#thanks the guy who missed the goalpost

[halfbakedspuds]

OC interview

Thanks to @illarian-rambling for the tag!

Rules: write your OC's response to the questions

I have Hans von Nirgends on my mind so I'll do it for him.

Are you named after someone?

At birth, I was named after my paternal grandmother... no, I will not tell you what that name was, allesficker. When I fled to Neureich, they asked under what name I wished to be registered, and I... panicked a bit, choosing 'Hans Schmidt' (which I'll admit is possibly the most stereotypically Tuitish name ever). Then I joined the Neureich Friedensrichter corps and got assigned to a little frontier town in the Mittelostia territory called 'Nirgends'- which I may have grown a little too attached to since I had my surname changed to 'von Nirgends' after a year and a half of living there.

When was the last time you cried?

Probably after the last Hellstorm I survived. Not necessarily because anything bad happened, they just leave behind a kind of eldritch beauty that you can't help but shed tears at the sight of. The last time I cried out of heartbreak... I decline to comment, that memory remains buried for a reason.

Do you have kids?

That's not really on the table for me due to several reasons- let's just lie to ourselves, say that Hellstorms are sterilising and leave it at that, alright?- and as much as I'd like to maybe adopt kids someday, I'm also far too afraid that I'll turn out like my father. No child deserves that.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What do you think, detective? In all honesty, it annoyed my father, so it became a rebellious habit of mine.

What is the first thing you notice about people?

The way they walk. That can usually tell me whether or not they have a gun concealed that's getting in the way of their movements, but all in all it's just a lesson learnt from experience.

What's your eye colour?

Bluish-grey. Although under... certain conditions, they take on the colour of a dark storm.

Scary movies or Happy endings?

I don't know, maybe my life has just been filled with enough real fear and horror, but scary movies don't really do anything for me. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, though. Probably because I'm still looking for mine.

Any special talents?

What, why do you... oh wait, that's what you mean. I guess I'm a decent-ish marksman. How many people do you know who can take a rifle and put a hole in a coin from a hundred and fifty measures out from horseback?

Where were you born?

Listen here, and listen close. If you tell anyone this, I will find you. Verstehen? Good.

I was born in the Wasserfall family manor in the Grenzenwald barony of Tuitis, near the Tuitis-Lenroux border. Happy? Good, let's move on.

Do you have any pets?

I had a dog named Rufus while I was still a Friedensrichter. Damn good partner, closest I ever had to a friend before I met Anselm and Mariette. Anyways, one day we were on a job, stopping a gang who'd commandeered a cash transit train. Rufus ran in, bit their leader in the soft, and got shot for it.

My orders were to take that gang alive. Well, it's not exactly my fault if some outlaw scum managed to vanish into thin air as if they'd been vaporised. It's also not my fault that I may have done the reasonable thing and... assisted in the emancipation of their molecular bonds.

What sort of sports do you play

In Nirgends they have this sport that the children play where you need to try to get a ball into the other team's goalpost. When I was off duty, I'd sometimes play it with them, though it says something that I as a twenty-four year old man repeatedly got thrashed by a bunch of young teenagers... Bozhe, now I miss home.

How tall are you?

One measure, twenty five marks. In your system that's about 167cm or about 5'5".

What was your favourite subject in school

My father wasn't too keen on the idea of me receiving an education, however there was a guy in town who our family commissioned machinery and other things from who taught me how to read, write, and maintain machinery whenever I snuck out to visit him. My favourite lessons were the ones where he only told me the design specs and left me to figure things out myself. I guess I just enjoyed the challenge and he knew it.

What is your dream job

A musician, maybe. Although if I'm being honest I'm getting tired of a life where something exciting is constantly happening to me. Perhaps I'd like to hang up my rifle and put my talents as a mechanic to use here in Ost-Rietland... yes, that actually sounds quite lovely.

Blank template under the cut

Are you named after someone?

When was the last time you cried?

Do you have any kids?

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What is the first thing you notice about people?

What is your eye colour?

Scary movies or Happy endings?

Any special talents?

Where were you born?

Do you have any pets?

What sort of sports do you play?

How tall are you?

What was your favourite subject in school?

What is your dream job?

[missbaphomet]

Encountered the most TOXIC fucking player holy shit. Played widow, flamed the supports for three whole ass matches and on the third match I won't lie, I showed my ass a little. I was getting some support time in since role queue loves giving me tank and I missed playing some mercy. Literally no sooner than we hit the lobby and this Widow is being absolutely hateful to me bc in the last round I defended someone else playing battle mercy while I was playing DPS Moira. I throw a few messages basically telling her to shove off and go about my match. Tank was not pushing, but I'm keeping my team up and we lose point. No big deal. I'm already 3 rezs deep and it's not my job to make reinhardt move his ass. Drop a catty message about having 3 rezzes and widow comes back with "and 0 Assists" like... OK? You were complaining about heals. Way to move those goalposts bestie. Out of curiosity, I look at team report and she has 777 damage and 0 kills at the end of first objective. Lol. Lmao even. OK.

More stupid catty bullshit I was only really even engaging in because it's 4am and it's the most human interaction I've had in like 6 hours and I'm just returning the energy put into the world. End of match rolls around, I ask to avoid her as teammate because ew and send a friend request to the team Cassidy bc he was chill af and thanked me after each and every rez for 3 matches. Literally think nothing of it.

I'm sitting in queue again and get an invite from the Cassidy. Accept.

Turns out the Widow is grouped to him too. I'm listening to music in another tab and not at all expecting someone to start talking to me and all I can fucking hear is "why'd you add him? Why'd you add him?" Because he's cool tf. Run my mouth a little more, leave the group, send a report and block that widow. Then I got to thinking.

Was she fucking jealous??? I sent a random ass friend request to someone I didn't ever expect to even speak to again and this bitch made him invite me to his group to bitch at me. Did she really fucking think I was gonna seduce this guy with my mad gamer skillz over fucking overwatch quick play????? Yikes.

Anyway there's a Cassidy main out there somewhere with the battle tag Angel who is a real sweetheart, but his maybe girlfriend is a royal fucking cunt. You can do better king, and I hope you do.

For anyone curious this was the end of match report on that Widow as well as my stats for that game where I spent a decent amount of time just bitching in the text channel and not actually playing

Like girl. You are reinforcing my belief that the most toxic players are just bad at the game and lashing out. It is not that serious. Skill issue

[askaceattorney]

Dear Jeffrey,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: He does look cute and energetic. 

I believe my grandpa had a farm dog named Molly who lived to be about 20ish years old. She was a sweet dog.

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Guquis,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Actually, that was my mistake. My apologies. I’m still getting used to the fact that we can see emails again. It’s fixed now.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Heard of them but never watched them.

Dear Vivyn,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: If it’s been about two months, then it’s likely it has. 

You may send it again. Make sure to place in the title that this was the letter that was never answered so I may answer it right away.

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: So long as it follows canon. 

I suppose Ryunosuke could technically be Phoenix’s distant uncle but we don’t know if he has had any brothers or sisters. In AAA, we consider Ryunosuke to be Phoenix’s great-great or more Grandfather.

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I will delete any letters that break the rules, but that is as far as I will go.

Listen, I know you think deleting Dawsongfg’s letters or blocking Dawsongfg is going to solve the situation and you may be right. However, by doing that, I will be also creating a much bigger issue than an anonymous troll being a nuisance. It’s an issue that’s been going on at other platforms, including Tumblr: censorship. I’ve already placed my goalpost where it needs to be and if I move it anywhere else, it will lead to others to be censored, blocked or, worse, canceled for making dumb jokes.

Dawsongfg is someone that sits on the goal post and, so long as they sit there, the others writing letters will know their limits. They are free to make whatever edgy letters they want so long as it follows the rules. However, if I move the goal post where it stands, then another person will be sitting on the goal post, then I will have to move it again and another person will be next. More people following AAA that have never changed from the kind of letters they normal do will get banned, have letters deleted or censored for things that are harmless. Followers will no longer be sure where the goal post is at and will be in fear of including offensive things in their letters. THAT to me is worse than Dawsongfg writing out 20 letters a day. 

So far, Dawsongfg has calmed down from last year, so it’s likely the letters you read were from that time. Since then, they have just been writing some funny, trollish letters. However, I am not moving the goalpost. It’s staying where it is and, unless Dawsongfg breaks the rules again, their letters stay where they are.

Dear Anonymous,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: 

I think about several at this point. Thankfully, not as many as I was expecting.

Mod Justice: For future reference, let it be known that any letters alluding to that... filth... will not be answered by me. As a fan of Ace Attorney since between 2017 and 2018, I am very disappointed with how much I've had to skim through when glancing at the Inbox.

(Damn pervs... always trying to ruin a perfectly fine franchise.)

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Ali S. Fakenamington,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Yeah, missed that one. I’m still getting used to the whole “we can see emails again” thing. But anyways, it has since been censored. 

For everyone else, even though we are allowing anything rated M to go through with a warning, that doesn’t excuse you to be a jerk or a jackass. It only exists to give more creative liberties while also giving a head’s up to minors watching the blog. 

(Referenced Letter)

Dear Altamont498,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: Thanks for that. I fixed it!

Dear Dawsongfg,

Chief Mod Edgeworth: I think when I found out that my letters weren’t including the HTML, including the paragraph one, and finding every single one of my letters in the inbox looking like a cluster. That seems to have not improved.

If you guys want to know how to fix that, include the HTML such as < i > for italics without the spaces and < p > without the spaces to skip to the next paragraph. Otherwise, just use your laptop or app on the phone.

- The Mods

[leam1983]

On Timelessness

It's lunchtime, our little trio's assembled in the cafeteria, and one of the Gen-Z kiddies who practically sweats "I have an active Instagram" stops by our table.

"God, Walter," she tells the big guy, "I love your vests; they're so old-fashioned! It's like you're always cosplaying as a World War Two extra!"

Admittedly, nobody I know wears vests. There was a little window of time in the nineties where wearing an open vest over a tee-shirt was the embodiment of Grunge, but the gist of it is three-piece suits are mostly out-of-fashion, now. Not that Walter's ever cared; that kind of deliberate layering serves as a kind of nonverbal social call in the Sales department. It tells the juniors that he's their figure of authority and tells the dealerships' own guys that he one-ups them in terms of professionalism. It's a nice bit of goalpost-establishing, without a single word. He's one group's figure of assistance, and the other one's watchdog.

Walt smiles. "Thanks, Lizzie!" he replies, not missing the slight dig at him, the giggles in the back from kids who think everyone should follow the latest TikTok fashion guru's advice. "I'm loving this combo too - what is it, exactly? Candy Kid meets Barbie Girl?"

She laughs uneasily, makes quick excuses about needing to rejoin her friends, and leaves us be. Sarah grins behind her coffee cup.

"You should wear your bowler hat more often, hon," she tells Walt. It'd really fuck with their YouTuber-branded minds."

Walt smirks at me. "Would you mind if I borrowed your cane?"

I squeeze his hand over the countertop. "Anytime, big guy."

[yutahoes]

His Girl

Part One of this ask. 

characters: vice CEO! Yuta Nakamoto, daughter of CEO! Y/N, Yuri

word count: 3.2k words

genre: fluff

idea by @nuoyipeach thank you, Amina for this.  💚💚

tagging @junglewoos​ 

Yuta has everything in his life. A supportive family, a wide range of friends, an extravagant amount of money, a fancy house, and a luxury car. Being the vice CEO of a large family company made him the most eligible bachelor in town yet he never saw himself as someone in a relationship before. Not that he hated girls, but unlike his friends, he believed in the magic of love. His parents were a great example of that. And he wanted the love they have.

Even if he had every luxury in life, Yuta had always felt lonely. Maybe because he grew up as an only child. Or because he had to grow up as an adult now. It’s like there’s a void missing in his heart.

He wasn’t new to the charity parties his mom would always host. No one would support her better than him. But he hates it when she uses this as her way for him to get introduced to other girls his age in their social circle. So even if he’s the son of the host, he would always find himself outside the venue.

Today, her party was held in an orphanage. It was a confusing theme for him. Why here of all places? Yet, as usual, he went outside the hall after being introduced to twins who were five years younger than him. He was on a call with an international client when a soccer ball went to his feet followed by a young girl in a messy bun running to where he is. Yuta had to put down his phone before picking up the ball. “Is this yours?” He asked, which made the young girl nod. “You can play soccer?”

“I can kick the ball.” She answered that made him smile, nodding. Of course. “Can you play soccer?”

Yuta smiled. When was the last time he played the sport? Maybe during high school? “When I was younger.” He handed the ball to her.

“Why can’t you play now?” She asked. There’s a lot of answers to that question. He’s an adult. He’s so busy with the company to play. “You still have your feet.”

Yuta chuckled. She was right. “Then, can I play with you?” She nodded, smiling widely. Her smile is so pretty, eyes sparkling. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Yuri.” She introduced then held six fingers up. “I’m six years old.”

The older man removed his jacket, placing it above the bench. “I’m Yuta.” The young girl giggled saying that they almost have the same name, making him smile. She’s so cute.

It’s been days since he met the younger girl in the orphanage yet his mind can’t get past the fact that she kicked the ball like a pro, she even goaled twice against him. Yuri. Almost the same name as him. Whenever he had nothing to do, he would trail off to the thoughts of the younger girl giggling. It might be the happiest day in his life.

The void he was missing all along.

He weighed the pros and cons of his decision. He needed to be responsible if he pushed for this. Needed to make time for her. Money isn’t the problem, just time. So one dinner night with his parents, he opened the topic. “Mom, if I adopt a child, can you help me take care of her?” He sounded so casual that his parents were too surprised. His mom liked the idea while his dad just smiled at him, saying that he honestly wanted a kid in the house. “I’ll make time this weekend, mom. Can you come with me to the orphanage?”

It was a decision that scared Yuta. What if instead of being beneficial to the child he becomes harmful to her? The nun running the orphanage kept on thanking him, even explaining that they were given three months if they wanted to continue with the adoption that confused Yuta. There’s such thing as that?

Yuta smiled when Yuri entered the door. She grinned, running to him and asking if they could play again. “They’re going to adopt you?” The nun said that made her look at the two in question. Yuta nodded, saying that they can play whenever they want which made her grin.

His mom kept asking Yuri if she wanted to eat while driving her to their house. The younger just shook her head, answering politely that she’s not hungry. “If you need anything, we can get you what you want. We’re going to meet your grandfather and he’ll be happy to meet you.”

“Grandfather?” She repeated that made Yuta look at her from the rearview mirror. Their eyes met. “Then Yuta oppa is going to be my dad?” The older woman nodded. “Who’s my mom?”

Yuta lightly chuckled. “I can’t promise you one for now. But we’ll see, Yuri.” The answer even made his mom smile which she hid in a cough.

She was excited to see the wide yard and a goalpost on one side, squealing that she’ll have a blast playing soccer. A large pool can be seen from the back of the house and her eyes feasted at the high ceiling and the chandelier she called Cinderella. When the older woman brought her to the kitchen, a small popper can be heard that startled them. There’s a banner welcoming Yuri in their house and different food on the table. Yuta was astounded at the fact that it was his dad who made all of this. The president of Nakamoto Corporation throwing a small party like this? They might really be too excited about having a kid in the house.

The couple was showing Yuri all the rooms in the house, introducing her to the maids and the cook while asking her to tell him what she would want to eat all the time. Yuta stayed in his own office to finish some work he brought home. The door opened followed by a small knock and Yuri was there, eyeing the large spacious room. “Can you tuck me to bed, please?” Yuta chuckled before leaving the folder on the table and standing up to follow her.

Yuri’s eyes were so wide when she entered the room. “We can change the color of your room if you want,” Yuta said that made her shake her head, plopping on the bed. “Are you fine with everything?” 

She nodded, hugging the pillow. “I don’t want to change anything. I’m just happy to be here.” Yuta smiled, pulling the blanket up to cover her. “Thank you, Yuta appa.” Once again, he smiled widely.

He hasn’t done anything. It’s too early to thank him yet.   

Yuri adjusted well in their house that made Yuta relieved. His parents were both attentive to her and whenever Yuta would go home in the evening, Yuri’s smile would always take away all his tiredness. Her, staying in their home is the best thing that might have happened in their lives. On weekends, he would teach her soccer. His mom would have tears in her eyes seeing Yuta laughing with her.    

And to formally welcome her to their family, his dad had asked Yuri to come with them to another charity party.

Yuta held her shaking hand as they got on the elevator to where the party will be held. She’s in the light violet dress that his mom picked for her and she looked really cute, but something is missing from her look. “Are your friends going to be there?” the young girl asked that made Yuta nod. “Can I tell them that you’re my dad?”

“Of course you can,” Yuta answered immediately then gave her a confused look. “Why?”

Yuri smiled, shaking her head. “Can I eat anything inside?” His parents smiled adoringly and Yuta nodded, telling her that she can eat anything except the wine. Yuri held his hand tight when the elevator doors open.

