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troubatrain · 4 years ago

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tis the damn season - m. tkachuk

a/n: as we all know, i am an absolute whore for a christmas fic and when i listened to evermore yesterday i knew this needed to be done. i literally haven’t written anything this fast in forever but i hope you guys like it!! (also tagging @igor-shestyorkin @blueskrugs & @fenwaynightlights for reading this last night and telling me it was good so i’d actually finish it ily)

The second you walked into the party, Matthew’s eyes didn’t leave you. He knew you were coming, but watching you step into his parent’s house with a plate of your famous chocolate chip cookies and a smile that made his heart skip a beat, was almost taunting him. You dated forever ago, the last real relationship Matthew had ever been in, and by the looks of it - it was staying like that. You greeted everyone, down to the biggest hug to his grandparents who swore you were going to be Matthew’s wife one day. That was because that’s just how you were, kind and smart and constantly impressing anyone who Matthew introduced you too. Every teammate he had at the time loved you, and he knew if you were in Calgary his team now would be the same. Brady adored you, even admitting to his brother he still called you for girl advice because if Matthew fumbled the bag when it came to you there was no way Brady should take his advice. Matthew couldn’t even think about your relationship with his sister, or how crushed she was when you broke up. Then there was his parents, his mom swore it would be okay. That it was just Matthew’s first love and eventually he’d find his forever but he knew she was lying. Matthew found forever with you, and he let it implode because his dream was just more important at the time. Now, he could be at the top of the world and none of it mattered because you weren’t by his side.

Matthew just felt dumb now, because you were on to bigger and better things and you weren’t hung up on your high school ex-boyfriend. You went off to college, crushed it, and moved back into St. Louis with a near perfect job offer and success practically radiating off of you. He was standing in his kitchen in the worst Bud Light Christmas sweater like an eighteen year old frat boy and you looked every bit like the goddess Matthew knew you were. The perfect Christmas red dress you were wearing sat on your frame flawless, and it was obvious that red was still your color.

“I can leave if you want me to?” You ask, leaning into Matthew when you finally made your way over to him. Your voice was low, mouth close to Matthew’s ear while you hugged him so no one could hear you ask. You were an infinitely better person than he was, so of course you asked him if it was okay to stay.

“You’re always welcome here, you know that,” Matthew answers, sipping his beer for some liquid courage he desperately needed.

“Just because your mom invites me doesn’t mean I need to be here,” You shrug, “Maybe you’ve got someone here…”

He would never. Matthew had never even considered it, what it would be like to bring someone home that wasn’t you. There wasn’t one person in Calgary who could measure up, and despite the fact that his family loved him and would accept anyone with open arms, deep down Matthew knew you would always be on their minds.

“I don’t,” Matthew says, trying to stop himself from wrapping his arm around your waist while you stand with your chest still pressed against his from your hello hug, “I mean what would be the point? They don’t make cookies like you do.”

Matthew had to joke, cover up the fact that he was never able to let go of what you had and choke it down with beer he was drinking. He liked seeing you, the same times he did every year. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the occasional summer BBQ was something he looked forward to, sometimes he even hoped for an extra reason for you to both be somewhere. He knew you’d come, because you wouldn’t dare deny his mother’s invitation.

“Of course you noticed I made them,” You rolled your eyes, pushing Matthew back jokingly, “Remember when you used to beg me to make them-”

You stopped yourself when you noticed where this was going, you never brought up the before times. The times when Matthew would give you his best puppy dog eyes for you to bake him something, followed by a plea to just look the other way when he devoured the entire plate.

“Maybe it’s best we broke up, I probably never would’ve gotten drafted by eating these,” Matthew teases, sliding past you to grab a cookie off the counter and taking a big bite, “Because fuck these are good.”

Matthew’s moans in delight sent a chill up your spine. You hated that he could still do that to you, because it was the same thing every time. You’d see him, and for a moment you’d think that this would work itself out. You could get back together, and falling in love would be just as sweet a second time, but it wouldn’t work. You were settling into your own, a fresh lease signed in your new apartment you were going to move into after New Year’s, and Matthew was going to go back to Calgary where he was a big deal. That was always the dream, to make it big in the league and make his parents proud. Matthew was doing it, not that you ever doubted him, but you were proud nonetheless.

The thing was, because Matthew was doing the damn thing, he gave up you. It was like a deal he made with the devil when he was seventeen, he could have everything he ever wanted if he didn’t have you to hold him back. You always knew that was why he broke up with you, it was the right person at the wrong time.

“It’s nice to see you Matthew,” You muse, biting the inside of your cheeks to hold back the grin on your face. You stopped the conversation before it started, constantly trying to make this as painless as possible, but it wasn’t always easy.

“Wait, uh, you’re going to be here until Christmas right?” Matthew asks, grabbing your attention before you slipped out of the kitchen. Matthew was hopeful, catching a flight a few days earlier than he usually could and landing before Christmas gave him more time to see you.

“I’ll be at my parents house,” You nod, thinking about your childhood bedroom that was currently covered in moving boxes while you waited to settle into your new place.

“Oh sweet,” Matthew takes another swing of his drink, trying to keep his cool because you were the only person who made him completely uncool.

“Yeah, sweet, I’ll see you around,” You wave, disappearing into the kitchen. Matthew takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a minute until Brady stepped in front of him. His little brother scoffed, a stupid smirk on his face when he finally spoke.

“Dude that was painful to watch.”

***

Matthew had no idea what the fuck he was doing. His feet were just carrying all two hundred and two pounds of his body in the exact direction of your house. He was drunk, well over the limit of how many whiskey shots he could even handle. He looked at his watch, it was almost three in the morning but if he didn’t get it out now when would he ever. He loved you, and all he could think about is what would happen if he could have just had one more night with you. Maybe you’d feel it, you’d always been pretty intuitive with his feelings, because he was awful with them. He had to make his case, did he even have one?

Oh hey Y/N, I know I’m hammered and it’s three in the morning the day before Christmas Eve but I want you to know I’m still in love with you.

That wouldn’t work, and he was going to have to do better than that. He could turn around and go home, but if he had to watch another one of your Instagram stories and pray that whoever was in them wasn’t your boyfriend again - he would lose his mind before he made it to the holidays next year. He snuck past the gate into your yard, not surprised to see your whole house was sleeping quietly. He picked up a few pebbles from your mother’s garden, shaking them in his hand and hoping you remembered the way he let you know he was outside when you’d sneak out in high school.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were woken up by the sound of three pebbles hitting your window, and you rub your eyes in disbelief by what you were hearing. Matthew wasn’t outside your window at three in the morning looking for you, why would he even think about it?

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, poking your head out the window and crossing your arms to battle the cool air blowing through.

“Come down?” Matthew asks, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans and giving you his best smile. A real one, because you’d always been able to tell when it was fake.

You should’ve closed the window, and pushed Matthew to the back of your mind until you found yourself creeping on his Instagram again. You were always a good listener, and you always tried to do the right thing but Matthew was your vice. He’d always been a little bit a bad boy, but never enough to stop you from coming back for more. So you opened your window a little more, slipping down and scaling down your house just like you used to.

Matthew could have pretended like he didn’t notice, his last name faded on the back of the hoodie you were wearing, but he couldn’t. You looked just as cute in it as you did all of those years before, “Seven was such a good number on you, I wish I could have kept it.”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks, hoping Matthew couldn’t catch it in the moonlight, “Why are you here?”

“I want one more night,” Matthew takes a deep breath, standing his ground, “I, uh fuck-”

Matthew Tkachuk had never been good with words. He put his foot in his mouth, all the time, but his plea was something you never thought you’d hear. It was Christmas, you were lonely, and a part of you wondered the same thing. So you said fuck it and decided that this was your problem later, pressing your lips to Matthew’s. Your hands gripped his shirt, trying to get as close to him as you could. Matthew was dumbfounded, wrapping his arms around your waist, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Can you be quiet?” You ask, pointing at the back door. It was the middle of the night and your parents room was on the first floor but if Matthew was quiet enough you could get him upstairs easily - you used to do it all the time.

Matthew nodded eagerly, following you inside and tip-toeing up the stairs. He was doing a terrible job, either he’d gotten bigger or the floors in your parents house had gotten creakier.

“You said you could be quiet,” You tease, letting Matthew push you against the door, he twisted the lock, smirking at you.

“I’m a lot bigger than I used to be,” Matthew declares, fake puffing out his chest.

“I noticed…” You muse, running over your hands over his shoulders. He’d gotten broader with age, and it wasn’t something that was lost on you. You press your lips to his, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him closer. Your fingers crept up to his curls, tugging on them slightly. Matthew smirked against your lips, “I missed that.”

“I missed you,” Matthew mutters, wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you to your bed. You squeal, tucking your head into shoulder to stop the noise, “Who’s the loud one now?”

“Well don’t stop kissing me then,” You tease, grabbing Matthew and pulling him on top of you. You worked quickly, a pile of clothes in the corner of your that was going to be addressed later. Matthew’s lips were on your neck, his finger circling your clit while you bit your lip hold back a moan, “Matty please-”

The nickname slipped your lips so easily it was like you never should have stopped calling him that. Matthew took notice, and it was like music to his ears, “Anything you want babe.”

“Fuck me,” You breathe out, desperate for as much of him as you could get. Matthew slipped out of his boxers, pumping himself a few times before he gave you a look. You nodded, giving him the go ahead and pulling his lips back to yours. Matthew slipped inside you, and it’d never felt better.

Matthew was better now, much much better. His hips were snapping into you, a near perfect pace while grunts left his lips. The pleasure was almost too much, and you could feel your nails scratching into his back while you bit into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet. His hand snaked down to your clit, “Cum for me babe, c’mon.”

You clenched around him, the sensation was enough to send Matthew over the edge, spilling into you. He dropped to his elbows, placing lazy kisses on your skin while you basked in the post sex glow. Matthew’s skin was glistening against the moonlight from your window, his breath in your ear while you caught yours and it all felt right.

“You know you have to go now,” You remind him, “My dad will murder you if he catches you up here.”

“I know,” Matthew bumps his nose against yours, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow? Or later?”

Later. It had completely slipped your mind that in just a few hours you were going to be forced to run an annual day before Christmas Eve 5k with the Tkachuk’s like you did every year. The idea was somehow worse than doing it on Thanksgiving, and now you had to see Matthew after you let him fuck you in your childhood bedroom. You watched Matthew dress himself, hopping out your window and back to his own house.

Now you just needed some sleep.

***

You felt like shit, and you were missing the iced coffee you didn’t have a chance to get while you trailed behind your parents to meet the Tkachuk’s. You greeted everyone, stopping at Matthew last, you were unsure of how to even greet him after what you’d just done a few hours before. He didn’t think anything of it, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

“Here,” Matthew says, nudging his cup towards you. You assumed it was coffee, but then the taste of a mimosa hit your tongue.

“Jeez,” You choke, coughing while you take down the champagne with just a hint of orange juice.

“Do you think I was going to run this sober? You wore me out last night,” Matthew teases, and he could feel Brady’s gaze on him.

The wheels in Brady’s head were turning. He was suspicious, catching Matthew sneak back into the house early in the morning, and now watching the two of you - it was clear. It became even clearer when they started running, because Brady knew Matthew wasn’t that slow and he didn’t wasn’t going to let Brady beat him. He was though, jogging behind Brady with you and laughing at whatever you said. There was one thing that was clear, Matthew got over his dumb fear of talking to you and finally did. His brother was happy, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to watch this explode in your faces in a few days. Matthew would go back to Calgary and just the first time you broke, it was going to be ugly.

***

The winter in St. Louis was brisk, but Matthew’s warm body next to you was enough to fight it. Your head was on his chest, and you were snoring softly. Matthew picked you up a few hours after you got home, driving up to the same lake you snuck off to in high school. He stole Brady’s truck, driving off with a bunch of blankets without giving Brady an answer as to where he was going. It was supposed to be romantic, but you’d always been prone to falling asleep when you were with him.

Matthew didn’t have a complaint in the world, you slept the same way you used to. Your head on his chest, a leg tangled with his and your hands clutched to his shirt so he couldn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere. Matthew would let you sleep the entire day away if he could have. He carded his hands through your hair, a content sigh leaving his lips.

Matthew often wondered what would have happened if you never broke up. If you’d followed him to Calgary and what that would have been like. Maybe you’d still be together, and after all these years he’d start looking for a ring. If you’d buy a house together, maybe even be that family that houses wayward hockey players just like his parents did. You’d be the person he got to share looks with across the room when he was forced to have conversations he didn’t want to have. He’d get to take you family skates and you’d get to see him play and you’d live happily ever after.

Reality was always much more cruel, and it wasn't pretty. You had a life in St. Louis, one that didn’t include him. You were moving along in your life just fine without him. You didn’t need Matthew and it was dumb of him to think you’d drop it all for him. You never asked him to stay, and it would be unfair to ask you to wait around.

“I can hear you thinking, you might start to malfunction soon bubs,” You whisper, your voice still laced with sleep. You meant to run a hand through his hair, but the palm of your hand just hit his forehead while you moved it back down slowly. Matthew chuckles, the silly nicknames you gave him seemed to come out without a second thought, and it felt good to be called any of them by you.

“Just thinking about you,” Matthew breathes, and you pick up your head. Matthew shoots you a smile, but you knew he was faking it.

“Matty-” You take one deep breath, “Don’t ask me to come with you, you know it’s not fair to me.”

Your voice was cracking, pleading Matthew to just not have this conversation. You weren’t ready for it, because it meant accepting defeat. The universe wasn’t going to allow you to be together, and that’s just how it was going to be.

“I don’t want to go back to Calgary,” Matthew whispers, more to himself than you. He did want to go back, but he wanted to go back with you.

“You have to,” You sit up, a chill running through your body from the loss of Matthew’s body next to yours. You rub your arms to warm up, “You have to because we’re just not going to make it work Matty.”

Matthew nods solemnly, like his heart just broke all over again. You were right, you always were, it just seemed naïve to think you’d both be any different now than you were the first time, “Let me take you home.”

The car ride was awkward. The only thing cutting through the silence was the Christmas music playing on the radio. You sat with your head pressed against the window, counting down the streets until you finally hit yours. Matthew halted the car, and you gave him one more look before you stepped out of the car, “Tell your parents I said Merry Christmas.”

“I will,” Matthew nods, and those were the last words you heard him say before you walked up your stairs. Matthew waited for you to be inside before he drove off, a small part of him hoping you’d run back to the car and tell him you wanted him too. You didn’t, and that was just how it was going to be.

***

Christmas was awful, the past two days seemed to pass were pure agony. You were sad, and knowing Matthew was about three blocks and four houses away wasn’t helping. You were counting down the hours until he was back in Calgary, away from you and you could finally grieve him for the final time. The last nail in the coffin of what was once your first love had yet to be hammered in but once he was gone that would settle it.

You had two more hours until you knew his flight would leave, and you were so close to the finish line you could taste it. You were home alone, your parents still making their way to a few neighbors' houses to spend the last few moments of the holiday with their friends. You were sulking, a wine bottle stolen from your mother’s collection and the Grinch on your TV.

A doorbell was the only thing to interrupt you, and you could see a tuft of curly hair through the window. Matthew was standing outside your door, pacing back and forth while he waited for you to open it. You thought about acting like you weren’t home, maybe he’d leave and never come back. You opened it, not even having a chance to open your mouth before he spoke.

“Come with me,” Matthew pleads, “I love you, I still do and I always have and we’re meant to be together. There isn’t anyone I want more by my side than you, and I know it’ll be hard but I’m not ready to let you slip through my fingers again.”

“Matthew-” You interrupt grabbing his arm to stop his pacing, “Listen to yourself.”

“I am, and I want this, I never wanted to give up you and I just can’t fly back there with people who don’t know when I’m faking a smile or when I don’t want to be somewhere,” Matthew explains, running a hand over his face, “You’re the best I’ll ever have and I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

“I’ll come until New Year’s,” You agree, Matthew’s face breaking out into a very real smile, “We need to talk about this Matthew.”

“You talk, I’ll listen, you can have whatever you want,” Matthew agrees, because he’d move the sun if he could for you. His lips pressed against yours, pushing you against the same front door he kissed you in front of on your first date. The porch light still flickers the way it used to while Matthew’s hands gripped your face because he was afraid to let you go. You both finally pulled, Matthew mumbling his next words against your lips.

Tis the damn season huh?

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #My writing #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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deltaengineering · 3 years ago

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Spring Anime 2021: Embarrassment of Riches

So this current anime season absolutely stinks, which just makes the last one look even more impressive. Well, maybe not all of it...

Zombieland Saga Revenge

First off, you don't need to tell me that the following is a severe outlier opinion. We good? Ok. ZLSR is, in a word, subpar. I liked S1 back in the day, but it was already in the process of getting lazy towards the end. S2 continues this trend and is basically just another idol show. And as someone who actually does watch other idol shows I have to say that it's not a particularly good one of those either. The zombie gimmick has mostly stopped mattering and we're just doing what every idol show does, only with the odd occasional sight gag. The alleged subversive qualities mostly amount to a flashback for Yuugiri, which is admittedly the best part of the show but feels like it barely has anything to do with anything. Apart from that, it's a bunch of generic idol plots, rehashed character beats, shoddy attempts at twists (while not connecting to any setups from S1), and the obligatory "idols give us hope" ending, which is terribly hackneyed and flat out bad. Tae gets further memed into the ground, because of course she does. And there's stuff that was simply never good to begin with, like Kotarou and his comedy schtick, which gets truly insufferable now that there's no qualities to distract from it. It really makes me think that S1 wasn't even all that good to begin with and seems like an attempt to turn this surprise success into an easy money longrunner with no edge and no ambitions. "The idol show for people who don't watch idol shows" indeed, but not the way you mean it. 4/10

Bakuten

But not to dwell on the failures, with the second show we're already above the cut — barely. This one got my attention with its really impressive performance scenes early on and it totally sticks to that, which is even more impressive. But besides that? Well, this is by far the most predictable show in a season where I watched an unambitious Kiraralike and put ZLS on blast for having no ideas. The characters are a mixed bag, some are cool (Shida, Asawo), some are very annoying (Mashiro), but those are the supports. The main cast is extremely one-dimensional, which is fine until they try to heap a ton of pathos on their lead, which doesn't go well. But I guess execution matters, and Bakuten is slick enough to get by. Writing this down in stark daylight I feel like I overrated this show somewhat (I actually put it over the next one originally, which definitely doesn't hold up when thinking about it), but I was indeed mostly entertained. 6/10

Yakunara Mug Cup mo

Yeah. Of course Mug Cup definitely doesn't invent or subvert anything either, but it's a pretty good Kiraralike that's always entertaining to watch. Explaining the qualities of such a nothing genre is as difficult as ever, but it mostly comes down to me liking the characters and it having nothing to annoy me. It's shorter than normal, which is a plus for slim shows like this. And yeah, you can make an excessive amount of dick jokes with the clay fondling. That helps too. Looks are just fine, pleasant but nothing out of the ordinary. Comfy low-effort anime. 6/10

Vivy: Fluorite Eye's Song

This one is decent, but sadly still a major letdown. Because the first few episodes of Vivy were excellent and kicked ass, but then it became increasingly clear that the writing can't cash the checks the ideas wrote while the action starts running into severely diminishing returns. Vivy just keeps slowly getting worse and worse as it goes on, not by a huge amount each episode but by the end there's a pretty sizeable gulf between potential and result. Going into detail would probably be a little much for this venue because there's a lot, but from the top level view the issue is that while Vivy has good fundamental ideas and steals at the right places, it just isn't a smart show — it's schlock, and by the end, poorly thought out schlock that tries to smooth out every problem with liberal application of the big feels hammer and le epic twist at that. Yeah, couldn't tell that the Re:Zero dude was aboard here, for sure. That said, it still works pretty well as entertaining schlock that is not to be taken too seriously, and the characters are generally just very fun to watch even when they're doing stupid things. Still, I can't in good conscience rate this higher than Beatless, a show that looks like butt but properly executes on its ideas. 6/10

Super Cub

So this is 100% a Honda commercial, and I got really mad a Yuru Camp last season for being a blatant shill. Yet I'm feeling this, what gives? I think the main difference is that Super Cub is specifically a commercial for one product (and a very iconic product at that), while Yuru Camp is so all over the place that it ends up mostly a commercial for consumerism in general. And when Super Cub goes too hard on the product (which it does), it's at least pretty entertaining. That's something about Super Cub in general: It goes hard. Your regular Kiraralike this is not, because it's uncommonly slow, focused and moody - yes, it almost measures up to Yuru Camp at its best and demolishes it at its worst. Also, it's just extremely amusing to see sadblob Koguma grow a huge grizzly biker beard and become a badass outlaw dad to her goofy wife and cute daughter, all thanks to the power of afforable personal transportation. Needless to say, that can get unintentionally silly, but Super Cub has so much charm that it doesn't matter — it's great when it's good and still funny when it's not. 7/10

