#(second dumbest so it has an ice maker)

[starshineyellow]

[colekinnie-4life]

Part two of my rant cause I’m not done yet

I’m gonna take a hiatus from talking about the show however, and turn to the movie for a minute

I know, everyone hates the movie

But I don’t care and you can express your opinions towards it here 👉🏼🗑️

Anyways, the whole “being pushed to the side” thing isn’t just a Cole problem, this time, it’s everyone’s problem

All of them except for green bean are planks of wood with basic personalities written on them

Kai- loud

Nya- badass

Jay- shy

Zane- robot

Cole- music

Cole has the least amount of lines in the movie. I counted. He has 45 lines of his own, then a few extra with the other ninja

I like him in the movie too. Not more than og Cole obviously but the movie version is kind of relatable to me because of the whole music thing (I’m obsessed with music)

The song in the end credits says he’s “sarcastic”, but he has no sarcastic lines that I can remember throughout the whole movie

The only mildly sarcastic line I can think of is

“All I know is we really need a ninja master. And you are not a ninja master.”

And that’s not even sarcasm

Anyways, that’s about it for the movie since he does literally nothing

He does way more in the video game version of the movie, but I’m not gonna count that since it’s apparently not canon (booo)

Ok, now time for season 11

HALLELUJAH HE DOES SOMETHING!!

AND WITH KAI SOMETIMES!

Y’all probably know I love lava. It’s so stinking cute and I would be infinitely happy if they turned canon

I mean I think the writers are leaning more towards geode becoming canon, which I am totally not against, I think they’re also super adorable (and I’m not being sarcastic)

For season 11 he doesn’t do much in the fire chapter besides get a new vehicle (with Kai~)

But holy shit, in the ice chapter? He gets lots of stuff to do!

He has the cute-ass interaction with Kai during Fire Maker (insert squealing here)

He loses the travelers tea

He has the dream where everyone hates him

He goes out to find the travelers tree

And he becomes a dad again, this time to Krag

Then he finds out Zane is the ice emperor and he does nothing again :(

To be fair no one does anything besides Lloyd and Zane in this part of the season but oh well

Next season

Prime Empire

Hmmm…

Well he just does whatever the other ninjas do until he blows up

(With Kai~)

Season 13

HALLELUJAH HE GETS A SEASON INSTEAD OF A BADLY MADE 40 MINUTE SPECIAL THATS BASICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO WATCH IN ENGLISH (I watched it on Tubi, you’re welcome)

So I’m not gonna say all the stuff he does this time, but he gets the most amount of attention because- it’s his season

Just go watch Tom Critic’s review of MOTM on YouTube, even though he calls it overrated it’s still a good review and it says everything I need to say

The Island

He’s hungry throughout the whole thing and that’s it :(

But he does trap ronin in a corner

(With Kai~)

Seabound…

Once again, lord have mercy

He does legit nothing and has like 4 lines

To be fair this was the season after Kirby Morrow passed away (rest in peace) so I can respect that

He does do some stuff in that one episode based in ninjago (with Kai~)

Anyways yeah. He gives Queen Vania the fake amulet thingy and that’s it

:(

Season 15, he’s the one who finally gets everyone together. Then a whole lot of nothing happens to him specifically, he’s just doing what everyone else is doing

Until he (and Kai~) get into a car crash and he acts all loopy in save haven (greatest episode of crystallized for obvious reasons)

Then he powers up, takes care of Vangelis through the dumbest “defeat” of all time, then turns into a crystal zombie for 2 seconds and loses his powers

Ughhhhh not again…

They keep losing their powers and it’s getting annoying

Anyways, dragon’s rising

Just a note that this will have MASSIVE spoilers for part two of season two. You have been warned

Anyways, he’s not reintroduced until season 1 part 2

And like clockwork, he has adopted children again!

And he got himself a boyfriend in Geo

Like I said I’m a hardcore lava shipper. But hey, Cole has two hands, and both ships are adorable in their own ways, so I’m a multi shipper

Anyways, he’s in one episode then dips when he starts chasing after Wu’s ghost

Ughhh

Next season he actually kinda does stuff. He just goes along with Zane to find the sorceress or whatever they were doing (kinda forgot- haven’t watched part 1 in a while)

But hey, their duo is always awesome

Part 2 (once again MASSIVE SPOILERS)

He gets kicked off the tournament as soon as he fights off his opponent :(

But hey at least he isn’t shoved into a Chinese sweatshop like last time

Then he follows Wu’s ghost again and finds the new monastery

Then he finds the elemental mech and uses that to help Arin, then he just hangs out in that while fighting the bad guys

Then he- does nothing once again :(

And that’s where we end!

