Black and Yellow (OPEN)

[honey satheesh varma]

It had been years since she had had the chance to see a Quidditch match in person, and Honey couldn’t believe her luck when she had been able to purchase tickets to the league finals. Her seat wasn't the best in the stadium, and Puddlemere United wouldn't be playing, but that hadn’t dampened her spirit. The last time that she had had such an experience had been when she was newly recovered from Spattergroit as a child and Puddlemere United had donated tickets to St. Mungo’s; every match that she had followed since had been via the WWN.

Understandably, she was concerned about the Hag’s Fever outbreak, but she knew that she couldn’t stop living her life because of it. And so, in full Wasps gear, she had arrived to take in the match. That she looked like a hymenopteran was just part of the excitement—plenty of other spectators were similarly outfitted, and it was great.

At one point, she could have sworn that she had recognized one of the newer Puddlemere United players—not that he would have recognized her. She didn't want him to think that she was being creepy for staring, so she had walked past without saying anything despite fangirling internally.

She turned to the person seated next to her, also dressed in support of the Wasps. “This is brilliant, isn’t it?” she smiled. She couldn’t wait for the commentary to begin.

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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The time to grumble and whine about how the Bats hadn’t made the Championship match this year was long past, and at this point Mickey was happy to just relax and take a break after the season. Being sick for the last month had sunk the team’s tiny chance of making it by a football pitch length, and then some. His replacement at Keeper hadn’t been bad, but certainly wasn’t good. In the kid’s defense, they hadn’t really had a chance to practice in live play all season, since Mickey had been perfectly healthy until Hag’s Fever put him out of commission. Unfortunately there was nothing the team could do at that point. It was either hope for a miracle or try to keep their dignity at the end. They chose the latter, which he had disappointingly listened to on the radio from the starchy comfort of his hospital bed.

Technically he had a seat in a box that was reserved for the teams not playing. The rest of the Bats had become annoyingly boisterous right as the match began, so Mickey made a brief exit from the party, mostly to get fresh air, and also to get a feel for the fans in the stadium. The last few years he had chosen not to go, preferring to get a jump start on his practice, as silly as that was. And now all he wanted to do was escape the company of his teammates. Partially because he did feel like he let them down, even if there was no way he could have known he would get sick.

Upon leaving the box, he motioned for a security guard to let a few passing fans in, knowing that he wouldn’t be back for a while and they’d be able to get free food and drinks until he did. He made a deal, among many protests, to take one of their tickets. That way it would be an even exchange. Sitting in the almost nosebleeds for a few back and forths didn’t sound too terrible. With the way things were currently going, it was due to be a decently long match.

And so he climbed and climbed to the seat he had gained, finding it mostly a Wasps fan section. He should have seen that coming, because the original owners had been emblazoned in the gross black and yellow stripes of Wimbourne. The psychological aspect of their jerseys annoyed him to no end when they played each other, and the sudden swarm of Wasp players when attacking his posts certainly lived up to their team name.

The usher in the section pointed him to two empty seats halfway through a row, and Mickey made a point of waiting until a goal had been scored. These people had paid good money to see their team play, and he didn’t want to take that away from them, even if he did dislike most of the Wasp players in and out of the game. He shimmied his way down the aisle, taking a seat in one of the spaces, just in time to see the woman next to him turn to the fan on her other side and say something about the game being brilliant. Keeping himself from snorting was hard, considering the Wasps keeper tried to have a head-butting contest with a bludger and allowed Yorkshire to score again. “Your Keeper is lucky the rest of his team knows how to play,” Mickey yelled in her direction over the groans of what seemed like thousands of Wasp fans around him. The Windsor kid was admittedly a quality player, but he would need a few more years in the league before really making a name for himself. Then the Wasps would be truly terrifying to face head on.

honey satheesh varma ● 633 ● Funeral by Phiebe Bridgers

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

“It’s bloody brilliant,” replied the fan to whom Honey had spoken, an older man with a bald spot. They exchanged polite conversation intermittently, as one did, and watched in dismay as—later—Yorkshire scored.

“Your Keeper is lucky the rest of his team knows how to play,” Honey heard, and she knew that it must have been the person on her other side. She wasn’t confrontational and never had been; aside from her love for Puddlemere United, she wasn’t too bothered what other people thought. It was just a sport, and they were there because they enjoyed it. Still, she turned to see who had spoken to her: a younger man who looked maybe a little familiar, younger than she but closer in age to her than the man on her other side.

