#— ⟢ but i’m bereft you see ⦂ ⋰ * ✧ open starter.

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR]Modern AU - Teaching Pains Pt11

Part 10

Prompt 7: Valentine’s Day

There's something surreal about Iruka’s first day back.

For starters, memories hound him. Only yesterday, it seems, or a lifetime ago--except, no, it’s right now --he was-- is? --roaming these halls in search of Naruto. The walls were bereft of glittery puns and eye-searing posters, then, and he doesn’t remember any lone heart-shaped balloon buoying along the curved top of the atrium.

Pink, white and red hearts also hang from the ceilings of the corridor, leftovers from the Valentine’s week that he missed. From experience, he knows that the decorations will keep til somewhere around early March, at which point the first teacher to jolt into awareness of the passing time will rock-paper-scissor a team of colleagues into putting them away.

For once, he’s grateful to see them linger. It helps shrug off the prickle of unease.

Still, a mounting sense of disquiet follows his climb up the stairs to his classroom. His hand falters on the doorknob. In the corridor, the joyful shouts of dozens of children stomping about fade into a haze of dread. He watches himself shove the classroom door open, stagger out against Mizuki. At the foot of the opposite wall, the dark shape of a knife long since picked taunts him.

Before Suzume across from him can offer any awkward words of support, he pushes it all down and steps inside the classroom.

Anyway, besides that, the greatest hurdle to his return to normalcy is his students’ behavior.

It’s impeccable.

“You get five minutes to ask questions, and then we’re picking up where we left off,” he warns with a sigh, hoping to clear the air.

In spite of the tense ripple that passes through his audience, nobody speaks. Even Naruto stays quiet, dropping his gaze to his fiddling fingers. They must've been briefed while Iruka was away, and pretty severely at that.

Eventually, a trembling hand lifts, from a most unexpected source.

“Yes, Hinata?”

“I--Hm. Is Iruka-sensei okay?”

All eyes, even those thus far averted, focus on Iruka with terrifying intensity.

He forces out a laugh. “I’m fine,” he says, but they seem entirely unconvinced. If anything, the half-truth is leaving too much room for their wild imagination.

Luckily, Iruka was already well-practiced in the art of defusion as a teen, and has grown into an adult unafraid to weaponize it.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I mean it. Having an achy knee at my age is embarrassing, and also my ribs hurt,” he admits sheepishly. Then he cocks a thumb at his own chest and grins. “But that’s nothing! Have I told you I used to be part of the karate team back in the days?”

A collective groan echoes in the room because yes, he has.

“Just give me a few weeks and I bet I could compete again. Picture this: your teacher, a tournament champion! You’ll get to say you knew me well before the fame.” He pinches his chin thoughtfully. “Now that’s an honor.”

A few pained eyerolls follow--the usual response to a lame teacher’s bragging--and then they're back on track. Iruka finally gets to turn to the board and write the day's lesson plan. And if he avoids reaching for the highest part, well, nobody comments.

In truth, he could not be more thankful for Hiruzen’s visit on the weekend he got home. The old Headmaster took a seat at Iruka's dull little dining table, sucked on his unlit pipe, and waited while Iruka clumsily made some tea before his indulgent eyes. Then he said, “I look forward to seeing you back in one week’s time,” and Iruka had no other choice but to take the time off.

The days that followed might have been an excruciating kind of tedious but they were, it turns out, necessary.

And he did get a few visits. Anko was quick to declare his get-well shrine too cumbersome to keep around. She got rid of it through the means of a home delivery. For his part, Naruto made no less than three post-school detours by his place, much to Daikoku and Iruka's exasperation. The last such instance had Kakashi awkwardly trailing behind, looking sheepish and uncomfortable and like he wasn't sure he was welcome, which was ridiculous in light of everything but also made Iruka question if he had hallucinated whatever had passed between them when Kakashi helped him home. And then stayed.

Is it fair to hold someone to the way they acted right after a life-threatening event?

Anyway on Friday evening Kotetsu and Izumo dropped by with their own haul and Iruka spent his last weekend of forced rest eating overdue Valentine chocolate from the teachers’ room and trying not to fret about Monday.

He shouldn’t have worried. In spite of the constant mild pain and the glint-- it’s-a-blade-it’s-a-blade --of a far-off passing car, the day goes fine. He’s just a bit disappointed that it isn't one of Kakashi's appointed days at KMH, but eh , the man has other priorities.

“So, how was it?” Anko asks, plonking the coffee maker back into place.

It's the end of the day. Why she sees fit to finish the thing at such a late hour is anybody's guess.

Iruka shrugs. It almost doesn't hurt.

“Honestly? I expected much worse. Kids were eerily well behaved.”

“Yeah, we had an Assembly while you were away. Hiruzen-sensei was intense.” She pauses with a considering look, which is how Iruka realizes he has begun frowning. “He didn't name names, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But you know?” he asks, feeling the familiar swell of protectiveness within him.

She pulls a face and dismisses it with a wave of indifference. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Honestly Iruka, that kid of yours... You really love the dumb ones.”

And that rankles, a bit.

“Nobody saw it coming,” Iruka says, and feels the echo of Kakashi's voice in his mind soothing some of the guilt from the words.

Something about Anko’s mug must be particularly fascinating, because she drops her gaze to it and sloshes it around.

“Yeah, we didn't,” she murmurs, before offering him a fiercely rueful grin. “As I said: the dumb ones.”

Walking across the main hall proves even more unnerving now that it’s empty. The memory of climbing down those stairs on a busted knee and with freshly cracked ribs burns bright in Iruka's mind. In the muted light, the paper hearts on the walls struggle to dispel it. He half expects to see Ibiki standing on the lawn when he exits.

Instead, he finds Kakashi, reading against a lamppost.

To his credit, he tucks the obnoxious little book away once Iruka reaches talking distance. 

“Please, tell me you didn't bike here,” Kakashi says with no other form of greeting.

“I--uh, no? I took the bus,” Iruka finds it in himself to stutter, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag. He's kept it on the light side but it still weighs uncomfortably.

Kakashi's gaze lands on it, lingers, and then moves up to meet his eyes. “Care for a ride home?”

“Oh you don't h--” Iruka begins to demur. He stops. Reassesses. Rolls his eyes at himself and smiles back. “Yes, please. And thank you.”

Kakashi dips his head like he’s pleased with the words and hands him something. Iruka takes it, because that’s the polite thing to do. While he's busy turning it over, his bag gets tugged from his side and he ducks out of the strap to accommodate it, trying to figure out whatever it is Kakashi gave him.

It's chocolate. Fair trade and organic, the labels say, which Iruka supposes is nice, but an otherwise pretty plain tablet of 60% cocoa chocolate. And it definitely doesn’t explain why Iruka’s distinctly lighter all of a sudden.

Wait.

By the time he looks up to argue, Kakashi has already shouldered the bag. He's looking so easily unconcerned about it that Iruka struggles to find any grip to hang his grievance on. He settles for an uncomprehending glance at the chocolate.

“Thanks?” he says, feeling like the worst sort of tool, but also like at this point he might as well be spiraling on an ice rink and if he trips Kakashi on the way down well, the guy kind of asked for it. Iruka didn't get this wrong-footed all on his lonesome.

Kakashi shrugs and turns away, keeping him in sight with a nonchalant side-eye.

“You weren't here last week,” he says, as if that’s in any way news to Iruka, as if it explains anyt--

Kakashi’s ears are flushed.

Iruka hears a disbelieving chuckle bubble out of him. “Oh, come on. Really?”

The ears turn even redder, shielded on each side by Kakashi’s shoulders. He strides ahead in a way that’s disturbingly similar to a hasty retreat.

“The car’s over there,” he announces.

Chocolate bar safely tucked away, Iruka falls into step with him and bumps their shoulders together. It jostles his sides and sparks a light twinge, but It’s a small price to pay for Kakashi's renewed attention, however wary it may be.

Not that Iruka has any idea what to follow that with, so he simply says, ”I'm glad,” because at least that’s true. It’s a nice gesture.

The mortification recedes from Kakashi’s flush. He scratches the pink skin beneath the eyepatch with self-aware embarrassment and slows his gait. The crinkles at the corner of his visible eye betray a soft little smile.

Iruka wonders if he’s allowed to let their hands brush together. He doesn’t act on the thought.

Kakashi remains a pleased sort of quiet until they stop by a deep green Alto Works that's seen better days. “It's Gai's,” he says at Iruka's inquisitive look.

Like Iruka, he usually bikes to work.

There’s an implication, there, that sparks like hope. Iruka’s chest is light and full at once in a way it has no right to be with this amount of crushed ribs. His throat tightens, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from opening.

“Would you like to go out? With me? On a date?” he blurts out, feeling miserable and uncool and brave all at once.

Kakashi squirms like he's not doing much better, and gives a small nod that's all the more awkward for his attempt to make it suave. “Sure.”

They’re absolutely terrible at this.

Iruka can't help but grin. It wrinkles the scar across his nose, it’s so wide.

“How about the coffee shop?”

It's way past the time for caffeine but that shop stays open late and, anyway, it's not about the drink.

It's never been about the drinks.

Kakashi blinks. “You mean… now?”

“Oh. You don't want to?” Iruka asks, and okay, maybe he's teasing a bit. Just a bit.

The dry look Kakashi gives him speaks to his awareness that he's being played. It only makes the nearly rushed way he unlocks the car and then ushers Iruka inside even more flattering.

Iruka's much too old to be considering making out in a car, he reminds himself in the stifling air inside, charged with the unnamed thrill of expectation. He also isn't sure--Kakashi can be at once upfront and evasive, and that's when he’s not busy being plain withdrawn. Iruka doesn't know what liberties he can take. Out of all those he wants.

When Kakashi pulls up in a parking space and secures the handbrake, the coffee shop across the street is closed.

As is the custom. Every single start of the week.

Iruka throws his head back with a groan. “Oh shit, it’s Monday.”

“Oh, is it?” comes the replies, dry as the desert.

A thought strikes Iruka then, of just how fast he'd have bristled, months ago, at the wry raise of Kakashi's visible eyebrow.

Now, he just snorts and rolls his eyes, complicit in the teasing. “Pft, don’t give me that, I got confused. You’re not usually around on Mondays.”

Kakashi hums acknowledgment and grants the point with a tip of his head.

They both stare out at the closed coffee shop. There's a mild sense of betrayal about the situation, like they’re both actors of a planned scene whose director threw away the script.

“You didn't call,” Kakashi says.

Sheepish, Iruka scratches the bridge of his nose. It’s true, he didn’t. He barely sent Kakashi a couple of texts. In the cold light of solitude, he found himself struggling to sort through the events. Emotions had been running high. He got betrayed by a friend. He was in pain. He didn’t know how much of what he read into Kakashi’s care wasn’t just pure projection.

“I was too miserable to talk, to be honest,” is the partial truth he’s willing to admit to. “But I was glad to see you when you dropped off Naruto,” he offers as a tentative peace offering.

That gets Kakashi to perk up.

“You were?”

“Yes? I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

Uncharacteristically bashful, Kakashi glances away with a murmur of: “I didn't want to impose.”

Iruka looks at him like he's grown two heads. “After everything you've done…”

Gone is the shyness. Kakashi’s eye sharpens at the words. “You shouldn't feel indebted,” he says somewhat cuttingly.

They share a look. Even hidden behind his perpetually creased coat, Iruka can tell Kakashi's body's drawn tight as a bow. He’s leaning back and slightly away, like he’s gearing up, maybe for a fight, definitely for a blow.

As far as Iruka’s concerned, he doesn’t intend to go for either.

“That’s not what this is,” he tells Kakashi.

“Then what is this?”

“What was the chocolate for?”

“You know what. But you shouldn't consider it out of obligation.”

The long-suffering groan those words draw out of Iruka surprises them both. In all fairness, Iruka would have been hard-pressed to suppress it even with an advanced warning.

He slaps a hand over his eyes.

“You’re so… Fuck, but Anko is right.”

“What?” Kakashi asks, sounding like he thinks he should be offended and doesn't understand why he isn't.

Iruka drops his hand to level him with the full weight of his glare. Kakashi greets it by leaning in with his single eye wide-open. Expectant.

“You're a pain in the neck, Kakashi. I'm pretty sure you're responsible for half the gray hairs I've gained this school year.”

“Only half?” Kakashi mutters sotto voce like he can't help himself.

Iruka wants to strangle him. Iruka wants--

“I really want to kiss you.”

In his rush to deliver, Kakashi snaps off the left strap of his mask.

His lips are warm against Iruka’s, slightly moist from being covered all day. His jawline tilts up, vulnerably exposed. Iruka can’t resist the urge to cup it, thumb settling right beneath his hidden eye and stroking the early rise of his cheekbone. The skin is smooth there, even more so on the downwards slash of his old scar, buffered by time. In contrast, his chin tingles a bit, light pricks of uneven stubble rubbing against Iruka. With his pale hair and skin, Kakashi probably doesn’t bother shaving nearly as close as Iruka has to, especially with how often he keeps his face concealed.

Iruka chuckles at the thought, little puffs of air between them that Kakashi answers with an inquisitive hum, and that Iruka swallows back by closing in again.

Turns out, he’s not too old to make out in a car after all.

When Kakashi’s little moans finish lighting his every nerve on fire, though, Iruka’s forced to concede to the urgent need for a recess.

He pulls off with a gasp. A flash of concern creases Kakashi's brows, then clears in the light of understanding. Before moving away, he catches Iruka’s mouth in one last searing kiss, and it takes every single drop of willpower in Iruka not to pull him in again.

Instead, he steals a few pecks while they part, until they finally drop each against their own backrest, out of breath.

Iruka bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe our first kiss was in a cramped car.”

Not without humor, Kakashi considers the driving stick between them, and bobs his head in a so-so motion. “It’s good dissuasion.”

“Yeah,” Iruka says, watching Kakashi's hand creep closer to the loose bangs escaped from his ponytail. He allows a few gentle attempts to brush them out of his face before remembering himself. “Gods, please don’t do this or we’ll start all over again, and I don't think my ribs can take it.”

Kakashi drops his hand with an amused snort. He also takes the time to check the way Iruka's carrying himself but he doesn't seem overly alarmed by what he sees, even as he asks if Iruka's okay.

“I'm fine,” Iruka says breezily. “It just aches, twisting around like this. Worth it, though,” he adds with a grin.

The pleased flush that takes over Kakashi's cheeks is making it very difficult not to lean in again.

