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cyanide-latte · 7 days

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💬

He wakes, suddenly and without knowing why. He is already up and moving, sliding out of his bed and crossing his room as fast as he can without running, trying to discern what could have woken him and with such a sense of urgency coursing through his limbs and his rapidly beating heart.

Was it a sound? But if so, what sound? If anything, the house seems a little too quiet. And it certainly isn't the excitement for the weekend and his inevitable twelfth birthday celebration. A quick glance at a digital clock on one of the small ornamental tables, backlit without being too bright, indicates it is barely fifteen minutes until the turn of the hour to two in the morning. So…what woke him?

Troubled, Ren walks faster and faster through the house, and his question is answered in moments as he stumbles upon the open front door, blowing in icy air. His heart speeds up further as he sees the figure of his father standing at the end of the house’s stone walk in his sleepwear, looking around outside.

“Dad?” Ren calls out to him.

No response.

Hesitating, worrying that to step out of the house entirely while the door is open is to invite dire trouble, Ren tries again to call his father. But this time he forces himself to move forward, to step outside and approach him.

Wei Shun continues to glance around, and as Ren draws close, he can see his father's gaze is half-lidded, unfocused. Sleepwalking? His father doesn't have a history of sleepwalking, though. And even if he’s asleep, his expression is strange. He looks like he’s searching for something.

Ren hesitates again. He knows you shouldn't try to wake a sleepwalker, but he’s nervous and he doesn't want his dad to get hurt. He tries to look around, to see if he can get any idea of what brought Wei Shun out here, but to no avail. Just the other houses and buildings, their small street, the quiet, thick blanket of white snow. It looks innocent and peaceful, the same as any other night in the winter in Upper Bàoyìng.

Though he does feel an itch between his shoulder blades, like they're being watched. Ren doesn't like it. It kicks something inside him into action, and he gently places a hand on his father's upper arm.

“Dad,” he says again, firmly and loud enough it seems to echo among the snow. “Dad? It's Ren.”

There is a tense eternity as he watches his father blink rapidly and frown, like he's trying to process something muffled and distant. After a moment, Wei Shun groans and presses a hand to his forehead, curling in on himself slightly like he's struggling with an abrupt migraine.

When he blinks again, his eyes are clearer and they clear further when he looks down at Ren. Recognition sets in and he offers him a tired, fond smile.

“My little phoenix…” he says, removing his hand from his forehead to squeeze Ren’s shoulder. But the next second he's looking around with a troubled frown again. “Why are we…outside? In the middle of the night?”

“I think you were sleepwalking,” Ren answers, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Were you having a dream?”

Wei Shun’s next words chill him worse than the cold outside: “I'm not sure. I thought I heard something calling to me.”

Ren doesn't know what to make of that, but he wants to get inside immediately. He can feel the sensation of eyes watching them again, and he gingerly pulls on his father's arm to get him to go back into the house. Thankfully, his dad comes along without argument or issue, and once inside he locks the door behind them, tight.

“I'm sorry for troubling you, my phoenix. Go back to sleep. It's alright. You did well.”

Trying to get back to sleep is difficult, and when he does, his dreams are troubled.

Five days later, only a day or two after his birthday, Ren wakes in the night again. This time he feels pure panic, and he makes no effort to stay quiet or calm as he finds himself racing through the house, propelled by fear.

But he's too late this time. The door stands wide open, and his father's footprints are already getting covered by the falling snow.

Frightened, truly frightened for one of the only moments in his memory, Ren bolts back inside, racing to find his mother still asleep in his parent's bed. Desperately he shakes Wei Yawen awake, frantically explaining the situation to her.

An alarm is raised throughout Upper Bàoyìng. His youngest uncle, Wei Gang, the current leader of their people, organizes a search with a troubled vengeance. Several family members come to talk to them, many to comfort Wei Yawen and keep vigil with her, and Ren’s cousin, Wei Xinyi, sits with him until the adrenaline leaves him exhausted and he passes out next to them, murmuring in his sleep that he still feels like something unfriendly is watching them.

He never sees his father again.

—————

Thank you, Anon! I've been wanting to write this memory of Wei Renqiao's for quite a while, especially since it plants a long-term seed for the events that lead to his eventual Overblot.

