#but despite the fact me rotating stuff about it it doesn’t pop out at me

[no1ryomafan]

I say I was gonna use tumblr more then went MIA for a few days-albeit I’ve also been less active on my twit lol-so time for an oddly specific meg ramble once more!

So recently I’ve been playing Persona 3-not the remake, would love too but 70 is too much even if on game pass I can get it cheaper, I just hardly use my xbox even if I should more so I forgot that’s a option💀 so I settle with portable on switch-and it’s a game I knew for a long time I was gonna eventually play. I really like it! However I’m oddly *not* deeply hyperfixating on persona as a whole despite the fact I’ve spent the last two days playing the game hours on end. It’s like I will probably play the others but it’s not a strong desire and I can’t pinpoint why exactly.

I’ve always had such a weird inverse to popular things I’m into, where I’ll mention them once off handily but never in full even if I really like it which also in turn causes me not to hyperfixate on them a lot. I know with autism you can have causal interests but I know people who frequently swap interests, and while I’m more of a case of “getter is most of my fucking brain but I’ll have a second interest that I’ll swap out” I find it odd how it works for me. I can’t tell if it’s just because it’s not clicking fully since I’m not a rpg person really and I did get burnt out-but I also MARATHONED the game so it’s kinda my fault-so I don’t feel inclined to immediately go to persona 4 after this or something or if it’s really because my brain fixates on way more niche things.

Like brain sees popular thing and finds it good? Normal response. Brain sees EXTREMELY niche thing? Hyperfixating IMMEDIATELY.

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Hi Daisie,

do you know if any of your followers has access to the full article?

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/news/harry-styles-album-year-grammys-speech-beyonce-white-privilege/

This doesn’t happen to people like me very often.” So said 29-year-old Harry Styles, accepting his Grammy Award for Album of the Year on Sunday night. Most normal people assumed that by “people”, Styles meant a boy born outside of Birmingham and brought up in between Crewe and Manchester, far from the bright lights of London and the Brit School. But the internet is not full of normal people, and outrage ensued, as critics claimed that Styles was ignoring his white privilege – and, worse, having a pop at Beyoncé.

Styles also drew ire by arguing that “there’s no such thing as ‘best’ in music”, and refusing to say that he thought Beyoncé would win, instead saying merely that “you never know with this stuff”. The critics didn’t hold back. “‘This doesn’t happen to people like me’,” wrote the American podcaster Sam Sanders, “is the most white privilege-iest thing to ever be uttered at an awards show ever for all time [sic].” “Beyoncé continues to be boycotted, without AOTY [Album of the Year] and used as a token to disguise the Academy’s racism,” complained the pop-culture website Pop Tingz. 

Styles may have had a wobbly night – not least because the turnstile on which his dance number was meant to be performed rotated in the wrong direction – but an attack on “Queen B” this was not. To most Britons, Styles’s accent is the clue that he’s different from many a young London silver-spoon star; yet this subtlety is almost entirely lost on Americans. True, that Cheshire accent has been muddied by his recent attempt at a transatlantic twang while filming Don’t Worry Darling. 

And having a finance director for a father hardly puts you in league with British pop’s history of working-class heroes, from The Beatles to Oasis. Yet these days the industry has changed, and Styles is quite clearly different to the likes of Florence Welch or Marcus Mumford, who seem to fit into the world of fame as if they were born to it.

We’ve been here before. In 2019, when Sam Fender, born in North Shields, dared to explain why “white privilege” sounded like a difficult concept to the white men with whom he grew up, he was labelled tone-deaf and racist. This is the success of the “white privilege” label: admit it and you’re damned, deny it and you’re deluded. But in importing a particularly American brand of racial politics, discussion about success within the British arts only becomes skewed. 

Unlike in the States, class is a greater defining factor of success in Britain than race or gender are – a fact that many commentators seem to want to forget. “The debate raging online about where Styles sits on the class spectrum is a fascinating insight into Britain’s class obsession,” wrote one writer in The Guardian. That sound you can hear is a nation of working-class music-lovers choking on their own scorn.

Styles, in truth, is both right and wrong. Poor boys and girls have often made it to the top, though often that has been on account of the sheer tenacity of their talent. Barry Keoghan is currently flavour of the month in Ireland for his performance in Martin McDonagh’s film The Banshees of Inisherin, despite his extremely tough and poverty-stricken upbringing, which involved going in and out of the care system. 

Bands have often capitalised on class difference, too – admitting whether you were an Oasis or a Blur fan was as much a class signifier as the tea-vs-supper debate, and it did neither band any commercial harm. Some fans have also pointed out, amusingly, that Adele, who was also up for Album of the Year at the Grammys, was born and raised in Tottenham.

A working-class hero Harry Styles may not entirely be, but he certainly isn’t a white-privilege villain either. And we would all do well to remember that awards ceremonies, and the speeches made at them, may be full of glitz and glamour, but they bear little relevance to the politics of the real world – or to the real people who live out there.

Full article. Link here. No paywall link.

[apocalypseornaw]

Always be yours (Pt 1/2)

Ok um warnings? Demon!Dean first of all. Cursing, mentions of mutual cheating (reader slept with Sam if that's a warning?) supposed death, sex (NSFW) and I think that's about it. Enjoy? I guess

You had to get out of the bunker. It was too much. Every damn corner felt like it was suffocating you. The hunt for Dean, Crowley's taunting because you and Sam had yet to run them down. Castiel was helping with Heaven's business whatever that meant and well things between you and Sam had been a little tense.

------

You were in Limon, Colorado. All in all it was close enough you could've handled the simple haunting case Garth had kicked your way then head back home but you ended up grabbing a hotel room. 

------

You were sitting on the bed after grabbing a shower. Graveyard dirt had a bad habit of sticking to nearly every inch of skin even when you had help digging. You'd ended up taking a page out of Bobby's note and stealing a backhoe but you'd gotten it done. Sam had called while you were in the shower so you were calling him back trying to tell yourself to not get your hopes up in regards to there being any news.

"Hey Y/N" he answered on the second ring and you smiled despite your tiredness at hearing your best friend's voice "Hey Sammy. Any news?" He let out a breath "Not really. I mean just normal stuff has been popping up. I've kicked a few cases out to other hunters. How'd your case go?" You rotated your shoulder to work out the slight kink in it before saying "I knew cheerleaders were savage in life, I never knew it got even worse after death but luckily Brittany is put to rest officially and her best friend has admitted to causing the wreck and is in custody"

"That's good. You staying the night there?" You nodded then it occurred to you he couldn't see you "Yeah, digging kind of wore me out but I'll be home in the morning. Call me if anything comes up between now and then ok?" "Yeah. Call if you need me" after the two of you said your goodbyes you hung up and plugged your phone in. It was a little after eleven so you figured you should go ahead and try to get some sleep. 

-------

You weren't sure what woke you up. You jerked awake, gun in hand and trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes to clear the room.  You spotted the shadow next to the door leaning against the wall and felt your heart flip in your chest "Dean?" 

He flicked the light switch on, eyes never leaving yours. "Hey sweetheart" you mentally cursed the fact that he was between you and your bag meaning you had no holy water handy and the gun in your hand would only piss him off if it was to come down to it. As if he could read your thoughts he smirked "Oh come on now Y/N. You know me better than that if I would've wanted to kill you I would've"

You pushed the blanket off your legs, still not lowering the gun in your hand as you climbed to your feet "Forgive me for not believing you baby but a few things have changed since I saw you last" his eyes flickered across your body and it was then you realized you'd went to bed in only a t-shirt and a pair of panties since you were alone. 

"You still wear the same thing to bed" he taunted before walking over to your bag. He gave his back to you when he unzipped the bag and grabbed your black flask that you always carried the Holy water in. He turned back around and held it out "Here, take it" you were trying to gauge if it was worth the risk. 

You laid the gun down on the side table considering it wouldn't do a lot of good anyways and walked closer to him. Everything in you was screaming but it was conflicting voices. The hunter in you screamed this was a demon, a knight of hell nonetheless. He could kill you before you breathed hard.  Your heart on the other hand was overjoyed at seeing Dean alive no matter the shape considering the last time you saw him.

Your fingertips grazed the flask and you were surprised when he let it go and didn't move any closer to you. "There. You're armed now let's talk" "I don't have a damn thing to say to you unless you're saying Y/N take me to the bunker for the cure" 

He smiled and it was more a baring of teeth than Dean's usual flirty grin. He moved to grab you and you flicked the top off the flask letting it splash against his neck but he just grimaced and slammed you backwards against the wall with one hand holding your hip in place and the other firmly around your neck as the flask hit the floor.

"Come on now darling. I'm being nice. Why can't you?" He ran his tongue across his lips as he leaned closer and god it took everything inside of you to not look him in the eye. "Maybe because I'm not Sammy?" He whispered into your ear and you weren't sure if it was the feeling of his warm breath against your neck or the shock of what he'd just said. You turned to look at him and he let his eyes slip to black just momentarily before letting the candy apple green you loved slide back into place. "Oh I know. I know Crowley told you about some of the things I've gotten into or rather who I've gotten into"

Your fear was quickly turning into anger. He was here to mock you? Christ this was the first time you'd take a demon looking for a fight over this. "Let go of me you bastard" you struggled against him but he only tightened his grip on your neck until you lost your breath. He loosened it back after a moment and smiled when you gasped for breath "Now you wanna talk?" You nodded not trusting your voice. He let his lips barely brush against your neck, a dark chuckle leaving him when you shivered from the touch.

"I know you were pissed and hurt after finding out and god bless my baby brother he buried himself inside of you to help. I mean I can't blame him look at you" you were effectively pinned but couldn't help but bite back "You left us both high and dry Dean! To run off with Crowley. We thought you were dead. We mourned you! Only to find out you were off living it up"

He grunted in response nudging at your neck with his head until you turned it just enough to give him access to your pulse point "So you fucked my brother. Did you fuck him in my bed?" He bit down harshly after asking the question and pulled a scream out of your lips that was a mixture of pleasure of pain. "Fuck Dean" you tried to put more venom into your voice but it came out more as a moan. Your eyes fluttered shut as he left a trail of light open mouthed kisses along your neck "Answer me" he warned, voice low.

"No. I didn't fuck Sam in your bed" you finally managed to whisper. He repositioned himself to slide a clothed knee between your legs and you whimpered when he added a slight pressure "Good girl. Now tell me did you think about me while you were wrapped around Sammy?" You bit your lip as you fought the urge to move against his leg body craving what your mind refused to. "Did you think about me when you were fucking bar whores?" 

"Yeah. Their pussy wasn't as good as yours" he answered finally letting his lips move up to yours. You melted against him, a groan escaping him when you slid your tongue into his mouth rolling it against his. 

He pulled back and stared down at you "Sammy better in bed than me?" You weren't sure if it was just how long you'd went without being in Dean's arms or just the adrenaline coursing through you that made you say "I don't know. It's been so long since I fucked you"

He raised an eyebrow at your words "Sounds like a challenge" "Sam doesn't talk so much" you snipped and the next thing you knew he was spinning you around to face the wall. "I'll show you who you still belong to" he growled letting his fingers slide down into your panties. You let out a low moan when he slipped one between your folds quickly followed by another. "You're already so wet for me" 

"Dean please" you begged already feeling an orgasm growing as he found that spot inside of you curling his fingers up to have just the right angle. "Please what?" His voice was so deep and so close it vibrated throughout your body "If you still want me prove it" 

You were getting so close and he knew it. He held you in place as he continued to fuck into you with his fingers biting down on your shoulder as you came with a low moan. He rolled his hips forward and you felt his clothed erection pressed against your ass. "That pretty little moan of yours has me rock hard sweetheart. You want me to fuck you?" 

A slight whimper left your lips when you heard his zipper. "Do you want me to fuck you?" Every word was emphasized by a kiss to your neck before he turned your face to give him your lips. "Please" you whispered against his mouth and felt him push your panties off your hips so he could slide into you. "Fuck I've missed you" he moaned almost too low for you to hear.

----------

He sent a grueling pace slamming into you hard enough your hands were gripping the wall to stay upright. Every thrust pulled a scream of his name from your lips "That's it baby. Let everyone know who you belong to" 

Your legs had started to shake as you reached back to grip his hair as he slammed into you "Dean" you moaned and he nodded "I know darling. I know" he pulled out of you then scooped you up into his arms stopping just long enough to kick out of his jeans before carrying you to the bed.

He laid you down onto the bed and leaned up to pull his shirt over his head and throw it before positioning himself back at your opening. You slid down onto him and he groaned "Fuck yes" when he bottomed out.

He grabbed your shirt and ripped it off of you. Once your chest was bare he leaned down to lick one nipple into his mouth "Dean… oh fuck" you moaned gripping his shoulders as he pounded into you. He let go of one nipple and moved to the next never changing his pace. He knew exactly what it took for you.

"My girl.. Just mine" he grunted when he moved from your breasts back up to your neck. "Want you to say it" he groaned. You could feel that building pressure start again and part of you just wanted to chase that high. "Say it" he ordered biting gently on your neck. "I'm yours Dean… only yours" you moaned feeling that pressure burst as another orgasm washed over you. 

His thrusts started to get sloppier as he continued slamming into you. You knew he was close and the thought occurred to you what would happen when it was over. Yet again it was like he could read your thoughts because he leaned down to rest his forehead against your chest "I'm not leaving yet sweetheart. Don't worry" 

He buried himself inside of you with one final thrust and you felt when he came pumping into you. He caught your lips in a rough kiss "You're mine god dammit. I don't care what I am, you're mine" you were still trying to come down off the high of back to back orgasms but had to say "It meant nothing to us Dean" he kissed you again then said "I know. I know you still love me for some twisted reason, same reason I came here" 

When he pulled out of you an undignified noise left you at the loss of contact. He grinned and pulled you to his chest "Rest up Y/N we aren't through yet"

------

You woke up the next day to an empty bed. Next to your bag was a note that simply read "You'll always be mine and I'll always be yours" 

Tag: @akshi8278

[panda-noosh]

odd one out {draco malfoy x reader}

Words: 11.3k

Summary: You’re known as the only Weasley without magic. Draco Malfoy has always taken great pleasure in teasing you for this, and you have always been ready with a retort. Your bickering with the Malfoy boy has gone on for years, but is it all done in bad blood?

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i can’t stop writing for Harry Potter and that’s really just what you’re all gonna have to put up with. 

---

 You don’t want to be here.

   You don’t belong here, as you’ve been reminded a grand number of times throughout your seventeen years of living. To these people, you are nothing more than the unlucky one, a mistake. To these people, you are weaker.

    The halls of Hogwarts aren’t exactly unfamiliar to you, despite being the only person in your household who never properly attended. You’ve been here many times throughout your life, visiting sick family members, accompanying your parents when they don’t trust you enough to leave you at the Burrow. 

    It’s your twin brother, Ron, who is in need now.

    When you walk into the infirmary, he’s sitting up. Your mother squeals, throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as you and your dad approach in a slow and careful manner, not wanting to startle Ron any more than Molly has already managed.

    But even as you walk in and scowl at him, you can’t deny the relief that floods your system; the owl sent by McGonagall hadn’t even been fully read before Molly was slamming it down on the table, gathering her robes and telling you to get ready to leave. You had been busy doing your own school work, tucked away in the room you share with Ron during holidays, but was now barren besides your stuff.

   He had been poisoned, according to your father. Nobody knows how, or by what, or by whom - just that Ron had drank something given to him by Professor Slughorn and had immediately started foaming at the mouth. 

    Now, however, he looks in good enough health that you don’t see it as a problem when you slip your hair tie from your wrist and flick it at him from across the room. He yells, flinching so fast he nearly takes Mum’s head off as she clings onto his neck.

    Mum spins, glaring at you. “He’s ill!”

   “He’s fine,” you reply, slipping onto the seat next to his bed. “How have you managed to poison yourself, then?”

   Ron scowls. “I didn’t poison myself. Someone else did.”

   “Who pays enough attention to you to want you dead?”

    “Y/N!” Mum hisses. “At least give it a minute before you both start bickering.”

  You and Ron roll your identical eyes before Ron sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “None of you should be here. You know that, right? With all the stuff going on with You-Know-Who-”

    Dad waves a dismissive hand. “We won’t let something like that keep us from making sure you’re okay.”

  You raise your hand. “I personally said I wasn’t prepared to die just for you, but-”

  “Y/N!”

    But looking down at Ron, you see him smiling; you smile back. You know all too well the kind of boredom he must be feeling right now, all alone in the medical suite with nothing but his thoughts and Madame Pomfrey keeping him company. You remember all those Christmas’s when he would come home and tell you to be quiet when you complained about how lonely the house gets with everyone gone - now he knows how it feels.

    Mum and Dad move on, telling Ron about how Bill sends his condolences and how the twins will be popping in soon to see him; you sit back, gazing around the room. Although you can use none of the stuff hung around you - in fact, it would most likely kill you if you tried - you know exactly what each piece of equipment does and how it is used. You reach out and gently twiddle the lid on a jar of unicorn hairs.

    The door to the medical suite opens. You glance over your shoulder just as Madame Pomfrey peeks her head through the curtain, a grand smile on her rounded face.

   A grand smile that falters as soon as she sees you.

   This happens all the time; it’s one of the reasons you don’t like being inside Hogwarts if you can help it. You’re known by name amongst most of the staff, and none of them dislike you nor discriminate against you in any way - but they’re weird around you. They never know what to say, are never certain how much you understand compared to everyone else in your family. 

    “Molly, Arthur, Y/N!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims. “Minerva told me you’d all arrived a little earlier than expected.”

    She shoots you yet another glance, giving you an uncomfortable smile. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you, Y/N. How is the - uh - studying going?”

    Muggle studies. She wants to say Muggle studies.

   “Good,” you reply, already standing up. “I’m just gonna go to the loo a quick minute. Give you more room to work around Ronald here.”

   Ron reaches for your hand. “Don’t leave me with-”

   “Get well soon!”

   You duck out of the medical suite and into the hallways, immediately pressing your fingertips to your temples; you hate it here, hate it so much, have never felt so out of place than you do right now, and it doesn’t even make sense. You know just as much - if not more - than some of the people in this god damn school. Just because you were never able to perform any of the hocus pocus bullshit they’re able to perform doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. You grew up around it. You lived it - still live it.

    You sigh and start down the hallways. You aren’t even sure where you’re going - you just know you’re not heading in the direction of the bathrooms. You pass a few people on the way, people who don’t know who you are or what you are, people who see you within the walls of Hogwarts and don’t even consider that you might not have the same abilities as them.

     You smile; it might be your last chance to exchange niceties with them before they realise who you are and start avoiding you.

    You turn down into another set of corridors, these ones empty as everyone filters into separate classrooms. They look quite spooky when deserted, unnaturally clean with the brick walls encasing you; you run your fingers along them, mind wandering to what it would be like to be within these hallways every single day for ten months out of the year. 

     A ghost swooshes over your head. You close your eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable-

    “The Squib Weasley! The Squib Weasley!”

    “Afternoon, Peeves. How are you?”

    “All the merrier for seeing you!”

  “Oh, yes. You always do enjoy taking the mick out of me.”

    He swoops down and bunks your head; it doesn’t hurt too much, considering he’s a ghost, so all you do is glare at him as he kicks off the wall and bounces back up to the ceiling.

    “Do a magic trick, Squib! I want to see a magic trick!” The ghost cackles, the bells on his hat jingling. “What about a nice card trick? They’re popular amongst non-wizard folk.” A storm of playing cards suddenly rain down upon you, and Peeves laughs even harder.

    This is the kind of treatment you fully expect from Peeves. You look down at the puddle of cards, kicking them as you say, “I’m afraid I’m not that skilled. I can’t do any tricks, I’m afraid.”

   “Useless Squib Weasley!” He bonks you on the head again. You growl, jumping up and swiping at his foot, but he merely kicks away from you, laughing even louder. “Useless Squib Weasley! Useless Squib Weasley!”

   “Get out of here, you idiotic little corpse!”

    Your head snaps round, blood draining from your face at the sound of that voice; you know it all too well, of course, considering it’s coming from a person you would much rather avoid.

     Peeves cackles in your face one final time before vaulting down the corridor. His laughter only echoes so far before you and Draco Malfoy are left in complete silence, the only sound being his polished black shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walks towards you.

    You look up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes closed. “Malfoy.”

   “Weasley.” He stops. Opening one eye, you can see he’s stopped directly beside you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, a smirk on his face. “What brings you here? I know it’s not the magic.”

    “How did you figure that one out?”

    “Just a hunch.”

   “Mm.” You look at him. “I was visiting Ron, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”

    “One thing I never understood about you was how you can have such an attitude with someone like me.”

  You raise a brow, pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone like you?”

   He pulls his wand from his pocket and twirls it, casually, between his fingers. “A wizard.”

    He says it like he’s talking to someone who has never heard the word before. He’s smirking like he’s expecting you to gasp and say “Wizard?!” He’s acting like you haven’t heard the exact same comment a thousand times before.

    You nod slowly, watching his wand rotate. “Are you gonna try and hex me or something? Pretty cowardly of you, Malfoy, considering I have no way to defend myself.”

    His smile fades into his customary scowl; he tucks his wand back into his robes, instead choosing to intertwine his hands behind his back. “You shouldn't be walking the hallways on your own, Weasley. Security measures have been heightened since the Dark Lord came back.”

  “So I’ve heard,” you reply. The casual tone to your voice makes Draco’s eye twitch; you take a point for yourself in this silent competition the two of you have going on. “I felt like I was the safest one, considering Voldy-mort isn’t really interested in Squibs, is he?”

    “That’s not the point; I can’t just be letting outsiders walk about.”

   “I’m not an outsider. Dumbley-dore knows me just-”

  “Stop with the stupid names-”

    You lean forward, speaking louder just to annoy him. “Albus Dumbley-dore knows me just as well as he knows you. In fact, he probably knows me better considering he’s taught the majority of my family. How many Malfoys has he taught? Two? How many Malfoys has he liked? Zero.”

    Draco glares. You smile, enjoying how easy it is to wind him up. He probably approached you thinking you would find his mere presence intimidating; he couldn’t have been more wrong.

    “Well,” he drawls, straightening up. “I’ll be letting Professor Snape know of your presence, and the attitude you’ve taken with me. I’ll let him handle it.”

   “Oh, Snape! Goodness, it’s been a while since I last saw his ugly mug. Let him know my parents and I will be staying in the Hogs Head for a few days if he wants to pop in for a chat.”

    Draco growls, turns on his heel and stomps back the way he came; your laughter follows him, uncontrollable. It’s one of the few things you enjoy here at Hogwarts - seeing Draco, winding him up. You will never understand why he continues to approach you every single time you come and visit. He knows nothing he can say will affect you, as you grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister with an attitude - you’ve heard it all a hundred times before. 

  ----

    “See, this is so much more fun than Scrabble.”

   You scowl, glaring down at the chess board. The moving pieces seem to have something against you. No matter how hard you concentrate, or which direction you direct your little white pieces to go, you never seem to be getting any closer to winning this game.

    “Concentrate, Y/N,” Ron urges. He’s been laughing at you for the past hour and a half. “Where does your bishop need to be?”

    “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be directing my bishop right up your-”

   “Y/N Weasley, enough of that!”

   You jerk upright, sending the chess pieces scattering. The curtain is pushed open, revealing your mum, dad and Professor Burbage. Mum stands with a scowl on her face whilst Professor Burbage and Dad chat animatedly to one another, barely even registering the people around them.

    “Honestly, who taught you to talk like that?” Mum grumbles, bustling over to Ron. She places the back of her hand against his head and scowls. “Your temperature is going up again, sweetie. Have you been drinking the potion Madame Pomfrey gave you?”

   “Yes,” Ron grumbles, swatting Mum’s hand away. “It’s just warm in here. She never lets us open the bloody windows, Mum. It’s like I’m in prison!”

    But Molly isn’t paying attention; after checking up on Ron, her attention snaps immediately to you. You meet her gaze and raise a questioning brow, freezing in your seat. It’s never good when Molly Weasley has her eyes on you.

    “You alright, Mum?” you ask cautiously.

    “Professor Burbage wanted to talk to you, dear,” she replies, and your heart instantly dips into your stomach,

   Your head snaps round to where Burbage and Arthur are stood; they’ve stopped their animated chatter now, Arthur with one arm around Burbage’s shoulders whilst pointing at you with the other. 

     “This is Y/N!” Arthur exclaims. “Our little Muggle-expert. Honestly, Charity, I’ve worked in Muggle Artefacts for ten years, but I’ve not learned half as much from them as I have from our Y/N here.”

     Your face flushes. “Dad.”