“Yeah?” Kakashi asks cautiously.

Iruka holds his breath against the pain just long enough for a lightning taste of Kakashi's lips.

“Yeah.”

Kakashi stares at him adoringly. Iruka feels undeserving.

He rubs the back of his neck. “It'd probably be easier on a couch,” he says, looking from under his lashes. “You're taking me home anyway, and I owe you coffee.”

“No thanks, you need a better coffee maker,” Kakashi mutters, but he also starts the car.

In the end, Iruka makes them both some dated herbal tea he finds in the back of a cabinet, just so they have an excuse to linger.

The worst of the urgency has died down, though. Kakashi does actually take a sip of his drink after sitting down--and also wrinkles his nose at the quality, because he's a snob.

“I really like you,” he says after setting the mug on one of the discarded envelopes Iruka converts into makeshift coasters.

“I gathered, yeah,” Iruka replies brazenly, trying to hide the spike of his nerves. He didn't expect Kakashi to be this blunt.

He worries what else Kakashi could be so blunt about.

“I mean it,” Kakashi carries on, with only a brief falter to his apparent confidence. “I don't--I don't usually bother dating, I'm not even interested, most of the time. So I wanted you to know, I don't take this lightly.”

A single-eyed stare should not be this intense. Iruka struggles with a sense of unreality, staring at Kakashi’s unmasked face, at the expression of near solemnity that carried his confession.

As the seconds of breathless silence drag on, Kakashi begins pushing up, impassive. His voice is offensively businesslike when he speaks. “I don't want to pressure you. How about I go so you can think about it?”

“How about you give me a minute to process, first?!” Iruka snaps back.

Kakashi lowers himself back slowly.

Resisting the gravitational pull of his couch, Iruka braces on his knees and digs his thumbs into the space between his eyebrows. He wishes they could just ignore this step in the dance and go back to fooling around like spontaneous teenagers, but he's also thankful for Kakashi's pragmatism. It's nothing he hasn't thought about himself, after all.

He sinks back.

“I don't take this lightly either,” he tells the wall space above his hand-me-down television. Then, because Kakashi deserves more than cowardice, he meets his eye. “You're my coworker. I don't date coworkers.” A self-conscious chuckle escapes him. “I mean, I haven’t dated at all in a while either, because who has the time to even go looking--But I like you. You're… extremely maddening in all senses of the term.”

“Thanks?”

Iruka terribly wants to card a hand through his gray hair.

He ducks his head and gives a bashful squeeze to the back of his own neck instead. “It's not bad. I don't have to worry if you'll keep up with me. If anything, you make me feel like I can keep up with you , which is really flattering.”

There's a stiffening at his side but Kakashi doesn't interrupt.

“I mean… I have my temper,” Iruka adds, in distantly amused self-awareness. “You have your pride. But you still let me apologize when I'm in the wrong. And then you let us move on, which… I can’t tell you… Not having to halve myself to fit… It’s--I really appreciate it.”

Kakashi kisses him.

Just surges against him and kisses him.

It's the strangest sensation, like a sudden crashing wave going in slow motion right before the point of impact. Kakashi pushes him down into the cushions with a strength that feels unrelenting and a gentleness that takes out any sense of demand. The errant pillow that could've caused any discomfort is pushed to the floor. Iruka’s legs are given room to climb on the couch. Kakashi straddles his hips, bowing over with his hands digging in the couch to keep his weight off. And kisses him, urgent and slightly shaky.

Intending to soothe him, Iruka reaches up to rub his back. When his hand meets the lower end of his untucked shirt, though, he doesn't course correct. The skin is scorching hot under his touch.

Kakashi lets out a punched out moan.

“God damnit,” he whispers against the corner of Iruka's mouth, trying to collect himself, “you’re not being fair .”

Iruka can't resist kissing his chin. He's not doing much better himself. Truthfully, he did not expect to still have it in him, this sudden outpouring of desire. He considers twisting his hips to flip them over, and reaches the devastating conclusion that he'll have to wait a bit longer before he can fully enjoy having Kakashi pinned down.

What a thought, though.

He moves aside a bit, giving his left arm room to spread so it's not so uncomfortably trapped against his side. Kakashi accommodates him easily.

His expression is so terribly fond that Iruka feels his insides squirm in a guilty sort of distress. That's… a lot of emotions, there. Aimed at him, of all people. He's usually the one doing the emoting.

“I just wish you'd be a bit more careful about silly things like safety regulations,” Iruka jokes, trying for levity.

Kakashi gives him a long, searching look then kisses him again, the asshole.

“I like that you care,” he says very seriously when he's done, because he's contrarian like that. His expression doesn't waver even when his cheeks go gently pink as he considers his next words. “And I think it'd feel really good if Iruka-sensei were to care this strongly about me too.”

Iruka stares up, throat tight, so tight it's a wonder he's even able to speak next.

“I don't think that'll be a problem,” he chokes out.

Kakashi leans in and rewards the honesty with another kiss.

Part the last

[absinthc-blog]

minwoo  sits  in  the  main  room  of  headquarters,  clad  in  an  overly  expensive  three-piece suit  —  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other  as  slender  fingers  keep  a  hold  of  his  coffee  cup.  he's  been  there  for  almost  twenty-four  hours  straight,  filling  out  paperwork,  going  over  blueprints  &  anything  in  between  he  might  have  missed.  has  he  slept  ?  no,  he  hasn't  and  he's  sure  the  wrinkles  that  crease  this  silk  button-up  paired  with  the  dark  circles  under  his  eyes  tell  that  tale  far  better  than  anything  else.  "they  fucked  up  my  coffee."  it  comes  out  as  a  bitter  scoff,  minwoo  all  but  slamming  the  cup  down  onto  the  table  in  front  of  his  feet.  

"how  in  the  fuck  does  someone  mess  up  a  vanilla  latte  ?!"  he's  mostly  mumbling  to  himself  at  this  point,  peeling  himself  up  of  the  couch  —  adjusting  his  suit  &  tie  before  finally  making  eye-contact  with  the  other  crew  member  that  just  so  happened  to  be  passing  by.  "you  busy  ?"  he  asks,  quick  to  shift  his  attitude  for  one  that  was  a little  more  charming  &  persuasive.  "the  stupid  coffee  shop  messed  up  my  order  &  i'm  in  dire  need  of  caffeine  ...  but  i'm  too tired  to  go  by  myself."  the  male  continues  to  explain,  a  small  (  &  almost  pathetic  )  smile  etching  onto  his  lips.  "come  with  me  and  i'll  buy  you  coffee  and  something  to  eat... sound  like  a  deal  ?"

[michellespenscratchz]

For the ask: 11, Rhys, Vaughn and Yvette

“Excuse you, I can be as dramatic and ridiculous as I want, outside of work hours. You can’t stop me.“

Days off were highly frowned upon at Hyperion. Days of bereavement were okay. As long as the one you were bereft of was your late, great leader, Handsome Jack. In that case, a day of bereavement was mandatory. In fact, if you weren’t sad enough on this somber occasion, it could mean a pay reduction and a stay in Helios’ on-site re-education facility until you learned to turn that frown appropriately right-side down. Jeffery Blake’s announcement made all this perfectly clear once the news reached the station that Handsome Jack had been slain by Vault Hunters on Pandora.

Of all the employees on Helios, few took the death of Jack harder than Rhys Strongfork of Hyperion Securities Propaganda.

He sat at a table in the Hub of Heroism, staring vacantly into his coffee until the steam had subsided and his hand around the mug no longer perceived warmth. Across the table from him, Vaughn and Yvette exchanged glances, each silently asking the other to be the first to speak. Yvette’s finger tapped on the table absently.

“Thanks again for buying our mourning bands for us,” she tried. The three of them donned matching black armbands with the Hyperion ‘H’ tastefully embroidered.

“I got us the authentic black leather,” Rhys said. “I feel like it’s what he would have wanted.”

“Yeah.” Yvette clicked her tongue. “I’m sure Jack’s--” she bit her lip and searched for words. “--smiling that masked smile of his from a better place.”

“I heard the Board is already planning to turn his office into a museum,” Vaughn chimed in. “That’ll be nice, right? We’ll take you on opening day. My treat, man.”

Rhys looked up. “Are you serious?” he asked, dismayed. “They can’t do that. Jack’s not even cold in his grave yet!”

“Well, I mean, it happened on a volcano, so y’know--” Yvette started, but was cut short by the daggers staring at her from across the table. “Alright, too soon! Too soon!” she admitted, displaying her palms in concession.

The coffee cup rattled on the table in Rhys’ grip. Then, abruptly he let it go and pounded a fist on the table. The cup went spiraling in an arc towards Vaughn, and its lukewarm contents spilled in his lap.

“Aww! Dude, really?” He stood up, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started to mop up the stain. Yvette scooted away from the table in her chair.

“Sorry, but this is an outrage!” Rhys proclaimed. “I mean, for starters, how often did Jack actually use that office? He was always doing his best work Pandora. Look at the city of Opportunity, down there on the planet. That was supposed to be Jack’s magnum opus. What’s gonna happen to it now, are we supposed to just let it sit abandoned? That’s where the museum should be. Not up here, where nobody can ever really see him at his best. Anybody who goes on that tour doesn’t really get Jack.”

“I, uh,” Vaughn finished wiping up the coffee and sat back down. “I guess I see what you’re saying, but let’s be real. Who in the six galaxies is going to want to move to Opportunity now, after what happened to its founder? The city’s construction is going to be set back for years, if it’s even finished at all.”

“If I were running the show around here, you can bet that wouldn’t be the case,” Rhys said. “I’m gonna march up to the top office wing right now and hand-cuff myself to the door until the Board halts this museum, and refocuses on really doing justice to Jack’s memory. By, oh I dunno, finishing what he came to Pandora to do? Just a thought.”

“Okay, look Rhys,” Yvette spoke up. “I get that Jack was your inspiration and all that, but will you listen to yourself? You’re being ridiculous. Hyperion’s not gonna care about some little dramatic display.”

“Excuse you, I can be as dramatic and ridiculous as I want, outside of work hours. You can’t stop me.”

(That is such a hard line to work seamlessly into a conversation. XP)

[placesyoucallhome]

Q’ruhka Tia

The Basics ––– –

Age: Mid twenties, probably, he’s pretty sure

Birthday: 23rd Sun of the 5th Astral Moon by paperwork (that he forged)

Race: Seeker Miqo’te

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual, leans towards men

Marital Status: Single

Server: Mateus

Physical Appearance ––– –

Hair: Soft cream white

Eyes: Clear blue and gold

Height: 5′

Build: Muscle from repeated manual labor

Distinguishing Marks: Small scars on his cheek, normal seeker male markings, prominent claws

Common Accessories: Alcohol, razor wire, reading glasses, thigh boots

Personal ––– –

Profession: Materials merchant, tavern owner, pirate

Hobbies: Reading, collecting books, studying, knitting

Languages: Common, sign language, can read a handful of other languages

Residence: Mist Ward 20, Plot 14

Birthplace: Sagolii desert

Religion: None

Patron Deity: None

Fears: Hallucinogenics, things getting close to his throat, talking about his past, namazu

Relationships ––– -

Spouse: Not married

Children: None

Parents: His mother, Qu’mahz, is probably still alive

Siblings: Plenty of half-sisters

Other Relatives: Puk tribe miqo’te potentially

Pets: Toby, Ixali Direwolf and a Good Boy

Traits ––– -

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––– –

Smoking Habit: No Drugs: Absolutely not Alcohol: Functioning alcoholic

RP Hooks ––– –

Materials Merchant- An accomplished crafter and supplier, Ruhka has built much of his fortune on making and selling base materials and supplies. Need wholesale lumber, cloth, potions, or cooking ingredients? Ruhka can deliver with quality! And with a new headquarters built, he’s happy to welcome new customers in.

Tavern Owner- And nearly the first thing he did with said fortune was buy a bar. The ultimate accessory for any drinker, really. His Tavern is always open, manned by his retainers Nerys and Rikuto if not by himself. He’s always ready with a drink and an ear for anyone that walks in.

Sky Pirate- With ships to his name, Ruhka took to the skys, to take the things he couldn’t simply buy. Allagan tech, Garlean machinery, Machi relics, and more. His collection is vast and varied, but prying it away from him won’t be so easy. However if it’s just a ride you need, that can also be arranged.

Self Scholar- Along with various tech and marvels from across the eras, Ruhka collects books, nearly obsessively. His libraries are scattered across his estates, on nearly every subject imaginable. Though he has no formal education himself, he’s quite likely to have some knowledge on whatever one could be looking for.

Arcane Mundane- For all his collected knowledge and various hobbies, Q’ruhka seems bereft of any magical skill. Not that he hasn’t attempted, but he cannot seem to grasp the actual act of wielding aether himself. What books and self study cannot get across to him, he’d try to find a tutor for, in either black or white magic.

Beach Cat- Ruhka doesn’t ever seem to want to be far from the shore. On his brief off hours he can be found seaside, musing over something or another, knitting, or perhaps just drinking, but he’ll not often knock company.

Eccentric Patron- For all he was left wanting, Ruhka has a mind to not leave others the same. If he finds merit in someone’s studies or goals and they have no other support, he may grant his own for a price. And quite usually, that price is ‘be interesting’, good luck to those that take it up.

Contact Information  ––– –

OOC: Yo kiddos, I’m Ruhka, or Q, hell call me Places if you want, I don’t care! I’m primarily a paragraph rper that likes to match, though I do like to start with ingame rp if possible. I’m well and truly old enough to drink and I’d far prefer it if my partners were 21+ as well, and have a sporadically busy office job. I’m willing to do some mature topics, and plenty of dark topics, but erp is a no go right off the bat. But if it makes sense for the characters and I’m comfortable with your writing style that can change.

Contact: Feel free to poke or message me here, or send Ruhka random starters or questions (my anon is on)! If somehow you see me in game, toss me a whisper, or just /slap me, either works! I might be afking though, whether the tag is on or not. If you’d rather my discord I can give that as well.

@ffxiv-crystal-rp​ @mooglemeet​ @crystalxivrp​

Tagged posts

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 32: Echinacea Purpurea

Chapters: 32/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader,  Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Stress With No Outlet, Real Trials Are Boring, Ain’t Like TV, Botanical Gardens Are The Best, Iceland Sounds Like A Blessedly Quiet Place To Someone Who Lives Where The Trees Scream Several Months Out Of The Year Summary:   Reader’s insecurities build up again, but at least this time there is a calm place to vent them.