Shadows House

Shadows House turned up with a lot of potential, and I have to say it at least delivered on most of it. It has some problems; notably I'm not a fan of how the entire middle turned out to be a tournament arc of sorts that seems curiously inspired by Resident Evil memes, crest-shaped intentations and boulder punching included. I also think that this is a show that would be perfectly fine without explaining much, but I guess it is a shounen manga after all so we got dumped on eventually anyway. At least that came late - close relative Promised Neverland didn't show that much restraint. Shadows House is generally well written though, with great characters, interesting interactions and a great hook. But what really makes it memorable is that it's exceptionally good at the cute/creepy contrast, something that is often tried but rarely works as well as here, with great character designs and very appropriate production. I hope this gets a sequel, because it seems like it's just getting started. 7/10

SSSS.Dynazenon

Coming in with a fondness for Gridman, Dynazenon didn't have to do much to convince me. The surprise though is that it's not a rehash even if it's basically the same show, a character drama where occasionally huge and goofy fights break out. Dynazenon is Gridman done better, and the interesting part is how it accomplishes this - mainly by being far more conventional. I do appreciate that Gridman went for something weird and almost experimental, but that only really paid off towards the end while most of the show was a distraction/holding pattern. It just didn't feel like there was enough material for a full series there, more like a movie maybe, if even that. Dynazenon fixes this by just being a TV show, with an actual cast of characters that each have their own arc. And by spreading the material this way, Dynazenon ends up having a lot more nuance than its intensely focused predecessor, while having the same themes and not actually being any deeper. In a way, Gridman ends up looking like the spinoff in retrospect, while Dynazenon is the full package. 8/10

Thunderbolt Fantasy S3

So how good was this season? So good that Thunderbolt Fantasy doesn't end up at the top, that's how. And all the elements that made Tbolt such a sure thing are still there, big hammy puppets doing stunts and scheming never gets old. However, I do have to note that at this point, the writing appears to have gotten too comfortable. I don't expect it to ever top the amazing S1 ending, but at this point it's like Tbolt has stopped trying to deliver on endings at all and seems in the process of retooling itself into a longrunner instead. Barely anything gets resolved in S3 (the climax is that the climax of S2 is resolved again, for good this time... maybe), and everything else is just setting up plotpoints for the next season. Tbolt is truly lucky that it doesn't actually need to resolve anything to be a great time, but at this point I have to say that I'd appreciate it if they wrapped it up with S4. 8/10

Nomad: Megalobox 2

Speaking of sequels to shows I liked, Nomad doesn't so much improve upon its predecessor but steamrolls right over it. This is a tall order, since Megalobox was surprisingly good for a sports shounen and had a real nice, heartwarming ending that Nomad instantly negates for purposes of drama and everyone being extremely miserable. That sounds like a pretty terrible idea - and it would be, if Nomad wasn't as excellent as it is. To call it not the same show would be an understatement, because it's a true sequel, not just the same characters doing their thing some more, or new characters doing the same thing as the old ones did. Indeed my biggest problem with Megalobox was that it still closely adhered to its genre template and was very predictable; Nomad fixes this issue thoroughly. Nomad is about questioning what being a hotblooded shounen protagonist eventually leads you to, and how to fix everything you screwed up by being one. You could call it a deconstruction, but that term has been so abused for cynical, edgy "thing you like actually sucks" takes that I feel like it doesn't really fit here. Nomad isn't cynical at all, it's just a character drama about some boxers past their prime, and it being a sequel to a show that is indeed rather formulaic just enhances the experience. My biggest issue with it was that I really like what they did with Joe in this story, so the big focus on Mac's backstory felt like a distraction for a long time. But in the end that turned out to be absolutely necessary to make the ending work. The ending's just great, by the way, and I shall say not more about it. 9/10

Odd Taxi

Yeah boy, here's the show that has apparently become somewhat of a "greatest show you didn't watch" meme, which I can feel smug about because I don't need YouTubers to tell me what's good and followed this from day one. Anyway, Odd Taxi is indeed great, the greatest show in a few years even. What starts out as seemingly a relaxed hangout show in the vein of Midnight Diners quickly turns into a psychological murder mystery while never losing its quirky humor. The character writing is outstanding, with even small bit players being on a level that the average anime wishes it could have for leads. And the rollout of the mystery is exemplary, with answers given and new questions raised every episode with a satisfying and logical payoff in the end. This is also the rare anime that has rock solid production from the first to the last second; it's never really flashy but excellently done and highly consistent nonetheless. And the music just owns. I have a few complaints, mainly that there's a few logical weaknesses in the story (which wouldn't even register in a lesser show, but sticks out here since the rest is so immaculately constructed) and that the ending overextends on the emotions when the rest of the show is so reserved and dry in comparison. But those are only the reasons why I didn't give it perfect marks, and I almost did that anyway. 9/10

#Zombieland Saga #bakuten #yakunara mug cup mo #vivy: fluorite eye's song #super cub #shadows house #ssss.dynazenon #thunderbolt fantasy #nomad megalo box #odd taxi #anime #review #spring2021

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

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wild nights are my glory

Sunday night smut, anyone? Here’s a little canon divergence, 3B with no second curse, Emma and Killian and a stormy night on the Jolly Roger.

Rating: M Words: 4.2k Tags: canon divergence, smut, season 3 divergence, mild angst, many feelz, tattoos and tattoo appreciation

On AO3

The Jolly Roger creaks as the wind whips around her, groans as the waves lap roughly at her hull, and in his cabin Killian sits with his flask and his thoughts and the thrill in his blood that storms still inspire even after centuries. It’s a particularly wild one tonight but Killian is untroubled by that; he’s had many a wild night in his time and he knows his old girl can weather this one just as she has all the others. What’s troubling him is a storm of a different sort, and he lifts his flask to his lips and drinks deep as he tries not to think about the last time the Jolly was buffeted by such winds as these. Tries, without success.

…the first mate’s cabin was smaller than his and he could hear more distinctly all the rattles and protests of the Jolly’s old wood as they flew away from Neverland. Though it was only the third time his ship had flown, she was far older now than she had been those first two, and Killian was determined to keep an attentive ear out for anything that sounded off.

A knock came faintly but sharply at the door, and he barely had time to say “Come in” before it was creaking open the merest sliver and then shutting again behind Emma Swan.

“Swan?” He frowned as she approached him, trepidation in her eyes but the set of her jaw resolute. “Is everything all ri—“

She cut him off with her lips on his, as sweet and as demanding as they had been back in that accursed jungle. He gasped in surprise and she seized the advantage of his parted lips, slipping her tongue between them to slide against his, slick and hot and wrenching a groan from his chest as his fingers sank without his volition into her hair and she tilted her head to deepen the kiss still further.

His own head spun, his blood pounding as he groped for control, for sanity—as the woman who’d been plaguing his dreams ever since that bloody beanstalk pressed her body to his and dragged her lips and teeth down his neck.

“Swan,” he groaned. “Emma. What are you—”

“Shhhh,” she hissed against his collarbone. “Don’t talk. If you talk, you’ll ruin it.”

“But, love—”

“Are you going to say no, Hook? Because if not, shut up.”

“But—”

“Shut. Up.”

She pulled his mouth to hers again and he let her, kissed her back with every ounce of the passion she stirred in him and with the other, more troubling emotions that he knew she wouldn’t care to know about. These feelings—the awe, the tenderness, the indescribable pleasure of having a woman he treasured in his arms, after centuries of empty encounters—Killian feared them nearly as much as she did, knowing that he would be all the worse off for having felt them once they were gone. And they would be gone, far sooner than he wished, of that he was certain.

But for now Emma was here, her skin smooth beneath his fingers, slick and wet when he slipped those fingers between her legs—softer than the finest Agrabahni silks, the most precious treasure he’d ever plundered. He ached to taste her, to linger over that silken skin and pleasure her for hours, but this was neither the time nor the place and the almost desperate haste in Emma’s touches told him plainly that she wouldn’t welcome lingering or the kind of worship he longed to lavish on her. So instead he simply stroked her as her fingers fumbled at the laces of his trousers then shoved them down—then her hand was on his cock, gripping it firmly, and he couldn’t choke back a heaving groan. Dimly he felt her leg wrap around his hip, the pressure of her fingers on his cock as she guided him, the rumble of her groan melding with his as he pushed inside her.

Her face was pressed into his neck, her fingers clenched tight in his hair as he moved within her, hard and fast and rougher than he wished. He had no thoughts beyond how good it all felt—his fingers tangled in her golden tresses, their scent in his nose, her moans in his ear, the heat of her skin and his own fierce pleasure at feeling her around him tight and warm and wet—and the helpless certainty that whatever small chance he may have had of breaking free of this infatuation was long gone now—he was hers, completely and for all the time that may remain to him in this life.

Her breath hitched and her grip on him tightened as she began to come, and as he tumbled right behind her, Killian vowed that in this, for once, he would not be selfish. Anything Emma needed he would do his best to give her, whatever the cost to himself. Securing her happiness, her future, that was all that mattered…

Which left him here, thinks Killian wryly, holed up on his ship with his rum and his thoughts, the memories he can’t escape, while Emma is with her family, her son and her parents. And Neal.

It’s for the best, he reminds himself. Families should be together. And if he can ensure for Emma that measure of love and security by ceasing his pursuit of her, well that is what he intends to do.

The wind howls and the Jolly creaks, and Killian shivers as he sips his rum. Even the burn of the alcohol is not enough to keep him warm on this stormy night. He should really go to bed, dig out an extra blanket and quit this pointless brooding, enjoy a rare occasion when he can relax his vigilance and sleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that he is in a place where very few dangers, relatively speaking, lurk in wait for him.

Pan is gone, trapped forever in Pandora’s box. The Crocodile and he have buried their hatchet—and not in Killian’s skull. He’s beginning to settle into this Storybrooke, to become accustomed to their odd ways and lay the foundations for a life here. The few weeks since their return from Neverland have been pleasant on the whole, marred only by a distinct lack of Emma and those small but painful twinges just beneath his heart whenever he’s reminded that she and Neal have been spending quite a bit of time together.

He drains his flask in one swallow and tosses it aside before rising easily to his feet and wishing, just for a moment, that he were drunker. His coat and vest he has long since removed and now he strips off his shirt and boots as well, neatly folding the one and placing the others next to the bed, then gives himself a quick wash at his basin before beginning to unlace his trousers. The wind is whistling shrilly and Killian is deep in his thoughts, and that is perhaps why he doesn’t hear the sound of boots on the deck or perceive the presence of another person on his ship until she flings open the door of his cabin and marches inside, windswept and breathless and beautiful.

“Swan!”

Killian gapes, wondering wildly if his moody thoughts have somehow conjured her, not missing the way her eyes widen at the sight of him standing there in such a state of undress, how they follow the trail of a water droplet as it trickles down his chest. During their encounter his clothing remained mostly on, his trousers shoved down but the rest intact—this is the first time Emma has seen him so bare.

He can feel the flush in his cheeks, the heat rising up his neck and pooling in his groin as she openly ogles him, biting down on her lip in a way that makes him long to do the same. He clears his throat.

“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Do you require my assistance with something?”

“Tattoos,” she murmurs.

“I—beg your pardon?”

“Hmmm?” Her teeth sink deeper into the pink flesh of her lip and Killian grinds his teeth.

“Is there something I can do for you, Swan?” he asks, sharply enough that she looks up and meets his eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “There is.”

She crosses the room in two strides and runs her hand up his chest, curls it around the back of his neck and tugs his mouth to hers. Killian groans but he’s barely even reached for her before she’s pulling away, whipping off her jacket and sweater then pressing close to him again, twining her arms around his neck as she kisses him. The feel of her bare skin against his own, the soft brush of her hair on his shoulder and her tongue in his mouth—he’s helpless to resist it, or to deny her what she’s come to seek from him.

Their hands on each other are frantic, uncoordinated. Killian vaguely recalls that he’s generally much better at this—when he’s not with Emma, that is, not overcome by the need to touch and taste and feel. He tugs at the scrap of lace covering her breasts with his hook, hears it rip—he supposes he should care about this but then her nipple is in his mouth, hard and pebbled against his tongue, and the noise Emma makes when he nips at it is nearly his undoing. She shoves him away to kick off her boots and shimmy free of those skintight trousers she wears and then Emma Swan is bare before him, and Killian wonders if it’s possible to perish from wanting.

Her eyebrows rise in an expectant look and he quickly shucks his own trousers, then stands straight and lets her see the whole of him, heat creeping up his cheeks again as she boldly surveys his naked form. Her fingers brush lightly across his skin, up his sides and over his chest, tracing the patterns he’s had inked there—centuries’ worth of them, some faded and others bright, jumbled together in the story of his life.

He holds his breath awaiting her reaction but she says nothing, simply wraps her arms around him and kisses him. He groans against her lips and lifts her up, tumbles them both onto the bed, rolling her beneath him as his own hand explores the dips and curves of her body. She cradles him between her thighs, rolls her hips to wet his cock with her arousal, and he wants, oh he wants, to build up to this, to take his time, to make her come at least twice with his fingers and his tongue before he seeks his own release within her—but her nails are scoring deep gashes in his back and there’s a desperate catch in her throat as she whispers “Please… please, Killian…” and so with a groan he sinks into her, giving them both what they most deeply crave.

It’s hard and it’s fast, though still slower than their first time, with no frantic rush for fear of interruption or any need to stifle the noises they make. Emma’s firm thighs grip his hips and the muscles of her stomach flex as she lifts her own to meets his thrusts, driving him near to madness. Strength wrapped in softness is Killian’s weakness, it always has been—and better still when the strength encases something even softer. Emma’s warm heart and the depth of her capacity for love is a thing he longs for as much as he does her body, and the bittersweet bliss of knowing the one without the other claws at his heart even as he groans his release into her hair, as he feels her clench and flutter around him, her arms drawn taut as they hold him close.

When he rolls away they tighten further—just briefly but he takes heart from it and wraps an arm around her before she can slip away, pulling her flush against his chest.

“Stay awhile,” he murmurs, soft against her temple. “Just… stay.”

There’s tension in her body for a moment, then she relaxes and gives a nod. “Okay,” she whispers, so quietly he can barely hear her, but there can be no mistaking the way she snuggles closer, tucking her head beneath his chin and resting her hand on his chest, her fingers playing absently through the hair on it.

He wants to ask her why she’s here when she should be with her family, snuggled up safely with them on this stormy night. He wants to ask but also isn’t sure he’d like the answer, and as they drift together into a slumbrous daze it’s as though a spell weaves itself around them, delicate as a spider’s web, and he is loath to do anything that may break it.

Emma’s fingertips begin to trace along the lines of ink on his chest, following them up to his shoulder and back again, then down his torso to where they curl around his hip.

“What do all of these mean?” she murmurs.

“Various things.” His voice is gruff, with the pain of the memories and the pleasure of her touch. “Some are simply things I found appealing. Others are for commemoration, of battles and other events.”

“Battles? Really?”

“I was in Neverland for a long time, love, and Pan is far from the only unpleasant creature who once resided there. Do you see this?” He indicates a round scar on his abdomen, puckered and still pink even after nearly a century.

Emma frowns at it. “It looks like a bullet wound.”

“Aye, it does rather, but it isn’t. It’s where a manticore stabbed me with its tail.”

“With its tail?”

“They have tails like those of scorpions. Look, here he is.” Killian taps his hook on the image tattooed on his rib, of the lion-beast with the face of a man and an armoured, stinging tail. “Still not wholly certain how I survived that one.”

“Oh.” She traces the scar with her fingertip than leans down to kiss it. He catches his breath as her lips press gently on the raised skin, then the tip of her tongue traces the shape of the manticore, over the curve of the tail and then downwards, along the rope that leads to the broken anchor nestled in his hip.

“Why is it broken?” she murmurs, and Killian grits his teeth against the rush of sensation, the feel of her breath and her voice vibrating against his skin.

“Anchors… represent security,” he grinds out. “Home. And, well—”

“Yeah,” she says, and kisses the anchor. “I get it.”

His skin feels on fire as she drags her lips across it, so slowly it’s agonising, drifting down, down to where his cock is hard and throbbing and desperate for her touch.

“Emma,” he groans, and then her mouth closes around him and he is no longer capable of forming words or even coherent thoughts. All he can do is feel—the heat of her mouth, the soft stroke of her tongue, the pressure of her lips as she sucks him. It’s so good and too much and he can’t hold out against it, and far sooner than he would wish it he is there on the edge, ready to fall. He tries to tell her but the words won’t come—then she is sucking harder and swirling her tongue around his tip and his hand clenches in her hair, hips bucking helplessly as he comes.

It takes some time for him to recover; he lays panting and trembling as she kisses her way back up his body to rest her chin on his chest, and when at last he summons the strength to open his eyes she is watching him with a decidedly smug grin.

“I like having you at my mercy,” she says.

I am always at your mercy, he thinks but does not say. Instead he growls in the back of his throat and kisses her, pressing her into the mattress as he slips his hand between her legs. She’s wet again, gratifyingly so, as though fellating him was nearly as pleasurable for her as he had found it. This he can understand—he’s been desperate to taste her for some time now and this is a game at which two can definitely play.

He removes his fingers—smirking at her whimper of protest—and licks them clean as he holds her gaze, watching as a strange expression crosses her face.

“Oh,” she says, dropping her eyes. “You don’t have to.”

His heart twists as the confident, triumphant woman from just moments ago withers beneath the weight of what he imagines must be years of quick and dirty encounters with thoughtless men who lacked the sense to appreciate the treasure they had in her, and it breaks as he reflects again how similar they are.

“Turnabout is fair play, love,” he says, knowing that the tender reassurance he wants to give her would not be welcomed. “And I have wanted to know how you taste for quite some time now.”

Her eyes fly open and meet his, a bit shocked, a bit wary. A lot intrigued. “Have you?” she murmurs.

“Aye. I have. And so, with your permission?”

She hesitates then gives a tiny nod, and he responds with a quick, rough kiss before moving down her body, pressing kisses as he goes until he reaches the small tuft of dark gold hair at the juncture of her thighs. She’s done something to it, trimmed and shaped it, and while this isn’t the first time he’s encountered such practices he can’t help wondering a bit at the strangeness of this realm, where sex seems to be something carried out in whispers in the dark and yet personal grooming must adhere to rigid standards.

It hardly matters, though, not when he can smell her, musky and intense, making his head swim as he secures his arms beneath her legs, careful not to scratch her with his hook, and then finally—finally—tastes her.

She’s as delicious as he’s dreamed, more so, and the noise she makes when he licks deep through her swollen flesh fills him with both lust and fury. Fury that no one has ever done this for her before, not properly at least, and while she is plainly well-versed in the art of pleasuring a man with her mouth somehow none of the men she’s been with have seen fit to return the favour.

Their loss, thinks Killian viciously, and his gain—for it is his privilege now to be the one to feel her gasp and writhe beneath his lips and savour her on his tongue, and to know the pleasure of working her up ever so slowly, higher and higher, so high and so close that she clutches at his head and tugs at his hair, hissing garbled curses as she frantically pushes herself against his mouth.

When he knows he has her teetering just on the brink he licks hard at her pearl then sucks it between his teeth, glorying in her hoarse scream and the way her hips buck wildly beneath him as she comes. He licks her as she rides it out, until the tremors cease and her breathing evens, then rests his chin on her belly and smirks up at her. Her eyes flutter open and she gives a gasping laugh when she catches his eye.

“All right, all right,” she says. “We’re even.”

“Good.”

He crawls back up the bed to kiss her, deep and messy, until she’s writhing again and digging her nails into his back and then he presses the tip of his cock against her, pausing to give her the chance to say no. She lifts her hips and the tip slips inside, and the edges of Killian’s rational mind go hazy again as he pushes in to the hilt and she groans in pleasure.

He moves slowly this time, savouring her as he’s so long wished to, treasuring the little sighs and hums she makes in his ear and the way her hands roam his body. She traces the ridges of the scars on his back but does not flinch away, gently stroking the roughened skin as her mouth moves against his neck and her other hand buries itself in his hair.

Killian feels swamped with emotion, with love and wonder and joy and agony. He thought their first encounter would be their last and now that she’s here again, letting him touch her in ways he’s only dreamt of and giving him a glimpse of what they could have together, he’s already dreading the pain of letting her go again as he knows he must. He knows her, knows she’ll run from this, and he promises himself he won’t try to push for more than she can give, however much he yearns for it.

They fall softly this time but with resonance, bodies humming at the same frequency as ecstasy overcomes them. Once he’s back to himself Killian rolls again to his side but it’s Emma now who keeps him close, fitting her body to his so naturally it makes him want to weep, and he has to force himself not to squeeze her too tightly or let the words in his heart slip from his lips as he wraps her in his arms and strokes her hair.