   “Oh, don’t be humble, dear!” Molly exclaims, gripping your shoulders. “We were just telling Professor Burbage here all about your little solo trip to London a few months back, how you navigated the trains perfectly - ordered their own food and everything!”

   Ron snickers. You slap his arm.

    Burbage looks at you. Her eyes look tired, strained, her hairline thin and hair itself even thinner. Her nimble fingers are twisted in front of her, and she says nothing as she continues staring at you.

    You glance at Molly, desperate for a bit of help, but Molly isn’t looking back. She continues massaging your shoulders as she says, “Of course, we don’t let any of them out on their own anymore - not with everything going on, but goodness, we were just so proud of Y/N when she came back in one piece. Apparently the train took an hour and a half to get from London to Birmingham! How bizarre is that?”

    “Oh, Molly, dear,” Arthur tuts. “How many times have I told you that Muggle transportation isn’t the same as wizard transportation?” He shakes his head, turning to Burbage. “I’ve told her a thousand times, I really-”

    Professor Burbage lurches forward and grabs your hand. You gasp, stumbling off your chair as she vigorously shakes it, nearly ripping your arm from its socket. Behind you, Ron has stopped snickering and is instead watching the scene unfold, clearly uncertain about what is actually happening.

    “Y/N Weasley,” Burbage says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s an honour to meet you finally. I taught all of your brothers, so I did - all except Ronald, who apparently isn’t interested in Muggle Studies.”

    Molly sighs. “We told him-”

  “You didn’t tell me anything!” Ron exclaims. 

    Burbage ignores them both. “I know you’re no Muggle, of course - it would be insulting to say you are - but I did always find Squibs most interesting characters. They’ve got one foot in wizard life, one foot in the Muggle life. It really must be an experience, shifting between two very different worlds.”

    “Uh….”

   “Go on, Y/N,” Arthur urges. “Tell her about London. Tell her about the. . . the - What was it called? The peasant?”

  “The pheasant, Dad. It was a pheasant.”

   “Oh!” Burbage cries suddenly, making you flinch back. “I’ve heard of those! Birds, are they not? Quite ugly little things, but very big. Very big for birds…” She trails off, muttering to herself. The entire time, her hand remains firm in your own, refusing to let it go as if in fear of you running away from this seemingly important conversation.

    All you want to do is run away.

   “Anyway,” Professor Burbage bursts, “I’ve just come in to ask if you’d like to attend my next lesson for a few minutes. I’ve got a N.E.W.T. class coming in and I know for a fact having someone like you involved in their learning would do them a world of good.”

    Oh goodness, no. 

   The answer is immediate. The mere idea of standing up in front of a classroom of wizards to walk them through how you were the one genetic failure in the family is enough to make your stomach turn. You open your mouth to express this, but Arthur jumps forward before you have a chance.

    “That would be an honour, Charity. An honour for Y/N and the family!”

    Your eyes widen. “Actually-”

   “Wonderful!” Burbage exclaims, grabbing your arm again. She wrenches you out of Molly’s grip, already ushering you out of the infirmary, the sound of Ron’s uncertain grumbles following you out. At least your brother can see how uncomfortable this idea makes you, but his chunterings don’t make any difference.

   “Professor,” you beg, stumbling after her as she leads you through the crowded hallways. “Professor, I really don’t have anything to say to your N.E.W.T. students or whatever. I’ve been to London on my own once, and it really didn’t go as smooth as my dad is making it out to be. I nearly got mugged, like, four times, and there was this guy with a knife-”

     “Here we are!” 

    You glance over; lining up against the wall is a group of seventeen year olds, all of whom are staring at you in a mix of confusion and amusement. Some of these people know exactly who you are, considering they’re in the same year as Ron, whilst others merely see a very distressed individual dressed in casual robes.

    “Good afternoon, class,” Burbage begins, refusing to let you go into her classroom or to let go of your arm. “I hope we’re all well. Please enter, and take your books out.” 

   The line of students files into the class, and you and Burbage follow close behind. Your heart is racing, eyes flicking back and forth along the students currently scooping textbooks and wands out of their bags, whispering amongst themselves. Burbage’s classroom is decorated with moving pictures of Muggle buses and trains, Muggle supermarkets and schools - all of which you probably know less about than anyone else in this classroom.

    Burbage pushes you towards a seat in the corner, kindly telling you to make yourself comfortable. You give her your best smile and sink into the plastic, crossing one knee over the other, resisting the urge to bury your head in your hands. Every eye is on you. Every single one.

     You bite your lip and look around, and that’s when you spot him.

   Of all people in Hogwarts, you never once would have expected to see Draco Malfoy unpacking a Muggle Studies textbook. The boy from a family of Muggle haters. The boy who spends every waking moment ensuring every non-pure-blood wizard in his vicinity is completely miserable is stood in a Muggle Studies classroom.

    “Malfoy?”

   His name bursts from your lips before you can stop yourself. You slap a hand across your mouth, turning to Burbage with an apologetic look that she raises her brows at, but refuses to comment on. Instead, she barrels on with the lesson.

    You glance back at Malfoy, who is now staring at you with an open mouth; he’s going to laugh at you. Seeing you sat in the corner is going to bring him such amusement. You can already hear the jeers he’s probably going to throw at you as soon as this bell rings, how he’s going to make your life a living hell for the short period of time you’ll be here.

    “Okay everyone, now that we’re settled, I’d like to introduce you all to a special guest who has so kindly offered to overlook our lesson today,” Burbage says after her introductions. 

    “Actually, Professor, I’d rather-”

   “This is Y/N Weasley, one of the few Squibs I’ve had the honour of meeting.”

   The class goes silent. You bite your lip, ducking your head into your hands before anyone can see the horror that is currently rising to the surface - you want to scream. 

    “Y/N’s parents were just telling me a few minutes ago that Y/N went into Muggle London - remember our last few lessons on Muggle London? - all on their own! Isn’t that incredible?”

    “Terrifying,” Malfoy jeers. “What a hero!”

   You grit your teeth - it’s started.

   “Exactly what I was thinking, Draco! What an honour it is to be in the presence of such a brave soul.”

    You look up through a slit in your fingers, giving Professor Burbage a pleading look, a silent plea for her to just stop, to just get on with whatever lesson she had planned while you sit in the corner and mind your own god damn business.

    But she just smiles brightly. “Tell me, Y/N - how did the Muggle’s react to having a Squib walking amongst them?”

    You lift your head, purposefully avoiding a glance at Malfoy; even without looking at him, his snickers are unmistakable. “They didn’t know I’m a Squib, Professor. I just looked like a normal person.”

    Burbage’s eyes widen. “Really? They couldn’t even tell?”

   “But Squibs are so obvious,” someone jeers from the far side of the classroom - looking over, you’re pretty certain you recognise the man as Zacharias Smith, someone Ron has always taken a disliking to, but only because Hermione threatened to go out with him one time. “Could they not feel the uselessness coming off you?”

    You scowl. “Have you been paying attention in Muggle Studies at all? Squibs don’t give off a bloody scent, you dumb little-”

    “But I thought Muggle’s dress differently to us,” a girl in the front row interjects, raising her hand pointlessly.

   “They do, dear,” Burbage replies. “They tend to wear. . . shorter clothes. No robes. Correct, Y/N?”

   “Uh, yeah.”

   “So how were you not recognised as a Squib?”

    “I wore Muggle clothes-”

  “Your older brother told me Muggle clothes can make a wizards skin burn-”

  “Y/N isn’t a wizard, you idiot. They’re a Squib-”

  “They’re the same thing!”

   “No, Squib’s don’t have magic, wizards do.”

   “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Gregg, or I swear-”

   “Alright, class, enough!” Burbage exclaims, but it’s too late for that now. Questions are being fired at you from all directions, questions that seem most innocent to the oblivious but which actually cut pretty deep into the thick skin you possess.

    The word Squib in itself doesn’t sit right with you - you’ve never identified as a wizard nor a Muggle, but there’s something about that word that just puts a bad taste in your mouth. Maybe it’s the way it’s spoken by others - like an insult, a sneer rather than a simple term. Maybe it’s the implications it holds - here is a person who comes from a family of people who can basically do whatever they want. Here is a person who comes from a family seen as mystical, but they are not the same. They were not blessed in the same way even though all odds were saying they should have been.

    You swallow thickly, glancing over at Malfoy for a reason you cannot pinpoint - it’s not like he's a source of comfort. It’s not like he will be any different than the ignorant wizards currently yelling question after question at you. Nonetheless, your eyes find his, and it’s with a jolt that you realise he’s staring right at you with an almost worried expression on his face. A tilt to his head, brows furrowed, lips pursed. 

     You don’t know why you do it. You mouth the word help in his direction, and immediately he stands.

   “Everyone shut up!” he hisses. “Giving me a bloody headache!”

   The class fades into silence. Malfoy grunts, sits back down and ushers for Professor Burbage to continue the lesson, which she does with only mild hesitance. It’s clear she now realises that bringing you here today was perhaps not thoroughly thought through, but you don’t make a move to leave. You sit in the corner of the classroom as she goes through the lesson plan, keeping your head ducked in an attempt to ignore the stares.

   Once the lesson plan has been explained, Professor Burbage tells the class to get on with their work before she says, “Y/N will be walking around to help anyone who needs it.”

    You roll your eyes; will wizards ever get the hint?

   You push yourself up from your chair and start your rounds of the classroom, ignoring anyone who actually asks for your assistance. At this point, you just want the lesson to be over so you can head back to the infirmary and play Ron in a game of Scrabble - you’re much better at Scrabble than he is, and winning a few rounds will boost your dignity after those horrific chess games you played earlier.

    “Excuse me, can you help me with question-”

  “Piss off.”

     “That’s not very nice, Weasley.”

   You stop dead. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

  “I need help with question three - as I just asked.”

   You scowl, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking, twirling his pen between his fingers in a way not unlike how he had twirled his wand only a few hours prior. You take a few steps back and glance down at his work.

    “‘What mode of transport should a Muggle use if they want to move a sofa from one place to another?’” you recite. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You’re not that thick.”

    “Just give me the answer.”

  “No. You’ll never learn if I just hand it to you.”

    He scowls, kicking your shin beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

   The sudden subject change nearly gives you whiplash, though it’s not nearly as shocking as the soft note his voice has suddenly undertaken. Your gaze snaps to him, an eyebrow raising. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “You asked me for help literally two seconds ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

    “I’m fine. Just - uh - a little shy when I'm the centre of attention.”

   “A Weasley, not liking attention? That’s a first.”

   You flick his ear. Malfoy grunts, swats your hand away before saying, “Why did you agree to come here?”

    “I didn’t agree to anything.” Before you can think better of it, you tug the stool out from beside Malfoy and sit down, leaning over in an attempt to look like you’re just helping him with his work. “She came into the infirmary with my parents and basically dragged me in here - you know how my dad is with all that Muggle stuff. He wouldn’t let me say no.”

    Malfoy snickers, pretending to write something down. “Is it true you wore Muggle clothes?”

   “Don’t start….”

   He raises a hand in mock surrender, that stupid grin forming on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I heard - what is it? - Adidas? I heard they’re very comfortable-”

    “You’re taking the mick out of me,” you hiss, slapping his arm. He bursts into laughter, and the noise seems to startle even him, as he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, face turning bright red.

    “I hope it’s just Muggle Studies we’re discussing over there, Draco!” Burbage calls.

   Draco scowls, slowly lowering his hand before he glances at you and says, “I hate this bleeding class.”

    “Mm, I gathered that. Never took you as the type to be interested in what Muggle’s get up to.”

   “I’m not, but it’s an easy N.E.W.T.”

   “That’s what they all say.” You nudge his elbow. “Just admit it, Malfoy; you’re interested in Muggle activities.”

    “Shut up, Weasley, or I won’t help you out of your next ambush.”

    You snicker, pushing away from the table. “There won’t be another ambush. I’m not stepping foot back in this classroom if I can help it.”

   “That’s what I said during my O.W.L’s, and now look where I am.”

    “See, this is when my Muggle education comes in handy; no need for crappy lessons like this.” You clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy. Have fun learning about vans.” You tap question three on his paper. “V-A-N. You’re welcome.”

  ----

Hogsmeade is a good place to be for a Squib.

    Magic isn’t necessarily expected. You can walk through the streets and nobody will be under any illusion that you’re different. It’s freeing, a rare experience when you spend half your life either not fitting in amongst wizards, or not fitting in amongst Muggles. There is no in between for you.

    Today, Arthur and Molly permitted you and Ron some time to go into Hogsmeade together before you and your parents are due to depart to the Burrow again, where you will grudgingly continue your Muggle classes, steeping in your own boredom. 

    The streets would be considered empty if not for the abundance of Ministry officials littering the area; they stand outside every shop, talking to passers-by, warning them of the danger they are in by simply being outside. Kingsley Shacklebolt - a good friend of yours - gives you and Ron a stern look when you pass him standing outside Olivander’s. 

    “I thought Molly and Arthur would know better,” he says. “You two should be inside at all times.”

  “It’s like the Order wants us to go insane,” Ron mutters when the two of you are walking away from what was undoubtedly about to turn into a proper scolding. “Honestly, what are the chances You-Know-Who is just going to turn up in the middle of Hogsmeade? I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere he doesn’t like the Saturday crowds...”

   You and Ron continue to shop for a little while, though none of the stores particularly interest you. You love looking at the architecture and the fancy colours of each shop, but when you can’t really use any of the stuff being sold, the architecture isn’t enough to keep your attention seized.

  Nonetheless, you trail after Ron because this may be the last time you are able to see him until Christmas, and you’ll be damned if you let your last few days of company go to waste. The colour is back in his face, that tiny sway to his walk returning now that the poison has officially cleared his system; though you will never admit it to him, the worry you felt sitting at his bedside these past few days has been eating you alive. To see him back on his feet and grinning again is like Christmas come early.

     “Oh!” He latches onto your arm, snapping you from your daze. You follow the direction in which he is pointing, throwing your head back to groan into the air when you catch a glimpse of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron’s favourite place in the whole of Hogsmeade.

    “Oh, come on!” Ron exclaims, dragging your protesting form forward. “Just a little look to see if they’ve got anything new in.”

  “Why would they have anything new in?” you hiss, pressing a foot against the door frame in your attempts to make Ron let go of you. “The Quidditch season started months ago! Everyone’s already got everything they-”

    “Don’t make me hex you!”

   You groan, letting your foot slip to the floor. Ron tugs you into the shop after him, a bright smile on his face as soon as he lays eyes upon the Quidditch sets propped up on the far side of the shop. He scurries off, leaving you to awkwardly pluck at the bits and bobs that - apparently - have something to do with Quidditch. Growing up, you always found the concept of Quidditch to be quite intriguing. Charlie would never let a single family dinner go by without ranting about some team or other, and you were always inclined to listen. 

   However, you were never able to properly play. The only way you could ever fly a broom was when one of your older brothers would get it off the ground first before placing you upon it - which never really had the same effect, and has left you in many bad states over the years. Your mum put a ban on it when you were seven years old, though that never stopped Charlie Weasley from letting you have a go on his broom every now and then.

    You glance over at the broomsticks as the memories pop into your head; they are magnificent looking. It’s with hesitance that you stalk over to them, running your fingers along the bristles at the end, imagining the magic seeping from your fingertips into the broom, watching it lift off the floor purely because you wished it to, because you want it to fly and nobody else. 

    You don’t even crave an expensive one, not like Harry’s, or Ron’s new one that he got when he was made a Prefect. You just want one - any of them would do, as long as they work, as long as it’s yours.

   But that will never be the case.

    You bite your lip and look down; this always happens. You’ve been able to push past these feelings of uselessness pretty well during this Hogwarts visit, but they push to the surface now. 

     “Oi! Weasley!”

    You stumble away from the brooms, very nearly knocking over a display case filled with different Quaffles as you do so. Draco laughs, wading towards you with that long-legged stroll of his, and that stupid smile plastered all the way across his face. Him catching you ogling the broomsticks, knowing full well you can’t actually use one, is really the thing that tops off this already quite disastrous trip.

    “What are you doing out of the castle?” you ask quickly, struggling to stop the display case from wobbling.

      “I’m a Prefect. I can do what I want.”

   “And you want to stand here and take the mick out of me, I suppose?”

   Draco raises a brow, glancing behind you to where the broomsticks are mounted on the wall by invisible bonds. He looks back down at you, tilts his head and says, “Feeling a bit envious today, Weasley?”

    You roll your eyes, hands still messing with the display case. “I really don’t - for the love of - I really don’t have the - Oh, my goodness, can you just use a spell and straighten this bloody thing?”

   Draco laughs, but does as you say. With a flick of his wand, the display case stops wobbling and you can safely lower your hands to your sides. 

    “Thanks,” you grumble. “As I was saying, I really don’t have the time to sit here and listen to you go on about your fancy spells. Mum wants me and Ron back at the castle in about half an hour, so-”

  “Oh, plenty of time!” And before you can pull away, Draco has wrapped an arm round your shoulders and is steering you back towards the wall of broomsticks. With his wand outstretched, he points to each one, uttering their names into your ear like a teacher giving a student a tour. 

    His breath tickles your neck, and you’re not sure why you’re so aware of it. His fingers are cold against the tiny bit of shoulder peaking from your robes, and again, it’s startling how aware of his touch you are.

    “Have you ever flown one of these before?” he asks, after telling you what each one is called - this is information you already know, of course, considering you grew up in a household of Quidditch fanatics, but you let him ramble on anyway.

    “No,” you reply. “Well, not on my own. My brothers had to get the broom off the ground for me and then I would ride around on it for awhile until the magic wore off and I - uh - landed.”

    Draco hums. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

   “Yeah. It is. It’s just stupid, and painful.” You shrug Draco’s arm off your shoulder and spin. “Quite like this conversation. Can I leave yet?”

  Draco raises a brow; it’s that facial expression that always gets to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. You and Draco have watched each other grow up in tiny little bursts - you came to visit Hogwarts multiple times within the school year, and every single time, you somehow managed to have some sort of run-in with Draco. The two of you have bickered with one another from day one, but this facial expression is one that has always, always made you want to punch him.

    “I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he says. He turns on his heel and starts walking before you have a chance to decline his offer. You splutter, frantically scanning the shop for any sign of your twin brother - it’s when you spot him talking to Seamus Finnigan that you groan and decide to give in to your fate. You have to jog to keep up with Malfoy.

    “I know the way back,” you say, stumbling over your robes. 

   “I’m sure you do. That doesn’t mean I can’t accompany you.”

  “I really don’t think I should be leaving without telling Ron first…”

  “Ronald will handle the journey back perfectly fine on his own.” Malfoy glances back at you. “Plus, I don’t think Ron would like to hear what I have to ask you. It’s probably best we’re on our own.”

  You falter, heart skipping. You don’t like the sound of those words, especially coming from someone as unpredictable as Malfoy. 

   You raise a brow, ignoring the way he smirks as he turns back, giving a passing group of third year girls a nod. 

   “Don’t look so worried, Weasley. The wand is staying beneath the cloak.”

  “It’s not the wand I’m wary of.”

   His smirk turns into a grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d fancy a trip to the Quidditch pitches later tonight.”

    You stare at the back of his head as if doing so will somehow unravel the joke he’s clearly trying to pull right now. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t even snicker, though you can’t miss the way in which he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes. 

    “Sorry,” you reply sometime after. “I just. . . Can you repeat that?”

  He groans. “It really isn’t a difficult question.” He looks over. “And it’s not a date, either. I just thought you might appreciate a little bit of flying time on the pitches before you leave.”

    Is this Draco Malfoy being nice? If you weren’t currently witnessing it first hand, you wouldn’t believe it to be possible. You pick up your pace a tiny bit, just until you’re walking directly beside him when you say, “I can’t fly a broom, and you know that.”

    “You just told me your brothers used to help you; I can get it off the ground, and then you take it from there.”

    “And you don’t mind me using your broom? You’re not scared I’m going to break it?”

   Draco shrugs. “I have more than enough Galleons to pay for a new one, Weasley, don’t worry.”

   “I wasn’t worried,” you mumble. “But I - uh - I guess I could do that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”

   Draco glances down at you. “I’ll meet you at the pitches at nine o’clock then.”

    “Nine o’clock it is.”

    ---

    You have to tell your parents you’re going to visit Ron.

   They’ll never let you leave otherwise, not with Voldemort still breathing. Honestly, you can’t even blame them for the protective pull they’ve put on you, though you also can’t help but notice just how much stronger it is over you than it is for Ron - your twin brother had been in the infirmary after being poisoned only a few days prior, and yet they let him roam about Hogsmeade as much as he wants.

     “You know it’s probably Ron they’ll go after before they come after me,” you recall telling them over dinner one night. Your mother hadn’t even looked up from her food, though you saw her jaw twitch with the idea you had just implanted in her head. “He’s the one that’s best mates with Harry.”

  “You and Harry are also good friends,” your dad says, pointing his fork at you. 

   “Right, but not - like - best friends.”

   “Y/N, we’re not discussing this over dinner,” Molly had snapped. “You’ll do as we say, and that’s final!”

   Now you feel like you have no choice but to lie.

    You inform your parents that Ron has asked for your company during his next study session in which he wants you to check over his essay and correct any spelling and punctuation he’s messed up on; a lie, of course, but Ron’s genuine lack of skill when it comes to basic spelling and grammar is an easy enough lie to ride upon. Your parents immediately permit you to leave, kissing you goodbye before sending you off to the castle under the moonlight.

    The Quidditch pitches themselves are magnificent when it’s dark.

    You’ve never been to a proper Hogwarts Quidditch match; you went to the Quidditch World Cup with your family a few summers ago, but you’ve always wanted to see Ron or Harry play.

   Or Malfoy.

    The rings stand tall, glittering gold in the darkness. The lights from the commentator’s stand have been kept on, and it’s almost as if night time doesn’t exist. You can see everything perfectly; the audience stands, the rings, the soft grass you are currently walking across to reach the very centre of the field where Draco Malfoy stands, his broom at his side, his robes fitting him perfectly.

     He gives you a smile when he sees you. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Navigating around this place without magic can be a real pain.”

    “As I’m so often reminded.” You nod to his broom. “A Nimbus 2001. Not bad.”

    Draco shrugs, though his smirk is evident. “It’s carried me well.”

   “Is that why you’ve never caught the Snitch?”

   He scowls at you. “Do you want to fly it or not?”

   You slowly reach a hand out, gently brushing your fingertips along the wood. It really is pretty - you can already imagine Ron’s face when you tell him that you somehow managed to have a go on a real Nimbus 2001, something Ron couldn’t even dream of doing.

     You lift your gaze. Draco is staring at you, watching the adoration on your face, reminding you that you will forever be unable to do as he does. You flinch your hand away and stuff it in the pocket of your raggedy robes.

    “Let’s have a look, then,” you say. “Get on it and show me how it works.”

  Draco sets everything up. You watch him closely, recounting the steps you have memorised for no reason at all, steps you are intrigued by but will never use. He gives you one final look before he mounts the broom and takes off.

    And he’s just as beautiful as you imagined.

    You’ve seen Quidditch matches. You’ve watched players soar through the air for hours on end, watched them swerve between hoops and dodge Bludgers with an efficiency similar to that of a bird. You’ve seen it all, but it’s quite different when you’re watching someone like Malfoy have the sky all to themselves. There’s no dodging, no jerky swerves, no expressions of frustration. It’s just Malfoy and his broom, swerving between nothing, grinning down at you.

     His blonde hair flashes silver every time he flies in front of the commentator’s lights. You place a hand on your forehead, blocking out the beams just enough to see him do a loop before he yells out your name and waves.

    You laugh, unable to help yourself. Jumping to be seen a bit better, you wave your arms violently back and forth, hoping for no reason at all that Malfoy can see you, that he’s smiling down at you, having fun-

     He does a final loop and then crashes to the floor, dirt flying up all around him, splattering his robes and his face, but he’s laughing and smiling as he jogs back to your side.

    “Wow,” you say, giving him a round of applause. “That was good, Malfoy.”

   “Thank you, thank you,” he replies. “Your turn?”

   You nod enthusiastically, watching Draco set the broom up until it is hovering in the air between you. 

   “The magic bits all done now,” he says. “I’m assuming you know how to work the rest?”

   You place your hand on the broom; immediately it deflates, becoming heavy in your hand when it should feel light as air. You frown, dropping it to the floor.

    “It stopped working,” you say.

   Draco hums in confusion, bends down and picks it up. He tries again, getting the broom to float before he steps back and you have another go. Once again, the broom deflates and crashes to the floor between you.

    “Well, that’s bloody annoying,” you grumble. “Walked all the way through Hogsmeade and this is what I get for it?”

