#and they did not deserve to be forgotten. and with silva now the (seemingly) last member of the tumultites and with most of her progress

[the-silver-chronicles]

Siblings Q&A | Silva & Elsa Omar ONESHOT

Tagged by @raresbaby and @inafieldofdaisies

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Hey guys, SimpleGenius here! Decided to turn this short Q&A into a legitimate Oneshot for The Silver Chronicles, involving two OCs of mine; Silva and her younger half-sister, Elsa, set in a time in Hope County where Silva had no knowledge of Eden's Gate and the Omar's experienced a time of normalcy. There should be nothing but fluff, yes-siree. Oneshot below the cut:

The buzz of the worn-out camcorder complimented the numbing visuals of the frozen static, but swiftly the unused device booted up.

The specter on the screen was both haunting and ethereal, a memory from a time so much simpler. A normality so sparse in time.

With her trusty camcorder in hand, Elsa admired herself in the mirror. Hair twisted in many small blonde braids, wearing a white sundress laced with magenta patterns that looked like flowers.

The camcorder fizzled, the screen going blank for a moment. She gave it a good whack, faded red paint dusting her black gloves, and the camcorder proceeded to work like normal.

Elsa carried the camcorder away from the mirror, passing through into a lounge. Her hermana, dressed in a yellow flannel and black jeans, her dark hair flowing past her shoulders, seated on their couch having a cup of coffee.

"You ready, Sylvie?" Elsa asked, shuffling cards out of frame. Sylvester placed her cup onto the coffee table, laced gloves fixing creases on a dress she's not wearing. Realizing this, she stops the action and awkwardly cups her knees.

"Si, uh, seguro," Sylvester muttered out, clearing her throat, "How does this work?"

"Essentially, from what Rae-Rae told me, this is a fun little game where siblings answer questions for that net-work mambo-jumbo," Elsa explained, and again shuffled the flash cards she prepared.

"And since we're both sane enough to not invite people to put their noses into where they don't belong, I thought maybe, instead of doing this for strangers, we do it for Persephone," Elsa elaborates further.

Sylvester blinks, grey eyes staring at her younger hermana like a doe caught in headlights. She tilts her head, her right cheek sunk in, chewing her inner cheek.

"Elsa, she's una," Sylvester points out.

"Yeah, I know that," Elsa sighs, understanding but exasperated, "But she won't be for long. When she's older, we can show her this. Let her get to know her mamá and tía some more."

Sylvester's lips didn't quite frown, but she wasn't unconvinced either. "Derecha," she nodded, still wrapping her head around the camcorder's functions.

Elsa was likely grinning behind the camcorder, "Exactly! Now, to make this a bit more fun, I shuffled the questions out of order. Now let's begin."

Elsa showed the flash cards, the shuffle complete, and flipped over the first one.

"Question 19: Who has the worst ideas?" Elsa asked aloud.

Sylvester snorted, uncharacteristic of the person she's supposed to be, a small teasing smile on her healing chapped lips, "Well we both know who that is."

Elsa let out an exaggerated gasp, feigned offense, "Why Sylvie, I am but a respectable, humble and pious shopkeeper. Do you insinuate that I am anything but?"

"Bold words coming from the local daredevil who likes to worry her hermana to near-death," Sylvester retorts, arms crossed.

"...I'm guessing Rae-Rae snitched about my escapes on her roof?"

Sylvester had no need to answer, though Elsa must have seen that she had nothing to worry over, as Sylvester's smile held only amusement.

"Next question," Elsa declared, moving on, "Number 7: Most stable romantic life?"

Both wondered briefly, and Elsa states, "I gotta give this one to you Sylvie. You managed one relationship with Irene far longer than any ones I've had in our time here."

Sylvester narrows her eyes at Elsa, raising a quizzical brow, "Is that so? You and Ezekiel were like two peas in a pod every time you both talked with each other."