Well, at least with these seasons he, for the majority, got something to do. Sure he ends up mostly just going with what everyone else is doing but he does get his own thing to do sometimes

So these seasons were much better at giving him something to do :)

Anyways- there’s not much else for me to say besides give Cole more to do in season 3 whenever that comes out, and make Geode canon please they’re so cute

I mean I would be happier with lava but-

Ok bye

[anonymusbosch]

the office has a little machine that dispenses ice, cold water, and hot water. Nice for making tea or cooling down coffee or whatnot. Now, the old ice machine had a quirk - the amount of ice it wanted to dispense was No or Yes, usually manifesting as a quiet mechanical rumble followed by the sound of half a liter of ice dumping out into your mug all at once and overflowing and breaking all over the floor. It was very predictable. If you let go of the button too quickly, you would get no ice. If you let go too late, you would get much too much ice. There was no "correct time" that would get you Enough ice - or it changed every time, or with the motion of the planets, or with the melancholy moods which all such dispensers are prone to.

So the office manager got a new ice machine. This one is capable of dispensing Enough ice. However, it's also the stupidest machine known to man. It's touchless. I don't know why an ice machine needs to be touchless. You might think it's like the water fountains that detect whether your bottle is under the dispenser but NO. No, it has a sensor which you must hold your hand roughly 1.5 inches in front of to turn on the water or ice dispenser. To cycle through water temperatures, you wave at the little sensor. The little sensor that, mind you, looks like a button. And suppose you want to fill your 1-L water bottle. With a normal dispenser, you might hold the bottle in front of the sensor, or you might push a button with the bottle, or there might be a little lever you pull or button you push with your hand. With This dispenser, you must hover your hand 1.5" in front of a sensor the size of a paperclip. The sensor's "happy range" seems to be narrower than I can steadily hold my hand for 30 seconds. So. You gotta stabilize your hand on something. You gotta touch the touchless machine with your fingers so that your palm hovers in the right place. You stand there, feeling a bubbling frustration with the touchless dispenser, needlessly complicated - harmless, but stupid for no reason - and see that the office manager has tacked up a sign saying you can find her for training to use the dispenser.

Training. To use the water machine. You die inside. You necromance yourself in time to pull your bottle away. As you turn, you pass the ice sensor. The machine petulantly spits a single ice cube onto the floor.

The next time you go to use the dispenser you hold the bottle in your right hand and try to hover over the sensor with your left hand. This is a fool's mistake. With your fingers steepled over the water sensor, you do not hear the rumbling from the machine. You don't see that you are melting your wax feathers, little cafeteria Icarus. You are summoning the demon this machine was meant to banish.

You don't notice that your arm is in front of the ice sensor until an avalanche of ice desecrates the floor. And then everyone notices.

Humbled and scrambling you snatch up the cubes before they start to melt, throwing them into the sink. You curse the makers of the machine that bested you and you curse the office manager for choosing the dumbest machine man has deigned to make. You curse yourself for your inadequacy. (Internally, all of these - no ill will directed at the manager aloud.) And apparently you curse yourself, for when you return later to request ice cubes from this machine's cruel lips,

it has but one to spare.

[bnhascribbles]

Our Thing

Todoroki x Reader

Dialogue Prompts (4, 6), Fluff & Humor, Prank wars and the progression of a relationship

Request: A “fluffy and funny” “prank mission” with Todoroki and reader with some “tickle spot” shenanigans

Words: 2.4K

Warnings: ;D, Bad puns

This was a bad idea.  A terrible idea.  The broken ice-maker was probably the universe’s way of trying to drive that point home, but thankfully (or perhaps, unfortunately), you were resourceful.

Out of all the things you could have been doing at 6 AM on a Saturday morning, messing with Katsuki Bakugo was probably the absolute dumbest–it was also the most likely to lead to irreparable bodily harm.  Only the truly stupid would even think to try it.  But, as a great philosopher (that you’re at least 20 percent sure you didn’t make up) once said: Stupidity becomes bravery the moment you give it a cause.  Bravery was something you were supposed to exhibit as a hero, so the way you saw it, what you were doing was another part of your training.  

“How long do we have?”  You’re careful to keep your voice low.

Todoroki doesn’t respond and you peer back over your shoulder at him, expecting to see some sort of solemn or annoyed expression painted across his face.  That’s not the case.  In fact, you’re convinced he hasn’t even heard you; He yawns, eyes drifting shut, and for a second, you’re afraid he’s about to fall asleep standing up.  On a normal day, you might’ve found his drowsiness hilarious–a welcome change from his usual stoic demeanor–but today you needed him awake and alert.

“Earth to Todoroki!”  You hiss, snapping your fingers in front of his face.  He jerks his head back, eyes shooting open.  

You ignore the glare he shoots your way and rephrase the question.  “I asked how much longer you think it’ll be until he wakes up.”

Todoroki just grunts, rubbing at his face.  “How am I supposed to know what time Bakugo wakes up?”

“Your room is right above his.  Don’t you know his schedule or something?”  

He blinks slowly, blankly–like your question was just ridiculous enough to render him speechless.  Maybe the gesture wasn’t exactly intentional, but damn if it didn’t make you consider knocking your sleep-drunk classmate onto his behind.

“You seriously have no clue?”