    Draco picks up the broom again. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you want to have a go, I’ll just get on with you.”

  You falter. “What?”

   He swings his leg over the broom and motions for you to get on behind him; there’s plenty of room, but the mere idea of soaring through the air upon the same broom as Draco Malfoy is a bit intimidating.

   “Listen, mate.” You take a cautious step back. “I know my family can be a bit of a pain when it comes to you, but I never had any issue with you. If you want me dead, you could have just-”

  “Oh, for the love of-” Draco surges forward, grabs a handful of your robes and rugs you onto the broom behind him. You yelp, having only seconds to grab onto his waist before he’s kicking off the floor and suddenly you’re in the air.

     You bury your head in his spine, groaning against his robes; you were so prepared for this, and yet the abruptness with which he took off has your stomach reeling. The wind pelts your face. The world gets smaller and smaller and smaller below you…

    You peek an eye out from Malfoy’s robes, the breath leaving you in an instant. Hogwarts really is a wonderful sight to behold when you’re looking at it from above; the lanterns flicking subtly in the hallways, the shadows of passing students drifting by the window, the smoke billowing from the many chimneys dotting the castles exterior.

    “Bloody hell,” is the only way you can articulate your feelings. 

    Draco laughs, the noise reverberating against your cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

   “It’s. . . more than nice,” you choke out, finally pulling away from him completely, though you keep your arms wound around his waist. “Is this what you see during every Quidditch match? ‘Cause you clearly don’t see the Snitch all that often.”

   Draco jerks the front of the broom. You simply laugh, even as you’re forced to tighten your grip on his waist to stay in the air.

    “It’s a little different,” he replies, shooting you a playful glare. “There’s always so much going on in a Quidditch match, it’s difficult to stop and focus on the scenery.”

    “That makes sense.”

   Draco hums, jerking his broom to go in the opposite direction. “I hope that’s not another dig at my Seeker skills, Weasley.”

   “If the shoe fits, Malfoy.”

    The broom is directed into an abrupt nosedive.

   You screech, pressing your head - yet again - into Malfoy’s spine, as if being unable to see the floor will mean you are not heading directly towards it. The wind whistles loudly in your ears, though not loud enough to cover Malfoy’s cackling laugh as he tugs and suddenly the broom is soaring back into the air.

   You pant, lifting your head, darting your eyes left and right. “What the hell, Malfoy?”

    “Did that scare you?”

    “Of course it did! Why would you do that?”

   He glances at you, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything - you get the message. He’s always had fun teasing you, and that isn’t going to stop tonight.

   You roll your eyes, slapping him on the back. “You’re the absolute worst.”

   “So you’ve told me.”

    It’s silent after that. The two of you fly circles round the Quidditch pitch until it gets too cold for Malfoy to grip the handle properly. He heads back to the ground, feet skidding against the floor, one hand winding around and gripping your waist to stop the impact from hurting too much.

    You stumble off the broom, grin evident on your face. “That was incredible!”

   Malfoy lazily picks at the handle, not looking up when he hums in agreement.

   Your excitement is palpable, screaming through your system at a million miles per hour. You clap your hands, doing a tiny twirl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch purely because you can, because you’ve just flew, because Charlie is going to be so damn proud of you-

    You open your eyes to see Malfoy staring at you. 

   He’s wearing an expression you have never seen him wear before; dazed, almost, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what he’s feeling or seeing. His lips are slightly parted, hands limp so his broom falls halfway to the floor. His blue eyes stare into your own, and slowly he starts to tilt his head.

    Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly look away. “Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.”

    He doesn’t say anything for a number of minutes, and you’re suddenly much too nervous to look up to see why. You can still feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your head, even as you keep your eyes trained on the grass beneath you.

     And then suddenly Malfoy takes a step forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to put you nearly chest to chest with the Slytherin. You can smell the wind clinging to his clothes, the fresh scent of grass and a slight undertone of sweat. You can hear his breathing, suddenly much more shallow than it was before.

    You risk a glance upwards, not entirely sure why you’re not moving away from him, making some remark about how weird he is or how badly he annoys you. All words have died on your tongue, and it’s understandable when you look up to see him staring right down at you, not a single flash of humour upon his face.

    His hand is on your cheek in seconds; your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, the feel of his palm making your heart jump.

    “Your smile is. . . very pretty,” he says, so quietly his words could easily be mistaken for the wind. 

    “Draco…”

   “Come back to the castle with me,” he continues. “I can convince McGonagall to let you stay in the Slytherin common room.”

    Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?” 

   His grin flashes in the dark, sharp and perfect. “If you want to accompany me. If you-”

    His words are cut short by Molly Weasley bellowing your name from across the Quidditch field.

   You leap away from Malfoy, very nearly falling over your own robes in the process. Malfoy himself looks suddenly flustered, running his ringed hands through his hair and looking away from the blinding lights in an attempt to hide the pink hue of his cheeks.

    “Y/N Weasley, do not ignore me!” Molly screeches, and then she is Apparating in front of you and seizing you by the shoulders, shaking you. “ARE. YOU. INSANE?”

   “Mum!” you exclaim. “Bloody hell, Mum, calm down!”

  “CALM DOWN?” she cries, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Can you even begin to comprehend the fright your father and I got when we sent an owl up to the school to check how you and Ron were getting on, only to be told that you weren’t even in the Hogwarts castle?”

    Guilt falls heavily on your shoulders. “Sorry.”

   “Oh, you will be.” Molly grabs your wrist and starts stampeding across the field, muttering things like “early grave… grey hairs….can’t believe” beneath her breath. You, however, don’t even fully register what she is trying to say as you turn and glance at Malfoy, who is standing stock still in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, watching you go with his broom hanging limp at his side.

    Molly Apparates back to the Hogs Head, and that’s the last you see of him.

   ----

   “Please tell me it’s a joke.”

    You don’t even look up.

   “Y/N, please tell me Mum was just pulling my leg.”

   “I don’t-”

   “Oh, god, you can’t even look at me.” Ron falls into his chair and grabs a hash brown, stuffing it in his mouth. “You were out with Malfoy?”

    You wince; the volume with which Ron always insists on speaking has never made sense to you. “Not for very long,” you lie. “And what’s it to you who I hang out with?”

    “Good point,” Hermione chirps. “But Malfoy, Y/N? Really? You could do so much better.”

    Something burns in your chest, an overwhelming urge to tell the two of them to get their judgemental noses out of your business; however, you know doing such a thing will do nothing to persuade them that nothing is going on between you and Malfoy, so you instead choose to scoop some cereal into your mouth and pretend you hadn’t heard.

    “It just doesn’t make sense,” Ron continues. “Malfoy’s a Prefect, for crying out loud. What’s he doing sneaking out of the castle in the dark?”

   “Clearly he wanted to see Y/N,” Hermione says.

   “Well, yeah, but why? Y/N’s a Squib!”

  “Thanks, Ron,” you grumble.

   Ron groans, nudging your elbow. “You know that’s not what I meant; most people don’t have a problem with you. But Malfoy - he’s a different cup of tea altogether, isn’t he?”

    “How so?” 

   Ron shrugs. “He’s just a close-minded little weasel. Can’t see anyone being anything other than pure blood.”

  Hermione rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to remind you, Ron? Y/N is a pure blood - they just haven’t got the magical abilities.”

    Ron waves a dismissive hand. “Either way, I’m surprised Draco hasn’t tried humiliating you a thousand times already.”

    “Have you ever actually had a real conversation with Draco?” The words are out before you can stop them. Hermione and Ron cautiously glance at you, eyebrows raised.

    “Oh, don’t tell me he’s buttered you up,” Ron says. “Not you. I have to bloody live with you!”

    “He hasn’t buttered me up,” you shoot back. “I just don’t see why I should completely boycott him just because you lot don’t like him. He’s nice to me.”

    Ron scoffs. “He’s nice to me. You know what that sounds like, Y/N? Sounds like you’re fraternising with the enemy; getting cuddly; abandoning the side that put clothes on your back-”

   “Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione hisses, slapping his arm. “Give it a rest; Y/N can like whoever they want.” She nods at you, giving you a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  You smile back, even though her words do nothing but fluster you; she speaks of you liking Malfoy as if you outright said you liked him, but you never did. To be honest, you don’t even know what your feelings are for Malfoy; after last night, you will admit to feeling something, something that was always lurking beneath the surface but refused to make an appearance because every time it started to rise, Malfoy would say something to Ron, or you, or he would just be ignorant and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what you were feeling for him.

    But last night, things took such a sharp turn. So sharp, in fact, that you haven’t even fully processed what any of it means, or what you’re meant to do now, or how you’re meant to approach the topic with Malfoy the next time you see him. 

     Breakfast finishes, and it’s nearly time to leave. On any normal day, leaving Hogwarts is the highlight; you can escape the stares and the uncertain questions. Now, however, as you, Ron and Hermione stand up from the table and get ready to go downstairs where you are due to meet your parents, you can’t help but feel a little. . . incomplete, as if you didn’t finish something you set out to do on this brief trip.

    Harry catches up to you all as you’re wondering down the staircase. “You lot couldn’t have waited?”

   “We’re on a schedule, Potter,” you reply. “Molly and Arthur Weasley cannot be left waiting.”

   Harry rolls his eyes, pulling you into a brotherly side hug as you arrive in the main hall; sure enough, Molly and Arthur Weasley are nowhere to be found, and not a single person is surprised.

    “Always late,” Ron grumbles. “I just want to get rid of you.”

   “Shut up.” You pull Ron into a hug. “Try not to get poisoned again before Christmas, alright? I won’t be able to handle Mum on my own if Percy doesn’t show up again.”

    “It’s not me we need to keep an eye on,” Ron says, pulling away. “If I put you on a leash, do you think that will keep you away from the Slytherin boys?”

    Harry splutters, head snapping up. 

  You groan. “Nothing happened with Malfoy and I!”

   “Oh.”

    Your heart drops.

   And it shouldn’t. The sound of Draco’s voice - that quiet, innocent little oh - should have done nothing to faze you, but it does. You whirl around and there he is, standing on the bottom step with his hands swinging by his side and his face strained with his attempts to keep that strong expression upon it.

     “Sorry. Looks like I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he sneers. 

    “What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits. “Can’t you see we’re a bit occupied at the-”

   “Draco…”

   Malfoy’s blue eyes flick to you. A muscle tenses in his jaw before he shrugs, turns on his heel and starts walking back the way he came.

     Your heart is beating so fast. It feels heavy. Your eyes are burning, unshed tears rising to the surface even though none of it makes sense; you weren’t lying. Nothing did happen between you and Malfoy last night - nothing serious, nothing physical.

    But you would be a liar, a downright fool, to claim nothing changed. Soaring through the sky on the back of his broom, watching the stars glide past, laughing louder than you have laughed in many, many months - something did happen, whether it was physical or not.

    You turn, eyes finding Ron’s immediately. He’s scowling until he meets your gaze and notices the desperation there; his twin, the strongest of his siblings because you’ve been the most misunderstood your entire life, yet here you are, on the verge of tears because you don’t know what to do.

    Ron’s expression softens. He looks over at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom seem to have read the room and have since continued their chat about Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

   Ron sighs, steps forward and says, “Go. I’ll tell Mum and Dad you went to the loo or something.”

   You’re off in a heartbeat.

    If last nights endeavours don’t give away your feelings for Malfoy, then the speed at which you dart back up the stairs certainly does. The hallways are empty besides the odd stray ghost, all of whom you ignore as you search desperately for any sign of Malfoy roaming amongst them. It seems like all is lost until you eventually round the corner leading to the library and very nearly crash right into his back.

    He’s leaning against the wall, though he spins around as soon as you make an appearance. His eyes widen, mouth opening but you’re speaking before he can say anything.

    “For gods sake, Malfoy! Why do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” you pant, slapping his arm. “Do you know how difficult it is to run up those stairs when they’re moving like that? No, of course you don’t, because you can just Apparate or whatever it is you lot do to get from one place to another.” You groan, clutching the stitch in your side. “Please don’t let me leave here without an explanation.”

    Draco stares at you open mouthed, seeming too stunned for words.

   You close your eyes and say, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

    “What are you-”

  “I don’t think nothing happened between us last night.”

   Draco pauses. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the wall in exasperation; your side is still aching, and time is running out, and you’re no longer all that confident in the fact that Draco feels the same way.

     “I think. . . I think we were very caught up in the moment,” you hurry on. “It was dark, and the lights were a little romantic-”

   “Romantic?”

   “And obviously we’re both very confused, because we hate each other, you know? That’s kind of like our thing! You take the mick out of me, and I take the mick out of you, and then we don’t see each other for a good few months and then it restarts, and-”

    “I don’t hate you.”

   “Yes you do. You always have.”

    Draco places a hand on your arm, gently easing you away from the wall. Your eyes open, hands trembling with anxiety but that doesn’t stop Draco from slipping his fingers between your own.

    “I don’t hate you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Do you wanna know a bit of a secret, Weasley?”

   Your heart jumps. “Uh. . . Go on then.”

  “Last night when the broom fell every time you touched it? That was me. I was making it fall so I had an excuse for you to fly with me.”

    You blink. In any other situation, with any other person, that news would absolutely infuriate you. But now, you look up into Draco’s eyes and you see that soft, cheeky smile and you can’t even bring yourself to feel anything besides absolute fondness.

    Nonetheless, you scowl. “You really are a little rat, aren’t you Malfoy?”

    He throws his head back and laughs, and that does it for you. You grab his chin, pull his head down and kiss him.

    His hands find your jaw immediately, winding through your hair as the world disappears and trouble doesn’t exist. It’s a weird feeling to be so at peace with someone who is the definition of destruction, someone who was born and raised to cause havoc. You silently wonder who taught him to be so gentle. 

      Draco pulls away first, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping so casually across his bottom lip, as if savouring the feel of you. You are less graceful, stumbling away from him enough to exclaim, “So that broom would have stayed up if you weren’t messing with it? I knew it!”

    Draco rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand to pull you back towards him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t prefer flying with me.”

    You scowl. “I would have preferred having the option.” 

   “I’ll make it up to you.”

   “You better; let’s see who can catch the Snitch quicker.”

   Draco pecks your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

   ----

      “Draco, fly straight! Fly straight!”

   “Why would I do that? The Snitch isn’t-”

    “Just fly straight!”

    Draco groans, tugging the broom in the direction you’ve ordered. Up ahead, Ron and Charlie twist around each other, eyes scanning the garden for any sign of the little golden ball you’re all desperately searching for. Charlie is good - you know this, have seen him play Quidditch too many times to deny such a fact. Now, however, you’re determined to give your boyfriend a point.  

    “Has Weasley spotted it?” Draco calls over the wind. 

   “There’s three Weasleys in our vicinity, Draco, you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

   “Ron. Has Ron spotted the Snitch?”

   You glance over your shoulder. “No, he still looks like he doesn’t know where he is.”

   “Oh, good.” Draco speeds up then; you cling onto his waist, keeping your eyes firm on Charlie up ahead. “What have you got planned, Weasley?”

   “Give me a minute.” You push yourself up using Draco’s shoulders; your boyfriend cries out, averting his eyes from the path ahead to look up at you as you balance on the back of his broom, a trick Fred and George taught you when you were only little.

    “What are you doing?” Draco yells, reaching round with one hand to grab your knees. “You’re gonna fall!”

   “Just keep flying straight!”

   “Oh my-”

  Charlie tries to whizz past, knowing full well what you’re planning to do - he’s seen this trick a million times before, has always claimed it to be cheating. In your eyes, you can’t really cheat if you’re nothing more than a bystander.

   And that’s what drives you to leap forward and crash onto the back of Charlie’s broom.

   In the background, you can hear Draco cursing, his own broom swerving left and right before he manages to get it together and spin back around. Ron is laughing. Charlie is fuming.

   “Get off!” your older brother exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”

  “Give Draco a chance,” you say through giggles, before you slam your hands into the front of Charlie’s broom, directing it to the floor. Charlie yells out your name, thrashing against your hands, but this is something you’ve been doing from the age of eleven, when Fred and George figured out they could use their younger sibling to their advantage, despite the fact you can’t actually fly a broom yourself.

    Charlie’s broom crashes to the floor and the two of you roll off it. You scramble up and sprint to the far side of the yard before Charlie can grab your foot and pull you back down for a scolding. 

    It’s with the professional on the ground that Draco is able to snatch the Snitch right out from under Ron’s nose. You cheer when Draco holds the golden ball in the air, jumping and clapping in your excitement. 

    “That was cheating!” Ron yells.

   “I said that, mate,” Charlie calls back, but neither you nor Draco are listening. Draco comes back to the ground, stumbles off his broom and rushes towards you, the Snitch still in his hand. You jump into his arms, giving him a hug as he laughs heartily in your ear.

   “That’s one way to win a Quidditch match,” he says. “Don’t do that again, though. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack when you stood up.”

  You pull away, keeping your arms around his neck. “Aw, were you worried about me?”

    Draco scowls. “I’ll push you off the broom next time.”

  You chuckle and press your lips to his. He melts in that way he only seems to when it’s you he’s melting into, his arm tightening on your waist, the other pressing the Snitch against your neck. 

     “Oh, bloody hell, Y/N-”

   You pull away from Draco just as your mother appears in front of you, red-faced and furious. 

    “AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIVING BETWEEN BROOMS? DO YOU WANT TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? HONESTLY, CHARLIE COULD HAVE DIED! Oh, hello Draco, dear - would you like some toast?” 

[badlydrawnmanic]

you’ve all wanted it, and i’m not ready to go to sleep yet, so here’s the latest installment of the sonic underground rewatch!

episode 6 thoughts under the cut!

• unrelated to the episode but there was some lego ninjago commercial that showed like. non-lego versions of the main characters and it looked nice. don’t know if it was for a show or the website idk i wasn’t paying attention • [GUITAR RIFF] SONIC- • i will literally never get tired of the opening theme and you can’t change my mind, i would die for a remaster of this. it doesn’t even have to be a cover. gimme a live performance and i will cry • “tangled webs”. spider concerns already • ooh, swatbot factory. interesting • manic just slid down a little rocky hill on his ass and that’s gotta hurt • sonia stop shining that laser pointer in manic’s eyes you’re gonna kill him • “switch six, switch six...” reminded me of the fun fact that your brain can only identify numbers up to a maximum of 4 or 5 at a glance, i forget which. but like... notice how if you only look at something very briefly you wouldn’t be able to immediately know “oh there’s 27 objects there” but you can very quickly identify 1-4 • sonia stop hitting manic with the drone what is wrong with you • some of these background characters are passable and some of them are hideous, there’s no in-between

• oh it’s the lion boy!! his voice is weird but it’s him!! • god dingo’s face is all kinds of fucked up in this close up as he’s talking • why is robotnik’s cape flowing so far behind him when he’s walking at a somewhat slow pace • i find it funny when eggman’s henchmen mock him when he’s not around, but i didn’t expect sleet to do that • “intruder .8 kilograms? what?? • how does it weigh a drone that is hovering in mid-air • somehow dingo identifies the drone as being piloted by sonia despite it being a hunk of metal with cameras on it • dingo being or looking like in the case of my headcanon a grown man and slobbering over sonia is kinda freaky (it’s partially why i made the hc so it’s less yikes but it’s still uncomfortable and i’m definitely gonna tone it down because fuck) • sleet don’t hit him!! • sonia is clearly frustrated during her conversation with manic (he’s being reckless as fuck) but the animators decided to give her a dead eyed smile for the whole scene • i wonder how they made the mechanical sounds? like the electronic shweeshweeshwee of the robots walking or the whoosh of doors opening? foley stuff is fascinating to me and i wanna know if they had to do any weird shit

• sleet is monologuing about how he hears the pitter patter of manic’s little feet and oh my god his eyes • how is dingo sneaking up behind manic he’s so fucking huge and noisy • sleet says “sylvia” before whacking the drone out of the air with what looks like an entire swatbot he just sort of picked up? i don’t get the reference and since when is he so strong • okay in the next shot it’s just an arm but still • “sometimes you just have to get their attention”? • cool transition between scenes with the camera glitching and shutting down from the perspective of the drone, that’s neat • dingo picks up sonia but wasn’t he just behind manic? once again the pacing is confusing me • “oh, ick” me too sonia • manic and sonia are tied up and were but in gigantic chairs and it looks so funny • “now, sarah” okay i get the “sylvia” thing now, sleet’s just forgetting sonia’s name somehow • sonia says “twit-face” and i feel like she could be more clever than that • “whatever, sophia” • “where’s sonic!?” [NYOOM] • sonic’s voice sounds... really weird, is that what jaleel white sounds like when he isn’t trying to sound all nasally and shit? also he burps and it’s gross • god the movement in this scene is very janky in general • sonia starts lecturing sonic but gets interrupted by a laser blast and manic pipes in like “can we talk about this later?” • sonia strong • is sonic just spilling lava everywhere??? • you’d think there’d be more sounds here • “am i good or what?” feels like it was pulled from satam? • “you’re insufferable” “thank you” • sonia’s voice is so shrill jesus christ • i feel like this is a pretty good confrontation of how sonic not working as a team with the other two can cause pretty significant problems • sonia i don’t think robotnik would throw you in prison, that’s what the roboticizer is for and i don’t think he’d keep y’all separate from that • cyrus does a weird double take and i think it’s an animation error • this cyrus kid is pretty sus- who is this hippie dude- • CYRUS SUS CYRUS SUS • there was deadass just a normal animal bird with some kind of accessory on its neck as a background character • damn it cyrus • SONG TIME??? • apparently no • once again manic and sonia are tied up which lasts 2 seconds • aosth slow-mo beam, purple flavor • what are these background characters they’re so ugly • OH NO I REMEMBER WHAT SANCTUARY IS NOW • children... i’d love to see the tiny babes but they’re undoubtedly ugly as fuck • ROBOTNIK WANTS TO MURDER CHILDREN • one of the kids looks like reptar • SONG TIME NOW • why is this so. idk, whimsical? idk how to describe this but i already don’t like it • they forgot to draw manic’s head quills in a shot • why is cyrus looking so pissed at these children • sounds like a weird off brand christmas song. don’t like it very much but i guess it isn’t bad. maybe a 2/10 • sdnjksg assaulting your siblings with a cloud of flour sounds fun if not wasteful but still, manic seems to be enjoying his little tech demo • sonia says “this place is gross” and manic goes “hey, you’re talking about my childhood home” and i think it’s a good thing that the show didn’t just forget where they all came from and how this can create very minor conflict between them? like manic and sonia seem to slight each other rather frequently when it comes to sonia’s attitude towards dirty places and manic finding it comfortable there due to familiarity even if it wasn’t all that good. i can relate to that • sonic walks off the right side of the screen after refusing some goggles then. pops up and puts on the shades again? i don’t get it • oh my god sonic knocks cyrus (and manic by extension) over and they literally just. rotate the asset in place and leave them planking. there wasn’t a water splash or change of pose or anything • how does sonic zoom past a swat bot looking directly at him without triggering any alarms? why didn’t it notice him • why are there so many regretful traitors on this show • how does sonic not notice the clearly a hologram man in front of him • god the animation in this episode in general is abyssmal • ah jeez manic and sonia have been captured again • “attention sonic hedgehog” • OH NO CYRUS’ DAD but the expression he made in response to seeing him roboticized killed it

• i know he didn’t snort here but i can feel the little “snrk” sound here. it was at this moment he knew he fucked up • PULL THE LEVER, SLEET • that little drone thing is fucking insane, it melted the entire roboticizer?? • i much prefer when background characters resemble actual animals • aww hug • poor cyrus :( • GOD SONIC AND SONIA SIT DOWN TO COMFORT HIM BUT MANIC LAYS DOWN ALL DRAMATIC JUST SMILING, READ THE ROOM BUD-

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Yatori Week 2021- Day 5

@yatoriweek2021

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32090953/chapters/79500055

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905660/1/Yatori-Week-2021

“Oh my goodness, Hiyori! A fifth date!” Kofuku squealed, “you never even agree to a second date!” 

Perched on her rolling chair, the pink-haired nurse spun so fast her curls flung out like a halo and her pink capybara scrubs were a blur. Across from her, Hiyori dropped her pen and lurched to stop the girl from falling over. Kofuku was such a spaz it was any wonder Hiyori’s father hired her. But she was truly a ray of sunshine and giggled as she was righted.

“I sometimes agree to second dates. It’s more that they don’t call me back,” Hiyori muttered around her smile. Embarrassed, Hiyori spun around and tried to focus on patients’ lab samples but that didn’t deter her friend. Kofuku’s arms curled around Hiyori’s plum scrubs and she rested her chin on Hiyori’s shoulder.

“See? I told you, you two would hit it off,” Kofuku purred.