She quickly became the darling of the crowd, everyone liking her cheery aura but some stared at the younger and Yuta as if asking why. Unlike other parties, Yuta never left Yuri’s side who was seated properly at their table. He would only stand up to refill the marshmallows she liked so much. He took a long time when the wife of the chairman of another company came to him and introduced her daughters. He also bumped into some international investors or clients and stopped to greet or make small talks with them.

When he returned to their table, Yuri was giggling and talking to a girl who was sitting on his chair. “Appa!” She called that made the older girl turn to him. He knew her. Y/N. What is she doing here? “She is Y/N unnie. She talked to me while you’re gone.” Yuta apologized, putting down the plate of marshmallows while sitting on the chair beside Yuri. “She also gave me this clip.” Yuri showed the glittering clip on her hair. Yuta smiled, the missing piece of her look.

“I’ll get going,” Y/N said, smiling at Yuri. “It was nice to meet you, Yuri.” But the younger held her hand, begging not to leave yet.

She lightly glanced at Yuta in worry which made him look around. Some people were looking at them. Yuta held the back of Yuri’s head, “Do you want to go outside with Miss Y/N?” The younger girl nodded while grinning widely. “Is that alright with you, Y/N?” She looked startled but nodded, holding a hand out for Yuri which she immediately accepted.

Yuta watched the two disappear to the giant doors heading outside to the fake yard by the balcony. Maybe Yuri needed a woman’s attention. She talks a lot with his mom but Yuri might need a younger perspective. Yuta sighed, leaning on his chair. Maybe Yuri needed a mom.

While the younger girl was occupied, Yuta started talking to some businessmen he knew from the crowd. His mom asked once where his date is and he only said that she’s outside with someone. When she asked who it was, he only smiled. “Can you believe how thick-skinned that guy is?” Yuta’s dad asked and without even the name, he knew who it was. “He’s only here to get some investors from us.”

“Honey, he’s friends with the party host.” the older woman said while holding his arm and Yuta nodded at his dad, watching the rival businessman. Now that he’s staring, there’s nothing common between him and his daughter. Maybe she looks like her mom. “Do you want to go already? I’ll get Yuri.”

But Yuta shook his head, saying that he’ll do it. He smiled at some girls his age who were obviously talking about him before opening the large doors to the balcony. Yuri was seated on the fake grass next to the older girl in the silver dress, her laugh echoing in the air. “Yuri.” He called softly that made the two stare at him. “We have to go home.”

He saw how her face fell then stared at the older girl who had her back on Yuta. “I still want to talk to you more, unnie.” The girl tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, promising that when they meet again they’ll talk a lot more. “Oh, your clip.” But she shook her head, saying that it’s a gift.

Yuri ran to the older guy, bidding farewell to the girl who only smiled while brushing her skirt. “What did you and the unnie talked about?” Yuta inquired while holding her hand. Yuri grinned, answering that it’s girl stuff and she had fun. Yuri does need female supervision.

-----

It was another party, Yuri wearing the hair clip given to her in hopes of seeing the older girl, when Yuta found out how much that clip costs. It was pure diamonds and only two clips like that were made, one of them belongs to a well-known princess of a foreign country. If someone knew, Yuri’s life will be in danger. He needed to ask Yuri to return the clip. 

Since they had always been attending parties or Yuri coming with him to work, he decided to hang out with the younger girl and get her some clothes or things she needs. Of course, it’s much better to let his mom come with her but Yuri always complains that she gets tired easily that the younger can’t even ask her to play in the ball pit which she wanted to do. So to do what she wants, it was Yuta who came with her to the mall. 

It was a large place, filled with luxurious things yet Yuri doesn’t look excited at all. He was looking at the necklaces in the display, wanting to give Yuri one as a gift. But when he looked to his side, she was already nowhere to be found. Yuta looked around in panic. He just diverted his attention for a short time, she’ll be around. But he cannot spot her yellow shirt anywhere. Fuck, his mom is going to kill him. 

He can’t call someone, his mom will know for sure. How do you look for a missing child without alerting anyone? Yuta just roamed around the mall, keeping his eyes out for the younger girl. "Mr. Nakamoto." Someone called, stopping him from his tracks. The larger man bowed at him and he bowed back, confused as to why he was approaching him. Who is he? Maybe he took Yuri. "Ms. Y/N is with your daughter," Y/N? Did she kidnap Yuri? "They're at Selene's as we speak." Huh? 

Yuta just thanked him before heading to the shop he mentioned, his eyes blinded by everything pink. A girls' store, no doubt. The lady welcomed him and guided him inside a small door which read VIP, asking him if he wanted anything but he shook his head. He just wanted to see Yuri. 

The large curtains opened and he stopped in his tracks when the younger girl came out with a light blue dress. Yuta smiled at how cute she is. "Appa!" She called while grinning at him. "Where have you been? Why did you get lost?" What? He heard a giggle from another side of the room when the large curtains opened and Y/N could be seen in a wedding gown. 

Yuta gulped. She looks pretty in that. But he didn't know she's getting married. 

"Unnie, that's prettier," Yuri claimed, jumping on the couch and staring at the same girl Yuta is staring at. "Take a picture wearing that."

Y/N giggled. "And you look so pretty with that dress." She complimented then asked the lady in waiting to get a white belt for Yuri. "And please, can you get Yuta some drinks?" The guy looked surprised before shaking his head, saying that he's fine. "We'll just finish this quickly. I'm sorry." The guy nodded before she nodded at another lady in uniform. 

One lady took Y/N's pictures while the other put a belt on Yuri. He was lost at the moment. What is happening? But Yuri was having fun so he just sat on the couch, staring at the younger girl. "Unnie wanted me to model the clothes she made." Yuta was startled, she made these clothes? "She said she's going to give the clothes to me and they're really pretty." 

Yuri was called to take pictures and he only watched as she posed for the camera as if a real professional. She's so cute. He took his phone to take pictures of her so he can show his mom later. Y/N went out of another door in a shirt and jeans, watching Yuri. "I'm sorry. She saw me and said she wanted to come with me so I asked a bodyguard to look for you." Yuta shook his head. So that was her bodyguard? Heiresses really had it differently. 

"I didn't know you make clothes." 

The girl smiled. "I went abroad to study for it." He remembered her just leaving during their third year of studies in university to go abroad. Yuri skipped to where they were, twirling around. "Are you tired?" 

The younger girl shook her head. "Can I try the pink dress now, unnie?" Y/N had to look at Yuta who only nodded. The younger made a little 'yey' which made him giggled before running to the fitting room followed by one lady. Y/N had to tell another lady to get a white hat with a pink ribbon. 

"I'm really sorry." She whispered. 

Yuta smiled. "Girls." He said with a sigh that made her laugh. He watched as she put a clip on her hair, remembering the one-of-a-kind hair clip Yuri has. "Oh, I asked Yuri to return the hair clip you gave her but I don't think she brought it today. Can I just send it to you later?" 

"What hair clip?" She just forgot a million-dollar clip? When he explained what it was, she only nodded. "That was my gift to Yuri, it's fine." Yuta gave her a pointed look. "Your daughter is very lovable Yuta." She giggled before continuing, "She must have got that from her mom." 

Before Yuta could say another word, the curtains opened and Yuri was grinning in her light pink dress. Y/N kneeled to fix her skirt then took the hat to put it on her head. "This looks so good on you. You're so pretty." She cooed but Yuri held her cheeks that surprised Yuta. "So are you, unnie." Why does he suddenly feel like the third wheel here? 

He was smiling as he watched her pose for the camera, smiling widely. Yuri really loved this. And he loved seeing a new side to her. When she was done, she suddenly complained about being hungry and asking Y/N to come to eat with her and Yuta which made the older girl look at him nervously. "Listen, honey, your dad and I can't be seen in public." 

Yuri looked confused, "Why not?" Yuta had to answer that their dads are rivals and that they hate each other. "Why do they hate each other?" 

Y/N giggled at her endless question. "It's like my dad and Yuta's dad liked the same toy so they always fight to get that toy." Yuta chuckled at her explanation before Yuri's words surprised him, "Why can't they just share the toy?"

Children's minds are really simple, Yuta thought. It's true though, this company rivalry is getting out of hand. And seeing Y/N nodding, answering the younger with a 'They should, shouldn't they?', he realized it shouldn't be this way. "But you can invite her to grandpa's birthday on Saturday," Yuta claimed, which earned a wide-eyed look from Y/N. 

"Yuta, I can't…"

"Mom said we can invite anyone. You're Yuri's friend so it's just right to invite you." He explained but she only sighed. "You made Yuri's dress and you're my guest. I'll send you an invitation, Y/N." 

"I'll wear the dress you made, unnie." Yuri exclaimed. "You don't want to miss it, right?" 

Y/N had to laugh before nodding at her. "You're such an amazing negotiator," She teased the younger girl. "Probably got that from your dad." 

Yuta laughed. She probably did. 

Had fun writing this but I had to cut the fic since the next scenes are kinda dark and heavy. By now, I know you already know what the plot twist is. 🤣 

Second part will be posted first week of August.

Thank you for reading. And please, feedback is highly appreciated. 😁

[avenirdelight]

Accident

Dominic Calvert-Lewin

An accident happens during the match and Dom is responsible for it.

The supporters' groans welcomed Dom's ears as soon as the ball left his foot. He also groaned in frustration because he had just completely missed the shot and the ball had flown somewhere to the front rows of the lower Gwladys Street stand.

Dom hung his head low and shook his head. He had already turned back and walked away when he realised that some of those groans had turned into shouts. Dom looked over his shoulders for a moment, before stopping his steps and turning around again, trying to focus on what people were saying. He saw some stewards rushing in the same direction and it definitely didn't look right.

"What's going on?" Dom asked an approaching Townsend. The winger shrugged and shook his head. He told Dom to get back in his position, but Dom was still curious about what was happening.

All attention was now centred in the first front row of the supporters' stand, just on the left side of the goalpost. People looked panicked and horrified. Dom walked closer towards where the stewards were huddling, some of them looked like they were giving directions to the ones closest to the stand. It seemed like they were trying to get someone out.

A wave of panic suddenly washed over Dom, as his mind came up with a possibility of what might be happening there.

Dom's thick eyebrows knitted when a ball was thrown back from the stands and caught by a ball boy nearby, that must've been the one that had flown.

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he got a clear sight of the person those stewards were helping.

It was a girl. Her face was full of horror.

And there was a thin line of blood trickling down her face.

—

For the last ten minutes of the match, Dom completely lost his focus. Good thing they'd been already two-nil up, so he wouldn't be blaming himself too hard for not scoring more goals. But his mind had left the pitch since the accident happened. All he could think about was the fact that his flying ball had hit a girl right on her head. He felt worse when he remembered how hard he'd actually hit the ball. Even after the final whistle where he congratulated his teammates, thanked the Norwich players and the Everton fans, he still couldn't get the image of her being carried away by the stewards to get the medic's help off his mind.

"Where's the girl? Where is she?" Dom asked Rob, one of the staff members, as soon as he entered the tunnel. The guy knew immediately who he meant and told him that she was in the medic room. "Let me see her," Dom demanded.

They walked down the hall, brushing past every player and staff on their way. Dom wanted to get there as soon as possible, declining everyone who tried to stop him, worried that the girl would have left already before he could see her and say his sorry.

The medic room's door was ajar, and it seemed quiet in there. For a second Dom thought that he was late. But he sighed in relief when he entered the room because the girl was still in there, sitting on the bed. She was looking down, slouching her shoulders, but it wasn't hard for him to notice the huge bandage on her head.

The knock on the door made her raise her head and their eyes immediately met. She looked surprised, but the sorrow in her eyes stayed. Dom's heart clenched when he saw the stain of blood on her shirt.

—

"Hello," Dom announced his arrival. "I'm so sorry for what happened back there. I'm Dominic." He offered his hand. The girl straightened her posture and managed to give him a small smile before shaking his hand and introducing herself.

"This is my friend, Anna," she said as she shifted her gaze to a worried person, a slightly older woman, who was standing beside her.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay?" Dom asked. The worry in his voice was immense, his whole face also said so. "I really am sorry. I feel horrible."

"Please, it's okay. These things happen," she timidly said, shrugging. "I'm okay. Still hurts a little bit, but I'm fine." Her lips twitched into a weak smile.

Dom frowned, clearly not convinced by her answer, especially because of how he could see all the pain in her eyes. And the smile she attempted truly had no soul in it.

She had sat in the front row. Dom's attention had always been on the ball, but he remembered catching a few glimpses of her, he even thought that he remembered her from previous matches. She was always full of expressions, chanting the loudest with a huge proud smile on her face. So seeing her now with barely any energy really made him feel the biggest guilt.

"Hey, I'm taking you to the hospital, yeah?" He said to her, and before she could even respond, he had turned his attention to Rob. "Can you help me to get someone to arrange a car for these ladies, please?" he asked Rob, who nodded his head upon the request. Dom turned her attention again to her who was now looking completely flustered. "I'll quickly shower and get changed, and then we can all go together."

The girl shook her head, probably a little bit too hard because she then slightly paused and winced, before saying, "No, that really wouldn't be necessary. I am sure a little bit of rest is what I need..."

"It's better to be safe than sorry. We need to make sure that you're truly fine. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."

"Really, I'm okay, I—"

"Please, I insist," he said as he carefully took her slightly trembling hand. She fell silent, before looking up to her friend who gave her a little nod. She let out a sigh before agreeing to Dom's proposal.

Dom gave her a warm smile as she squeezed her hand. He was worried that this girl was actually mad at him for doing such a stupid shot that had harmed her. But when she replied his smile with a genuine smile of hers and squeezed his hand back, he felt his worry melting away.

—

It had all happened so suddenly and so fast. She didn't know how no one, not even herself, had managed to stop the flying ball before it hit her forehead. The throbbing pain had registered first, before she felt something wet trickling down her temple and then to her cheeks. She'd heard Anna yelling, "Oh God, you're bleeding!" and everything that had happened after that was a blur.

She'd done several tests at the hospital and been told that she could get the results tomorrow. The doctor had given the confirmation that she was fine and prescribed her some medicines to reduce the pain. She'd been told to rest up and allowed to go home.

At this point, she thought that Dominic Calvert-Lewin was practically an angel. Not only paying for the expense at the hospital and promising to take care of possible future treatments, Dom had also waited for her through all the examinations. He could've asked someone to handle it, but he'd wanted to step in and take care of everything himself. She'd thought that it would've been all, but he had even taken the initiative to take her and Anna home.

So there they were now, standing face to face in front of her house. She was tired and ready to crash on her bed and pass out. But this might be her last few minutes she would spend with Dom, so she tried to endure the dizziness that was creeping back again.

She tried to focus on Dom, who looked unbelievably gorgeous illuminated by the dim light of the porch. It was the first time everything hit, that Dominic Calvert-Lewin, the Everton player, the person Anna and her had always gushed about, was now standing right there in front of her, gazing down at her with his beautiful eyes. His curls were dangling on his foreheads, her heart skipped a beat every time he batted his eyelashes.

"You okay?" Dom asked for a hundredth time tonight. But she knew he was just really worried and she appreciated it.

"Yeah... I just realised how ridiculous I must look right now with this huge bandage in my head," she said, pointing at the bandage that covered almost all of her forehead. This had been her first time meeting Dom and it was embarrassing that she didn't look presentable at all. Luckily they'd given her a new Everton shirt back in the stadium or she would still be wearing the one that had blood all over it.

"No... You look fine. You still look pretty." Dom's voice went deep and it sent shivers down her spine.

She always hated how yellow the lamp on the porch was, even protested to her mum so many times about it because it made her eyes hurt, but now she was thankful that it was yellow, so it could help her conceal the blush on her face right now. She was just starting to function properly and this man was already doing some effects on her. The past three hours had been crazy and she couldn't even think to be nervous, but now she was. She could feel her cheeks getting warm.

"Keep me updated, yeah? Tell me if it gets worse... And tell me if it feels better. You can text me anytime," he continued. She still couldn't believe that he trusted her to have his personal number.

She nodded lightly. "Yeah, I'll update you once I get the results tomorrow."

"Good," he also nodded, and gave her one nervous smile. "Well, actually," he paused, biting his lower lip as if he was unsure of what he was going to say. "Can I have your number?"

Out of all the things Dom had said and done today, this one caught her off guard the most. She just stared back at him with her mouth hanging open a little bit, struggling to process his question, let alone think about an answer. Did she hear the right thing? She wasn't even sure.

"You know, we just got to know each other, and it's such a pleasure for me. It's just such a shame that we hung out in a hospital," he continued, looking and sounding dead serious. "I'd like to see you again. I'd like to take you somewhere nice."

"Is it— Is it because you feel sorry?" She finally found her words, even though she sounded unsure. "Please, Dom, everything that you've done for me tonight is enough, I'm so thankful that you—"

"No, it's not because of that," he cut her off with a small smile on his face. "I think you're a wonderful person and I'd like to know more about you. Well, only if you're okay with that."

She fell silent again. Her brain was working at half the normal speed, and it felt like his words were just floating above her head. And her heart was beating so fast, she could hear it thumping in her ears.

That was when it clicked in her head.

Dom liked her.