“Well, it’s not like he shouts ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ through the ceiling.”  His voice has the same calm, collected quality to it as usual.  Still, you feel the bite behind his words.  “If you needed info, then maybe you should have gone to Kirishima instead.”

Okay, so he had a point.  That didn’t mean he had to be a jerk about it, though.  Besides, you were too far in to back out now.

“Kirishima can’t keep a secret.  Can’t shoot ice from his fingertips either.”

“If all you needed was ice, then that means I’m done here.”

You glance at the door, then back at him.  You’re prepared to begin your lecture on the difference between being “sassy” and being “assy,” but before you can, there’s a creak.  Then a crash and a clatter.  You smile triumphantly at Todoroki, whose shoulders tense up when he sees what’s behind you.

You turn, and it’s a beautiful sight you stumble upon.  Bakugo is drenched from his head to his toes, looking absolutely stunned.  He stares at your bucket, still dangling from the doorframe.  Then he peers down at the chunks of ice scattered around him.  Finally, his eyes find you.  His face contorts, his teeth bared and his red eyes blazing.  You take a wary step backward, throwing a hand up over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

“Come on Bakugo.  Be cool.”

He springs toward you and you bolt, grabbing Todoroki’s wrist and dragging him along.  Like it or not, he was an accessory to your antics now.

***

As you walk, the box in your arms jiggles.  You have to readjust your grip to make sure you don’t drop it.

“He just moved in yesterday and you’re already bothering him?”  Todoroki asks, carrying the other box, despite his protests.  “Is this even a prank?”

You drop the package, tucking in each top-flap so that the contents don’t escape.  “Shoto, anything can be a prank if you frame it correctly.”  You press an ear to the door, listening for any movement inside the dorm room.  You hear nothing, so you get to work on the lock.  “Besides, we need Shinso to feel comfortable with class 1-A.  He needs to be welcomed.”

“Welcomed.”  He repeats with sarcasm, something that you would’ve never expected from him a couple months back.

Putting down his box, he sits with his back to the wall.  He didn’t really have anything to do for the time being, seeing as you’d only needed him to act as an extra pair of hands.  Little had he known that when he’d agreed to help you out with your “icy-escapade” (as you liked to call it), he’d unknowingly signed up to be your partner-in-crime for all future shenanigans.  

Of course, he had a choice in the matter.  He could just say no and slam the door whenever you came to his room with that look plastered across your face.  Thankfully, he never did.

Idly, he reaches into the cardboard container.  When his hand reemerges, he’s holding a grey kitten–a squeaky little thing that writhes in his grip.  He cradles it in two hands that seem gigantic compared to the tiny creature, holding it in front of his face, scratching at its ear with his thumb.

“You convinced Koda to help?”

“I didn’t need to convince Koda to do anything.  These are kittens, Shoto.  Kittens.”

You twist your wrist and the lock clicks open.  You listen for any signs that Shinso might have heard it, and when there’s no sound inside the room, you turn the knob and push the door in.  Still dark.  Perfect.

You signal over to Todoroki.  He stands, one hand cradling the kitten to his chest.  He uses his other to slide the box into Shinso’s room.  You do the same, quirking up an eyebrow when he makes no move to put his new “friend” with all of its brothers and sisters.  He just looks down at the kitten, then back up at you, unfazed.

The sound of sheets rustling on the bed is a sign that you only have a few minutes to do what you need to do.

“Keep your eyes on me.”  You mouth, squatting down low.  Todoroki does the same, keeping his gaze fixed on you, like you’d commanded.  

Ever so slowly, you unlink the top of the box.  Six tiny heads pop up, glistening eyes peering over the new environment with boundless curiosity.  The five in Todoroki’s box do the same, but they’re more adventurous.  They don’t hesitate to hop out and begin exploring.

“Shinso,”  You call out, softly at first, “Shinso, wake up.”

There’s a groan, then some unintelligible mumbling coming from the corner of the room.  He was awake enough–it was time to abandon subtlety.  

You cup your hands around your mouth, and putting on your best Present Mic imitation, you shout.  “WELCOME TO 1-A!”  There’s a flurry of movement as Shinso flails about in bed, his form shooting upward at the sudden start.  “HOPE YOU HAVE A PURR-FECT DAY!”

You don’t wait another second; You sprint out the door with Todoroki right behind you.  It would’ve been nice to see your classmate’s reaction, but you figured it would be best for him to discover your “present” at his own leisure.  Your work here was done.

Giggling, you slam the door shut.  You turn to high-five your partner, but then you hear multiple meows and see that Todoroki’s hands are...full.  Of kittens.  Three to be exact.

“Shoto.”  You say, fighting the tears that threaten to poke out of the corners of your eyes.  Oh, this was rich.  “We were, um, supposed to leave those guys with Shinso.”

“Nine is enough.”  He says.  Calmly–like he’s not struggling to keep the littlest of the bunch–a tabby with the brightest blue eyes–from climbing up his shoulder.

“I guess it is.”  You choke out your response and reach to grab the creature before it scales Todoroki’s head.  