“I can’t stay,” she whispers.

“I know.”

He lets a moment pass before seeking the answer he needs, though he does not want it. “Why did you come?’

“I missed you.”

He can tell she didn’t mean to say those words from the way her breath catches and her muscles tense, so he presses a kiss to her temple and murmurs “I missed you too.”

“Then why,” she cries, shoving at his shoulder. “Why haven’t you been around? I thought you’d left again, that’s how much I’ve seen of you since we got back.”

Killian swallows hard. There’s pain in her voice and he hates himself for causing it. “I didn’t wish to interfere with your family,” he says gruffly.

“That’s stupid,” she snaps. “I know you’ve been sparring with David, he told me so. And Mary Margaret—well, she’s a bit tougher maybe, but—”

“I didn’t mean your parents, love, I meant your son. And his—his father.”

She stares at him as comprehension dawns. “You think I want to get back with Neal,” she says flatly.

“Not necessarily, I just—didn’t wish to be an impediment if you did.”

“That explains why he’s been so smug,” she mutters. “But you’re an idiot.”

“I’ve destroyed a lot of families, Emma,” he says quietly. “Including Bae’s. I merely didn’t wish to harm another.”

“Well, you didn’t. You couldn’t. Neal destroyed whatever hope of a family we may have had when he left me pregnant in jail.”

Killian jerks back to stare at her. “He left you?”

“Uh huh. Pregnant with his kid and in jail for his crime.”

“Bloody hell,” he snarls.

“Yeah. Still want to step aside so we can play happy families?”

“Bugger that.” He brushes her hair back from her face, strokes her cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Swan, I didn’t know.”

She shrugs. “No one does. But I’m not getting back with Neal, Killian, I can’t. I’ll always have some feelings for him but I can never trust him again. And I can’t have a relationship without trust.”

“Of course not.”

His chest tightens and he swallows again, though a throat gone desert dry. If she can’t trust her first love and the father of her child after one betrayal, however terrible, there’s no way she could ever trust the pirate she left at the top of a beanstalk, a man who turned on her more than once and in doing so nearly cost the life of her son. The fact that he later turned back and helped to right his wrong is far too small an act to balance the weight of all his other sins against her.

It’s what he deserves, he knows that, but that doesn’t make the taste of it less bitter as he forces a smile and says “Well, don’t let me keep you love, if you need to get back to Henry.”

“Oh. Yeah.” She blinks in surprise then frowns, but makes no move to leave the bed. The wind howls around the ship and rattles the ancient glass in the cabin windows. “Is it raining?” she asks.

He listens carefully until he can detect the faint patter of raindrops against the glass. “Aye, I think so.”

“Hmmm.” She still doesn’t stir but he gradually becomes aware that her fingers are moving, the tips trailing mindless patterns through the hair on his chest. His heart begins to pound. “Henry’s with Regina tonight,” she says. “Maybe—I might just stay a bit longer, until the rain lets up. If, um, if that’s okay?” She casts a glance up at him and he nearly chokes on his breath at what he sees in her eyes.

“Emma,” he breathes. “You must know, love—you can stay as long as you like.” Stay forever.

The smile that breaks across her face is bright with relief, warm and hesitantly happy. “Okay,” she says, and snuggles closer. “Okay.”

—

#cs fic #cs ff #cs canon divergence #captain swan #3B divergence #smut #mild angst #smut and feelings #tattoos #tattoo appreciation #wild nights are my glory #profdanglaisstuff

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awintersrose · 4 years ago

Note

235) Thunder Storm (for OroTsu/missing their Third?)

From this prompt list.

As the heavy wooden door clatters shut to the banquet hall, the inauguration ceremony is complete. Konoha’s best and brightest remain in attendance to celebrate the rise of the Sixth Hokage, Hatake Kakashi, but Tsunade instead finds her escape with a pilfered bottle of sake.

She makes for a surreptitious figure, running among shadowed paths and darkened alleys, skipping rooftops toward the forest, heading toward the one place she knows she won’t be sought out. That locale is just outside the village, and happens to be the new holding quarters of her former teammate - quaintly appointed the ‘New Otogakure.’

The last long stretch of the walk is lonely, it always is, and the scent of ozone hangs in the air. Tsunade recalls that it is meant to rain this night, and she absently considers that she could be caught in a downpour at any moment. Serves Shizune right for forcing her into this kimono.

It’s fortunate that she makes her way past the Jounin on duty just as the first raindrops begin to fall.

The facility is rather modern, which she knows suits Orochimaru well. It still surprises her that he has found a form of contentment here, but then again, there are a great many things that have surprised her of late.

A beeping sound accompanies the automatic doors as they open before her - she has scarcely had the chance to press a single button, but it seems she doesn’t need to. His eyes glimmer, cat-like in the halflight, as if he has been waiting for her.

“I could sense you on your way at a hundred-fifty paces, Hime. What brings you to my humble abode?” Orochimaru crosses his arms, then gazes at the bottle in her hand. “I take it the inaugural celebration was not to your taste? Come in, then.”

She follows his fluid steps down brightly-lit corridors, giving into the knowledge that his company is the only one she can stand on a night like tonight. Now that everything is finally at an end.

Now that her service is over.

They play cards and drink, and it’s obvious that the sake won’t be enough, it’s never enough. Her spirits are far lower tonight than they have been since the war ended. Tsunade should feel relieved to be passing along the hat, but by her own measure - her legacy came at far too high a cost.

“Did you hear me?” Orochimaru snaps his fingers to regain her attention as he lays his cards on the table. “I’m about to rob you blind, Hime.”

“What?” She sets her saucer down, peering and blinking bleary-eyed at her own hand. Perhaps he might be fooled into believing she can even read the suits and values at the moment.

“You’re not nearly drunk enough to be losing on purpose. What’s the matter?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he studies her.

He already knows her scent has been radiating discontent and her pulse has been erratic from the moment she crossed his threshold, but like him, Tsunade has never liked thunderstorms. Since her arrival, the skies opened up, and have poured forth pure wrath, barreling down upon the building with heavy force. The silence amplifies the sound, and it’s simple enough to blame her nerves on the environment, yet there is more. Because even he feels the edge of it.

Once they had comfort on nights like these. Too-warm, sun bright comfort, with laughter like booming thunder and the name to match, his arms big enough to fit them both in his embrace. Jiraiya.

Now there’s only an empty space where he should be, and the only thunder present is that which crashes amongst the clouds.

“Don’t you go crazy here like this?” she demands.

“Don’t I? Hime, I think the village established long ago that I am ‘crazy’, what a question,” he smirks, shuffling the cards.

“Stop that, you know what I mean. Alone in the silence, thinking about things.”

“What good is it to think about such things? I find my distractions. And I find them well,” he sighs. “I don’t know what the point in playing is anyway, it’s not as if I can win your money and use it… Not for anything I truly want.”

“Ugh, Oro - behave.”

“Hime, you know very well I have been the model of perfect decorum and plan to be exactly that for the extent of my time as such an honored guest of my homeland.” His words drip with honeyed venom, and his golden eyes flash with a bit of understated discontent, but she knows him well enough to know he means what he says.

“You only say so because you know good behavior will get you the privilege of the equipment and requisitions you desire.”

“Just so, Hime-dear. A reciprocal balance.” Orochimaru rises to walk towards a small cabinet, where he withdraws a dark bottle.

Tsunade’s eyes sharpen. “You old snake! I didn’t know you were hiding alcohol here.”

“I wasn’t. Suigetsu-kun pilfered it and left it here. It’s a decent quality umeshu - not your drink of choice, but one I find more palatable than your choice of sake. Who made the ordering decision for the ceremony, anyway? The quality was dreadful. You don’t care because you drink like a fish.”

“Shizune - cutting costs as usual. But that doesn’t matter - open the bottle and get over here.” Tsunade waves him over, just as a particularly close peal of thunder rolls and lightning flashes through the high-slitted excuses for windows. She practically jumps in the air.

“Hime…” Orochimaru approaches, abandoning their usual distance to sit a bit closer beside her as he works the bottle open.

By his movements, Tsunade realizes just how formal this aspect of their interactions has become. Not their words, no, those have never been formal - could never be formal at this point in their lives. But when was the last time they touched with true intention, let alone affection?

She supposes the avoidance was a safety measure at first, to appease the council and prying eyes. It’s not as if she couldn’t subdue him on her own if he really were a threat. Even so, feeling him closer, so close that the silk of his haori brushes her arm as he moves, makes her aware of an emptiness she thought she’d reigned in long ago.

Despite movements that are as graceful as a geisha serving a favorite customer, Orochimaru’s pour is generous and he pushes the cup into her hand. “Drink.”

As she takes the cup and quaffs the overly-sweet liquor, all she can think about is how his biting, corrosive chakra should have always been accompanied by the solar warmth of another.

That absence is eating away at her, has been eating away at her with every toast to each accomplishment, each success of her rule as Hokage, the Allied Shinobi Forces’ victory at war…

Her gambles always have a way of fucking her over in the end. All the idiot had to do was come home.

Orochimaru takes a sip of his own drink and turns golden eyes on her, dark lashes dipping low. “I miss him too, Hime.”

“How did you even…”

“Do you remember what we used to do when it would storm like this during monsoon season?” he swirls the small amount of umeshu in his cup, contemplating the amber hue of the liquid in the dim light.

“It didn’t matter because we were together.” Tsunade shifts back and pulls her knees to her chest just as a deafening thunderclap echoes through their hearing.

With the flash of accompanying lightning, the room is plunged into darkness as the power to the building goes out.

Perhaps it’s the reminiscence, perhaps it’s the proximity, but Orochimaru finds himself caught around the waist by arms stronger than iron as he blinks into the encroaching darkness. It should feel startling and foreign, but he’s always known Tsunade better than anyone else ever could. That includes the feel of her against his form, whether in joy, or sorrow, or fear.

After all these years, her skin still smells of vanilla bath oil, even if it’s laced with rice powder, cosmetics, and the tang of old sake rising from her pores. She’s been drinking more than usual at night, it seems. Anything to chase the memories away.

It’s not as if he can blame her.

The distant hum of a motor indicates the activation of a generator, and the eerie green of emergency lights flicker along the floor as mechanical bolts lock into place at all doorways. Emergency protocols - no one wants their pet prisoner escaping during the raucous chaos of a blackout. The sensor Jounin know exactly where he is and exactly where he won’t be going.

As if he would while here with Tsunade anyway. The sound however, startles her enough to make her utter a sound, her arms clamping around him even harder. It’s out of character for her, especially at their age.

Out of character or not - how could he deny her? His arms slip around her in turn, and she feels smaller against him that he remembers. Deceptively fragile.

This woman is anything but, at least not physically.

“Remember how we’d used to spend those days at his flat? He’d make that spiced hot chocolate his mother used to fix when we were kids, then try to make us laugh when the storms picked up?”

“If the power went out, he’d get lanterns and a flashlight and make dumb faces…” Her voice is tentative, as if afraid of the words it speaks, the images it conjures. “We’d have to get him to stop.”

“I was never cold when we were together like that.” Orochimaru settles his chin upon her shoulder, solidifying the embrace. It goes unsaid that he’s been cold for decades since.

Neither Jiraiya nor Tsunade ever knew the depth of who and what they'd always been to him, nor why their abandonment of Konoha destroyed an already fraying mind in the end. It took an age for Orochimaru to admit it to himself.

It was why he found his purpose in his work. It was why every attempt at a bond made elsewhere was an ephemeral thing, even when attempted with another who chased immortality.

For his clan, a mating bond, once established, was near impossible to break.

In another life, they might have been a family twined out of three matched souls. But he failed her when it mattered most, and the life lost also cost him any dream of a future. And so he paid a life for a life as he handed Tsunade her brother’s necklace. Eventually Jiraiya paid his own price in turn.

Now she's here in his arms, trembling in the dark with the ghosts of lost loves so near and all Orochimaru wants to do is chase that pain away. Isn't it too late?

It's never too late until you're dead. A jovial baritone echoes in his memory, so close that he could reach out and touch the heat of Jiraiya's presence.

Her lips taste like plum wine and sake, smeared lipstick and leftover spices from her shared meal at the ceremony. Kissing her may be a mistake, and certainly against many rules, but all pretense of good sense is out the window and melted away in the rain.

Good sense is a trifle he will leave the young to pursue; they’ve had their fill. The Densetsu no Sannin are relics of the past, forgotten and stricken from history, but the two that remain now stand reunited in the one place they have left to call their own.

That place has never had walls or a stone foundation. It lies between breaths and heartbeats, in the echoing desperation of Tsunade’s voice in his ear, pleading in nonsensical tongues. It is in the heat of her skin, scarred and soft and perfect as he kisses away the salt of her tears.

He can only see her in shadow and the second subtle glow that his senses lend him, of her chakra, her heat signature, both things that he would know anywhere no matter the surroundings. Her lacquered nails tear at clothing, eager to get to the flesh beneath, and they fall together, side by side on a makeshift bed consisting of her kimono and his discarded haori.

The raucous drumbeat of rain and crashing thunder accompany the rising hunger, the echo of the aching emptiness both seek to fill. What rises between them is not gentle, could never be; much like the storm outside, holding the potential for creation or destruction.

Lightning flashes, illuminating her in all her splendor as Tsunade meets him pleasure for pleasure, and Orochimaru is wholly overcome. Self control gives way to the long lost years of denial, of cravings locked behind steel bars of heartbreak and vengeance.

Decades have passed and she still has the power to render him undone.

He loses himself within the clutch of her body and too quickly, euphoria finds them with a furious violence that borders on pain. It’s nowhere near enough to quell the ache of old wounds torn asunder, the need awakened anew. Hardly a breath is caught between them before they are set to chasing the same high yet again as the storm rages outside, and Jiraiya’s spectre lingers in their hearts, their collective sense memory.

Peace may never be fully within their grasp, but a tenuous comfort is found in the afterglow, where Tsunade drinks down Orochimaru’s every gasping breath. The heat of his touch radiates over her flesh as if he’s marked her for keeps, their bodies still united.

The electricity kicks on and the dim lights flicker to full brightness, revealing the beauty of his form just as she pins him down to rest beneath her. What’s been lost is found again, however inconvenient it may be.

All she knows is that she refuses to let it go. They’ve earned this.

When storms come, they’ll weather them together - as it always should have been.

#orotsu #jiraorotsu #orochimaru #tsunade #naruto #naruto shippuden #my fanfics #hope you enjoyed it!#awintersrose #peepingtoad

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shadowedoracle · 4 years ago

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Fractured Lullabies - Chapter 1

Summary: Season 7 Woven Beauty AU. The Gold family has been separated by Drizella's dark curse. Now Detective Weaver, a widowed father to baby triplets, hires single mother Clarabelle French as his children's nanny.

Rating: E (For eventual smut)

A/N: So @moonlight91 left a comment on my Fluffapalooza fic last year about Rumbelle ending up with triplets. That sparked a vague idea that somehow morphed and finally grew into this whole Season 7 Woven Beauty AU.

Many thanks to the lovely @jackabelle73 for beta reading this.

If you spot any typos/ errors do let me know. Any other comments are always appreciated.

[AO3]

***

Weaver stared down at the pale yellow business card he’d been holding for over half an hour, wishing he had already gotten the energy together to call the number on it. But he couldn’t even seem to remember how to enter a phone number into a cell phone -- let alone remember how to hold a phone conversation. He ran his thumb along the navy lettering in a fancy old fashioned font on the business card reading: “Clarabelle French: Nanny”.

He felt moisture prick his eyes as he recognized it as the font Lacey used to use on her business cards. He groaned and tossed the card down onto the countertop, pacing the apartment’s small kitchenette trying to keep it together. He was not about to fall apart over a font, for fuck’s sake.

He knew he had been procrastinating, that he should have called the number immediately after Roni had handed him the business card. He knew too that this was not just a case of delaying the inevitable, but rather by waiting, he was sabotaging his chances of success and digging himself into a deeper hole. But despite that knowledge he hadn’t been able to persuade himself to make the call. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Roni’s judgment -- he did (her taste in partners aside). Indeed, she could read people better than many cops he could name. No, it wasn’t her recommendation that had him hesitating, had had him stuck in this loop for days now. No, he just didn’t want to have to accept that his wife was gone. Or that now his children only had him, a royal fuckup of a man without Lacey. He wanted to be able to stay here and look after them himself, but he’d used up all his leave and couldn’t afford to quit his job. Therefore he needed a nanny. But he didn’t want to need one, didn’t want to have a stranger in his home seeing what a terrible job he was doing of raising his children by himself. All week he’d been using variations of that fear and the accompanying paralysis to avoid calling. On the first day he’d been annoyed at himself, but had told himself it had been a long busy day and that if he rung first thing the next morning it’d all work out fine. Except he hadn’t called the next day either. He’d given himself a stern talking to that night and had resolved to call the following day. But again he’d failed to call. While it was true yesterday had been busy and exhausting, and that he hadn’t had a single quiet moment to himself until nearly midnight, that still didn’t excuse his delay. The situation was getting more urgent by the day, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t have taken a few seconds to type out a quick text message. But he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to do it -- because to do that would be to admit he needed this woman’s help. He knew that thought was ridiculous. He and Lacey had been talking about hiring a nanny for a while. They just hadn’t gotten around to making a final decision about whether to go down that path before she died. But now, instead of being able to talk all this through with her -- to discuss what they both wanted, to interview the candidates and agree on who to hire, together -- he had to navigate this all. Alone. What did he know about nannies? Even after reading countless articles online, he still felt like the answer was “fuck all”. He still had no idea what he needed, beyond someone reliable and trustworthy to look after his children while he worked. But how the hell could he be sure he’d make the right choice? He trusted his judgment when it came to suspects and witnesses -- he was excellent at spotting bullshit and dealing with scumbags. But unless this woman was totally unsuitable, how could he be certain she was not just alright, but that mystical “right fit” that he’d read so much about online? He wished he could have the reassurance of Lacey’s opinions to make sure he made the right decision. No, he couldn’t to do this -- not by himself.

He paced the kitchen restlessly without seeing where he was going and stubbed his toe against a cabinet and swore. Maybe he should just not call this woman, or not today anyway. He’d just continue using the daycare centre, that’d be simpler at least. But even as he thought it, he knew that was only a temporary measure, at best. The triplets hadn’t been doing well in daycare even before Lacey’s death. Plus even with the daycare discount the Seattle PD gave him, a nanny would probably work out cheaper in the long term. So he ought to just knuckle down and get started.

Yes, it’d so be easy for him to put off this decision for another day, until he was “ready” (a word that suddenly seemed to be used around him all the time since Lacey had died). But this wasn’t about him, he reminded himself, limping back to sit on a stool at the kitchen island once more. It wasn’t about what was easiest for him; it was about what was best for his children. He was their father and just because this phone call seemed hard wasn’t a good enough reason for him not to do it.

Sure, they’d probably be all right in the daycare for a little while longer, it wouldn’t do them untold damage or anything. But eventually the same issues would come up again and he’d decide they needed a nanny. But then he’d have to try to hire one and do all the calls and interviews -- and whatever the hell else you had to do when hiring a nanny -- while juggling a full caseload and dealing with whatever was ailing the triplets that week. Anyway even if he didn’t hire a nanny, he’d need to find a babysitter for after daycare because his schedule was too variable. Even with the flexibility the force was offering him now, he couldn’t guarantee a case wouldn’t require him to work unsociable hours. Lacey’s schedule had been much more predictable and so she’d done the bulk of the picking the children up, as well putting them to bed when he was back late. He’d need someone who’d be able to do that on nights when his cases ran into the evening anyway. So he might as well hire someone who could be there all day and offer more consistency for the triplets. Plus it’d be a relief not to have to get all three of them ready for daycare and into the car each morning. . But even reminding himself why hiring a nanny was a good idea, didn’t help him pick up the phone because it didn’t change the truth: he didn’t want his wife to be dead and to have to make this big decision without her input. It wasn’t that he didn’t know some of what her thoughts would have been on the matter. She’d mentioned some things when she proposed the idea a few weeks -- or was it months? -- back. But they’d never discussed concrete specifics. Sure, some would say he was lucky to be free to make this decision independently: he wouldn’t have to compromise with her over something she valued more than he did or vice versa. But he wanted to do just that, to discuss the details and argue over different candidates’ strengths and weaknesses. There was no way he could do this right without her. He was just an old cop who apparently still knew next to nothing about childcare, and even less about nannies. He trusted Lacey’s judgment and knew that, even though she didn’t know much about nannies either, together they’d have been able to work it all out and make the correct decision. Although... perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway. Perhaps this whole call would be a dead end. It wasn’t likely that this woman would be free and able to take on his children at such short notice. So he was likely working himself up over nothing. Yesterday, the idea that this was likely a lost cause had made it easy for him not to pick up the phone. It had been so easy to convince himself that there was no point wasting either of their time -- even just inquiring -- given how improbable it was that she’d be available. But it had taken even more whiskey than usual for him fall asleep last night, and this morning he’d had to admit to himself that his cowardice yesterday was partially responsible. He couldn’t let that happen again. He didn’t want to be an alcoholic fuckup of a father. He knew what it was like to have one of those and he would never put his children through that. He took some deep calming breaths, and tried to focus on the fact that needing help with his children didn’t make him a failure as a father. Instead hiring a good nanny for them was actually him fulfilling his duty to do his best for them. He picked up his phone and found his favourite picture on it: Lacey, fresh out of the hospital, sitting in their bed cradling the triplets on her lap. He stared down at the image of her smiling tiredly up at him and felt tears prick his eyes once more. The fact that Lacey, so full of life (even at her most exhausted), was gone was still unbearable. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the hole in his heart, or the feeling that he was missing a limb without her. A nanny was no substitute for a mother and, at the thought of everything his children and Lacey would miss out on, he felt a now familiar stabbing pain in his chest. She had believed and trusted in his ability to be a good father though, and he didn’t want to prove her wrong. He focused on the image of his children’s tiny scrunched up faces. They needed him to do this for them, Lacey needed him to do this for them. He couldn’t let any of them down.