"That was brief, and we weren't official. Just some one-upping through flirtation. And he had been a real jerk at first, remember? At least you and Irene had a better start," Elsa deflects, waving a hand onscreen as she desperately denied her hermana's accusations.

Sylvester merely nods her head in feigned agreement as Elsa brings out the next question.

"Question 12: Best memory together?"

Sylvester leaned back on the couch, looking up for a moment. With Sylvester pondering which memory she liked the most, Elsa already found one.

"I'd say buying this residence," Elsa admits, "A place we can forever call our home. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sylvester looked to Elsa, and gave a short nod, "Si, it is up there. But... I'd say my favorite would be when it first rained. Just... playing and dancing like kids do... like we should have been allowed to do."

Elsa must have sensed the solemness in her voice, and replied, "At least we got to do it."

Sylvester hummed, appreciative of that fact.

"Question 15: Would you rather not being able to shower for a month or have the same clothes for a month?"

Sylvester was immediate in her response, "Not shower for a month, obviously. We can just bathe in baths instead."

Elsa laughed, cheerful and loud, "Never thought you'd be the one to take advantage of a loophole Sylvie."

Sylvester smile wholeheartedly, grey eyes sincere as she admitted, "I learned the best from my crafty little hermana."

"Aww," Elsa lightheartedly cooed, and proceeded forward, "Question 5: Who sleeps the most?"

Sylvester raised her hand, "Mother of one very curious and fussy niñita, right here."

"No arguments there," Elsa replied, "Question 14: Dream trip together?"

In a moment of synchronized thought between hermanas, they both state, "Spain."

"Question 16: Who's the older one?"

Sylvester raised her hand once again. Elsa flipped to the next flash card, "Question 10: Who had a weird phase?"

Both pondered for a moment, trying to think of any moment in their lives of such a phase.

"I don't think we were ever given a chance to do so," Elsa states. Sylvester hummed in agreement, shaking her head in confirmation.

"Alright then! Question 6..."

Elsa paused, reading the flash card: 'Who's Mom and Dad's favorite? (If there is one?)'

Sylvester waits, worry building in her gut, and asks, "What's the question?"

Elsa hesitated, but responded, "Who's.... mo- ahem, father's favorite..."

Sylvester briefly gaped, but recovered, stating, "Well, we both know the answer to that question is neither of us."

Elsa hummed, throwing the card away as she proceeded with the next one, "Question 18: Role Model? Mine's you, of course. But who's yours Sylvie?"

"I'd have to say Paul," Sylvester mustered out, clearing her throat, "He saved me after all. Raised me. Gave me something that we were denied."

"I wish I got to meet him," Elsa admits, "From what you told me, he was funny and dramatic."

Sylvester smiled at Elsa's words, "You two would have adored each other."

Allowing Sylvester a moment to keep herself together, Elsa proceeded to the next card, "Question 3: Who eats the most?"

She raised her hand this time, the various rings displayed for the camcorder to catch, "That'd be me! Speaking of which..."

Sylvester cringed, swiftly adding, "I had a sandwich earlier."

But Elsa was not deterred, "While that's good, you skipped breakfast nor have you had any fruits or snacks prior to lunch."

"I'll have something later," Sylvester flimsily promised. Elsa, not satisfied, retorts, "I'll hold you to that."

"Question 8: Worst habit of each one?"

Sylvester sighed, "Well, you already know mine. Though your recklessness is concerning considering your condition Elsa."

"I'm not made of glass, Sylvie."

"Elsa, your bones are brittle and break easily."

"...Okay I'm a little like glass, but I'm not stupid. I can take care of myself. I know what I'm doing when I climb a tree, or go bungee jumping or help Rae-Rae around her farm," Elsa defends. Her hermana replies, "I... I know that Elsa, but even so, you've been seeking out riskier and riskier thrills lately, and I can't... help but worry."

"I appreciate it," Elsa assures, and adds, "But you worry way too often."