You'd only eaten a light breakfast, but it sat like a brick in your belly. Saldis had reappeared in your room once morning came, to help you dress and make sure you were ready. You weren't ready.

You certainly looked ready. Your hair was fine and your dress was fine, simple, plain, and modest. Your insides however, were spinning in frantic circles. What if the jury decided not to convict the guy? What if they all hated you too? What if somehow it got all turned around, and it was Loki that got thrown in jail instead? How would you help your prince then? You would have to go to jail too in that case, to stay alive. Would they put you in the same cell? Next to each other? Or would they find the farthest distance you could be from one another, and force you to stay that far apart?

No, no, those kinds of things only happened in television dramas. You had to ignore everything you had seen in the media about court proceedings; they were only written like that so that they wouldn't bore the viewers. Your only purpose here, Loki's only purpose here, was to give testimony. No one was going to try to put Loki on trial here, nor you. No one was going to let that man hurt you either. He was going to be confined to a chair, with no weapons, and there would be a lot of security. Brunnhilde and Borgliot, and even Thor himself would be there. You would be safe, and Loki would be safe, and soon this would be over.

But in order for it to be over, It had to begin. It couldn't be over until you had gone through it.

And so it was that you arrived at the courthouse, to find yet more protesters on the steps. Again, you found yourself surrounded by a protective Asgardian wall, though, to your surprise, many of these protesters seemed to be there in support of you. They had nothing but scathing denouncements for Loki though, viciously scolding him for his many crimes against humanity in general, and you in specific.

You wanted to tell them that it wasn't like that, but you didn't think they would be able to hear over their own shouting.

Thankfully, they were not being allowed into the actual courthouse, and would not be able to disturb the proceedings, though they had managed to disturb you. You hadn't thought about the awful things Loki had done on Earth for a while now, not when he showed you such consideration. He was so gentle with you, so...almost normal. But he had killed people, potentially many people. However, due to the secretive nature of some of the organizations he had attacked, no one had anything but rough estimates for how many deaths he was responsible.

No. You were here for a human murderer, and you would see justice done in this case at least.

The bereft soldier, Adalheid, was already there. As the primary witness to the actual murder, she had come to the city a few weeks ago for the preliminary hearing, and now waited in what you were calling the Witness Room with a few of the victim's family members. You couldn't speak with her directly, but with Loki and Saldis there, everyone was able to communicate fairly effectively.

To your surprise, nobody seemed to blame you. You were the reason the killer had even come here in the first place, but everybody placed the blame squarely on his shoulders, where it belonged.

“You cannot take the blame.” The victim's sister told you. “All you did was leave home. This man, he came with violence in his heart.”

“I knew that he would die long before I did.” Adalheid said through Saldis. “But I thought we would have some decades yet. That I might make him happy for the time we did have.”

“You did, dear. He always wanted to go back to you.”

It could have been you. People sitting around a room, consoling themselves over your absence. But instead, it was some guy who was completely uninvolved. If people back home thought you had somehow betrayed them for Loki, then ultimately, you could understand why they would be angry. Maybe even why someone would try to kill you. Somehow, it was more offensive, more cruel, that a man was dead now, just because he liked to cuddle with an Asgardian soldier.

Well, you would get vengeance for him. With the power of law!

It was, thankfully, nowhere near as dramatic as any of the television or movie trials you had seen, although there was the somewhat surreal experience of having the undivided attention of a room full of people who could neither speak to, nor understand you. Oh, it was likely that a few people here knew English, but maybe not well enough that you could communicate with each other.

That was Saldis' true purpose here. Being fluent in both Icelandic and English, she translated back and forth, able to effectively express nuance that might have been lost otherwise.

They wanted to know fairly simple things from you. Did you know the defendant? Had you ever met before, in person or on social media? Had you ever heard of him? No to all.

Had you ever met the victim? Had you otherwise heard of him? Not exactly, but from the little love nest Loki had described to you, you had surmised that someone like him must exist. You personally had never seen the evidence.

What did you remember from the day you were attacked? If you never saw his face, how do you know this is the same man who attacked you? Because he had blatantly told you at the scene of the murder itself.

All questions you had heard before, safe, rehearsed. No unexpected game changers from out of left field, no trying to twist your words around. No blame.

They released you from the stand, your head swimming in unfulfilled anxiety. That had been so simple.  Your part was over now, and it almost felt as if you hadn't done anything at all.

You made your way back to the Witness Room, still edgy. That had been actually boring! The killer hadn't even looked at you! No one had said anything else to you, other than the questions you knew they were going to ask. They hadn't even gotten mad when you couldn't bring yourself to swear on a bible. Thor had actually brought you Stormbreaker to place your hand on. He'd been asked politely but firmly to put it away and not bring it out again while he was within the city, but nobody had said anything to you about it.

That stunt would have gotten you killed socially and in the media back in the States. But things were different now. You took meals with gods, and slept in hotels with them. You held their hands and scolded them. You weren't the same now as you had been then.

Saldis tried to convince you to sit down and wait, but you were just too wound up to rest. You paced round and round, jumping as the door suddenly opened and Loki swept regally into the room.

“My dear.” He said. “You look troubled.”

You stopped pacing and hurried over to him. “I'm just...I don't know...”

“I think I do. Lucky for us, our presence is no longer necessary. We can go wherever we like now. Would you like food?​”

“You said there was a botanical garden? Can we go there?”

“Certainly. We can spend the rest of the day there, if you wish.” He promised, taking your hand.

“Your Highness, will you require my services any further?” Saldis asked.

“Not for today, I think. You may go where you wish, but do not go alone. Enjoy your day.”

Saldis bowed. “Thank you, your Highness.”

Loki led you back to the steps of the courthouse, where the protesters still gathered. They began shouting again, their fervor rising as they noticed Loki still holding your hand. Several people started screaming about love conquering all, but others jumped forward trying to separate you, to 'liberate' you.

“Oh, definitely not.” Loki muttered. He swept you into his arms as security guards rushed to restore peace. With a wild laugh, he sprang from the stairs, landing as gracefully as a dancer. Cries of awe and fear rose up behind you, receding as Loki ran down the street, carrying you off like a princess.

“You crazy bastard!” You gasped. Loki set you on your feet, and you leaned against the nearest wall until your heart stopped thudding.

“Those are very inelegant words with which to describe your prince and savior.” He said with a fake scowl. “Never fear; I can provide better ones. Gallant, for starters. Noble, courageous, clever, devastatingly handsome. Take your pick.”

“What kind of stunt was that?” You exclaimed. “What if you'd dropped me?”

“Oh _____,” Loki said, trailing a finger down your cheek. “When would I ever do that?”

You needed to lean against the wall for a little longer.

People started to notice you, or rather, Loki. These seemed like the regular residents of the town, and they did not try to approach, but you saw an awful lot of cellphones out and pointed in your direction.

The stroll through town would have been quite pleasant, aside from that. The place was very clean, and there were many cute buildings with bright paint.

“Loki, I think there are people following us.” You whispered, clinging to his offered arm.

“I know.” He whispered back. “As long as they keep a respectful distance, let them take their pictures and videos. What will it show to the world, save you and I sharing a quiet day in peaceful accord?”

“Is that your version of PR?”

“Given that the majority of Earth's footage of me is rather unflattering, yes. Let your internet flood with videos of myself chivalrously escorting you around the city. I don't mind it in the least.”

Nobody followed you into the gardens themselves, but Loki's presence did cause a stir there, gathering stares and whispers as he charmed the receptionist into appointing another worker as a personal guide and security guard. The poor fellow tried his best to clear the area, chattering about the history of the place, which Loki helpfully translated for you.

According to your new guide, the gardens were initially built in the early twentieth century, by a group of ladies who wanted to bring a bit of beauty to their far northern city. Over time, it grew and grew, encompassing some of the oldest buildings in the city, and containing, not only many examples of the hardy native flora, but also foreign species, carefully tended to keep them healthy.

There were plants here of types you hadn't seen in months. How could it have been so long since you had seen roses? Sunflowers? All these blossoms, so common to the landscaping of home, yards and gardens. You spotted a bed of purple coneflowers and found yourself fighting to hold back tears. These grew wild along the roadsides, little pops of pale purple swaying in the sparse breeze of late summer. When you were younger, walking home from school, you used to gather bouquets of them, leaving them in a vase for your Nanna Beth to find when she got home. They had been decimated by the Event, along with everything else.

Endless cornfields, and endless sky, and endless stars, and endless roads. Hedgerows and wildflowers on the roadsides, remnants of forest and prairie. The wide, flat expanse of living things, with just the occasional town tucked here and there, hidden among the life-giving corn.

It was still wrong somehow. Something was missing. Something was too still.

No butterflies. Almost no insects at all, just some small flies, hovering around the blossoms. For the first time you realized how quiet Iceland was. All the chirping, buzzing, and song you had grown up with were silent here. No crickets, no hornets, no cicadas, frogs, or grasshoppers.

You felt Loki's hands cup your shoulders. He had been speaking to you, but you had been too enthralled in the world the coneflowers had taken you back to. You turned and buried your face in his chest, and though he stiffened, he didn't seem entirely unprepared for a sudden reaction from you, and merely crossed his arms loosely around you.

Home was gone. Every time you thought you had come to accept that, something happened to awaken that ache inside again. Something was there to remind you of how far away and lost you were, how much of a stranger. But Loki was too, and you could turn to him. You both lived here now, but had come from far away places, very different from your new home.

How did he cope? For him, everything would seem wrong. The animals, the people, the plants, even the stars.

“Let it out my dear, I know you've been stressed. You have spent the whole day nearly vibrating from it. It is over now. You are unlikely to be called back to witness again, and no matter the outcome, he is going away. He will be subject to justice, the only question left is the severity of his punishment.”

“I know, I know! It's okay, I know. I was just...Those flowers over there, they used to grow...”

You found a bench to sit on, and told him everything; how isolated you felt, how out of place, how lost.

“But it's got to be so much worse for you.” You said. “How do you deal with it?”

“Well...I may not actually have it all that much worse than you.” Loki mused. “After all, my people are here. I am surrounded by them, by my culture. I hear my own language every day, see and wear familiar clothing, hear songs that I know.

You may be on the same world, but Earth is so large that the people in another area can be so different as to be nearly unfathomable. Yes, they're also human, but can you speak with them? Do you live in the same way? The rules may be different for them, and they have no way to tell you that. There is no one to protect and succor you. That's true isolation; to be alone, even among your own species.

Yet, you don't even have that. You no longer live among other humans. Everyone you see in a day is technically an extraterrestrial. Some are Aesir. None are humans, no matter how similar we might look, and something in your instincts knows that. Only a handful of people there know your language, and all sound foreign to you. The clothing is different from yours, some of the food as well. The culture is different, the architecture, the stories and holidays.

There are many things that are unfamiliar to me here. The fact that I cannot reach the edge of this world. Time zones. Seismic activity. But I am facing all of these things with my brother at my side, and my people behind me. So I really couldn't say which of us has it worse.

“I do feel lost sometimes. The sky here does not act right. The animals and plants of this world are terribly strange. Do you know how insane the concept of a whale is to someone whose world had no ocean? I do feel like I do not belong here, and I feel the isolation as well, on a deeper level than I can explain right now. At least one very powerful nation absolutely despises me, and they are not without reason. They have the ability to influence others, and are continually attempting to do so, even here.”

He leaned back against the bench with a deep sigh. Your guide continued trying to shoo away people with their phones, and you couldn't help but wonder how flooded with pictures and videos of the two of you the internet was about to be.

“I honestly wouldn't fret about it all that much, if not for the trouble my enemies try to bring upon those who are not my enemies. My brother. My people. You. There are already casualties, and I wasn't even involved! This is another reason I do not try to stop these people from filming me. The more normalized I become, the less controversial a figure. The more people see me as a person, the fewer people will attempt to do what this man has done.”

“And I can ultimately help with that.” You concluded. “Just by existing. As long as I look happy and healthy, and stay by your side, the more you look like a friend.”

“Indubitably. That wasn't the initial plan. There was no plan. But now...well, if there is a plan, it's a very loose one, it's just that I keep finding new and valuable facets to your company. So, If you find yourself feeling lost, feel free to come to me. We can be lost together.”

You sighed as well, this time in fondness. “You're very good at grand proclamations, you know? Is that part of being raised as a political figure?”

“Would you prefer me to be more succinct?”

“I'd rather you just say what you feel.”

“Oh my dear,” Loki said with a grin. “I hope then, that you are prepared to hear many, many words.”