Keeping those last thoughts in the front of his mind, he tapped open the phone call app. If she said ‘no’ that would be that. What did he have to lose? Maybe she’d even have some ideas who else he could try. He swiftly typed in her number and hit call before he could reconsider.

“Hello, Clara speaking.” A bright Australian voice answered.

Weaver swallowed hard, his practiced opening script slipping from his mind at the sound of a voice so like Lacey’s and sat in silence for a few moments, not even remembering to breathe.

“Hello?” The Australian voice said again.

For a moment an absurd hope that his wife wasn’t dead, but instead just had amnesia and had forgotten her family, bloomed in his mind and took root in his heart. He was just about to say her name, when the voice spoke again.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” It sounded so much like her and yet, the memory of Lacey on that cold slab in the morgue flashed before his eyes and pierced the bubble of his fantasy. His wife was dead, hoping otherwise didn’t change that. But if he didn’t reply now, he’d lose this nanny merely because she had the same accent as Lacey.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Yes, sorry. Hi...” He cleared his throat again, “Is this Clarabelle French, the nanny, speaking?” he managed, this time sounding a bit more like his usual self.

“Yes, speaking. Are you a parent looking to hire a nanny?”

With those extra words, he began to hear the differences between the voices. The nanny’s accent was almost identical to Lacey’s, that was true -- but it wasn’t Lacey’s voice. It was off somehow. The cadence was wrong, for a start, and there was some other dissonance that he couldn’t quite place. The train of thought sobered him, bringing him down from his fantasy. He remembered how to speak, how to call upon that air of confidence he used when dealing with suspects and witnesses. “Yes, I was given your business card by a mutual friend... Roni. I need to hire a nanny for my young kids quite urgently, and she mentioned you might be available.”

“How urgently are we talking?” She replied, crisp and businesslike.

“Ideally next week, Monday, if possible. But I understand if that’s too short notice for you.”

“I see...” She paused, thinking, “Well, I am available in theory, but it seems quite a short timescale to get through the whole hiring process.” He felt a thread of hope, perhaps this wasn’t a dead end after all and sat up straighter (even though she couldn’t see him). “I know it’s probably unusual. But I need to be back at work then and I don’t have anyone else to look after my children while I’m there.”

“Ah, so it sounds like you are looking for a live-out nanny, if you only want me there when you’re working. Is that correct? I’d need to give you the names of some colleagues if you’re looking for a live-in nanny, I’m afraid. And is your job full or part-time, may I ask?”

“Yeah, it’s a live-out position. It’d be full-time too but my own hours can be somewhat variable. Is that a problem?”

“No. Well... at least not in theory,” she said. “Also is this just a temporary arrangement you’re looking for, or a longer-term one? Because I only work longer term contracts.” “Well, ideally, it’d be a long-term arrangement, but that’d obviously depend on your availability as well as how well the children adjust to the new arrangements.” “That’s reasonable. Luckily for you, the client I had lined up recently moved away from the Seattle area so I could take on a longer-term contract right away -- assuming you decide I’m the right fit for your family. We can then assess how it’s going after 30 days, which is the standard trial period.” He nodded, remembering a second later she couldn’t see him and calling himself an idiot, said, “Yeah, that sounds fine.” “And can I ask what ages the children are?” “Right, of course. They’re triplets actually, 10 months old next week. Is that something you think you can handle?” She laughed. “Wow, baby triplets! Definitely must keep you on your toes.” “Yeah.” He smiled. “And triplets aren’t a problem for me -- I’ve worked with multiples before.” He could feel relief beginning to churn through him. This might just work out. “So would you be able to meet me later today to discuss the role in-person?” “I can’t do later today, at such short notice, I’m afraid.” She did sound genuinely apologetic. “But I could do any time tomorrow morning or early afternoon?” He nodded. “Sure, say tomorrow at noon?”

“That sounds perfect.” He could hear the vague sounds of her making a note of the time.

He tapped his fingers against the countertop, what was he supposed to say next? Right, meeting time and place.

“How about we meet at Roni’s? It’ll be quiet at midday. Then if we think things’ll work out, take it from there?”

He supposed it was probably an odd look to interview a potential nanny at a bar. But he didn’t have a sitter he could call on, and at that time of day the bar would be quiet enough he could probably persuade Roni to watch the children for a while, if necessary. “That sounds great!” She said brightly, not giving any indication she thought a bar was a strange place for an interview. Was that a good sign of her professionalism or a bad one? “But I, er, didn’t catch your name?” “Right!” He forced a laugh, even as he called himself a fucking idiot for forgetting to introduce himself. “I’m Detective Weaver…” He paused as he tried to think of what he’d read online about hiring a nanny. Was he forgetting anything major? He didn’t think so. “And now you have my number, in case you need to contact me about anything.” “Great! I’ll see you noon tomorrow at Roni’s. I look forward to meeting you,” she said.

They finished off the conversation and he hung up, dropping his phone onto the counter with a thud. He gripped the counter edge tightly as he tried to steady his breathing. After he’d gotten over the initial shock of her accent, that hadn’t been so bad. She might actually be available, so this might all work out despite how long he’d put off calling.

He looked around the kitchen to the sink full of dirty dishes, he ought to do those now he supposed. But just then a cry came from down the hall, so he pushed away from the counter and hurried to the nursery.

Brandon, the youngest of the three and furthest from the door, seemed to be working his way up to a big screaming cry. His face was red and crumpled and if Weaver didn’t quieten him quickly, the other two would wake up too. He picked up his youngest son, rocking him and crooning softly, “There, there now. Daddy’s here. What seems to be the trouble, lad?

But Brandon’s cries just continued and grew even louder and Weaver’s hopes of this being quick were dashed when heard a grumbling cry from Melissa, the oldest. It was going to be another one of those afternoons, he already could tell.

#Rumbelle #Rumbelle Fic #Woven Beauty #Woven Beauty Fic #Fic: Fractured Lullabies #My Fic #Shadoworacle's Fic

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dustofbrokenheart · 4 years ago

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The Lost Boys: A Good Night

Word Count: 2,071

Summary: Sometimes Dwayne feels the need to wander Santa Carla by himself. On one such night, he comes into some money, gets in a fight, and picks up an upgraded bike all while looking good. It’s hard to know how a night will go when it starts, but this one looks like it’s shaping up to be a good one.

Dwayne had been a calm, passive personality for most of his long life. That’s not to say he didn’t have moments of mischief or violence, because he certainly did both as a human and a vampire. But someone in their gang needed to ground the energy and that was a role he was comfortable filling.

Sometimes he wondered if he would have turned out the same if he had been born different. Maybe he would have been more assertive, or playful, if his brownness wasn’t a factor.

But it wasn’t something he liked to dwell on since wishful thinking never changed anything.

That particular night Dwayne was eager to leave the cave. The other boys were moving slower than usual that evening and he struggled to wait for them. Finally, he made eye contact with David.

“I’ll meet you guys later,” he promised quietly.

David looked at him for a moment then nodded once in assent. Dwayne flew out of the cave’s rocky mouth doing a few aerial flips before reaching the top of the bluff. Still airborne, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

He could no longer enjoy the warmth of the sun on his face, but the feel of the wind playing with his hair and the salty ocean spray that tickled his nose were nice substitutes that he made due with.

The longer hair was a newer development. For the first time since early childhood, he was growing out his hair and the nearly shoulder length strands would his around his face when he flew. He had considered braiding it, or at least tying it back, but figured the length didn’t warrant that quite yet.

Dwayne had also recently become the proud owner of a new motorcycle after he had taken it from a victim about a month back. Seeing as how it was new, he was still in a protective mode towards it and tried his best to take care of it. So when he had wanted to upgrade some parts, he brought it to a mechanic shop to make sure everything was done as right as possible.

He was scheduled to pick it up tonight and he was excited to get it back after missing it for a few days. But before that happened, there was the matter of payment.

There would be more potential targets to choose from at the boardwalk, but most who frequented at this time of night were young people who weren’t exactly rolling in money. On the other hand, there was a ritzy social club just up the street from the boardwalk that was popular with Santa Carla’s upper class.

The stakes were higher, but so was the reward.

And not only was Dwayne a seasoned pickpocket, he was also a professional, which meant success was all but guaranteed. Plus, it sounded like more fun to rip off the rich.

Mind made up, he flew towards the restaurant and dropped down in an unlit alley behind the building, landing with a muted thump. He staked out the parking lot with his arms and hands loose, ready to make a move when opportunity presented itself.

His brown eyes tracked a couple exiting the social club, a young woman in her twenties and an again man with a pronounced gut, the latter pulling a wad of dollar bills from his pocket to hand some to the door boy. He put the money straight back in his jacket pocket instead of using a wallet.

Bingo.

Dwayne stayed back until the couple was a couple of feet away. Squeezing his way between two cars, he sauntered up the lot, making sure he was on the side closest to the man.

In the immediate moment preceding contact, Dwayne curved his body in such a way so as to make sure he would hit as much of the other guy he could. He bumped into him, hard, simultaneously snatching the money from the jacket pocket, faster and lighter than a normal human could sense.

The transaction was over in less than three seconds. Dwayne expertly stashed it in the waist of his jeans then turned, raising both of his hands with open palms to convince the other two that it was an accident.

The man made a surprised noise during the jostling, his eyes focused on Dwayne’s long, dark hair and his buck skin vest. Now that he had a clear look at who had run into him, distain showed on his face. “Never expected to see one of your kind at a place like this. Better watch where you’re walking boy.”

Dwayne’s face remained neutral.

He was dismissed by the couple and they continued onto their car, none-the-wiser that the jacket was lighter than it had been.

Dwayne walked calmly, but purposefully away into the darkened alley to count how much money had lifted. He was pleased to find he now had $60 in his possession.

He smirked at the couple’s car as they drove away. What a bunch of suckers.

He made sure the cash was secured and wandered down the sidewalk, deciding that he would go to the boardwalk next. Technically, there was still a little time left until he had to pick up his bike, and now that he had some extra cash, he was eager to check out the booths and tables at the boardwalk.

The blinking lights glow fantastically against the black skyline and the joyful screams of riders are audible even before entering official boardwalk limits. This spot has always drawn lots of people, locals and tourists alike, no matter the time.

Dwayne weaved through the thick crowds, which got thicker the further in he went, and found his way to the booths he was interested in. For the most part, they were all lined up in a row on either side of the wooden walkway. The things people were selling were fairly typically—art, clothes, and physic services, to name a few. The jewelry tables featured mostly handmade items that glittered under the streetlight.

One spot in particular, really caught his eye. Dwayne paused while he took in the heishi necklaces made with delicate fragments of shell, shiny silver earrings with bold turquoise pieces, and the selection of intricately beaded chokers. He looked at everything, picking up the cool ones to properly admire them.

The traditional influences of several tribes were represented: the Navajo, Kewa Pueblo, and Cherokee, among others. Other than the fact that they were North American tribes, there wasn’t any discernable theme that he noticed so the booth likely wasn’t run by someone with ties to a specific group.

He was proven right few moments later.

“The turquoise is really popular right now,” said a young blonde from behind her wispy bangs.

In his mind, Dwayne answered with a sarcastic no shit remark, but all he did on the outside was nod. Turquoise had been an important color, full of spiritual connotations, for the better part of the last couple hundred years in a lot of different tribes.

So, yeah. Popular.

Although, Hendrix wore that beaded fringe shirt with some turquoise to Woodstock last year… maybe the mainstream thought it was a trend.

“Ghost beads are also cool,” she continued. She lifted up a necklace with chunky round beads that were neutrally colored. “They’re supposed to protect you from evil.”

He could use some peace in his life, but he doubted this would help him out considering he was the evil spirit, the ghost, the nightmare, that it was supposed to ward off. Instead, he pointed to a white beaded choker with a turquoise centerpiece.

“What about this one?”

“I’ve had it a while. No ones been that interested in it.”

He rubbed it between the pads of his fingers. It was smooth to the touch and seemed durable when he tested its flexibility. “How much?”

The lady seemed surprised, then contemplative.

“Fifteen dollars,” she said in her best business voice.

Dwayne countered, “How about you accept five and then I’ll take it off your hands.”

She opened her mouth, but made the mistake of looking into his compelling dark irises. She readily agreed and he handed over a twenty, the smallest bill from his stack of borrowed bills. An illuminated clock post showed that he had fifteen minutes to get to the mechanic garage. He thanked her and left with his change and a brand-new necklace hanging from around his neck.

The flow of traffic had become even more packed in the short time he had been there, especially as he moved closer to the exit. He was nearly out when he accidently bumped into a random guy, this time entirely on accident. He had seen the run-in coming and tried his best to angle out of the way, but with so many people around, his shoulder still clipped the guy in the chest.

Since it was an accident, and because he had somewhere to be, he planned to shake it off and continue on. The other guy didn’t take it well.

Dwayne felt a hand grab his shoulder from behind and was pushed into a small alley between two stores. His back was slammed against the wall, his head taking a pretty good knock. A forearm pressed against his chest.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

It was easy enough to assess the easiest way out of the situation.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, throwing in a noticeable wince for good measure. People like this tended to back off faster if they felt he had learned his lesson.

It was annoying to be waylaid like this, but he kept that emotion absent from his face. He was much stronger than them physically and their attempts to hurt him were barely painful. With any luck, this one would get over it sooner rather than later.

“You should be, you redskin,” he yelled while poking the necklace.

F for creativity.

To stop from rolling his eyes he closed them in mock fear. Redskin was hardly the most creative slur that had ever been hurled at him.

But then the guy had the balls to spit at him.

Dwayne couldn’t stop his jaw from clenching as the spit soaked into his vest. Maybe he did have enough time to take care of this. Before he could make the guy sorry, a bloody hand burst through his soon-to-be-meal’s chest unexpectedly.

The hand retracted and there was confusion on the guy’s face at the gory hole in the center of his chest cavity that was pumping out a steady river of blood. Within seconds the body dropped to the wooden floor, dead.

Marko stood there with his vamped out face, shaking his hand to get some of the flesh out from under his claws.

“Racist dick,” he sneered. He turned to Dwayne, his features melting back to their soft human version.

“Hey man,” he grinned, waving.

Dwayne looked at him unimpressed. “I was taking care of it.”

“I know,” the blond admitted, sucking on his bloody fingers. “But I hate when they talk to you like that.”

Dwayne huffed but didn’t push the issue; the boys were all protective of each other, they were brothers after all, but they were extra sensitive with Dwayne. He appreciated the back-up most of the time, but in this instance, he was a little peeved that he had been robbed the satisfaction of the kill.

He toed the corpse with the bottom of his boot. “You made the mess, then you clean it up.”

Marko pouted but didn’t argue.

Dwayne patted the cash to settle himself. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Go. I got it. And don’t worry, we’ll find you someone to eat,” Marko waved him off.

He slapped the blonde vampire on the shoulder and left him to it.

A small bell jingled when he pushed the door open to the front office of the garage. A teenager with kinky hair was working the desk. He pointed at Dwayne’s choker.

“Cool necklace,” he complimented genuinely.

Dwayne nodded his head in thanks and watched the kid go bring the motorcycle out front.

The night was shaping up to be a pretty good one. He was getting his bike back, his new jewelry looked good, and his friends would have someone waiting from his to eat when he joined back up with them.

Yeah. A pretty good night indeed.

_______________

Thanks for reading!

I wanted to get this out in November since it’s Indigenous Heritage Month and a decent amount of fans headcannon Dwayne as being Native. Or at least not strictly white. Tribes had a Red Power Movement following Civil Rights era so I imagine this sometime in 1970.

Also partly inspired by how the boys jumped to defend Dwayne in the opening scene of the movie.

#the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #imagines

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shy-magpie · 4 years ago

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RQG 156

live blog under the cut

Heads up about half way through I realized I go a bit further into analysis on where Zolf & the Kobolds are mentally than some people might be comfortable with. Just as they trust us to back off if the episode gets to real, I am trusting you to close the tab if my little live blog is hitting you wrong. If it makes a difference I have years between me and the reason I relate to this stuff.