Sylvester doesn't argue, and Elsa takes advantage of the momentary silence, "Question 4: Who has been on the weirdest situations?"

Neither hermana could think of either one being in a "weird" situation. Sylvester opted to gesture to Elsa, "Well, given your escapades so far, I vote you."

Elsa huffed, "Seeking thrill is not the same as getting stuck in chance and strange situations."

"And how likely am I going to be in such situations?"

Elsa mumbles, indistinctly playful, and moves on, "Question 20: A GIANT insect is on the wall, who's taking care of it?"

Sylvester raises a brow, "Whoever finds it first."

"Pfft, a bug ain't that scary," Elsa comments, "Question 17: Describe each other in three words."

Elsa and Sylvester held gaze for a moment blurted out their answer.

"My badass worrywart-hermana." "Daring little hermana."

There was a silent beat before both responded to such descriptions.

"Surely that is four words, Elsa," Sylvester argued, but Elsa interrupted with her pointer finger as she replied, "Ah, but you forget my lovely older hermana, the power a hyphen holds."

Sylvester shook her head in disbelief, but did not debate further as Elsa brought forth the next question, "Question 1: Who looks the... ah mierda, another one?"

'Who looks the most like dad?' the question read.

"Is it another relating to... him?" Sylvester tested, her lips pursed in a thin line, her voice softer and quieter than normal. Her grey eyes dulled, hands clenched into her jeans.

Elsa sighs, a hand going out of the camcorder's view, probably to play with her blonde locks, and most likely undo a braid in the process.

"I... Do you mind if we skip this one?" Elsa asks, and Sylvester eagerly nods, much to Elsa's relief, "Question 11: Best cook of the family?"

Elsa answers before Sylvester could have a chance, "Yeah, I can't cook for shit, that's you right there, Sylvie."

Sylvester closes mouth, making no comment on Elsa's lack of culinary skill. Elsa flips the next flash card, "Question 9: Who's the most dramatic?! Why that would be me!"

Sylvester nodded with absolute certainty.

"Question 8: Worst habit of each one?"

Sylvester beat Elsa to the tea, "I got this. I'm a nagging worrywart who forgets her own needs sometimes, and you, mi querida hermana, are a crafty daredevil with a big ego that often gets you into trouble."

"Hah! Wow, you know me so well," Elsa said, flipping to the next flash card, but mentions, "However, you're wrong in your description; you're not a nagger."

Sylvester doesn't visibly react to this, but she seems to be stuck in a forlorn gaze. However, the next question snaps her out of this odd pause, and Sylvester listens attentively.

"Question 13... uh, worst memory together?"

Sylvester and Elsa pondered together, brainstorming.

"Our entire childhood was jodido and never the best," Elsa mentions. Sylvester frowns, and points out, "Si, but the run for the docks weren't any better."

Elsa couldn't not hum in agreement, and she moves on, "Last Question. Number 2: Who looks the most like mom...?"

Sylvester looks baffled as Elsa blows a raspberry, "Irrelevant. We've never met nor did we have the same mother."

Elsa throws away that flashcard out of the camcorder's view, much to Sylvester's visible annoyance.

"And... that's it. We finished the game. Yay!" Elsa lightly cheered, her camcorder focusing on Sylvester, "So... food for thought?"

Silva watched herself, younger and with so much more innocence, more hope, than she had now. The camcorder in her gloved hands was running hot, the flashing sunset-red indicating a coming end, but she could care less, holding onto the memory in her hands for as long as she could.

Sylvester chewed her inner cheek and said, "Besides two nosy ones, I'd say it was... nice?"

Elsa's mock offended gasp was as exaggerated as the younger hermana's mannerisms had always been, "Just 'nice'? This is a memorial moment for the both of us. It is evidence for Persephone to watch and rewatch for years to come."

Elsa placed the camcorder on the coffee table, and sat down next to Sylvester on the couch, a big grin spread out, pearly teeth shown. She grabs a hold of Sylvester's laced gloved hands, despite the latter's exasperation over the former's words.