She was completely lost for words. She hadn't even processed everything that had happened in the past three hours, so it was a huge struggle for her to process what was happening now. What Dom had just said earlier, did that really mean that Dom liked her and wanted to take her on a date?

She didn't know how many awkward seconds had passed with Dom staring expectantly at her and her staring blankly at him while fidgeting with her fingers. When he cleared his throat, she realised that she needed to respond. But her head was hurting again, she couldn't formulate the words to say.

So what she did was grab her phone from the pocket of her jacket. Dom couldn't see what she was doing and didn't dare to try peeking. It seemed like she was pressing some buttons before she brought her phone to her ear.

Just then, Dom felt his phone vibrate on his pockets. He quickly took it out. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the unknown number that was displayed on his screen. He was about to decline it when his gaze shifted to her, and he saw her looking at him with a smirk on her face.

He connected the two dots: she was calling him. She took the phone off her ear and pressed the red button, and his phone stopped vibrating. Dom's frown instantly turned into a smile as he nodded his head in excitement.

"Thank you," he shyly said and she only replied with a shrug, while she suppressed a smile that was trying so hard to break out. "Well, okay, then. I guess I can go now. I hope you feel better soon," he muttered. "Can I— Can I give you a hug? And— I'm sorry, again, for—"

"Okay, I really need you to stop saying sorry! It's fine! I'm fine," she exclaimed, stepping closer to him. They shared some chuckles, which died down by the time Dom wrapped his arms around her.

They both sighed. None of them felt like they needed to pull back from the hug quickly, because they knew that it had been a long and bloody weird day for both of them. A peaceful rest was definitely needed for them to get their heads clear and process everything that had happened. Today was absolutely one of the craziest matchday. But who knew that an accident could lead into something more.

—

been a while since i wrote for dom! i hope you enjoyed it!☺️❤️

you’re very welcome to leave any comments or give me feedbacks through asks / dms, i’d really appreciate it! thank you!

My Masterlist

[arcturusreads]

Christmas Whiskey Part Two - Merhayes

@merxmac asked for a part two to this fanfic so I hope this doesn't disappoint. Also, if y'all have prompts please send them my way, my dissertation is killing me and I'd love a distraction

Cormac wasn’t surprised when he got home on Christmas Eve to find his boys still awake playing video games and Irene in the kitchen prepping the turkey. He’d managed to draw the boys’ attention from their game long enough to propose the idea of dropping in on Meredith and her family during their walk.

He wasn’t at all surprised at Irene’s eagerness to the suggestion. His sister-in-law had been wanting to meet Meredith since her own visit to the hospital. Once she’d found out that the General Surgeon was out of her coma and back on her feet, she’d kept asking Cormac when they could meet. So far, he had managed to put her off by saying that Meredith was still recovering and that everyone’s schedules at the hospital were still crazy as they came out of the peak of the pandemic. What Cormac had been surprised at was how easily the boys agreed to it, Austin even saying that he was looking forward to it.

***

Christmas morning had passed. By the times the boys had woken up, it was more like afternoon. They’d opened presents, lit a candle for Abigail and the boys messed around with their presents, which included a new set of goalposts in the garden that were a bit studier than the ones that Cormac had put-up when they had first moved there, and a drone. Cormac and Irene spent most of their time in the kitchen sorting out Christmas dinner. Afterwards, they’d all sprawled out around the living room, half comatose, wondering why they decided that a second helping was a good idea.

It was 5pm by the time the four of them had managed to haul themselves out of their seats and change out of their pyjamas. As he shrugged on his jacket, Cormac couldn’t help but feel slightly jittery at the thought of seeing Meredith today. He had texted her that morning to wish her a merry Christmas and ask if they should bring anything over to hers. She’d said that there was no need, they had enough food to last them until the end of January but said she was looking forward to seeing him.

“Mac, you ready?” Irene nudged him with her elbow. “What are you smiling about?” She teased.

Cormac hadn’t even realised that he had been smiling in the first place and quickly replaced his expression with a more neutral one.

“Probably thinking about Dr Grey again,” Liam joined in on the teasing as Austin made kissy faces behind his brother.

“You know it’s not too late for me to take those drones back.” Cormac threw an arm over each of his sons’ shoulders and began walking towards the door.

***

There was a large park that happened to be smack in the middle of the route between Cormac Meredith’s houses. After taking a long walk around it and having a kick about with the football the boys had bought with them. They began to make their way to Meredith’s.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have brought anything with us?” Irene asked him for the 20th time as Meredith’s home came into view.

“We’re bringing Da, I’m sure that will be more than enough.”

Cormac groaned, a red flush crawling up his neck. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his family. “Can I trust you all to behave when we go in there?” He was praying that they wouldn’t make any comments in front of Meredith, or he would be mortified.

“I’ll have you know that me and my nephews are the best-behaved people you know.” The smirk on their three faces told him otherwise and he shook his head and he began walking again.

“Heathens, the lot of you. Don’t know why I put up with it.”

He was responded to with snickers and rolled his eyes. As the Hayes family walked up to Meredith’s door, Cormac cursed at the butterflies in his stomach. Damnit, he was a grown man with two teenagers. He should be past this stage of feeling nervous about seeing a woman. It wasn’t like this was a date. She’d invited him over as a friend, their kids were going to be there.

Cormac continued trying to convince himself of this as he knocked the door. It didn’t work though because the moment Meredith opened the door to his family an entire zoo erupted in his stomach. She wasn’t dressed up to the nines, in matching white loungewear and hair half pulled up but it was the flush on her cheeks that caused a wave of feeling to wash over Cormac. The grin on her face, the glint in her eyes and the ease of her shoulders. She was radiant.

“Hey, sorry it took a while to get to the door. We’re used to people just walking in and out. Come in!” She ushered, Cormac, his boys and Irene into her home.

Before Cormac was able to say anything, Irene stepped forward with a grin on her face. “Meredith, I have to say it’s nice to finally meet the woman behind the name. I’m Irene, Mac’s sister-in-law.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Irene. Sorry we couldn’t meet sooner.”

Irene waved off the apology, “I hear you were a bit tied up, so no worries. Thank you so much for inviting us to your home.”

“I have an open-door policy at this house, you guys are always free to drop in if you need anything. Most people do. Austin, Liam, feel free to hang your coats up. You guys have a good Christmas?””

Mer turned to the boys who were slightly surprised that she had managed to identify them both correctly. They’d only met two or three times and they hadn’t even expected the surgeon to have paid much attention to them.

The boys nodded and launched into how their Christmas had gone so far. Cormac couldn’t believe with how much ease and comfort the boys spoke to Meredith. Sometimes he found it hard to get two words out of them when he got home from work.

Meredith began to herd the four of them into the living room where everyone else was lounging around. Cormac realised he hadn’t actually said anything to Meredith since he had gotten there, he reached out and gently grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards him.

“Hey?” Meredith looked at him, slightly confused.

Cormac quickly let go of her arm, “Uh, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Just wanted to say Merry Christmas.”

“The same thing you text me this morning?” Meredith teased, arching a brow. “Merry Christmas to you too, Hayes” She grinned at him, seeing him slightly bashful was a new thing. Cormac was usually a lot surer of himself.

“Come on, let’s head in.”

Meredith found that there was no need to make any introductions to the kids. Austin and Liam and sat on the floor with them, which was covered with blankets and cushions. Liam had started to chat with Zola and Bailey whilst Austin was taking a keen interest as Ellis showed him what she had gotten for Christmas.

As Cormac said hello to the other surgeons in the room, Meredith headed into the kitchen and began to heat the milk to make the hot chocolate. Whilst she was never going to be the next MasterChef, hot chocolate was one thing that she could manage.

Stirring the pan of milk, Meredith looked out onto the living room. Seeing the way both Cormac and Irene had settled into conversation with everyone else. Seeing both her and Cormac’s kids getting along so easily. A feeling passed over her that she had not felt in a very long time. Not since Derek had been alive.

She’d always felt at home here, a sense of belonging but now there was a feeling of completion within her. There was nothing missing, her heart didn’t feel as though it was yearning for anything. It was like something had just clicked into place.

“Can I help you out?”

Meredith had even seen Irene approach her, “You’re our guest! Go and relax.”

“You wouldn’t let us bring anything, the least I can do is help you with the hot chocolate. Where can I find the mugs?”

Knowing that Irene wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Meredith directed her towards mugs. “They’re in the cupboard to the left of the sink.”

“You know, I haven’t seen Mac like this since before my sister died,” Irene placed all the mugs on the counter next to the stove and began to spoon the cocoa powder in there. “When he first moved back to the states, I was excited to have him and the boys here but he wasn’t himself. Not that I was expecting him to be after everything he’s been through.”

Irene sighed, placed the spoon on the counter and turned to face Meredith. “Ever since he told me that you were awake again and leaving the hospital, there’s more light in his eyes. He’s more playful, like he was before. His tread isn’t so heavy anymore.”

“I, uh,” Meredith wasn’t quite sure what to say. She knew that things had changed between her and Cormac, but she didn’t think that any of the changes that Irene had mentioned were down to her. “I mean, work has gotten a lot more manageable lately with the Covid numbers going down so that’s probably helping.”

Chuckling, Irene began to stir the hot chocolate and Meredith poured milk into the mugs. “We both know that isn’t true. My brother-in-law has started to fall hard for you, Meredith. I just don’t want to see him hurt if you don’t feel the same way but from the way you’ve been looking at him, I’m going to guess that you do.”

With that she picked up two mugs and walked into the living room with them. Meredith stood, mouth agape as she watched Irene walk away. Her own sisters had only danced around the topic about Cormac and her, teasing her and making the odd comment when they were seen together. They definitely had not been as forthright as Irene had just been with her.

“Momma! Hot cocoa time!” Ellis’ voiced pulled Meredith out of her thoughts as she took as many mugs as she could carry into the living room.

Eventually there were only two mugs left and as Meredith made her last trip from the kitchen, there was only one person, other than herself left without a mug.

“Hot chocolate?” Meredith offered the mug to Cormac who took it gratefully, their finger brushing against each other.

“Thanks, Grey.”

Looking around for a place to sit, Meredith found that the only place left was next to Cormac on the two-seater.

“Do you mind?” She asked, motioning to the seat next to him with her head.

“That you sit on your sofa in your house?” The glint in his eye made simultaneously made Meredith’s stomach flip and made her want to punch him

“I don’t know why I bothered asking…” Meredith muttered under her breath, but Cormac managed to hear and laughed.

From the other side of the room, Irene kept an eye on them the entire night. Now 100% sure that Meredith Grey did feel the same way about Cormac and come hell or high water, she was going to make sure that they both did something about it.

[bellasweetwriting]

football and foreing films

spencer reid x reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

plot: football is your thing, and since the start of the season you’ve had invited the team to watch the games every Sunday. After being absence a few times due to the reason of not liking sports, Spencer makes his first appearence at your place one night

warnings: football talk, language, kissing, incredibly cute spencer, too much fluff

note: I thought of writing this since it’s the beginning of the football season and I love football so enjoy !!

word count: 4k

Y/N loves football in a way that Spencer couldn't describe as usual for an FBI agent. Screw that, for a person.

  As a Kansas City native, your team was obviously the Kansas City Chiefs. And since every member of the BAU had their thing that described him best, you made clear that yours was football.

You would invite the BAU to your small and cosy Virginia apartment to watch the games. Nobody besides JJ liked football as much as you did, and even JJ considered you a die-hard fan because you were. You were a die-hard football fan.

"Hey, Morgan!" You exclaimed opening the door. "Is that beer? 'Gimme!" You yelled, grabbing the cases. If Morgan wasn't fast enough, you would have close the door in his face. "The beer came with Morgan!" You exclaimed, making Hotch and Emily stand up from the couch and grab some. "You could have bought colder ones, though."

"You really get grumpy in football season, Y/N," he mumbled, grabbing one of the cans and jumping into the couch next to Rossi. The elder of the group was sipping from his glass of wine. He was staring at the TV as the fans were filling the stadium. "You don't want a beer, Rossi?"

"No, I don't want beer, Morgan," he replied, making the man laugh. "I don't get why you get all excited by these games, Y/N," he told you as you sat down on the floor, opening the beer and drinking. You were wearing your Chiefs jersey and looking anxiously at the TV. 

"Hey, I have to be in your six-hour-long cooking lesson every Friday without having any cooking talent. You can at least hang out with me for three hours on Sunday." Football got you on defensive mode, and you always had to be like that to feel respected in the team.

You've been in the BAU for at least eight months now, and you've become closer to practically everyone. Now, they even give you their Sundays. Hotch sometimes comes with Jack, and he stays playing in your apartment office while you watch the game. The team was your family now... well, everyone except one.

You had nothing in common with the young doctor who's desk was in front of yours. You've had invited him to watch every football game since the beginning of the season with you, but he has never said yes. He is, or busy, or he simply likes to stay home and talk to his online friends about philosophy. You had no idea what Reid fancied to do in his free time, and honestly, you tossed your curiosity aside a long time ago.

The doorbell rang, making you get up from the floor quickly since you didn't want to miss the beginning of the game.

You walk backwards as your sight was focused on the screen. You looked over to your friends and did a headcount to see who was at the door. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Hotch and JJ were there, so it could only mean that...

"Beautiful lady," you said as you opened the door to welcome Penelope Garcia as she held a box of cookies. "Are those Chiefs themed cookies?" You questioned as you looked at the cookies with red and yellow decoration. "That is so sweet."

"Anything for an important game. And guess who I found wandering through the hallway looking for your apartment."

That's when Spencer Reid appeared in your door frame. His hair was all messy, letting a single curl bounce against his forehead. He was wearing a shirt and a cardigan, definitely not appropriate football attire. You let a little smile as you saw him, being surprised to even see him there.

Penelope let himself in being welcomed by the rest of the team. While she sat down, you were still staring at the young doctor, who seemed even more surprise to be there than you were.

"Hey," you said softly.

"Hey," he replied in the same tone, giving you a tiny smile.

"You brought wine," you pointed out. Spencer quickly remembered he had a bottle in his hand and gave it to you nervously. "Thanks."

"JJ told me that your team is red, so I tried to match a little," he let you know, showing you his red cardigan. You chuckled. "Can I come in?"

"Huh? Oh sure! Come in." He smiled before entering, being received with a smile from the rest of the team.

"Look who's here!" Exclaimed Emily.

"Pretty boy!" Yelled Morgan. "You'll have to sit on the floor, though."

"It's okay," the doctor murmured as he sat down, turning around to look at you walking towards them.

Suddenly, you felt uncomfortable in your outfit. You felt the need of changing. It wasn't your best look. 

You had no idea why you thought of changing into your pretty tight black dress that minute but decided to ignore it and sit down next to Spencer on the floor, on your usual spot.

Not that your usual spot was next to Reid, you always sat in the floor. It was not on purpose.

This is your house, for God's sake, chill out.

"Hey, Rossi, the doctor brought you wine," you said, giving the bottle to Rossi, who smiled.

Spencer whispered to you.

"You don't drink wine? I didn't know."

"Oh no, I do, I love wine. But on football night, we drink beer." You grabbed one bottle and gave it to Spencer with a smile. He just held on to it, not making any movement towards opening it. "Oh my God, the game is starting." 

Suddenly, all your mind was on the game. You didn't care that Spencer was too close to you, or that you were the only two one in the floor. 

You celebrated every yard your team advanced. Every pass that Patrick Mahomes did you were there to scream and cheer for it, and Spencer didn't get it, so you explained it to him.

"The goal is to get to the other side," you whispered to his ear. "Each team has four tries to move forward ten yards, and the defence of the other team needs to prevent the rival offence team of running the 10 yards in the four attempts because then it is their turn to attack." Spencer nodded. Even though you were terrible at explaining the game due to the alcohol and adrenaline running through your system, he now understood the game more clearly. "When the ball gets to the endzone on the other side of the field, it's called a touchdown, that equivalents to six points. After the touchdown, you can either go for a field goal, that is to kick the ball between the goalposts, or you can go for a two-point conversion, which is riskier."

"Got it," he whispered to you. "And why do you like the game so much?"

"It's so organized." He looked at you strangely. "You can't see it?" He shook his head. "There are at least sixty different offensive formations and plays, each one of them with different outcomes. The players have to move according to the positions of their teammates. You can't see it, but each one of the men that are on the line is crucial to get the ball to the other side. If you remove one of them, all the tactic, all the play, falls apart. There is no one play similar to the other, and they have to be able to change quickly if something doesn't go as planned or if the rival team reads your game. There is no game equal to another. There are thousands of different possibilities."

"Like chess," he said, and you nodded.

"Yeah, something like chess." You pointed out the player number 15 the quarterback. "That is the most valuable player on the board. He is the one in charge to change the play in seconds when something changes. If his left receptor is not in his position or was taken down by the rival, he needs, by any source, to pass the ball. He can't be taken down with the ball in hand because it adds yards."

Spencer was impressed. This was the most long-running conversation you both have ever had since you'd met. 

He stared at you as you watched the game. How your expressions would change beneath seconds. The sport was a lot faster than he had expected, but time didn't go quick as he looked at you. It was like slow-motion. He had time to pay attention to the details.