While Honey could have said something nasty back to him about Yorkshire—since that must have been for whom he was rooting—she didn’t. She smiled a little, shrugging off the disappointment at the goal that had managed to slip past. “Oh, it’s alright.” Honey knew that it must have been hard to keep the opposing team from scoring; so what if they had gotten the Quaffle through? One of the commentators, Magnus Welsh, had said that Windsor was straight out of Hogwarts. Of course he wouldn’t have a perfect record against players considerably more experienced than he. “Yorkshire’s doing well, though. Voet might catch the Snitch before Hutton!” she granted the stranger, watching the action as the Chasers took off across the pitch again. She couldn’t be mad about it.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Mickey realized in that moment that the average fan really had no idea what getting slugged in the head by a bludger felt like. While he never actively encouraged his teammates to commit such acts, if it happened, it happened. That didn’t change the fact that it was like having a bowling ball with no intentions of slowing down hurtling into your skull, all while being several hundred feet in the air. Taking a frontal shot like the Windsor kid just did was rare and unbelievably dangerous, because he risked breaking his nose or damaging his eyes. Obviously any head injury was bad, especially for a Keeper, but taking it head on made it seem like he lacked game awareness. Had it hit him from behind or a blind spot then it would have made sense. Mickey had no problem with criticizing the kid in front of his team’s fans at that point. Especially if they had no problem brushing off a potential lethal injury like that.

He pretended to not hear the woman state that it was all okay, which was easy to do with the drone of the crowd and deafness in one ear. “She better be quick about it then,” he countered back. Anese Voet was a quality player, but Mickey noticed over the years that she tended to slow down as matches dragged on. There was only so much of a gap that her Chasers could create before their own Keeper let up, and then it always came down to the Seekers. If she wasn’t on the Snitch immediately, it would be a long game. As for Hutton? “I’d rather see Voet beat Hutton to it. He’s always been smug about it when he wins out.” And maybe rightfully so, but Mickey had dealt with the guy both in school and out, and it was hard to argue that the Wasps had been a better team the last few years than the Bats had. Despite being amongst a lot of their fans, he was suddenly starting to feel very anti-Wasps.

honey satheesh varma ● 344 ● Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

It was true that Honey hadn't played Quidditch for herself. She hadn't had the opportunity; she had spent too much time hospitalized as a child to think that that would be a possibility for her. She was educated at home, rather than at Hogwarts—where she would have had a team for whom to play—and she had never been the most coordinated (even by her own admission). But while Honey didn't think that she would have made a good Quidditch player, she still loved the sport. It didn't matter to her that it wasn't the safest thing that someone could do, either. There were accidents of all sorts, but magic was capable of fixing all but the worst incidents.

"She better be quick about it then," the fan beside her stated. "She" was in reference to Voet, the Seeker for Yorkshire. Although Honey was trying to be balanced, since it seemed that he was a Yorkshire fan and not a Wasps fan, that didn't seem to be the case, either. He was awfully pessimistic about both teams, and he didn't exactly have praise for the Wasps' Seeker. "I’d rather see Voet beat Hutton to it," he said. "He’s always been smug about it when he wins out."

Unless they were up against Puddlemere United, Honey didn't typically follow the Wasps, so she gave the stranger a partial nod in response. "I'm really a Puddlemere United supporter, myself," she shared, after pausing to watch the gameplay again.

As most of the stadium probably was, she was watching the action between Rune, Klee, and Landgut closely as the commentators followed along. Landgut got possession of the Quaffle and passed it almost effortlessly to Loubens, which kept it away from the Wasps. Magnus Welsh, one of the commentators, asked where that Bludger had come from. Loubens hadn't had time to react before taking a serious hit to the shoulder, losing the Quaffle to Freund—the Wasps' captain—and falling down to the ground. Honey cringed a little; it wasn't pretty. Thankfully, it looked as though the commentators were right in observing that there were Mediwizards assembled down below. "Oh, that's a shame," she breathed. Loubens might not have been a Wasps player, but it had to have been disappointing not to be returning to play in such an important match.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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A Puddlemere fan? Mickey definitely hadn’t pictured the woman as that, but there were thousands of them out there, always showing up in force during matches. From what he had seen over the years, their fans tended to be on the older side, which made sense considering they were the oldest team in the league. There had been a point in time where Mickey was a fan of the team as well – it was his dad’s last team before his forced retirement. Personally, he never found himself favoring a specific team until he ended up on the Bats. When it came to playing, his only allegiance was his current team. Going up against former teammates in a match? No mercy. It had to be that way if he wanted his team to come out victorious.