"Wasn't it you who emphasized the importance of this? To immortalize ourselves through memories our family can visit decades after we're gone? Whether it be through ink, our voices or our image? You have to agree that this is quite a viable way to do that," Elsa assures Sylvester, who's doubt dissipated the longer she thought.

The camcorder began to buffer, the orange-red blinking faster, but Silva continued to watch, wanting to savoir this for as long as she could.

Sylvester's grey eyes looked to Elsa, softly asking, "Okay. But I have to ask; are you sure?"

Elsa laughed, her dimples caught by the camcorder's lens, as she says-

Nothing.

The camcorder's screen was blank, only reflecting Silva. The blinking light gone, the heat prevalent, and despite desperately pushing the power button repeatedly, Silva knew she wouldn't get those reassuring words she needed to hear. Not now. Nor ever again.

Silva's shoulders slumped, still sat down on the old wooden floor in the decrepit corpse of her home. The home she had taken care of for almost a decade. Even after her hermana's death, despite the ache for her visits. Even after Persephone's passing, though the yearning for her hija's laughter echoing in the halls hurt more and more with their absence.

And now... her residence, her home, was nothing more than a burned and decrepit husk full of dust and debris. All the memories that mattered, all the memories she held close to her, the journals, the photos, the shrines they rested under, were all tattered and ripped and frayed and singed and gone. Just gone.

And now... with exception to Silva's own visage of Elsa... the last thing of her hermana that she could have shown to her familia, could no longer function. The Collapse had reduced the resources required to charge such a small device to ash. Even if something survived, the camcorder was aged, and had some bugs.

Silva flipped the lid screen closed, clutching the little camcorder in her gloved hands, pushing it against her chest as she let out a shaky breath. The foliage that claimed her house rustled as a breeze swept past.

She shook where she sat, holding onto the pain, the knowledge that change has come and another chance away from her before she could appreciate it.

The wood creaked, and Silva didn't want to look at her amor's beautiful face, didn't want to shoulder her with more of her own pain and grief. But a dainty hand cupped her face, and Silva couldn't resist, relenting to her beloved's request.

Her tearful grey eyes connected with the warm green of Faith's. Her beloved, her esposa, her amor. Her Faith.

I am hers. And she is mine. As we both vowed.

And Silva wouldn't hide herself away from her. Couldn't. Even if she tried. How could she? They both knew the best and worst of each other. Intimately.

There was no judgement pitting them against one another anymore. Like now, there was only understanding. The grief for a present that they could no longer return to.

Silva did not resist the tears that fell across her cheeks. Nor did she push away Faith when she wrapped her arms around her. An embrace that held a strength that others underestimated about her. Both possessive and a comfort. All to tell Silva, I'm here.

Silva felt two more pairs of arms hold around her. The first was of her inventive Azriel, her grip unyielding as she buried herself into Silva's shoulder, just like she had done when she found her at age nine.

And the second came from her youngest. Her Mercy, clutching onto her with small hands, light-brown hair nuzzling into her body, perhaps not quite knowing why her madre was sad now that they were out of the bunker, but doing her best to lighten the load with her presence.

Silva placed down the old camcorder, and did her best to compensate in the embrace by wrapping her arms around her Faith and precious hijas. Her familia.

The grief was ever present, but this time, Silva would not be lost to it.

[A/n] I lied, the fluff was merely a front, there's only angst here. Well, mostly at least. Set before Old Dusk (the New Dawn WIP), with only a camcorder showing pre-Silva's Hope stuff. They probably only recently left Silva's bunker and well, Silva's obviously gonna be depressed about the state of everything. At least she has her family to keep her grounded? Also I haven't written in a while, so if it was repetitive or tone death, my bad, I've been trying to get my motivation back. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this lovely (and angsty) oneshot, and see y'all in the next one!