He didn't realize he had been staring for at least five minutes until you stood up screaming.

"That was a clear fault!" You yelled, receiving complainings from your friends as you were blocking the screen. "For God's sake, where the hell is the referee? That was a fault! Get him out of the field!"

"He was lumping anyways," said Emily, receiving an angry look from the rest, including Spencer. "Sorry."

You sat down again, watching the rest of the third quarter in silence, still upset about that obvious fault of the rival team against the left receptor.

Spencer offered you the beer that he hadn't drink since the beginning, surprising you. You gave him a tiny smile, grabbing the bottle and opening it by hitting the cap against the table. 

"You get in a whole new personality while watching football," he commented, making you laugh.

The ads gave an end to the third quarter, and you stood up quickly, walking towards the kitchen at fast speed. Spencer watched you as you ran away, being followed by JJ and Garcia.

"So," whispered JJ to you while Garcia took off her red and yellow headband and left it on the counter, "what's up with you and Spence?"

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't think we didn't notice how you've been whispering to his ear sensually all night?" Questioned Garcia, making you open your eyes widely.

"Woah, Woah, sensually?" You asked, finishing to drink your beer. "No, no, I was explaining the game to him."

"Right, right," said JJ slowly, clearly not believing you. "Sure, mhm."

"Guys, nothing is going on between the doctor and me. I'm actually surprised he even showed up." 

"What do you mean?" Interrogated Garcia as you place the empty bottle next to the other ones.

"The doctor and I are friends, like us right now. Don't try to read between the lines that don't even exist."

"How come you never call him by his name? Or last name?"

You stared at JJ, confused, as you chew one of Garcia's cookies.

"What?"

"Yeah, that's right," agreed Garcia. "You only call Reid "the doctor" like he was Frankenstein or something. I had never noticed before."

You hadn't either.

"I don't know," you replied. "Some of my middle school Doctor Who obsessed personality is still there, who cares? It means nothing."

"I don't know," said JJ innocently, "sounds to me like a nickname."

"It is not a nickname, it's called a PhD, and he has three of them. Now, I'm gonna continue to watch my game. Please, don't ruin that for me too."

You avoided any of their theories for the rest of the night. You sat down next to Spencer again, but this time, you laid a farther away from him. Not so much as to be noticeable for the rest, but both of you could clearly feel it.

The Chiefs won that night, but you weren't as happy as usual. The voices of JJ and Garcia were still rumbling in your head. Was it possible that you were sensually whispering to his ear?

What on Earth did you just think?

"Bye guys, see you tomorrow," you said to your friends as they started leaving your apartment. "I called you an Uber, Prentiss, please don't drive!" You exclaimed to your friend with a smile. "Bye!"

"A good wine is a kiss to the palate," you heard Rossi explain to Reid. The older of the team was clearly drunk, trying to teach the doctor about wine at 1 am while Spencer was clearly not interested in the talk. "And you, my friend, are a good kisser."

You couldn't help but laugh when you saw the young guy's reaction to that phrase coming from drunk Rossi. The man kissed both of your cheeks, rambled something in Italian and left your apartment, holding the empty bottle of wine that Reid brought.

You two were the only ones left, and it was like it was made on purpose. You questioned if JJ and Garcia said something to your friends, but you were too drunk and tired to be speculating, so you just let it slide.

"It was fun," said Reid, cutting the silence that was left between both of you. "Kinda makes me regret not coming the last three weeks."

"Well, football season is long; you always have time to repair for your absence," you comforted him, walking towards the living room and collecting the empty bottles Morgan and Emily left. "I told you it was fun, doctor."

"Yeah, it was," he agreed, helping you leave the empty plates in the sink.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll do it tomorrow," you said, but he continued. You gave up and let him. "Although you'll have to buy an actual red t-shirt for next time. Weren't you uncomfortable all night with that shirt?"

"Nah, I'm used to it," he replied, smiling a little. "Hey, Y/N." You look at him. "There is this... there's this... there is this representation of The Rules of the Game, next Friday."

"I've never seen it."

"It is a French satirical comedy-drama film" he started to rant, making you smile unconsciously. "It is directed by Jean Renoir. Though this tale of the idle rich in France is technically a country-estate farce, it's far more than a mere satire of upper-crust affectations. Under the guise of mocking the bourgeoisie as they negotiate romantic minefields, he had also delivered a cunning commentary on old-world Europe; a heart cry at the hypocrisy of class pretensions; and finally, a rich, rewarding work of art that's equal parts irony and sympathy. "

"Sounds great," you pointed out, and he nodded, like if that was the whole point of his presentation.

"Exactly. This movie rewrote the rules of cinema entirely." He sounded so excited about it like he was quoting it accurately from the textbook. Well, everything he said seemed like quoted from an article. "It's also in French and made in 1939, so you could guess I'm going alone."

And now, you understood why he was telling you all of these. He wanted you to go with him. He wanted for both of you to go and watch the film with him.

"Well, I can go with you if you want." He immediately smiled after you said those words, "but I don't know any French, so it better have subtitles." He nodded, excited. That reaction made you wonder how many times has he had to go alone to this kind of things.

"If you like it, we can also go to watch M. It's the first serial killer movie where the killer is actually portrayed as a victim. It also makes political references to World War II since it was made at the beginning of the war."

"Okay, doctor, one movie at a time." He noticed he got too excited. "After work on Friday, we will go to see your movie."

"Thanks, Y/N. See you tomorrow at the office."

"See you tomorrow, doc." He stepped outside, and you slowly closed the door, looking at him wave you goodbye.

This wasn't a date. The doctor just watched three hours of football, and you were repaying him with a favour. Not a date.

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

"Are you ready for your nerdy date tonight, pretty lady?" Asked Morgan, making you throw a pen at him. "Don't get violent, princess, save it for the passionate make out."

"Shut up."

Morgan quickly became your best friend in the team, and you know he would take a bullet for you presented the case.

Sometimes you wished the bullet would come quicker.

Like now, when he was making kissing noises in your ear as you tried to finish your paperwork.

"Don't you have work to do!?" You angrily exclaimed while he found it hilarious. "It's impossible that you finished your paperwork already."

"What are you going to wear? A sexy Doctor Who costume? Or a cardigan and no shirt?"

"Have anyone tell you not to mess with a woman that carries a gun?" He laughed. "And it's not a date. He sat down and watched three hours of football for me, I'm repaying the favor by watching one of his films. Have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, princess, but knowing that those movies don't necessarily have a killing audience, you and pretty boy will be all alone in the theatre tonight."

You rolled your eyes, looking for something else on your desk to throw at him, but not finding something sharp enough.

"Hotch confiscated your scissors when you tried to stab me with them two weeks ago," he reminded you as he laughed, making you angrier.

"At least you know I'm capable of doing it," you said to him.

Reid appeared ready at your desk, receiving a tiny smile from your part.

"You ready?" You nodded, grabbing your purse, your badge and gun. You walked away not before giving Morgan a threatening look, leaving to the elevator with the doctor. "Oh, I found out the movie does not have subtitles, but I can translate you most of it. I've been practising my French."

You smiled at him. This was going to be a long night.

You were scared that the only thing that was in your mind was Morgan's lousy comment about the empty theatre.

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

"Okay, so I bought popcorn, sodas and some candy," you said, giving him his stuff, which he grabbed with lack of ability. "Also, this guy sells pins with the poster of the movie on them. I got one for you," you grabbed his shirt and pinned the button to it, making him blush, "and one for me." You pinned the button to your blouse, smiling. "Look, we look like well-prepared film enthusiasts. We rock."

He laughed, walking you towards the entrance of the theatre. You hadn't realized how nervous you were. This wasn't a date, but what if it was? It looked like a date, you were wearing something you would wear on a date. You even grabbed him by the shirt and pinned a button on his shirt.

It didn't sound as sexy as you were making it sound, but it was definitely something.

You both sat down on your seats, looking at the white screen waiting to be projected on. Your palms were a little bit sweaty, and you were envying your company for being so calm.

"So, doctor," you called him, and he raised his eyebrows. " Have you ever brought a girl to watch a foreign movie before?"

Well, what kind of idiotic comment was that? "Have you ever brought a girl...?" What answer were you searching for?

"Uhm, no. You are the first," he said nervously.

That was a valid answer.

Not a date.

"Hey, so, am I expecting you at my place on Sunday?" You watched him as he almost choked on his drink.

"What?"

"Football night. Sunday's game is crucial. Morgan even rambled about the idea of bets, but I don't take chances, you know?" He nodded. "Do you like bets?"

"Not when I can't be sure that I'm going to win." You laughed.

"Right. You always go save, Vegas." He chuckled, but before he said something, the movie started.

You saw him as he accommodated closer to you, and before you could move, you remembered that the movie didn't have subtitles.

He had to whisper the movie to you.

Like you did with the football game.

Garcia's voice as she mentioned the "sensual whisper" came to your mind. Thanks, Garcia, real thanks.

The man on the film started talking, and you could feel Spencer's soft voice near to your ear as he whispered the words in English.

At some point, you didn't even listen to what he was saying, you just worried about the feeling of his soft breathing crashing with your ear and neck. How he sounded so calm, translating each word with delicacy, making regular English sound as poesy in your ears.

After a few minutes of being guided by his voice, you turned around to look at him. Your noses were almost touching each other, and your breaths were crashing onto the other's skin. You liked the feeling.

Ugh, you hated when Morgan was right.

"Spencer..." you murmured his name for the first time. You've never called him like that before, not even in the field. He didn't know how his name sounded in your lips, and now that he knew, it was his favourite sound in the world.

And without saying something else, Spencer Reid leaned in, closing the distance between the two of you and impacting his lips into yours.

If all the striking and fantabulous feelings you've ever experienced in your life would morph together in one action, would be kissing Spencer Reid. Kissing him felt like finishing a book that you read all night or drinking a cup of tea on a cold day. His lips tasted like how eating feels after spending hours of hunger or like strawberries with chocolate under the sun with friends. He smelled like flowers on spring and the fragrance of an antique store in Greece.

You have never been to Greece, but he smelled like that, you just knew.

What you didn't know is for how long you didn't let him go. One second the lights were dark and the sound of a French man's accent is playing loudly, and next, the lights turned on, and the music of the credits filled the theatre, making both of you break apart.

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

"Finally, beer, I've been waiting for you," you said to the cases that were on your best friend's hands. "Damn, you brought Morgan again. You could've left him. He's a big boy, he can take it."

"Would you stop talking to the beer? It's weird," claimed Morgan, giving you a loud kiss on your cheek before entering. "Hey, you never told me how the date went."

"See? This is why I tell the beer not to bring you; you are so annoying." You grabbed one of the bottles and gave it to him, pushing him towards the living room.

The doorbell rang again, making you turn around. You quickly opened the door, looking at JJ, Garcia and the doctor standing outside your apartment. You immediately smiled at the sight of Spencer behind the girls.

"Welcome to the best night of the week, ladies and gentlemen. Cookies and food on the kitchen, the rest of the annoying people are in the living room looking at the TV like zombies," you told with a smile, letting them in.

JJ and Garcia quickly walked towards the kitchen, while Spencer stayed next to you in front of the door.

"Hey," he mumbled to you, making you smile even more.

"Hey," you repeated as he kissed your cheek.

You decided to give it a chance, but for any motive, you were going to tell the team. You determined that it was best to see if it works before hoping the team, especially Garcia and JJ.

"I brought wine again," he said, showing you the bottle, and you smiled, "and I was thinking if we could drink it after the game, you know, both of us."

"That sounds so nice, Doc, but next time tell me because I'm in my third beer." He laughed. "You can drink it with Rossi if you like."

"I really need to get used to football mode."

"Yeah, you should." 

You grabbed the bottle of wine after winking at him, walking towards the living room where the rest of the team was.

"The doctor brought wine again, Rossi." The man smiled, grabbing the bottle.

"I hope you listened to my suggestions from last week, Reid," he said, and Spencer nodded.

"You bet I did."

Both of you sat on the floor like last time, and you proceeded to explain the game to him to his ear, even though he already understood it.

[writingwithcolor]

Mixing North America with Old World Cultures in Fantasy: What Are The Issues?

So I sent in an ask several years ago that, due in no small part to your response, I have grown from and eventually led to a complete restructuring of my story. I included a measure of context in this, so if you need to skip it, my main three questions are at the bottom. I think this mostly applies to Mod Lesya.

The new setting is both inspired by and based on North America in the late 1400s where the indigenous cultures thrive and are major powers on the continent. Since there is no “Europe” in this setting the colonization and plague events never happened. Within the continent itself (since it is a fantasy setting) there are also analogous cultures that resemble Norse, Central European, Persian, Arabic, Indian, and Bengali. Although not native to the fantasy continent, there is also a high population of ‘African’ and ‘Oceanic’ peoples of many cultures, the latter usually limited to coastal cities as traders and sailors. Elves are entirely not-human, or at least evolved parallel to humans ala Neanderthals/Denisovans; they have green blood, black sclera, and skin tones that run from pale to dark. 

The main national setting of the story takes great inspiration from a Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian background, and the neighboring nations are based on the Haudenosee (Iriquois Confederacy), Numunuu (Comancheria), and the Hopi and Zuni (as the descendants of the Ancestral Puebloans) (I also know that 2 of these 3 occur much later than the 1400s, but I love the government systems and they provide excellent narrative foils for the more ‘traditional’ fantasy government that takes place in the story). The Maya inhabit the role analogous to Ancient Greece in that most writing systems on the continent descend from Maya script and all the Great Philosophers were Maya (and nobility from across the continent spend lots of money to send their children to schools in the Maya City-States or in the Triple Alliance (Aztec Empire)). There is magic with varying traditions, practices, and methods spread across the continent, some of which are kept secret from outsiders, so I would hope that this avoids the “Magical Native” trope. 

Beyond the setting, I have three main questions:

When it comes to foodstuffs, I was originally planning to limit myself to Pre-Columbian cuisine from the Americas (eg the Three Sisters and potatoes) but in doing my research, Navajo fry-bread seems to be a fairly integral part of the food culture and that does require flour, which originated in the Old World. Would it be better to incorporate some of the Old World stuff that has since become traditional to indigenous groups?

For place names used in the setting and writing systems would it be better to use existing languages or writing systems or ones inspired by them? EG should I make a language that is very similar to Cherokee, complete with its own syllabary, or should I use IRL Cherokee and its extant syllabary? I ask because I feel like using the real language might step on some toes, but using the conlang might seem like erasure.

One of the main themes of this story is the harm that even a ‘benevolent’ Empire can wreak on people. The Byzantine/Turkish/Mississippian culture is the main Empire on the continent, taking cues from both western and American monarchical systems (eg the Triple Alliance (Aztec) and The Four Regions (the Inca Empire)), but when I think about it having any kind of even vaguely western ‘Empire’ spring up from the soil of a North American inspired setting might be troubling.

Thank you for your time and consideration! Do you guys have a kofi or something so I can compensate you for time spent?

I actually do remember you, and I am going to 99% disregard your questions here because you went from glaringly obvious racism to covert racism, and none of your questions ask if your basic strings of logic for assumptions you built into the setting are okay. 

Since there is some extremely flawed basic logic in here, I’m going to tackle that first.

Question 1: Why did you originally title this “Pre Colombian North American Fantasy World” when you have more old world cultures than new world cultures?

A very simple, straightforward question. The actual content of the setting is what made me retitle it.

If you want to write a North American fantasy setting… why are there so many old world cultures represented here? 

Old world: - Greece (as a societal myth; see next point) - Byzantine - Turkey - Norse - Central European - Persian - Arabic - Indian - Bengali - African (which, let’s be honest, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples) - Oceana (which, again, should be heavily broken up into multiple peoples)

New world: - Mississippian - Iroquois  - Numunuu - Hopi - Zuni - Maya - Aztec - Inca (maybe? not mentioned as having their own place on the continent, but one of your questions mentions them) - Navajo (maybe? See above)

To account for respecting Africa and Oceana, I’m going to make African cultures count as 3 and Oceanic cultures count as 5, and this is a purposeful lowball.

Old World: 17 New World: 9

It’s a giant discrepancy, especially if your attempt is writing an exclusively New World fantasy. And this is bare minimum old world, considering the fact I tried to limit myself to peoples who would be more likely to interact with the heavy Mediterranean/Alexander the Great’s Empire centricity. 

Question 2: Why does there have to be a Greece analogue?

I haven’t spoken about this topic at length on this blog, but Greek worship in the Western world is a very carefully crafted white supremacy based mythos that was created to prop up European “Excellence” and actually erases the reality of Greece as a peoples.

Cultural evolutionism is a theory that states the (assumed-white-European) Greeks were superior because of their philosophy, their abstract art, and their mathematics. When many of these concepts were refined in Egypt (African, aka Black), or the Arab world (aka brown), but white Europeans did not want to admit any of this so they instead painted everything as coming out of their ideas of Greece lock stock and barrel. 