Gingerly, you detangle it’s paws from his hair, careful to keep it from scratching at his scalp.  Despite your caution, the little one manages to snag a couple scarlet strands in its claws.

“Oh, sorry about that.”  You shoot Todoroki an apologetic look, then hold the kitten in front of your face and click your tongue, admonishing it for being such a troublemaker.  “I guess he just wanted something to remember you by, huh?”

“I guess.”  

And he juggles with the two other balls of fur in his hands, all the while trying to hide the slight flush that’s creeping to his ears.

***

“Pleeaaase?”  You lie on your back and let your head hang over the edge of the bed.  The world is upside-down, but Todoroki’s expression hasn’t changed–it’s as unyielding as ever.

“No.  Not this time.”

“Just imagine it–his face when he sees–”

“I said no.  I will not help you glitter-bomb Aoyama’s apartment.”

“I don’t even need you to help this time; Just come along.”  

He scoffs.  “Weren’t you the one that said ‘glitter is forever plus ten years?’  How can you justify pouring tubs of the stuff all over our classmate’s home?”

You scramble for something–anything.  “Redecorating?    Really making the place sparkle?”

He continues towel-drying his hair, not even bothering to respond.  You flip onto your stomach and pout.  

“Shoto Todoroki, we are supposed to be partners.  What happened to loyalty?”  

He rolls his eyes as he turns away from you, walking into the bathroom.  You crane your neck forward, watching until he disappears beyond the doorframe.  Then, once he’s out of sight, you smile.  It’s that mischievous, troublesome smile you always wore whenever a plan was playing out perfectly–whenever your target was perfectly unaware of your intentions.  You push yourself up and off the bed, following Todoroki.

His eyes flick up to meet yours the moment you lean on the doorframe.  They’re wary.  Cautious.  You try to make yourself seem as innocent as possible, sporting downturned lips and folded arms.

“Okay,” You begin after a moment of silence, “Maybe you’re right about the Aoyama thing.  Glitter is a little too...permanent to be considered part of a harmless prank.”  The suspicion isn’t completely erased from your companion’s face, but he seems more at ease.  “I shouldn’t have played the ‘loyalty’ card.  Sorry.”

He just nods and hangs his towel.  When his back is turned to you, you inch forward, wrapping your arms around his waist.  His body goes tense, but he relaxes once he realizes that there’s no trick hidden in your embrace.

“You’re not gonna say anything back?”  You ask, teasing.

“What do you want me to say?”  It’s not sarcastic or accusatory.  Just soft.  His hand drifts down to graze your arm.

“I might want you to say ‘I forgive you.��”  You prop your head on his shoulder, rubbing your nose against his jaw.  “Then again, I might just want you to turn around and kiss me already.”

You loosen your grip just enough for him to turn and face you.  He presses his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes.

“I forgive you.”

Then, there’s the glorious moment when his lips meet yours–warm and inviting.  Your arms unlink themselves from his waist, moving them upward to lock around his neck.  You stand on your tiptoes, eager for more.  Fingers tangle themselves in his hair and pull him in closer.  

What began gentle quickly shifts into something rougher.  Something more wanting.  Noses bump.  Lips crash into each other once, then twice, again and again.  Teeth nibble and bite while tongues explore and wage their war for dominance.  You’d done this hundreds of times before; It was all part of a familiar routine, albeit, a routine that never grew stale–never became a bore.

When your back hits the bed, you remember your original plan despite the desperate, hedonistic fog that threatens to consume you.  You squeak, pressing your palms into Todoroki’s chest.  He pulls back, lips parted and eyes heavy with desire.  Before he has time to complain, you shift your weight, rolling to trap him beneath you.  His eyebrow shoots up, and you grin wide, leaning back onto your legs.

“Shirt.  Off now.”  For emphasis, you snake a hand in beneath the hem, nails lightly dragging a trail up to his ribs.

He inhales sharply, pulling the tee up and over his head.  Before he can finish getting the material over his arms, your hand darts out and grabs his wrists.  The other traces the shape of his chest up to his neck, then moves back down again.  

Your fingers graze one particular spot just beneath his arm, and he flinches–the muscles in abdomen taught.  You pull back, and he relaxes almost immediately.  A wicked sort of satisfaction washes over you as you wonder if, just maybe, you’ve found what you’d been looking for.  Slowly, deliberately, you reach for the same spot, watching him with renewed interest.  The same tension shoots through his body, his eyes going wide.

“Don’t–”

He barely even finishes the word before you’re assaulting him full-force, fingers shoving their way in beneath his shoulders.  You’re laughing and he’s grunting and squirming, trying in vain to wriggle free from your grasp.  He might’ve been able to, had it not been for the shirt trapping his arms and your thighs locked on either side of him, pressing in tight whenever it seemed like he was about to escape.  Once you’re both sweating, panting messes, you finally stop, feeling all-too victorious.

“So it was your armpits.  Classic tickle spot–I should have figured that out sooner.”