[nickeverdeen]

Gingerbread Champion | Ava Silva x fem!reader

Pairings: Ava x reader (romantic), Beatrice x Ava (platonic), Beatrice x reader (platonic)

Type of fic: Fluff, Comedy

Warnings: None

Summary: Knowing Ava didn’t have a proper childhood after being paralyzed you decided to give her something that’d at least a tad bit make it better and gosh it did

———————

December had settled over the city with a soft chill, the kind that turned breath into mist and made staying inside under warm blankets irresistible. You had been prepping for this all afternoon, humming quietly to Christmas tunes as you carefully laid out gingerbread pieces, bowls of colorful candy, and tubes of icing on the kitchen table.

It wasn’t extravagant, but it was perfect in its own way. A gingerbread house competition for two.

Ava deserved it. After everything she’d been through, you wanted to give her something that felt light, carefree—something that let her be a kid, even just for a little while.

You were just finishing setting up the last of the decorations when the front door creaked open, and Ava stepped inside, cheeks red from the cold and a bag slung over her shoulder. Her smile when she saw you instantly lit up the room.

“Hey, you,” she said, kicking off her boots and dropping her bag by the door. “Miss me?”

“Always,” you replied, crossing the room to greet her. She leaned into you, wrapping her arms around your waist in a quick but warm hug. You pressed a kiss to her temple, and she sighed contentedly.

“Beatrice ran me into the ground today,” Ava grumbled, letting go and stretching her arms above her head. “I swear, if I ever hear the word ‘discipline’ again, it’ll be too soon.”

You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Go shower and get comfy. I’ve got something planned for us tonight.”

Ava raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Planned? Is it pizza and bad Christmas movies? Because if it’s not, I’m gonna be very disappointed.”

“Just go shower,” you said with a playful shove, steering her toward the bathroom.

When Ava returned, dressed in her favorite pair of sweatpants and a cozy oversized sweater, her damp hair falling loose around her shoulders, she froze in the kitchen doorway.

The table was a colorful mess of gingerbread walls, candy roofs, gumdrop chimneys, and every type of sprinkle imaginable. Two trays sat side by side, ready for battle.

Her eyes widened as she took it all in. “What is this?”

You stepped out from the corner, where you’d been fidgeting nervously with a tube of icing. “Gingerbread house competition,” you said, smiling softly. “I thought… you know, it might be fun. But if you’re too tired—”

Before you could finish, Ava turned to you, her smile spreading wide and bright. “Are you kidding? This is amazing!” She bounced on her toes, her exhaustion seemingly forgotten. “I’ve never done anything like this before!”

Relief flooded through you, and your own smile grew. “Good. Let’s get to it, then.”

The competition was chaos in the best way.

Ava threw herself into it with the enthusiasm of someone discovering something new and delightful for the first time. She didn’t hold back, using every sprinkle, every gumdrop, and every glob of icing she could get her hands on.

“Is this structurally sound?” you teased, pointing at her candy-laden roof as it started to sag slightly under the weight.

Ava waved you off, icing smeared on her cheek. “It’s not about structure. It’s about vibes.”

“Pretty sure houses need structure to stay standing,” you retorted, carefully piping snow-like patterns along the edges of your own gingerbread house.

“Yours is boring,” Ava shot back, sticking her tongue out at you. “Where’s the personality? The flair? The chaos?”

“Chaos isn’t exactly a compliment when it comes to construction.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, picking up a handful of gumdrops. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to love me, you’re sounding an awful lot like a critic right now.”

You laughed, dodging the candy she pretended to throw at you.

By the time the houses were complete, the kitchen was a disaster zone. Icing streaked the counter, gumdrops were scattered everywhere, and somehow, there was a candy cane stuck to the underside of Ava’s sock.

You both stood back to admire your creations, breathing hard from laughter and the effort of assembling tiny, sugary homes.

“Alright,” you said, crossing your arms and nodding at her house. “I’ll admit it—yours has flair.”