“You make it sound like you introduced us,” Hiyori said with a playful roll of her eyes. The man in question was one who often landed in Hiyori’s family’s hospital and was a childhood friend of Kofuku’s. He often had problems such as tears in a rotator cuff or labrum and brusings, things he claimed were from his job. Nothing particularly major but still frequent enough where Hiyori had gotten to know him fairly well. It didn’t help that he would try to stay longer than needed just to talk to her- even bust in the nurse's office with the excuse of looking for Kofuku- or specifically request her. It annoyed her at first; sometimes she was really busy with demanding families or tired from an all-nighter. But she couldn’t stay mad at him for too long, he would always be so excited to see her and happy to hear about what she had to say. It was easy to talk to him and sometimes Hiyori had found herself picking up the pace to his room only to sit beside him and talk about everything and anything.

“Well I basically did! I invited you both to hang out at my place with Daikoku and I! I even told you when and where he gets his coffee so you can talk outside of work! That’s where he asked you out isn’t it?” Kofuku continued to grin in Hiyori’s ear, causing them both to giggle.

“For your information I went to that coffee shop before I met him!” Hiyori shooed her friend off with a smile. Kofuku fell back into her chair with a sigh but fixed Hiyori with a soft look.

“I’m glad you like him. Yatty can be a little quirky but he’s genuine. I know you like that.”

“I do,” Hiyori admitted, “but you’re right he is odd.” The word odd didn’t quite cover it. Yato, Yatty as Kofuku called him, had some personality quirks for sure. It took a lot to outwardly flirt with a nurse while she tried to pop your shoulder back in it’s socket and blush when she laughed around you. Beyond that, he had some peculiar habits that Hiyori found it difficult to ignore.

For one thing Yato was fairly jumpy around people approaching him, like he didn’t want to look directly into people’s eyes yet would get extremely excited when someone did. What’s more, sometimes he would pull her away, like he saw someone he was trying to avoid. Not that she thought anyone would recognize him. It didn’t matter where he went, Yato would always be covered: thick jackets, sun glasses, hats, the works. He even showed up to their second date with a hospital mask on. Hiyori almost walked out then and there but Yato begged her to stay.

“Maybe he’s famous,” Kofuku once suggested. That was always an option, with the way he often wore an up-turned collar, but Hiyori did an hour of google search to prove that wrong. He was lucky she had gone most of her life without finding someone who made her laugh so much, otherwise Hiyori wouldn’t have agreed to that second date.

As the saying goes, just talking about someone was enough to summon them. Her phone chimed on her desk and Hiyori didn’t even have to turn it over to know it was him. That was another one of his quirks, frequent texting and social media, but Hiyori didn’t mind. Only because she liked talking to him and he didn’t get upset with her when she ignored her. They had another date tonight, Yato would be meeting her at a bar, per her request. She typed out her reply, reiterating for the third time that he was not to come in any ostentatious clothing.

“Well, I’m glad you two have fun anyway!” Kofuku chirped from her seat, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Hiyori laughed at her words. Meanwhile, after Hiyori spent an hour picking out clothes, making sure her makeup was just right, and waiting patiently for Yato to arrive ten minutes late, she took one look at him and walked away.

“Wait, wait, wait, Hiyori!” Yato jogged after her and grabbed her hand. Teeth bared, Hiyori whirled around and fixed her most searing glare on him. She watched him physically recoil, blue eyes wide with shock. At least she imagined they were, large tinted sunglasses blocked any view of them so Hiyori wasn’t sure. Either way, her glare reflected back at her and she watched herself scowl at him.

“Let go of me,” Hiyori growled. He let her go when she yanked but easily kept up as she marched away from their meeting spot. They swerved though the crowd of happy families and loving couples, the groups jolting out of the way of her warpath.

“Hiyori, please, I’m sorry! It’s just to get here! That’s why I wanted to get here early so I could change!” Yato continued to plead as he walked alongside her. She stopped and skeward him with another glare, this one capable of pinning him to the building behind him.

“You’re ten minutes late.” She informed him.

“Ahh. Hah, uh,” Yato’s jaw worked uselessly for a moment before he swallowed thickly and looked to the ground in shame. Hiyori watched him for a moment then walked off again, Yato catching up to her after some time.

“Hiyori, please!” Yato appeared suddenly in front of her, hands up to get her to stop, or in surrender. Despite herself, she did stop, allowing her glare to slip and show him the hurt she felt. Now, Yato wasn’t the sharpest tool in the doctor kit but he had the sense to take off his baseball cap, letting his black hair fall free, and his glasses to look her in the eye with nothing but concern. They stared at each other as music and people happily surrounded them.

“Hiyori I,” Yato paused as pink spread across his cheeks, “I really like you. I’m sorry it’s just a habit from my job. Please, don’t go.” He spoke so honestly that Hiyori couldn’t stop her shoulders from sagging. Of course the genuineness of the statement was overshadowed by the fact Yato was undressing as they spoke. Hiyori watched him stuff the glasses and hat in his jacket pocket before stripping off the jacket and tossing it in a bush. Once he tore off his pants, thankfully leaving behind shorts, Hiyori was left to sigh at the dirty baseball jersey and bruised arms. Yato watched as she gently picked up his arm to poke at his swollen elbow.

“I like you too,” she started, “but you promised. Several times. I asked you and you said you wouldn’t walk around like this and suddenly drag me around.” Hiyori reminded him. Of course he hadn’t done it yet but it was almost guaranteed at this point.

“I know, I’m sorry. There’s just so many people here and it’s for my job, I swear,” Yato repeated.

“And what exactly is your job?” Hiyori let her eyes flicker up to him. That was treading on dangerous territory. Yato- as another personality quirk- did not like talking about his job. He answered her questions but the responses were always vague and he was quick to change the subject. Even if she didn’t say something, she noticed; yet it was her fault for trusting him when he assured her it wasn’t anything sketchy or illegal. With the way Yato struggled to look at her, and come up with an excuse, it was clear she wasn’t going to get an answer this time either. That was fine. Afterall, Hiyori was hiding things from Yato too.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me right now. I don’t want to get into it.” Hiyori said. His elbow thankfully wasn’t sprained but it was definitely irritated. He would need to ice it and rest, not have fun at a festival. She let it go and held onto her purse handle.

“I think I’m going to go though,” Hiyori mumbled.

“No, no, no!” Yato’s hands waved, “Hiyori, please, I am so sorry. Let me buy you food? Or just chat? This doesn’t even have to be a date or longer than an hour. I just really want to spend time with you.” He bit his lip and scanned her face as she thought it over. There was really no harm. He didn’t do anything particularly wrong and she had no doubt they would have fun. It wasn’t like she actually wanted to go home anyway.

“Well, you’re going to be spending more time with me if you don’t rest that elbow,” Hiyori huffed. The sentiment confused Yato but he huffed out a laugh, not making a move as he stared at her. With another sigh, and a prayer to heaven, Hiyori gently let her hand rest in the crook of his good arm. Yato’s other hand quickly came up to support his arm, the pressure causing him to flinch through his excited cheers.

“Oh and!” Yato suddenly left her side to dive into the bush. Before Hiyori could contemplate her decision, Yato opened his hands like a toddler showing their parents something new they’ve found.

“I won it for you at the ball-toss,” Yato admitted with great pride, “that’s why I was late.” His smile was awkward as he looked between her and the plastic cat keychain, still holding it out to her. At this point, how could she still be mad? With a snort and a giggle, Hiyori attached the keychain to her purse, took Yato’s arm, and knew she would stay much more than an hour.

“Hey, Hiyori?” A nurse popped her head in the office a month later, “That, uh, patient is here for you?” The office was filled with snickering, mostly from Kofuku, as Hiyori leaned back in her chair. She knew why he was here, but Hiyori couldn’t decide if she wanted to deal with him right now.

“Thank you, I’ll be right there,” she pushed back from her desk. In the doorway, the nurse cleared her throat.

“Actually, he’s here, here,” she pointed off to the side just as Yato peaked into the office.

“Hello darling!” Yato grinned, folding his sunglasses to hang off his shirt collar. The other nurses snickered as Hiyori sputtered and hissed that she was not, in fact, his darling.

“Yatty!” Kofuku sprang off her seat on the counter, running to give the man a big hug. Yato needed both hands to catch her, which accidently showed off the bouquet of roses he brought with him. Most likely from the gift shop in the lobby.

“Uh, hey,” Yato cleared his throat after he put Kofuku down. Hiyori spun to face him with her arms and legs crossed. Letting a girl jump into his arms in front of her did not help his case, but that wasn’t why she was upset.

“I figured you were on your lunch break,” Yato’s eyes slid to her lunchbox and back, “I brought you roses.” He held out the flowers. Hiyori let her eyes drop to them, then looked up at him. Yato set them down on the desk and fiddled with his fingers.

“So, how’s it going?” He tried. They ignored Kofuku’s snort as she sat down to watch along with the rest of the nurses in the office.

“My parents are starting to get offended, Yato,” Hiyori remarked, “this is the second time you said you couldn’t come over for dinner.”

“Ooo! Dinner!” Kofuku sang. Her two friends gave her a heavy look and she apologized with a grin.

“I know, Hiyori, I’m so sorry. You know weekends aren’t good for me. I tried to talk to Daikoku about it but he hasn’t budged.” The end of Yato’s sentence was heavy with meaning as he let his eyes slide to said man’s wife, sitting happily on the counter.

“That’s got nothing to do with me, Yatty, you know that,” Kofuku shrugged, her smile never leaving. It was a known fact that Daikoku was Yato’s boss in whatever job they had- part of the reason Hiyori believed it wasn’t suspicious- but that was not the point. Her huff got Yato’s attention and he immediately took another step towards her.

“You know I’m super happy you want me to meet them! I really want to meet them too! It’s just the weekends they happen to pick, are when I happen to be working.”

“That’s because my dad likes to watch the game when my mom cooks big meals,” Hiyori pouted, “it’s a bonding thing with him and my brother and any male in the- the- you know, family.” She waved her hand in a way that should have dismissed her words but did nothing to wipe away the red in both their cheeks.

“Am I part of the family?” Yato asked as he crept forward another step, a grin growing on his lips. By now everyone in the room was smiling except her and Hiyori threw her hands up.

“You’re not part of the family yet because you won’t come to family dinner or give the truthful reason as to why,” Hiyori slammed her hands on either side of her paperwork. The entire situation was frustrating because they both had things they wanted to hide. While it’s true Yato wouldn’t talk about his job, he also wouldn’t say his last name. That wasn’t his decision. It was a little known fact that Hiyori’s family owned the very hospital they found themselves in. Because of this, Hiyori had opted out of saying her last name when meeting new people. Just to avoid any assumptions and to ensure they liked her for her. Of course that prompted Yato to insist he wouldn’t give his last name until she did. Another thing that made it hard to research him, since Kofuku wouldn’t say a word. This was also what made this family dinner such a big step for them. Not only would Yato be introduced to her family as a romantic interest, but there would be no hiding how much money her family made. But while it was agreed that family names and overall lifestyles were not to be mentioned, their individual jobs were not.

“Yet?” Yato repeated, still missing the point. With a sigh, Hiyori kneaded her forehead as Yato and Kofuku cooed behind her.

“If you really want to meet them you can probably find them,” Kofuku shrugged.

“Wha-?” Yato cocked his head as Hiyori whipped her chair around to narrow her eyes at Kofuku. It was all too frustrating. The rumors already reached her parents, which both helped convince them she wasn’t lying and made them think Yato was avoiding them. Another sigh escaped her, this time accompanied with a groan. That tampered her friends’ mood and Yato took a seat on the counter next to her, pushing the roses aside.

“I promise I’ll make it up to them. I’ll take them out to dinner, my treat,” Yato offered.

“Yato, you don’t have to do that. Trust me, my parents can pay for themselves.”

“I can too,” Yato said, “I want to, okay? Wherever they want.” It was another promise Yato would have to live up to, but Hiyori appreciated him trying, if not slightly. She looked up to him with a small smile, which Yato returned.

“I have to get back to work,” Hiyori said. Standing, Yato backed off and watched Hiyori stretch.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” He urged.

“You said you were working this weekend,” Hiyori reminded him.

“Yeah, I am, I am,” sighed Yato, “but once I’m done I’ll come straight to you.” He finished his declaration with a wink and smiled wider when Hiyori’s own happiness became more genuine. With one kiss to her head, Yato flounced back out the door and left her to sigh and flop back into her chair. By now the rest of the nurses had gone back to their business, leaving Hiyori to pet the rose petals and thoroughly think over her relationship.

“He means it, you know,” Kofuku said. Her tone was so honest compared to her everyday jeer and Hiyori immediately met her serious gaze.

“What?”

“What he does, how he acts around you. Yatty’s always had trouble making friends, let alone opening himself up in the romantic sense. Just like you, he would hardly get past the first date! But I can tell, he does really want to meet your family, the idea makes him so happy. Daikoku says you're all he talks about,” Kofuku chuckled, “Yatty does truly like you a lot.” Her words lit a fire across Hiyori’s cheeks and collarbones but it didn’t completely wipe away Hiyori’s misgivings.

“It’s just-! At first I thought it was an accident or two, then I figured he would get better or change if we got serious. But, I can’t- I don’t want to think about this being a constant thing throughout our relationship.” Hiyori sighed at her lap. Next to her, Kofuku let out a thoughtful hum, setting her chin on her hands.

“You really like him too, huh?” Kofuku mused. The statement caused Hiyori to blink at her but the label on the feeling sounded right. Why else would have given this guy so many chances?

“Yeah, I do,” Hiyori confessed.

“I’m happy for you two. I really am, this was the best thing to happen with you two. I just knew you’d make each other happy!” Kofuku swooned, “you know what?” She spun back around and grabbed her phone. With a couple of taps and chimes, Kofuku was invested in her phone. For a moment, Hiyori thought the flighty nurse got distracted again and forgot about their conversation but when she opened her mouth, Kofuku just held up her finger. After a moment, another chime sounded and Kofuku’s grin grew even more.

“Okay! Clear your schedule this weekend cause we are hanging out!” Kofuku declared. Hiyori sputtered as the bubbly nurse tossed her phone back on the counter.

“Wha-? Kofuku, I have dinner with my parents this weekend!”

“Saturday night is not this weekend.”

“But what will we even be doing?” Hiyori vacillated, leaning back in her chair. Her time with Kofuku outside of work always ended up in absolute chaos. Oftentimes, Kofuku would be wearing that coy, cat-like grin. Much like she was right now, but this one held much more knowledge.

“Why, to Yatty’s job of course!”

Despite Hiyori’s initial shock with Kofuku’s declaration, she couldn’t help but feel apprehension. Of course Hiyori had dabbled on the idea that, while Yato’s job may not be illegal, it could still be less than savory. With the way Yato and Kofuku talked about it, Hiyori thought he may be a stripper; and while she could see Kofuku doing that, she couldn’t actually imagine Daikoku being a part of it. The plate Hiyori was setting on the table stopped mid-air as she thought of the massive, terrifying looking man. Now that she thought of it, he looked exactly like a bouncer, or bartender. One of those men that walked young women, and handsome young men, to their cars late at night. Hiyori shook her head before the thought could sink in, afraid of finding out if she would be okay with it.

“Hiyori?” Her mother questioned from the other side of the table, bundle of utensils in hand.

“Hmm? What’s wrong, mother?”

“Nothing dear, I just thought maybe you were worrying over-”

“Gah!” Her father bellowed from the living room, “how do you miss that?” His short fit of rage simmered down after her older brother ran in and asked what happened. The women waited for the complaints to settle down before her mother sighed.

“I just think that people who really want to, can make the time.” Her mother huffed.

“They better catch up this inning,” her father continued saying.

“He’s told me he can’t do weekends. We see each other a lot during the week,” Hiyori said as she set down the final plate.

“Relax, Yaboku’s up to bat next and there’s two people on base,” her brother replied. Her father’s joyful reply covered her mother’s sigh as they finished setting the table.

“Well, alright dear, if you say so. Some of the nurses did tell me he comes around a lot but I thought that was for an illness or something,”

“There it is!” Her father cheered, “that Yaboku always knocks it right out of the park!”

“Geez, why do they even let him play? Between him and that busty pitcher,” Her brother chuckled.

“Masaomi language!” Her mother huffed before flashing a smile at Hiyori, “well, I had a feeling that might be the case. It’s not every day a boy shows up to the hospital and requests the same nurse.” She winked, leaving Hiyori to choke out a smile. It was rather sweet.

“And Hiyori?” Her mother popped her head in from the kitchen, “tell your father and brother to shut off the game, it’s time for dinner.” With a nod, Hiyori went into the living room and pried her family away from baseball with some difficulty.

Which was why when Hiyori took the train into the city and walked a block to the meeting spot Kofuku proposed, she was shocked to see the stadium. It was ironic and Hiyori couldn’t help but smile as she imagined the jealous faces of her father and brother. Of course, they had season passes to the games but the hospital kept them away.

“Hey Hiyori!” Kofuku suddenly popped into her view.

“Kofuku!” Hiyori pulled her into a hug.

“You ready?” Kofuku coaxed. Hiyori would have been happy to answer had it not been for the sly way Kofuku was holding up a black ribbon.

“Do I have to be blind folded?”

“Yep! Helps with the surprise,” Kofuku pulled the band taunt. It showed how much trust Hiyori gave the young woman, allowing Kofuku to lead her around a city with a blind fold. Then again, it only took a couple minutes for Hiyori to realize Kofuku had actually led them into the stadium. So it wasn’t just a meeting spot, then. Of course, Hiyori could be wrong but the way they shuffled in a massive line and walked up a couple flights proved otherwise. She could smell the popcorn and hotdogs, and hear the chattering of baseball fans. Once Kofuku untied the ribbon, Hiyori’s theory was proven to be correct, but it didn’t answer her question.

“So he works here? Why would that need to be a secret?” Hiyori asked. She could picture Yato working at the snack bar or as a vendor, he was loud and repetitive like that. She could also see him being a security guard or IT, the man was talented.

“Well, I mean he often works here but he doesn’t always, I guess you could put it,” Kofuku tapped her chin with a giggle. That made it more suspicious but Hiyori had to wait for the announcer before asking.

“And now for your home team! First up to bat is first basemen: Abe Toshiki. Second is the catcher: Kazuma Hirano!”

“Is he, uh, the announcer? Or maybe a news reporter? I’m not political, you know?” Hiyori tried to guess. Behind a smirking Kofuku, the home team was running out onto the field as they were introduced.

“Third up to bat is none other than the only female in the big leagues, pitcher: Bishamon Vaisravana!” The third player, rather famous- even Hiyori’s heard of her- strutted out onto the field as the entire stadium erupted in applause and cheers.

“Nooo,” Kofuku purred. It was hard to hear her but Hiyori could read her lips nonetheless.

“Then what?” Hiyori sighed, exasperated, throwing her arms down and resisting the urge to stomp her foot. She knew Kofuku wasn’t a mean person, but Hiyori was starting to feel like the butt end of a joke that toyed with her feelings. Instead of answering, Kofuku pointed up, grin never fading. Following the direction she pointed in, Hiyori looked up to the ceiling of the tunnel and saw nothing but a ceiling. Before her eyes could drop down to Kofuku, they caught on to one of the small TVs that lined the inside. Hiyori found herself frozen as the fourth batter appeared on screen.

“And fourth up to bat, pitcher: Yaboku Ayakashi!” The announcement was met with less applause than with the previous pitcher. Jaw dropped, Hiyori watched all the screens in the stadium light up with Yato’s face, the flamboyant way he posed with the bat, supposed name, and stats. She rushed to the top of the seating area and watched him run out onto the field as he waved and kissed to the crowd. Yato jogged up to stand beside Bishamon, who smacked him when he wouldn’t stop throwing kisses. They got into a tussle right on the field and Hiyori watched Daikoku rush from the dugout, waving a clipboard, and work to separate them. Hiyori tried to close her jaw while an entire stadium of people laughed at her major league boyfriend while his major league coach worked to wrestle him on national television.

“He’s,” Hiyori pointed at the field and Kofuku gently set her hands on Hiyori’s shoulders.

“Let’s go sit down,” Kofuku nudged Hiyori down the stairs and into their seats. They didn’t talk until after the national anthem and the rest of the announcements.

“Yato is his alias, for obvious reasons,” Kofuku said as munched on the popcorn she swiped from an actual vendor.

“Uh huh,” Hiyori breathed. She still couldn’t believe it, just wait until her family hears. Now that she thought about it, they were just talking about him last night. Had she glanced at the screen, she wouldn’t be this flabbergasted. Of all the things.

“That’s what was so funny, you know? You both were keeping secrets about yourselves for the same reason,” she tossed more kernels in her mouth, “of course, now that I brought you here, you’ll have to tell him the truth.” Kofuku smiled at her and Hiyori felt her lips quirk up. This practically guaranteed Yato wasn’t after her money. Plus he would almost definitely be loved by her family for having such an occupation. By the time Hiyori settled down, Yato was up to bat. Again his stats came up and the entire stadium filled with anticipation. Hiyori knew enough about baseball to know that with the bases filled, Yato was to bring them home. She thought about what her father said and waited for the pitch.

“What do those numbers mean?” Hiyori asked without looking away.

“Hmm? Oh! Those are Yatty’s batting stats see the RBI? That’s how many times Yatty sent people home like this,” Kofuku explained, “It’s also why is H stats, hits, are so high. Highest in the league in fact. He’s trying for the Hall of Fame, it’s been his dream for a long time.”

“Ah,” Hiyori hummed. The number was high, but she was confused why Yato hadn't hit for the first couple pitches. Three balls two strikes, that meant he would have to hit or leave soon. Hiyori’s fists tightened in her lap with anticipation. Suddenly, Yato stepped out and did some practice swings.

“Honestly Yatty, making a big show again,” Kofuku sighed. Hiyori was confused for a moment until Yato sauntered up to the plate, using the tip of his bat to trace the plate with his butt out. Then he swung the tool up in the air, pointing up and out of the stadium. The crowd roared, cheers mixed with the booing of the rival team. It was then Hiyori saw his hips wiggle and realize he was taunting the pitcher. Her laughter came out in a breath just as the ball was thrown. Yato’s bat sliced through the air with cut-throat precision and sent the ball right to where he pointed, disappearing into the stands.

The stadium cheered as the team was sent home, Yato bringing up the rear as he waved. Hiyori’s smile was just as broad as Yato’s and she stood up with the people around her. She was happy, caught up in the excitement of the game and the pride of knowing they had feelings for each other. Beside her, Kofuku stood and cheered, elbowing Hiyori’s side with a sly smirk. When the celebration died down and the next player was up to bat, the girls sat down. The game got going and, despite Yato and the home team being phenomenal hitters, the other team refused to back down. Four innings and several crowd games later, Kofuku decided to poke Hiyori’s side.

“Want to let him know you’re here?” Kofuku cooed. Just like that all of Hiyori’s excitement vanished and she was left sputtering.

“Wha-? But, but I-! I mean how? Don’t distract him!” Hiyori insisted. She tried not to think about how she would approach the conversation, that she went against their initial agreement, but Hiyori knew she didn’t want to do it during the game. The fact that Kofuku was typing on her phone was a bad sign. Currently, the rival team was back on the field, warming up before the game resumed. Yato batted in the last turn, so he most likely wouldn’t make an appearance until the next inning. Instead he draped his arms over the fence of his dugout, blowing a bubble with pink gum so that it popped and scared Kazuma, someone he told her was his best friend. When they met, they offered a double date and Hiyori wondered if Kazuma’s girlfriend was watching him too.  

“Kofuku, what are you-?” Hiyori was interrupted again by Kofuku holding up a finger. She pressed the phone to her ear and looked directly at her husband. From on the field, Daikoku immediately picked up with a smile, waving his clipboard at a much older looking coach with a goatee. Hiyori couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise of the game but she saw Daikoku turn and look at them, Kofuku standing and gesturing wildly to Hiyori and the jumbotron.

“No!” Hiyori gasped, “Kofuku, no, don’t you dare!” But it was too late. Kofuku hung up and Hiyori could see Daikoku talking into his headset.

“Alright ladies and gentleman!” The announcer boomed around the field, “it seems we have a special guest in the stadium today! Someone who can handle our number 4 and who he’s set his sights on!” The stadium filled with gasps and ‘awe’s as everyone immediately started whispering their inquiries. Nervousness and anxiety, like she hadn’t felt since her childhood piano recitals, crackled throughout Hiyori’s body as she remained rooted at the spot. She wanted to sit down, to sink into the folding chair and block her ears of the announcement, but then she wouldn’t be able to see Yato as he perked up and asked Daikoku what was happening.