Taglist: @blithesharem @tixdixl @ramshacklerumble @inmateofthemind @simons-twsted-children

@rainesol @distant-velleity @elenauaurs @theleechyskrunkly @thehollowwriter (message me if you want to be added to the taglist for my TWST OC stuff!)

#TWST fic #TWST OCs #Wei Renqiao #my OCs #memory writing asks #Cyanide speaks

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mister-supernova · 4 years

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If I Saw You on the Street

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader - Platonic Josie Saltzman x Reader

After Malivore

For as long as you could remember, summer vacation was your absolute favorite time of the year. To your surprise, it’s actually been a huge drag for you this year. It wasn’t like this was the worst summer ever--you could think of a few others that could take that spot--but there was definitely something off that you couldn’t piece together.

For instance, no one has any idea as to how Landon destroyed Malivore, not even Landon himself. That whole day seemed to be a huge blur to all of the students. You remembered the bigger events like the school defeating Triad, but everyone seems to struggle when it comes to the smaller details.

In order to keep yourself busy, you decided to stay at the school and take a summer job at the Mystic Grill. Besides the fact that everyone else was back home with their families, the whole school had this off-putting sense of emptiness. The place has magic in the walls for crying out loud, you usually feel some sense of liveliness.

There was this one room in particular that you felt strangely drawn to. You had no idea why since you knew that no one stayed in that room this past year. At least, no one you knew anyways.

One day out of pure curiosity, you picked the lock to that room to see what was special about it.

Just as you expected, it was just a regular empty dorm that was probably going to be taken up by a new student during the fall. It looked like every other bedroom at the school, but this one felt familiar.

Something that caught you off guard was the scent that faintly lingered in the room. The best way you could describe it was something floral with a hint of sweetness and spice--vanilla and cinnamon maybe--and it wasn’t like anything else you had smelled in the school before.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave for the longest time. The urge to stay and wander trumped over the obvious choice that was to walk away.

Something happened here, you thought.

A few small drops of pastel blue paint chips stained the wooden floorboards and you wondered how the hell they got there given the rooms have white walls.

Instead of questioning it any deeper, you just assumed that a student who had this room before must’ve gotten the paint on the floor and the janitors hadn’t noticed it.

But how could they have missed that?

You stood there for what felt like hours, trying to piece together what it was that made this place have this unexplainable affect on you. You could’ve stayed there for the rest of the day digging through your brain for an answer that would never come.

At the end of the day, you knew nothing would come to mind no matter how hard you tried. It was like the answer was at the tip of your tongue, but your mind was radio silent.

Frustrated and defeated, you had to force yourself to leave the strange room. After that, you made yourself forget about that place completely for the rest of the summer and refused to ever return to it.

Whenever you weren’t at work, you spent time with Landon, Josie, and a wolfed-out Rafael which was fine in the beginning. Dorian gave you permission to shift in the woods on full moons for the summer so that Raf could talk to somebody and you guys could possibly get information on how to help him.

He definitely appreciated the company that you could provide, but alas he had no idea on how he could be turned back.

The happier times were the nights you four had weekly movie nights by the Old Mill. You all would alternate who would pick the movie to watch and Landon absolutely hated that you chose a horror movie every single time, but you loved hearing the phoenix boy screech with terror. Josie would get a good kick out of it, too and you were positive that you’d see Raf wag his tail every time Landon screamed.

During those small moments, things felt like they could possibly get back to normal, but once you stepped foot back in the school, you were lost again.

Your thoughts were much louder through the night. It would get so bad that you could barely get any sleep and the times that you would, you’d wake up screaming from a night terror.

There was one night when you were tossing and turning, you knocked on Josie’s door to ask if she knew some kind of incantation to get you to fall asleep. You were up for anything at that point, even letting her swing a frying pan over your head to knock you out.

Not wanting to hurt you or possibly kill you, Josie made you some sleepytime tea instead which actually helped a lot. It didn’t help so much with the vivid dreams you’ve been having, but you thought that it was better than getting no sleep at all.

Everything felt like it was going decently well until Raf decided to bow out once Josie and Landon started getting close. You wanted to curse at him for making you the third wheel, but you understood that he couldn’t wait here forever for some solution that could help him become human again. He had to move on somehow, especially seeing that his best friend seemed to be moving on, too.

Regardless, you started feeling awkward hanging out with just the two of them. They wanted to include you during their weekly movie nights, but you’d just make up some excuse that you had to be up early for work the next morning.