[graceverse]

Work in progress

I just literally type this in Notes. So, uhm, this is more like a draft(?) and definitely needs more work, a plot, for starters. A title and an ending. This idea just won't let me sleep, I had to get everything down while it's still in my head. It's unbeta-ed. I'm gonna have to come to this post and do massive amounts of editing. But... without further a do, my first ever GoT/Jonsa fic: ******* Someone was trying to freeze them to death, was the first thought that crossed his mind after seeing the barely flickering fire left on the hearth. Not the warm welcome he had foolishly wished for. The North will always be cold, but more so now that every Northern lord who had sworn fealty to him had turned their backs against him. Not at all surprising. These fickle minded lords. But it hurt to see Arya and Bran and Sansa standing on the other side as he told them about Eastwatch and the dragons and how this was their only option. Their only hope of survival. Surely they will understand if he didn't care too much about titles. What's the point of being King in the North when the Army of The Dead is just but miles away from the Wall. The possibility of the dead walking within the walls of Winterfell terrified him like nothing else. "So you let your sister confer with the Northern Lords without you?" Jon lets out a soft sigh before turning away from the fire to address Daenerys, careful not to set her off. Their relationship was teetering on a brink of something. He just wasn't sure where it will lead to. But he had seen her angry and defiant. He could not risk offending her. Not when her dragons could be so easily summoned. Winterfell has enemies beyond the wall. And now he has brought with him another enemy. An enemy no one in the North can even dream of fighting against. Death and Fire. "I am no longer their King, your Grace." Jon didn't miss the slightly raised eyebrow at the sudden formality in his voice. "Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell. It is her right to talk to the lords." "They will not rebel? She will not ask them to?" "She won't." "Sansa is not like that." Tyrion and Jon looked at each other, before looking back at Daenerys who was giving them a small knowing smile. "I hope I will not have to wait any longer to finally meet the highly esteemed Sansa Stark." Jon shivered at the way Daenerys said her name. The cold fingers of a premonition wrapping around his heart. She wouldn't dare. Not when she was a guest in this house. Not when she knows that these are his people. His family. She wouldn't. But...if it ever comes to that...he has a promise to keep and he will keep it no matter what. ---- "Jon was chosen by his people to become their King. And his first responsibility is to protect them. He has decided that to do so, an allegiance between the North and the Targaryens must be formed." She stood there, tall and proud and regal. And scared. But only he knows that. He could tell by the way she lifted her chin, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. He wanted to stand beside her, reassure her, but the moment she had entered the room, she had given all her attention to the Dragon Queen. Not once did she look at him, or even acknowledged his presence. He had hurt her. The pain of knowing that he had given away not just the North but her freedom as well...it was ten times worst than any stab wound he had ever received. She would never forgive him. Probably never talk to him ever again. A slow death that will last a lifetime, but if it would keep her, and Arya and Bran alive, then he'd still bend the knee. "That is good to hear. That is very smart of you Lady Sansa." "As all allegiances go, the North has a few requests." The Dragon Queen raised her eyebrows. "Yes?" "We have decided to send all the Northern and wildling children South, taking them as far away from the coming war. All the women who have decided not to stay here and fight will accompany them." "Again, another wise move, my Lady." Sansa barely acknowledged the compliment, instead she continued, squaring her shoulder, "we would need ten of your ships, your Grace. For we plan to send the children with the grains that we were able to save. We understand that there is a severe shortage of grains in the South?" Tyrion coughs nervously as Jon takes in a deep breath, gritting his teeth. That was still a sore topic and he was certain it was something Littlefinger had conveniently told Sansa about. Daenerys merely tilted her head, her face showing no emotion. Which makes Jon even more anxious. "We will not be sending our children to the South only for them to die of hunger. We are also willing to share the grains if needed." "And where do you plan to send them?" "Half will go to the Vale, escorted by Lord Royce and Lady Lyanna Mormont." Jon couldn't help the surprised sound he made. Sansa glanced at him. "Lady Mormont has agreed?" Sansa's lips curled up slightly, "she did my Lord. I have convinced her to. She will be the children's guardian and who better make sure to guide northern children than her? Perhaps she can even inspire some courage into Sweet Robin." From the corner of his eyes, Jon saw Tyrion's head suddenly snap up, as though realizing something, "and the other half, my Lady?" "They will go the Riverrun. I heard there are but few men, if any, left at the Towers. My uncle Edmure, Lord Paramount of the Trident shall keep them safe." "Ah. My Lady, I am --- you have rendered me speechless, not only by your kindness but most especially by your wisdom" Sansa gifts Tyrion with her first real smile. Jon could not help but look at Tyrion and Sansa, his heart clenching. Something - some form of understanding had passed between them and Jon couldn't understand why it made him feel so...bereft. Daenerys cleared her throat, "I can see why the Northern people love you." Her voice was cold, her eyes even colder and Jon fought the urge to step in between them. "Any other demands, my Lady?" Sansa tilted her head, looking confused, "As Queen of this realm, I had thought that it would please you protect the future of your Kingdom. It is not a demand, Your Grace, merely a request for you to keep the children of your allies safe. I would be sorry to let the Northern Lords know that no ships could be spared..." "My Lady, we will have to discuss how many ships we can spare, please kindly give us some time..." Sansa triumphantly smiles at Tyrion once more and Jon had to clench his hands into tights fists to stop himself from grabbing Tyrion and shaking him by the neck. Instead he concentrated on staring at Tyrion long and hard, hoping to convey some sort of message. Something like, 'stop staring at Sansa that way! Like you've just seen her for the first time in your life, you little devil!' Tyrion didn't seem to notice. "You heard My Hand, my Lady. We shall let you know once we have decided. You may go." Sansa visibly bristled. To be ordered to leave, in her own house, in the room where their father, Lord Stark, used to hold council. Jon winced. He had brought this upon her. "One last thing your Grace. If you may." Sansa turned to face Jon, and Jon, completely unprepared for the blueness of her eyes, the hardness of her face, took a small step back. "Sansa-" her name came out choked, his voice a wretched whisper, an apology, something raw, something he could not name. "As your last act as King in The North, you shall legitimize all Northern bastards. They shall take the name of their great houses. When this war is finally over, there will be no more Snows left in the North." Stunned, Jon could only stare back at her, not sure what this meant. She could not be doing this for him...to finally be a Stark. A legitimate son...Jon opened his mouth to speak, his heart painfully slamming into his still bruised ribs. "Sansa I..." But she had already turned her back and was now addressing the Dragon Queen. "That is all, Your Grace," and without another word, back straight, head held high, like a true Queen, she walked out of the room, silently closing the door. "Oh seven save us, what had happened to her?" Jon couldn't understand what Tyrion meant. Not when everything inside of him was a chaotic battle. He wanted to run after her, grab her, make her look at him again. Tell her how sorry he is to have done the unthinkable, how he could barely live with himself knowing how this betrayal had hurt her - their family. He wanted to be angry at her for being angry at him, because how else did she think he could defeat the Night King without dragons? He wanted to crush her in his arms and do even more unthinkable things to her... "I will not allow..." Daenerys had stood up, pacing the room. "You have to. Or it would be tantamount to sentencing those poor Northern and wildling children to their deaths." There is a lightness in Tyrion's voice, his eyes crinkling. As if he had just told a jest. "Why are you smiling? And you!" Daenerys turned towards him, her eyes flashing, "do not just stand there like some..some love sick fool!" Jon felt as though he had been hit physically. Like a slap. He could feel his whole face heating up. "What are you---I am not..!" "She has played well. You have to give her that. Who would've thought, Sansa Stark, playing the Game of Thrones." Jon shook his head, "I don't understand." "The North seems to be bending the knee now, but when the time comes, when the war is over, The North WILL demand their independence. And if we refuse..." "They will have the Vale and The Trident - who will also be thankful for their grains." Tyrion pointedly looked at Daenerys. "Yes, Sansa Stark, has out played us." Jon wanted to disagree, but he finally realized what Sansa's demands were. An assurance that whatever happens after the war, when winter is finally over, The North will rise and once again claim what has always been rightfully theirs: their freedom.

[snickerl]

Blutendes Herz IV

XF fanfiction

Blutendes Herz (Bleeding Heart) is not really a consecutive story but the chapters build upon one another somehow.

Part I can be read here, part II here. Here you will get to part III.

Author's Note: When I was done writing this, I realized that the ending was difficult for shippers to swallow (and I consider myself one) although I tried to give it a positive connotation. So I decided to do with the ending what I did with the opening and I wrote two different possible plots. Therefore, if this closure scenario upsets you, stay tuned for one more installment to come. It will take a different path at the fork our protagonists come across below the cut.

You're sitting on the couch together with your favorite human being. She's pouring you a third cup of tea.

"Thanks for bringing me my favorite tea, Mulder, but you don't have to find excuses every time you come here. Next time, just give me a call when you're in the area and drop by without any of these stupid pretenses."

You scratch the Mexican blanket, the Casablanca DVD, and the funny little porcelain fox she once bought at a garage sale off your mental list. "I hate coming with empty hands, Scully," you reply, not telling her that deep down you're afraid that just you alone is not enough to make your visit worthwhile. That's why you always bring her something she'd left at the house when she moved out.

Just when you started to relax a little, you hear a distinct knock at the door. Your pulse instantly accelerates because of the foreboding sound, whereas she seems to be a picture of calm. "Sounds like Mark. What does he want? When has it become out of style for a man to give a woman a chance to dress properly and freshen up her makeup before he shows up at her doorstep?" she whines, tying her robe tighter. She combs through her hair and rubs her cheeks. You want to tell her that she looks perfect the way she is, that she doesn't need makeup or perfectly styled hair to be beautiful, but you only give her a short, apologetic shrug and sink deeper into the couch cushions, wondering what excuse he might have to drop by at her place just like that.

"Sorry for coming unannounced, my love, but I missed you so much and a man can only wait so long. Impossibly another whole day."

Alright, no pretenses from his side. He's painfully frank about why he's here and his open infatuation is like a cold fist squeezing your heart.

Before Scully is able to reply something, he licks the words off her tongue with a juicy kiss. He shoves her backward into the living-room, his lips glued on hers, maneuvering her to the couch you're sitting on. He obviously plans to engage her in a veritable makeout session, maybe even more, because he clearly wants to plant her flat out on the comfortable piece of furniture. Unfortunately, your long legs are in the way. You try to pull your feet back, but there's not enough space, so you can't prevent him from stumbling over them.

"What the..." he hisses. It takes him a moment to assess what has just happened, but then his facial features morph from utter surprise into boundless fury in a matter of nanoseconds. "You? What the hell are you doing here?" he bellows at you, clearly not pleased at all to see you.

As there is no real justification for you to be here other than that you, like him, simply wanted to see her, and you doubt he would be amused by this one, all you can come up with is the same excuse you gave her earlier.

"I brought Scully a box of tea she forgot at our house." If this feeble attempt to explain your being here wasn't so damn embarrassing, you might have burst into laughter at how ridiculous you sound. But you don't feel like laughing, and neither does he.

"What? You brought her tea? A year after she left you? Are you kidding me?" His voice has become louder with every word. In the end, he's yelling at you.

"Mark," the receiver of the tea intervenes, "would you calm down, please. There's no need to shout like this."

"Who knows how many times I've seen him here? Four, five? And how often has he been here without me even knowing? Huh, Dana?"

"You're not seriously expecting me to give you an account of who I meet with when you're not around, are you?" Her eyes indicate quite clearly that his boring questions are pissing her off. You've never seen her eyebrows melt into her hairline like this, and you've been at the receiving end of her indignation countless times. You're an expert, actually, on what she looks like when she's mad.

Mark is unwavering tough in his current state of anger. "You're entertaining other men in your pajamas when I'm not here, Dana, and it's supposed to leave me cold? Really?"

Your breath is halted. Of course, he doesn't know that Scully in a robe was so common to you even before you became romantically involved that it really is no big deal. Actually, you haven't really noticed she was in her pajamas when you got here until she said she would go change quickly and you told her not to be silly. You saw each other in hospital gowns, nightwear, undergarments, naked more than any other working duo on the planet, so seeing your former spouse in a pair of flannel PJs underneath a thick white terry cloth robe isn't inappropriate one bit. For you, that is. His attitude varies slightly from yours.

"What are you implying here, Mark?" Scully asks tight-lipped, although it's pretty obvious. Regardless that he is miles off target with his suspicions, you feel a pleasant twitch in your groin. An unexpected, yet very pleasant one.

"He's more to you than just a friend, right?"

There, he speaks it out. His voice is weirdly distorted when he draws imaginable quotation marks into the air pronouncing the word 'friend'.

CLOSURE A - Shippers Beware There Be Sea Serpents In These Waters!

It takes you a moment until you fully comprehend what his innuendo is an expression of but then you get it. He fears he's losing her. He really believes you're on a mission to take her away from him, which you aren't, regardless what your best member just told you. All you want at this stage is to be allowed to share her company once in a while, to make her a part of your life again after you had abandoned her so wantonly. Your motives might change someday in the future, but you're true when you're saying that for now, all you want is to have your camaraderie back.

"Mark, let me explain my-" you therefore start but are instantly silenced by him.

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Mulder! I haven't asked you, have I? Can I please have a word with my girlfriend without you butting in?"

"Don't do this, Mark," you hear Scully whisper and you offer to go. This is shifting slowly but surely into a serious relationship argument between the two of them. You're a thorn in his side and the reason for him being mad at her, you should vanish as quickly as possible to let them settle this.

"No, Mulder, you stay. We've got nothing to hide. You're my guest and we were having tea, and I don't see any reason why you should leave." She can be stubborn if she wants to make a point.

"You're choosing him over me?" The shock and disbelief in his voice are unmistakable. "Now, that says it all!"

"That says nothing at all! Mulder and I were having tea, nothing more and nothing less. And by the way, you came here unannounced just like he did, only that he was here first. So what makes you believe you are any more entitled to stay than he is?"

"Because I am your boyfriend for starters?"

You can tell he's risking his neck with his careless talk. You know how much Scully hates chauvinistic predominance such as this. You're a bit surprised by this intense eruption of jealousy and possessiveness on Mark's part. Until now, he's always been so laid-back when you were around.

"Are you saying that your being here is more legitimate than Mulder's because we sleep together? Is that where this is going?"

"Yes, exactly," he sputters, obviously quicker than he intended to because as soon as the last syllable has left his mouth, his face contorts into a painful grimace. "No! No, of course, not! All I'm saying is...what I'm trying to say, is...ugh!"

"What? You weren't shy blurting out what was on the tip of your tongue a moment ago, why are you being so reserved all of a sudden?"

Boy, is she pissed. She's eyeing him defiantly, unwilling to yield even a millimeter. Her voice is calm, frighteningly so, but you know this posture of hers: feet hip-width apart, straightened knees, arms crossed in front of her chest, head slightly tilted, chin lifted. Every muscle in her tiny body is strained. She's like a rattlesnake ready to jump at her prey.

Her body language isn't failing to take effect, he realizes he overreacted. "Dammit, Dana," he says in a much softer voice now, completely bereft of the sharpness it bore a few moments ago, "I was simply taken off guard by the two of you cozily spending the afternoon together on your couch. I'm sorry I lashed out at you like this, I had no right to do that. Apologies to you too, Mulder. It was a bit over the top."

You stop him with a shake of your hand. "It's okay. Already forgiven and forgotten."

Scully is also appeased. She resolves her rigid body posture, closes the gap between them and ruffles his hair as if he were a little boy. "That wasn't a bit over the top, Mark, it was completely out of proportion. What has gotten into you?"

"For a second I pictured the two of you having something going on behind my back. I mean, you're in your robe, Dana! I simply saw red," he admits meekly, his raw honesty disarming.

"That's ridiculous, Mark. I would never do something like this."

"Yeah, I know. Now that my pulse is back to normal, I know." He shows her his grim face.

"Men," she sighs, "why do you always have to be so territorial?"

"It's in our genes, Scully," you defend your gender and him along with it, "when we've found our girl, we bite away everyone who comes near her."

"Oh, so you approve of such a behavior?"

"I would've probably reacted the same way."

Definitely. Maybe even worse.

"So you're saying this pathetic urge to stake one's claim is something men can't do anything against, that it's a natural reaction?"

She looks at both of you, waiting for an answer. "In a way, yes," you eventually say and Mark nods his assent with some determination.