Then, when his head whipped around and his blue eyes grew wide, Hiyori followed his gaze to the massive flat screen. There she stood, face red from the heat and embarrassment, looking up and off to the side. Since she thought Kofuku would be taking her to some sort of shop or restaurant, Hiyori had dressed in heels and skirt, her hand bunching the front of her blouse. It was painful how much she stuck out, clearly not dressed for a ball game, but the hoots and whistles came all the same. Instead of finding the camera, which was somewhere below them from the way Kofuku hung off her to wave, Hiyori looked immediately to her boyfriend.

Yato was already looking at them, directly at her to be precise, like he figured out exactly where they were yet couldn’t believe it. It was only when their eyes met, and the world stilled and the sounds muffled, that Yato seemed to process what he was seeing. It was as if they were face to face, Yato’s joy radiated from his eyes first, then his smile. He took off his cap and waved it frantically, like he was saying goodbye to a cruise ship. It wasn’t enough, Yato tried to climb the fence and wave even harder, his body hanging out of the dugout while Kazuma grabbed his belt and tried to pull him back in. Hiyori couldn’t help but giggled and wave shyly back, ignoring the cheers of the people surrounding her and the cooes of the announcer. Her family was definitely watching this at home and would probably call her after they picked up their jaws off the floor. But Hiyori found she would be happy to if it meant she could see such an adorable grin all the time.

“I have also been instructed to inform you that the adorable young lady in the coach’s jersey is off limits, for your own safety,” the announcer eventually tacked on, signaling Kofuku to spin around and point to the name and number on her unbuttoned jersey.

By the end of the game, the home team finished with an impressive lead and Hiyori was quickly tugged into an empty suite. People were still leaving the game but Kofuku left Hiyori to call her family back- her brother, mother, uncle, and cousins- and get some candy. Saying goodbye to her older cousin, Hiyori finally hung up and put her phone away with a sigh. Her brother’s phone call had been the most exhausting. Apparently, he had recorded the game because he couldn’t stop laughing and pay attention to the rest of it. It wasn’t Hiyori’s sudden screen time that got him; It was the fact that every time Yato got onto a base, or made a play, or caught her eye, he would wave dramatically at her. Eventually she had to ignore him because he would completely turn away from the game to beam at her, jumping up and down and shouting every time he ran to home plate. Hiyori worried the crowd would start to get annoyed at her if one of the star players kept getting distracted. But somehow Yato did even better than before, so she was left alone.

“Hiyori? Ya done?” Kofuku poked her head in the room.

“Huh? Oh yeah!” Hiyori frantically tried to fix herself, ignoring the grin Kofuku gave her. She definitely saw the soft smile she was just wearing while thinking about Yato’s antics. The premium seating was located up by the club, open for members only, so the area was air conditioned and covered with carpet and trophies, making it considerably quieter than the rest of the building. It was because of this the girls were able to walk to the elevator and take it down to the basement without anyone approaching them. The bodyguards must have recognized Kofuku, because they let her trapeze past the batting cages with a nod. The entire basement was filled with the excited chatter of a team that just won. It was when Hiyori heard running water and saw Kofuku was walking towards an open door with steam coming out, that she opened her mouth to say something. Thankfully, Kofuku stopped about half way down the hall and cupped her mouth.

“Yattyyy! Guess who’s hereee?” Kofuku sang into the hallway. From another doorway on the right, closer than the showers but certainly just as loud, Yato rocketed into the hallway. He skitted, facing them with his jersey open to reveal black Under Armour and loose shorts. Hiyori met his eyes again, brighter from this close, and watched his smile grow.

“Hiyori!” Yato cheered, dashing at her in flip flops. She squeaked when he practically tackled her into a hug, squeezing her tight. When she wrapped his arms around him out of habit, Hiyori realized he hadn’t showered and the entire side of her face and neck was now slick with another’s sweat. She also noticed he smelled good, like someone sprayed him head to toe with sports deodorant.

“You came!” He gushed, sounding truly happy for someone who never talked about his job. But Hiyori couldn’t find it in her to be mad. With a tap to his shoulder, Yato pulled back, fixing his smile directly on her.

“You did great!” Hiyori complemented, her own giddy smile forming.

“Really? You think so?” He swooned, “Thank you! That means a lot coming from you.” His honest smile caused her heart to throb.

“Please, it was average at best,” a femine voice sounded from behind him. They separated to see Bishamon strut up to them with Kazuma and Daikoku following behind.

“And get off the poor woman,” Daikoku huffed, “you’ll get her sweat all over her.” He crossed his arms and looked Hiyori up and down as if to scan her for Yato’s sweat.

“Oh shut up, I’m not,” Yato growled back. He did separate from Hiyori though but didn’t put too much space between them.

“I’m surprised you really exist,” Bishamon said, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Of course she exists!” Yato threw her arm around her shoulders but Hiyori removed it and held his hand instead.

“Viina, I told you that,” Kazuma sighed from her side. He appeared to be the only player with the sense to shower after the game.

“Yeah but I know how you are with him, you two keeps secrets,” Bishamon narrowed her eyes at him but Kazuma just laughed awkwardly. It was then Hiyori decided to take a small step forward and offer a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Hiyori, my family is a big fan,” Hiyori greeted as she shook the blonde’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too,” the beautiful woman smiled, “please tell me if this leech is holding you captive.

“I am not, skank!” Yato snapped at her. From beside him, Hiyori gasped and swatted his shoulder.

“Yato! Don’t say that!” Her words caused his jaw to click shut and he blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Yato said immediately. The rest of his friends stared at him like he just sprouted a second head. This time it was Bishamon’s jaw that fell open while Daikoku let out a low whistle.

“See?” Kofuku grinned, “I told you it was serious.” That statement caused Hiyori to stop and she felt her heart clench again, this time in a guilty way. She looked up at Yato with a slight plea, biting her lip.

“Actually Yato, can I talk to you real quick?” hesitated Hiyori. She could feel the hallway’s cheer droop slightly but Yato gave a jerk of a nod.

“Sure.” He held his hand up and Daikoku tossed him some keys. Walking to the end of the hall, Yato opened a door with the glass window sporting Diakoku’s name. Yato flipped on the lights to reveal a modest office and faced her with his hands in his pockets.

“So,” he cleared his throat, “what’s up?” his voice cracked. In front of her, her hands clenched the strap of her purse and her skirt.

“Yato, I know that neither of us have been completely honest with each other,” Hiyori started. She heard him suck in a sharp breath and quickly sped forward.

“I know you didn’t want me to know about your job, Kofuku didn’t tell me but she did show me so I’m sorry. But! Now I know we were keeping secrets for the same reason. I didn’t tell you about my name or family because I wanted to make sure you weren’t after my family’s money.” She said. Yato blinked and some of the awkwardness melted away.

“Oh, uh, that’s good, I guess?” He coughed.

“Yeah! Yeah, it is. And now you know I’m not after you because you’re-?” She wasn’t exactly sure how much a professional ball player made compared to a doctor-family that owned a hospital, but Yato shrugged nonetheless.

“A star?” He offered. The picture of him wearing layers in public flashed across her mind and she snorted. Soon they dissolved into giggles that quickly climbed to laughter.

“So what are you?” Yato asked as they died down, “a gymnast? Ballet?”

“No,” Hiyori stuck out her hand, “my full name is Hiyori Iki.” Her hand, which was taken without much thought, slowed it’s excited shaking.

“Iki?” Yato repeated slowly. The syllables clunked along his tongue as the wheels in his brain turned.

“As in the, uh-”

“As in the hospital you always go to, yes,” Hiyori held his hand gently, “it’s been in my family for generations and most of my family works in the medical field.” Her confession came out in a heavy breath, taking the weight with it. Now that it was out in the open, Hiyori could only stare at her feet as Yato decided whether or not he wanted to bear the name of the city hospital. She waited with bated breath as the room filled with silence.

“Oh so no wonder you’re so good at patching me up,” Yato praised with a nod and grin, “runs in the family.”

“Really you don’t mind?” Hiyori finally looked back up at him with something close to hope. Yato just blinked in surprise.

“Mind? No, why would I mind?”

“It’s just my family is old, old money; a-and the hospital is a big name to carry! Not that I- or marriage is a thing!” She sputtered with frantic hands.

“It’s not?” Yato pouted.

“No.” Hiyori narrowed her eyes through her embarrassment, Yato letting out a sigh before smiling.

“Hiyori, I think it’s super cool your family owns the hospital! Look, I don’t know anything about old money or what that entails. I come from nothing, I stayed on the field all night as a child. Baseball is what got me through life; It carried me through school, it was the whole reason I went to be honest. But, I like you. I really like you. And if playing baseball is what’s going to keep me by your side, then that’s just an extra blessing that came with the sport.

“If you’re worried about money, don’t, I’m not after your family’s discount or anything. And Daikoku’s going to have to drag me off the field to get me to retire! And once that happens, I’ll probably coach or go on talk shows or star in films; I already coach this middle school team sometimes- none of them believe I work here- and this one kid is just like me I swear! Haha! So just,” Yato squeezed her hands, “keep being my girlfriend?” He had to catch his breath from that speech and Hiyori had to close her mouth, shocked from hearing him talk so much so seriously.

“I read on the schedule you’re out of town soon.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“When you come back, will you meet my parents?” Hiyori asked.

“You kidding!” Yato laughed joyfully, “I’ll bring them all season passes and signed baseballs!” He wrapped his arms around her waist and Hiyori muttered about how fast her family would fall in love with him if he did. Hiyori peaked up at him through her lashes, eyeing the dirt stains that spotted his cheeks around that goofy grin. Grabbing his collar, Hiyori yanked him down for a passionate kiss.

“So,” Hiyori breathed, “does this mean I get to wear your number?”

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Five (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

It’s really funny how they set a uniform to wear for the private session with the gamemakers. They haven’t really done that before, and you know that because of your years of mentoring. They don’t have a set outfit that they want the tributes to wear. Sure, they have guidelines, but nothing this strict.

It’s a tracksuit jacket that goes up to your throat. You zip it up all the way, squinting at yourself in the mirror, because this wouldn’t have been your first choice for a uniform. You don’t look too terribly bad, it’s just the fact that you’ve never worn something so… hideous.

Despite this all, you pull your hair out of your face again, it’s even messier than it has been the past three days for training. Progressively, you’ve begun to care less about what you look like. You’ve been zeroing in on as many skills as you can gather like a hoarder. You spent the first day just training, and the last two days learning the useful stuff. The shit they don’t teach in the academy.

It was a good couple of days, even if you were forced to make conversation with the hogs of the stations. The good news is that Cecelia is much more tolerable than Woof. Woof is incompetent, the man will die in the bloodbath. He doesn’t move fast, he doesn’t think straight, and he’ll be a target for you.

You weren’t expecting very much out of him in the first place. He goes right onto the list of the other imcompetent competitors. The list has tripled past your expectations. These games are going to be a walk in the park.

Brutus is already waiting in the main room when you get out there. He’s got an orange in his hand, already peeled. He looks up when you enter, and without a word, stands and heads for the door. This afternoon, Neysa and Edmond will be nowhere in sight. You haven’t seen Theo in days, but that’s no matter.

Neysa and Edmond will be consulting with the stylist to make sure that the interview outfits are matching. Amias is already working with whoever is working with Brutus, but it’s for more understanding. Neysa knows what you would like to wear, and Edmond will have an idea for what Brutus would like.

Brutus holds out a single orange slice.

You prick it from his fingers popping it in your mouth. When you bite down, the juice explodes in your mouth. It’s sweet, a little tangy. You don’t pride yourself with oranges, since they’re such a rare thing to come across in District Two. You guys might be rich and a favorite, but it doesn’t mean you get everything that you desire.

The elevator brings you down to the same floor you’ve been for the past three days. The ride is short, the doors open, you guys step out and head towards the room where you’ll be waiting to be called in. This shouldn’t take very long. After everyone gets inside the room, it’s only three people before it’s your turn.

Walking in, there’s only a couple of people here already. A few of which you’ve actually talked to, during your time of rotation in the training room. Cashmere and Gloss already sit by the wall up front, so you allow Brutus to go in first, since you’ll be sitting on the end of the row.

There’s three rows of four to fit all twenty-four of you in here. The way that things are laid out in here kinda make sense, but you wish that they had allowed District Two to be up against the wall. You’d rather be leaning against the cold concrete while your body is beginning to heat up.

You’re not mad, you’re not embarrassed, this is something that doesn’t belong to you again. It could very well be nerves, again. Since it basically feels the exact same as it did last time…

Maybe the jacket is too much, because there is no reason why you should be feeling like it’s ninety degrees because you’re anxious. You unzip it, and then slip out of the jacket. The second that it’s done though, there’s a whistle behind you.

Gloss turns to look to see who it is, but it doesn’t take a genius to know who’s going to keep harassing you. It’s Finnick, and he’s probably just come in here with Mags. You haven’t turned around since you got inside, mainly because you don’t care who comes in or out. You just want the room to be full already so this show can get started.

“Welcome to the gun show.”

“I really can’t wait until I can knock your fucking teeth out.” you roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it.

Finnick laughs, “I’m not that bad.”

“You are that bad.” you say, “I still don’t know what your goal is.”

“I thought we could be friends.”

“You thought wrong, my friends are sitting right here.”

Brutus snickers but doesn’t say anything, you can practically hear him ask, ‘we’re friends?’

If he’s thinking that, then so are Cashmere and Gloss, but they’re clearly smart enough not to say anything about it. At least they have some intuition that’s telling them that you don’t want to be talking to Finnick. And the best way to escape a conversation is to set grounds, even if they are lies.

“Who says you have to stop there?” Finnick asks.

“For fuck’s sake, just leave me alone.”

If Finnick has anything else to say, he gives it up. The silence is instant, and you welcome it in with open arms. Besides from the occasional ‘whoosh’ of the automatic doors, or the whispers of tributes talking to each other, the room is quiet. 

In no time, the room is full of all the tributes, and Gloss is being called in for his evaluation. As the clock ticks, you can feel yourself grow more anxious. It’s like a bottomless pit in your stomach, or as if you’ve been told that you’re being broken up with. It’s more of a grief feeling.

It’s awful, you don’t like it.

You look down at your wrist, reading over the words again. You run your thumb over them as if they’ll wipe off easily. Of course, they don’t budge even in the slightest. The whole idea of soulmates is crazy.

It’s a dumb concept. Who says that you have to end up with them, anyway? There’s plenty of people that you know, that never followed the rules because they didn’t care. There’s also the fact that you never know if that person is actually alive. It’s not like they fade after the person dies. They’re still as brand new as the day you got them.

You always thought that you’d be able to just overcome it, but with your repelling personality, no dice. That’s fine, you don’t like anyone, anyway. You’ll be content enough to live out the rest of your life in District Two, with two kids--Tanith and Zavian. One who won’t leave you alone, and the other won’t bother to visit.

You won’t be alone forever, you have them, and the occasional person who’s ballsy enough to visit you in your big, old, grand house. And if you can find a single animal you could get as a pet, you’d consider having them around, too. Turn your whole house into a zoo, like the old man that used to live next door, back when you weren’t a victor.

His house was overflowing with animals. Dogs, cats, he had two horses, a cow and a mule in his backyard. In his house were the chickens, goats and pigs. His house was covered in hay and smelt like piss and shit because he never cleaned it. He was too old and too stupid to be running something like that. However, you think he got taken down two years after your win. You went to visit your old house for a few things that you’d remembered that you wanted to move in and the house was just… gone. Like a controlled fire had taken it out.

You can’t say that you feel bad for him, he’s the entire reason why the street smelled so bad. In an upper-class neighborhood like yours, you’re surprised the neighbors hadn’t taken him out any earlier. He’s also the reason why you never opened the windows or doors for more than ten minutes… and why you never went in the backyard, either.

Brutus’ name is called. You fist-bump him, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” he says.

Cashmere passes him on the way in, she gives you a dainty smile, and then continues her walk out of the room. It’s Brutus, and then it’s you.

“Is The (Y/n) Rosecelli nervous?” Finnick asks.

“I’m not.”

“You’re bouncing your leg like you’re trying to get it to fall off.” 

You hadn’t even realized it. You stop immediately, leaning into your hands as you rub your face, “I’m not nervous, someone else is.”

“Someone else?” 

You look over your shoulder at Finnick, “As much as playing stupid looks on you, don’t start now.”

Finnick is quiet, and then he sputters out a laugh, “You have a soulmate?”

“Everyone does. Mine just happens to be emotional, which is a total drag.” you hiss, “I don’t need to be feeling like this right now.”

The urge to bounce your leg again is like an itch, and you can’t help but to give in.

“I heard taking deep breaths are a fantastic way to calm yourself down.”

You ignore Finnick, it’s not your emotion. You’re confident. You’re excited. You’re enthusiastic. You’re calm. You have nothing to be worried about. You’re going to do great.

You can feel it all start to cease.

You’re an amazing fighter. You’re going to get great scores. You know what you want to do. You’re going to win. You’re the best one here.

One deep breath in, slowly letting it out, it’s like the anxiety wasn’t even there in the first place. Your leg stops, you cross them to ensure it, and continue repeating things to yourself. A much needed ego boost to keep your hands from shaking and your mind from collapsing.

Whoever your soulmate is, you’re beginning to hate them. They’re fucking up basically everything. It’s embarrassing, and you’re never embarrassed.

“Wow--”

“Zip it.” you snap, eyes focused on the door.

“District Two, (Y/n) Rosecelli. Report for individual assessment.” the voice over the intercom says.

You uncross your legs, throwing your jacket over your arm as you stand. You move out of the aisle and head towards the door. On the way in, you see Brutus with a grin on his face.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” you say.

You pull the jacket on now, zipping it up to your throat, because the room is air conditioned. With no one being in here, it makes the room colder. There’s no body heat to be worrying about. Even with the jacket on, you can still feel the cold air through it. 

You stand in front of the gamemakers, looking up at them. Plutarch Heavensbee--the new head gamemaker after the last one was killed. Word travels between mentors and victors like disease. Obviously it had to do something with the berries that Katniss and tried to eat. The fact that they were inside the arena in the first place was heinous enough. But to use it against the gamemakers, and Crane allowing it to happen…

“You have ten minutes to present your chosen skill.” Plutarch says.

You give a quick nod, wandering over to the nearest hologram station. You got to play around with it on the first day, and realized that going up to the hardest mode wasn’t even hard. It was medium. You broke a sweat after doing it for the third time in a row, and the gamemakers have definitely seen you mess with it before.

They have to assess you over a period of days, not just one. The private session is designed to show off anything that you wouldn’t want the other tributes knowing.

Which is exactly why you skip over all the regular throwing stations, and head right into the bow and arrow one. They have their own tv holograms that they’ll be able to watch you from. 

It’s not a skill you necessarily like. It helps with distance fighting, but since bow and arrows have been associated with Katniss, you’ve basically faded this into nothing. However, you pick up the bow, playing around with the strings to test the tightness. A quiver of arrows is pulled over your shoulder after.

You program the game easily, but before you step in, you turn around and fire an arrow just to see how awful the bow is. It’s not too bad, it’s actually fairly similar to the one they have at the academies. These ones are just tighter because they’re brand new.

You go inside after that. The holograms start off fairly easy. Now that you’re inside, you can see why it was so easy for Katniss to know where they’d be coming from before they were generated. The way that the orange beams move is a clear giveaway.

It takes one arrow for each person, always the center of the chest. If they’re moving, then you make an exception for the head, since it’s the next best thing to wipe someone out immediately.

You can feel yourself go into concentration mode. The beam moves, you spin around. You release the arrow at first chance, nailing the hologram. You grab another arrow, the beam moves, you spin around, release the arrow, get the hologram. Over and over until it’s finally done.

You wish you had some sort of watch so you could know when your time is up, but you decide that this is enough. You place the bow back where it came from, as well as the quiver, which has three arrows left. The arrows inside of the station will be cleaned up by some poor avox, it’s not your job.

You step right in front of the gamemakers again, waiting for them to dismiss you. When they do, you thank them, and then leave the room. You can hear them call in Beetee next, and you pass him on your way out too. Just before you also leave the little waiting room, Finnick and you make eye contact.

And on his face is a half-smile, half-smirk.

--

You plop down on the couch, leaning back against the cushions. Caesar Flickerman introduces the name of the game: tribute training scores. The entire couch is full. From right--where you’re sitter--to left, it sits Amias, Neysa, Edmond, Brutus and Brutus’ stylist. On the adjacent chair sits Theo.

He won’t look in your direction, it’s humorous.

Caesar starts it almost immediately, beginning with boys. Gloss lands himself an eleven, and Cashmere gets herself a ten, which makes you wonder how badly she messed up during her session. She’s supposed to be a career, not some average moron. Anyone with basic capabilities can get a ten.

Next is Brutus, he gets a nice eleven, which makes you all cheer for him in excitement. You want to hold your breath for your own, but you realize that’s not a reaction you would have. So, instead you give a big smile and lean back, crossing your arms. Confidence will get you out of this.

“District Two, (Y/n) Rosecelli with a score of eleven.” He gives a big smile, and you give a look to Brutus.

“And that is how it’s done!”

Brutus laughs, the two of you lean over for high-fives before going back to watching Caesar. Beetee and Wiress get boringly sad and average scores, but there’s not much to expect from them either. They didn’t do anything that would be entertaining over those three days. They get sevens.

The smile fades from your face once Finnick comes up. Your face straightens out and you lean forward. Brutus notices this, “Interested?”

“I gotta know how easy he’ll be to kill.”

“District Four, Finnick Odair with a score of eleven.” Caesar says, “And District Four, Mags Flannagan with a score of six.”

Finnick’s score is no surprise, but you are a little worried over Mag’s. She could have at least gotten a seven considering she did just about the same that Beetee and Wiress did. You suppose it makes sense in a way, though. She’s not going to be a good fighter, and they have to consider that too.

At least you and Finnick are on the same playing field, but he’ll be torn between protecting himself and Mags. You don’t really want to be the one to kill her, but another matching pair of District Four skulls on your arm is just too tempting.

You bring your arm over, looking at it as Caesar announces the next scores. You’ve got quite a collection. You didn’t kill any of District One’s tributes, but you did kill your district mate because it had come down to you two. If you want to keep traditions, Brutus would have to go on too. You wonder if he knows that part of your history.

It skips over District Three, but you got both from four. None from five or six, but you got the doubles on seven, the guy from eight and the girl from ten--oh, and the girl from twelve that had ran into the cornucopia like a dumbass. The total comes out to eight, which really is quite a lot.

Except that year a ton of people had ran into the cornucopia, more than usual. The girls from ten and twelve, and the boy from four had run in. As for the other five, that same day you took out the boy from eight. Your allies had taken out others, since they wanted at least something they could take credit for. 

Four on the first day, and the other four in the span of a week. You were the one with the most kills, you were showered with gifts. No one really stood a chance, not even your district mate. You kept track of the tributes throughout the entire game by carving lines into your arm. The second that the twenty-second guy was dead, you turned on your mate immediately.

It was too quick, it had taken the gamemakers by surprise. The way you turned, grabbed his head with one hand and used your sai’ to stab right through. He crumpled to the ground like a sack of flour, and you stood in the middle of that field, waiting for your crowning.

An entire minute of silence, which made you doubt that you were the winner. You had to count the cuts on your arms to double-check. You had done it each time after you’d heard a cannon, it should be accurate. And while you waited for them to announce your win, after you were sure it was yours, you made that final line.

Obviously they had wanted some fight, looking back on it. The final two should have been easy entertainment, and even sentimental, considering you guys were both from District Two. But there was no hesitation, you were already exhausted from fighting the last guy, and you just wanted it to be over with.

The reason behind why you’d chosen to wipe out the District Four tributes is funny, in some sick way. Of course, your games were right after Finnick’s, and you absolutely hated the way he won. Using his nets to drag people into the water and then uses his trident on them.

It’s the entire reason why you spared nothing for either of the four tributes. You didn’t even fuck with them a little bit like your allies had wanted. You killed them, and you made sure that the cannon had gone off before you’d even bothered to move on. You were so paranoid that they would try something like Finnick had done, again.

As much as people don’t want to admit it, you pay attention to things. Your brain is always turning. You’re keeping track of things, remembering plans and techniques. If you come up across anyone inside of the games, then you’ll know how to act. What they favor more in fights and all that. Not to mention, people like the morphlings and where they like to hide in the trees, what they’re looking for specifically.

It’s a whole ‘nother reason why you’re a perfect candidate. You’re prepared.

Anyway, districts five and six both get that same average score as three. Johanna Mason lands herself a nice ten, and her district mate Blight gets a nine. Not surprising for Johanna, but it is for Blight. Normally guys get higher training scores--and that’s not a sexist thing either.