Mickey had gotten caught up in his own head, completely oblivious to the back and forth exchanges going on, until the sharp whistle of the ref caught his one good ear. The long, shrill squeal of it told him that it was an injury, and sure enough the announcers confirmed that. Loubens had found herself smacked by a bludger as well. That was probably in response to the previous attempt at taking the Windsor kid out. Taking the Keeper out was certainly a strategy but a dirty one at that. “And that’s why we have such a long off-season,” Mickey found himself answering, despite the women not asking. “There’s no way I’d have let my team play on without me in the Championship match,” he rolled his eyes as a timeout was called to cart Loubens off the pitch. Sure, she went off her broom, but they were all professionals. Each and every one of them had taken a bludger hit harder than that before. Some of them from their own teammates. “My Beaters are always taking pot shots at me during practice. It’s amazing Yorkshire has made it this far without that training,” he added absent-mindedly. This game was practically over now that the Chasers were lopsided. Wimbourne had the upper-hand offensively, and Voet was certainly going to be the next target of their Beaters.

honey satheesh varma ● 362 ● Vengeance Is My Name by Amon Amarth

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

Just to look at her, Honey probably didn't seem like much of a Quidditch fan. She was far from athletic, and her glasses were thick enough that it was apparent to anyone that she couldn't see well at all without them. Yes, she looked like—and was—more of a geek than anything, but she was proud of that. And she also happened to be a fan of Puddlemere United—and not some some bandwagon fan, either; she was dedicated.

"And that’s why we have such a long off-season," the fan beside her quipped. There was that, Honey supposed; any injured players wouldn't have to be thrown back into another match after this one for a while, long enough to recover and to be in good form again. "There’s no way I’d have let my team play on without me in the Championship match," he added, not that Loubens had much of a choice in the matter. It was part of the sport, and the Wasps were at a bit of an advantage.

"My Beaters are always taking pot shots at me during practice. It’s amazing Yorkshire has made it this far without that training," the other fan added.

Honey turned her head towards him. He seemed to have an awful lot of options about Quidditch… "Oh, do you play?" she asked.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Shit. The only thought running through his head when he let it slip that he was a player was that he would promptly need an escape route if the wrong kind of fan got wind that he was roughing it in the normal fan section. The woman he had been talking to didn’t seem like the type to start screaming her head off like a rapid fan, but if anyone within earshot that was did, he would have to leg it back to the team box. What a stupid mistake to make too, because he was enjoying sitting in the normal seats. Looking over his shoulders to see if there was anyone with crazy eyes staring at him (there wasn’t), he leaned closer to the woman and nodded his head slowly. Luckily the general din of noise in the stadium would cut down on eavesdroppers. People were more engrossed with the match starting back up from the injury time-out anyways.

“Keeper for Ballycastle,” he said quickly, purposely omitting his name so it wouldn’t be overheard. “I don’t get to be on the other side of the game often, so I swapped tickets with the seat owners. After spending every waking moment with the team, the last thing you want to do is watch more Quidditch with them in a silly press box,” Mickey explained, as if he owed her an explanation for sitting in plebian seats. He knew where his privilege with the sport lay. Even when he wasn’t a player, his dad always managed to get them premier seats at any match he wanted to go to. Sitting in the nosebleeds during the Championship made him feel normal for a few minutes. That and interacting with fans that weren’t with Ballycastle was a different look on the sport. He hated when they were against those fans, but at the end of the day they were all there for Quidditch.

honey satheesh varma ● 320 ● Long Live (feat. Travis Barker) by Lights

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

"Keeper for Ballycastle."

Keeper for Ballycastle? For the Ballycastle Bats? The way he said hesitated before he said it and wasn't just boasting made it seem that he was serious, and Honey realized, wide-eyed, that he did look familiar… But what in Merlin's name was he doing in some of the—well, they weren't the worst, but they definitely weren't the greatest—seats in the stadium? Didn't the Quidditch players from the other teams get some sort of premier treatment, even though they hadn't made it to the finals?

Sure enough, there was an explanation from the player. "Mc"- or "Mac"- something, but Honey honestly couldn't remember beyond that. "I don't get to be on the other side of the game often," he told her, "so I swapped tickets with the seat owners." Had he not realized that the seat he was swapping for was mediocre at best? "After spending every waking moment with the team, the last thing you want to do is watch more Quidditch with them in a silly press box."