"In Memorium" they are trying to kill us Ah they lampshaded the speed intros Yes Alex it is rather Paris Right to Azu & Zolf. Oh he's jumping right in. And there's my first pause of the episode. No “better” isn't a magic finish line you pass then never find yourself in that place again. No, knowing that doesn't mean you don't wonder if your back at square one every time you realize You Are In A Bad Place and Not Handling it Well. Gosh Azu is good at this. Yeah learning to walk away is hard. Learning to ignore the part of yourself that says "and never come back for their sake" is harder. Symbolic much Alex (Zolf is too small for the room, Azu is too large) Yeah it would be easier to not blame Zolf for last episode if I related to him a bit less. Okay they are talking about Hamid and their concerns for him directly. Yeah Hamid's relationship with power & privilege is an arc; and without the Doylist level of trusting Bryn & Alex, I can see where even if you trust/like him you'd be worried about it. With the best of intentions people misuse power. Azu quoted Grizzop at Zolf. Didn't name him, wonder if Zolf is ever going ask directly about his replacement in canon or if its best left to fic. Its easy to dismiss one's own successes. Okay fair and OW, Zolf isn't up to talking about Sasha; which is the part of this I was most prepared for. Hell yeah! He is coming down but not going to be attempting to lead so as to relieve pressure on himself. Maybe if he can let Hamid step up without making a Kew Garden thing he'll see how much he's grown. Hopefully without that setting off a "Hamid does better without me" thing. Yeah intellectual knowledge and it feeling real on an emotional level are very different things. Alex, why does it matter what order they are in? ALEX? The necklace? The Heart of Aphrodite shaped necklace? Azu got a Sign from Aphrodite approving of her reaching out to Zolf as an act of love. Yes! Blue Black no take backs! Yeah those two (players) know exactly what they are doing: breaking my heart in the best ways and not skipping over the actual work those two (characters) need to put into their relationship with OOC "its all fine now"s. Ok that settles the timeline, Azu went up same night, the device isn't made yet. Yeah Zolf wouldn't, probably best to back off while things are tender while being present enough to assure he isn't planning on leaving. Seriously bless Azu, this has to be at least as hard on her as Helen but she is letting the boys have room to work it out for themselves instead of "trying to help". The last thing either of them need right now is pressure especially on this point. Aw the Kobolds teach Cel draconic. Oh smart kid, not only is it just logical for the Kobolds to work with Cel directly, it might help them get over the "looking to see if the boss approves of how you breathe" stage. Especially if he is clear about not being threatened by them having advantage over him in this area. Heck of a relief this isn't hitting my rank issues. Ooh all the Kobolds are amazing engineers, wonder if its a Kobold thing or if Skraak recruited people with similar interests. Nice rework of the "Kobolds build traps" thing from pathfinder. I genuinely love how instead of pitching the original description of Kobolds out the window, Alex has backwards engineered it. Reputation for traps isn't a dishonorable approach to fighting, its a sign of their skill. They aren't minions, their trauma is interacting with a cultural attitude about rank in weird ways. Oh Cel! Cel is amazing. Under Shoin's orders they: made Magic Steroids, did maintenance (more towards the end as Shoin wasn't taking care of things), built the place initially, sourced ingredients, other Kobolds built the Mechkraken. Damn Shoin, they can't even be proud of all they were able to do in adverse circumstances because he tainted it. If they weren't forced to do it and have it used for ill ends, building the kraken would be impressive. A lot of that sounds like difficult work. Hamid stuff: yeah it is from a place of fear; and they would be hypersensitive and need to try to "defend him" so he doesn't react. Terrified of his anger? Handle anything that even annoys him to cut it off at the pass. And being a good person who doesn't like scaring them, Hamid is going to over do the very "Mary Sunshine" routine that makes Zolf think he doesn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. You'd think Mr "do a grief later" would get that Hamid doesn't have to walk the halls wailing to be aware of the end of the world. Not that the kid can win, if he cried and threw up it would be proof he hasn't grown from season one. Hopefully by taking a back seat Zolf will have a chance to see Hamid's actions and realize being chipper & wholesome doesn't mean stupid. Oh Alex has thought this through, one of these days I'll quit being surprised he actually gets this stuff. Not being able to read the person whose emotions feel like life & death is a Bad Thing. Thank Alex for Skraak. Weird seeing this stuff from this side, of course learning to focus on my end instead of being preoccupied with what was going on in the heads of people who were on Hamid's end of it was rather the point. Perfect balance, Hamid gives them enough space to realize he isn’t going to explode, Skraak "translates" into something clear enough not to stress them out. Like when Zolf snapped at Skraak when he pledged to Hamid; might not be pretty but not knowing what The Powers That Be want? Very bad place. Rank and clear orders are very important when appeasing those who outrank you is everything. Cel has dealt with a lot of young and unsure apprentices!?! Yeah well Cel isn't in their chain of command and gears don't get offended if you have an opinion on the right way to configure them. Cel is great Azu & Hamid talking about Zolf! Helen is wonderful! I thought this was going to be drawn out and indirect, instead they are actually facing things head on and dealing with them. Aw these two are so good for each other. Azu would set aside her own emotions. Hot damn Azu, getting right to it! Hamid can be amazingly open about his self awareness and it surprises me every time. It fits him and is a very good thing, but going from answering "how are you?" with "the Kobolds are doing well" to "I never knew how to help him" without it being jarring made me do quite the double take. Guess I was expecting more deflection. Yeah well you two are redefining your boundaries, entire relationship, and rank in specific, while being the perhaps the only people with enough of the picture to figure out how to save the world. Working out the balance between conflicting views on that, when neither of you knows what the end will look like was never going to be smooth. Oh yes and none of you have directly addressed that half of Zolf's rank & dick measuring stuff is because he doesn't know if he even has a role if he isn't The Boss or The Healer.* Oh the grin in Alex's voice as he tells them there is something else before the brorb interview. Whisky tumblers for each? Quite a sigh there Ben News? Big news? While they were in the institute? They ought to sit down. Wilde get to it. Ah Azu & Hamid are holding hands. Poor kid with his prop. Letter? Ancient Rome? Sasha? Are all the fics coming true? Their founder "Askingus"!?! Oh Sasha, oh Zolf! Lydia! Oh the kids! She named the kids after the party. She even found her faith. A break? How the hell are we only half way through the episode. Also hell yeah Lydia deserves all the awards, that was an amazing letter. XD Ben! Oh Hamid, we reacted that way to the epilogue that way too. It really is okay, it was a good end. Yeah he could use a drink. Poor Zolf. Hamid gives Wilde a hug. "technically I think that makes Sasha my boss". XP be cryptic Alex, The RSB will have it figured out by Friday. Ok Zolf got to read the letter on his own. Azu lit 3 candles, because Helen wants me to cry. Hamid is at Zolf's door with a bottle and two glasses. Lydia this is a compliment to your skill. More direct than I expected from Hamid. Oh these two! Okay he is drunk enough to go there (angry at Zolf for leaving but he gets it). About time someone told Zolf directly he's grown. Aw Zolf puts him to bed. Thank you Alex! Ben! (okay fair, if any of Hamid was left he'd cuddle). Sorry Cel! Lydia wanted to break/heal our hearts more than she wanted the plot to move forward ;) Good plan: take the orb to the anti magic field, only those who have already talked to it can talk directly. Info control. Hive mind/telepathy directly addressed. Finally what Shoin eats is addressed. Ok Cel has some teeth on them. Hasn't fed it, is using the vibration to threaten to explode his brain, (no English doesn't have enough pronouns we are working on it)... Oh good point better feed it. Aw Zolf is possessive of the kitchen. Shoin is still Shoin. Cel is not happy about not being recognized. Nice to hear the boys working together. The Infection might block him from being directly aware of being infected. Bullsh$% he backed himself up. Good point Zolf even if he does, they are separate lives, this instance can still fear death. Oh all the party have teeth, nice they don't have the "good guys have to be sweet & gentle with the baddies" thing Yeah Cel isn't stupid, the brorbs arm isn't a threat. Oh auto painting that will make the people theorizing on the bio side of how the Brorb works happy. A circulatory diagram, and am ocean of faces. Paints like a printer. A creepy charcoal sketch of London staring at the artist. *I swear on Rusty Tower if they let him hurt himself any worse because he thinks his new role is "a brick wall on wheels" I am joining the line to fight Ben in a Whetherspoons parking lot. Yes it would be in character but so would healing. There are other hills. Although seriously its been great having a character that shows so many of the aspects of depression that usually get left out. That Zolf is also a three dimensional character with a full personality beyond just "the one with mental health issues" while not making it look like those issues are tacked on or easy to handle? Stunning work.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG Spoilers #alcohol #live blog thingy #RQG 156

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antihero-writings · 4 years ago

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Stolen Sunlight (Ch4)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her. She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

(I'll put links to the other chapters in a reblog!)

Character focus: Arianna & Varian

Notes: It's finally here!!

Sorry it took so long, and my dearest apologies to anyone's comments I have yet to respond to. This chapter needed more editing than the others, plus got started on a couple of zines and it took over a lot of my focus for these past few months.

I really hope it was worth the wait!!

FYI When I wrote this it was before season 3, when I didn't know he shared a cell with Andrew. After I did know, I didn't want to add him in because I felt it messed too much with their interaction.

Right now what I'm thinking is that this is supposed to be set early in his imprisonment, and that perhaps he started alone, and then they later realized he needed a cellmate.

Thank you all so much for your lovely comments, they really really do help me have motivation to continue things like this, I'm so happy you guys are enjoying it. <3 <3

I'd really appreciate if you could comment again!!

Chapter 4: Passing Glances, Lasting Words

Varian’s blue eyes are questioning, almost glowing behind his fringe, like shards of ice holding prehistoric monstrosities just waiting to thaw.

She clears her throat, her tongue searching for where to begin. Options flare behind her lips;

The anger returns; she could tell him what he once was, and how he’s changed too much, and it breaks all their hearts.

She could lecture him about how hurting people is wrong, and she disapproves of all he did.

She could turn around, and say nothing at all; give in to the fear bubbling below the surface, run far away, and leave him wondering why she even came, thinking he won, without quite knowing what game they were playing.

She could demand why he did what he did, and for his apology. She could demand for him to bow before her, and beg for mercy.

But, if she lectured him, he would not be receptive to her words. If she asked him questions, he would surely put the answers in a magician’s box with swords in it and tell the audience to watch carefully. If she was angry, if she yelled at him and demanded he see her as his queen…she’d never be able to sleep.

But he is not a child for her to order around. Nor was he a villain for her to condemn.

None of that would matter. None of that would work. None of that is why she’s here.

“The truth is”—where to begin? How to set the tone?—“I don’t approve of what you did.”

She starts with something disciplinary even so. Something queenly. Something motherly, but stern. Her intention was not to lecture, but she thought it best to start from a place of principle. Sympathy is best given by those whom you respect—best given by from those whom you think it’s worth being given. It was somewhere to begin at least.

He gives a small smirk. “You came all this way to tell me that?” He inclines his head. “How sweet.”

She tries to ignore the venom in his voice.

Even in this cell, he believes he’s in the right, that he can control her, make her afraid. But he does not. Will not.

She is not doing this for him.

Now she can move her pieces on the board; her words are pawns, which can move only forward, step by step.

“I think it was harsh, and cruel and in some ways, I still don’t understand why you did it.”

In a lot of ways.

But what would she have done to get Rapunzel back when she was gone? And wouldn’t she have spat in Mother Gothel’s face, had she known, had she met her? And what did Frederic do for her when she was dying?

He is not some monster, not something she can’t understand. She has to remember they are not so different.

“Glad I’m still a mystery.”

His tone makes it harder to remember what he is. Just a boy, locked in this cell. And the difference between them is that while she may have to line her words up in the right order; put them in neat little ribbons and bows, building up her case, or everything will come crashing down…words are all he has. He will use them to hurt her, because he has words…and nothing left to lose.

“That, however, is not why I’m here.”

His eyes flick up before he can hide the surprise in them.

...But they darken, and he stands up, his raccoon hopping to the ground, chittering, as if he could feel the tension bubbling below the surface.

“Oh, really? Then what, pray tell,” he mocks, lifting a hand, “are you here to tell me, your Majesty?” The words are the scorpion’s sting.

This is how he is, how he was then, how he’s going to be. …But she knows this is not all he could be.

And this is how she is.

She wraps her free hand around one of the bars, holding onto it like it’s her own resolve, and if she doesn’t hold tight it will turn to sand and slip through her fingers. She is going to get as close as she can, she will prove to him that she is unafraid, though everyone else treats him like a beast.

Even though she is. She is—

She’s afraid of a fourteen-year old boy.

These words won’t get through the bars to him; they are destined to topple. For they are the same as they were that day. The same tone, the same message, though they may be kinder, they still look down upon him, they scorn his goals and treat them as childish. And if they didn’t get through to him in his lab, they won’t reach his heart now that its had time to harden in this cell.

She hates that; knowing that it is their fault, her fault, in some way, that he is like this—

That is why she must forgive him. In a way, she is setting herself free from her own prison.

And she wants this to work. She wants him to realize there’s more to him. She doesn’t want him to be like this forever. She wants to set him free too.

Speaking to him as the Queen, judging his actions, starting from a place of truth, but disapproval, will not get through. Appealing to lofty ideals like the good of the kingdom, the good of the king, and of his own soul won’t matter to him. Lofty ideals mean nothing to a boy grieving for his father.

This is not for him. This is for her. It doesn’t matter what he says, what he thinks. In the end, all she can do is try to reach him, knowing it is ultimately his choice to take her hand through the bars. But the success or failure of this mission is measured by whether it helps to heal the fear ingraining itself in her heart, whether it helps to heal the way she thinks of him.

So, in light of this, what can she say to gain some amount of closure? To heal her heart? Her fear?

She takes a deep breath.

It isn’t easy to say aloud, to anyone, especially to him. But she knows the truth will save them both.

“What you did…” Her words now gain a far-off quality, more ragged themselves.

The words tasted like anger and fear. They are not the queen’s lofty proclamations…they are Arianna’s real feelings. Her grip tightens around the cold metal of the bar as she whispers darkly, “It scares me.” Her eyes dart to him, her own resolve tightening in coils inside her, becoming something more than the fear. But, despite the still-present anger, there is something very sad in her voice; “You scare me, Varian.”

At first he wants to sneer—she can almost taste the poison on his lips.

But something about these words catches up to him, reaches the mainframe; the edge in his blue eyes falters, and for a moment, a mere moment, he is a boy again. He is the kindness, the Oh I’m so sorry! the Did I do something wrong? and he is realizing that there is something about her words that makes him sad too. But he pulls the plug, hits reset, the venom replenishes itself, and he is the villain again. He folds his arms over his chest, turns his head, and scoffs, his tone becoming blank of anything that reached him;

“So what? You expect me to be sorry?”

“No.” She answers immediately. “No Varian,”—she is going to say his name as much as she can, calling to something deep inside him that is still Varian—“I don’t expect you to be sorry, nor do I expect that you’ll care about anything I have to say.”

Because she doesn’t.

She wants him to be. She knows from that single look that that boy is in there; the one who does very much care, who would care if his friends got hurt, who knows there is more to life than just making his father proud, and who would care if the Queen was afraid of him, for whatever reason. She knows that that boy is sorry, even now.

But she doesn’t expect to see that boy.

She knows he will hide him, shove that boy and his kindness to the side—(just like they all did, once upon a time)—push him down into the pieces of his shattered heart where there are monsters, and little oxygen, and black rocks growing like thorns.

If she expects him, she will never see him again.

If she doesn’t, she will see him in every passing glance.

He takes a step forward.

He is, so unbearably small. He is weak, and dirty, and she can tell he hasn’t been eating well. Yet he’s so tall in her eyes, even here—like he was that day, when she was on the ground, and he on the ladder, his heart is incased in living metal, his motions wound to the tune of a sad music box. He seemed so tall then…though he’d fallen so far then.

“Then what are you expecting? What do you want from me? Why did you come here, your Majesty?” He gets close to the bars, too close, but she isn’t letting his words get so close to her heart. “Did you come to gloat? To condemn me? To lecture me?” He pauses. “Don’t bother,”—His voice becomes a quiet breath—“I’ve already heard them all.”

At first she wonders where he’s heard them, who told them to him—if she was wrong, and Frederic came after all, opted for lectures, instead of accusations. Then she realizes, Ah, of course. Quirin. And that thought, the way he mentions his father, the hopelessness hidden in the midst of the intense sadness…it makes her thoughts falter, reshuffle.

“I don’t think you yourself even know why you’re here.” The sting still hides in his tone, slithering in the background, and it will latch its fangs onto her conviction, a parasite, stealing it away, if she isn’t careful. She can almost feel his breath now, he is so close, so horribly close. “Do you? You’re…scared. So why come before the object of your fear?” His lip curls as he mocks, “You must think you’re so brave.”

Anger ignites in her gaze. She can’t believe he’d talk to a queen like this. She grips the bar tighter, the imperfections in the cold metal digging into her palm.

Her fear makes her feel like a little girl before him. But if he’s weaving fear into the little girl in her heart, she will sow doubt into the little boy in his.

And from now on she will speak simply to him. Without the judgment, the lectures, the threats. Not as a queen, but as a mother. She will sit down with that boy as he cries in the dark, bring down a drop of sunlight, stolen from the outside, to the boy who doesn’t believe he deserves it.

“You want me to—?!”

“Listen.” She breaks though his words.

“What?” he takes a step back.

That’s all it is. All she needs to heal her heart. All he needs for a chance at redemption. It’s so much simpler than they all thought, than she thought at first.

“I came here because I want to talk to you. Forgive me if it sounds like a lecture,” She laughs a little, sadly still, “I’m afraid I don’t have much practice. But I don’t pretend to have all the answers either.”

At first he grits his teeth, trying to fight her request, but he turns away, his hand to his chin like when he’s doing serious calculations. He pauses for a long moment, then his eyes tick back to her and scan her.

He shrugs. “Not like I’ve got anything better to do.” The words are not kind, but the snake in his voice curls up quietly.

She releases the bar at last.

“I don’t approve of what you did.” She takes a step back, assuming a more reserved position. “I don’t like it, I don’t understand it, and at times, you still scare me. But this,”—she stops and gestures to the bars—“this cell…” Her eyes fall upon him. She is not afraid to meet that blue now, now that the electricity has calmed slightly, now that he is at least willing to listen. “It won’t change that. It won’t change what happened, or how either of us feel about it.”

She is meeting him where he is now, in this cell, not standing above him and calling him villain.

“Locking you up …I thought it would give me some peace of mind, and while it might mean that you can’t hurt Rapunzel anymore…” She shakes her head a little and murmurs. “I don’t think it helps either of us sleep any easier.”

He pauses, looking down.

“I don’t want our happy ending to mean the unhappiness of yours.”

What? The boy in his eyes whispers as he jerks his head up.

“This is not where I want your story to end.”

She can see it. That drop of sunlight she stole for him taking root in his eyes.

“So what are you going to do?” The snake in his voice lifts its head, hisses. “It’s not like you’re going to let me out.”

“No.” She gives a small smile. “It’s not much, I know…but I have made a decision.”

“And what’s that?”

“I have decided to forgive you.”

The fear is gone from her voice now. And at last, she means it. She has done what she came here to do.

Surprise, sunrise, flares behind his eyes for a moment. Then he folds his arms, turns away and scoffs,

“Is this some sort of joke?” The snake has moved to his hands, curls them into fists at his sides, rattling noiselessly in warning.

“It’s not a joke, Varian.” She answers simply. “Would I go this far for a joke?”

“I didn’t ask for this.” The snake raises its head, bares its fangs.

“No, you didn’t.” She gives a small tinted smile, and she can tell at once just how angry her kindness makes him.

The snake shoots at her.

“I don’t need your pity, your Majesty! Or your—!”

“No, you’re right, you don’t.” She cuts him off. Her voice is completely calm and collected. She can feel the snake in her own heart, slinking away. “Nor am I intending to give it. I didn’t come here for you, Varian.”

He looks up at this thought.

She has no reason to hide the truth from him.

“I came here for me. For my own presence of mind. I wanted to forgive you. Nothing more. No one made me do it. It’s not a joke, or a lecture, or a new form of punishment.”

“I get it,” he sneers. “Just like the royal family to forgive for the sake of yourself, or your precious kingdom…never for me. Never for the poor boy who just needed a second of your time!

“What would your beloved family think of you if I told them you came down here to see me? If I told them—!”

“Tell them if you want to. Frederic may be angry, but what’s done is done. This was my choice. That’s not what this is about, and you know it. I came here for my sake… because I knew if I came here for you, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. So thank you, Varian, for listening. That is all I needed.” She bows slightly. “Think whatever you want, after I’m gone. It doesn’t matter to me.”

He isn’t looking at her, the rattling his spread to his body.

“I have one last thing for you, if you will except it.”

His eyes flash to her like lightning.

“Again, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I could do.”

In lieu of an explanation she lifts up the journal and quill, smoothing her hand over the cover, and holds it through the bars for him to take. She knows putting even her arm through the bars is risky, that it might leave her with serpentine venom in her veins...but this is her act of good faith

He tsks his teeth, folding his arms, turning away.

“Its not for you.” She says simply.

He raises an eyebrow. Oh? Then who is it for?

She smirks.

“It’s for that boy I met the day of the science competition. You know, the one who cleaned the library? Do you think you can give it to him for me?”

That makes him angrier, but she isn’t leaving till he takes it.

“Don’t call it pity.” She smiles, seeing the look in his eyes as he takes a step closer. “Call it revenge, if you that makes things easier.”

At first he simply stands there, dark hair covering electric eyes, glancing up every few moments to see if she’ll go away. Then he sighs, walks over to her, snatching it from her grip.

“I gave Rapunzel a journal just like this one.”

His hands shy away from the pages, like they’ll bite him, at the mention of her daughter. She knew the name would not help, but she needs him to know what this means; that she is treating him the same way she treated her own daughter.

Threats flare behind his eyes, but quell themselves. He returns to the journal, flicking through it roughly.

“I thought you might need something to do.” She explains lamely.

It is a feeble excuse, but a true one nonetheless.

What will he fill it with? Not drawings, like Rapunzel, or flowery interpretations of his adventures. He will likely fill the pages with calculations, like the ones that littered his desk and the walls of his lab, the ones he put the withered sundrop flower on, the ones surely detailing the plot that put him here in the first place.

The fear is all but gone from her by now. In its place is growing something akin to a flower; hope, the sunlight she intended to bring to him, the seeds planting in her heart too. That’s what forgiveness does, after all.

His eyes scan the empty pages.

He starts at the back, and ends up at the front cover. Upon seeing the inscription, he holds the notebook up in one hand, trying to decipher the words. Unlike her daughter, he doesn’t make some ill-attempt to pronounce the foreign language, instead his eyes pivot to her, demanding an explanation.

“Plus est on vous,” the translation rolls off her tongue, “It means ‘there’s more in you.’”

He slams shut the journal with one hand, closing his eyes. He runs his finger along the spine as if trying to give it chills. Then he pulls out the quill, thumbing through the feather, likely checking that they wouldn’t give him anything too sharp.

“You honestly believe that, don’t you?” His words are dull now. Not sad, not spiteful either. Still grey.

“What can I say?” Her smile is entirely genuine now, it contains that stolen sunlight. “I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

“Even for someone like me?”

“Oh, especially for someone like you.”

He smirks. “You really are a fool.”

“Better a fool than a cynic, right?”

The smile fades, and his eyes lid as he pauses, thinks, then murmurs, “...How do you know I won’t use this to plot against you and your precious kingdom?”

“I don’t.”

(Though, from the softness of his tone there, she is almost certain he won’t.)

“So why would you—?!”

“I told you, I didn’t come here for you. I don’t care what you do with it after I’m gone. That’s your choice.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” The turmoil, thinly veiled, boils over. “Why would you come here?! Why would you act like everything’s okay?! Like I’m not the guy who kidnapped you, and chained you in his lab?!”

And at last she knows she has reached him... because behind every word she can hear that little boy crying out for mercy.

As the sky bleeds into navy she knows the last drops of day that guided her down the stairs to him have been planted in his heart.

She raises an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. “Oh? I thought you’d heard all the lectures.”

His eyes widen.