Landon--damn him for knowing your work schedule--could tell that you were bullshitting, but he didn’t want to force you into doing something you didn’t want to do.

You tried busying yourself with other activities like running through the woods, canoeing in the lake, taking extra shifts at work, binge eating all the good snacks in the kitchen; you even got yourself into drawing and painting for some weird reason, but no matter what you did, there was still something missing.

Towards the end of the summer, you didn’t feel like your usual jokester self. Sure, you’d throw out a line of sarcasm or make a witty comment here and there, but most of it would sound forced. You’d mainly do it so that Josie and Landon wouldn’t worry about you so much, but Josie quickly picked up on your facade.

They really wanted to help you figure out what was making you feel this way, but as much as you appreciate their help, there was nothing they could do. How could they figure out what was wrong if you didn’t even know for yourself?

One day after your shift at work, you decided to do something you never in your wildest dreams thought you would ever do.

You started cleaning your room.

Josie volunteered to help even though you assured her you’d be fine doing it alone. She bribed you by saying she’d buy you a milkshake if you let her help, so without another word, you agreed to let her stay and assist.

“Gosh, do you throw out any of your old assignments?” Josie asks as she rummages through your desk drawers, “This is an algebra one paper from three years ago, Y/n,” she says, flashing your old homework assignment with a huge F circled in the front.

“Hey, less judging and more cleaning.” You say, digging through your dresser for clothes you don’t wear anymore.

“Did you try writing a reminder for a history test or something?”

You furrow your eyebrows before turning to look at Jo, “What do you mean?”

“You have this post-it note that says “Don’t forget H”, but that’s all that’s written,” she holds up the note and from the other side of your bed, you read exactly what she had said.

It definitely looked like you tried scribbling another letter after the H, but it ended up being a long messy squiggle, “Uh, I don’t know,” you shrug, “Probably. I must’ve been half asleep when I wrote it though because I have no clue when I did that.”

Josie puffs her lip out in confusion, “Well. I would be surprised by that, but judging by the ten cans of energy drinks I just tossed out, it’s not so surprising to hear that your memory is a little fuzzy.”

You drop your jaw in shock, “Is today Judge Y/n Day and I wasn’t made aware of it? You asked to help clean my room Jo, now save your judgments for another day please.”

Josie playfully rolls her eyes at you, followed by a small chuckle, “Toss?” She asks, ready to crumple the piece of paper up. You take a second to answer back, wondering whether or not if you did forget some history assignment or maybe something even bigger than that.

“Sure,” you feel your stomach churn seeing her throw the note in the trash bag, but there was no taking it back now.

Another few minutes of silence pass until Josie speaks up, “Since when do you draw?”

You look back up from your clothes to see Jo now holding up a sketchbook you snagged at the lost and found a few weeks ago. It was brand new and untouched, so you thought to yourself “why not?”.

After explaining that to Josie, she flipped through some of the first few pages. You were no Leonardo DiCaprio--or whatever that painter guy’s name was--but you thought you were decent with your sketches.

“These are really good, Y/n. Did you just think of these by yourself?” She asks, talking about the drawings you had of a girl you’ve been seeing in your dreams.

You could only see parts of the girl’s face. Mostly you’ve only been able to clearly see features like her eyes and hair, so most of the pages were taken up by a pair of blue eyes and waves of auburn hair.

“Not really. I’ve been having these really vivid dreams lately.” You tell Josie.

“This is who you see?” She looks down at the pages again, “Who is that? She doesn't look like anyone we know.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either. She’s all I’ve been seeing, though.”

“Well, it looks like you’ve found yourself a hidden talent.” Josie smiles, gently setting the book back down on the desk, “And maybe she’s your soulmate,” she teases.

You just roll your eyes with a small smile and get back to your tasks.

Like a girl that beautiful could even exist let alone talk to me, you think to yourself.

As you continue sorting through your clothes, you notice a pair of sweats that look almost smaller than half your size.

“Uh, Jo?” She turns to your attention, “These aren’t yours, are they?”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “How short do you think I am? I think my legs are a little longer than whoever those are.”

“Well, they’re not mine, obviously. How’d they get into my drawer?”

“Maybe they belonged to whoever lived in this dorm before you?” Josie shrugs.