Ava grinned triumphantly. “And yours is sturdy, like… I don’t know, a bank. Or a prison.”

“Hey!” you protested, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

After a moment of silence, Ava looked over at you, her expression softening. “Seriously, though. This was… really fun. Thanks for doing this.”

You reached out, brushing a crumb of gingerbread off her sweater. “Anything for you.”

Her smile turned shy, and she leaned in to kiss you—a quick, sweet press of her lips that made your heart flutter.

As the night wore on, you sat side by side at the table, eating the leftover candy and sharing stories, the mess of the kitchen forgotten. Ava couldn’t stop stealing glances at the gingerbread house she’d built, pride glowing in her eyes.

It was such a simple thing, but seeing her this happy made it feel like the most important thing in the world.

And even if you didn’t say it out loud, you knew one thing for sure: next year, there was no way you were letting her win again.

[mancitynoise]

Last weekend was something of a paradise for fans of English football. While Saturday saw the incredibly competitive relegation battle unfold in the Premier League, Sunday witnessed Manchester United take on Chelsea in a tight affair at Old Trafford, followed by a Carabao Cup final that has created talking points for predominantly the wrong reasons.

As ever in football, the weekend produced its winners and losers – so here’s a look back with a rundown of those who triumphed and those who toiled.

Losers – Arsenal

Arsenal have suffered countless lows during the declining years of Arsene Wenger’s tutelage but the grandness of their stage on Sunday made the 3-0 defeat to Manchester City in the Carabao Cup final particularly significant. While there’s no disgrace in losing to easily the best side in English football if not Europe this season, the manner of the defeat was the ultimate issue at Wembley.

Arsenal gave as good as they got until the first goal went in, but Shkodran Mustafi’s pathetic reaction to Sergio Aguero’s challenge before the Argentine latched onto Claudio Bravo’s pass and lobbed David Ospina epitomised their performance from that point; toothless, spineless and without any real conviction.

Out of the FA Cup already and way behind the rest of the Big Six, Arsenal’s domestic season has ended in February. It’s hard to tell where the north Londoners and Arsene Wenger go from here.

Winner – Gary Neville

Speaking of Arsenal, a mid-game rant may have etched Gary Neville’s name into commentary and punditry folklore on Sunday.

Some would prescribe the Manchester United’s critique as overzealous but it perfectly encapsulated how pathetic Arsenal’s performance was in the Carabao Cup final, branding the Emirates outfit an ‘absolute disgrace’ and particularly targeting an engine room of Granit Xhaka, Aaron Ramsey and Mesut Ozil, who Neville all accused of walking just moments before some ingenuity from David Silva sealed City’s third goal and the first trophy of Pep Guardiola’s reign.

Delivered with real passion and genuine anger by the former right-back, Neville’s swipe at Arsenal won’t be forgotten quickly.

Winner – Romelu Lukaku

Romelu Lukaku will be hoping Sunday’s 2-1 win over Chelsea proves to be something of a turning point when he looks back on his Manchester United career in the years to come. This was Lukaku’s first goal against a member of the Premier League’s big six since moving to Old Trafford and it set the Belgium international on his way for his best performance against such calibre of opposition as well.

Continuously growing into what was an incredibly cagey game, Lukaku occupied Chelsea’s three centre-halves and provided a second moment of magic when he curled in a cross for Jesse Lingard to head home the winner.

Come the final few minutes, as Lukaku jinked past one defender and attempted to charge through Chelsea’s entire defence single-handed, the United faithful let out one of the loudest roars heard at Old Trafford this season, laced with encouragement for and acceptance of the club’s £75million purchase.

Loser – Jonjo Shelvey

Just when Jonjo Shelvey appears to be on the verge of a breakthrough, eradicating the long-standing inconsistencies in his game, the Newcastle United midfielder is picked up by Match of the Day for his refusal to track back.