Honey nodded, not that she understood from first-hand experience what that must have been like for him. It must have been tiring to be the subject of so much attention. That was one thing she had never had to contend with, nor did she want to face that sort of pressure. Her life might not have seemed very exciting in comparison, but she was content. "I'm Honey," she introduced herself, not that she expected him to remember her name.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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There was a moment where he was telling her who he was where he almost stopped, stood up, and left. People tended to get this look, a stare of realization where you could tell they were trying to process everything and exclaim his name out at the same time. He had seen it time and time again when running into fans in Diagon Alley, or in restaurants. While it wasn’t always a bad thing to happen, there were moments where it wasn’t exactly optimal. In the middle of the stands at the Quidditch Championship Match? Probably not. That was why he had tried to keep his voice as low as possible without being completely muffled out by the crowd. Even though the fans here were for other teams, that didn’t stop the most rabid of Quidditch fans. They had their team, but they would do anything for any sort of memorabilia or autograph. Those super fans scared him the most.

Anyways, the woman, who eventually said her name was Honey after she seemingly processed everything he had said and believed him (because that was also a whole other discussion when it came to people not believing he was who he said he was, outside of official team events), had gotten that look, but also taken it in stride and hadn’t lost her goddamn mind like some were prone to do. That was…good. Apparently the match was engaging enough to draw everyone else away from their conversation, if they could even hear it in the first place. It had been so long since he had been in the stands that he had forgotten how absorbed one could be while watching. “Mickey McLaggen,” he introduced himself. “Though I guess I wish I was out there right now. Guess there’s always next year.” He shrugged and leaned back in his seat as play on the pitch continued after the injury was resolved. “You said you’re a Puddlemere fan, right? I think my dad did a short stint as their keeper. Maybe half a season tops. He was a career back-up, only because he kept getting injured…”

honey satheesh varma ● 353 ● Absolution by Ghost

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

Honey was very much a Quidditch fan, but she knew that there were certain boundaries that she needed not to cross. She knew not to completely freak out on anyone, even if she was totally freaking out internally. There were tons of Quidditch players in the league, and there were even more in the world as a whole. Still, it was unusual to find oneself next to a professional Quidditch player—especially in Honey's case. She didn't spend her time around famous people, and chatting with people in the tearoom was her socialization, not counting her Kneazle.

Her inability to remember the name of the player next to her turned out not to be a big deal, because he introduced himself to her, too. "Mickey McLaggen," he said, so she had been close on trying to remember what his name was. It would have been worse if she had taken a guess at it out loud and then been proven completely wrong. "Though I guess I wish I was out there right now. Guess there's always next year."

Mickey shrugged and leaned back a little, but Honey assumed that that must have been true for all of the Quidditch players. It was a major accomplishment, and Wimbourne and Yorkshire were definitely showing that they deserved to be there, in Honey's opinion. Both teams were playing well, though she had to think about how funny it would be if the next year's finals were between Ballycastle and Puddlemere.

"You said you're a Puddlemere fan, right?" Mickey checked, adding that he thought that his father had been their Keeper for a short time. "Maybe half a season tops," he said, which was a shame. "He was a career back-up, only because he kept getting injured…"

Honey frowned a little. She couldn't think of a McLaggen who had played for Puddlemere; he had to have been a player before her time. It was a great accomplishment that he had made it to Puddlemere United, though, and she couldn't deny that. "That's really great, though," she noted cheerfully, "that your dad got to play for Puddlemere. He must have loads of stories."

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Holding back a scoff at his father’s career was impossible, and Mickey barely even tried to restrain himself anymore whenever a conversation regarding the man popped up. In this instance he had been the perpetrator so there was no reason for him to go on a biased tirade about his father’s career (or lack thereof). Honey’s idea of ‘stories’ about his career had always ended up as lessons for Mickey. He wasn’t even sure if his siblings were ever subjected to the same treatment, having always been so laser-focused on his own career and what he needed to do in order to not be like the elder McLaggen, but he hoped that they hadn’t. The fact was that his father was not a successful Quidditch player. Would he have been a decent manager or coach for a team? Absolutely. There was no doubt about that. His write-ups in the Prophet for the Quidditch section and other sporting magazines were excellent. Putting that into practice outside of the family would have done him, and Mickey, a lot more.