“But the dresser was completely empty when I moved in,” you think for a moment, now questioning everything, “At least, I thought it was. I would think that I would’ve taken these out if they were here. Why would I keep a pair of sweatpants that I don’t fit in?”

“You do a lot of questionable things, you know. Like that one time you jumped through a bonfire wondering how hot it really was or when you tried to do a backflip off the roof of the school and into the pool or the time you “drank” a beer through your-”

You raise your hands in surrender and cut her off before she could finish, “Okay, I get it! I do stupid shit. The sweatpants belonged to whoever lived in here before I moved in and I didn’t take them out of the drawer. Case closed. Swiftly moving on.”

You were positive they weren’t there when you moved in, but there weren’t any other reasons you could think of as to how they got into your dresser.

Seconds before you tossed it back into the bottom of your drawer, your nose barely caught the same sweet and spicy floral scent that you recalled smelling in the strange room. Breathing it in again brought back that memory of being mentally lost in that room, but oddly enough this time it made you feel calm.

After another hour passed you and Josie ended up filling three bags of trash, one of them recycled trash, and one large donation box of clothes.

You didn’t waste any time reminding her that she owed you a milkshake. She kind of hoped that you would’ve forgotten about your deal, but she was a woman of her word.

You made a “compromise” to take your box of clothes over to the donating center on the other side of the town square while Josie bought the milkshakes.

Your task was a lot quicker than Josie’s since it was pretty much rush hour at the Grill right now, so you waited for her on one of the benches in the square.

Sitting by yourself with nothing else to do but wait, you couldn’t help but feel that empty feeling return. The emptiness never hit you all at once, but it definitely drained the hell out of you.

Again, you felt stumped. Like there’s somewhere you should be or something you should be doing or someone you should be with. You knew Josie was going to be back any minute, but that wasn’t what was missing.

You anxiously looked toward the Mystic Grill, feeling your breaths becoming more and more shallow as every second passes. You started wishing Josie would walk out so that all your worries could just go away.

Then--almost like you knew right where to look--your gaze stopped when you noticed someone looking at you from where you just came from on the other side of the town square.

You couldn’t make out her facial features from so far away, but it was the auburn color of her hair that stuck out to you more than anything. For a moment--and just for a moment--all the weight that had been weighing on your shoulders this summer felt much lighter and everything felt okay again.

“One cookies and cream milkshake,” Josie’s voice startles you and you face her abruptly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she chuckles, lending you your milkshake.

“No, you’re good. I was just…” you look back to the spot you saw the girl only to find that she was gone, “I was just lost in thought.”

You had no idea what just happened or how you seemed to have possibly seen the girl from your dreams, but just a glimpse of her made you feel more emotions than you have all summer long. Because of that, a huge part of you hoped that you would see her again.

heyyyyyy beautiful people! thanks for over 100 likes on This Isn’t Goodbye you guys gals and nb pals! i’m super super happy that you’ve been enjoying this series so far! still have no idea how many more parts this will be just yet lol but i really appreciate every one of you for the love <3

*also the title was inspired by the song Dreams Tonite by Alvvays in case you were curious ;)*

taglist: @chicken-wang09 @trikruismybitch @sodangtired

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson imagine #legacies imagine #legacies x reader #legacies cw #legacies

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marauders-venting · 3 years

Text

Our Last Summer (Part 2)

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of death and disappearances, hints at sex

words: 1789

note: based on the song ‘Our Last Summer’ by ABBA

We made our way along the river and we sat down in the grass by the Eiffel tower. I was so happy we had met, it was the age of no regret, oh yes

“Come on, it’s the last Hogsmeade visit we’ll ever have!” Dorcas said. “You have to get in.” Remus sat outside the water of the shallow river.

“You know we can come back to visit Hogsmeade right?” Remus said. “It’s a village, not part of Hogwarts.”

“Ugh you know what I mean,” they said. “Just come inside, Remus, it’s fun.” She reached to pull his foot in but Remus was too quick for her and his foot slipped out of their grasp.

“Moony, just come in,” James said. “It’s really hot outside anyway and the water is nice.”

“If you don’t come in we’ll splash you,” Peter warned him.