And it was hard to argue with the scathing assessment; after allowing Adam Smith to maraud his way inside from the left back position virtually uncontested, Shelvey loitered aimlessly outside the box, seemingly waiting for the ball, as Dan Gosling charged into it and completed Bournemouth’s comeback after going two goals down.

For all of Shelvey’s undoubted technical quality, he cost his side two vital points on Saturday. That could be incredibly costly come the summer; not only are Newcastle in relegation bother, but Gareth Southgate is still running the rule over England’s engine room options.

Shelvey’s performance on Saturday will have bumped him down the pecking order.

Loser – Serge Aurier

Many Tottenham fans argued their club had pulled off some of the best business the transfer market has seen this century when they sold Kyle Walker for £50million and replaced him with PSG man Serge Aurier, but Serge Aurier is no Kyle Walker.

Not only did the Ivorian miss a glaring chance to score as Tottenham battled it out in a subdued early kickoff with Crystal Palace on Sunday, somehow overstepping and stopping the ball dead two yards out from goal, but he also became the first player in Premier League history to commit three foul throws in the same game.

It’s a dishonourable record to be the proprietor of, and isn’t exactly the first instance of inexplicable stupidity Aurier has been involved in this season.

Winner – Willian

It’s been an incredible week in the life of Willian, even if it did end in defeat at Old Trafford. The Brazil international was Chelsea’s driving force on Tuesday night as they drew with Barcelona in the Champions League, finding the net after twice hitting the woodwork, and Willian was at his explosive best once again on Sunday, blasting the ball past David De Gea to open the scoring after instigating the counter-attack in his own penalty box.

Jose Mourinho even reserved special praise for his one-time player after the match and considering how performances haven’t even guaranteed him a spot in what has been an unspectacular Chelsea side on the most part this season, the 29-year-old might just take that as encouragement from the Special One to seek a summer move up to Old Trafford.

Losers – West Brom

Alan Pardew is a dead man walking, and at this point his stay of execution has become unbearably painful. The sacking of the two men who appointed him in the same week as four of his players were cautioned by the Spanish authorities for commandeering a taxi amid a drunken rampage at McDonalds has created a hellfire at the Hawthorns, one that they failed to extinguish against Huddersfield on Sunday.

Despite the Terriers’ modest record on the road, they still scored twice before the Baggies managed to respond and eventually sealed a huge victory that could well determine their fate come the end of the season. West Brom though, now appear dead in the water as they’re seven points adrift of safety with just ten games remaining. Next up are Watford.

Winner – Vincent Kompany

When Vincent Kompany swung his foot at an Ilkay Gundogan shot to prod home City’s second goal, the emotion quite simply poured out of him. His celebration was anything other than co-ordinated, City’s skipper flailing his limbs like a man possessed and bellowing out towards the fans who’d travelled all the way to London.

It was a deserved moment considering Kompany, still a world-class centre-back when fit, has endured so many injury problems over the last few years.

But the goal also highlighted the key difference between the two teams at Wembley; no Arsenal player came close to replicating the leadership, physicality and ability to organise that the Belgium international brought to this City team during the most important match of Guardiola’s era so far. If anybody thought Kompany was just along for the ride this season, Sunday’s performance showed how important he still is for the Premier League’s champions in waiting.

Loser – Antonio Conte

Would it be a stretch to suggest Antonio Conte has fallen victim to what Jose Mourinho does best? Since the two exchanged verbal blows at the start of 2018, Chelsea have endured a modest run of form and while their performance at Old Trafford yesterday was hardly embarrassing, the Blues did end up conceding three valuable points to a divisional rival that they hope to beat to second place come the end of May.

Mourinho shook the hand of every Chelsea player before the match, seemingly in attempt to agitate his successor, and Conte’s decisions proved to be the more costly of the two – a few minutes after bizarrely taking off Eden Hazard, Jesse Lingard netted United’s winner. What’s the lesson here? Don’t get involved in mind games with Mourinho.