It’s how your first games went. You had gotten a nine, and it must have been something you’d done during your training days. Unlike other districts, the careers aren’t really told to keep from showing off their skills. In fact, you’re encouraged to. It’s an intimidation tactic to weasel out the weaklings.

And you’re typically ordered to pick your favorites that look like good allies, and after private training day--which is then when you’re able to see the score--you send a formal request for them to be in the alliance. It’s a whole thing, more trouble than it’s actually worth, and it doesn’t happen very often because of it.

District eight through eleven get mainly average scores, there’s a few who stand out more than the others. And then it hits District Twelve.

“District Twelve--” Caesar’s face twists unexpectedly, “--Peeta Mellark, with a score of twelve.”

“What?” you nearly yell, pushing yourself up into a better seating position, “How?”

“That’s--”

“District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen with a score of twelve.”

“That’s impossible.” the blood must have drained from your face, and there’s a faint feeling that overcomes you, “No, no--no!”

No one has ever hit twelve. Twelve is the highest and one is the lowest. People have gotten close to twelve, clearly. You’ve got an eleven and a few others do too, but twelve…

“What did Katniss say to our alliance invitation?” Brutus asks, “Neysa!”

Neysa looks worried too, “Uh--Haymitch told me that she said no, or that she was at least thinking about it.”

You allowed Brutus to send in that request after watching Katniss shoot those arrows, but it was only Brutus that was asking. You weren’t included in it. Had Katniss said yes, she would have been dragged into the alliance altogether, whether you like it or not, you would have had to make friends.

And there’s a very good reason as to why she probably said no. It’s the alliance thing with Finnick, isn’t it?

You pucker your lips, “Neysa I need a moment with you.”

She looks over at you, Caesar Flickerman has long since been forgotten. She nods a little bit, everyone else in the living room looks confused as to why you couldn’t have just said it in front of them too.

You bring Neysa as far as you can manage without making it suspicious. Even then, you’re dropping your voice to a whisper, and turning your back to the living room so Brutus won’t be able to read your lips.

“What is it?”

“Tell the District Four mentors that I want to be allies with Finnick,” you say before you can catch yourself and change your mind, “And I don’t mean for him to join us, I mean for me to join them.”

“Them?” Neysa looks suspicious.

Shit, “Finnick and Mags. What else would I have meant?”

It was a smooth recovery, enough to get her off your back.

“You’d just leave everyone like that?” Neysa doesn’t like this, you can hear it in her tone of voice, “It’s just as much of a dumb idea as running solo is--”

“I just want to see what he says, I don’t have my mind set in stone.” You give her a look, “Neysa, come on.”

“Fine, but you will tell me your plan if it works out like you’re envisioning.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of the loop.” You tell her.

“Is there anyone else?” she asks.

You think for a moment on who would be dumb enough to accept but smart enough to do it too. A light bulb then goes off, “Peeta Mellark.”

[bloodfromthethorn]

Accident

Matty, usually, loves her job, but there are some days where she can't help but feel she just isn't being paid enough for it.

Part eleven of the July of Whump 2021 prompt challenge.

Also on AO3. 

..

For all its covert operations, thanks to the think tank cover, The Phoenix was still technically classified as a regular place of business. That meant a lot of things, like paying property taxes and having to report earnings to the state, but by far one of the most mundane outcomes was the need for an Accident Book. In theory, any time someone employed by The Phoenix was injured while at work they had to write a short report detailing the accident for the book, and every year or so, The Phoenix would have to submit their anonymised incident reports to the local council.

Of course, this posed something of a problem for a government agency trying to stay off the radar; even with identifying information taken out, someone was probably going to take note if a seemingly mundane think tank reported 18 gunshot wounds over the course of a single year.

The workaround, therefore, had been that any injuries acquired outside of the building – like, say, when agents were out on missions – didn’t go into the book, and instead it was filled with the much more minor things that occurred in the relative safety of the Phoenix. There were still a couple of things that had to be omitted, like Bozer getting stabbed, but mostly, the plan seemed to work out okay. With a whole block of science labs taking up a considerable chunk of the building, there were more than enough burned fingertips and electric shocks that weren’t suspicious to fill a passably convincing report.

That being said, Matty wasn’t entirely sure how she was supposed to play this one off as a standard workplace mishap.

“Okay, okay, stop. I’m going to need you to run this by me again. Start at the beginning.”

“Well, like I said, we had Sparky up on the table-”

“At the beginning, Bozer,” she cut in, shooting her two agents a firm look. Boze’s natural charisma was, as ever, unhindered by her glare, while Mac did his usual trick of falling back on his army training and acquired a blank expression to let any yelling wash right over him. Jack did the same whenever he was genuinely in trouble and it drove Matty crazy any time it happened.

“We were working on separate projects,” Mac explained in a much more level tone than Boze had managed. To be fair, that might have had something to do with the gauze wrapped tightly around his forehead. “I’m still trying to troubleshoot that luminogen work for the dev team – you know, the glowstick stuff?”

She nodded.

“Right. And Bozer-”

“I was trying to fix a glitch in Sparky’s programming.”

“You were trying to make him call you sir,” Mac put in with a snort. He sobered as soon as he caught Matty’s hard stare. “But, uh, yeah. We were both just in the lab doing our own thing. Then Boze called me over to take a look at something-”

“I needed a spare part of hands to rewire the circuit board while I updated the code, and you know how much Mac hates someone else messing up his wiring.”

“I wasn’t working on anything volatile, so I dropped what I was doing and went to help. All of my stuff should have been completely fine where it was.”

Matty eyed him critically. He didn’t look like he was lying, but then it was a little hard to tell how much of that was down to the concussion and the bruises swelling on the left side of his face. “But it wasn’t,” she concluded.

“One of the other lab techs came through when I was focused on Sparky,” he explained with a wince. “She didn’t know that I still had things running and she noticed that my nitrogen line was still live, so she shut it off.”

“Don’t we have standard practices in place so that doesn’t happen?”

“Yes, but she’s only been with us two weeks. She didn’t know any better.”

“Mhmm.”

“Honestly Matty, it’s not her fault. I shouldn’t have left an active reaction unattended without sticking a red form up. That’s the standard practice that’s supposed to stop this thing from happening.”

“But you didn’t fill in the form.”

“I didn’t think I’d be gone long and I was still in the same room. Besides, the team usually knows not to mess with anything I’m working on, whether I’ve put up a form or not.” He went to rub at his face, then aborted the attempt when his fingers brushed over the gauze, wincing. Bozer and Matty were both watching him carefully, but he didn’t start keeling over so it would have to be good enough.

Matty sighed heavily. Playing the blame game wasn’t going to get them anywhere; she just needed to know what happened. “Okay then. You and Boze were over with Sparky and a lab tech shut off a nitrogen valve. Then what?”

“Well, nothing, for a little while. I was using the nitrogen to keep the reaction system anoxic, so everything was already sealed. Even without the nitrogen feed, it should have been fine to just sit there until I came back to it. Only, it turns out that when you combine the fluorescent polymer our dev team synthesised with NMP – the solvent I was using – it drops a proton and turns acidic.” He rolled his eyes as he said it, as if judging his own mistake like either Matty or Bozer had any concept of how predictable the problem could have been, then regretted it as it sent him dizzy again.

“Let me guess,” Matty said to give him a moment to recover, “The acid burned through a seal?”

“A rubber bung I was using to act as an injection port,” he confirmed grimly. “The seal failed and oxygen got in.”

“And the polymer is pyrophoric,” she finished for him. When he shot her a startled look, she shrugged. “I do read the reports I get sent Blondie. The spontaneous fire problem was one of the things they wanted you to take a look at, right?”

“Yeah. I hadn’t got to that part though.”

“Evidently.”

Boze jumped in to spare Mac the effort of defending himself. Now that the actual chemistry stuff was out the way, he knew the rest of the story. “While all this was happening, we were having a few problems with Sparky. The code was disagreeing with his logic boards, and it was making him fritz out pretty badly. He nearly took Mac’s fingers off when he sat up without warning.”

“And scared the hell out of us both,” Mac agreed.

“Yeah. Thank god Jack wasn’t in the room. We’d still be trying to get him down from the rafters.”

Matty cleared her throat and the pair of them snapped back to attention. Well, as at attention as Mac could reasonably be sitting up on one of the examination tables in the med bay.

With a cowed look, Bozer continued. “We were trying to work out what had happened, so we got Sparky going through a few movements. Because we weren’t finished, we didn’t bother getting him down off the table, so when he stood up completely…”

“He was a nine foot tall, eight hundred pound accident waiting to happen,” Mac finished. He gave a single shoulder shrug when Matty raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Even I’m willing to admit this whole thing was stupid.”

She’d more or less pieced together the rest of the story by now, but she still felt she should hear it for herself. Proper protocol and all that. “Alright. Then what?”

“We were trying to get Sparky back down when the reaction system blew,” Mac said. “We were far enough away that we weren’t at risk of burns, but Boze got a facefull of dye and Sparky got knocked off the table.”

“And onto you.”

He grimaced faintly, casting an offended eye at the sling supporting what had recently been a very dislocated shoulder. The expression did nothing to soften the bruises scattered across his face. “Yeah.”

Beside him, a slightly discoloured Boze swayed to knock their uninjured shoulders together. “Sorry, man,” he said, not for the first time. “Can’t help but think this is my fault.”

“It wasn’t. My reaction, my boom. Besides, you’re the one who’s going to be glowing in the dark for the next two weeks.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the ladies will love it. You’re the one with the busted up arm.”

“It’s nothing, really. My shoulder pops out all the time.”

“You say that like it’s comforting and I gotta tell you man, it really ain’t.”

Matty’s gaze flicked between them. As much of a mess as Mac was, and despite the fact that Bozer was a lot more green than he had been when he’d arrived at work that morning, they’d both been signed off by medical with minor injuries. In theory, it was exactly the sort of thing that should go in her accident report, and yet she had a sneaking suspicion this particular story was going to raise a lot more questions than she was really willing to answer. It was funny – Mac had a habit of bringing that feeling out in her.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I think I’ve got the picture. I’m not even going to pretend I understand how you managed to configure such a comedy of errors, but I trust that you’ve both learned how to avoid this problem in future?”

Like two boys caught doing something they shouldn’t, they both nodded quickly in unison. She couldn’t quite bite back her smile. “Alright then. Bozer, you’re cleared to work for the rest of the day should you wish to. Mac, you’re off rotation entirely until that concussion clears up, then it’s light duty to let your shoulder heal. I’ve called Jack to come pick you up.”

That certainly got his attention. “You called Jack? It’s his day off!”

“I’m well aware. But you can’t drive with that arm and as your nominated next of kin, he’s left standing orders to be informed every time you get injured. He should be here any minute.”

Bozer was snickering to himself, while Mac’s expression had folded into something between desolate and sheepish. Matty had had a hell of time getting Jack to calm down and listen when she’d first called to tell him Mac was in medical and evidently Mac had some idea of the helicopter parenting about to rain down on his head. Maybe that would be the thing to actually make him realise the seriousness of his own actions.

“Great,” he muttered sarcastically, just as Matty heard the door to medical swing open so forcefully it cracked against the wall. With a dry smile, she stood back and waited to see the fireworks.

[sirtadcooper]

🎨 (ah i just saw this! if it’s not too late!!!)

Nik, thank you so much for sending this! It’s probably escaped everyone’s notice by now but this ask game actually expects me to pick one of your latest ten edits. I just thought that was worth pointing out because that is not happening with anyone else and it’s certainly not happening with you. I also usually try to put them vaguely in order of preference but not this time because they are all my preference.

SUN and MOON - Only the first edit I am going to review and already a Masterpiece. The gif layering! The animation! The use of colour! It’s all so pretty and well thought out. The first gif is probably my favourite of the four, it’s just so neat. The falling snow with the yellow filter over it almost looks like sparks, it adds to the pretty.

DIN DJARIN + Troubled Birds Memes / GROGU + Troubled Birds Memes - There are memes and then there are Memes and both of these posts definitely fall into the latter category. When I saw that gifset of Din and the troubled birds for the first time I was laughing so much, I was so tickled by the idea and how well chosen the quotes were. You have managed to have gifs with impeccable comic timing! The way that on some of them the whole quote doesn’t appear until just the right frame... ugh, it’s perfect.

I want more... and I know I shouldn’t. - I love the text effects in first and last gifs, the unexpected use of pastels in association with Darth Vader of all people! It works! The big letters in the boxes are really neat. The layering of scenes is perfectly done. They both bookend that glorious middle gif with the rippling water. I... I don’t know how you did that but it’s incredible.

KELLY MARIE TRAN - Oh how I love this! The way that you’ve picked a colour palette and stuck with it is fantastic. The second panel with the TVs is great and probably my favourite part, just such a clever idea and it’s coloured so well. The first and last panels with the torn paper to tie them together are really pleasing and how could I not mention her gorgeous angel wings and halo in panel three? This is just wonderful. It’s what she deserves.

Day 7: Free Choice - The way these panels are all so different in style and yet they go so perfectly together... I’m in awe. You just have a great instinct for positioning things within a space and using colour to its full potential. You’re amazing.

“Beopero? That’s how they say Pedro… on Mars?” - As usual I don’t know how you did this but I love how it’s animated. Just takes this post to a whole other level! The little “like” heart that pops up, the incredibly realistic swiping animations, and the cute videos! Excellent choice of posts as well and I love how you have coloured them.

Escalating degrees of laughter/wheezing - Gosh this gifset makes me smile so much! I love that I have something in common with Pedro, and that’s the wheezing and rocking back and forth when I am really laughing. I love that you have told the story of Pedro’s laughter, it’s not just a random collection of moments of him laughing, it’s in order of his self control. You’ve really thought about this. That’s very galaxy brain of you.

Kingsman: The Golden Circle (Agent Whiskey) - Sometimes on Tumblr.com an edit is so good, you remember the first time you saw it no matter how many more times you come across it. This is one of those times. This was my first time seeing rotating text like that and it blew me away. You know the best part? It’s seamless. These boots are made for walkin’ just goes around and around and Whiskey in the background just goes around and around and you don’t know where the gif actually begins. That’s brilliant. The text animation on all of these gifs is inspired but it’s the first gif that lives in my mind rent free.

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” - You... *through tears* made this. I love that you have used a more muted colour palette this time around - I associate a bright blue with Whiskey so strongly, it’s refreshing to see other colours with him. The ye olde Western style just works so well here. Each of these posters has clearly taken a lot of time and effort. I think my favourite is the first, it was just so unexpected but wonderful!

“They all hate you, Mando, because you’re a legend.” - This colour palette! The little animations! The glitching helmet! Wee Grogu and Din with shadows that overlap... oh the Symbolism. This is just perfection.

“Sometimes you gotta do bad things to catch bad people.” - Your poster series is beautiful! This is another favourite of mine. I love that the colour palette is the colours of the Columbian flag. His own words on his skin on the fourth one as he struggles to carry the weight of them... really powerful. The colourful silhouettes on the third, the way they move! And the relatively simple first one with that bright red. The use of black and white and shades of grey throughout, like Javi’s morality... Yes. This is the good stuff.

Purple Rain - Fun fact! This was the first edit of yours that I ever saw (on 11th March, please write down our anniversary for future reference) and I loved it! It was so creative, I thought. Using the photo of him in the water was very clever. I naturally have a soft spot for this one. :)

If you don’t accept me for who I am with my frog then… go away. - This post baffles me. Where are the notes!? I thought this was funny! Din loves him despite the warning signs frog. The frog in Tom Holland’s mouth has mysteriously disappeared recently... Grogu has declined to comment.

trust me, i went to college - Just a big “YEAH!!!” for this post. You have captured my thoughts completely. Why he so broaaaaaad? I love his floof. His happy crinkles. This!!! Yeah, this is a Good Post.

So, Nik, I have made it to the end of your creations tag. I have written this very long essay for you. Your creations here, what you can do with Photoshop, is just incredible. I barely mentioned how perfect your colouring always is but that’s because it constantly gets overshadowed by the creativity you pour into each of your posts. You’re always experimenting, trying something new, surprising us. You have just got a talent for this. You’re an inspiration to me and, I’m sure, many others. I wish you and your Photoshop program a very good day. :)

creators send me 🎨 and i’ll tell you my favourite of your last ten creations and why

[spoookymuulders]

you make my heart beat like the rain

read it on ao3 here total word count: 18,438 chapter word count: 3,523 warnings: broken bones, cast removal

chapter five. then it’s down with the recipe and bake from the heart. in which matt simmons burns his hand and aaron hotchner tells a ghost story.

Matt Simmons prides himself on the fact that he’s worked at a bakery since he moved to Callahan and has never once burned himself. It’s a record, he thinks - he’s worked here for almost fifteen years and in that whole time, he’s never once accidentally touched a burner or a hot cake pan or cookie sheet.

But, as they say, there’s a first time for everything. And of course the first time he burns himself is on Kristy’s birthday.

He glares at the angry welt on his hand as he sits in the waiting room at the clinic and thinks stupid cake pan. Thankfully it’s a slow day at the clinic and it doesn’t take long for Savannah to call him back. He trails after her and flops into a chair in the exam room.

“Alright, Matt.” She says, perching in a chair opposite him. He sticks his hand out with a quiet huff and Savannah looks it over, whistling quietly. “You got yourself good. So much for a streak, huh?”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He grumbles. Savannah chuckles and gets to work on cleaning and bandaging the burn. She makes quick work of it, patting his shoulder gently as she finishes. He follows her back out to the lobby and thanks her again before making an appointment with the receptionist to come back in a week so they can check on the burn and make sure it’s healing correctly, then heads back to the bakery.

He’s not expecting to see Spencer sitting on the bench outside the bakery, tapping his feet absently, but there he is. Spencer hops to his feet as Matt climbs out of the car, waving quickly.

“Matt! Hey, I came by earlier but you weren’t open - what happened?” Spencer’s voice comes out a mile a minute and Matt offers a small smile - it’s rare that Spencer can’t put a smile on someone’s face. 

“I burnt myself.” Matt says. Spencer grimaces and follows him inside as he unlocks the door. “What d’you need, kid?” 

“Two red velvet cupcakes, please.” Spencer says, leaning on the counter lightly. Matt nods, glancing at the younger man as he puts the cupcakes into a box carefully.

“Two, huh? That sweet tooth taking over?” He teases. Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Zoe’s getting her cast off today and said she was really nervous. I’m giving her a ride so I figured I’d surprise her.” He says simply, shrugging his shoulders. Matt raises his brows.

“You sweet on her?” 

Spencer’s cheeks burn redder than the cupcakes he takes from Matt and he scoffs lightly. Matt chuckles and shakes his head. “Hey, she’s great.” Matt continues, taking Spencer’s card. “Chloe and Lily love her. You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when we called the school and she said she actually didn’t assign any homework.” 

He passes the cupcakes over and Spencer thanks him with a smile. “She’s really into that whole homework-isn’t-helpful crusade.” He says, nodding. “And I tend to agree with her, actually.” Matt chuckles, nodding, and waves Spencer away.

“Tell her Chloe and Lily say hi.” He calls as Spencer jogs out of the bakery. Spencer calls an affirmative over his shoulder, waving as he climbs into the truck.

****

“I’ve never broken a bone before now.”

Zoe’s voice, soft and nervous, startles Spencer. Their drive towards Freeport has been silent up until now - he’d sensed Zoe’s nerves the minute he picked her up, had given her a gentle smile as she climbed into the truck. He glances at her at a stoplight, tipping his head.

“Really?” He asks. Zoe nods, twisting her bottom lip absently.

“I mean I’ve sprained my ankle and like.. Dislocated my elbow and my knee and stuff, but. I’d never broken anything till this.” She hums. Spencer nods slowly, curious as to how she’s sprained and dislocated so many parts of her body, but keeps his questions to himself. 

“Are you excited to get the cast off?” He asks, glancing at her again as the light turns green. 

“Yeah.” She says, shrugging. Spencer raises a brow and she sighs softly. “I mean - I am, seriously, I’ve hated having this thing on, it’s been so annoying. Showering has been a pain in the ass, and it gets so itchy under there, but. I dunno. Like I said, I’ve never broken anything before, this is my first time getting a cast off. I watched a bunch of YouTube videos about it last night.”

“You’re nervous.” Spencer guesses gently.

“I’m scared.” Zoe corrects softly. Spencer hums, glancing at her without turning his head and offering a small smile.

“Nothing to be scared of.” He promises. Zoe wrinkles her nose a little as Spencer turns a corner and pulls into the parking lot of the hospital. They’d had to come out to Freeport instead of going to the clinic in Callahan solely because James had had to take another cast off last week and the saw they use to cut the cast had broken almost as soon as the cast was off the kid’s leg. They’re still waiting for the new one to arrive.

Spencer parks the truck and hops out to open Zoe’s door, smiling warmly when she thanks him and slides out. She smooths her skirt absently as Spencer closes the door and leans against the hood, watching as she exhales.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done.” He tells her with a small smile when she glances at him. She nods and turns around, heading for the doors, but she stops halfway there. Spencer raises a brow as she turns around to face him.

“Will you come in with me?” She asks. Spencer blinks once, then smiles and pushes off the hood. He locks the car as he jogs over to join Zoe, his hand hovering at the small of her back while they walk inside.

She checks in and perches in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room, bouncing her legs absently. Spencer perches beside her, leaning over and pointing out a crack in the ceiling shaped like a rabbit. As they find more shapes in the cracks and designs on the walls and ceiling, her legs slow to a stop - until the doctor calls her back. 

In the exam room, the doctor explains the process of removing the cast, but Zoe doesn’t hear most of it. Her heart is thundering in her ears, loud enough that she wonders if Spencer and the doctor can hear it as well - the last time she was in a hospital, it was to get the cast put on, and she’d spent the whole time lying through her teeth like she’d been doing for years.

The sudden buzz of the saw makes her jump and she jerks back to the here and now, eyeing the saw uncertainly. A gentle touch to her knee draws her attention away as the doctor starts to cut at the cast and she glances to the side. Spencer is smiling at her gently, his long fingers against her knee, and she grabs his hand before she can think about it too much. Her heart flutters at the contact - so does his.

She can feel the vibrations of the saw as the doctor moves it down along the cast and, despite her nerves and anxiety, she giggles a little. It tickles, just so, and Spencer grins. 

“Not so bad, huh?” He says gently. Zoe shakes her head, peeking at the doctor as he starts on the other side of the cast. She turns her gaze back to Spencer, her eyes widening just so at the crack as the doctor snaps the cast apart. Before she knows it, the whole thing is off and over with and she rotates her wrist twice, then beams at Spencer. His heart flip flops in his chest as he helps her hop off the exam bed and follows her and the doctor out to the lobby.

They get checked out no problem, and Spencer leads her back to the truck as it starts to spit rain. They climb in and Spencer reaches into the paper bag he’d brought along, popping open the little white cardboard box and holding it out. Zoe gasps softly, looking up at him with a smile.

“You got cupcakes?” She asks, grinning at him. He nods as she takes one and he takes the other, then watches as she unwraps the treat carefully. 

“You said red velvet is your favorite, and I knew you were nervous about today, so.” He says, shrugging. Zoe grins at him as she pulls the bottom off her cupcake and puts it atop the frosting carefully, effectively turning the cupcake into a tiny sandwich, and he smiles softly. 

“You’re the sweetest.” She hums, taking a careful bite, and Spencer’s cheeks flush. They sit together in a comfortable silence as the rain picks up, Zoe tapping her feet happily now and then as they finish their cupcakes. When the treats are gone, Spencer throws the car into gear and heads home, smiling the whole way.

****

Callie will not let rain dampen her plans with Hotch and Jack. Jack had stopped by the office earlier to talk about how excited he was to have a picnic with her and his father, but the weather, it seems, has other plans. She glares out the window as she tugs on her raincoat and shoves her feet into her galoshes, then gathers up the items she’d grabbed when their plans had been to throw a blanket on the grass in the backyard of the B&B. 

She shoves everything into a grocery bag and sprints out to her car, collapsing into it with a huff and pushing her hood down. The drive to the B&B isn’t far and when she parks, she gives herself a quick mental countdown then climbs out and sprints to the porch and takes the steps two at a time. She rings the bell and pushes her hood down, grinning when Hotch opens the door.

“Hi!” She says breathlessly, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. Hotch smiles and steps aside, closing the door behind her.

“Hi.” He returns, now that the rain has been drowned out through the heavy oak door. 

“So much for a picnic, huh?” She says, unbuttoning her jacket. Hotch holds his hands out, taking it when she passes it over and hanging it on one of the hooks beside the door.

“Yeah, Jack’s pretty bummed.” He tells her with a grimace. Callie hums thoughtfully.