“Guys, leave him alone,” Sirius said. He had taken his shirt off (surprise surprise) and left it outside on the grass. Remus was finding it very difficult to focus on anything else. “If he doesn’t want to come in he doesn’t have to.” Maybe if Remus was less focused on the fact that Sirius was half-naked he would’ve noticed the mischievous twinkle in his grey eyes or the smirk playing on his lips. Sirius came out of the water and sat beside Remus. He waited for maybe two seconds before pushing him into the water. Remus sat in the river, spluttering and wiping water out of his eyes.

“Thanks for that,” he said to Sirius.

“Anytime, babe,” Sirius said, rejoining everybody in the water. “You’re too trusting, Moons.”

“That’s a first,” Remus muttered.

“Oh lighten up, Remus,” Lily said, splashing him with water. “It’s fun.” Remus splashed her back and soon enough a water fight broke out (as they do).

To an outsider, it would have been unclear who won but James, Sirius, Remus, Lily and Marlene would all claim that the victory had been their own. Either way, by the end everybody was soaked from head to toe.

“Let’s go get food,” Sirius said.

“I’ll come with you, I’m starving,” James said. They climbed out of the water and began drying themselves with their wands.

“Wait,” Lily said, climbing out of the water as well. “Don’t waste money on food while we still get free food from the school. We raided the kitchens this morning.” She opened her bag to reveal loaves of bread and spreads.

“Wow,” James said. “I’m impressed, Evans. I didn’t know you had it in you, being Head Girl and all.”

“Right, like you haven’t done this a million times and you’re Head Boy,” Lily said, blushing a bit. “And Remus was a prefect and he’s done it plenty of times too.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.

“Me, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary and Alice,” Lily said.

“What, you didn’t think you guys were the only ones who could pull pranks, did you?” Marlene asked. They all came out of the water with Remus and Frank as Lily started pulling food out of her bag. They sat on the grass making sandwiches, talking and laughing.

“I can’t believe it’s nearly over,” Sirius said, looking back at the castle. “Has it been seven years already?”

“I know,” Mary said. “It feels like time has barely passed since our first day.”

Sirius thought back to the day he sat on the chair in front of the whole school with the Sorting Hat on his head, the thrill he felt when the hat called out Gryffindor, not Slytherin. He looks around at his friends, the people sitting here now and he just feels so grateful that he met them. All of them, every single one. Who knows where he’d be without them. Probably still at his parents’ house. Yes, Sirius thinks, I definitely got lucky. And as his eyes meet Remus’ and their hands link together, Sirius knows everything will be ok. He has no regrets. Everything will be just fine.

But underneath we had a fear of flying, of growing old, a fear of slowly dying. We took a chance like we were dancing our last dance

But despite that confidence that Sirius had felt towards the end of his time at Hogwarts, there had been cracks of fear and doubt even then. The war was still being fought and their side was growing weaker by the day. People were dying left, right and center and Sirius felt helpless in it all. He was in the Order, he was fighting, he was trying. But it wasn’t working. They were losing. And Sirius could not shake the fear that haunted him day and night: it’s only a matter of time before someone he loves dies. Everybody Sirius cares about is in the Order of the Phoenix. At this rate, the chances that they’ll all make it out of this alive are minuscule.

Sirius is trying to stay positive but it’s not working. Most days the only thing that gets him through to the night is the thought that if he stops fighting it’ll just be worse.

He usually went to the Potter’s in the evening but he was just too tired tonight. Remus was out, probably on a mission, so Sirius collapsed on the couch. He lay there for a while, eyes closed but not asleep. Just thinking. Thinking and thinking and thinking. It’s like that was all he ever did these days. Thinking about James and Lily and Harry, how unfair this was on them, raising a family in the middle of a war. Thinking of Remus, of how far away he felt lately even though they shared a bed every night. Thinking of Peter, who he hadn’t seen in a while. Just thinking.

It felt like hours had passed but it had probably barely been one. Sirius gives up on sleep and decides to make a cup of tea. He opens his eyes and looks at the clock. It’s nearly eleven-thirty. And Remus still isn’t home. His missions didn’t usually run this late. And when they did he always made sure to tell Sirius. He started to panic. Relax, he told himself, he probably just went to Lily and James’. Just because you were too tired doesn’t mean he can’t go.

Sirius hurries to the phone and dials the number for the Potter residence.

“Hello?” Lily’s voice.

“Lily? Hey, it’s Sirius.”

“Oh, hi Sirius. Is everything ok?”