Scully rolls her eyes, then pinches the bridge of her nose, a distressed sigh escaping her chest. "I don't believe this," she whispers to herself. "You two hobby biologists realize that I'm a trained medical doctor and very proficient when it comes to the nature of human instincts and impulses?"

"But you're a woman, baby," Mark pipes up, "you don't know what we men feel when a rival steps into our line of vision."

"Mulder is not a rival. How often do I have to tell you, Mark?"

"I get that now, Dana, but that doesn't change the fact that I thought he could be." He's wearing a contrite face, appealing to her with puppy eyes which are in no way less powerful than yours. Maybe, it's a typical male thing, to apply that small boy pattern when trying to soften a woman's heart. "C'mere," he breathes, his voice velvety and silky now. He holds his hand out to her, but she's ignoring it, maybe because she's still a little annoyed by his impulsive reaction. He is not deterred, though. He steps closer, really close, so close she can no longer overlook him. He lifts her chin with a finger to make her eyes meet his, then explains, "my exaggerated reaction is simply a sign of how much I'm in love with you. I'm willing to compete with every guy who dares to lay an eye on you. I don't even care if he carries a gun."

You're not licensed to carry a gun anymore, and as long as you're on psychiatric drugs to fight your depression, you won't be. Too bad, actually. You'd like to see if he'd walk the pompous talk with your Glock pointed at his head. You're somewhat certain those syrupy words speaking of his claim of owning her must annoy her, but to your complete bewilderment instead of rolling her eyes and quirking an eyebrow she smiles at him. You stare at her how her body relaxes into his, how her cheek melts into his hand. She casts her eyes down like a teenage girl being sweet-talked by her first beau. He's definitely struck the right chord with her.

What you see simultaneously amazes and disgusts you. The way she's at peace with herself is wonderful. She seems so content and relaxed. It's just him, Mark, who destroys the picture for you.

You clear your throat and make her jump away from him with it. She puts a hand to her chest and gasps. She'd obviously forgotten you're still in the room. "Sorry," you mumble. You could say that you didn't mean to startle her like this, that your sole intention was to protect yourself from having to see them interact so intimately, but you don't, of course. The time has definitely come for you to leave them alone for whatever they are up to - caressing, kissing, make-up sex.

You swallow down the bile which is rising up your food pipe. It leaves an acid trail behind. You take your eyes off of them by pretending to look at the watch on your wrist. "Oh, is it that late already? I forgot that I have an appointment with my tax accountant," you lie. "Gotta go."

"Oh, okay," is all she replies. "I walk you out."

Sure thing, now she lets you go. She doesn't even tell you to say hi to Mrs. Sanderson, your neighbor, who has been filing both your tax declarations for years. She's simply not with you at the moment, she's focussing on him - her boyfriend, her lover, her whatever - who's still holding her hand. Somehow you wished she would tell you to stay once again, but of course, she doesn't. She wants to be alone with him. If you ever felt like the fifth wheel, it has to be now.

"It's okay, Scully. I show myself out."

You don't look back when you close the door to her apartment behind you. You lean against the wall in the hallway and take a few deep breaths to steady your pulse. You hear them talk to each other inside, the walls are not very thick apparently. Their voices are getting louder for a moment when they pass the front door and then quieter again. You hear the hardwood creak under their feet. Are they on their way to the bedroom? Probably. You hear a girlish giggle and then the closing of a door, the bedroom door. Then there's only silence, and you're thankful for it. It turns the cinema in your head off and lets you take inventory of your emotions.

What are you feeling right now, Fox Mulder? If you leave your hurt pride aside that she's chosen him over you in there, what are you feeling?

To your utter bewilderment, you're doing okay. Your heart is still beating and is not shattered into a million pieces. You're breathing normally and not hyperventilating. You're not sinking to the floor because your legs give way but are standing upright, albeit steadied by the wall behind you. You might be able to survive this, you acknowledge. You might be able to live with the fact that your Scully is with another man. How is that possible? Dr. Summers really must be one hell of a therapist.

You let your feet carry you away. Away from this place, away from her, away from your faint hopes for a revival of the romance between you. But it's okay. You feel capable of dealing with this, of accepting the reality as it is. You will have to find another common ground with her, that will be your new project.

EPILOGUE

"Mr. Mulder," the postman waives at you, "good to see you again. It's been a while."

You've just exited your car to open the gate to your property. You're about to drive downtown to see your therapist. You've been in need of a few extra sessions to deal with the recent developments in your life. Rob, the postman, is filing through the mail in the back of his van to sort out yours. With a few letters in his hand and a small parcel, he comes over to you.

"Here, this is for you, sir."

"Same junk as ever?" you ask.

"This one here looks special. Handwritten address."

He hands you your bulk of mail with said letter on top. You take it and weigh it in your hand. It's been a while since you've received mail like this. The last time it was a birth announcement of a distant cousin's third child. Same thick, sophisticated paper, same calligraphic handwritten address.

You swallow. You recognize the handwriting. It's elegant but unfussy, just like the person it belongs to. You've been expecting this but still, it hits you. It's final now. You will have to talk to Doctor Summers about it today.

"Good news, I hope," Rob says, trying to get some small talk going, but you're not in the mood, although he really is a nice guy.

You point at your wristwatch. "I have to get going, Rob. Excuse me, please. I have an appointment in the city."

"Sure. Just hop into your car and let me close the gate behind you."

"Thank you, and have a good day."

"You too, Mr. Mulder."

You doubt it will be a good day.

You throw the envelope on the passenger seat so carelessly that it skitters down into the messy footwell. You didn't mean to treat it like this, so you bent forward to look for it between all the junk. When you feel the firm paper under your paws, you pull it out and inspect it. Your muddy running shoes have left some of the dirt you'd brought in after your last run on the front. You blow it off and place the envelope on the seat again, with more care this time.

You put the car in drive and hit the road, determined to make to Dr. Summers' practice without any further delay. You concentrate on the road and the car in front of you, trying to take your mind off the envelope, but you can't. It's as if it's whispering to you. 'Open me,' it says, 'you want to, don't you?' So, after another mile or so you pull over, put the car in park, grab the letter and hastily rip the envelope open, tearing right through the curvy letters of your address. You even tear off a corner of the card inside along with it. Well, who cares, you're not going to stick it to your fridge like you did with the birth announcement. You still don't know what you did that for anyway, you never liked that particular cousin very much.

You unfold the card but close your eyes to protect yourself from the words. You hear your therapist's voice in your inner ear. 'Fox,' - she insists to call you by your first name, which is okay for you in her case - 'no denying! Look at what is and deal with it.' So you open your eyes and stare at the letters for a few long moments without blinking until the words blur in front of your burning eyes.

      Dana Katherine Scully & Mark Spencer Finlay

      Joyfully Invite You to Celebrate Their Marriage       Saturday the Twenty Seventh of December Two Thousand and Fourteen       at Five o'Clock in the Afternoon        at The Atrium at Meadowlark Botanical Gardens

      Join us for Cocktails and an Evening of Dining and Dancing

You lean your head against the backrest and swallow. A car passes by at maximum speed and the draft in its wake shakes yours. She told you about the Botanical Gardens and how she would love to hold the reception there. You redirect your eyes to the card in your lap, you know there's more.

Moultrie Courthouse, room 1013, 11 a.m. sharp! is scribbled across the announcement in a stiff, angular hand. Further below, as if written in an afterthought, you recognize the cursive and neat letters you are so familiar with. Thank you so much for doing this for me. Part of me will always belong to you. Love, D.

When she first asked you, you wondered why she was being so cruel. It took you a moment until you understood that she can't do this without you. She needs you to set her free, to release her from what binds her to you. So you agreed to be a witness to her marriage and she fell into your arms and cried. The moment reminded you of when you had agreed to donate sperm for her to become pregnant. Like back then, you were unable to deny her request but also uncertain of what it would do to you. All you instantly knew was that you'd lost her. Not entirely, no, she would still be a part of your life as your friend, your doctor, and - it still makes your heart heavy every time you think of it - as the mother of your child, but you lost her heart in the way it had belonged to you for the past twenty years.

You startle when a tear splashes on the card and smears the blue ink of her words. You thought you'd made your peace with this, but a contradictory mix of emotions settles in your chest.

You're happy for her, you really are. Over the last months, since you rekindled after your separation, you've seen her thrive like a flower that has eventually been watered again after weeks of drought. The rosy color of her cheeks had come back, her hair was shiny again and her eyes were sparkling. She laughed a lot, really laughed, no wry smiles or soft chuckles but wholehearted laughter. You even caught her giggling like a schoolgirl. You know that giggle, you used to elicit it from her in bed a long time ago, in another life. She'd been exuberating carefree easiness and elation with every fiber of her being since she started dating him. She even put on a few pounds with the many times she was taken out to dinner. It made her even more beautiful, something you hadn't believed was even possible.

So, you're happy for her. All you ever wanted for her was to have a life full of normalcy, stability and, most of all, light. Mark Spencer Finlay is able to give her exactly that: light. With him, there's no everpresent darkness, no oppressive silence, no leaden weltschmerz. You remember how she once begged you to take her away from the darkness as far as possible. You'd helped to find a missing FBI agent and your involvement in the gruesome case had threatened to pull the both of you down into the abyss again. You took her to a Carribean island and you spent three wonderful months there, but deep down you knew you would fail her, that the black shadows would follow you. And they did, more fiercely than ever before. So you are happy for her. Really and truly.

But.

Your throat tightens suddenly and your heart starts pounding in your chest. She's going to marry another man! Fuck!

She even told you she'd be taking his name. Jesus, Dana Katherine Finlay!? This person sounds like a stranger to you, like a completely different woman. Will you still be allowed to call her Scully?

You startle once again when your cell is buzzing in your pocket. Since when are you so thin-skinned and jumpy? A look at the caller ID tells you it's her. You take the call, although you're not sure you're in a condition to talk to her.

"Yes?"

"Mulder, it's me." I knew that you could tell her, but you smile instead. At least some things never change. "Where are you?"

Funny how with the invention of the mobile phone the first question asked nowadays is always about the whereabouts of the party called. "In the car."

"Don't answer the phone when you're driving," she admonishes you.

"I'm not driving."

You've pulled over to cry over her wedding invitation.

"Good. Where are you going?"

"My therapist."

"Oh, okay...Uhm, did you get the, uh...the invitation?"

"Yes. I'm holding it in my hand as we speak."

"Are you still okay with it?"

"Define okay."

You hear her inhale deeply before she asks tentatively, "are you still okay with being my witness?"

"Scully, I said I would be your witness to your marriage, so I'm going to be your witness. I won't say that I'm looking forward to watching you marry another man, but I will be there delivering my promise."

"Thank you," she breathes into your ear through the phone and the relief you notice in her voice touches you.

You don't know what more to say and neither does she, so there's silence between you. It should be awkward actually, silence on the phone always is, but not between you.

"Mulder?" she finally resumes the conversation.

"Yes, Scully?"

"Are we going to get through this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Am I going to lose you as my touchstone because of this?"

"Will you still need me as a touchstone?"

"Of course!"

"I take it your husband would like to play that part in your life."

"Mulder, my relationship with Mark is totally different from what we have...had...have. Argh! What we have! And he understands."

"Does he? Are you sure? He's a man, Scully, and men don't like to share their wives with other men."

"I'm nobody's possession. I haven't been yours and I'm not going to be his. We've talked about this, Mulder. I love him for where he's brought me to in my current life. He's pulled me from a place I didn't want to be anymore."

"A place I dragged you to."

"A place I decided to follow you to, but couldn't bear living in anymore at a certain point. But that doesn't mean that I don't cherish having been there with you. My love for you will never die, Mulder. Never. It may have changed, maybe it has regressed into something similar to what I felt for you at the beginning, but it's still there."

"And what were they exactly, Scully, those feelings at the beginning?"

"Connection. Trust. Loyalty. Passion for the same cause. An overwhelming urge to search for the truth with you."

"Folie á Deux?"

She laughs. "Yes, Mulder. A madness shared by two. Nothing else describes our relationship better, don't you think?"

She may be right. Only that you can't think of spending your life with anyone else but her, but then again, she had made your life better, worthier living, whereas you had only darkened hers. She'd given you twenty of the richest years of her life, you have no right to ask for more.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you go on being my beloved spooky friend?"

"Am I really someone you want in your life, Scully? An unstable, unhinged, unsociable madman?"

"It's your friendship that I want, but only if you want mine too."

You hear her holding her breath in anticipation of your answer. You could tell her that you take whatever you get from her, that the worst that could happen to you would be her walking away from you completely, but you spare her the desperate ring it would have.

"I'd have to look for a new physician and explain my unusual medical history to them."

"Is that all you want me to be? Your physician you see once a year for your medical checkup?"

She didn't get that you were joking. Maybe you sounded a bit too serious. "It was a joke, Scully."

"Oh," she whispers and you hear her stifling a sob.

"Listen, Scully, I will be everything you allow me to be. I will be your friend, your touchstone if needed, your annual patient, maybe even your spooky FBI partner again one day. I will be a witness to your marriage and promise you to keep my mouth shut when the pastor asks if anyone had reasons why the two of you should not be married."

"Mulder, that's an overused dramatic plot device in movies I've never actually heard at one of the several weddings I attended in my life. Besides, there won't be a pastor. We'll be at a courthouse, the ceremony will be held by a judge. We will sign a marriage license and that's it."

"Sounds romantic." You haven't seen Rational Scully for a while, but she sure knows how to keep the mood from getting too sugar-sweet, or god forbids, romantic. "Now don't tell me there won't be a garter auction," you say, trying to sound shocked.

"A garter auction? Are you out of your mind?"

"May I toss rice?"

"To symbolize fertility? At our age? No, thanks!"

"It's also a symbol of prosperity, so I've been told."

"You know how much I rely on superstition when it comes to leading my life, don't you?"

"Sure. So you won't care whose hand is on top when you cut the wedding cake either, right?"

"If you think you'll get a picture of me feeding Mark a slice of a sugar-sweet, multi-tier, buttercream wedding cake, you're mistaken. There will be a variety of miniature cupcakes for dessert and that's it."

If you didn't know her so well, you'd be of the impression that she eliminated everything from the list which makes a wedding memorable. "Will I see you in a wedding dress, at least?"

"The groom is not supposed to know!"

"I'm not the groom."

"Oh...right."

What a delicious Freudian slip! Your heart jumps for joy. In the flow of your banter, she obviously forgot for a second that she will marry someone else and not you.