“I had a feeling he might be. But I came prepared.” She says, grinning and holding up her grocery bag when Hotch raises a brow. “How would you feel about moving some furniture around?”

Hotch, confused but intrigued, leads Callie into the living room and spends the next ten minutes helping her move the furniture off to the side. Once that’s done, Callie lays a large picnic blanket out in the middle of the room, grinning when Hotch does.

“I’ll grab the food if you wanna go get Jack.” He says. Callie nods and heads up the stairs towards the room Hotch directs her to, knocking at the door lightly and poking her head in.

“Hey, bud.” She says. Jack looks up from where he’s laying on his bed, pouting at a Captain America comic book. 

“I didn’t know if you were gonna come still.” He says, sitting up. Callie pads into the room and perches next to him.

“‘Course I was still gonna come, silly goose. A little rain isn’t gonna stop us from having a picnic.”

“A little rain?”

As if to emphasize Jack’s point, thunder booms outside and the rain picks up again. He frowns, glowering out the window, and Callie chuckles.

“C’mon. Follow me, I’ll show you what I mean.” She says. She hops off the bed and holds out a hand, leading him out of the room and back down the stairs. They stop in the doorway to the living room and he looks around for a moment, eyes wide. “My sister and I used to do living room picnics with our parents all the time.”

Jack looks up as Hotch reappears, beaming at his father. Hotch returns the smile warmly and sets the last of the food out, and they all flop onto the blanket, digging in and talking and laughing brightly, and Hotch feels lighter than he has in years.

****

The rain has gotten bad enough that Spencer pulls over halfway back to Callahan, parking on the shoulder and flicking on his hazards to wait out the storm - or at least until it lets up enough that he can actually see further than the end of the hood while he drives. Zoe shivers a little and Spencer shrugs out of his cardigan, passing it over immediately. She takes it slowly and slides it on, snuggling into it after a moment, and Spencer notes with a small smile how it dwarfs her small frame. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she shifts to lean against her door so she can face him, tucking her feet beneath herself as she settles. Spencer mimics her movements, tucking one foot under his other leg and draping an arm along the back of the bench seat.

“What’s your favorite color?” Zoe asks suddenly. Spencer blinks, surprised at the question, and considers for a moment.

“Green.” He says finally. “It makes me think of the spring and new beginnings.” Zoe nods slowly, humming thoughtfully. “What’s your favorite book?”

“The Ordinary Princess.” She says instantly. Spencer raises a brow - he’s never met someone who can so quickly tell him their favorite book. Not that he makes a habit out of asking people what their favorite book is, but still. She tells him a basic summary of the story when he asks and he listens with a small smile. 

“It sounds like a sweet book.” He says. Zoe nods.

“You could probably read it in like.. Five minutes.” She hums. “But it’s one of those ones that you should try and stretch out over at least an hour.” Spencer chuckles quietly, nodding. He’ll have to look into it - and read it slowly, apparently. 

They go back and forth like this for a while, trading soft questions and answers. Zoe’s wanted to be a teacher since she was seven years old, Spencer learns, her favorite movies are the Indiana Jones series, and she became fast friends with Penelope when it was discovered that they both play ukulele. 

Zoe learns that Spencer has an eidetic memory, not a photographic memory. She learns that he has a cousin in Santa Barbara who works as a freelance detective with his best friend, and that Spencer’s favorite cow on his ranch is named Rosie. “But don’t tell the others, or they’ll revolt.” He says seriously, and Zoe giggles.

As the rain finally starts to let up, they both turn towards the dashboard again, buckling their belts before Spencer pulls back onto the road.

“What’s your favorite movie from the 80s?” Zoe asks, continuing their game, and when Spencer answers with Labyrinth, Zoe’s eyes light up.

****

Dinner has long since been finished and cleaned up. It has been replaced with a crackling blaze in the fireplace and s’mores and ghost stories, and Callie couldn’t be happier - sure, this isn’t what they’d planned on originally, but this is better. She sits with Jack huddled into her side, one arm wrapped around him securely as Hotch tells the Who Stole My Golden Arm campfire story. It’s one she vaguely remembers hearing when she was a kid a few times, but she hasn’t heard it in years.

Which is why, when Hotch jumps suddenly and shouts, “You stole my golden arm!”, she shrieks and jumps about a foot in the air. Hotch and Jack both collapse in laughter as Callie puts her hand to her chest, trying to will her heartbeat back to normal. She huffs out a breath, giggling with them, and pushes at Hotch’s shoulder as he sits up.

“Alright, alright, you got me.” She says, wrinkling her nose. “I’ve got a good one.” Jack sits up now too, scooting himself over to sit in his father’s lap, and Callie feels her heart squeeze - Jack looks so much like Hotch it almost hurts. He snuggles into Hotch and puts his chin in his hands, both boys eagerly awaiting their story.

“Okay. This one is a true story, it happened to my granddad.” Callie says, leaning forward conspiratorially. The Hotchners lean forward as well, already intrigued, and Callie launches into her story - one about her grandfather picking up a young woman on the side of the road during a rainstorm much like tonight’s.

“When Gramps went back to the house the next day, he knocked on the door. The girl’s mother answered and Gramps told her he’d picked up Sarah the night before and brought her home, but she’d left her sweater in his car.” She says, “But the mother looked at him and said, Our Sarah passed last year.” Her eyes widen dramatically and Jack gasps loudly, Hotch, mirroring the boy’s wide-eyed gaze.

Twenty minutes later, Jack is tucked into bed and Callie is puttering around the kitchen, helping Hotch clean up from their picnic.

“Is that story about your granddad really true?” Hotch asks as he pads into the kitchen and tucks a plate into the dishwasher. Callie laughs softly, turning to lean against the counter.

“Nah. It’s an old urban legend.” She tells him, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “But I will say, I spent a solid twenty years believing it was true, ‘cause no one ever told me otherwise. I saw something about it online and made a comment about how it had happened to my granddad, too, and the person who posted it was blown away that I didn’t realize it was an urban legend.”

Hotch laughs, leaning against the counter across from Callie and glancing out the window as lighting streaks across the sky behind her. He grimaces, glancing at her as she peers over her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s still raining pretty hard - I dunno about driving in this.” He says suddenly. Callie looks at him, brows lifting just so. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? You can have one of the rooms.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, biting her lip, “I wouldn’t wanna impose-”

“Callie, it’s a bed and breakfast - there’s no such thing as imposing.” Hotch says, his tone gentle and teasing. “I’d feel better if you stayed.”

Callie watches him, chewing at her lip for a moment before she nods. “Alright.” She says, giving him a small smile. Hotch grins at her, dazzling and warm, and she feels her heart jump as he leads her upstairs to one of the bedrooms. She thanks him softly, leaning against the doorjamb and watching as he heads down the hall. He glances over his shoulder once before he disappears into his room, and Callie bites her lip around a small smile before closing her door and collapsing onto her bed for the night.

****

They make it to the ranch before Spencer decides it’s raining too hard again to drive any further. He parks in the garage and hurries inside, hot on Zoe’s heels, both of them laughing softly as the rain pounds against the windows. 

“D’you want something dry to change into?” Spencer asks, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I think I’ve got a pair of JJ’s leggings around somewhere.” Zoe nods, twisting her dripping hair into a braid quickly and padding after Spencer. She looks around as she follows him, hovering in the kitchen when he disappears into the laundry room.

He reappears a moment later, handing her a pair of leggings and a t-shirt before leading her to a bathroom. She changes and peers at herself in the mirror for a moment, tipping her head. Spencer’s t-shirt dwarfs her tiny frame, and she smiles just so at the science pun on it - she doesn’t get it, but she can tell that Penelope got him this shirt. When she pads back out, Spencer is in the kitchen preparing two mugs of tea.

He holds one out with a small smile and Zoe takes it gratefully, allowing him to take her wet clothes and toss them into the washer before he leads her to the living room. They perch on opposite ends of the couch, chattering for a while, and when Spencer stands to go find a blanket and returns with the offer to let Zoe stay the night in the guest bedroom, he finds her curled up in her corner of the couch, hands tucked beneath her chin, her chest rising and falling slowly.

He smiles softly, laying the blanket over her gently, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear carefully. She hums in her sleep, burrowing further into the blanket, and Spencer settles on the other end of the couch, stretching out along the sectional and settling a blanket over his own long legs.

[astudyinsarcasm9]

Steven Universe The Movie - Review - a confused mess - SPOILERS!

I’m still thinking about the movie and I still can’t properly say why I didn’t wholeheartedly like it. It’s complicated. 

On one hand I liked the animation, I loved Spinel and I loved seeing the uncorrupted gems roaming around Beach City but that was about it. 

I understand the tone this series has and where it has positioned itself and knowing that of course I knew how the movie would end, pace itself and handle its characters but it was still rather disappointing. 

But let’s start things off. 

What did I like?

Spinel - her animation, design, voice and song, the only song I liked, apart from the song Pearl sang when she was reset. 

The concept of the Rejuvenator - I think it’s brilliant. Considering that we long thought of gems as being like computers it makes sense that you could reset them to their factory settings. Though this does create some plot-holes I will address later. 

I loved how Spinel was not up for the whole talk it out and sing approach. refreshing. Though she did sing but on her own terms.

Loved the little homeworld bit but it does raise questions. 

The fact that they addressed the plot point of PD wanting a colony and waiting for it. Even though it was mentioned in passing.

The Pearl lore we got. How they re basically an OS when they are made.

Pearl sing-explaining.

Pearl obessing over Greg. HILARIOUS. BUT ALSO like a lot of implications for her relationship with PD.

And that was about it. I guess. 

What I didn’t like or understood

The Diamonds going from antagonists to obsessing over Steven and being those annoying relatives. I. mean the concept is hilarious and I love it but when you consider what the Diamonds did and who they are it gets unsettling. 

How the hell does Spinel know what a son is? Im pretty sure she wasn’t filled on the whole Rose/PD stuff unless Steven told the whooole story in that one transmission at the beginning of the movie. And even so it took the diamonds a whole while to understand the concept of a child and a parent. Apart from WD which is still unexplained. 

Where did Spinel get an injector? We can infer the whole plot takes place over the span of a day or so. How did a gem who used to be basically a Pearl get access to an injector?

For that matter, why and how is this injector different than the injector we knew of? One pops in gems in the earth’s crust and the other just up and destroys the planet? 

Why did Amethyst behave that way once reset? I mean in ”Now we’re only falling apart”, we saw first hand how the other Amethyst were emerging, full fledged and self-aware and able to talk. And ok she was overcooked but overcooked doesn’t mean talking like a parrot. Does it? We received no indication prior to this that that was the case. If anything we knew gems just popped out already knowing who and what they were supposed to be. 

I’m getting real tired of the whole Garnet is true love, when she isn’t. I love her, I do but she became her fusion and Ruby and Sapphire are neglected as a result. Even in Change your mind when they are in their gems as a result of being poofed by YD, Steven doesn’t call for them but for Garnet. Way to go Steven. Ok, Sapphire saved Ruby this time and they are meant to be together but what they are displaying is love at first sight and codependency ( as WD put it) . 

Steven really seemed like a jackass in this when interacting with Spinel. He didn’t care for her, didn’t care for her feelings. He wanted her to go back to normal just so she can remove the injector and when she called him out on that he said that yeah that was kinda it. She was just in the way.  When she was nice and hanging around Steven never showed her anything but annoyance. I think maybe once or twice he softened to her but that was it.He was more focused on bringing back his friends (legitimately so but still.) 

The fusion between Greg and Steven is...Look I know it’s an anime reference but it was so uncomfortable to watch. Idk why. 

Connie being useless throughout, appearing very little. despite her being awesome.

Bismuth, Peridot and Lapis being only comic relief and not contributing much to anything. Aside from Peridot who spoke about the injector a bit. 

Lars only briefly seen. 

The off-colors only having cameos here and there. 

And finally the fact that a fascist dictatorship was just dismantled and put aside without it having any consequence whatsoever. People just weren’t affected by it. Yellow just did away with her army and her colonies. 

It’s just...I understand the message SU is talking about, I understand it is this pacifist and friendly show. But like...I really felt like the movie was talking down to me,  like you would talk down to a kid who you think doesn’t understand stuff. 

Especially in the dialogue Steven has with the diamonds. Where they tell him their good deeds of the week. How they dismantled their armies, talk nice to lower life form and refrain from shattering gems. 

It’s like if someone wanted to scold Stalin over what he did and made him pinky promise he’d change nce his policies. 

Maybe I’m being too harsh but  there’s one thing to promote non-violence and a pacifist approach to conflicts and it is another thing to just apply that to every possible situation ever. It just doesn’t work. Dictators don’t turn nice over night just cus you’re related to them. 

Also, the end felt bittersweet. The Diamonds took Spinel not because they cared or whatever but because she used to be Pink’s and she reminds them of Pink and they have a spare room. And they are going to pour out all their issues on Spinel and make her fill a role instead of caring for her for who she is. 

Bonus: how tf is Spinel able to rotate her gem like that?  I thought Diamonds could cus diamond powers but some rando gem?

P.S. Doesn’t Little Homeworld feel a bit creepy to any of you? 

Like, I get they miss their home but all they’ve ever known ever since their creation was the genocidal dictatorship of the Diamonds. Why would you want any part of that close to you again? Much less live in it? I would’ve understood if, I don’t know those were homeworld gems who lived all their lives there and wanted a piece from there despite being such an awful place. 

But all those gems on Earth were, er...corrupted gems by the very regime they had back home. All of those gems thought a war with their Homeworld. Why would they want that on Earth?

Btw, are Yellow and Blue Pearl still slaves? Cus sure they looked happier but they were still serving the diamonds.

[venus-says]

Aikatsu on Parade! Episodes 01-05

It’s time to get this Parade on the road!

After a much-needed break, I feel like I'm ready to get back into writing about Aikatsu.

On Parade started roughly a month ago and like what has been usual I won't "dissect" each episode and I'll give a more general review of the first 4 episodes.

As a general overview On Parade is good. It's not brilliant or anything, it still feels like we're in Friends! territory, but it's fun once you let critical thinking aside. It's very obvious this is a series trying to cash in on nostalgia and more often than not shows with this premise can be annoying, but so far the nostalgia card hasn't been overused which's a huge plus.

From these 5 episodes, I have only five elements of the show that I really dislike.

The first two points are TOO MANY STAGES and TOO MANY RECYCLED MATERIAL. The performances on Aikatsu are usually the high point of the episode or at least the thing we expect the most, but the way they're doing it is just too much. I would rather see one stage, maybe two, per episode, with updated and consistent CG graphics, rather than three performances especially when there's really no need for that much. Episode 2 could've happened with just Mahiru and Yume&Mio's stages, Message of Rainbow and Your entrance were more than enough for Episode 3, we should've gotten a single Honey Cat performance (maybe You x I) to go along with Jalapeño's in Episode 4, and Identity should've been the only one we got in the Halloween episode. When you have that many stages it just feels like they're padding the episodes up, especially when they don't even bother to update the CG models. Like Akari had two completely different models in episode 5 and it was just SO WEIRD. I know CG is expensive, I know y'all are trying to play with nostalgia, but this just ain't fun.

The third one is regarding the special coords for this season. In the promotional stuff for the arcade, they make it seem like Legend Premium Rares are something SO SPECIAL, they transcend regular PRs, heck Ichigo's one looks like an evolved form of her first PR. But then episode 2 comes out and Yume pops on the stage with her special coord like if it was nothing and it bugged the hell out of me, it was just the same as Friends and the Jeweling Dresses, they don't feel special AT ALL. Now I'm more okay with it and It doesn't bother me as much, I still wish they had at least one scene of them saying how this coord came to exist but I'm already over this fact.

The fourth point is the whole basis of this show. When written down, a door appearing and the girls traveling to different schools seemed like a very fun concept, however, the execution has implications that once you stop for a minute to really think how things work your brain gets messed up. I know that this was probably the only way to make this work without messing up with past continuity, but this whole different worlds/dimensions thing IS SO COMPLICATED. I wish they were just traveling through space and they had retcon things to make the three shows fit in a single universe, rather than start messing up with this kind of stuff.

And the final point I have issues with is characters. First, the show seems to have got rid of any irrelevant character, I mean it was good because M4 hasn't appeared yet (THANK GOD), but like characters like Luka, that ended her season on a high position, weren't nowhere near the spotlight. I didn't expect this show to give any kind of development to characters that weren't the past main protagonists and Raki, and I'm totally fine with that. But even Raki has been lacking development. Don't get me wrong, I like Raki, but her personality is a huge double-edged sword and the fact that the show doesn't punish her for messing up turns her into a flat-lined and uninteresting character sometimes.

Another problem I have is with her dream, she says she wants to wear a PR she made, and the game already gave her a PR which means it'll probably be happening in the show very soon which implies she'll be reaching her goal before the half-point of the season. What I think they mean by that is that she wants to make a PR that's UNIQUE to her and she'll keep making PRs based on other idols coords until it happens, but if that's really the case they don't make a good job at making this clear. Now, Episode 6 seems that'll give her some development and I'm very hopeful to see it in action.

Despite all these flaws, there's a lot of things this show gets right.

I know I just said Raki is a problem, but she's also a solution. When she works she's amazing, she gives the best reaction faces EVER, and she can be very adorable, and from what we've seen from her sketchbook she can make lots of fun designs and I'm excited about it. Also, her mad scientist sister is a lot of fun, even though we've seen so little of her so far.

I can't deny that seeing the cross-generation interactions has been incredible so far, and we've even got some non-expected matches in these few episodes and they all work wonderfully! Yume and Mio sound like best partners, Aine and Ako were surprisingly very fun, Mirai and Akari were probably the most unexpected of the bunch but it was so magical! Honey Cat and Jalapeño was probably the most obvious interaction so far, but that's no detriment for the bond they make on that episode.

Another thing that to me is great is the fact that they don't forget what Raki's main thing is, we're always seeing her looking for inspiration, trying to learn about designing, and actually making her own stuff, that to me is an essential point to make me like Raki as much as I do.

I can't talk about Aikatsu without talking about music, and while we only got technically three new songs so far they've all been very good.

Your Entrance is a great OP, both as song and as the actual opening sequence, my favorite version is, of course, Raki's solo as an insert song, there's something about the lines "I know the end will never come / We will always be alright / I’m forever by your side / trust me as I trust you" that I really love, it gives me a certain desperation vibe, like if the producers are trying to say "THIS IS NOT THE END" and I just love it for some reason. The new ending isn't my favorite rendition of Idol Activities! but it still gives a warmth to my heart and the sequence while very simple is still very beautiful. Speaking of endings the returning rotational endings are a very nice touch. Yume and Mio's version of STARDOM is very good, it may be a sacrilege but I really think Mio and Yume work better together both musically and as characters than Aine&Mio and Yume&Rola ever did (sorry).

These are small things that I also like, first the show keeps the continuity of each series picking up more or less right after each one has ended, I like that other idols can get dragged by Raki's doors because it makes more dynamic, the girls don't need to be always moving to be able to meet new people and it also makes for more creative mix and matches of idols, and I also like that the aphorisms are back because of all ending segment we got this is the best one (I'm just glad the horrible card segment from Kagayaki no Jewel is gone tbh).

And these are pretty much my opinions on the first batch of episodes of Aikatsu on Parade! I feel like I complained a lot, but I'm still very pleased by this season and very excited for what's to come, there's a moment where they talk about achieving things with the help of other people and as much as I know they're probably talking about Raki learning from seeing others and learning to cooperate there's a part of me that's just so excited in hopes that it's a new character coming up and UGHHHH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. I'm also very excited to see my faves again at some point, and I'm really hyped for the Mizuki x Elza x Hibiki collaboration they hinted at in the banner for the next wave of cards for the game, it'll be a lot of fun to see Yoko voicing Elza and Hibiki at the same time, I wish we could see backstage videos of that happening. XD

ANYWAY, I feel like I've talked way too much already. What are your thoughts about On Parade? Do you have any theories about how this Aikatsu multiverse things work? Is there anything you're excited to see? Please let me know, let's talk about it. See ya~

[sage-nebula]

I hope you dont mind my asking, but wouldn't GF have decided to remove the national dex long before LGPE released? I can see those games selling well confirming to GF that "pokemon sell well regardless of cut features" but it feels strange to blame it on LGPE when the development time on the games would suggest they made this choice awhile ago. (Not to defend lgpe lack of content) Sorry if this is a bother, I just feel like I'm missing something and would really like to understand your reasoning

For almost any other game I would agree, however for Pokémon in particular:

The National Dex (insofar as the ability to transfer old pokémon over) was never going to be a Day One feature. It’s never a Day One feature in the first games of the generation. Even if they wanted to make it one, in this case they couldn’t because Home isn’t releasing until 2020. As I’ve said in other posts, if they wanted to patch in the NatDex, they’d have the time to do it. Technically speaking, they’d have the time to do it, especially since the fanbase would be willing to wait (even if there’d be a few whiners here or there) the extra time.

Since it’s not a Day One feature, it’s something that can be worked on later in the development cycle (/can even continue to be worked on after the development cycle, or at least it could be if this series were treated with the respect of, say, The Legend of Zelda series). Again, I’m not talking about DLC that’s already on the game card that needs to be activated later, I’m talking about DLC that’s patched in, content created after that you download either to the harddrive or (though I don’t know if Switch DLC works this way specifically) onto the game card itself. Given the type of content they generally want to show early in the release cycle (the general theme / concept of the games, scenes of the various areas in the region, new ‘mon), and the fact that this would be a feature added post-release anyway, we can make a safe bet that the NatDex is something they’d work on much later in the development cycle, possibly even in the last year since, again . . . they’d have that time if they wanted to use it (and if this series was treated with genuine respect).

The Let’s Go games were stated by Masuda to be the future of the franchise if they sold well. They featured a Pokédex that was limited to only the Kanto ‘Dex, plus Meltan and Melmetal. They released in November 2018, and indeed, they sold well. In early 2019 (February, IIRC) Sword & Shield were released. While of course I don’t work at Game Freak and thus can’t say for sure, I would place money on the idea that if they were even a bit on the fence about adding the National Dex, the fact that Let’s Go sold so well despite being limited to 153 ‘mon pushed them right over the edge to, “Cut the National Dex from Sword & Shield, there’s no point in working on it.” I mean, why should they expend the effort if people will buy the games anyway? Especially when President Ishihara went on record saying that long-time fans only cared about “new pokémon and features” around the time of Let’s Go’s release. Sure, they might have already been thinking about cutting the National Dex beforehand, but Let’s Go no doubt assured them that it was a safe and correct call to make.

So that’s what I mean when I say that Let’s Go’s positive sales figures sealed all of our fates. To be entirely honest, before the National Dex announcement, I was certain that we wouldn’t see the shockwaves from Let’s Go until Gen IX. But Sword & Shield having a limited ‘Dex just like Let’s Go, and having special feature ‘mon behind $60 paywalls like Let’s Go, and having core features stripped out like Let’s Go, and the fact that it’s starting to look frighteningly like the starters won’t be able to evolve like in Let’s Go . . . the effect is pretty apparent. Sure, some of this stuff was present even before Let’s Go (namely the whole “let’s ditch useful features in the name of simplifying things” tack that Masuda has been married to for years now), but in the wake of Let’s Go, it’s success, and what Masuda said would happen if it was successful, it’s really hard not to see the link.

(Note just in case anyone read too quickly: I’m not saying the starters WON’T evolve. I’m only saying that I’m starting to fear that’s the case since we’re less than a month away from release and we haven’t even seen second stage evolutions yet. Maybe they’re just trying to keep starter evolutions a surprise, that’s entirely possible, but it’s also highly suspect, and Game Freak destroyed any trust or good faith I had in them a while back.) 

As a final note, the reason why I say that the Pokémon games aren’t treated with respect is . . . well, there are a few reasons:

Game Freak stated themselves that they put their B Team on Sword & Shield while their A Team worked on Little Town Hero. They also said they wanted to create something, “as exciting, or perhaps even more exciting” than Pokémon. They’re tired of working on Pokémon, and it shows. Which, I mean, I get it, it’s been 20+ years, but in that case tell Nintendo so that they can shift the main games over to another studio. I get that Game Freak was created for the sole purpose of making Pokémon, and maybe Taijiri-san is pissed at how you’re disrespecting his baby (I would be), but for the good of the series, if you don’t want to work on it, give it to someone who does. Don’t just shift it onto your bare bones secondary dev team.