You’re expecting him to glare or grit his teeth or shove you off.  He doesn’t.  He just lets his head flop back onto the pillow, groaning.

“How did we become this?  How did this become our thing?”

You smile, wiggling your fingers like you’re about to attack his armpit again.  At the last second though, your hand changes its course, moving up to cradle his cheek.

“Sweetie, this didn’t become our thing.  It’s been our thing ever since you opened the door for that rambunctious little troublemaker in your first year at U.A.”

Half of Todoroki’s mouth twists upward–only slightly, but it’s still impossible to miss.  He pushes himself off the mattress, lifting his chest (and you) off the bed with ease.  You help him pull the rest of his shirt up and off his wrists, silently marking your little scheme a massive success.

He moves his face in closer as his hands, now free to roam, slide down your sides.  His next words are whispered against your lips.

“Best mistake of my life.”

[rosey-writes]

The Alchemist Tributes: Book One

                                                Questioning

                                   Observe Your Enviorment

Beta’d by the epic @boy-yandere

I hate everyone

That’s not a secret. Not to me, not to them. It’s not a secret because I tell them to their faces, repeatedly, in the eloquent phrase of “fuck you.” Sadly, that doesn’t make you many friends.

Strange, many may say, considering I live in District 1. Oh the glorious, oh the richest, everyone there must be so smart and talented and blah blah blah blah- it sucks. Everyone here is a stuck up brat, our poster boy is a redhead sadist who never had to work a day in his life, there’s glitter on everything, people are celebrity worshiping morons, and for god’s sake you don’t live in the Capitol stop dressing like you fell into the dye maker.

I don’t hide these sentiments, have no reason to want to. Quite frankly, when you see someone choke to death in a perfume factory, you just give up on censorship. What are they going to do? Kill me? They do that to twenty four kids each year on reality TV, plus reruns every day. Death loses its punch when you've watched your neighbor’s eyes be gouged out a few dozen times.

Needless to say, I’m not very well liked. Not that I particularly blame them. I don’t particularly like me either, but, I’m the only me I’ve got.

Now, I’m not saying I’m better than any of these other District 1 freaks. Hell, I’m the son of the a victor, I’m just as much of a useless brat as any of them, but at least I have the decency to admit it. And on no other day is this more apparent than the Reaping.

Ah, yes, the Reaping; the day father shoves me into a suit, I complain, he pretends I’m not a disappointment to the Swift name, I walk to the city square, they try to press me with the twelve year olds until they finally scan me to prove I’m sixteen, and instead force me into the box with the six and seven foot killing machines. Wonderful.

I heard father talking to some of the other victors last night - never a good sign - after they’d thought I’d went to bed. Stupid of them considering it was eight pm, but I’ll give them a pass. Slaughtering your schoolmates tends lower your sanity a tad. Anyway, I heard them talking through the ducts, something about how the capitol was planning something special for the hundredth anniversary of the games. Because child slaughter is so much fun! Yay!

God, I hate my people.

The alarm was blaring in my ear as I tried to keep my eyes shut, tried to ignore it and hide under the covers. Father would be up in the next few minutes if I did; he’d whine and moan about how ‘I went to the games, you can go to the Reaping’, and I give in because anything was better than Aren Swift’s nasally drawl. That in mind, I slam my hand down on the clock, yanking it back with a wince because ow that hurt.

Yawning, I open my eyes, first thing hitting them being the suit crumpled at the edge bed with a note reading, I expect you down here by 8. My brothers were screaming downstairs, the sound of shattering glass and punches travelling up, probably over who took the last of the milk.

It was me.

Checking the clock, the glaring 7:30 AM assaulting my eyes in its obnoxious Capitol-pink. So there was no pushing this back, huh? With a sigh, I got to my feet, putting on the suit, fixing my hair with a brush of the hands, and throwing on my boots with the heel that I painted so they look like flats, and I was on my way down, 7:59 on the dot.

I threw open the door, grabbing the handle before it hit the wall. Maybe now’s not the best time to cause a ruckus. Stalking down the stairs, I hopped over the creaky one at the end, landing on my toes. My brothers may have gotten the height, weight, age, and the every-other-advantage, but I've got a functioning brain and stealth on my side.

Ducking behind the bookshelf, I peeked around, and, sure enough, all three of my brothers were around the breakfast table. Illias, the oldest, bulkiest, and by no coincidence dumbest, was laughing, Bravon and Satin, second and third respectively on both accounts, rubbing their jaws with whines, bruises blossoming on the skin. I've always had a theory; as dad had more kids, the genetics for height were slowly swapped out for actual working brain cells, one by one, until you got to me. Dumb theory, perhaps, but not dumber than Illias, who once lost checkers to a dog.