The theory also ignored Iroquois science, Plains and Southwestern abstract art, and generally everything about North America, because the theory was designed to move the goalposts and paint North America as something it wasn’t, just to make Europeans feel okay taking it over and “bringing it to civilization.”

This theory was still taught in force up until the 1970s, and is still a major school of anthropological thought to this day (and still taught in some universities), so it is still very much influencing the Western world.

While the theory itself is only from the 1800s, it had long-growing roots in white/ noble Europe’s attempt to prop up European “Excellence” during its multiple periods of colonization, from the Crusades, onwards. You can see it in the copious amount of art produced during the Renaissance.

Europeans ignored the sheer amount of settling and travel that happened within Greece and Rome, and you’ll notice how many Renaissance paintings depict Greek philosophers as white, teaching other white people. In reality, we have no idea what their skin tone was, and they could have taught a huge variety of different skin tones. But it was appealing to European nobility to have people like them be the founders of all things great and “advanced”, so they invested huge amounts of time and money in creating this myth.

(Note: I said their nobility, not their population. People of colour existed en masse in Europe, but the nobility has been downplaying that for an exceptionally long time)

Greece took over most of the old world. It borrowed and stole from hundreds of cultures, brought it all back, and was assigned credit for it. White Europeans didn’t want to admit that the concept of 0 came from the Arabs, the pythagorean theorem came from Egypt, etc, and since Greece won, detailed records of how they were perceived and what they stole are long lost. It’s only glaring when they took from other global powers.

Question 3: Why would you pick totally different biomes to mix in here?

Turkey and the Mississippi are very, very different places when it comes to what can grow and what sort of housing is required, which makes them on the difficult side to merge together. They relied on different methods of trade, as well (boats vs roads), and generally just don’t line up.

The fact you pick such a specific European powerhouse—the Byzantine Empire—to mix into your “not European” fantasy world is… coming back to my above point about Greek (and Roman) worship in the West. Why can’t a fantasy world set in North America be enough on its own? Why does it need Europe copycats?

Question 4: Why are you missing a variety of nomads and Plains peoples?

Nomadic plains peoples were a thing across the globe, from the Cree to the Blackfoot to the Mongols. You have hyperfocused on settled peoples (with only one nomadic group named in both new and old world), which… comes across as very odd to me, because it is, again, very European sounding. That continent was about the only one without major populations that were nomadic, and if you look at European history, nomadic peoples were very highly demonized because of the aforementioned Mongols. 

Cultural evolutionism also absolutely hated nomadic peoples, which is where we get the term “savage” (hunter-gatherers, nomads) and “barbarian” (horticulturalists and pastoralists, the latter nomadic); these were “lesser cultures” that needed to settle down and be brought to “civilization” (European agriculture), and nothing good could ever come out of them.

Meanwhile, in North America, nomadic peoples took up a very large portion of landmass, produced a huge amount of culture and cultural diffusion, and mostly ignoring them while trying to create a “fantasy North America” is, well, like I said: odd. 

General Discussion Points

My suggestion for you is to write a fantasy Mediterranean region. Completely serious, here.

With the kinds of dynamics you are attracted to—the empires, the continental powers, the fact you keep trying to make Europe analogues in North America—you will do a much, much more respectful job by going into a really richly researched Mediterranean fantasy world than attempting to mix Europe and North America together in ways that show European traits (settled peoples, agriculture, a single empire dominating the whole culture and being viewed as superior) as the default.

I legitimately cannot see anything in here that feels like it comes from North America, or at the very least, treats non-sensationalized peoples (aka, those outside the Maya and Mississippian region) with respect. 

It falls into Maya worship, which is a very sensationalized topic and is fuelled by racist fascination, assuming no Indigenous peoples could be that smart. 

It falls into settled peoples worship, which is something that has cultural evolutionism roots because under such a model only settled peoples with agriculture are “civilized.”

It falls into placing Western concepts (public schools, large cities, the ilk) as the ideal, better solution, compared to methods better suited to horticulturalists, pastoralists, and hunter-gatherers and letting those teaching methods be respected.

There is no shame in writing inside Europe

The Mediterranean region contains Indigenous peoples, contains a huge diversity of skin tones, contains empires, contains democracy/a variety of governments, and in general contains every aspect of what you’re trying to create without playing god with a continent that did not evolve the way you’re trying to make it. 

A Mediterranean fantasy world would still be a departure from “fantasy world 35″ as I like to call it, because it would be different from the vaguely Germanic/ French/ Norse fantasy worlds that are Tolkien ripoffs. You can dig beyond the whitewashed historical revisions and write something that actually reflects the region, and get all the fun conflicts you want.

You don’t need to go creating a European/North American blend to “be diverse.” You can perfectly respectfully write inside Europe and have as much variety in peoples as you can write in a non-European setting. Europe is not the antithesis to diversity.

North America developed a certain way for a reason. It had the required fauna, space, resources, and climate to produce what it created. The old world developed a certain way for its own reasons, based off its own factors in the same categories.

You’re not really going to get them to blend very easily, and if you did, the fact there is such a strong European way-of-life preference (by picking places that mirror European society on the surface) makes me raise an eyebrow. It’s subtle, but very much there, and the fact you are ignorant to it shows me you still need to do more work before you go writing North American Indigenous Peoples.

Writing in Europe isn’t the problem, here. Writing a whitewashed, mythologized, everyone-not-white-is-a-caricature, ahistorical “Europe” is the problem. And you cannot fix this problem by simply painting European ways of life a different skin tone when the setting isn’t European. In fact, you’re perpetuating harm by doing that, because you are recreating the cultural evolutionism that calls anything you can find in Europe “better.” Indigenous cultures were vastly different from Europe, even if they shared similar trappings. 

Let North America exist without trying to shoehorn its most famous peoples into European analogues.

~ Mod Lesya

[4haechie]

cliché

summary: he doesn’t care if it seems cliché, donghyuck really wants to run into your arms after winning the game.

pairing: soccer player!lee donghyuck x reader

genre: fluff, high school au

words: 1,882

warnings: swearing, that’s all

a/n: this is for the one (1) anon who requested for a part 2 to this drabble :D thank u sm i hope u like it! also, i should’ve thought this through bc i don’t know the first thing about soccer. enjoy!

“y/n, wait up!”

you’re making your way to the stands when mark calls out to you from behind. you turn on your heel and face him, annoyed, “what is it?” you don’t mean to sound rude, but you don’t want to miss a single second of the game.

“i have the perfect plan–”

“i don’t wanna hear it!” you know exactly what he was planning on telling you, but you don’t give him the chance. you quickly pass the food stalls on the ground floor, climb the steps of the stands, and take your seat. you plop your bag on the seat to your left to save one for mark–he’s annoying and a slowpoke, yeah, but he’s your best friend.

the announcer states the game will be starting soon; you don’t know why your heart is beating so fast, it’s not like you’re playing. you’re only watching the boy you like play. no big deal.

you hope his team wins. you also hope he’ll come up in the stands after winning to say hi and perhaps more. the rapid beating of your heart returns as the crowd goes wild when the announcer starts reading out the players’ names.

/

lee donghyuck is amazing at soccer. he’s been playing the sport since he was young. he’s good at it, the captain of the school’s team, and never fails to bring his team victory.

he’s played about a million and one games before. why is he so nervous about this one?

oh, yeah. it’s because he invited you to watch the game a few days ago. you, who’s been his crush for as long as he can remember. you, who has no clue he’s crushing on you.

“game starts in five.” the coach is pacing around, making everybody more nervous than they really are. “this is the first game of the semester. no big deal,” he lets out an airy laugh. “we’re going against our number one rival school. no pressure,” he lets out the same laugh.

donghyuck rolls his eyes. “coach, relax! we’ve gone against them before and won. this is gonna be a piece of cake, right guys?” he gazes around his teammates.

the coach does some warm-ups–he’s not even playing; donghyuck doesn’t get this guy–and walks over to the teacher’s bench to chat with his colleagues.

the field is open, of course, and the players’ waiting area is a huge tent just beside the stands. donghyuck scans the stands–he doesn’t know where you’re seated, so when he doesn’t find you, a small frown traces his lips. what if you didn’t show? you said you would...but he can’t see you anywhere. what if you changed your mind? his mind is racing with such thoughts when the announcer yells something through his megaphone.

“all players on the field!”

the coach tells the team to huddle for a second and gives his final piece of advice: “finish them! you hear me?” the teammates whoop and cheer loudly and the coach smiles at them fondly.

/

“our school needs one more goal to win.” mark says, munching on cheesy doritos. you grip the empty can of soda in your hand tightly in anticipation. they have to win. he has to win. “donghyuck has to make the winning goal. he’s so fucking good, y/n!” mark nudges you knowingly.

you need to focus on the game in front of you, but mark’s words make your mind wander. he really is good. mark’s never been to any of his games before, and you’ve been to the very first game he played after making the team.

you and donghyuck have been in the same class for as long as you can remember. you also live in the same neighbourhood. but you’re always too shy to approach him, and he’s always with his billion teammates or friends. you, on the other hand, are with mark, your oldest friend, most of the time.

just to show your support, your entire class in freshman year went to donghyuck’s first-ever soccer match. he was so thrilled to see everyone there, cheering for him and rooting for him. he lost that match, unfortunately, but learned from his mistakes and won every single match after that. soon, in junior year, he was made the captain.

this game is going to be one of his last games before he graduates. so he has to win, not only to bring another trophy to the table but also to impress you. as silly as it sounds, he prays you’re out there somewhere. he prays you’re watching, because he really wants to kiss you after winning the game–like every cliché high school movie to ever exist.

/

donghyuck feels beads of sweat lining his forehead, trailing down his neck. he takes a deep breath. he listens closely to the audience screaming his name. he grasps that, holds onto it, clings to that as if his life depends on it. he doesn’t have much time, he has to take his shot. he runs like the wind and he’s suddenly in front of the goalpost, staring at the face of the rival goalkeeper.

donghyuck dares glance around; his eyes catch the sight of the opposition advancing. he has to act fast. he gathers all the stamina that’s left, takes one look at the goal, does the necessary pre-goal-making calculations in his head, and kicks the ball. all of this happens in under a second–the goalkeeper doesn’t see it coming. donghyuck is known for his surprise attacks and goals. this really was a piece of cake, he thinks.

the ball soars and hits the back of the net. the crowd goes wild–literally. the chanting gets louder, and donghyuck smiles brightly. in an instant, as if this was rehearsed, his teammates surround him, lift him in the air, also chanting his name.

he gets handed the winning trophy, and everything becomes a blur. he and his teammates pose on the field to take pictures, his coach cries tears of joy, his parents come running to embrace him, hearts full of pride, his siblings look the happiest he’s ever seen them. everyone’s smiling and joyful, just the way he wants. he’s dreamed of this day before, just like he’s dreamed of all his matches. he dreams he makes the winning goal, the crowd screams his name, he spots you, walks towards you and pulls you in for a kiss in front of everyone.

he didn’t care in his vision, and he wouldn’t care in real life either.

/

after the game, the cheerleaders put on a final performance, commemorating your school’s win, marking the end of the event.

mark bumps you in the shoulder, “you have to tell him now. it’ll be the cherry on top to his day today. did you see how he smiled? it’s like he knew he was gonna win all along.”

you’re still seated in the stands with him, even though most of the audience has taken its leave. besides, mark also has friends on the team. he couldn’t leave without congratulating them in person. the team left to shower and change a while ago, so you’re sure your heart won’t settle till you’ve seen and talked to donghyuck in person.

“i have a feeling he did.”

mark chuckles, “he’s a great guy, y/n. and i think he likes you too. just tell him! what’s the harm?”

you press your lips together. “the fact that he might not like me back?”

mark rolls his eyes, “y/n, it’s not a fact if you’re not sure, and you won’t be sure till you tell him.”

he has a point, but doesn’t everyone get a little doubtful when it comes to someone liking a person back? your mind argues with itself, debating, and listing the pros and cons of telling him how you feel once and for all.

just then, a familiar voice interrupts your train of thoughts. “i didn’t think you guys would come.”

you whip your head to the side and see lee donghyuck standing there, having changed out of his soccer uniform to a pair of jeans and a plain tee hidden under his jersey, and his bag is slung over one shoulder.

jesus, fuck. this boy...

“y/n would’ve never missed it.” mark smiles up at donghyuck, who scratches his neck in embarrassment.

you shove mark to the side and get up to stand in front of donghyuck. donghyuck’s eyes widen a little when you extend out a hand, “congratulations on winning the game, donghyuck! that final goal was one for the history books.”

donghyuck giggles...giggles, before meeting your hand in a firm shake. “thanks, um, that means a lot.”

“what do you mean?” you pull away reluctantly, not wanting to let go, but not wanting to look clingy either.

he glances at mark warily but softens his gaze at you. mark sighs, “fine, i’ll leave. make it quick, you two! and no funny business–”

you practically push mark away and after ensuring he’s far, far, away from the stands, you gesture at donghyuck to continue.

“i mean...that i’m really glad you came. i’m also really glad you watched me win. a bunch of colleges sent representatives to watch the game, and a few of them even approached me. i might have a shot at getting a scholarship,” he chuckles shyly.

“donghyuck, that’s so awesome! oh my god...i’m so, so, happy for you!” you grin.

“thanks,” he looks down at the floor, a little flustered. “so, um, i wanted to ask you something. well, more like tell you something.”

you cock an eyebrow, puzzled.

“the thing is...before the game started, i was at the tent and i glanced around the stands to look for you–just to, you know, wave at you or something.” he laughs before continuing, “i didn’t see you, so i thought, i don’t know, maybe you didn’t come? i was...kinda sad. i don’t even know why. it’s not like just because i didn’t see you doesn’t mean you weren’t there. but anyway, i’m really glad you made it. and i’m really happy i won,” he smirks.

you’re not sure you’re able to process his words. they tug at your ears but no avail. they go straight to your heart. they stay there, snuggled together. “donghyuck...what are you trying to say?”

donghyuck doesn’t speak. instead, he sets his bag on the floor, brings a hand around your waist and urges you close. you gasp, but it’s immediately drowned out by the feeling of his lips on yours. the kiss only lasts a few seconds, but to you, it feels like an eternity. his lips are soft, plump and sweet–you wonder what lip balm he uses. he pulls away, grinning.

“woah,” you breathe.

“i’m trying to say that i like you, y/n. and i really wanted to kiss you after winning the game.” donghyuck gingerly twirls a strand of your hair around his finger.

you giggle, burying your face in his chest. he smooths your hair out and props his chin atop your head. “i like you too–a lot, actually,” you say.

he hums, “that’s a relief.” he pulls away to look at your face, admiring every detail, every curve, every feature. “you’re really pretty.”

you roll your eyes, “shut up and kiss me again.”

and he does.

[maggies-scribblings]

Who gave you that black eye?

Conclusion

[Part 1]  [Read it on AO3]  [Prompt List]

Requested by @lady-charinette. Thanks to @chanceuseladynoire and @epcot97 for helping me finish this story! Check out their writing! 

Chat Noir woke up in an ocean of pink. He was lying in Marinette’s bed. Ladybug’s bed? No, he must have had a concussion in the battle and now was imagining things.

He tried to sit up, but his head was too heavy. He groaned in pain.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake!” Marinette’s voice approached as she climbed the steps.

“W-what happened?”

“You fainted. You were mumbling something about Ladybug and passed out.”

“What did I say?”

Marinette hesitated.

“Nothing important. I panicked and carried you here.”

“Wow! You’re a mighty Mousinette!”

“Yeah, I work out,” she replied, dismissively, while replacing the ice pack with a new one. “You have a huge bump on your head. It must have been when the soccer guy threw that goal post at you.”

“Huh. I was fine before.”

“It’s like my black eye. The swelling often gets worse before it can get better.”

“Yes… it’s exactly like your black eye.”

“Here, take this,” she handed him a pill and a glass of water. “It’s paracetamol, it will help with the pain.”

“How do you know I got hit with a goalpost earlier?” He asked, straightening up a little to take the medicine.

“I— I must have seen it on the Ladyblog.”

“I visited the Ladyblog after the fight. There’s no video footage and all the photos are fuzzy.”

In fact, there were very few photos of the battle, and the ones there were nebulous. The Paris Saint-Germain goalkeeper had been akumatized after yelling at some fans who threw smoke bombs into the pitch. His powers included throwing endless soccer balls and equipment, while his gloves had the ability to shoot colourful smoke as a cover.

Marinette had no way of knowing about his injury. Another check on his mental evidence list.

“I… I saw—read—heard it somewhere else. Yes, I must have, right? It’s not like I was there, right?”

The dizziness returned, unforgiving. Whether from the injury or from the new information, it was impossible to tell. He laid his head back down on Marinette’s fluffy cat pillow.

“Do you mind if I stay a little until the pill kicks in?”

“Sure,” she replied. Was that a sigh of relief? “You relax. I’ll be down at my desk working.”

“Can I see it?” Chat Noir asked, keeping his eyes closed.

“See what?”

“The leather piece you were working on. The one which made you punch yourself.”

“Maybe some other day, kitty. Now rest.”