"I will wear be wearing a wedding dress, yes. Not a white one with all the frills, that would be ridiculous at my age," - of course, a fairytale prince's bride has never been on Rational Scully's bucket list of life dreams - "but I did buy something special for the occasion."

"I can't wait to see it. I bet you will look absolutely stunning."

"I hope Mark will like it."

Now it's your chance to say something nice. "He will love it, of that I'm sure. Even if you showed up in rags, he would be blown away by you. He's a man, Scully, he's in love with you and you will be his bride. Men are simple creatures."

"You're sweet, Mulder. Thank you."

"You're welcome. It will be a wonderful day and don't worry, I will be fine. I will sign your marriage license, I will catch the bouquet, in my humorous speech I will recount some of the weird things we've seen-"

"Don't you dare!"

"-I will have a couple of dry martinis with your mother-in-law and I will end up dancing all night with a hot chick in her mid-twenties."

She laughs. "Just be careful not to overexert yourself, you're far beyond your mid-twenties, Mulder!"

"I age well."

She laughs again. What an enchanting sound. It's worth every effort on your part to make this new thing between the two of you work.

"Hey, Scully. I've got to go. My appointment is to start in about ten minutes. See you at the courthouse on the twenty-seventh. I promise to be on time."

"You better be, unless you want to look for a new physician after all."

Now it's your turn to laugh. "Take care, Scully!"

"You too, Mulder. Drive safely and try to stay within the speed limit. Bye for now."

You end the call with a smile on your face and the certainty that if there's one thing that will never change between you it's the light and easy banter you're both so good at. In this respect, she will always be Scully to you, never Mrs. Mark Finlay.

You hope she tosses you the bouquet.

END

[hammeraction07-blog]

The BN Top Cubs Prospect List: 11 Arms Who Just Missed

We are ranking the top 20 prospects in the Chicago Cubs farm system as the 2019 season opens up. A state of the farm system, an introduction, and prospect number 21 are here, prospects 20 through 16 are here, prospects 15 through 11 are here, and now we’re gonna look at a big group of guys who just missed.

This familiar thing happened to me every time I began the BN Prospect List over the last few weeks. I reach this one particular spot, this one certain group of names, think about it for a few minutes, and then close my browser and walk away from the computer. How in the hell will I ever rank these 11 guys?

And so I’m here to tell you: I’m not going to. I’m stopping the prospect list at 20 names this year, principally because I cannot credibly stand behind any conceivable order of the following dudes. Every time I attempt it, the order has no correlation to the one before it. They have left me a broken man.

So let’s pause the unveiling of the top 20, and get into a discussion of these 11 dudes.

At various times over the winter, you have read me, Brett, Luke, Michael, Jesse Rogers all tell you about the increased depth in the farm system. We’ve told you that pitching is coming. It’s always met with the same understandable skepticism. The Cubs have earned that.

Today’s 11 guys are very much not likely to be the game changers that convince anyone that Jason McLeod and Co. can draft and develop pitching. But because of the sheer amount of them, I feel pretty darn good that one of them will stick as a big leaguer. Maybe a couple. Relievers are weird; sometimes it just inexplicably clicks. I mean, we all lived the Blake Parker experience, for one example that just kind of happened. And the reason it will click is probably due to something they don’t even possess in their arsenal yet.

So, here you go: 11 arms that could have been just outside the top 20 if I had ranked them. Cowardly, you’ll find them today in alphabetical order. They are somewhere between my 22nd and 50th best Cubs prospects.

Trevor Clifton. Age: 23-286. 2018 numbers (AA/AAA): 126 IP, 106 H, 3.43 ERA, 101 K / 52 BB, 8 HR-A.

A great bounce back season following a very disappointing 2017, Clifton was extremely consistent, allowing 3-or-fewer earned runs in his first 21 starts (and 24 of his 26). I just don’t see it as likely that Clifton’s secondaries allow him to start consistently in the Majors. His curveball is probably best as an early count freeze-pitch, and neither his slider or change has quite made it to big league quality. But I do think there’s some hope for him. On the right day Clifton’s two seamer gets extremely nasty arm-side run, and I think his short-arm delivery would play up if he just faced hitters once. Clifton will be a minor league free agent next November if he’s not added to the 40-man roster between now and then.

Oscar De La Cruz. Age: 23-354. 2018 numbers (AA): 77.1 IP, 76 H, 5.24 ERA, 31 BB, 73 K, 8 HR-A.

Somehow it’s 2019 and Oscar De La Cruz has still not pitched 80 innings in a season. Given some full rotations in Iowa and Tennessee, it’s probably most likely that De La Cruz returns from his suspension as a reliever, and there’s a chance that produces a jump in stuff that vaults him back near the top of this grouping. But until then, I’m going to be skeptical, as it has long seemed to me that De La Cruz’ best attribute has long been simply existing as a decent pitching prospect in a system bereft of them. Once reinstated, he’ll be again eating a 40-man spot, so development must begin speeding up.

Tom Hatch. Age: 24-145. 2018 numbers (AA): 143.2 IP, 127 H, 3.82 ERA, 61 BB, 117 K, 16 HR-A.

If there’s a guy likely to prove me wrong and make it as a starter in the bigs, your best bet is probably Hatch. He’s made 52 starts in 2 seasons pitching in the Cubs minors, he has really good spin rate on his fastball, and he made progress as the Double-A season went along. His final 8 starts: 44.1 IP, 33 H, 3.05 ERA, 17 BB, 47 K. Still, I just can’t quite get there with Hatch, as his platoon split (683 OPS vRHH, 867 vLHH) and his mid-inning stuff suggest he might be best in relief. Hatch will be eligible for the Rule 5 Draft after the season, so the Cubs will want to feel very solid on their internal projections of him by November.

Erick Leal. Age: 23-341. 2018 numbers (A+): 63.2 IP, 35 H, 1.41 ERA, 17 BB, 61 K, 2 HR-A.

It’s worth celebrating at every turn what an amazing 2018 season Erick Leal – the return for Tony Freakin’ Campana – had in coming back from Tommy John surgery. Those are cartoon numbers, and then he mostly continued it in the Arizona Fall League, and even made three starts in the Venezuelan Winter League. Leal’s stuff is right on the fringe, but his curveball seemed the best it ever has last year, and his changeup was always solid. The upper-level test this year will tell us a lot. He is also a minor league free agent at season’s end.

(Photo by Larry Kave/Myrtle Beach Pelicans)

Dillon Maples. Age: 26-288. 2018 numbers (AAA/MLB): 44 IP, 29 H, 3.89 ERA, 44 BB, 84 K, 3 HR-A.

On May 11, brought into a 5-0 game in Omaha, Maples walked four of the 5 batters he faced, nearly blew the game. Four days later, he lost a game with three hits allowed in an inning (a rarity for Maples). Six days after that, Maples just barely survived another save. The wheels were falling off. And then in his next outing, on May 25, Maples threw only sliders. And for about a month, that’s about all he did – something like 80+% sliders, with just a few rogue fastballs and curves mixed in. The results: 11.2 IP, 4 H, 0 R, 20 K, 7 BB. I think that’s the formula that will allow Maples to succeed, but that’s walking the tightrope of not then over-grooving the pitch that got you to the league in the first place. I think if it’s going to happen for Maples and the Cubs, we’re entering now-or-never territory, and he really needs to control his upper-90s fastball to do it. Obviously his potential as a reliever is significant.

Alec Mills. Age: 27-083. 2018 numbers (AAA/MLB): 142.2 IP, 132 H, 4.73 ERA, 48 BB, 131 K, 11 HR-A.

Well, last year sure was strange. Mills has always seemed to be one of those “Whole > Sum of Parts” guys, his stuff always talked down. A “pitchability” guy. And then you throw him in short relief in the bigs, and his changeup looks other-worldly, his slider looks close to plus. It really took me off guard. And given that Mills has one option year remaining, I’d really suggest they use him exclusively in the bullpen this year, really explore if he’ll continue to play up in that role. However, I must say I don’t expect it: I expect him in the AAA rotation, bounced between various roles, and possibly out of the organization in 2020.

James Norwood. Age: 25-059. 2018 numbers (AA/AAA/MLB): 61.1 IP, 50 H, 2.79 ERA, 29 BB, 67 K, 3 HR-A.

I have a feeling that for the rest of James Norwood’s career, I’m going to remember the five changeups he threw his debut inning. The split-changes, as I’ll call them, were good enough to send me into a “whoa I’ve slept on Norwood for years” panic. And then in researching him in this process, I began to wonder the same:

Norwood has always sort of existed under the radar, not quite enough K’s to turn your head, a few too many walks to get you really interested. But I think that ignores the fact that he’s really close to getting it. By the way: if there’s one dude in the system I’d love to spend the winter at Driveline, it’s this guy.

Duncan Robinson. Age: 25-078. 2018 numbers (AA/AAA): 141.2 IP, 151 H, 3.11 ERA, 25 BB, 119 K, 9 HR-A.

Given how often he’s been talked about, and his presence in big league camp, I think we could surmise that Robinson might just be the Cubs favorite of these 11 arms, at least as the starters go. You can understand why. Over five starts between May 31 and June 25, Robinson pitched 29 innings, struck out 30 and didn’t walk a soul. He’s the guy a pitching coach points his other pupils to and says “why can’t you be more like that guy?” Robinson has got by in the minors by keeping balls in the park, using his downhill plane and good fastball control. However, his stuff isn’t quite big league quality, and so I’m skeptical this skill will be sustainable in the bigs. The good news is Robinson saw a lot of improvement in his third pitch last year, a slider that seems to tunnel well off his fastball. If he can get that pitch to come a little further, I might be convinced there’s a swingman in there.

Michael Rucker. Age: 24-300. 2018 numbers (AA): 132.2 IP, 111 H, 3.73 ERA, 38 BB, 118 K, 18 HR-A.

Sort of a microcosm for this entire group, Rucker is a guy that had a lot of low minors success and is consistently very, very solid. He has a good slider that, on the right day, can look nasty. He pitches in the low 90s. He commands the zone well. There’s just no sizzle here. He’s got the platoon split (618 OPS vRHH, 743 vLHH), as his changeup is the weakest of his offerings. His body is maxed out, and so hoping for anything besides maybe 94-95 in the bullpen is unlikely. He will also be Rule 5 eligible in November, and he’s a guy I could absolutely see going in that draft if he’s not protected.

Matt Swarmer. Age: 25-149. 2018 numbers (A+/AA): 128.2 IP, 113 H, 3.22 ERA, 21 BB, 135 K, 10 HR-A.

There were versions of the Top 20 that had Matt Swarmer in there. He’s on the cusp behind an amazing season that anointed him the Cubs’ minor league Pitcher of the Year. Swarmer added about 2 ticks to his fastball, often topping at 94 mph, and didn’t sacrifice any of his plus command. After a brief adjustment when he received a midseason promotion to AA, this was Swarmer in his final 11 starts in Tennessee: 61.1 IP, 51 H, 3.38 ERA, 9 BB, 60 K. This is a funky pitcher, he seems to be made entirely of arms and legs, throws extremely over the top, and right-handed hitters don’t have a chance against his slider. But lefties do, and he’s now 25-and-a-half years old. Does he have one more jump in him?

Duane Underwood. Age: 24-216. 2018 numbers (AAA/MLB): 123.1 IP, 129 H, 4.45 ERA, 40 BB, 108 K, 9 HR-A.

I know none of us will look back fondly on the Chris Gimenez era, but I’ll forever insist that Gimenez made a really positive difference in Underwood. Early-season Underwood, with Gimenez behind the dish, was the best I’ve seen the former second-round pick. He trusted his stuff inside the zone and began to sequence his pitches in more non-traditional ways. In his first seven starts, Underwood’s numbers were: 34.1 IP, 27 H, 2.62 ERA, 7 BB, 30 K. But when summer hit, the hard contact that has followed Underwood around continued, as seen by the .350 BABIP over his next 15 starts. In late August he was moved to the bullpen, presumably to ascertain if he’d be a September call-up candidate. He wasn’t. This is Underwood’s last option season, the Cubs’ final chance to get something out of an asset they’ve touted for a long time. I think it’s time to let him fling it 96-97 in the bullpen, and see if indeed something clicks.

Source: https://www.bleachernation.com/2019/03/04/the-bn-top-cubs-prospect-list-11-arms-who-just-missed/

[quentinsquill]

Bereft: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of my WIp, “Bereft. You can read it from the beginning here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10703295/chapters/23708127

Or read this new chapter at AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10703295/chapters/23929989

And now, Chapter 3. 

Quentin, Margo, and Eliot spent three more days with the centaurs. They repaired Quentin’s shoulder, replacing missing flesh with a dark, durable wood that they painted over with synthetic skin. Margo made weak jokes about Quentin being Fillory’s own answer to Luke Skywalker while her own injuries healed and her headaches faded. Kady and Penny came and went, searching for Julia or any sign of Reynard, but as the sun set on that third day, Winding Path came to see them all.

 “Your time here with us is at an end, children of earth.” He said without preamble, and Quentin glanced over at Eliot, who was sipping chicken broth from a ceramic mug, with Margo’s help.

 “But Eliot isn’t healed yet.”

 “There is nothing more I can do for him, Quentin Coldwater. The wounds go much deeper than my healing can reach.”

 “Wait—what? What are you saying? I thought you centaurs were the greatest healers in all of Fillory!” Quentin struggled to keep his voice down. “Look—Eliot may be the High King but I’m a king too, and—and I command you to heal him!”

 Winding Path gave Quentin a long, impassive look, and it was Quentin that finally broke the silence.

 “I’m just saying that there must be another way! Something you haven’t tried, a spell you haven’t thought of!”

 “We have reached the limits of our healing. We will supply you with horses, food, and some fresh gauze. I suggest that you return to Whitespire and wait for an absolution there.”

 “An abso—no!” Quentin shook his head so hard that the end of his hair struck his own cheeks. “You’re telling me to take Eliot back to Whitespire to die?”

 Winding Path stomped a foreleg. “I only tell you what I know, Quentin Coldwater, and that is nothing more can be done for the High King of Fillory here. You must move on.”

 “Can you at least let us wait for our friends? We’ll have to make a plan.”

 “Very well.” Winding Path turned and trotted off with his human nurse running alongside to keep up. Quentin pushed his hair back with both hands.

 “Margo.” He called, and Margo walked over to him briskly.