Sadly, life rarely gave a singular shit about that sort of thing, though, otherwise I wouldn’t be the one inching my way towards the door to avoid family responsibilities. Because, god, the door, it was so close. Father didn’t seem to be around, probably having a drink with the other victors before the Reaping, especially since it’s all but certain that Illias’ heading in. The Academy adores him, most parents too, so when he offers to volunteer, there’s no way they won’t let him, now that he’s finally hit eighteen. Bravon will probably volunteer the next year, Satin the next, and then, well, then it’s supposed to be me but someone has to be the family disappointment. Hard job, truly, but it must be done.

Bolting from behind the shelf, I put my hand on the door, pulling it down, freedom in my grasp, when an arm wrapped around my neck, choking me as I was dragged back, laughter ringing in my ears. “Ey, Bambi’s trying to skip out on the pre-game!”

“Illie, I think you should let go, his face is turning blue…”

“Come on, he needs to toughen up.”

I couldn’t breathe. My vision was going white as I clawed and yanked, thrashing to get him off, hard, as his bicep was larger than my head. Finally, he let go, air rushing back into my lungs. “Don’t call me Bambi.” I managed to choke in between gasps.

“Sure thing.” He clapped me hard on the back. “Bambi.”

Bambi. I hate that name more than anything else. Father had a book that had been passed down through his family, since before the dark days. It was a little book, with something called ‘Disney’ scribbled at the bottom, a silly story about a baby deer, only point of interest being the mother got shot. Somehow, that reminded my entire family of your truly, so they decided to start calling me Bambi.

“I need to go the factory.” I straightened my tie, glaring at Illias, which, admittedly, must have looked ridiculous, considering I was on my toes to do so, and I still couldn’t look him the eye.

“Boring.” Plopping back in his seat, Illias kicked up his feet. “Dude, why do you want to spend your life playing with perfume?”

“Because I’ll be alive.” Sighing, I leaned on the wall, grabbing an apple off the table. “Oh, and when your colon gets ripped out through your nose, I’m taking your room.”

“I called it first!” Bravon whined, and Illias stood, slamming his hands down on the table.

“Why are you all so sure I’m going to lose, huh? Huh?!”

“I-It was a joke.” Bravon curled his shoulders to his ears.

I raised a brow. “No, it wasn’t.” Illias was glaring at me, and damn it, damn my mouth, why does it move without asking first?

“Huh.” He grabs my collar, pushing me to the wall, my head banging back against it, pain shooting through my skull. “Need me to show you how-”

“Illias. Put him down.” I never thought I’d be happy to hear that nasally whine, but as soon as the words were spoken, he dropped me, allowing me to crumple to the floor.

Aren was a tall man, blonde hair to the point of turning white in the light, eyes closer to the color of ice than the sky, and a harsh scar that traveled from the center of his back to his cheek. Some might call him attractive. Some might call him terrifying. I call him ‘trying too hard’ because I know for a fact that scar is a stick-on.

He kneels down, eyes cast down in that ever-shamed look they have whenever they’re on me. “You let yourself get pinned.”

Of course it’s my fault. “If you hadn’t noticed, he was about to hit me.”

“Yeah. Defend yourself next time.” I’m yanked back to my feet, and ow, I think that pulled my arm out of my socket. “You know today’s the Reaping, right?”

“Sadly.”

“Eliot Paris Sw-”

“Don’t say that outside this house, I know that.” With a sigh, I tossed the apple to Satin, who grinned, taking out half of it in a bite. “Can I go now?”

“Why?” The nasally pitch dropped to a low growl and okay maybe it was a little (absolutely) terrifying. “You’re a Swift. You don’t have to go into the games, I understand that, but I am not going to stand you disrespect them, disrespect your brother, who actually wants to improve our name.”

“Because killing is something to proud of?”

“It’s for honor.”

“And what exactly does honor do?”

“More than dying in a perfume factory.”

Alright, that stung. “It’s not like I’d have half a chance if I went in.”

“Yes.” The rest hung heavy in the air, the unsaid words that only came out in drunken rants, as he sobbed to the other victors in the dead of night. It would be better if he died in there than live the humiliation of never going in. “Go to your factory, Eliot, just... just be in the square by eleven.”

“...Yes, Aren.” If someone asked what I found my father’s best talent to be, it wouldn’t be his ability to snap a neck with a flick of a finger, or his fire starting, his sword or his aim, it would be the ability to sap every drop of self worth from me with one word.

Eyes cast down, I grabbed my backpack, sliding it onto my shoulders as he stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Today was already going swimmingly, wasn’t it?

Everyone had the day off on Reaping, from school, work, the idea being no matter what you did, you had to be there at eleven on the dot. I had the day off too, of course, but, if I plan on running that factory one day, I have to make sure it doesn’t get burned to the ground. If there’s one thing I know about the place, it’s that the employees would leave a stick of dynamite in a gasoline tank and never bother to take it out.

Not to mention I could get some extra work done. In my attempt to ‘ruin the Swift name’ by staying as far away from fighting as possible, I hopped from field to field to see what I could do. Yet another rich boy luxury I suppose; I get choices. Eventually, I found I had a knack for chemistry, mixing scents together into a pleasing, easy to make formula, and so, I got a job creating scents at the factory.