“Goodbye, Varian.” She turns and begins to leave. “I do hope to see you again, out free. And when I do,”—She stops to look back his way—“Maybe you can teach me that home alchemy after all.”

She catches one last glimpse of the boy she met that day before she exits the dungeon, sure, after all this, she will at least be able to sleep.

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koalas-koalas-everywhere · 4 years ago

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Where did the idea that Merlin is bad at healing magic come from?

Ok, that was a clickbaity title, I know where it came from: that scene in the Crystal Cave where he can’t heal Arthur’s wound. Possibly, also his struggle to heal him from the poisoned arrow in The Coming of Arthur Part 1. However, although I understand 1) the desire to nerf him at least a bit and 2) the delicious irony of someone as good as Merlin and who would like to be gentle as much as he does being crap at healing magic but good at combat, I don’t think this is very accurate.

I mean, this belief is the farthest thing from baseless. I mentioned TCC, and I can’t explain why he’d be unable to heal Arthur other than lack of skill (beyond theorizing that the magic of the Cave was impeding him because he was supposed, destined, if you will, to ask for Taliesin’s help and agree to look at the crystal in exchange, which admittedly doesn’t have much support from canon, or Merlin’s general lack of magical ability that caused him, for example to make a rose instead of a strawberry for Freya, although that was in the previous season). Then there’s TCoA, although that one’s a bit... complicated, for reasons I’l talk about in a minute, and, last but not least, there’s the Hollow Queen, where Merlin tries to heal himself but he can’t. Besides that, there are some instances when he didn’t try to heal people so we can extrapolate that he was unable, like when Mordred is hurt in The Beginning of the End, when Will and Freya are dying in The Moment of Truth and The Lady of the Lake* or when Arthur passes out in The Last Dragonlord.

The one from TCoA is complicated, because as I said before, he struggles, and by the time the scene cuts off it seems like he failed, but when Arthur wakes up, he only seems to have problems with the wound itself, not the poison, and doesn’t feel the pain until he walks on it. Then, without a hint of the fever he had before, he walks all the way to Camelot, a day or more, until he can’t go on anymore, but Merlin tells Gaius the spell didn’t work, BUT then Gaius says the wound’s infected, not poisoned, which would be explained by the whole traipsing about with a wounded leg and no treatment, so... I’m not sure what to make of it.

Then in THQ, there were the ameliorating circumstances of being... you know... dying from poison. It’s more a matter of power than healing skills (when he tries, his eyes flicker like cheap old lightbulbs when he tries to do magic). But we’ll count it.

So that makes it 5 times he would have liked to heal someone with magic but couldn’t due to what we can assume is a lack of skill (I’m not counting Mordred because I don’t think he’d dare to use magic in that case, since Morgana seemed to want to be involved and kept up to date in his treatment, proved by how she watched as he did it without magic), two of which are dubious because he seems to be at least partially successful or because there were extenuating circumstances.

Then there’s times where there were people to heal but the circumstances were... peculiar.

One was his father in The Last Dragonlord. He dies much more quickly than Will, not to mention Freya, which suggests an even worse wound than the one the woman who grew up with Druids, notable healers, said was too deep to heal. Merlin says he could save him, but Balinor cuts him off so he could give his last words, presumably because he, a man we also know possesses some healing skills, knew it was pointless. I really have to wonder if there was anything any ordinary sorcerer could have done (I mean, not to victim-blame, but I didn’t see Balinor trying to heal himself), that even Merlin himself pre-The Diamond of the Day could have done, so I’m reluctant to draw conclusions about his healing abilities from this.**

While he heals Gwen in With All My Heart, technically he does it not through any healing magic but by taking her to the Cauldron of Arianrhod and summoning the Triple Goddess, so it doesn’t help measure his skills either.

Additionally, (and here’s where I start to answer one of the most important questions in this post, which has remained unsaid until now, but which has underlined every single line to the moment: “what the fuck are you ranting about you big dumdum if all you’re going to do is agree that Merlin’s bad at healing?!” It’s about the refutation) there’s his healing of Morgana in TCC. This one’s also weird, because he does heal her, but he needed Kilgarrah’s help to do it. It’s possible that he only gave Merlin the spell, like he did with Sigan, but he has a strange sound effect in his voice when he casts it, so it could also be that he had some extra guidance from Kilgarrah to help him along, such as a power boost or an instinctual understanding of how to perform the spell. Like the last one, then, I don’t think this example gives us any reliable information on his healing skills.

But! It does start us off on the next part of this discussion, which is the times Merlin has successfully healed someone.

The earliest example of this is The Mark of Nimueh, where he heals Gwen’s father, Tom. He just sneaks in, puts a poultice under his pillow, casts the spell, sneaks out, and done! Man awake in seconds, cured by morning. Of course, success isn’t as interesting as failure (might be the reason why they continued this particular storyline by having Gwen accused of sorcery instead of just letting her live), but two things stand out about this healing. The first is that Merlin used a poultice for it, which will come up again later, so make a note of that. The second is that this happens before TCC, so it’s unlikely that Merlin just took that failure to heart and tried to improve.

But, TCC is the next time since then that he makes an attempt at healing magic, which, whew, talk about a time gap! That’s two seasons, and at least 2 1/2 years! Make a note of this, too. The time after that is, at least, in the same season - TCoA, in which we’ve settled that Merlin seems to have partial success with Arthur’s wound. (“Yes, you’ve already said this before!” Just go with it.)

Next, there’s The Wicked Day. We know that he did the spell right because everything went to shit. Once more, he used aids for the spell, a potion and incense form sage.

The very next episode, Aithusa, without a clear idea of what they’ve been given, only that they’ve passed out and have difficulty breathing (he might have figured out what it was from the smell of the poultice that he found in the stew), he manages to save all four knights and Arthur from poisoning, this time only with an enchantment.

Then he heals Gwen’s leg in The Hunter’s Heart. Once again, only a spell. Funnily enough, it’s the same wound he tried to heal in TCC, only in a different place.

Last but not least is the poison Gwen uses on Arthur in A Lesson in Vengeance. By the time Merlin has an opportunity to treat him, he’s moments away from death - Gaius says his heart’s nearly stopped, and Merlin himself doubts he has the power to heal him. No potions or herbs, although it’s interesting to note that he does motions similar to chest compressions.

So, to keep tally: his success rate when dealing with poisons and drugs is 100%, and it’s the same for times when he got to use aids such as potions and poultices. It also applies to all healing attempts not subject to extenuating circumstances (magical interference such as the Lamia’s spell or the blade being forged in a dragon’s breath, and when Merlin had to heal himself while he was dying) from TWD forward.

We can see him improve from TCC (season 3) to ALiV (season 5) - he actually makes significant improvement from TCC to TCoA, and from there to TWD and Aithusa. It seems like he learned from his experience in TCC and decided to make up for his lack of natural talent at healing magic by studying. And here’s where it gets really funny. Because we’ve established that there was a time, long before TCC, where he healed someone successfully, and that was Tom, in TMoN. If you’ll remember, around that time Merlin was much more likely to fail the first few (hundred) times he tried a spell, like the one to make that dog statue real and the one to enchant a weapon to fight the griffin. So, way back then, Merlin went, made a poultice, cast a spell and succeeded on his first try, when before (and after) that he’d have difficulties with new spells.

It... actually looks like he had a natural talent for healing magic.

Okay, hang on! you might say. You spent the first half of this fucking novel talking about his healing goofs, don’t come at me with this bullshit now! you might say.

And here’s where you should pull out those notes I asked you to make. Because between TMoN and TCC there’s a world of difference.

To start off, in the first one he had preparation. He’d been able to look for and study an appropriate spell in his book shortly beforehand and, most importantly, he had a poultice. He’s had a perfect success rate when using those. Look at Dragoon - I’ve talked before about how hilarious it is that Merlin struggles to turn off a spell most have trouble achieving, let alone keeping up. In that first ep, Queen of Hearts, Merlin prepares a whole ass ritual to age up,*** but later needs a potion to go back to his own age. On the other hand, every time after that he just casts the spell and he has no trouble undoing it. While it’s conjecture, it’s a pretty solid theory to say that potions and the like, as I’ve been foreshadowing, function as aids when casting spells. They can be necessary, but sometimes they just give the sorcerer a boost. It follows, then, that any spell cast without them will be weaker, such as, say, the one in TCC.

But! He doesn’t use potions for almost any of the other times, either!

Well, that’s kind of tied into my next point: time.

As we’ve established, almost three years go by between TMoN and TCC, and Merlin doesn’t try to heal anyone in that time. He does, however develop his magic in other ways. By The Moment of Truth he can summon a tornado! By Le Morte D’Arthur he can cast the spell he so struggled over in Lancelot! He can summon a shield that can withstand dragon fire! Went against a Sidhe and a Pixie! He- okay, he got better at combat magic. You might see where I’m going with this.

But right then, he needed to heal Arthur! He’d done it before! But... he’d gone rusty.

Honest to God. Yes, this is conjecture. No, I don’t have any proof other than what fits with canon. No, I don’t think it was intentional on the writers’ part.But in my mind and in my heart this is what happened. He was originally good or rather decent at healing magic, but after not using it and instead doing other kinds of magic for so long, during what were technically**** formative years for him as a sorcerer, that he actually lost the hang of it. To be fair, though, he makes up for it pretty quickly.

I didn’t think this through to the end before I wrote it, when I started I thought I’d just conclude there were more examples of Merlin being good at healing magic and that would be it, but putting it all together I’ve found a probably unintended pattern of Merlin having a natural talent for healing, but being forced to neglect it for the sake of combat magic. In conclusion, I’m sad.

*Scenes which I just watched to make this post and now I’m crying fucking hell what I do for stupid meta.

**I don’t apply the same logic to Freya because the length of time that must have passed between the scene in the tunnels and her death by the lake, not to mention the amount of jarring that she must have gone through in the trip, makes me think that there probably was a window of possibility there that they just didn’t have the resources to take advantage of. And. I mean. The strawberry scene. I’m just more likely to believe Merlin still had a way to go, magic-wise, but it’s also because of this that I’m not convinced that this is about him being bad at healing, specifically, as much as not being that skilled in magic overall.

*** I also rewatched the scene where he does it and ho-ho-ho-holy shit, his excitement at his idea is adorable.

****Because he was born with magic, he learned ways to use it way before going to Camelot, but this was a new stage of his studies that consisted f different things learned and different ways to learn them and different ways to apply them.

#Merlin BBC #Merlin #am I metaing yet?#I said in conclusion I am sad your honor

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northsouth12 · 4 years ago

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How to actually do goals according to science

Every year I kind of sort of commit to some ~New Year’s Resolutions~ and every year I kind of sort of make progress on them. This year I was diagnosed with depression and that led to me doing a bunch of research on how brains work and working with a therapist (bless them) to learn how to be kinder to myself.

In 2021 I’m setting goals again, but also approaching my goal setting with a different, more compassionate, and more informed mindset. I think I’ve done a pretty good job of setting myself up for success and I wanted to put it out there a) because I learned public sharing helps with goal achievement and b) in case this information/plan could help anyone else. So if you are also tired of making aspirational lists of all the stuff you’re going to do with nothing to show for it, come on over!

PEOPLE WHO KNOW MORE THAN ME

For quick and easy learning, I recommend the following podcasts/websites, from where I have drawn most of this information:

(1). VOLITIONAL PSYCHOLOGY with Dr Joseph R Ferrari, Ologies podcast ( 1:05:56, transcript and notes on website). A podcast interview explaining what procrastination is and what we can do about it. Also be nice to yourself.

(2). FEAROLOGY with Mary Poffenroth, Ologies podcast (1:13:49, transcript and notes on website). A podcast interview explaining how stress is equivalent to fear and how to interrupt our body’s stress response to regain our health and sanity.

(3). “Golden Rules of Goal Setting” on MindTools.com. A website covering most of the actually scientifically backed goal setting advice without a lot of life coach BS.

(4). My therapist. Credit where credit is due, they are a godsend. I highly recommend these conductors of light.

BASICS OF GOAL ACHIEVEMENT

For people who hate reading, here are the spark notes. There’s more information and tips in the long version, but I understand that some people put together IKEA furniture without looking at the directions.

Use the SMART method to write goals:

Specific - well defined and clear how to accomplish

Measurable - precise definition of success

Attainable - doable but still challenging

Relevant - aligned with personal values

Time-bound - must have a deadline

Put goals in writing. Use “I will” rather than “I want to” and frame statements positively.

Write down why specifically you want to achieve each goal.

Make an action plan breaking goals into individual steps. Break tasks into smaller and smaller chunks until you get to a place you can make progress. No judgement, just move the bar until you can move forward.

Schedule regular check-ins to evaluate your progress.

Post goals and progress publicly.

Incentivize achievement.

Surround yourself with doers rather than (fellow) procrastinators.

ABOUT SUCCESS AND FAILURE

If you can achieve 80% of your goal, that is success. In fact, happiness peaks at 85% success and 15% failure. People feel happier failing a bit because then their goal feels challenging and worthwhile.

YOU WILL FAIL. It will happen. It is okay. Focus instead on how you will react and grow from your failure.

“Stress” and “fear” are effectively the same thing. Recognize and own your fear; don’t be ashamed of it. It is a natural response. Also, recognizing your stress as a fear response helps you determine the root cause, and then address it, or even use it as a growth opportunity. Successful people freely use the word “fear”.

For many procrastinators, their fear of failure also includes a fear of success. You are afraid to do the work because you are afraid of not being good enough. These people (me) are practicing “social esteem protection” - thinking that if I don’t finish a task, I can attribute it to a lack of effort rather than a lack of ability because it’s a “time management” issue. It’s not. Time management is a myth, and the end result is that you are letting down the same people you want so badly to like you.

Procrastination is a learned behavior, which means that you can unlearn it. The best way is through CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) to reprogram your thinking for people who have a persistent issue with procrastination.

Forgive yourself for your failures the way you would forgive other people.

HOW TO SET GOALS STEP-BY-STEP

Sorry this section is long, but it turns out a lot of the keys to success in achieving goals starts with actually writing them properly. Who knew?

Set a deadline. The traditional New Year’s Resolution is supposed to last through the end of the year, but I’ve found that is too long a span. I end up procrastinating because “there’s so much time left” until there’s not and then “it’s too late to start now”..... So now I’m setting my goals seasonally: four sets of three months. My deadline for winter goals is March 21st, the Spring Equinox. As part of my public accounting, I have told everyone this, including a bunch of internet strangers.

Also key for us procrastinators is setting a start date. I gave myself a week to write my goals and make my action plan. I have to keep track of my progress starting Monday.

Determine your priorities and set limits. You cannot do everything, no matter how much you want to (procrastinator, remember?). Looking for layout inspiration on Pinterest I came across so many bujo people with 8 million goals on their page layout. That’s not happening. Remember that your goals are meant to create positive change and a sense of accomplishment, NOT cause more anxiety. So make limits. How do we do this?

Make a big list of aspirations first. You can do this by identifying your personal values and generating ways to emphasize those more in your life. You can make a list of everything that you’re afraid of (aka causes you stress) and then think about ways to address or confront those fears. For example if getting a bunch of work emails into your personal inbox every weekend ruins your Saturday, aspire to set some work/personal life boundaries! Or maybe you have something you’ve always wanted to do, like learn a language or set time aside for a hobby. Put it on the list.

Now you have to edit the list. You can keep it to refer back to for the next round of goals, but choose out the top priorities for the next three months. To help you do this, refer back to your personal values, or just ask yourself “why do I want to do this?” If the answer is because someone else thinks you should, nix it. This is for you and only you. I originally chose 8 priorities, and then cut it again to 6 aspirations total - keep the plan simple and manageable to set yourself up for success. Remember, 85% success is what we’re aiming for. I also tried to choose a mix of difficulty levels of the individual aspirations (exercising = freaking hard; keeping a gratitude log = pretty easy) so that I might get some early wins and momentum.

I also recommend that at least one priority is just something you know will make you happy. We all need to set aside time and energy for ourselves, and to stop feeling ashamed about doing stuff that makes us happy. What the actual f**k. Choose one thing you love -- reading, baking, petting animals, being outside -- and make it an official goal to do it more often. NO JUDGMENT.

Okay, now to format your priorities into achievable goals. You are going to take each one of those aspirations and put it into an “I will” statement with a quantifiable definition of success. For example, my aspiration to “sleep more” became “I will follow a bedtime routine for 21 days straight.” You want to make sure your statement is framed positively (rather than “I will not eat junk food”, try “I will eat healthier snacks”). Also think again about making your goal challenging but achievable. I did not write “I will sleep 6 hours a night” because I can’t control that. I chose 21 days straight as my success measure because I anticipate I’ll fall off the horse a few times before I get a successful streak, and three weeks would be good progress for me. Another thing you can do is use ranges like “I will pick up 1 - 5 items in my room each day.” This is a bit of a mind game where the low end of the range is easily achievable so you have no excuse not to do it. Often once you get started, you might find that you have energy for 5 items after all.

Now that you have your goalposts set up, write down those “whys” you thought about when you were choosing them. Recording why you want to do this specifically is helpful for your motivation as time passes and further clarifies your goal.

As we’ve learned, accountability helps! For each of your goals, write down how you will share your progress. I’ve asked different people to check in with me about my sleep and exercise routines. I’m reporting about my ongoing issues with procrastinating on my schoolwork to my therapist each week. For my goal to read more books, I’m posting a picture of each book I finish on my Instagram. And for my goals to keep a gratitude log and consume news in a healthier way, I’ve decided I can hold myself accountable. In addition, I’m using my journal to keep track of my progress towards all six goals.

Set a reward for each goal. This could be anything from a pack of your favorite chocolates for completing an easy goal to giving yourself permission to buy that sweater you’ve really wanted for achieving a super challenging goal. I am also trying out having bonus rewards such as a small reward for an 11-day streak on my sleep goal to give me a push of momentum. For my hardest/most important goal I also decided to do a “stretch goal” like with Kickstarter where I get a reward for overachieving. So maybe I went a little reward crazy, but we’ll see how it goes!

Finally, for each goal write down the actions you’ll need to take to achieve it. For me this is stuff like “draft a bedtime routine and share it” and under that, I plan to research by “listen to somnology podcasts” and “read sleep solution book”.

HOW TO MAKE PROGRESS

Whew, you made it through writing the goals and now you are set up for success! Here’s a few more tips to keep things moving.

Now that you’ve got your goals all set up, share them with the world! (Or at least the people you’ve decided to help keep you accountable). Sharing goals and progress publicly is proven to increase our likelihood to achieve them.

If you’re a journaler, make a nice goals layout and a tracker for your progress. I did not find good examples for achieving goals in a scientific way when I looked for inspiration on Pinterest. If there is a journaler out there who read all the way to the end of this post and made a nice layout, please share your artistry. My “layout” is just a list. :/

Surround yourself with doers. If you have trouble motivating yourself (me), ask a friend to pair up with you. I am doing a remote master’s degree. It is not going well. However, setting up a regular Zoom “work date” with a friend who is currently working from home has forced me to sit down and look at my schoolwork on a regular basis.

Schedule regular check ins to evaluate your progress and write them down! I have a combination of check-ins with my “accountants” as well as a plan to review my goal progress every Sunday when I plan my week. This is written on my to-do list on each Sunday to make sure I do it.

Go forth and conquer! And remember, failure is a fact of life and does not make you a bad person. It just means you are learning more about how to set your goals for next time!

#goals #2021 goals #new years resolutions #goal setting #goal achievement #science

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missartus · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas!

Figured that I should write a post at Christmas, given all the chaos that’s been 2020 lol. Well, for one, Covid’s still here and so it’s still been pretty hard for everyone. Personally, my Christmas obviously changed in a way that it’s more chill this time around. Not that I’m complaining ‘cause this is probably my most preferred way of celebrating the holidays, but I’d rather have a chill Christmas because I wanted it and not because the circumstances forced us to. I didn’t even bother to dress up nor put on some makeup because I was really lazy to do so, and to be honest, the Christmas spirit isn’t really as felt this time around. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who feels this.