 “So what did Dr. Flicka say? Because Eliot can barely keep anything down and his fever keeps spiking.”

 “It’s Winding Path.” Quentin said out of grudging respect for the centaur. “He did heal us, Margo.”

 “Fine, whatever, so what did he say?”

 “He says that we have to go to Whitespire. That there’s nothing more they can do for Eliot here.”

 Thunderclouds brewed in Margo’s dark eyes.

 “That is some bullshit!” She snapped.

 “I understand how you feel but they wouldn’t have any reason to lie to us! They said they’d give us horses, food—”

 “And how is Eliot supposed to ride a fucking horse when he can barely sit up without bleeding?” She spat the words at Quentin, who glanced around like he was looking for something to shield himself with.

 “I don’t know, I . . . I was thinking maybe we could hire a carriage or something.”

 “God, this is asinine!” Margo snapped. “They rebuilt your shoulder and healed my fractured skull but they can’t help Eliot?”

 “The centaurs will let us stay until Penny and Kady come back, but then we’ll have to leave.”

 Margo began to reply when Eliot made a low, helpless noise and threw up the bit of broth he’d taken. A nurse went to his side to wipe his mouth and Margo looked up at him.

 “What happened to him, Quentin?” She asked. “He won’t tell me and the last thing I remember is Reynard grabbing his wrist.”

 Quentin looked away as flashes of the attack came back to him in details he’d been trying to forget—the crunch as Reynard had dislocated Eliot’s shoulder, the thud of their bodies hitting the ground together, Eliot’s gaze, wide and disbelieving, as the trickster took him without hesitation or mercy. Margo’s small hand cupped his chin then, and he was forced to look back at her.

 “Quentin.”

 Quentin took a shuddering breath, pierced by her gaze.

 “I saw it all, okay? I was right there, laying on the ground when Reynard attacked but I don’t know how to tell you, Margo, I—” He paused and pushed a lock of hair behind his left ear. “Because now it’s like I can’t unsee it and I can’t put it in your head too because you’ll see it every time you look at him, like I am now!” The last word cracked and Margo tightened her hold on his chin.

 “You need to tell me right now. Do you understand? It’s the only way I can try to help him!”

 Quentin tried to swallow the bitter ball of emotion that had collected in his throat.

 “Reynard, he . . . he didn’t just take Eliot’s abilities. He—he attacked Eliot first.” Quentin gestured, unable to get out a word that seemed appropriate. Assaulted him.” Quentin said at last.

 Margo’s dark eyes searched Quentin’s face for a moment, puzzled, as if she was trying to decipher a particularly difficult spell, and then understanding broke over her expression. Her mouth worked and Quentin nodded.

 “I wanted to stop it, Margo. I swear on my life if I could have, you have to know . . . but I was bleeding and I couldn’t get to him or cast any spells. To tell you the truth if Penny hadn’t come back I don’t think any of us would be alive right now, I mean, I don’t even know why Reynard left Eliot alive, it doesn’t really make a lot of—”

 Margo’s open palm connected sharply with Quentin’s cheek and he started, more surprised than hurt.

 “What the hell, Margo!”

 “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be some kind of genius, you’re a fucking idiot sometimes.” She turned on her heel and stormed back over to where Eliot was being tended to. Quentin found his way to a nearby bench and sat down, his cheek still flushed. Penny and Kady appeared in front of him a moment later and he flinched back at the sudden movement. Penny frowned at him—or maybe that was his resting scowl, it was hard to know sometimes—and folded his arms across his chest.

 “So what the fuck happened to you?” He asked, and Quentin shook his head.

 “It’s not important. Did you find Julia?”

 Kady paled and groped for Penny’s hand, and he took it.

 “Yeah man. We found her. And it turns out Reynard didn’t come here right away when Julia and her friends freed him. He wreaked some pretty serious fucking havoc before then too.”

 “We didn’t know.” Kady said quietly. “We thought we’d found a goddess. But then he came. He—he killed everyone. He took over Richard’s body, killed the Free Traders . . . and then he went after Julia. Because she was trying to protect me. He attacked her. Raped her.” The last two words were almost a whisper, and Penny nodded.

 “He’s a fucked-up predator-god, Quentin, and we have to put as much space between him and us as possible!”

 “Julia’s gone off to hunt him down.” Kady says, and Margo joined them in time again to glare at her.

 “Then we have to find her, and stop her.”

 “Why should we stop her?” Penny asked. “Let her end him and good riddance! I would have thought you’d be all for that, considering what he did to Eliot!”

 “None of you understand how this kind of magic works, do you?” Tears glittered in Margo’s eyes but she looked furious at the same time. “If Julia kills Reynard, then Eliot’s magic and natural abilities die too! They’ll die before we can find a spell to trap that fucking fox and get back what he stole!” She glanced over at Penny. And if you think Reynard’s done with Fillory or with Eliot? Guess again because when Eliot’s weak enough, he’s going to come back and finish the job!”

 “And feed from the energy created by his death.” Quentin murmured, and Margo gave him a look that suggested she was vastly relieved that he’d finally caught up.

 “So what the fuck do we do now?” Penny asks, and Margo’s furious eyes swept what remained of their Brakebills group.

 “We capture a psychotic, predatory fox-God, for starters. Then we figure out a way to undo what he did before El gets too weak and Reynard comes back for seconds.”

 “It sounds impossible.” Quentin murmured, and Margo turned to look at him.

 “Quentin, if being a magician isn’t to try and make the impossible possible, then why fucking be a magician at all?” She turned smartly, her raspberry coat flaring out behind her. “Come on. We’ll start back at Brakebills.”

[absinthc-blog]

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[alisemartinez91]

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[365footballorg-blog]

Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 11 MLS slate

May 11, 201812:20PM EDT

We are now entering the part of the season where there begins to be a strong correlation between where you are in the standings, and where you finish in the standings. In other words: If you’re well below the playoff line right now, you’re probably in some amount of trouble.

Obviously this is most interesting, from a neutral’s point of view, in regards to Toronto FC. The Reds dropped a 2-1 home result to the Sounders on Wednesday night and now have seven points from eight games. FiveThirtyEight’s model still has a certain amount of confidence that TFC and Seattle will both get it done eventually:

That makes a lot of sense to me, given that both teams are A) near the top of their respective conference in terms of raw talent, and B) their stuttering starts have been a product of CCL congestion and a damn-near devastating raft of injuries. Those are mitigating and understandable factors, and I think it’s prudent to still believe both of these teams will figure out a way to get it done.

But they really do need to start getting over those injuries ASAP. If things go squirrelly this weekend TFC could end up a full 10 points below the playoff line, and Seattle could be six points out. That’s far from ideal.

Into the weekend we go:

Friday Night

Vancouver Whitecaps FC vs. Houston Dynamo

10:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

Way back in March I declared that Houston would be a Good Team™ that did mostly Good Things™ and while they’ve delivered on a lot of that – they really do play pretty, inventive attacking soccer, and I’m starting to buy Wilmer Cabrera stock – they haven’t delivered enough points.

A story in two clips:

That’s from last week.

That’s from the last time they played the ‘Caps.

Obviously both of those games were at Houston, where the Dynamo habitually play with more of the ball and thus come a little farther up the field than they tend to on the road. But Vancouver would probably be just fine if Houston played this one like it was a home game since the ‘Caps, as they showed last week, have no idea how to attack a packed-in defense.

On the other side of the ball, everybody is currently sleeping on just how good Alberth Elis is:

It’s not a perfect comp since Miguel Almiron has mostly played as a No. 10 while Elis has been almost strictly a winger, but the past two months have felt a lot like “young player finding the range and about to come into his own, then start laying waste to all comers.” Given how much Vancouver have struggled at both fullback spots this year, that’s something to keep an eye on.

Seriously though, I know the Dynamo aren’t at the top of everybody’s ESPN+ power rankings, but they should be. Elis is a Best XI talent and once he finally breaks down the last few barriers in his game, he will be unplayable.

Saturday Slate

Minnesota United FC vs. San Jose Earthquakes

2 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

One of the discussions we’ve had repeatedly on Instant Analysis is “can Minnesota be a playoff team?” They are above the playoff line on total points right now (and just under it in PPG), and the west is a feather bed, so it’s starting to feel like the answer is “possibly.” They’re not particularly good at any one particular thing but they’ve strung results together at home and have done just a little bit more than the bottom-half of the West.

So with that as the setting: If you’re going to be a playoff team, this is the type of game you win. The Quakes have been a disaster since Week 1 – a 3-2 win at Avaya Stadium over these Loons – and are a league-worst 1-5-2. They have been soft as hell in Zone 14, which is right where MNUFC’s Darwin Quintero should be operating, and they’ve been a mess at left back, which is right where Miguel Ibarra should be operating.

The Loons haven’t had a ton of games in their MLS existence in which they’re outright favored to win. This is one of them. If they don’t, and if we get to October and this group finishes a point or three below the playoff line, this is the very first game everybody should point to.

Montreal Impact vs. Philadelphia Union

3 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

Philly’s season in one stat:

Just brutal from Philly pic.twitter.com/HfyWG4vi3m

— Matthew Doyle (@MattDoyle76) May 11, 2018

Two bad months to start the year have probably doomed them, to be perfectly honest. This isn’t Toronto, so I don’t see a path up the standings for this group – just hopefully some incremental improvement and a “trust the process” vibe with that young and promising but still error-prone defense.

I also have serious questions about how Borek Dockal was scouted and signed. Dockal is a fairly skillful No. 10, but not the type of 10 who likes to get into the box and find goals. He instead prefers to stay deep and try to orchestrate.

On another team that would be fine, but on this team… well, this team has both Alejandro Bedoya and Haris Medunjanin deep in central midfield to do the orchestrating. So when Dockal drops deep, that leaves the Union bereft of attackers in the 18.

That simply can not happen this weekend against a Montreal team that still can not defend. The Impact have often been good and fun going forward (especially when at home), but as we saw against Chicago midweek, they’re prone to dropping into a not-very-effective shell when defending.

FC Dallas vs. LA Galaxy

3:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

The FC Dallas midfield and forwards in 2017:

24 throughballs

175 crosses

The FC Dallas midfield and forwards in 2018:

16 through-balls

76 crosses

We’ve given Oscar Pareja some deserved props for getting this team out of their death spiral and up into the top three in the West (which feels about right, given overall talent and balance) on PPG. We’ve given him additional deserved props for finally instituting some squad rotation – not just for rest, but for holding underperforming starters accountable. Both Maxi Urruti and Mauro Diaz have responded positively to a good degree, as has Carlos Gruezo and hopefully Kellyn Acosta is next. Pareja also rode out Reggie Cannon’s early-season jitters and the kid has quietly become one of the better two-way right backs in the league.

But he also, at some point, realized that his team skewed waaaaaay too cross-heavy last season and has made necessary adjustments toward fixing it. Roland Lamah in particular has flown under the radar as a defense-splitting menace, and while Jacori Hayes isn’t that kind of central midfielder his Nagbe-esque knack for early and accurate distribution to the feet of his attackers has meant fewer hopeful crosses from those guys.

Dallas are playing good soccer. And given the Galaxy’s historic struggles in Texas, this one doesn’t bode well for LA.

Columbus Crew SC vs. Chicago Fire

7:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

Let’s all remember how good Columbus were on the road, down to 10 men last weekend against Seattle:

Chicago will do the opposite of this on Saturday. As Bobby broke down in a column this week, the Fire eliminated Ignacio Piatti from Wednesday night’s proceedings by man-to-manning him all over the field.

I don’t think you can do that against Crew SC. I suspect they’ll eat that up.

New England Revolution vs. Toronto FC

7:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

This is the biggest game of the weekend for all the reasons listed in the lede. TFC will almost certainly be playing with a makeshift defense again, and it’ll be up to the Revs to punish Michael Bradley’s occasional wanderlust:

One of the things that’s made TFC so good over the past couple of years is that they’ve been shape-shifters. They can play a 4-4-2 diamond, a 3-5-2, a 4-1-4-1, etc. They’ve also been able to switch between front-foot play and back-foot play pretty easily, and I suspect in this one they’ll be playing somewhat on the back foot in order to coax the Revs up the pitch.

New England were sloppy when they did that last weekend, and constantly let the Impact run through the lines. Don’t be surprised if we see Greg Vanney use his notes from that film session.

Colorado Rapids vs. New York Red Bulls

9 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

George W. Bush was the president and there were only 13 MLS teams the last time the Red Bulls won in Colorado:

#RBNY at Rapids since last win there in 2007…

7.4.08 L 0-4 7.25.09 L 0-4 7.4.10 D 1-1 7.20.11 L 1-4 7.4.13 L 1-3 4.16.16 L 1-2

— Mark Fishkin (@MarkFishkin) May 10, 2018

This year’s Red Bulls team has done a mostly excellent job of pressing the hell out of all comers and playing constant, high-energy soccer. But it’s tough to do that a mile high, and it’s arguably tougher still to make it work against a team who’s completely happy to hit long-ball after long-ball. The Rapids just want to play over the top – it’s how they’re built, and they’re pretty good at it. So if the energy of the press slips by five percent or so because of altitude, that can/probably will lead to breakout attempts for Dominique Badji.

If RBNY gets a goal early and controls the game-state, and thus forces the Rapids to come out and play, this one could get interesting/ugly by halftime.

Real Salt Lake vs. D.C. United

9 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

You can see from that expected goals chart above just how poor D.C. have been at creating chances through the first two months of the season. There are obviously some mitigating factors because of their road-heavy schedule and their extensive injury list, but at some point you have to come play a little bit of soccer.

They did so for a minute in their most recent outing, a 3-2 loss at Philly:

I absolutely think you can press RSL this same way, especially since left back continues to be an open, gaping wound, and because the Claret-and-Cobalt central midfield tandem of Kyle Beckerman and Damir Kreilach just have not worked together. You have to go right at them and punish them for their disorganization.

Of course, the same is true of D.C., and RSL have plenty of skillful attackers who can open up a defense. Whether they’ll put those chances away, though…

Sunday’s Triple-Header

Portland Timbers vs. Seattle Sounders

4 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

Best sustained attack of the season from Portland:

“There’s no re-writing history.”

Decades of conflict: The Rivalry hits 100. #PDXSEA100#RCTIDpic.twitter.com/COGZPZtXmm

— Portland Timbers (@TimbersFC) May 8, 2018

Orlando City SC vs. Atlanta United

6 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

I have gone on this assumption since early in the season: Atlanta United, Toronto FC, NYCFC and the Red Bulls (who convinced me via their CCL throttling of Tijuana) are the four alphas in 2018. Columbus, if they can replace Justin Meram’s goals from the wing – which they haven’t, and that’s a huge problem – could join them.