“Yeah, he’s got a few. Just getting to the professional level is hard enough. Being a back-up or a bench player only means the person above you is one of the best.” He wouldn’t know what that was like since he fit so seamlessly into the Bats from the get-go, but he had seen the results of it in his father and plenty of other back-ups. Some played their role perfectly, others, like his father, were unlucky and never got a real chance. That was the harsh reality of Quidditch. Not everyone could make it, and even those that did weren’t always guaranteed a spot. Every year brought in a new slew of rookies that were faster and better than the batch before them. Especially these days.

honey satheesh varma ● 304 ● Tokyo Jellybean by Ingrid St-Pierre

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

Honey had never viewed herself or her life as being of any particular interest. She and her family were about as normal as anyone could get by magical standards, and it wasn't as though she had thrilling stories to share. The closest she got were stories of her childhood illness, which didn't always come across to others as it did to her. A lot of people were uncomfortable talking about that sort of thing, which she understood. Spattergroit versus Quidditch? It wasn't a difficult question.

"Yeah, he’s got a few," Mickey said of his father's Quidditch stories. "Just getting to the professional level is hard enough. Being a back-up or a bench player only means the person above you is one of the best."

Nodding, Honey supposed that it must have been a strange hierarchy. A professional Quidditch player, even if they were a reserve player, was still a professional Quidditch player. There was a certain level of skill required to get there, no matter where on the roster someone was.

She had lost track of the match itself for the moment, imagining what it must have been like to be a professional Quidditch player whose own parent had also played Quidditch professionally. It must have felt like something of a family legacy, and she wondered if Mickey felt the need to carry that on to future generations.

"This must seem like nothing new to you, then," Honey remarked of the championship match playing out before their eyes, after a pause. Every player and every configuration of every team brought something new into play, she knew, so maybe it hadn't lost all of its excitement.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen

[michelangelo tiberius mclaggen]

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Mickey had to think about Honey’s statement for a while. She wasn’t necessarily wrong; none of this was new to him, yet playing in the championship match would have been. That alone would have provided a brand new experience for him and his teammates, as none of them had gone that far before. In regards to the actual game of Quidditch, no, none of it was brand new. Each team had their own style of playing of course, but he had studied that in pre-game practices or after matches to see where he may have gone wrong on certain plays. The fans that understood Quidditch past the surface level of it being a game knew there was a lot more in it than just flying around and passing the Quaffle to take shots. Honey had clearly indicated that she had been a fan for a while, so she definitely knew more than half the people surrounding them.

The deep-rooted knowledge of the sport had been ingrained in him since he was able to ride a toy broom, and then repeatedly beaten into his head every day since. There were times where he wondered why he had stuck with the game when all it had ever brought him was misery. He knew more than Quidditch obviously, and yet here he was playing in a professional capacity. Having his father living vicariously through him didn’t really happen anymore, but that didn’t stop his dad from saying all the things that failed athletic parents did. The amount of times he had seen muggle movies repeat exact parts of his life made him feel a little better about it, except that didn’t change the fact that he had been forced to work hard for this, sometimes against his own will.

“It will be when my team is out there,” he pointed out at the pitch as another goal was scored. “But until then, no, not really. We practice so much and study the other teams that getting to sit down and watch a match can be pretty boring.” Which was exactly why his teammates were in their box seats getting hammered right now. Mickey couldn’t blame them, it was the off-season and they weren’t always allowed to party during the season. They needed to be allowed to let loose every now and then. He preferred the club atmosphere more than living it up in a box with the entire team staff around them. It seemed a little immature at times.

honey satheesh varma ● 416 ● Merciless Watcher by Tomb Mold

MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0

[honey satheesh varma]

"It will be when my team is out there," Mickey explained to her. He must have seen hundreds of Quidditch matches like the one they were watching and played in plenty more of them. Honey didn't know if she would have gotten tired of it. It wasn't as though anyone could predict the outcome of a match, save for perhaps an extremely talented Seer or something. Maybe a bookkeeper who had been in it for decades, if there were patterns to it. "But until then, no, not really. We practice so much and study the other teams that getting to sit down and watch a match can be pretty boring."

"Yeah," Honey nodded her head. "That makes sense." It was actually sort of fascinating to her that he seemed to find the other players to be so predictable. Everyone had their own playing style and preferences, because they were individuals, but even just the combinations of different people on the pitch must have brought something interesting into it. For the sake of holding Mickey's interest, Honey hoped that the match would be an exciting one, not that it wasn't fabulous to her. Maybe it would be one for the record books.

michelangelo tiberius mclaggen
OOC: Eeeeeee! Sorry again about that! Fin.