown and heavy-lidded with lust as Roy had pushed him back on the bed— 

Roy can’t stand it. Except one very specific part of him apparently can and no, no, fuck no, he’s not doing this. Without a word he turns on his heel and walks away, ignoring Jamie’s surprised objection.

Fuck.

---

Training is a nightmare.

The only way Roy can get through it at all is by not sparing Jamie a single glance. (Jamie running, dribbling, shooting; Jamie turning and twisting, as graceful as water; Jamie with hair damp with sweat and calling out to the others with that eager voice that had called out Roy’s name last night.) It’s really fucking difficult, though, because he’s used to always keeping at least half an eye on Jamie these days, no matter what else is going on. Besides, the prick’s everywhere, rushing around the pitch like the fucking Duracell Bunny on speed. Roy clearly made a huge mistake ever pushing him towards the heights of endurance because the little shit just. won’t. stop. 

Roy’s attempts at avoidance don’t go unnoticed, either. He can feel the eyes of Beard and Nate on him; can see the way the other players look from him to Jamie and mutter among themselves. 

He makes them run suicides until they collapse just to shut them up and when Jamie is the only one still on his feet Roy tells Beard that oh fuck, he has a really important meeting he needs to go to right now, he fucking forgot about it and now he’s running late, could Beard and Nate finish this up please, and of course Roy doesn’t flee from the pitch because Roy Kent doesn’t fucking flee from anything. He walks off rather hurriedly, sure, but that’s just to properly sell the lie of the meeting he’s in a rush to. 

“Yeah, something is definitively up with him and Jamie,” he hears Beard mutter to Nate as he walks off.

Fuck.

---

He withdraws to the supply cupboard where he’s not likely to be disturbed, or found. He’s not hiding, obviously; he just needs a few moments to himself, to gather his wits. He’d drive home, except he actually does have a meeting with Rebecca in a couple of hours, and she is the one person he daren’t piss off. Not because she’s terrifying – although she can be, a fact that Roy respects immensely – but because she’ll know that something is off if he doesn’t show and unlike everyone else she has both the guts and the capacity to force it out of him.

In a farcical turn of events, which he entirely blames on Dr. Sharon (and maybe also on Keeley and Jamie a little, for their absurd and sometimes infectious tendency towards emotional honesty), Roy thinks that maybe he wouldn’t mind talking to someone about this. Maybe it would… help? Give him some perspective on things? 

Problems is, there’s no one he can talk to, is there? Jamie is right out, for obvious reasons, and while this would probably be right up the Diamond Dogs’ alley, there’s no fucking way Roy is telling his fellow coaches and the club’s director of football operations about having a wet dream about the team’s star player. Apart from the utter mortification of it, it’s hardly fair on Jamie, having almost all his bosses discuss him like that. Even if it’s not the real Jamie they’d be discussing, really, just the very bendable and delightfully masochistic Jamie that’s taken shameless residence in Roy’s battered mind. 

He can’t talk to Rebecca, for the same reason, even though he’s pretty sure she’d be able to say something clever enough and cutting enough that he’d snap right out of whatever the hell this is. Maybe she’d declare him clinically insane and unfit for duty and have him carted off to an asylum or some shit, and as much as that would suck it’d be a bit of a relief, honestly. At least he wouldn’t near twist his neck off his shoulders trying to avoid looking at Jamie. 

Jamie would probably come and visit him, the fucking arsehole.

And Roy can’t talk to Keeley, either, because even though she’s probably the best person to bring this to and the person he’d most like to talk to, she’s been clear about having no interest in sorting Roy and Jamie’s shit out for them. Besides, he doesn’t want to somehow give her the idea that he’s over her. He’s not. He had a pretty wild dream about her just the other week, and—

For a brief moment, he’s assailed by the image of Keeley and Jamie tangled on Roy’s mattress, looking up at him with twin smiles and—

In spite of the cupboard being rather chilly, Roy starts to sweat. Desperately, he crosses his legs and forces his mind back to the time when he took a chug of orange juice only for it to be egg yolk and he nearly threw up. 

It doesn’t really help. He’s still turned on, only now he’s feeling sick too. 

He could talk to Dr. Sharon, he guesses, but Dr. Sharon is travelling southern France for the rest of the week.

Roy won’t last that long.

Fuck. 

--- 

The door to the cupboard is pulled open with enough force to almost startle Roy off of the bucket he’s sat on. 

“All right, what the fuck’s going on, man?” Jamie demands, without even having the decency to look surprised at finding Roy hiding hanging out among the mops and micro fibre cloths. “Did you hit your head and forget the last two years or something?”

“Of course not,” Roy mutters, determinedly not looking up from the computer precariously balanced on his lap.

“Then why the fuck are you ignoring me? The lads all think I did something really bad!” There’s a plaintive note in Jamie’s voice, reminding Roy of the noises dream-Jamie had made when Roy— 

Roy closes his eyes. He can’t go on like this. He’s pretty sure that if he could just get a day or two – three or four tops, absolutely no more than five – away from Jamie, away from these constant reminders, the details of the dream would fade away, and his desire with it – but they have a game the day after tomorrow, so that’s not going to happen, and he can’t keep avoiding Jamie until then. It’d be bad for the team – not to mention that he can’t really stomach the hurt he hears in Jamie’s voice.

Nothing for it, then. Fuck it all to hell.

“I had a sex dream,” he grits out, carefully looking to the doorframe right next to Jamie’s face, so that he can catch Jamie’s reactions without having to look him in the eye.

Jamie doesn’t react much, just cocks his head to the side. “You had a sex dream about me?”