Beyond those five, I saw two other teams I liked a lot on paper: Sporting KC and Orlando City. SKC have proved their worth and mettle by going to the top of the West and capped it off in taking three points at Atlanta on Wednesday night. The Five Stripes played great despite being down to 10 men and Peter Vermes even admitted afterward that they’re probably the best team in the league, but the fact that SKC could go into that environment and get three points, and are now a third of the way through their season and are averaging 2.1 ppg, and have in large part sorted the defensive issues that had so many so shook back in March, and have managed to keep scoring goals without Felipe Gutierrezz… SKC’s in the group. The top four have now, in my eyes, become a top five.

That’s the group Orlando City’s trying to get into. They’re riding a six-game winning streak, but those wins have mostly come against bottom-of-the-barrel teams (it started with a win over the Red Bulls, but it was basically the RBNY USL team since Jesse Marsch was resting his regulars for CCL action), and as they’ve been winning they’ve still managed to look horribly vulnerable at the back:

What happens if it’s Josef Martinez instead of Corey Baird on the breakaway there? I, um, have a suspicion it doesn’t end so well for the Purple Lions.

A win here is a signature moment for OCSC, and an indication that they are, indeed, for real. We know the attack is, and I like the hell out of their deep central midfield combo as well. But until that defense shows it’s able to do fundamental things right – like not get undressed by a simple ball over the top two or three times a game – I’m reserving my right to remain skeptical about Orlando City’s ceiling.

As for Atlanta, I’m very curious to see if it’s back to the 3-5-2 after Wednesday night’s disappointment.

LAFC vs. NYCFC

8:30 pm ET | Match Preview | TV & Streaming Info

The other team on the verge of joining that top group are, of course, LAFC (and no, NYCFC are in no danger of falling out of that top group despite a pair of emphatic losses in the past month). LAFC have had an identity and purpose since Week 1, and have largely kept it over the past two outings despite playing without starting striker Marco Ureña.

To be clear, though, they have missed the Costa Rican international. The intelligence of his movement, his workrate and passing touch all opened up room for the likes of Carlos Vela, Diego Rossi and Latif Blessing. It hasn’t quite been as flowing, and gaps haven’t been busted open quite so wide over the past 180 minutes.

Bob Bradley’s compensated at least in part by inverting the midfield triangle from time to time, going from two deep and one up to one deep and two up (basically the difference between a 4-2-3-1 and a 4-1-4-1). That’s how both Eduard Atuesta and Mark-Anthony Kaye got forward in Wednesday night’s 2-0 win over MNUFC.

So they’ve found a way

NYCFC, meanwhile, have not. They were naive and sloppy last weekend against the Red Bulls:

LAFC want to turn you over in different spots than New York do – the Red Bulls press high, while the Black-and-Gold compress you deeper, at or beyond the midfield stripe. But the principle is roughly the same, and the Cityzens need to be smarter and sharper than they were last weekend.

If they’re not, they’ll be looking at a run during which they’ll have taken just three points from four games. That would be the worst stretch under Patrick Vieira since May of 2016.

One more thing to ponder…

Happy weekending, everybody.

Series: 

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Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 11 MLS slate was originally published on 365 Football

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Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 7 MLS slate

April 13, 201810:22AM EDT

Welcome to the ESPN+ era. Let’s dive in…

Friday’s double-header

Philadelphia Union vs. Orlando City

8 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Over the last two weeks Orlando City have won back-to-back games – in dramatic, almost preposterous fashion – for the first time in nearly a year. They’ve done it by toggling through formations (diamond 4-4-2 to 4-2-3-1 to a box-ish 4-4-2) and tossing one of the league’s more robust collections of attacking talent onto the field at any given time.

The defense, meanwhile, has been a tire fire. No one on the backline has been average or better this season, and the defensive midfield combo of Will Johnson and Yoshi Yotun has not offered anywhere near enough protection.

Perhaps all of the above is what the Union need in order to get their attack untracked. Philly have scored just three goals all season, and only one (Alejandro Bedoya’s headed equalizer last week) at even strength. It’s been no bueno, and Bedoya said as much after the game (and yeah, I kind of wonder how that will play in the locker room).

Two things I want to point out here: Philly have gotten a decent amount of decent chances this year. C.J. Sapong and David Accam have combined for 20 shots inside the box, and have scored just one of them. Even if you factor in that shots off of crosses have a lower percentage chance of going in than shots created vs. other methods, that’s an abject scoring rate.

Second is that the best method of creating a chance that’s got a high percentage of hitting the back of the net is to hit on a breakaway. Of the Union’s 52 shots this year, zero have come from that method.

They need to play through the lines a little bit. When Sapong checks back to the play, Accam needs to dive inside into the gap his movement creates. And it probably wouldn’t kill Borek Dockal to make a direct run every now and then, either.

Vancouver Whitecaps vs. LAFC

10 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

We’ve written so much about LAFC already this year because 1) they’re an expansion team, and it’s fun to take apart a new toy, and 2) they’ve been fascinating. Perhaps the most fascinating thing about them is the paradox at the heart of how they play, namely: They are a team whose best defense is their ability to pass and possess the ball, yet they seem to play better – more purposeful and dangerous – when they’re not getting a lot of possession.

I think that’s the reason so many of their games have felt so open.

The ‘Caps are still the ‘Caps. They don’t play open games, and that’s by design. They’re still hitting a ton of long balls (amongst the league leaders) and a ton of crosses (amongst the league leaders), and they don’t possess much at all (fourth from bottom at 41.74%). They are a very British team in approach, and Kei Kamara’s willingness to be a target in every phase of the game lets that happen without it being weird.

That said, this team has an X-factor previous Vancouver teams have not: Alphonso Davies. He’s not quite the finished product yet, but every time he’s on the ball the three closest defenders are in danger of getting dunked on:

70′ – Canadian Alphonso Davies outwaits the keeper on a superb effort, but it’s all for not after the play was reviewed and it was determined that there was a hand ball. @WhitecapsFC and @ColumbusCrewSC are still deadlocked at 1-1. #WhitecapsFCpic.twitter.com/iaOgzN7ynW

— TSN (@TSN_Sports) March 31, 2018

This was called back for a handball, but you get the idea. He’s attempted 44 dribbles, which leads the league. He’s completed 30 of them, which leads the league. That success rate of just over 68% is absurd – general rule of thumb is that anything over 40% is actually pretty good. For high-volume attacking dribblers, Darlington Nagbe has long been the gold standard in MLS, and last year was his best ever at 65%.

Davies is starting to attach end product to his work as well. He’s got 1g/2a in 464 minutes, and isn’t settling for no-hoper crosses from the sideline as much as he did in the season’s first two weeks.

You still gameplan for the ‘Caps the same way you have done the last couple of years. But Davies is slowly changing that.

Saturday’s Slate

New York Red Bulls vs. Montreal Impact

1 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

With the Impact coming off of last week’s dispiriting 4-0 loss at New England and the Red Bulls surely suffering from a Concacaf Champions League hangover… I really have no idea here. I do know, however, that Ignacio Piatti has long been able to conjure special performances in Harrison.

One thing I don’t expect to see in this game: Bradley Wright-Phillips as a No. 10.

Colorado Rapids vs. Toronto FC 2

3 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Let’s face it: TFC have no choice but to treat this as a test for their USL side, as well as a type of tune-up for Victor Vazquez, Justin Morrow and Chris Mavinga – three regular starters who’ve spent most of the past month hurt, but are working their way back to fitness in time for the CCL final. I wouldn’t be shocked to see all three of them sub in as a group just past the hour mark.

The Rapids are currently sitting on our weird stat of the week: They have created five big chances, but they have scored six.

They’re very good at getting goals gifted to them early this season (as are Columbus and Chicago, for what it’s worth). I’m not sure if it’s their system (though I don’t think it is, as they’re not exactly pressing teams into mistakes out there) or just some early season small-sample-size theatre that they’ve taken advantage of. Either way they’re kind of breaking the model right now and it’s amusing.

It should also serve them well against what I’m imagining will be a very young and/or rusty Reds team.

Chicago Fire vs. LA Galaxy

3:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

How Chicago use Bastian Schweinsteiger will be what shapes this game, I think. They’ve flipped him back and forth between sweeper and central midfield a bunch over the past two weeks:

I don’t think playing him at sweeper is a reasonable long-term solution as it leaves them too vulnerable defensively and too bereft of playmaking ability in midfield. They need Homegrown rookie CB Grant Lillard to be ready. Now.

After re-watching last week’s 2-0 home loss to SKC, I’ve come to this conclusion: The Galaxy need to mostly do what they did in that game, except faster. They generated more than 20 shots, hit the woodwork a bunch and forced Tim Melia into a Player of the Week performance. Pressing forward a half-step quicker could’ve/would’ve made those gaps fractionally wider, and when that happens players of the quality of Ola Kamara and Zlatan Ibrahimovic put the ball in the net.

D.C. United vs. Columbus Crew SC

7 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I’m willing to call this a mini-slump for Columbus, who’ve lost two straight and won just once in their last four after blazing out of the gate this year. That one win? It was 3-1 over… yeah it was over D.C. United.

The outstanding feature of that game was, as it often is with Columbus, how high the Crew SC fullbacks got:

When they play like that they basically envelop you and force your defense into constant scramble mode. If you come out to meet them and deny service, you allow the Columbus attackers more running lanes to hit and pockets of space to operate in.

D.C. are 0-3-2, have the league’s third-worst defensive record, and don’t play another home game for three months. They probably need to win this one or 2018 could get away from them before they even set foot in Washington, D.C.

New England Revolution vs. FC Dallas

7:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

The Revs press a ton. FC Dallas turn it over at the back a ton. This game’s in Foxborough on one of the league’s most notorious FieldTurf surfaces.

1+1+1 should equal three points for the home team. We shall see.

Portland Timbers vs. Minnesota United FC

10:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

This game should mark the debut of MNUFC’s first-ever Designated Player, Colombian attacker Darwin Quintero. He’s most often been played as a winger in his long and successful Liga MX career, though he’s also played at times as a second forward. He is fast and fun, has a penchant for scoring bangers from outside the box and absolutely tormented MLS defenders for both Santos Laguna and Club América in CCL over the past seven years:

Darwin Quintero has had great success against #MLS teams in #CCL, with both #SantosLaguna and #ClubAmérica. He has 7 goals + 4 assists vs #MLS teams in his career and terrorized backlines with pace and trickery (he also got a red card and sparked a brawl vs #TFC in 2012). #MNUFCpic.twitter.com/MabNIOSi4x

— Jason Foster (@JogaBonito_USA) March 31, 2018

This is not a fun prospect for a Portland defense that’s struggled all season no matter the team shape or personnel.

San Jose Earthquakes vs. Houston Dynamo

10:30 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I think I’m going to do a deep dive on the Quakes after this weekend. They’re a team who I thought would be better than they have been – they have talent at every stop from front to back, they’re capable of playing some attractive soccer (as Magnus Eriksson’s goal last weekend showed), and their results haven’t been bad.

But they also haven’t been good, and that’s why Mikael Stahre is talking about making some lineup changes. The big issue for me has been in central midfield, where Florian Jungwirth has been meh and Anibal Godoy has been actively bad. We’re getting deep into the weeds here, but let me link you to the Expected Goal Chain page on AmericanSoccerAnalysis. Toy around with it a bit and you’ll see that, in terms of measurable contribution to the attack, Godoy ranks below pretty much all of the league’s starting midfielders and most of the league’s starting center backs.

He does not, and has not moved the ball well. In this case the eye test matches the underlying numbers that the nerds have cobbled together.

Same, to be honest, with Houston. The eye test says they’ve played well, but 1) they can’t defend on the break because they’re slow at the back, and 2) they can’t finish. And lo-and-behold, nobody’s given up more fastbreak goals and nobody’s squandered more big chances.

Sunday Funday

Sporting KC vs. Seattle Sounders

4 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

I’ve been banging on about Big Chances all column, so let me just show you what’s gone wrong with Seattle and what’s gone right with SKC in one handy-dandy excel table:

Club Big Chance Created Big Chance Scored Big Chance Missed NY Red Bulls 12 9 4 Sporting KC 12 6 9 Houston 12 3 11 NYCFC 11 7 11 Atlanta 10 8 8 LAFC 10 6 6 New England 10 5 6 Minnesota 9 5 5 LA Galaxy 8 6 7 Philadelphia 8 3 5 Orlando 7 6 3 Real Salt Lake 7 3 8 Montreal 7 2 5 Portland 6 3 5 FC Dallas 6 2 5 Colorado 5 6 4 Columbus 5 6 4 Vancouver 5 5 3 Toronto FC 5 3 6 D.C. United 5 3 6 San Jose 5 2 5 Chicago 4 6 3 Seattle 3 0 3

Atlanta United vs. NYCFC

6 pm ET | Match preview | TV & streaming info

Easily the most interesting match-up, tactically or otherwise, of the weekend. NYCFC had huge success midweek by tinkering with using Jesus Medina as a false 9 – basically just stationing him in the gap between RSL’s central midfield and defense and letting a pair of inverted wingers run inside off of him. They won 4-0 and the visitors were never in the game, not for a single second.

I don’t necessarily expect to see that again in this one. David Villa made his return to action after a month, and that should mean Medina can return to his more natural winger role. But it’s a good club for Patrick Vieira to have in his bag (and let’s all remember that Villa pretty famously played as an inverted winger off a false 9 himself for that 2011 Barcelona team that won the Champions League).

Atlanta United, meanwhile, have in part flipped their identity from 2017. Last year they were about pinning teams into the defensive third and forcing defenders to scramble back toward their own goal. This year they’re holding the ball deeper, building from the back and trying to pull defenders upfield:

That’s provided them with acres of space to attack pretty regularly. And when Atlanta get space to attack, they put the ball in the net.

NYCFC are first in the league with 2.67 ppg and a +10 goal differential. Atlanta are second with 2.4 ppg and a +7. On top of all that, it looks like Ezequiel Barco could make his MLS debut.

Feel free to enjoy this one even if you hate both teams. Good soccer is its own reward.

One more thing to ponder…

Be right down!

Happy weekending, everybody.

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Armchair Analyst: Your complete guide to the Week 7 MLS slate was originally published on 365 Football