The sky was overcast today. I would say how fitting it was, but it was overcast almost every day here in perpetually dark District 1. As I made my way to the factory, I stopped when I heard voices coming down the way. That wasn’t good. I quickly turned, trying to duck down an alleyway, when I heard a voice shout. “Like, oh my god, isn’t that one of the Swifts?”

“Yeah, the little one.”

The smart thing to do now would be to walk away. To let this go, turn around, and pretend I didn’t hear them. There was only one problem. Wits did nothing for my pride. “I can name many things littler than me, Leviticus; you should really see a doctor about that.”

The boy’s face burned. “You saying something?”

“Levi, like, calm down, he’s totally ‘not worth it it.’” As if things couldn’t get any worse. There he was, the face of District 1, the symbol of everything vapid and worthless, Fiyero Deamorte. Even in the gaudy streets of District 1, Fiyero managed to stand out brighter than a peacock; hair redder than any strawberry I’d ever seen - I’d accuse him of coloring it if he hadn’t burst into hives when I spilled hair dye on him in second grade - green eyes a color that shouldn’t exist, perfect skin and smile, thin in all the right places, rich beyond the belief, moving here from the Capitol as a child, he’s the District 1 Dream.

And he legitimately thinks two plus two is, ‘like, indigo.’

Now that is where I should leave, but - “What do you mean by not worth it? Last I checked I was the only one here with any actual talent.” Damn my mouth, damn it all. I was surrounded by two male future careers, Fiyero’s girlfriend, who is on her way to being the hundred and first female tribute, and Fiyero Deamorte, who, while harmless, dad owns the largest company in Panem.

“Like, I have talents,” Fiyero whined, leaning his head on his girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Like what?”

“I can tell fabric by touch!”

“Well that’s useful for absolutely nothing.”

“Hey.” The girlfriend stepped forward, Amazonia if I’m remembering right. “You want to say that to him again?”

No. “Yes. He is useful for absolutely nothin-” I probably deserved that. The punch to the gut knocked the wind out of me, and I crumpled down, clutching my stomach. As soon as I did, I got a knock to the jaw, my head snapping back, fire shooting through my skull as I hit the concrete, groaning, blood dribbling down my chin.

At least it couldn’t get any wor- and she spat on my face.

I heard Fiyero tut, felt his shadow loom over me, as he bent down, whispering in my ear. “You know, if you get picked, no one’s volunteering for you. We’re all just going to cheer when you get slaughtered.”

Fucking. Sadist.

With that, and a final kick that rocketed, shattered, splintered glass along my spine, it seemed they were satisfied with their damage, sliding back into whatever diamond encrusted hole they crawled out of. I forced myself to my elbows, then my feet, catching a glance in a window to see my reflection. My cheek was already blossoming with bruises, I was lucky they hadn’t broken my glasses this time. Next time, I’d be smarter about it. Start a fight without Amazonia around.

I made that promise to myself, knowing full well I couldn’t keep it.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 23 - MTL - Convincing Complete

Is it accurate to call the Montreal Canadiens a rival? In the bare bones sense of them being in the same division and therefore a divisional rival it certainly would seem so, but really? The two teams have not met in a playoff series since the late 1990s and have somehow rarely been good at the same time. As is plainly clear with fans of any team, especially the Canadian-based ones, the Habs are the team to hate for their general snootiness about their hockey. But what axe to grind do the Sabres of Buffalo, NY have with them? Perhaps the plain and boring answer is just repetition and familiarity. The Habs fans filing into the arena every time they’re in town feels like a less clean version of the Leafs invasions. I digress; the way the Sabres have played the Habs this season has been a pace-maker tester every time. I watched the ending minutes of this game on my in-laws toilet and that felt like the right place given the intensity of this matchup as of late. This wild win streak began against Montreal but long before the win streak the Sabres met the Canadiens in October in what was quite a battle as well. This game stood as the opportunity to get three straight wins against hated rival (?) Montreal. It was also an opportunity to extend a seven game winning streak that already puts this Blue and Gold team in special company in franchise history up to eight straight.

Admittedly I was engaged in family affairs during this game. I am good Sabres fan though and I checked the score regularly, even turning on the stream when it seemed appropriate. Buffalo came out on a hometown high of goodwill still welling up from last game and the excitement of the crowd present. They got an edge in shots even a Tage Thompson shot that very nearly beat Antti Niemi in the first. It was Casey Mittelstadt who broke the ice who broke the ice at 12:39 on a rebounded Conor Sheary shot. It’s good to see Casey scoring more and it’s nice to begin to get the feel that this top six might be solid. Those two obviously have been doing well but Kyle Okposo who we feared would never be the same player last season has really gotten into a great way of things on that second line wing. Speaking of guys making their way into relevance again I mentioned Tage Thompson earlier but it’s worth repeating his name. He got how many GOOD shots on goal in this game? He didn’t get onto the score sheet but it’s almost as if he’s listened to some of the junk out there about him. He’s come around and is going to contribute: if not regularly now, then in time he will. Writing off this guy is not smart at this juncture. The second period saw a Montreal resurgence because the Sabres got to stink in one period right? Late in the period Canadiens Brendan Gallagher muscled a puck in past Carter Hutton that ended up getting called back for kicking it in. Gallagher wouldn’t be denied evidently and at 18:12 of the second period got his goal on rush. You probably don’t want Montreal native Nathan Beaulieu dropping to his knees defending that play but it was good shot either way. The game was even 1-1.  