Anyway, I didn’t really intend to make a depressing post LOL. It’s the other way around, actually. I’ve been meaning to write something for a few days now but I’ve been lazy. I actually wanted to say that given all the chaos, thankfully I had a couple of things that kept me sane. They’re mostly new hobbies and interests, and some may come off as a shock, even. So here are my life updates so far. A list of things that helped me survive 2020 😌

Baking

It started with a box of pancake mix. A few months back, I was supposed to make some pancakes for an afternoon snack, but then I was kinda tired with eating pancakes that I wondered if there is any other way I can turn that mix into. I eventually ended up with these hard chocolate turnovers lmao. After that, I was suddenly baking almost every week. So far, I’ve baked coffee buns, lemon bars, pandesal!, pound cakes, cookies (ofc), and cinnamon rolls. I’m targeting to go for naked cakes but I am yet to buy an electric mixer. For someone who hates measurements and all, it’s a shock for me to be into baking. But it’s been so therapeutic for me. The kneading of the dough, the whisking, mixing, the rise, the waiting on the oven — so zen. I guess, it’s cause it keeps my mind off of things, and whenever I bake, I’m just so focused on what I’m doing. So it’s like, I’m in my own bubble of productivity for a long while. Also, I’d say it kinda helps with my self-esteem, as baking has allowed me to prove to myself that I can do something delish. Whenever I look at the finished products, I couldn’t believe that I, me, Mich, me, did that! I think that happened when I made pandesals and when I really liked the cinammon rolls. I was like, “Omg, I can’t believe I did this!” Aside from my fam, I’ve sent a few of my pastries to friends as well, and some say that I should start a business already lol. But that’s so far from my mind right now. I mean, I’d want to, in the future. But not sometime soon. I still want to enjoy this season where I’m plainly learning and enjoying the process of baking. I don’t, and am not, prepared for the pressure and hassle of it all yet. 🤪

Workout

I’ve been working out for a few years now but I wasn’t as consistent as how I’ve been the past couple of months. I used to workout every freaking day, but lately it would just be about thrice or four times a week. My past blog posts would give you a hint about my relationship with my body and food. It hasn’t been really nice in general, but working out really does help me improve my mindset towards my body image. Admittedly, I began working out because I wanted to lose weight, but eventually (and thankfully), it transformed into me working out because it makes me strong and it benefits my mental health a lot. I do a variety, although most times I’d do cardio, then I’ll just pair it up with either weights or another round of cardio but dance.

The process has been fun, and I don’t really pressure myself or limit myself when it comes to food. I still eat whatever’s there, but right now it’s all portion control, really. In all fairness, I think because I’ve been working out, my appetite isn’t as huge as it used to be. I get fuller fast these days, and I rarely binge-eat, unless I re-stock on Korean grocery food hahahaha. Anyway speaking of Korean, here’s my last interest update...

BTS

Yup. As in that K-pop boyband. As in Bangtan Sonyeondan. As in that band who’s taking over the world. What a plot twist, right? I’ve never been into K-pop to begin with, so BTS (and eventually, K-pop in general) is probably my biggest musical plot twist so far. I initially was supposed to write a whole separate blog post about this (because that’s how OBSESSED I AM WITH BTS) but I figured that I’ll just include them in this “life update” entry. But for real, it began back in October, when I saw this screenshot of RM’s WeVerse comment/reply to a fan. I’m pasting it here for reference lol.

For some reason, I was really impressed after seeing this. I’ve known the band for a while already. I know how big they are and I even have friends who are huge fans. I’ve seen a couple of their online content in the past as well, but I think it was this image that made me really realize why they’ve been getting so much attention and why their fanbase just keeps on growing. This was the first time that I “got it”, if you know what I mean. Anyway, a bit after that my ARMY friends messaged me and I was immediately swooped into the world of BTS. I don’t regret any of it though haha! I have so much feelings about this topic (lololol) but I’ll try to hold back. Who knows, I might continue with that separate blog post anyway 💁‍♀️ My bias is Namjoon (my goodness, this man is such a dream), while my bias wrecker is Jimin. Although I think my bias wrecker changes everyday now lmao. 😂 I’ll say this though, it wasn’t their pretty faces that got me. If anything, I think that really comes as secondary, because what made me an Army was their talent, their story, and their character. These boys are really men of substance, and their songs and advocacy can attest to how principled they are. Their songs have also helped me so much as I am still in the process of improving myself, my mental health, and all these introspective things. I remember this one time where I bawled my eyes out when I was reading through the English translation of Answer: Love Myself. In a year when I almost lost myself again due to how depressing this year was, it feels good to root for something, or in this case, someone, and see them flourish in success. They really started at the bottom, and I guess in a way their story also inspires me to keep on doing what I’m doing, knowing that someday, everything will make sense and I’ll finally make it.

BTS also led me to listen to other K-pop acts as well such as Day6 (another fave!), Monsta X, Shinee, IU, Henry, and BlackPink (very recently hahaha) Ok, I’ll stop right there. 😬 Funny how I just cannot get the K-pop hype for so many years, and now I’m genuinely enjoying it. It’s become my go-to work soundtrip also as I don’t get carried away by singing along to the lyrics as, ofc, it’s in a different language lol.

Plants

I remember last year when my colleagues at work gave me this plant and they assured me that it won’t die but it did. It kinda made me think that I don’t have a green thumb and that I can never maintain a plant. But guess what, I have about 7 plants now and THEY’RE ALL THRIVING SO WELL. I’m so invested in these plant babies and I’m so proud of myself that they’re all so alive and doing well. There were some scares, I admit. Like this one time when I attempted to re-pot my Syngonium Arrowhead and it almost died lol but I re-did it and thankfully it resurrected hahahahaha. Again, just like what I said about BTS and my baking, my plants are also testament to how it feels nice to root for (no pun intended) something and see them thrive, and how it feels so satisfying and reassuring to see something that I’ve been taking care of live healthy and happy.

So yeah, there’s that.

Those are what my life has been circling around these days. As I’ve said, I’m very grateful that I got into these things, little as they may seem as compared to others. But hey, they make me happy, and I think at this point in time, as long as something makes you happy and sane, that’s all that matters. You do you, girl. Wow, I can’t believe that I wrote this long. It’s been a while since I did! Anyway, I’m gonna end this here now as it’s getting late and I still have stuff to do.

Merry Christmas!

#rantsandjoys

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ncfan-1 · 5 years ago

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Listening to true crime podcasts, something I’ve heard is that if you’re trying to dispose of a corpse, you shouldn’t toss it into a body of water, because odds are good that it will eventually resurface. I don’t know if that’s necessarily true—yes, bloating is a thing, but so are scavengers—but it does make me think.

The Federation tossed a corpse into the water, that corpse being their treatment of Androids. They did exactly what was warned against in ‘The Measure of a Man,’ and created and perpetuated a slave race. For the longest time, I refused to believe that the attack on Mars was truly a Zhat Vash operation, because I thought it being a slave rebellion would make so much more sense, thematically. I thought Raffi was desperate to see a conspiracy where there was none because she didn’t want to look in the mirror and see the face of a woman who, for years, acted as an enforcer of a government that kept slaves. I thought that where this was going was to a place where it’s revealed that, rather than subversion by outside agents, the Federation really did a slave rebellion on their hands, and they were going to have to confront that.

(I still think it makes more sense for that to have been an organically-occurring slave rebellion. Even if the Romulan government was on the fence about the pros and cons of accepting Federation aid, Oh was still in a very good position to know that the Romulan homeworld needed all the Federation aid it could get, and was in an equally good position to know that helping the Romulans was something that the Federation had taken to only reluctantly, and that any upheaval might lead them to withdraw that aid. The Zhat Vash is supposed to be acting in what they consider to be the Romulan people’s best interests—I have a hard time believing that Oh would consider the Romulan homeworld an acceptable sacrifice to be made in the interest of destroying all Androids, everywhere.)

The Mars attack happened, and rather than considering the ramifications of the fact that their slaves apparently expressed an earnest desire for freedom and the fact that they know enough to desire freedom for themselves means they pass the sapience test, the Federation decided that the best course of action was to ban all synthetic life, no matter what it was. Just throw the baby out with the bathwater, shove it all under the rug, et cetera, et cetera. Self-reflection is for people secure enough in themselves to admit they aren’t actually living in a utopia, after all.

The Federation tossed a corpse into the water, and when it inevitably resurfaced, bloated and foul-smelling, it bore the face of the Zhat Vash.

The Zhat Vash reflected some truly ugly truths about the Federation back at them. Nobody forced the Federation to create and perpetuate a slave race. You can’t blame Oh, or any other Zhat Vash operatives acting in Federation space, for that one. Like hell would they have wanted that, for the very simple reason that the creation of more Androids would be the absolute last thing they’d want. And let’s talk about the fact that Androids are now being called ‘Synthetics’ and ‘Synths’ in the show. Yeah, linguistic shifts are absolutely a thing, but my sneaking suspicion here is that there was actually a conscious effort to change the terminology from ‘Android’ to ‘Synthetic’ and ‘Synth’, because calling Androids Synthetics and Synths made it easier to objectify them, easier to treat them like things, rather than people. It would be a bit of a stretch to blame the Zhat Vash for this one, at best.

The Zhat Vash only expose and drag into the light what the Federation sought to hide about themselves, but I’m worried that, going forward, there’s not going to be any sign that the Federation will engage in the serious self-examination it needs to about its treatment of Androids in particular, and synthetic life in general. In the last episode, the conflict between the Zhat Vash and Starfleet was very Black Hat versus White Hat, no ambiguity, no room for gray, no room for contemplation.

My worry is that the Federation isn’t going to learn anything from this. They’ll just blame all of their own naturally-occurring misdeeds on the convenient scapegoat, shove that corpse right back down into the water, pretend it was never there to start with, and in a few centuries, the cycle will start, all over again.

(My relationship with this show is… interesting. I started out trying to force myself to be optimistic about it, because it’s so hard for me to be optimistic about anything new, and I wanted to believe this would be good. That wasn’t the easiest thing, what with my pessimism and with other people trying to force their own negativity onto my cautiously positive posts. The build-up was good. But it fizzled out into a payoff, if we can call it that, that I personally found to be emotionally unsatisfying. I don’t know precisely what I would have preferred; I just know I found the payoff to be hollow. Part of me says that it’s only the first season, and that I’ve only seen a small slice of the larger story. But part of me is wondering if I even want to watch Season 2, when Season 1 leaves me with such mixed feelings.

I’ve blocked the fandom tag in Xkit. I’m not really interested in exploring it anymore. Part of that is the way my relationship with fandoms has evolved over the years, as Tumblr descends into even more of a hellsite than it was before. But part of that is also that I have been mostly successful in barely caring about the show, and I don’t want to have that barely caring stoked into something that consumes me, and not in a good way. I don’t have the energy for that right now—and I don’t know if I’ll have the patience for it, ever again. To those of you who read this, I’m not saying you can’t respond. If you have something to add, by all means, do it. Just know that I may or may not be able to rouse myself to respond to you.)

#Star Trek: Picard #Meta #Negativity #I guess?

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thecollegefootballguy · 4 years ago

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The Real Northwest Champs

Hey everybody, we’re back with another hypothetical trophy game. We move back out West to crown the real champions of the Pacific Northwest. I think there should absolutely be a trophy exchanged between the four FBS schools in the Northwest. To a certain extent they all consider each other rivals, the State of Oregon has the Civil War and Washington has the Apple Cup, and the Ducks and Huskies have their own high profile rivalry. Even if you wouldn’t call Oregon-Washington State or Oregon State-Washington real rivalries (and many wouldn’t), it goes without saying that each of the four schools measure themselves against the others.

For long stretches of time, many people have overlooked the football played out in the furthest flung corner of the Lower 48. They’re missing out on some great stories and fascinating local culture. I’m here to shine a light on it.

So, I’ll be using the same rules that governed the Kings of California trophy. The trophy goes to whichever team has the best record among the three. Two-way ties will be broken by head to head wins if applicable. Three-way ties will be broken by the team with the best conference record. This shouldn’t really be an issue because for the most part the foursome have all been in the same conference for all of their histories.

Oh yeah, and check out the other posts as well if you’re interested: Florida Cup, Commander-in-Chief’s Trophy, Beehive Boot, Michigan MAC Trophy, Big Ten West, the Kings of California, the Cal State Champs, and Tobacco Road

The Early Days: 1894-1916

Football came to the Pacific Northwest in 1889, when the University of Washington fielded its first football team. They were quickly followed by Oregon Agricultural College in 1893 and then both the University of Oregon and Washington State College in 1894.

The first game played between any of these teams was the a meeting between Oregon and Oregon Agricultural College in 1894, a 16-0 win for the Aggies. It was the beginning of the most played football rivalry west of Texas. Oregon Agricultural would then play Washington in 1897, and the rest of the series began being played soon after that.

The Apple Cup was first contested in 1900, as was the soon to be Oregon-Washington rivalry. By 1903, all four Northwest schools had played each other at least once, though it would take another decade before the Oregon-Washington State and Oregon Agricultural-Washington series would be played on a semi-regular basis.

Early on, the Oregon schools beat the Washington schools more often than not, but it really is hard to say who was qualitatively better when only two or three games was played between those teams in this era. That all changed when Gil Dobie was hired by Washington in 1908. The former North Dakota coach turned Washington into the powerhouse of the Northwest. For the next decade Washington dominated all comers. From 1908 to 1916, Washington went an incredible 58-0-3, going 9 whole seasons without a loss.

It truly is a shame that football in the Northwest wasn’t taken that seriously. Despite all of this success, Washington was never considered for a national championship, but Dobie had laid the groundwork for Washington to be the traditional powerhouse in the region. Gil Dobie left following the 1916 season, going to Navy for a few seasons before ending up at Cornell, where he would lead the Big Red to three national championships in the 20′s.

It took some time, but the Northwest schools would eventually become respectable enough to found a major football conference. The Pacific Coast Conference began play in 1916, featuring Washington, both Oregon schools, and California. In time it would grow to be the premier league west of the Mississippi. Washington won the PCC in its inaugural season, though Oregon won the Northwest Cup by tying their rivals to the North.

Northwest Cup Champs

Oregon: 10 Washington: 9 Oregon State: 2 Washington State: 2

In the early days, Oregon got the better of Oregon Agricultural for the most part and that was really all it took to be ahead in these standings. Before 1900 there wasn’t too much mixing between the schools. As things began to heat up a the turn of the century, Washington became the dominant team in the region.

Washington would win seven consecutive Northwest championships from 1908 to 1914. They didn’t win in 1915 because they didn’t play any of the teams in the running. With the departure of Gil Dobie in 1916, all four colleges began competing on a much more even playing field.

The PCC Years: 1917-1954

The Pacific Coast Conference expanded rapidly, adding Washington State and Stanford in 1917 and 1918 respectively. In their first ever year in play, Washington State won the conference by sweeping their Northwest brethren under head coach Lone Star Dietz. The Northwest was pretty dominant in the early years of the conference. Oregon and Washington tied for the league title in 1919, though the Webfoots won the head to head and the Rose Bowl berth as a result.

This Northwest’s time leading the PCC ended abruptly in 1920. If you recall back to my Kings of California post, you’ll recall that in Cal won their first of four consecutive national championships that year. Stanford followed suit winning a national title in 1926. USC, who joined the league in 1922, won three national championships from 1928 to 1932. The Golden State took control of the league and held a stranglehold on it for decades.

Back in the day, the Northwest contingent of the PCC actually included both Idaho and Montana, who joined in ‘22 and ‘24 respectively. I had considered including them in the standings but those schools basically never mattered. The Vandals and Grizzlies almost never impacted the standings, with the those teams usually going winless in league play until they faced each other towards the end of the season.

With the state of California dominating the PCC, the Northwest schools were mostly left to their own devices. None of them were able to really build their programs into anything formidable, and mostly had to wait until the California schools (which began to include UCLA from 1928 onwards) were in down periods.

Washington went undefeated in 1925, winning the PCC between Cal’s last national title and Stanford’s first. The Huskies went to the Rose Bowl and lost to Alabama 20-19, just barely missing out on their first national championship. UW was still regularly better than their rivals at this point, but not by a significant margin.

As the 1930′s rolled around, the California dynasties all fell off, opening up a window for the Northwest schools to win the PCC. Washington State won a conference title under longtime head coach Babe Hollingberry in 1930. The Cougars were stomped by Alabama in the Rose Bowl. The Oregon Webfoots tied with Stanford and USC atop the league standings in 1933, but weren’t selected to go to Pasadena. Washington returned to the Rose Bowl after winning the league in 1936 but they were blanked by national champs Pittsburgh.

Oregon State won their first PCC title in 1941, going 8-2 with a win over Duke in the Rose Bowl. World War II disrupted football in the Northwest as every school but Washington shut down their programs in 1943 and 1944. When the war was over and GI’s came streaming back to college, the Northwest began to raise their game.

Oregon won a league title in 1948, but they were passed over for the Rose Bowl again, this time in favor of Cal. The Webfoots were given a spot in the Cotton Bowl as a consolation but lost to SMU to finish 9th in the polls.

Northwest Cup Champs

Oregon: 21 Washington: 18 Washington State: 13 Oregon State: 7

The PCC years meant two things for Northwest football. The first is that they were largely irrelevant in the national sense. None of the teams were able to really compete for national titles, and rarely did any of them win conference titles. The second aspect is that within the four Northwest schools, there was never any one dominant team.

Oregon State was the only school to win more than two Northwest Cups in a row in these three decades, and that streak itself only lasted three years. Washington State, arguably the least successful of the four teams in this span, won 11 Cups.

Jim Owens vs Oregon State: 1955-1974

After decades of stagnation, several things seemed to happen all at once. The first is the return of a hierarchy in the Northwest. In 1955, former UCLA assistant Tommy Prothro came to Oregon State College and turned the Beavers into the premier team in the region, well, for a few years. OSC won back to back PCC titles in 1956-57. It was the only time any school from the Northwest won consecutive league titles in that league. The 1957 title was split with Oregon, but the Beavers won the head to head and went to Pasadena.

In 1957, former Texas A&M assistant Jim Owens was hired to become Washington’s head coach. It took Owens a few years to get things rolling in Seattle but he turned the Huskies back into the powerhouse of the Northwest.

Meanwhile, the Pacific Coast Conference was falling apart. A corruption scandal rocked the league, which dissolved in the spring of 1959. Football in the Pacific Northwest was shaken by the swift collapse. The California schools took the opportunity to cut out some dead weight and reformed a new league, the Athletic Association of Western Universities, which only included themselves and Washington. Both Oregon schools, Washington State, and Idaho were cut loose and became football independents. Montana had left the PCC in 1950 after decades of losing.

UW were the first ever champions of the new AAWU. Jim Owens’ Huskies went 10-1 in 1959, beating Wisconsin in the Rose Bowl to finish 8th in the country. Washington repeated the feat in 1960 with the same 10-1 record and a victory over #1 Minnesota in the Rose Bowl. The Huskies had a good claim for a national title, but the AP and Coaches polls declared their champions before the postseason so the Gophers were named champions despite the loss.

Washington would never reach these heights under Owens again, especially as the LA schools began to get their mojo back in the 60′s, but UW would remain the premier powerhouse in the Northwest for the next several decades. The Huskies won the conference again in 1963 but they went 6-5 with a 4-1 league record so it was just one of those strange occurrences.

I guess life as a five-team conference was pretty boring, so the AAWU let Washington State join in 1952 and both Oregon schools returned in 1954. The AAWU was now the PAC-8, but the Northwest programs continued to struggle as USC began to increasingly dominate the league.

The Ducks entered a profound slump, and Washington State was a nonfactor. Washington was still on top regionally, but struggled to compete against the either the Trojans or Bruins for league supremacy. Oregon State won the conference in 1964, their third under Tommy Prothro. OSU was tied atop the standings with Southern Cal, and were selected to face Michigan in the Rose Bowl where they lost 34-7. Prothro moved to UCLA the following the defeat, and led the Bruins to a Rose Bowl victory over #1 Michigan State the very next year.

Regional supremacy was all that Northwest schools could really fight for in the 60′s and 70′s. Mostly this boiled down to the Huskies and the Beavers. Dee Andros inherited OSU from Prothro and had several strong seasons in the late 60′s before Oregon State too entered a long slump.

Northwest Cup Champs

Washington: 27 Oregon: 21 Washington State: 16 Oregon State: 15

As you can see, the Northwest Cup generally boiled down to two races in this 20 year span. Firstly, Washington under Jim Owens and Oregon State under Prothro and Andros usually decided the best team of the foursome. Then, Oregon and Washington State were battling to avoid being the worst team in the PAC-8.

It was in this span that the Huskies finally took control of first place in the all-time standings. The Beavers came close to pulling themselves out of the basement, but only just miss the cut. The Cougars managed to sneak in a few wins, especially when UW and OSU were both trailing off towards the early 70′s. The Ducks were pretty atrocious, but the worst was yet to come.

The Don James Era: 1975-1993

Jim Owens resigned at the end of his final contract following the 1974 season, Washington haven fallen off in the past several years of his tenure. His replacement was Kent State head coach Don James. James had led the Golden Flashes to a MAC championship in 1972 and 9 wins in ‘73. It took James little time to get the Huskies back on track.

In 1977, UW started slow but finished the year 8-4 with a PAC-8 Championship and a win over #4 Michigan in the Rose Bowl. It was their first top ten end of season ranking in 18 years, and it was only the beginning. Washington would spend the next two decades as one of the top teams on the West Coast and frequently in the hunt for the league championship.