The second time Adrien woke up, the first signs of dawn were beginning to light up the room. His head was much better, but he still couldn’t sit up.

A raven head and a delicate hand rested on his chest. His left arm was around her waist, their legs intertwined.

Oh, right. She must have gone to sleep after I passed out.

The way she was snuggling against him was a testament to the absolute trust and affection between them, and it melted his heart.

Adrien felt grateful it was Saturday. He didn’t have anything scheduled, so he wouldn’t be missed until lunchtime. As much as he would like to stay, he should get ready to leave.

Acting on an involuntary impulse, he tucked away a stray lock of Marinette’s hair. His hand lingered for some seconds more than strictly necessary, smoothing her bangs away from her eyes.

It was only when Marinette breathed out a sigh that Adrien noticed his hand was ungloved.

Crap! Crap! Crap!

He called out in a whisper-shout for his kwami. Why did he detransform? His ring was still there, to his relief. Was Plagg injured? Or just out of energy? He had to get back home, now!

“PLAGG!”

He tried to quietly untangle himself from the covers, human and otherwise, but the pair was so wrapped up in each other that by the time he succeeded, Marinette was awake and gaping at him.

The next few seconds appeared to happen in slow motion.

Adrien tried to hide by ducking beside the bed, even though Marinette (Ladybug!) was so close it was in vain.

Marinette yanked on the covers to hide her face, either to stifle a scream or to try to unsee what she’d seen.

Adrien tried to escape, clumsily crawling towards the stairs, but his legs were still entangled when Marinette yanked it, causing him to be slingshot all the way down to the lower level of the bedroom.

Two sleepy, grumpy kwamis (one grumpier than the other) peeked up from behind the pillows, screaming.

Marinette tried to climb down the stairs to help Adrien, only to trip on the sheet as well and fall face down on top of him with a thud.

Plagg and Tikki followed, concerned for their owners’ well-being.

The situation was altogether absurd, all four frozen for what felt like an eternity, looking from one to the other and back again in a staring standoff.

“I know you told me you were crushing on me, Milady, but this is ridiculous!”

Marinette let out a tiny “Eep!” and scrambled to get up.

“What-how-why are you calling me that?”

Oh no. She’s panicking. What do I do?

“Well, Buginette, I guess the cat’s out—”

“—Don’t even think about it!” Marinette interrupted, poking a finger on his chest.

Taking a few steps back, she just pointed a finger at him in a bossy ‘stay quiet’ gesture. He didn’t dare do otherwise.

Her brows were furrowed, eyes darting from side to side, just like Ladybug did when she got a particularly enigmatic lucky charm. Looking everywhere except at him.

Then, she seemed to remember something. Her eyes flew open and she covered her face with her hands.

“I can’t believe you just sat there listening to me pour my heart out like that,” she murmured from behind her fingers, then gestured in his general direction. “All the while just… just.. being Adrien!”

“It was no fun for me, either,” he murmured, venturing a step towards her. “I couldn’t help being me, you know.”

She turned to the kwamis.

“And now what? Do we have to give our Miraculous up? Tikki? Plagg?”

“That was Master Fu’s rule,” the tiny red god flew towards her and patted her face in comforting reassurance. “Now you are the guardian, you get to make your own rules.”

“Then why did Master Fu want to keep us in the dark about each other?” Adrien asked, his arms reaching out in frustration. “Giving the Miraculous to us, being in the same school — heck, even in the same arrondissement — finding out was inevitable!”

“It was inevitable,” Tikki agreed, turning to Adrien. “The Miraculous of Creation and Destruction work in mysterious ways. Even we kwamis, don’t know everything.”

“Tell me about it!” Plagg huffed. “You were always meant to find each other, kids. Only, not before you were ready to!”

“Do I look like I was ready?!” Marinette paced the room, tugging at her hair, before stopping to face and point at the kwamis. “Wait, you two little buggers knew about us all this time!”

“You’ve been playing us since the beginning!” Adrien stood by her side, glaring at the little deities.

“Come on, Plagg, let’s get you something to eat and give these two some privacy. I’m sure they have lots to talk about!”

Watching their companions fly away, they remained silent for a few minutes. Finally, Adrien was the first to break it.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette. I should have just left last night when it got too personal. I abused your confidence, and look where that got us!”

Marinette glanced at him, then looked away.

“It’s okay, Adrien. Seeing that you had a concussion and all.”

“I was in shock, really,” he let out an unamused chuckle. “Here I was, pining for the unrequited love of my life, when I found out this other girl I really, really like… likes me!”

Marinette risked a peek.

“You really, really like me?”

“It’s funny, Plagg kept calling you my girlfriend. I always denied it, but deep down I always felt like you were more than just a friend to me. Now I know why.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because now you know I’m Ladybug?”

“No! I mean… obviously I know, I even considered the possibility sometimes, but I couldn’t believe it—”

“I get it, you couldn’t believe the clumsy girl from your class could be Ladybug,” Marinette sniffled, turning away from him. Adrien knelt down in front of her, holding her face and gently making her look at him.

“I couldn’t believe this unlucky black cat could be so fortunate as to have his best friend and his love within the same person.”

“Oh, stop,” she mumbled nervously. Adrien felt encouraged.

“I couldn’t believe the pretty, talented, kind and selfless Marinette could also be the confident, heroic, amazing Ladybug.”

Marinette smiled shyly.

“I couldn’t believe you could fit so much awesomeness in such a small, cute package.”

Marinette hit him in the face with a pillow, but he went on regardless. He moved closer, a very Chat-like smile on his face.

“I couldn’t believe Ladybug could be so adorably shy and… and weirdly insecure, though she has so much going for her.”

Their faces were almost touching now, their voices down to a whisper.

“I can hardly believe Ladybug is going to let me kiss her now.”

“She is?” Marinette looked at him incredulously, but he saw the teasing glint in her eye.

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?”

The small distance still separating them disappeared as they kissed. It felt like an earthquake shaking their very souls. Like fireworks igniting their bodies. Like everything was right in the world.

Finally.

I am still taking requests (love square only, in all its iterations).

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 1]

Rating: M Words: 1701 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together... how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: Hmmm a start? I don’t have much of this written so we’ll see if it’s just another AU i abandon :^) I’m so sorry I’m trash at fic writing lmao.

Enjoy!

In.

Out.

“And Dapozza gets the puck, racing from the blue line …”

In.

Out.

“He passes to Reiman, who slaps it to Collins …”

In.

.. In.

…

“They’re fast approaching the Ice Breakers goal, the puck goes to Westergaard, he shoots …”

Breathe, god damn it!

Kristoff reacts too slowly, the puck skimming his glove as it whistles past his ear and slams into the back of the net. The goal horn sounds in this foreign arena, and the fans surrounding him break out into cheers. 

“He scores! Westergaard takes the lead with almost an impossible chance for the ice breakers to recover!”

With nine seconds left, he lost his team the game. With nine seconds left, he let the opposition get ahead. Nine seconds. Even with Sven’s quick feet and pulling him for an extra skater, there was no way they were making it back up. 

He lost them the game, lost them the conference, lost them the whole damn cup.

As he slammed his stick into the goalpost, snapping it in half, he realized he might have lost his temper, too. 

That’ll look good to the new owners.

—

“You all fought hard, and I’m proud of you,” Coach Mattias hollered, his voice echoing off of the cubbies. “We climbed our way up from the bottom. We didn’t even make the playoffs last season.” He snapped his fingers and pointed around the room. “You all make me remember why I started coaching. Always trying your best, even when the going gets tough.”

Kristoff dropped his head between his shoulders, sighing as he peeled off another layer of equipment. He had been slacking this season. Mattias was just too nice to point it out. 

“We’ll get ‘em next year. For now, go home. Rest up. Enjoy your time off. When we get back, we’ll be going harder than ever.” Coach clapped his hands together before nodding and leaving the team to grieve their tough loss. 

Few words were exchanged as the men gathered their belongings, knowing later this week they’d have to do it again at home. Kristoff sat patiently, letting some of the frustration drain from his shoulders before he continued stripping down and changing into his civvies. 

After about ten minutes of his silence, Sven sat beside him and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Y’know it’s not your fault, right?”

Kristoff only grunted in reply.

“Seriously, man.” Sven dropped his palm to the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I know it feels like it, but we all played kinda crap tonight. No one blames you.”

“Should have trained harder.” Kristoff wiped a palm down his face before reaching down to unbuckle his pads. “I shouldn’t have fucked off for two weeks —“

“Dude.” Sven’s fist punched into his arm with no holds barred, and Kristoff was kind of glad he still had on some padding. “Your dad was sick. No one thinks you fucked off.”

Taking a deep breath before dropping his pads to the ground, Kristoff finally lifted his gaze to meet his friends’.

“What if they trade me.”

“They won’t.”

“But what if they do.”

Sven was silent for a moment, fingers tapping impatiently against the wood. “Then,” he started, laughter twinkling in his eyes. “Then we get to be star-crossed best friends, longing for the day we can be together again,” he threw a hand up, laying the backside of it gently across his forehead as his dark curls bounced against his skin. “Plotting how to make the owners rue the day they separated us!”

Kristoff shoved him off the bench as he laughed, the knot in his chest easing slightly with every chuckle. “Shut the fuck up.”

Sven smirked up at him from the floor, flipping over as nimbly as he could to right himself again. “They won’t trade you, man. I promise.”

With a sigh, he nodded and pushed a hand through his hair. “All right.”

“Now get dressed, dickhead. We’re going to drink the pain away!”

—

The off time was exactly what Kristoff had needed. 

He flew his family in for a few weeks, spent some much needed time in the woods, and thankfully, did not get traded. It had been weighing on him for most of the summer, but it appeared that his impressive record was enough for the new owners to look past his shitty, playoff ending, final game of the season.

Him and Sven spent at least a little bit of time on the ice every day, and he was glad for it. There was nothing more freeing than skating, and nothing more thrilling than saving a beautiful shot on goal. Plus, he had been doing this since he was four, and Kristoff really missed it when he went too long away from the rink. 

But with practices starting back up, it was finally time to meet the new team owners. 

And Sven may have convinced him to go a little harder than should have been allowed last night. A last hurrah, he had said. Boy oh boy was Kristoff regretting letting that persuade him.

Armed with sunglasses, too many Red Bulls, and the sheer will of all men who lived before him, Kristoff slumped to the rink at a bright, but thankfully not too bright, seven am. He hadn’t realized how familiar he was with the back halls of the rink until he maneuvered through them with his eyes half closed, yawning wide, and grateful for these last few minutes of some sort of shut eye. 

“Excuse me?”

A chipper voice broke through his silence, and Kristoff felt his whole body vibrate with a groan. 

“Excuse me! I’m sorry, ah,” she stopped quickly when he turned to face her, venom etched into his features. “Oh. You look —“

“Can I help you?”

Her eyebrows lifted up to hide under her bangs, and Kristoff tried to ignore the slight flush that spread over her cheeks. So she was embarrassed. Probably here for one of the players. Why was she here so early? Weren’t these girls more suited for one am calls?

“Oh, yeah, um, I’ve just never been here before? I think I’m lost…”

He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head as she stammered away, growing increasingly frustrated with her rambling. 

“Locker room is for the team, staff, and media only.”

“Oh, I know, I —“

“So, call whoever it is you’re trying to meet and tell them you’ll be outside.”

Kristoff ran his eyes up and down the girl before him, appreciating the pull some of the guys on this team had. Some puck bunnies didn’t have much to write home about. At least this one was cute.

He missed the flash of annoyance in her eyes, but looked back to her face as she sighed, stood straighter, and a smile pulled at her lips. 

“Oh, wow, thank you like, so, so much?” There was a new inflection to her voice that his hungover ass couldn’t even try to decipher, and he shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll just…. give them a call, then. Thanks a lot!”

She turned, shoulders tense, and Kristoff shrugged her off. It wasn’t the first time a girl found her way down here. He was certain it wouldn’t be the last. 

Checking his watch, Kristoff realized there was still a good half an hour before he was required to be in the locker room. Maybe a quick stop for a power nap wouldn’t hurt. 

—

Twenty-six minutes later, Kristoff rolled into the locker room, throwing his bag into his cubby, and fell down on the bench beside Sven hard.

“Hey, man. You good?” Sven laughed and pulled the sunglasses off of his face. “Oooh,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Nope. You look like death.”

Kristoff groaned and shoved a hand against his friends’ shoulder. “I have no idea how you’re okay right now.” He rolled his head back, stretching his neck and sighed. “I’m never going out with you again.”

Sven shrugged, his whole head bobbing again. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Kristoff stayed there, eyes shut, ignoring the other players’ sitting around him until he heard someone behind him let out a low whistle.

“Whose red-head is that?” Cooper whispered, looking back and forth as Kristoff’s eyes shot open. “And if she’s no one’s, I’m down to claim that.”

He snapped up, eyes scanning the room until he saw familiar curls talking to the coach in the corner, a clipboard clasped in her hands as she fingered through some paperwork. Sweat started beading on his back as she looked up, as if she felt eyes burning a hole in her, and when their eyes met he swore a shit-eating grin spread across her mouth.

Fuck.

“She’s…” Kristoff started, pulling his eyes away from her to look at Sven. “She’s media, right?”

Sven shrugged, frowning. “Dunno, why?”

“I…”

Coach Mattias coughed loudly, stepping up to the front of the room. “All right boys, listen up.” He clapped his hands until they all looked at him before continuing. “Thank you all for being here bright and early. I know we’re not in full swing yet, so I appreciate it.” 

Kristoff swallowed thickly as she stood up straighter, as if waiting to be…

“Mr Arne, the new owner, unfortunately could not join us today….”

He let out an almost audible sigh of relief.

Until…

“But his lovely daughter is here in his place. Miss Arne?” Mattias gestured for her to come closer with a smile. 

Oh fuck.

She stepped onto the platform with a laugh, swatting lightly at Mattias. “Just Anna is fine, coach.” 

Kristoff was trying to stop the panic he could already feel coursing through his veins. Would she hold this against him? Would she punish him for this?

“It’s so good to be here, really,” she started, pushing some loose curls back over her shoulder as the team gave her a small round of applause. “I can’t wait to meet all of you —“ her eyes flicked to Kristoff, as if making a decision, before she blinked it away and continued. “I’m sure we’re going to have a really great partnership here!”

Fuuuuuck.

[longclawislightbringer]

Arya Stark and the Green-Eyed Monster Chapter Five: Arya Stark Knows Nothing

Rating: T

Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Elinor Tyrell/Gendry Waters, Arya Stark/Trystane Martell, background Jon Snow/Sansa Stark

Characters: Arya Stark, Gendry Waters, Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Elinor Tyrell, Hot Pie, Trystane Martell

Summary: Arya ends up sitting next to Gendry at the highly anticipated Hufflepuff v. Ravenclaw match and certain things come to light.

Lol, finally uploading the final chapter here. Really should keep to a better schedule. Anyway, have the original author’s note: 

This is it! The final chapter. I'm glad I got it finished before the final episode. Thanks to my wonderful beta reader sansapotter for that.

Thank you so much to every person who has read, left kudos, commented, and bookmarked this story. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Four. Chapter Five. 

Also on AO3. 

Chapter Five: Arya Stark Knows Nothing

Candles flickered, casting dark shadows over the crowded patrons of the Three Broomsticks. Smoke hung thick in the air. Trystane stopped at the end of the bar to order them a couple of butterbeers. He nervously signaled to the bartender as Arya tapped her foot against the floor. The bartender placed two tankards of butterbeer, each overflowing with golden foam, on the bar. Trystane tossed down a few coins before taking the mugs. Weaving through the tables of students drinking their own butterbeer, he lead her to a small table in the back corner. Arya flopped into her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she said. “This better be good.”

“Right,” Trystane stammered, passing her a tankard. “I should start by saying that I do think you’re cool and that I did want this date to go well.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” She took a big gulp of her butterbeer. The butterscotch bubbles bounced around her mouth before careening down her throat. “Why did you ignore me for half of the date and then tell me that I looked like 'a girl for once,'?”

Trystane gulped. “Okay, that does sound quite bad thinking about it now . . . I don’t know why I said that; you look pretty all the time. Can I make a confession?”

Arya raised a brow and gestured for him to continue.

“I wanted this date to work because I’m trying to get over Myrcella.”

Arya nearly choked on her butterbeer, the golden liquid dribbling out of her mouth. “I’m sorry, what?" She mopped the spilled butterbeer off the table. “Myrcella is your best friend, even I know that.”

Trystane glanced around the pub before lowering his voice. “I’ve been in love with her for years, but she’s too caught up in her crush on your older brother—" Arya spat out her butterbeer again, ”—To ever think of me as a possible romantic partner. I guess I thought I could get over my unrequited crush by trying to find someone else. I do admire you; you’re probably the coolest girl in the whole school.” Trystane hung his head. “I’m just too in love with Myrcella for this to have ever worked.” Arya stared at Trystane, the words to respond dying on the tip of her tongue. He fiddled with a napkin while he waited for Arya’s reply.

"I understand perfectly," Arya responded after she finished processing his confession. The part about Robb was particularly hard to wrap her head around. “I also have a confession to make. I said yes to this date because I’m trying to get over someone too.”