These games are in a hellish development cycle where a new one is popped out every year. Contrast this to The Legend of Zelda where, while we’ve had some anomalies where assets were able to be largely reused and so games came out only a couple years apart (see: Ocarina of Time to Majora’s Mask) --- even that had two or three years before releases, not one the very next year. Most mainline Zelda games spend five or six years in development. I’m fully aware that we will likely be waiting until something like 2022 for Breath of the Wild 2, and I am prepared to wait that time because I know the game we get will be incredible. Granted, I’m going to be dying every single time they announce a release date to push it back, but it’ll be a death I’m grateful for because I will know that the end product will be worth it. The Pokémon games used to have a similar luxury. While there were a grand total of five games released during that time (with “five games” being used loosely, given that one was a slight upgrade and the other four were really two games with slight differences between versions), Gen IV lasted for a grand total of four years. We had Diamond & Pearl in 2006, Platinum in 2008, HeartGold & SoulSilver in 2009, and then finally, Black & White in 2010. By contrast, Gen VII didn’t even last three years, technically. I mean, this November would be its third anniversary, but that’s when Gen VIII officially starts instead. To be fair, it could be argued that Gen IV didn’t have a full four years since it came out in September 2006, and Gen V came out in September 2010. But even if you make that argument, it still had a full year on Gen VII, and to be honest, that showed. The Sinnoh games are far and away not my faves, but they were still full of content. HeartGold & SoulSilver are often considered to be the best remakes in the entire franchise, and considering the content that was cut from OmegaRuby & AlphaSapphire and Masuda’s reasoning for why that content was cut, I can’t exactly argue with that even though I did genuinely enjoy ORAS. And the games that Gen IV ushered in? Controversial opinion, but I think that the Pokémon games peaked with Gen V. Black & White not only initially had a ‘dex that was nothing but new pokémon (and yet STILL included the Nat Dex later, because in Masuda’s own words he felt it cruel to keep people from playing with their faves forever!), but it also introduced a METRIC TON of new mechanics, some of which we no longer get to use (Rotation Battles? Game Freak doesn’t know her). Who knows what exactly Game Freak did with that extra year, but it was clearly a lot of work given how wonderful the games were in Gen IV and Gen V. The extra dev time showed.By contrast, Gen VII got 2.5 years (or 3 if you’re being generous). Every single game released during this gen had massive content cuts, even when comparing to Gen VI, which also had massive content cuts. Mechanics were stripped away, and Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon technically didn’t have a NatDex either, but at least you could still have all of your ‘mon in them at a later date if you wanted to. Now with Sword & Shield, we don’t even have that, despite the Switch being far more powerful than the 3DS. (We also don’t have Mega Evolution for whatever godforsaken reason, even though the Kanto Mega Evolutions at the very least were already used in Let’s Go, the fuck, Game Freak). Pokémon games print money and always have, and Game Freak has taken this and their lack of interest in the series to the depressing but I suppose logical extreme of “do whatever and they’ll buy it anyway.” There’s no love here, there’s no respect here. They just don’t care anymore, and as someone who does care an awful lot, it’s super upsetting to me.

And while people have tried to argue that the games can’t be delayed because of the anime or the card game or whatever else:

The games come first. They’ve always come first. I know some people mistakenly think that the anime came first and that the games were created later, but that is 100% false. Pokémon started as a game series and the anime was created to advertise the games, straight up.

Filler episodes exist, and the PokéAni is no stranger to them. The Orange Islands arc was an entire arc of filler created to pad time between Gens I and II. The Delacora Islands (or whatever they were called) was a filler arc meant to pad time between Gens V and VI. Arguably the majority of the Sun & Moon anime was filler, given its slice-of-life genre, meaning the anime was even less of an excuse not to delay Sword & Shield. You can’t tell me people wouldn’t have been happy with another year of the Alola crew running around getting into random adventures. People would have eaten that up and loved it. We could have had it all.

I’m not even going to dignify “but the card game” with a response lmao. This isn’t Yu-Gi-Oh!. Sure, the card game makes money, and probably a decent amount of it (merch sales probably make up the franchise’s greatest source of income, and as someone who easily spent several hundred dollars in two weeks at the PokéCenters in Japan---including over $100 in one trip to a PokéCenter while I was there, and we went multiple times---I am a big part of that), but they come up with bullshit new expansions all the time and could easily keep doing it. Again, not a reason to delay the games if the games need more time in development.

So all in all, at the end of the day, Game Freak is no longer treating these games with love and respect, which makes them an awful lot like the villains in the games they create. The Let’s Go games were harbingers of disaster for the games, and we were told this very plainly, and just about no one listened. In fact, I legitimately lost friendships with people who got mad at me for making Facebook statuses about how they should buy Let’s Go used if they absolutely had to have them because how DARE I believe Ishihara when he said that Let’s Go were considered core titles, and how DARE I believe Masuda when he said that Let’s Go would usher in the last twenty years of the franchise. Clearly, I was just being an ugly bitch. (I wish I was exaggerating, but this actually happened, I got blocked over it, it was ridiculous.) And now here we are as a result, with no hope of things getting better unless Nintendo forcibly rips Pokémon out of Game Freak’s hands, which I don’t even think they can legally do given that they only own 1/3rd of the IP. (The other 2/3rds belong to Game Freak and Creatures Inc., as I understand it.) 

TL;DR:

Pokémon is still my favorite fictional fantasy world, but as someone who has always loved the games first and foremost, the current state of it depresses me to no end.

[rangoatemybabynsfw]

Massage anon back to say you have torn my heart and stitched it back together again with that angst. Angst with happy endings? 👌🏽👌🏽👌🏽I love it ❤️❤️ also....would it be too much to ask for same prompt but Lance as the massage therapist? Now I’m intrigued lol

Glad you liked it mate :D 

Hmmm Lance as the therapist? Let’s see…((It got long haha))

—–

“Your patient is Keith Kogane. He’s gone through at least three different therapists,” says the doctor to Lance. 

“Three? Why?” Lance frowns and the doctor hands over his file. Lance reads a little and does a double take with disbelief. “Wait, he went through three different ones as multiple separate incidents? How often does this guy hurt himself?”

“It’s an occupational hazard he says,” the doctor frowns. “But it happens a lot. Enough that his therapists are tired of him not taking their advice where his recovery is concerned.”

“Says here he assaulted one of them,” Lance gulps. 

“Yes, the last one. The attending therapist suggested Keith quit his day job. Warned him that he’d end up with more broken bones than whole ones,” he sighs. “Keith re-sprained his wrist when he broke the attending’s nose. So now…no one wants to work with him when he gets injured.”

“And you’re asking me because…?”

“Someone has to work with him and you’re just as stubborn as he is,” the doctor admits. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Keith is every bit the firecracker they told Lance he’d be. Willful and stubborn to a fault. After the first physical therapy session and massage, Keith wanted to go again. Has it in his head that if he does the session twice he’ll recover faster. When Lance told him he was done Keith very nearly took a swing at him with his injured arm. Lance luckily avoided it and Keith was in too much pain to try it a second time (though he’d never admit it and just said Lance was lucky he had somewhere to be).

Lance tries something he wonders if others ever thought to try. He makes the sessions less intensive so that when Keith inevitably demands they do it again it won’t cause additional damage. It works and it seems like Keith’s none the wiser. Smirks with victory like he bullied Lance into giving him what he wants but Lance smirks just as much knowing the truth. 

Sometimes Keith comes in with new scrapes and bruises. Lance wonders where they came from since Keith’s not supposed to do anything to aggravate his injuries. The doctor told him that Keith’s job was dangerous and it has him guessing at what Keith does that gets him hurt so often. He’d think he was a boxer but Keith never has injuries on his perfect face and with how abrasive and snarky Keith is Lance doubts anyone wouldn’t go directly for a slug to his mouth in the ring.

“What do you do?” Lance asks finally at the end of their session. 

“What do you care?” Keith huffs back and then groans in pain as Lance massages his shoulder. Rotator cuff injury exacerbated by activity. 

“Just curious,” Lance shrugs. “Must be something you really love to ignore all advice and keep doing it despite all the damage it causes you.”

It’s the first time he’s actually seen Keith smile. He’s not looking at Lance, just far off. He looks genuinely happy and for a second Lance forgets that he’s actually mad at him for setting their sessions back two weeks by fucking up his shoulder.

“I really…really love it,” Keith says. 

“Even if it could get you killed?” Lance wonders.

“That would be the only way I’d ever stop,” Keith tells him with a smile.

Weeks later, Keith’s finally at full health again. Able to walk without a limp. Able to reach forward with his arms without groaning. The scrapes are pretty healed up too though Lance has noticed a few fresh ones. Lance could almost consider them friends now.

“Guess this is goodbye until you nearly kill yourself again,” Lance jokes.

“You want to know what I do?” Keith asks, his tone serious. Lance nods so Keith beckons for his hand and writes on it. “Come to this address. Weekdays. Between 9 and 11AM. Tell them I invited you. You’ll see why I won’t stop, no matter what anyone says.”

Lance does eventually check it out. Garrison Speedway. They let him in and show him to the pits. It’s loud when the racers all speed by, so loud that Lance is sure his ears will be ringing when this is over. He keeps his eye peeled for Keith but doesn’t see him so he watches the cars finish their race. Then they’re removed from the tracks to make way for the motorcycles. Racers in full jumpsuits and helmets. Keith told him to meet him here but where is he?

The motorcycles take off. Lance watches with intense interest. They’re all so fast! And the way they take the turns? They’re nearly touching the ground! 

Someone there explains that they’re all trying to up their times for competition. Soon they’ll be doing personal best time trials so it’ll be one person to the track. Lance watches as a man in a red tracksuit mounts his bike. The bike is jet black with dashes of lightning going down it. 

“Don’t ruin my bike, Keith!” someone yells with a smile. 

Keith? That’s Keith? Lance looks again but he can’t tell. Not with the helmet. The rider only gives a thumbs up and revs the engine. 

He’s fast and his turns are almost terrifying to behold. How doesn’t he fall right off? Why doesn’t he crash within seconds of driving? It’s insane but Lance can’t take his eyes away. No crashes, though he swears Keith’s leg scrapes the ground on several turns leaving tears in his jumpsuit. Keith comes to a stop and the same guy yells.

“1.3 second decrease in time Keith!” he shouts and Keith pops the helmet off with an excited grin, his cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“Serious?!” he asks and pumps his fist with a shout. “Yes!”

Lance has never seen a happier person in his life. No wonder he slugged someone at the mere suggestion he give it up. It would be like giving up breathing. Keith would die if he couldn’t do this.

“So, what did you think?” Keith asks after he saunters over, beaming with pride. So much smiling today and Lance is struck by it. 

“You’re amazing,” Lance admits too quickly. “Er! I mean! It’s amazing. The racing stuff is amazing. And the turns. And the bike. All very cool.”

“You could have just stopped at the first part,” Keith smirks with confidence. “Still think I should quit?”

“Are you kidding? Feel free to knock me out if I try to even suggest it,” Lance jokes and Keith actually laughs. “So uh…you have a personal bike that isn’t for racing?”

“I do,” Keith nods and leads Lance over to show him. “I drove it over here.”

Crimson. It’s sleek and shining and beautiful. With room for two.

“Wanna go for a ride around the track?” Keith offers, oozing confidence. “So you can see what the big deal is about.”

Lance eagerly agrees and the ride is amazing. Helmet on, clinging tight to Keith’s torso as they take the turns, air whipping by them and making his heart race.  Lance knows now that he’ll never suggest Keith quit again and in fact…he hopes Keith will invite him on another ride someday soon.

[sonicranticoot]

About CTR, Money, and Both Together: Part 2

Continuing from part 1.

Somehow it has been brought to my attention many more things that just...don’t say any good things, any good things, about the situation of the game and possibly the entire Crash and Spyro franchises going forward. I’m known to keep a very positive image here and I want this to continue, but sometimes, life sucks and then you die. So yes, this one is a lot angrier than the one before. You got to let it all out sometimes.

First thing is how these are actually out now, and boy are they terrible. Not just the fact they exist, but you can make 2500 in about an hour each day with online play. Or just pay Activision (not Beenox) $2.49 for that. A lot of people have been talking about how ridiculously overpriced the bundle for the Probulot 2000 is, and that can take a while to grind out even for online players (I have the dearest sympathies for people who don’t have their console’s online service and are stuck with offline payrates). Or, you could just hand that nice old Activision marketer (not Beenox) $9.99 for coins that disappear as soon as you buy them. I remember years back when Capcom got major slack for selling people costumes in Street Fighter IV for $3.99 a pop. Except there, you got a costume for five characters, and each costume had ten palette swaps. And that’s not going back to before that game, where you could get those in games at the low, low price of being earned as an in-game reward like beating the game on a certain difficulty or whatever.

It just goes back to how it used to be. Crash Team Racing is a 20-year old classic game that had a wealth of content you did not have to pay a cent for past the initial purchase of the game. Some people may say, “well, nothing in the original CTR can be unlocked with microtransactions”, and although that may be correct, it is completely missing the point. Content shown heavily before launch, like all the characters from Crash Nitro Kart and the new karts taken from Tag Team Racing, the stuff that was used to show “hey, look, it’s a little more than just CTR”, that stuff is locked behind an in-game store that allows you to spend real money. That’s not even going into the people who want to put N. Tropy or his digital skin in the shop. I actually commend Beenox for putting in something that, unlike the Pit Stop, forces players to get better at the game to have in their possession. The whole thing takes some pride out of the game. It barely feels like it’s a reward for people who didn’t pay up anymore because now people can go out and buy it with real money. Maybe.

That goes back to the fucking Fortnite store layout. Yeah I know this shop was problematic before, but didn’t go into as much as detail on why it is. Let’s say someone wants that one special skin, they want to buy Crunch that badly, that special car, or paint job. The store is set up to force players to wait, or buy things to roll again and hope what they get shows up. And with the addition of microtransactions, now, you can brute force, but even that still doesn’t help you if the Pit Stop gods don’t feel like playing nice and that special skin you wanted is the very last one in rotation. Some people aren’t that patient. This especially goes for offline players who have to spend hours trying to spend up for even one item. This type of impatience leads to kids stealing daddy’s credit card and spending $1,300 on gambling in FIFA. That’s really where this whole shit stops being “optional”, and feels like a deliberate part of the game. Because it is. It is a deliberate decision made on Activision’s part to make a predatory store. The paid solution now exists to a problem they created, and said paid solution doesn’t even fucking work.

Yes. Some people saw microtransactions coming. Some of these people like the game. Others didn’t like it, and are rubbing it into the former’s face. That doesn’t actually solve the issue here. What is the issue is that they weren’t there. People played the game for over a month without them. All the reviews were out, they were great. YouTubers praised it, both Crash-oriented and otherwise. The ESRB didn’t have to put a warning on the box. It’s all nice and cozy.

Then they do this. I’ve seen the review bombing of Metacritic. I’ve seen many Youtubers who have loved the game before either turn against it, or just express endless disgust over it. The ESRB can’t even do their fucking job of warning people that they are in the game, because there are a lot of copies out there that don’t have the “contains in-game purchases” label on them without glancing at one sentence in size 2 text on the back of the box as if Activision is playing their own twisted game of “ok, how can we tell people they’re in, but in such a way they won’t know it”, so someone, let’s say said person has a gambling problem, can buy the game, hear the good word of mouth from people who played it when it did NOT have MTX, and all of a sudden, they found a game that can prey upon them. I mentioned last time Activision did not make the message clear to consumers. Activision doesn’t want their message clear not just to consumers (and that goes for all consumers, from kids, to people with impulse buying problems, to genuine gambling addicts), but ratings boards either.

In short, all that goodwill Activision built up with this game, Spyro Reignited, Crash N. Sane, it’s gone. Not all of it is. But denying it’s done a crippling blow to things would be foolish. This game has a ton of issues. They’re all still here. MTX are though. It doesn’t give me, or anyone, a reason to trust them about what they do with these franchises, because they aren’t immune to any of the MTX bullshit that regularly plagues Call of Duty or whatever. I like the Crash and Spyro games for many reasons, but one big thing is that their newest release were free of this shit, they were old school ways of making people sold on games: by being really, really good games. You payed for a game. It’s good. Simple. Sweet. To the point.

You know what? Like Crash Bandicoot and Spyro the Dragon, Activision’s own Call of Duty sold millions and reviewed very well when it didn’t have microtransactions as well. FIFA did too. Grand Theft Auto did as well. Mortal Kombat also did. Deus Ex did. 2K sports games did. Fallout did. Elder Scrolls did. Plants vs. Zombies did. Quality games make money by being that. Quality games. Who would’ve guessed. Obviously Activision didn’t make all these games. And that’s the problem. Crash isn’t even new to this shit, it’s just one of countless classic, acclaimed franchises now subjected to the scummiest predatory practices that again, were initially made for free-to-play games that didn’t cost a dime to start playing. You didn’t see these in console games because they weren’t build for that practice. Yes, they make money, but console games could again, make money in a way a F2P mobile game can not: straight-up buying the game.

One of the worst (that’s a drinking game at this point) things is that let’s say people do get the message: everything in CTR can be earned in-game, not all the hard to do at that, the MTX coin rates are terrible, and thus, most people don’t buy the MTX. As in 99% of people don’t buy MTX. But you have whales, that 1% of people who these types of business practices specifically are psychologically engineered to pander to, spending literal thousands of dollars on coins for a cartoon kart racer and Activision can get the idea from them and only them of how to make money. And those types of practices become more accepted because of this, rinse, lather, repeat. There’s no winning scenario except for not having them in the game.

In short, Activision is the single slimiest, greediest, dirtiest, most absolutely fucking disgusting money-lusting pig of a company in the video game business and I am very, very disappointed in how corrupting classic games and franchises with pure filth meant to destroy bank accounts has consumed the industry. Activision is obviously not the only company that does this, but I can’t say many of the others are willing to do things like lie to the people who’s job is to warn people about these things. Fuck. Straight. Off.

Let it be known despite all that I am still a big Crash fan. I love the game. I’m eagerly anticipating Beenox to confirm Pasadena as a playable racer, I want to see how Brio looks in the game as well as what kind of race track the game will see when he is introduced, I want to see the Spyro stuff, I want to see what kind of crazy costumes they make or old school vehicles make a return, etc.  I payed $40 for it. That’s the only money I’m giving it because that’s the point. I’m just disappointed. And that’s severely underselling it.

[junker-town]

Dorktown: The god-awful drive that changed NFL history

Now that the new episode of Dorktown has dropped, Jon Bois and Alex Rubenstein to discuss Mark Sanchez, dynasties, and whether or not Jon is stupid.

Thanks to everyone who watched our latest episode of Dorktown! This one was a little different than any other Dorktown episode we’ve ever made: rather than simply telling a story, we made an argument that has proven to be a little controversial: that one disastrous drive in 2011 changed the course of a franchise and, in turn, NFL history.

Below, Alex and I chatted about some odds and ends surrounding the episode. Hope you enjoy. And hey, if you haven’t already, remember to subscribe to Secret Base on YouTube.

Jon: This video stars the Jets in the years before and after 2010, and I gotta say, I found this team really endearing at the time. Darrelle Revis was incredible to watch, Rex Ryan was prone to popping off and saying whatever, and Mark Sanchez was a guy I found myself pulling for. I really wanted him to be able to put it all together, but his numbers with the Jets indicate he, uh, didn’t.

I find it pretty difficult to evaluate quarterback talent. Part of that is because I’m just bad at it, but part of it is that I feel like it’s so context-dependent and the sample is so small. So I guess my question for you is, do you think a world could exist in which Sanchez emerged as a good quarterback? Do you think maybe he was in a sub-optimal system, and that he would have thrived on a different team? Or do you think we saw the best Mark Sanchez we were ever gonna see?

Alex: I think Mark Sanchez was certainly in a sub-optimal offensive ecosystem that was coordinated by Brian Schottenheimer and that didn’t necessarily have an abundance of threatening downfield targets.

However, to me the biggest problem with Sanchez is that even playing behind a strong offensive line led by stalwarts D’Brickashaw Ferguson and Nick Mangold, he just couldn’t function once he got hit.

He could look great in practice or throwing against air, but when the bullets were flying and he got clobbered a couple times, he’d get way too easily rattled. That’s why someone like Eli Manning was able to carve out a 16-year career and a couple Super Bowl MVPs despite hardly having the same kind of talent as top-end quarterbacks such as his brother.

The man could get smacked in the mouth time after time after time and he’d get up every time. It never affected his subsequent plays. Sanchez would get knocked to the ground and then his passes would practically sail to the Hudson River. It is impossible to succeed as an NFL quarterback if you can’t shake off hits, so I really don’t think Sanchez would’ve lived up to his draft status regardless of which team selected him.

Jon: Ouch, man. It’s sort of fascinating to consider how we perceive this kind of stuff. Like, ask your average football fan what they think of Mark Sanchez, and odds are they’ll tell you that on the field he was a baby idiot loser. Whereas in reality, he was perhaps in the 99.94th percentile of toughest human beings instead of the 99.994th. Do percentiles go to 100 or stop at 99? Don’t care, I’m sticking with it.

Speaking of baby idiot losers, I think that’s what I might be after my declaration in the video that the Chiefs are a possible dynasty in the making. Gettin’ a little bit of shit for that one, which I think is fair. “What is a dynasty?” is up there with “what is a sport?” on the list of most tedious sports debates, but since I brought it up, I’ve kind of doomed myself to having this argument. If you had to peg what constitutes a dynasty, what would you consider the requisite qualities? Multiple Super Bowl wins? One Super Bowl win with a couple more appearances peppered in? If the ‘90s Bills had won one of their four Super Bowls, you think they’d qualify as a dynasty?

Alex: But is Joe Flacco elite? Those Bills squads would be tough to classify as a dynasty even had they hit their last-second field goal in Super Bowl XXV just because, while they did win their conference each of the next three years, they were so thoroughly out-classed in each of those ensuing Super Bowls. The AFC during that time was basically like the NBA’s Eastern Conference for about a half-decade following Mike Jordan’s middle retirement. You only get so much credit for winning that conference.

I would loosely consider any team that wins multiple titles in a window of time that’s less than twice that in years to be a dynasty. For example, winning two titles in three or fewer years, three in five or fewer years, etc. But there can also be hard-to-quantify exceptions; I don’t know if I’d consider those late-90s Broncos a dynasty after back-to-back titles and then their precipitous 1999 decline, but it’s certainly debatable.

A team that only wins one title but puts up a hell of a fight in an adjacent run or two to the championship round — such as the mid-90s Braves (1995 title, outscored Yankees by eight runs in 1996 World Series) or mid-00s Pistons (2004 title, one flubbed rotation from a likely repeat) — might warrant that dynastic title. Especially when acknowledging fortunes can change, it doesn’t seem ridiculous to look at the Chiefs’ body of work from 2018-20, combine that with the fact that their best player is 25 years old and under team control until the sun burns out, and extrapolate to say a dynasty is a possible end result. Defensible remark!

Jon: Right! I do think these Chiefs need one more Super Bowl win before we can call them a dynasty. Admittedly, it was dangerous of me to even suppose something like that. Things change so, so quickly. I mean, this could very easily be another Seahawks situation: they win a Super Bowl, then lose another, and it feels like they’ll inevitably be back. But even though their superstar quarterback has stayed healthy and actually improved over the years, while they’re often a tough out, they haven’t been back in any of the years since. That could just as easily end up being the Chiefs’ story.

Now, I said something else in this episode that’s understandably being scrutinized. I concluded that if the Chiefs waited until the offseason to fire Todd Haley, they probably would have made an outside hire to replace him. I could be wrong about that. Romeo Crennel was well-liked within the organization and it’s possible they would have simply promoted him. Still ... I gotta think that shocking Packers upset was the thing that sealed it for him, and if he hadn’t coached that game they would’ve looked outside the organization. And if they did, that guy would be far more likely to have a multi-year leash. So, Alex, would you care to settle this once and for all? If you disagree, you’ll be betraying your friend. If you agree, you will then by default become the person everyone is mad at instead of me. Anyway, have fun!

Alex: I’ve seen it too much first-hand with my Niners. Mike Singletary as interim coach parlayed pulling down his pants and turning around Vernon Davis’ career into getting the full-time gig. A couple years later when he was fired with one game left in 2010, Jim Tomsula took over and presided over a destruction of the Cardinals. He didn’t immediately turn that into becoming the permanent coach as the 49ers won the Jim Harbaugh sweepstakes, but that was a huge reason why he eventually got the job once CEO Jed York fired Harbaugh. Teams love overreacting to one thing an interim coach does. Although to be fair, we all know the one surefire way to get a promotion is by dropping your pants in the middle of the workplace.

That game had to have played a key role in Clark Hunt’s calculus to give Crennel the job. I’ll take the heat, Jon. No problem. Everyone can tweet their rage at me until the cows come home.

[Editor’s note: Alex does not have a Twitter account.]