In 1980 and 1981, the Huskies won back to back PAC-10 titles, fighting off USC, UCLA, and Arizona State, who would be UDub’s main adversaries for the rest of the decade. From 1981 to 1984, Washington won ten or more games and finished in the top ten three times. In 1984, the Huskies went 11-1 with a final #2 ranking, if not for a loss to USC late in the season, they would have claimed the national title instead of BYU.

UCLA took control of the league for a few seasons in the mid to late 80′s, but Washington was reloading. The Huskies exploded back on the scene in 1990, going 10-2 with their only losses coming from national champion Colorado and the pesky Bruins. UW beat Iowa in the Rose Bowl to finish 5th in the nation.

In 1991, Washington painted their masterpiece. The Huskies went a perfect 12-0, breezing through the PAC-10 with a win over #9 Nebraska in non-conference play. UW thoroughly beat #4 Michigan in the Rose Bowl 34-14. Fellow undefeated Miami was named the national champions by the AP Poll, but the Coaches Poll (as well as several computers) declared the Huskies to be the better team and the proper national champs.

Washington was on pace to repeat as national champions in 1992 but dropped two of their final three and then lost the Rose Bowl in a rematch against the Wolverines. Don James retired following the defeat. He finished his career with a 150-60-2 record in Seattle and is hailed as UW’s best coach of all time.

What was going on with the rest of the Northwest at this time? Absolutely nothing. Washington’s dominance in the 80′s was coupled with a downturn on the parts of all three of their brother programs. Oregon and Oregon State had been mired in long slumps and regularly featured at the bottom of the standings. This downward trend culminated in the infamous “Toilet Bowl” in which the 2-8 Beavers fought the 4-7 Ducks to a 0-0 tie in an atrocious game that featured 11 turnovers and 4 missed field goals. With ties now gone from college football, it’s probably the last time we’ll ever see a 0-0 finish in a regulation football game.

Washington State was a middle of the road program at best during this time. The Cougars never came close to a conference title but they weren’t quite as bad as the Oregon programs for most of the 80′s.

But the winds of change were blowing, and the pieces were already set at all three schools to reverse their decades of misery.

Northwest Cup Champs

Washington: 40 Oregon: 25 Washington State: 18 Oregon State: 15

Washington was able to greatly extend their lead in the all-time standings during Don James’ tenure as head coach. The Huskies claimed 13 of 19 Northwest Cups at this time. Oregon and Washington State were able to sneak away with a few regional championships when UW was reloading, but that was it. Oregon State was positively atrocious during this stretch, one of the worst major college football programs of the era alongside Northwestern or Rice.

Revenge of the North: 1994-2007

A curious thing happened in the 1990′s. As the California schools all experienced low ebbs, all four schools from the Pacific Northwest exploded to retake control of the conference. Washington had already been a regular contender for PAC-10 titles for the past 15 years, but all four squads began to win conference championships in this era.

People from outside of the region were probably taken aback by the quick changing of the guard that saw all four Northwest schools compete for Rose Bowls, but the ground work was laid much earlier.

Rich Brooks was hired as Oregon’s head coach all the way back in 1977. Brooks slowly and carefully rebuilt the Ducks, turning them from an atrocious squad in the late 70′s to regularly mediocre by the early 80′s to competent by the late 80′s. UO went 8-4 in 1989 and 1990, and attended their first bowl games in over 25 years.

In 1994, Brooks finally took Oregon to the top. After dropping two non-conference games early in the season, the Ducks went 7-1 in PAC-10 play and won their first outright conference championship ever. UO faced off against undefeated Penn State in the Rose Bowl and lost 38-20, but the success of the 1994 season is seen as the turning point in Oregon’s program history. It had been the Ducks’ first time in Pasadena in 37 years. From then on, UO would be a regular contender for the conference title.

Washington won the PAC-10 the next year, though the Huskies were passed over for the Rose Bowl in favor of UCLA. Don James’ replacement was Jim Lambright, who was unable to match his predecessor’s success. Lambright was fired after the 1998 season after only going 45-22-1 in his six years at the helm.

One team that would have killed for that level of success was Washington State. The Cougars had scuffled along for decades without much winning or any recognition. Dennis Erickson briefly coached Wazzu for two years in 1987-88 before bolting to Miami, though not before delivering a 9 win season, which hadn’t been seen in Pullman in generations.

Mike Price replaced Erickson in 1989, and took the Rich Brooks approach to slow but steady improvement. WSU improved to 9-3 in 1992 and went bowling again in 1994. In 1997, everything came together. Under Heisman finalist QB Ryan Leaf, Washington State went 10-1, with a 41-35 win over #20 Washington in the Apple Cup to secure their share of the PAC-10 title. It was the Cougars’ first conference championship in 67 years and they were selected to play in the Rose Bowl. Wazzu lost 21-16 to #1 Michigan, but their #9 finish was a triumph for the long suffering program.

The final team to get their act together was Oregon State. The Beavers were still pretty atrocious for most of the 90′s, but Mike Riley brought some stability to the program in 1997. Riley only stayed for two years before bolting to the NFL, but he laid the foundation for Dennis Erickson’s return to the Northwest. Erickson quickly transformed OSU into a contender.

The 2000 season was quite a special time in the Pacific Northwest. Everything came together for three teams at the same time, creating the perfect storm. Oregon began the year unranked, then lost to #5 Wisconsin in non-conference play. But by October the Ducks were ranked in the top ten with big wins over #6 UCLA and #6 Washington. UO clawed their way to 6th in the AP leading to their end of season matchup with Oregon State.

The Beavers likewise were having arguably their best season in program history. OSU also began the year unranked but jumped into the polls after a 10 point win over #8 USC. Unfortunately, the next week Oregon State lost by three to the Huskies, ending their perfect season, but the Beavers kept winning, jumping up to 8th in the nation leading up to the Civil War.

UW was one of the favorites to win the conference that year, having started the season ranked 14th. This placement was vindicated following a 34-29 victory over #4 Miami. #6 Washington was upset by Oregon but then edged out Oregon State in back to back weeks to end September, then cruised to a 10-1 record to end the season with a magnificent pasting of rival Wazzu 51-3.

Everything came down to the Civil War. #5 Oregon and #8 Oregon State were suddenly playing in the biggest game in the rivalry’s history. The Beavers came out on top, winning 23-13 at home. The conference standings were tied at 7-1 between the Ducks, Beavs, and Huskies. Each team had a 1-1 record against each other in a three-way deadlock.

Arcane tiebreakers including Oregon’s loss to Wisconsin in non-conference play gifted Washington the trip to Pasadena. The #4 Huskies beat #14 Purdue 34-24. Meanwhile, #5 Oregon State mauled #10 Notre Dame in the Fiesta Bowl, demolishing the Irish 41-9 in their own claim to be the best team in the nation. #8 Oregon held off #12 Texas in the Holiday Bowl, winning 35-30.

The memorable 2000 season saw all three schools finish in the top ten. 10-2 Oregon had to settle for 7th place, probably kicking themselves for the loss to Wisconsin early in the year. Washington and Oregon State were both 11-1, and finished 3rd and 4th respectively. If they hadn’t all peaked at the same time, each of the trio could have played for a national championship.

The Ducks were even better in 2001, going 10-1 and climbing up to #2 in the AP poll, winning their second straight conference championship under coach Mike Bellotti. Controversially, UO wasn’t ranked in the top two by the BCS, and couldn’t play in the Rose Bowl either which was hosting the national championship game. Instead, #2 Oregon beat up #3 Colorado 38-16 in the Fiesta Bowl.

Washington State got back in the action. The Cougars had finished the 2nd to the Ducks in 2001 with a 10-2 record. The next year, the Wazzu tied USC atop the PAC-10 standings and attended their second Rose Bowl in six years, this time losing to Oklahoma.

From 1990 to 2002 the Northwest schools led an insurrection against California for dominance of the PAC-10. It was a glorious time, completely unprecedented in the history of West Coast football. Unfortunately it had to end. Washington probably would have kept winning under Rick Neuheisel but the university fired their head coach for gambling on basketball following the 2002 season. This sent the Huskies on a decade-long tailspin that saw them become one of the worst teams in the BCS conferences.

Mike Price didn’t make it to 2003 either, having left Washington State following his second Rose Bowl campaign for an ill-fated gig at Alabama. Bill Doba inherited a good Cougar squad and again went 10-3 in his first season, but the Cougars really fell off after than and ended up in the basement with their rivals.

Oregon and Oregon State fared much better. Mike Bellotti had the Ducks operating at a higher level than Rich Brooks ever had, routinely winning eight or more games a season. Mike Riley came back to Corvallis after Erickson left for the NFL and kept the Beavers regular contenders. However, the 2000′s were dominated by a resurgent USC. UO and OSU gave the Trojans more trouble than anybody else, but couldn’t do any better than 2nd place.

Northwest Cup Champs

Washington: 45 Oregon: 29 Washington State: 21 Oregon State: 17

The decade and a half from Washington’s national championship to the mid-2000′s when both Oregon and Oregon State were upsetting dynastic USC teams was the high water mark for college football in the Northwest. All four programs had some of their best and most memorable teams in this era.

All four won Northwest Cups, and all four played like they should have won even more. It’s a shame they all had to peak at the same time, none of them really got a moment on stage alone as the best team in the region.

Duck Dynasty: 2008-2019

Once again, a climactic shift occurred around 2009 which altered the face of football on the West Coast. Mike Bellotti’s Oregon Ducks were rolling. From 2005 to 2008 UO went 10-2, 7-6, 9-4, and 10-3. They were one of the best teams in the PAC-10 but always behind mighty USC.

Bellotti retired following the ‘08 season, Bellotti retired as Oregon’s all time winningest coach with a 116-55 record. Replacing Bellotti was his former OC, Chip Kelly. Under Kelly, the Ducks really took flight. UO went 10-3 yet again in 2009, this time winning the conference and making the Rose Bowl. It would turn out to be Kelly’s worst season in Eugene.

Meanwhile, Southern California was quickly unravelling as USC failed to win the PAC-10 for the first time since 2002 and sanctions were looming. Even rival claimants Oregon State and Cal were taking steps back. The path was wide open for UO to claim the top spot in the conference.

As far as the Northwest Cup is concerned, the Ducks were the only game in town. Following 2009, the Beavers only had one more quality season under Mike Riley before they slid to the bottom of the standings. Meanwhile the Washington schools were dead in the water. Their 2008 meeting was dubbed “the Crapple Cup” as the 1-10 Cougars managed to beat the 0-10 Huskies in double overtime. It was reminiscent of the Toilet Bowl back in 1984, and while both Evergreen state schools would eventually rebound, it wasn’t fast enough to stop UO.

Under Chip Kelly, Oregon became the most exciting program in college football. The flashy Ducks kicked in everybody’s teeth in 2010, going 12-0 and earning a trip to the BCS Championship Game where they controversially lost to Auburn. UO went 12-2 the next year, winning the PAC-12 and again making the Rose Bowl, this time beating Wisconsin. In 2012, Oregon lost the division to a resurgent Stanford but were otherwise perfect with a 12-1 record and a final #2 ranking, their second in three years.

Kelly departed for the NFL after the ‘12 season, leaving his OC and protege Mark Helfrich in charge. Things initially went really well under Helfrich. The Ducks went 11-2 in his first year in charge and once again made the National Championship Game for the 2014 season, losing this time to Ohio State. A 9-4 record in 2015 was the Ducks’ first single digit win total since 2007. It was 2016 that got Helfrich fired, in which the best team in the PAC-12 over the past decade slumped to 4-8 with seemingly no expectation.

As UO began to fall apart both Washington and Washington State rose to fill the gap. The Huskies rebuilt under Steve Sarkisian, but when Chris Petersen came to Seattle in 2014 UW really began to regain their strength. At the same time, Mike Leach was studiously turning the Cougars into a real threat. From 2016 to 2018 the Apple Cup decided the best team in the Northwest, and Washington went away with the trophy each time. Petersen’s Huskies attended three New Year’s Bowls from 2016 to 2018, their best season a 12-2 campaign in ‘16 that took them to the College Football Playoff.

It looked as though UDub was going to reclaim their spot as the best team in the region for the foreseeable future, but Petersen retired after the 2019 season and Oregon came roaring back to win the PAC-12 handily. I’m very curious to see what happens from here on out.

Northwest Cup Champs

Washington: 48 Oregon: 37 Washington State: 22 Oregon State: 17

The past decade has been the high water mark of Oregon football. The Ducks made two national championship games and finished in the top four in 4 of 5 seasons from 2010-2014. Washington’s resurgence under Chris Petersen only netted them 3 years as the top team in the conference. It remains to see if new head coach Jimmy Lake can keep the momentum up.

Hey all, I hope you enjoyed reading this series. I definitely had a good time writing it. Looks like football is finally starting so hopefully this time next week we’ll all be watching. I may be done with this series once the season starts, so thanks for reading!

-thecfbguy

#college football #Oregon Ducks #Oregon State Beavers #Washington Huskies #Washington State Cougars

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ikesenlemonadestandstories · 5 years ago

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Level 4

How is everyone doing? Are you enjoying the seasonal shorts? I hope so :) I’m getting ready to head out of town for the Holiday’s but never fear! I’ve got everything all cued up for your viewing enjoyment!

Tagging: @loudartanimeeclipse

Master List here or check the tag Ikesen AFK.

Warnings: None

Happy Reading! T~

Level 4

You logged yourself in at 6:35pm. Deciding that it would be a good idea to get all your shopping done before you were supposed to meet up with everyone. You didn’t want to be the only one unprepared. Then Yuki’d really never let you hear the end of it, and you super didn’t want to deal with that. With the flick of your joystick, you headed for the market to grab the lance you’d been eyeing for a week now. Making sure to snack between conversations with the shopkeepers.

Once your business in town was finished, you headed to your meeting point, arriving with five minutes to spare. After a few moments of fiddling around with your headset, your control began to vibrate.

*Nin-nin0217 has invited you to a group chat.*

With a smile on your face, you happily accepted.

Braves6Coins → Yo! Where you at?

Nin-nin0217 → She’s sitting over there. Near that bush.

With a smile on your face you prompted your avatar to wave. Sticking your tongue out at Yuki when he flipped you the bird.

Ur a child. ← WildCyt0m3try

TigerOfKai681 → Oho, she’s got spirit. I like it. The name suits you, Wild.

God_of_War → We’re wasting time. Let’s go

RoseW@terHeals010 → Were you seriously about to leave with out me!? Jeeze, hold your horses wouldya

God_of_War → The only one here with a horse is Brave, and you and I both know he’s got no clue how to ride it.

Braves6Coins → Hey! Wth man!

God_of_War → Are you done? Can we go?

RoseW@terHeals010 → Oh my gosh. @Brave6Coins did that hurt? Do you need ice?

Braves6Coins → Shove it!

TigerOfKai681 → Now, now. Is that any way to talk to a lady?

Fine_as_art1156 → Technically no, but how can you be so sure Rose is, in fact, a lady? Depending on stat growth, it makes more sense to play as a female character if one wishes to have access to the gremory class later on.

RoseW@terHeals010 → Now that’s just uncalled for. I’m a bonafide female. Both Brave and Nin can vouch for me there.

Brave6Coins → Who said I wanted too?

Nin-nin0217 → Rose is indeed a female.

RoseW@aterHeals010 → Thank you Nin! At least someone here wants to be healed today.

God_of_War → If you don’t plan on doing your job, why did you even bother showing up?

RoseW@terHeals010 → I came specifically to piss you off.

TigerOfKai681 → Ladies, gentlemen, War...we have a guest, we’re being very rude.

You’re being hysterical, is what you’re being. xD You guys are crazy! ← WildCyt0m3try

TigerOfKai681 → Happy we could entertain you, my lady. *bows*

You rolled your eyes at the wall of text that quickly began turning into another argument. At least this wouldn’t be boring. How did they find the time to get anything done bickering like this? You wondered as you followed them out of town and into the swap map. At least you’d get to take out a few good beasties tonight.

The group of you weren’t on the map long before you got the notification to turn your headset on.

“Is everyone here?” A voice you knew to be Sasuke’s asked over the intercom.

“Yes.” A deep baritone came through your speakers. It came out a low rumble though a bit domineering, instantly commanding your attention. Who the hell was that?

“Tiger of Kai also present.” The light tone of his voice made you smile, that certainly wasn’t what you had been expecting. At least his response narrowed down your question.

“Fine Art is here.” His voice lower, yet slightly more nasally than Tiger’s, though he spoke slower with a draw on his vowels.

“Brave checking in. I’m all good to go!” Yuki’s voice played, urgent and familiar as ever.

“Rose here, reporting for duty.” The soft soprano of your friend’s voice was in stark contrast to the voices she followed.

“Wild is present.” You spoke into your microphone, choosing to speak after everyone else had gone through the roll call, oddly nervous for them to hear your voice.

“Oh, see! Wild most certainly is a girl!” Tiger exclaimed in excitement. “No, a woman. With the voice of a goddess!”

“Uh, I think that may be a bit much.” You responded, wondering if this guy was for real. Then again, Rose had warned you at lunch he was a major flirt.

“She’s a boar is what she is,” Yukimura called out over Tiger’s ramblings.

“So you know Wild as well then?” Art questioned over the ensuing argument.

“Does it matter?” The man you assumed by now was War asked, the exasperation clear in his voice. “Can we get on with this quest? Or do you all plan to just stand around and blather all day?”

“I’m just trying to get to know my teammates,” Tiger responded defensively.

“Best not to let him get to know you too well, ladies,” Sasuke responded, sending the whole group into a tizzy. It wasn’t often that anyone got to hear him use that tone of voice.

You were so busy enjoying the conversation the group had to offer you almost missed the change in music as you pushed forward through the swamp.

“Uh guys, beasties. Twelve o’clock.” You called over the mic. Taking down a low-level monster that had come careening through the forest in your direction.

The entire group sprung into action, moving around the map to better defend yourselves and the area. It didn’t take long to take care of the surprise attack, and the intercom system came back to life quickly as everyone became less concentrated on using their unit for battle.

“So, you’re not completely useless.” War commented as you hacked at another enemy.

“Uh, thanks. I think?” You responded in near confusion as a new mission header popped up across your display.

*Mission: Defend the base for 12 turns, or defeat all of the enemies. Fail: The base falls, all units defeated.*

It looked easy enough, but that didn’t mean anything. This game was quickly becoming known for its ridiculous curveballs. With its initial success and players becoming more and more adept at defeating the challenges, the creators had become increasingly creative at taking down the higher ranking players. So it was better to watch out. Especially with someone in a Master Class on the team. The last thing you wanted to do was be smacked across the swamp by some weird-ass beast that regenerated every two turns if you couldn’t defeat it fast enough. Not on your to-do list for the evening.

As each player accepted the mission, positions were distributed, and the map was enlarged in the top left corner of your TV. So you had all been separated.

“So, what’s the plan? It looks like they divided us to the far corners, with Art being the closest to the base. Are we all bee-lining to take defensive measures, or do we just want to cut down anything we come across?” You asked wondering how your new team wanted to go about this.

“A beautiful voice and brains! Where did you find this woman?” Tiger asked in a sing-song voice.

“In a dungeon. Can we please move on?” Yukimura seethed. Technically he wasn’t wrong. You and Rose did work in the basement of the hospital, it was an apt nickname for the lab.

“I say we split the jobs.” Sasuke cut in. “Tiger, you’re not going to make it very far, so I say you do what you can and obliterate anything that’s dumb enough to get near you.”

“That I can do.” The smile was evident in Tiger’s voice.

“Art, are you okay to hold down the fort? Blow things away from a distance? We’ll send Wild in as back-up. Her movement stat is exceptional, and she can cover the most ground the fastest.” Sasuke suggested, and you preened internally at the compliment.

“I would love back-up. Wild, whenever you can get here would be wonderful.” Art spoke through his mic.

“Rose, you should work your way towards the middle of the field where that forest is. You can hide in the terrane while also healing using your wide faith magic range to your advantage.”

“Roger that,” Rose responded with enthusiasm.

“Brave, since you’re on the horse do what you can to take out as many beasts as you can before they reach Rose. Once you get there and the forest is secured for her, make your way around the field.” Sasuke suggested.

“So take down as many beasts as possible for Rose. Got it.” Yuki replied, a little too smug.

“War, please feel free to do as you always do,” Sasuke spoke, quick to interject the fight that was bound to start with Yuki and Rose.

“Of course.” His voice was drawn out, and you could sense the smile. War was going to enjoy this.

“I’ll wander the map, open up any gates and chest I see before making my way towards the base. Sound like a plan?”

“A very good one.” You replied, excited for the battle to begin. The muddled confirmation of your teammates could be heard in your headset. You couldn’t make much out with everyone talking at once, but that didn’t matter to you. This was still going to be a blast.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen afk #ikesen modern au #ikesen gamer au #ikesen long fic #ikesen reader insert #my story

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