Trystane jerked up. “Gendry?”

“How did you know?” Arya gasped, flushing a deep crimson.

“Please; the whole school has shipped you two together since he stood up for you down by the lake in our first year. You know, I wouldn’t have asked you out if he was still single.”

“The whole school knows?” Arya panicked, the pitch of her voice rising with each word. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Had Gendry known this whole time?

“Relax,” Trystane assured her. “I don’t think he’s caught on yet.”

Arya breathed a sigh of relief. She gulped down the rest of her butterbeer.

“Where does that leave us?” she asked.

“I don’t think a relationship would work out.”

“Seconded. But I do think you’re cool. Friends?” Arya stuck out her hand.

Trystane grinned and took her hand. “Friends.”

***

A week later, Arya glared at her ever-problematic Arithmancy homework. The equations seemed to swim together in impossible combinations, the numbers and letters blurring. She pounded her head against the desk. If only Elinor were here. The great clock chimed three times, piercing the silence of the library and startling her from her reverie. Arya bolted upright, one of her papers sticking to her face.

"Shoot!" she yelled, jumping from her chair as she shoved her papers haphazardly into her knapsack. Trystane, across the table, looked up from his History of Magic paper. "I'm late; Jon would kill me if I missed his last game."

Trystane nodded, cleaning off his quill. “I guess I should get going too. See you Tuesday, then?"

"Yep," Arya smiled. "Bye!" She darted out the library doors in a flurry, her furious footsteps pounding on the pavement floor as she dashed through the corridors. Outside, she sprinted down the hill, skidding to a stop at the spectator entrance. She paused for a moment, leaning against the door to catch her breath before she entered the stadium. Students milled about in the hallway, waiting for a chance to enter. Arya pumped her fist in victory; she made it just in time after all. She tapped her foot against the ground, waiting for the line to move. At last, she entered the stadium.

Perusing the stands for her sister, Arya wove through the large crowd assembled for the highly-anticipated Hufflepuff v. Ravenclaw match. She spotted Sansa in her usual seat, though she had swapped out her red and gold Gryffindor scarf for one of Jon’s. Arya waved to her as she climbed the steps to the top of the stands.

“Hey,” Arya greeted her sister when she reached Sansa’s mostly empty row. Sansa took removed her handmade sign with Jon’s name in perfect glittery letters from the seat so Arya could sit.

“I brought snacks.” Arya held out an assortment of sweets.

"Excellent," Sansa replied, taking a proffered chocolate frog.

Arya plopped onto the wooden bench beside her sister. “Are you nervous?”

“Nope,” Sansa answered, popping the frog into her mouth before it could escape. “Jon’s the best chaser at this school, and he’s been preparing for this match for weeks.” The pitch crackled to life as both teams entered the field. “Look! There he is,” Sansa sighed, her cheeks flushed.

Arya gagged.

"You know, sometimes, I wish you guys weren't so insufferable together, but then I remember how you were when you were both still pining, and this is infinitely better."

“Haha, very funny.”

Margaery's voice rang out through the stadium. "Welcome to today's match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw." Arya cheered, clapping her hands. Margaery began to announce the player's names, but the noise of the crowd faded when she noticed Gendry climbing the stairs two at a time in a beeline for their row.

“What is he doing here?” Arya hissed, her heart pounding as he stepped closer. She curled in on herself, attempting to hide behind her much taller sister.

“I invited him to sit with us,” Sansa responded. “I thought you would want to sit with your best friend.”

Arya cursed under her breath. She still hadn't figured out what to do about her Gendry problem, which was precisely why she been avoiding him for the last week aside from Quidditch practice.

“Hello, Gendry.” Sansa smiled.

“Hey there,” Gendry grinned as he turned onto their row.

“Hi,” Arya squeaked, her voice suddenly an octave higher. Gendry plopped onto the seat beside her. Arya tensed, holding herself very still to avoid looking into his ocean blue eyes. She tried to concentrate on the game, but every now and then Gendry’s leg brushed against her, sending jolts of electricity through her body.

The whistle blew, and the players took off. Jon got the first possession of the quaffle. Leaning forward in her seat, Arya followed him down the field toward the Ravenclaw goalposts. He had nodded to his two other chasers, Gilly and Shireen, and they flew in formation to protect him from flying bludgers. Jon may have been the kindest and most loyal Hufflepuff in her acquaintance, but he was ruthless on the Quidditch pitch. He lobbed the quaffle straight down the center goal post. Arya, Sansa, and Gendry cheered; Sansa waved her sign like a maniac.

“That’s ten points for Hufflepuff!” Margaery’s disembodied voice rang out.

“He’s good,” Gendry remarked. “Wonder if he’ll share his strategies with us now that he’s graduating.”

“Yeah,” Arya replied, trying to keep her voice steady and not so high-pitched. “Then maybe we wouldn’t keep getting absolutely destroyed like the last time we played Hufflepuff. They don’t call him the Lord Commander for nothing.”

Gendry laughed.

One of the Hufflepuff beaters knocked a bludger into the Ravenclaw chaser, sending the quaffle spiraling into the air. Gilly soared in to catch it just before it hit the ground.

“Quiet, you two,” Sansa shushed them, leaning forward in her seat. “I’m trying to watch the game.”

“I didn’t even think you liked Quidditch that much.”

"I don't," Sansa answered. "But you, Robb and Jon like it, so I'm supporting you all. I even helped Jon come up with some new strategies for this game." She game Arya a smug smile.

Arya rolled her eyes but kept her commentary related to the game at hand.

Sometime after the snitch entered the pitch, Arya spotted Robb and Dany sitting together several rows down. Dany stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. When they noticed that they had been discovered, they whipped back towards the game, whispering conspiratorially in each other's ears. What weirdos. Arya shook her head and thought nothing of it for the rest of the game.

The game passed in a couple of hours, much faster than Gryffindor's game against Slytherin last fall. Jon and the rest of the Hufflepuff crushed the Ravenclaw keeper in points so in the end the Ravenclaw seeker dove for the snitch to end their humiliation.

"Hufflepuff wins!" Margaery announced through the speaker.

Arya, Gendry, and Sansa leaped to their feet, yelling and clapping. Sansa pulled her sister into a crushing hug. Arya hugged her back before releasing her. The Hufflepuff team dove to the ground, tumbling off their brooms to dogpile on Jon in the center of the pitch. When they pulled back, dinkon Tarly and Dolorous Edd pulled Jon onto their shoulders. As his teammates carried him off the field, he searched the crowd. When he located Sansa and Arya, he waved. Sansa blew him a kiss.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Sansa scooted past them, bounding down the stairs through the crowd of students exiting the stadium to meet Jon outside the player’s tents. She only paused to give Robb a high-five.

The euphoria of the Hufflepuff victory faded, leaving only awkwardness behind. Gendry was looking at her again, the way he had while they were under the mistletoe at the Yule Ball.

“Guess we should head back in,” Arya broke the silence before she got lost in his blue eyes.

"Yeah," Gendry agreed. They joined the line that funneled out the door, walking together in uncomfortable silence until they made it back into the castle. Arya stopped in an empty corridor.

“I should go,” Arya said. “See you around.”

“When?” Gendry asked.

“I don’t know,” Arya answered, turning to leave. “Sometime.”

“Nope,” Gendry shook his head. “That’s not good enough.” He grasped her wrist, dragging her into a nearby closet. The door shut with a bang behind them, cloaking them in darkness.

“Lumos,” Gendry said, lighting the lantern hanging from the ceiling. Arya’s breath came fast and shallow as she noticed how close they were.

“You’ve been avoiding me again.” Gendry crossed his arms, stretching the muscles underneath his shirt.

Arya flushed.

“No, I haven’t,” She stammered, turning to leave the closet. Gendry put an arm up to stop her. Arya huffed, avoiding his searching gaze.

"Don't lie to me," Gendry implored. “Does it have something to do with Elinor? Because Elinor and I—”

"Elinor's fine." Arya snapped, crossing her arms.

"What is it, then?" He dropped his arm. ”Arya, please. I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend.” His voice broke on the last sentence.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” She whirled to face him, full of fury as her heart sped up like it was on fire. “What’s bothering me is that I’m so jealous that I can’t think straight.”

“What? I don’t understand—”

“Gendry, you dolt. I don’t want you to kiss her stupid face, I want you to kiss me!” Arya gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. Her pulse quickened; had she just said that out loud?

Gendry stood dumbstruck.

“I’m so sorry,” Arya apologized, paling. “Forget that ever happened.”

The gears turned in Gendry’s head.

“Do you like me?” He asked after a moment’s contemplation.

“I thought that was kind of obvious from my desire to make out with you.”

A wide smile spread over Gendry’s face. “Elinor and I—”

“I don’t want to hear about how happy you are with your girlfriend.” Tears welled in Arya’s eyes as she turned away.

“You don’t understand.” Gendry grabbed her shoulders. “Elinor and I were never actually together—she was using me to make her ex-boyfriend jealous. And we' fake broke-up' a week ago."

“What?” It was Arya’s turn to be dumbfounded.

Gendry pulled her close, cupping her cheek with one hand. “Arya, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

"Really?" Arya murmured as he closed his eyes and leaned down.

“Since the moment I met you,” he breathed.

She punched him in the arm.

“That’s for lying to me,” she said.

“Arya, I . . .”

Arya surged forward, devouring him in a bruising kiss. She molded herself against him, reaching her arms around his neck to pull him closer. His hand gripped her hip, setting her aflame.

They separated when the need for air became too high.

“Wow,” Gendry panted.

"You can say that again," Arya smirked, shoving him against the wall of the broom closet to dive back in.

A broom clattered to the floor.

Arya winced.

“Do you want to go somewhere without brooms?” Gendry asked.

“Yes.” Arya laced her fingers through Gendry’s and pushed the door open. After checking that the coast was clear, she pulled him out into the corridor. They walked hand in hand through the hallway. “I’m curious; how did Elinor rope you into her being her fake boyfriend in the first place?”

Gendry rubbed the back of his neck as he walked. “Robb and Dany apparently suggested me to her as a viable candidate when she was looking for a date to the Yule Ball.”

Arya halted. “Robb and Dany?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why, though.”

“I do,” Arya groaned gritted her teeth as she thought on every interaction she’d had with those two meddlers. The strange comments at the victory party; the yellow dress that Dany picked out and the mysterious mistletoe at the Yule Ball; Dany's surefire plan for getting over Gendry; she even thought she recognized them sitting at a table in the back corner while she was on her date with Trystane. She smacked her forehead. “We’re so oblivious. They've been trying to set us up for months." She stormed down the hallway, their earlier plans wholly forgotten.

“Where are you going?” Gendry struggled to keep up with her fast pace.

“Come on; we’ve got to concoct a revenge plot.”

“Revenge? What for?”

“I’m tired of their meddling.” She paused just before they entered the main hallway, her fists clenched.

"How are we going to do it?" Gendry asked.

A sly grin spread across Arya’s face.

“Gendry, I know what we’re going to do today.”

[sp0rtsbr0]

On Thursday December 18th, 2020, the Los Angeles Chargers beat the Las Vegas Raiders 30-24 in Overtime...

This is a very good tweet by S.V.P. here and I agree wholeheartedly. He wrote this during the 4th quarter of Chargers-Raiders as both coaches/teams were doing their best to try and lose the football game.

This really sums up why I love the sport, though. The stakes couldn't have been higher. I had Herbert/Ekeler in the first round of my fantasy playoffs; my opponent had Waller on the side. Less importantly, the Raiders were in a must-win spot to keep their playoff hopes alive. I hedged the fantasy implications (in a sense) by betting on Las Vegas -3, but also felt strongly going in that that was the winning side to wager on.

LA were one of the few teams I hadn't watched a full game of yet this season. Oh, I'd heard the tales though: the Legend of Lynne and snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. I was aware. And that final quarter (and honestly, the entire game) did no disappoint. If you left that contest with one takeaway, how could not be that the Chargers are a competent coach away from being KC 2.0? Cuz hooboy Herbert is every bit as good as Lynne is bad and they have a fleet of skill guys who are either sneaky good or made to look that way because of their quarterback's laser focused rocket arm. They attempted just one pass in the fourth quarter.

To call the play-calling inept would be insult to both the ideas of plays and the genesis of their creation. I had no rooting interest in this game aside from the above fantasy implications and my wager (I also made two losing prop bets—see “Sidebar” below), but because of their dueling nature and the inherent frustration of watching these coaches (mostly Lynne), it really did take on the feeling of modern art. I'm seeing what I want to see. I'm pretty sure it isn't good but I love it. The pleasure and the pain.

Adding to the game's overall VIBES was the fact that Derek Carr groined up his groin on a futile third and goal scramble during the opening drive. He returned in street clothes to watch one Marcus Mariota do a pretty damn good Carr impression or maybe an impression of 2016 Marcus Mariota?

I countered this (also very good) tweet by offering up Doug Flutie as the comparison. My case, in brief: both players were/are...

Highly touted college QBs who mostly but not fully flamed out upon arrival in the pros (Flutie by default; choosing the doomed USFL and then the CFL over the NFL to start. And Mariota by flopping as a high pick in the draft, but not in the Ryan Leaf sense; more like in the David Carr tradition, or so it seemed?)

Expert scramblers / solid runners who can chuck it down field when they have to, to varying degrees of success 

Who knows what the future holds for Mariota. Will he have an aesthetically pleasing if not consistently victorious, nomadic second act like the Fluties and Fitzgeralds (Fitzmagic has had maybe nine acts at this point lol), or was last night's brutal loss a one-and-done? I'm rooting for the former but who the heck knows.

And as for that brutal loss, my God was it brutal. Two late missed field goals by Los Angeles 'set up' by, perhaps, the misguided notion that it is easier to kick said field goals if you're team gets FURTHER away from the goalposts, then 'sets up' the Raiders with their own opportunity to charger things away and they do just that by taking one minute to go fifteen yards and attempt the longest field goal in NFL history only to have a bad snap and head to overtime where they win the coin toss and drain a ton of clock to kick a chip shot for the very precarious lead but then again this is the Chargers we're talking about so I’m sure they’re fine...

But then again, the Chargers have Justin Herbert.

Even at the very end, they tried to squander it away. A pass interference sets up first and goal at the one and in comes journeyman/castaway RB Kalen Ballage who already has stolen one TD away from countless needy fantasy players (ie, me). He gets stuffed. The next play is a QB sneak -> fumble into the back of the end zone recovered by an LA offensive lineman! Oh but you can't do that! It's the Kenny Stabler rule! Third and goal. What do you dial up now? How ‘bout a second QB sneak of course. And against all odds, it works. Herbert willed it to be so, extending the ball away from his body and over the goal line despite the fact that that same move just a minute earlier resulted in a nervous breakdown fumble. This is the (charger) way. I get some much needed FF points from Herbert as my bet goes into the toilet. The yin and yang of football, the beauty of football, never better encapsulated when it’s this damn ugly... in a dumb, structurally bad Thursday night game.

☯️

I could go on and on here still. There's so much I feel I didn't mention (like the fact that Gruden wore an OAKLAND Raiders hat for most of the first half and the fact that you could see his nipples from his way-too-tight shirt) but I'll leave it at this. Y’all can have your 47-42 Monday night “classic” between two actually good teams; give me this shit all day.

Thank you, football. In one of the weirdest and worst years ever, you showed up (even if you probably shouldn't have), and I'll be forever grateful for the distraction :)

Prop Bets Frustration Sidebar

I’m not sure if the Chargers were attempting to shenanigans or if their injury treatment/assessment skills are as bad as their game management (they did stab Tyrod Taylor in the lung), but for MOST of the day leading up to this one, it appeared like both Keenan Allen and Mike Williams weren’t gonna play. They both did, however, and they were both clearly hobbled. I’m not sure what the plan was here but it, like so many things that LAC does, failed miserably.

Speaking of failing miserably, this “news” led me to make 2 player prop bets on the games.

#1 Tyron Johnson OVER 3.5 receptions (+125). The upstart #3 or #4 WR had been coming on strong and if both Herbert’s first wideout two options might be sidelined? Sign me up, baby. This prop bet looked as GOLDEN as they get, as Johnson had 3 catches including a long TD by half-time. He did not catch another ball :/

#2 Carr > Herbert passing yards (+100). Again, this was a MUST-WIN for the Raiders. With their RB Jacobs a bit banged up and the aforementioned missing weapons for Herbert, I thought there was a decent chance he’d end up with more yards especially if the game remained relatively close. Well, we know how this one ended... Groiny groin, groin-groin, and such. A comical way to lose any prop bet is when said player starts the game and then almost immediately leaves for good, clutching his crotch en route to the locker room.

Oh well. I love it so damn much I’m not even mad. 

[terryblount]

The Outer Worlds – Review

With a resumé that includes South Park: The Stick of Truth and, of course, Fallout: New Vegas, do I really have to introduce Obsidian Entertainment? Their unapologetically wacky and satirical developmental style has cemented several memorable titles into our libraries, and with The Outer World’s they finally get to unleash their unique style on the wild frontiers of space colonisation.