The third period delivered some suspense that perhaps made you think about this winning streak in a new way. Montreal saw a morale booster win in front of them and pursued it. Jason Pominville got called for a weak holding penalty and Andrew Shaw would get credit for tapping in a David Schlemko shot on the ensuing powerplay to get the visitors up 2-1. The Sabres fought back but this game was getting long in the tooth in this period and one begins wonder if the win streak would end with who started with. We need to talk about Buffalo as a hockey city but we’ll save that for after the recap. There was less than three minutes left in regulation when Jeff Skinner batted in the juiciest rebound on the Thanksgiving leftovers day and tied it up. This one went to overtime. I sat perched on my in-laws toilet enjoying the stream at this point with some excitement. The Sabres dominated possession in the extra frame and possession in 3-on-3 hockey means a lot. Max Domi got called for slashing on Rasmus Ristolainen as he barreled in for a shot and the Sabres were on a 4-on-3 powerplay that just completely hemmed in the Habs. Tick tack toe passing a shot, a scramble in front of the net and who other than Jeff Skinner shot that puck through the net-crashing chaos to give Buffalo the Overtime win. 3-2 Buffalo, this win streak goes onto Christ’s number 8. One goal wins over the Habs maybe one of my favorite features of this season so far. For a brief shining moment this evening the Sabres were even top of the Eastern Conference. How about that?

So let’s talk; about two things: Buffalo Hockey and Jeff Skinner. Buffalo Hockey: so on Wednesday night friends and family were in town to see a Sabres team that swept a Western swing that looked to be something to behold. It was six wins in a row at that point including a couple at home. Chris “The Bulldog” Parker talked with Sal Capachio on that radio station your dumbest Sabres twitter follow says doesn’t talk about the Sabres enough before that Wednesday game about just what it meant for them to win that game. A couple home wins on a week like this after wins like that after years of the relative shitshow this team has been would win back hearts and minds. I reflected that sentiment after that Thanksgiving eve win. I bring it up again because there are two kinds of special: the kind when your team is special because they’re such a friggin good hockey team and the kind of special when your City and region is just so very behind them. In 2007 the Sabres had both. In 2018 I think we only have one so far. This team is special again as Buffalo and Western New York rally back behind a team that has really sucked for a while. The home market convincing is complete. The advanced stats still point to a Sabres team that is not exactly dominating in many categories and that’s worth noting. Don’t mourn too much when this win streak ends because while it is underlining a new, winning culture, it is not indicative of a team in Cup contention just yet. That said, Dom Luszczyszyn (yes, that is how his name is spelled) at the Athletic along with several other respected hockey reporters like Jeff Marek and Elliotte Friedman are not labeling this team an flash in the pan. They’re saying this level of play is for real even if the win streak or the place in the standings comes back down to earth a little.

We also got to talk about Jeff Skinner. With his two goal night tonight he took over possession of the league lead in goals. The rumor of him asking for 9.5 million over 7 or 8 years is at worst a starting point for negotiation and at best flatly untrue. No need to debate the truthfulness of that claim, it is what it is. What I do want to say is DO NOT LET HIM WALK. To all you prognosticators who are asking everyone to rein in the urge to call for a blank check for the guy check yourselves before you wreck yourselves: this guy is the best case scenario for an Eichel winger. He may be playing better than normal in a contract year but take a minute to think about this team minus Jeff Skinner. No matter how you cut it, it’s simply not as pretty a picture. I don’t anticipate the final number being near 9.5; yes we have to be aware of our salary cap in spite of how decent it looks to 2021. But a Jeff Skinner contract is the Sabres organization’s NUMBER ONE priority off the ice. If you think anything less than signing this guy is acceptable you are simply fucking wrong. Fight me.

You may be wondering why I didn’t bring up that little Lawrence Pilut call up fiasco. Don’t you worry, that will be the spearhead of a broader conversation in our next Amerks Update. That could’ve come sooner this month but I also happen to be in Grad School so sometimes updating this blog is down to the essentials. I’ll get there. I hope your friends find their way to this here blog. You should suggest it to them. If you’re still with family for a little while longer this weekend suggest it to them. My wife actually has mentioned it to my in-laws a couple times but I don’t think I need them diving into all the swear words from their daughter’s husband if you know what I mean. Like, share and leave me a comment if you got a hot minute. The Sabres open up their season series against the Detroit Red Wings tomorrow and that feels like a fated matchup for some reason. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. I feel like we’re not talking enough about the Leafs two game losing streak. Let’s cheer that on.