“Did I say it was about you, you muppet?!” Conceited prick.

“Uh, no, but it was? You wouldn’t be all weird about it if wasn’t.” Trust Jamie to always choose the worst moments to be insightful and reasonable. He’s doing it just to be contrary, Roy’s sure of it. 

Jamie’s watching him expectantly, as if believing Roy will elaborate or explain further. Roy doesn’t say a word. Roy is busy stonily inspecting a small speck of dirt on the wall next to Jamie’s face.

Eventually, Jamie lets out a long sigh and rolls his eyes. “Fine. What’s the big deal then?” 

Now Roy’s eyes snap to Jamie’s face, because what the hell? “What do you mean, what’s the big deal? You don’t think it’s a little weird and really fucking uncomfortable that I, Roy Kent, had a sex dream about you, Jamie Tartt? I’m your fucking coach! We’re friends!”

Jamie makes a face, like Roy’s being the insane one. “Roy, mate, you’ve seen the wall in my old bedroom. Bunch of half-naked girls and you, right? You never did the math on that?” 

Roy has, in fact, never done the math on that. Hasn’t realize there as math to do. “You were impressed by my prowess as a football player,” he tries feebly.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Um, yeah. Which is hot.”

“… oh.”

Roy doesn’t know what else to say to that. Doesn’t know how to feel about that. Hasn’t the faintest idea about how to even begin to process it.

Jamie is watching him with a small frown. He looks concerned, pitying almost, which makes Roy want to go throw himself in the Thames more than anything else in this discussion has.

“So,” Jamie says eventually, speaking slowly, like he’s trying very hard to find the right words, “all these years and you never once figured that this whole thing we’ve got going, all this fucking tension, that it was… you know… just a little bit sexual?”

“No.”

“What, never?”

“No.” 

“That’s fucking mental, man.” Jamie looks like he doesn’t know whether to be incredulous or impressed. Then his eyes widen. “Ooh, is this because men getting with other men was illegal when you were a kid back in the dark ages? They burned people alive and shit, so you’re, like, repressed and stuff?”

Roy is about to bite his head off for pulling out fucking stupid ha ha you’re so old jokes now, except there’s something in Jamie’s eyes giving him the distinct impression that maybe Jamie is deliberatedly being a prick, doing it for Roy’s sake, trying to offer him a sense of normalcy or something, and that’s actually quite sweet, isn’t it? Only that thought has Roy’s heart doing something weird and stupid, so actually no, back to Jamie just being a prick.

“We’re in love with Keeley,” he says, and he means for it to be gruff, but it comes out pleading more than anything else.

“Yeah, I know.” Jamie sounds exasperated. “None of this means we ain’t. Fucking hell, mate, tension’s just tension, yeah, no need to fucking act on it if you don’t want to. And dreams are just dreams. I’m mad fit, you see me running around doing impressive shit all day, course you’re gonna dream about me, be weirder if you didn’t. Bet half the team do the same, anyway. It doesn’t have to mean anything.” Jamie crosses his arms, and looks as serious and decisive as Jamie ever does. “Listen, Coach, we’re playing West Ham this Saturday, and you need to stop being weird about this and start coaching me and not freak everyone out.”

Roy doesn’t ask him what Jamie think he’s been trying to do all day. Not his fault Jamie’s been right there, all pretty eyes and strong thighs and distracting lips and shit. But he doesn’t say that; instead, he sighs, because Jamie, infuriatingly, has a point. “Yeah. Okay. But… just give me a fucking minute. Go get changed and I’ll be there in fifteen, all professional and shit.”

“Great. See you then, Coach.”

Jamie turns and as he walks away Roy can’t help his gaze sliding down to Jamie’s arse, noticing the way the blue shorts cling to the round buttocks, leaving little enough to the imagination, only Roy is imagining what they’d look like sans shorts and red from Roy’s fingers and palm, wondering if the reality would match the dream.

Fuck. 

---

Dreams are just dreams. Roy tells Dr. Sharon as much during their next appointment, because even though talking to Jamie helped him pull himself together just enough to muddle through the rest of the week with his sanity mostly intact, he’s still feeling rather rattled by the whole mess. Untethered. 

Jamie’s been brilliant, carrying on as if nothing’s changed between them. Somehow, that hasn’t helped as much as Roy would’ve thought it would. 

Dr. Sharon listens carefully and without judgement, as she always does. “You’ve had dreams before,” she notes once Roy’s fallen silent. “I’m sure some of them have been strange or unsettling. Has any of them ever affected you like this?” 

“No. Like I said, it’s just dreams, right? It’s not real. Shouldn’t affect me. Never fucking does, not even the sexy ones, usually.”

“Right. So why do you think this one was different?”

Roy stares at her. She returns his stare calmly, patiently. Waits, watching him, until he can’t help but catch the shape of it reflected back at him in her kind eyes.

Fuck. 

---

“What if I don’t want it to be just a dream?” 

“Eh?” 

Jamie’s peering at him through the open door, looking like he’s wondering what Roy is doing showing up unannounced and spouting nonsense on his doorstep at half past three on a rest day. 

Which, okay, fair enough. 

“What if I don’t want it to be just a dream?” Roy repeats, a little slower this time. 

For another moment, Jamie just stares at him. Then his eyes widen, lightening up with delight. “Oh! You mean… ?” He gestures between them.

“Yeah,” Roy says and then he’s being pulled into the hallway by his jacket and he has time to think that that they really need to figure out how Keeley fits into all of this and then he has his arms around a body that is firm and solid and there and Jamie Tartt is kissing him and it’s not a dream at all. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck… !