I have a dirty confession to make: I never played Fallout 3. I was just too deep into all the fantasy stuff at the time. However, I did give New Vegas a shot and the game’s writing, characters, and overall devil-may-care tone made me play it in big, greedy chunks at a time. Needless to say, I expected The Outer Worlds to scratch that same itch since this game is something like a homage to New Vegas.

I know a lot of people have been playing this game but I will stick to screenshots I took from the opening sections to avoid spoilers.

After spending my time with Obsidian’s latest RPG, there is no doubt that The Outer Worlds wears its developmental pedigree on its sleeve. There is something delightfully ‘old-school’ about how it handles itself, and even with a few minor grievances, The Outer Worlds has a truly special experience on offer.

Getting starstruck

I don’t get why so many previews had branded The Outer Worlds as a space opera. Mass Effect (1,2,3 and that crappy one) is a space opera because you have all the intergalactic politics, personal drama and aliens from different races mashed into one. The Outer Worlds, on the other hand, is quite obviously more casual in that you are essentially a space cowboy thrown into the set of 1960’s sci-fi B movie.

After once again spending a little too much time with the surprisingly decent character creator, the adventure begins and I discover I am part of a stranded cargo of colonists in stasis onboard a ship that experienced a malfunction during light speed. A shady-looking fella named Phineas Welles then unexpectedly lands on board and essentially kidnaps one of the pods – namely you – before making a quick getaway from the authorities.

“Noooothing compares… no-THING compares… TO YOU!!!” Don’t worry I didn’t end up saving the colonies as a young Sinead O’Connor

Turns out old Welles has got a bit of the (mad) scientist thing going on because while most people who spent this much time in stasis pop like microwaved egg upon revival, this guy figured out a way to bring people back safely. He only had enough ‘chemicals’ for one person though, and there is still any entire crew floating back on board, so he abruptly sends the player down to the nearest colony to get more.

Originally, it was supposed to be a quick trip down to Edgewater colony, hooking up with a smuggler, and returning to Welles so you can get to work on the rest of the colonists. Yet from the moment you stumble from your escape pod, things immediately turn sour since the ship needed to take you back to Phineas is missing a crucial component, which implies it has all the flying power of a very big paperweight.

Oh, and you kind of crushed your contact with your landing pod so you are basically on you own. Like, completely smooshed him, and just like that, you are Clint Eastwood – the gunslinger lone ranger – finding himself just passing through a little town but inevitably getting dragged into the bigger scheme of things.

So you do what any resourceful space cowboy would do: Befriend the locals and help them out with a few mundane favours on their neglected little deep space colony in the hope that they will give you the parts you need. You gain a few weapons, make some bounty hunting money, convince a tyrannical mayor to be nice and pick up a few stragglers who eventually become your crew.

This has got to be the best ship name EVER, and I am being dead serious.

Before you know it, you and your band of misfits have fixed up the ship, leave Edgewater in your rearview mirror, and the frontier of space is now your oyster. Of course, Phineas Welles wells has moved the goalposts by now. Turns out his motivation for defrosting the crew is to take on a deep space colonisation conglomerate named the Halcyon Holdings Corporation, and he has just found his newest lackey.

Spacing out

If I were to describe what you do in The Outer Worlds, it would probably read like a gameplay review of nearly a hundred other RPG’s. This is a testament to how Obsidian have thrown together something that plays it safe, and opts for a tried and trusted formula that worked in New Vegas, and gives The Outer Worlds a familiar but solid foundation.

For the most part, this works as well as you’d expect.The Outer Worlds uses the old routine of you needing something from NPC’s and they are willing to offer it to you in exchange for a small favour which usually involves your guns doing all the talking. It is the old, ‘I’d do it myself, but reason X prevents me so would you kindly’?

Obsidian even went for the whole talking head thing against a blurred background from New Vegas, and I swear they simply extrapolated the same lip-sync technology from Bethesda’s older games. Why is there no anti-aliasing on their teeth though? Did they copy the goddamn actual teeth from New Vegas too!? Ew!

Anyway, from the moment you have control over you own ship, the goals of Phineas Welles’s beef with Halcyon become the broader aims of the gameplay looming in the background. However, as the player moves between the handful of colonies that represent the areas you can visit, and once they get involved with the humdrum of the settlers, Obsidian goes ahead and does their thing.

From the conversations you have with NPC’s to the world building at large, everything in The Outer Worlds is wholeheartedly steeped in a sardonic, black humour. You see, in the era of space colonisation Halcyon Holdings did what any corporation would do if they had monopoly over settling on other planets, namely capitalise everything, including their employees.

As a result, the game acts as a satire on the preposterous corporate legalese that I am sure the working gamer will be able to relate to on some levels. Many reviews have mentioned the grave digger you encounter as you enter the first colony who explains that inhabitants of Edgewater literally have to lease their own graves (as a commentary on how the bureaucracy cannot be avoided even after death).

An early personal favourite was chatting to an NPC in a factory where they put something called ‘saltuna’ into cans (apparently it’s not fish). I was supposed to pick up a grave fee as a favour to the grave digger, but during our conversation I figured out she was sad over a bunch of paperwork. Seems she is the closest living relative to a person who had just committed suicide.

Was it her brother or something? No, she informed me, she was the closest living person relatively speaking when this worker shot himself. Considering that the factory basically owns him, she has to fill in a report on vandalism to an asset.

It’s Spacer’s Choice!

This little interaction is emblematic of the general tone that Obsidian have endowed upon their game, and it is supported through some utterly superb writing. You can see it in the quirky messages found on random terminals scattered through the environment, or the ridiculous culture of capitalism that has taken over the colonies. “It’s not the best choice, It’s Spacer’s choice!” is actually one product chain’s slogan.

Yet the writing shines at its brightest in the dialogue between the player and the NPC’s. Their lines have been written in a very immediate and engaging format, and they have been executed by great voice acting that never tries to be overly dramatic. I could often have a proper chat with certain characters in the world, and I even returned to the suicide lady at one point because I couldn’t wait to tell her when I discovered something about her co-worker’s suicide. She was genuinely thankful for the news too.

Furthermore, most RPG regulars would notice that The Outer Worlds often presents an above-average number of dialogue responses when you engage with NPC’s. You can be the kind and caring paragon type of captain that always speaks with gentility, or you could basically be Bender from Futurama as you mock the misfortune of others or talk down to people. I even gave a space station engineer the finger once… with both hands!

A space station independent of Halcyon Holdings named Groundbreaker

What’s really nice in all of this chitchat is that the game is willing to offer the player both ways without the cost of the overall experience. I could often lie my way out of all the times NPC’s caught me stealing, or you can intimidate people which might radically change how you can complete a quest. For once, the XP points invested speechcraft actually amounted to something!

The black hole

If you read my stuff, you know that I glorify the Unreal Engine 4 to a point where most would think I am sort of undercover shill. However, my admiration has hit something of a rupture with The Outer Worlds as this game needs some TLC in the optimisation department.

Visually, the game is above average. Obsidian have really committed to this spaghetti western meets 1960’s budget sci-fi movie (including the shrink ray!), so the styling of the levels is very palpable. Aside from those jaggy teeth, the characters have also been rendered with surprising detail, and The Outer Worlds manages to feel distinct enough to set itself apart from most RPG’s that have gone this route.

All I need now is some alien tumbleweed rolling by

Technically, the game needs some work. The frame rate could/should certainly be higher which tells me Obsidian needs economise by culling assets not rendered on-screen, and this is combined with some really terrible texture pop-in. In some areas I would often just wait in one spot for all the surfaces to finish rendering, only to find more pop-in once I started walking forward.

The combat was also rather insipid. Naturally, there is a decent selection of guns, heavy weapons, melee weapons, and armour all of which have stats that players can modify or enhance at workstations. You can tell whoever was the designer lead on combat plays a lot of games like Destiny or Borderlands or Anthem. I was kidding about that last one. No one plays Anthem.

In a game like this, however, the enemies just end up feeling a little bullet spongy. You blast them with huge balls of energy from ray guns, or you zap them with crackling bolts of electricity, but their health bars barely drain. They also do that Bethesda thing where they run to a certain point, and become permanently rooted in place while the player is free to empty their entire arsenal at them.

See Obsidian, this is what I do to enemies that don’t fight back properly! He once had a head!

Space balls

These are more like irritations rather than deal-breakers, and The Outer Worlds remains a gem because it is rare to find games nowadays that invest so much in their moment to moment gameplay. The abundance of huge, open-world RPG’s show that publishers sometimes tend to fixate on the overall experience, whereas it will be the player that must work through all the meaningless little side quests to get there.

As such, The Outer Worlds is the kind of controlled and condensed RPG that I like. This game will set the average player back roughly 30 hours with some change, but there is all the world building, character development and stats manipulation that you can expect in games that are three, even four times longer. Let’s face it, Bethesda has forsaken us, and if Obsidian the kind of company that aims to replace them, the future is certainly a bright one.

Excellent writing

Black humour

Variety of environments

Character interaction

Never overreaches itself

PC optimisation

Slightly repetitive

Combat AI feels dated

Guns lack power

Useless loot

        PC Specs: Windows 10 64-bit computer using Nvidia GTX 1070, i5 4690K CPU, 16GB RAM 

The post The Outer Worlds – Review appeared first on DSOGaming.

The Outer Worlds – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

50 Hot Takes for the Philadelphia Sports Fan: Part Four

Yeah man.

You know what time it is.

It’s time for the hottest takes in the Delaware Valley, and I’ve gotta be honest with you – these stories have been doing a lot better than I thought they would. If something ain’t broke, then it doesn’t need fixing, as Bert Lance once said. That’s why I’ve decided to come up with 50 more hot takes for you, the Philadelphia sports fan, since parts one, two, and three obviously were not enough.

Before we begin, I’d like to share a part of a recent email from a Crossing Broad reader, an email which served as the inspiration for this story:

It was an uplifting message for me, and with the resulting energy and motivation I came up another list of takes for y’all:

The Allen Iverson/Tyronn Lue stepover is the most overrated sequence in all of Philly sports. The Sixers went on to lose that series 4-1, yet here we are celebrating that moment like it was the Brandon Graham strip sack.

If given a choice between Taco Bell and Chipotle, I’m eating at Taco Bell.

The hatred for “chain restaurants” is misguided. If you’re suburban white trash, like me, you find comfort and familiarity in spots like Olive Garden or the Texas Roadhouse simply because you grew up absent of independent and unique restaurants.

103.7 in South Jersey plays better music than WMMR.

Old Town Road is a horrible song.

All millennials and Generation Z members should have their bank accounts frozen and assets seized until they have seen the following movies: Half Baked, Black Sheep, Happy Gilmore, and Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

“They” say that the millennial generation includes anybody who was born after 1980, which is technically true, but also off-base. If you were born before 1985, you have so much more in common with Generation X. You probably didn’t have a cell phone until college, you actually called your friends on a landline and said hello to their parents, and you entered the work force right before the economy went to shit. Most millennials, as stereotyped by others, were graduating college and high school during the recession, which impacted their ability to find jobs and affordable living. Older millennials like myself were lucky to have just missed that.

The “celebrity” scene at Philly sporting events is totally lame. It’s typically M Night Shyamalan, a shitty local rapper, and then 3-5 current or former Philly athletes.

I don’t trust people who dislike dogs. How could anybody possibly dislike dogs?

If you bring your dog to the dog park, you can’t just stare at your phone the entire time. You have to spend at least five seconds paying attention. Try to notice when your pooch takes a huge dump right in front of you.

People who throw trash out of their window while driving are the biggest scumbags on the planet.

“Price point” is an annoying term. You can just say “price” and it means virtually the same thing. It’s generally understood that prices change based on market fluctuations and typical bargaining.

Nobody gives a fuck about your fantasy football team.

Furthermore, if you’re watching the Eagles game with friends and family, don’t talk about your fantasy football team. Only talk about the Birds.

99 times out of 100, the person who cuts you off at the South Philly sports complex is a middle-aged white guy, 10 year old son in the passenger seat of his oversized gas guzzler of a truck, and he feels like he’s entitled to just jump in line wherever he wants. These people are total assholes.

If given a choice between Natty Lite and an IPA, I’m choosing Natty Lite.

If I’m forced to drink an IPA, I guess I’m going with the New England variety. West Coast IPA tastes like hoppy pinecone butthole.

The best brewery in our region is Hidden Sands, down in Egg Harbor Township. Excellent variety, great taproom, lots of interesting tastes with frequent rotation on the menu.

The second best brewery in our region is Evil Genius, for a lot of the reasons I listed above.

The most overrated brewery in our region is Tired Hands.

“Party school” rankings are dumb. Most big state schools have a party scene. What nobody ever talks about is substance abuse at high-ranking academic institutions, where the stress to perform relative to your peers results in people just drinking themselves into oblivion with regularity.

I like NBC Sports Philadelphia’s new studio. Maybe the anchor desk could be bigger.

Some people didn’t “get” my Jersey Shore column. It wasn’t an anti-shore column; I was telling people to take the occasional weekend and go somewhere else, see something different.

Y’all always say “who cares about Skip Bayless?” but click on those stories whenever we write them.

One of my biggest professional failures was being rejected for a Q/A story with Joe Cordell, of Cordell and Cordell. I exchanged some emails with his PR guy but was unable to get Joe on the phone.

Philadelphia doesn’t need any more bars or restaurants. Or snooty pizza places.

There are a lot of poorly run city agencies, but the Department of Revenue is the worst. It takes four weeks for any payment to clear, the web portal doesn’t work, and nobody on the phone has any idea what they’re doing.

I’d rather eat at Donkey’s than any cheesesteak place in the city.

A hot dog is not a sandwich because the bun is comprised of one piece of bread. If a hot dog bun was sliced into two halves, then it would be a sandwich.

“Is a hot dog a sandwich?” may be the dumbest debate ever.

Dunkin Donuts is better than Starbucks. Starbucks blows.

I can’t get down with the boat shoes and no socks look.

I kind of want to unionize Crossing Broad employees, just to see how Kyle responds.

It’s pointless to respond to a post or tweet with “nobody cares.” If you don’t care, then don’t respond.

Penn State fans should run James Franklin out of town. He doesn’t have what it takes to get you guys to the college football playoff.

People need to stop painting Penn State fans and alumni as Sandusky enablers or “pedos” or “cultists” or whatever. Yes, there was a portion of the community that seemed to handle the scandal poorly, but the vast majority of PSU people I know approached that topic with the required discretion and seriousness.

I hope Manny Diaz goes 0-12 this year and gets fired. I understand that the Miami situation was unexpected, and that his dream job opened up under unique circumstances, but he made a commitment to Temple and he should have kept his commitment.

When Josh Harris and David Blitzer sell their stake in Crystal Palace, they should purchase the Philadelphia Union from Jay Sugarman. Whatever $$$ amount it takes. Adding the Union to the Sixers/Devils/Blue Coats/Prudential Center portfolio would make a lot of sense geographically and from a growth potential standpoint.

Do you ever notice how sports radio callers are either incredibly stupid or incredibly smart? There never seems to a be a middle ground; they either make really good points or totally horrendous points.

Regarding the above, I feel like the smartest radio callers are dialing up Glen and Ray on the weekends, or queuing up for the Sixers post game show with Devon on 97.5.

People on Twitter talked a ton of shit about the Fanatic’s “Fantasy Fest,” which took place in August, but I think it’s a good idea. I’ve never actually been there, but what’s wrong with putting together an event where all of the radio personalities and listeners can get together? Just seems like a big party atmosphere to me. Shrug.

Changing poop diapers isn’t a big deal at all. The baby is only eating breast milk and formula, so the poop is consistent and sterile, or at least that’s what the pediatrician said.

Having a designated hitter in one league but not the other is laughably stupid. Baseball has some of the worst rules on the planet, but “baseball is fine” according to you curmudgeons.

The Yankees forcing their players to shave is incredibly corny. If they drafted me I’d refuse to play for them for that reason alone, then grow my beard like Billy Gibbons and Dusty Hill out of spite.

If you don’t like soccer, just say you don’t like it. You don’t have to bend over backwards explaining why it’s a “communist” sport or “un-American” or for “liberal hipster pussies” or whatever.

Street hockey is underrated as a neighborhood game for kids. You just need sticks and a ball, then use backpacks or other items for the goalposts or buy a cheap pop-up net.

The Wells Fargo Center upgrades were badly needed. It feels like a 25 year old building with 75 years of use.

Temple needs to get out of the Linc and go somewhere else. Anywhere else.

College Gameday on Independence Mall was one of the most underrated Philly sports moments of all time. It brought a tear to my eye. A tear of joy.

David Lee Roth people need to get the fuck over themselves. Both Van Halen and Van Hagar dropped great music for us to listen to. Life is way too short to sit here complaining about Sammy’s time in the band.

Thank you for reading.

Sincerely,

-Kinker

The post 50 Hot Takes for the Philadelphia Sports Fan: Part Four appeared first on Crossing Broad.

50 Hot Takes for the Philadelphia Sports Fan: Part Four published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/