“Um, is Remus at your place?”

“No,” Lily says. “Why? Has he not come home yet?”

“No,” Sirius says. He can hear the panic building in his voice.

“I’m sure everything’s ok,” Lily said quickly but it doesn’t sound like she believes it herself. “Have you tried checking with Peter? Or maybe with Marlene and Dorcas?”

“No, I–I haven’t called anyone else yet,” Sirius said. His hands were beginning to shake.

“Ok Sirius, don’t panic,” Lily said soothingly. “We’ll find him. You call Peter and I’ll call Marlene and Dorcas. Even if he isn’t—”

“Remus!” Sirius says. The door opens and Remus walks in, kicking off his shoes. “Lily, he’s here, I have to go. Thanks though.”

“Oh thank god,” Lily mutters. “Ok, I’m glad he’s ok. Bye Sirius.”

“Bye, Lils.” Sirius hung up the phone and ran to throw his arms around Remus. Remus stumbled slightly but hugged Sirius back tightly.

“It’s ok,” Remus said into Sirius’ hair. “It’s ok.”

“I thought… I thought…” Sirius felt the tears well up in his eyes. I thought I lost you.

“I know,” Remus whispers. “But it’s ok. I’m here now. I’m sorry.”

“What kept you?” Sirius asked, almost angry as he pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“Dumbledore wanted to talk to me about something,” Remus said. “Some new mission.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ heart sank. More dangerous missions, more risks, more deaths. He couldn’t stand it anymore. “What kind of mission?”

“He wants me to… to spy on the werewolves who sided with Voldemort,” Remus said. He sounded bitter.

“What?” Sirius said, shocked. “He wants you to spy—”

“On werewolves, yeah,” Remus said. “He says it’s important to try and get them on our side. Or at least to try and find out Voldemort’s plans through them.”

“And you… you’re ok with this?” Sirius asks.

“Well I have to be, don’t I?” Remus says. “It’s about the only useful thing I can do for the Order.” Then after a moment, he adds, “Sirius, what’s wrong? If you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”

“Do you want to do it? Cause you don’t exactly sound enthusiastic about the offer.”

“I just…” Remus sighed. “I want to be useful.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Sirius said. “I’m worried about you, Remus. I’m scared.”

“I know, love. I’m scared too.”

“I want you to be happy,” Sirius says, taking his hand.

“Then I need to do this mission,” Remus says, “I want to help, I— like you and James and Lily and Peter are. Whatever time I lose during the full moon, I make up for it by spying. Instead of being an inconvenience, I’ll be an asset.” Sirius nods.

“If that’s really what you want,” he says.

“Look, I know it’s scary. But it’ll be ok. As long as we have each other we’ll be fine.”

“Promise you’ll stay with me?”

“I promise,” Remus whispered, kissing him softly. Sirius leaned into the touch, sliding his arms around Remus’ neck. They had been growing distant lately and Sirius had needed this. He missed Remus. Was it possible to miss someone you shared a house with, shared a bed with? Apparently, it was.

“Are you tired?” Sirius asked softly, still holding Remus close.

“Not really,” Remus said. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”

“How about I play some music and we can… dance?” Sirius said.

“Hmm, but we both know that I am the least coordinated person in existence and I cannot dance,” Remus said, smiling.

“Come on Moons, dance with me,” Sirius said, smirking and taking a step back. He turned on the radio and the song Endless Love by Lionel Riche and Diana Ross was playing.

“I’ll hold you close in my arms,” Sirius sang, pulling Remus back in. “I can’t resist your charms, and love, I’ll be a fool for you—”

“You’ll be a fool anyway,” Remus muttered under his breath. But he was smiling, his hands on Sirius’ waist as they stumbled danced across the living room.

“Shh I’m singing, Moony,” Sirius said. “You mean the world to me. Oh, I know, I’ve found in you, my endless love.” They locked eyes, fiery amber and stormy grey, before melting into another kiss. Needless to say, not much dancing or sleeping was done that night.

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Gilded Cage {2}

Lu Xin Lee x OFC Phoenix Argent AU

Warning: Cursing, Plot

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Phoenix has been different her entire life. Not just because her father is rich and she has a lovely big house. Phoenix has a secret about her–a secret that can either make her very powerful or very dead. Because of this secret, she’s lived her life in a gilded cage. When she breaks free, that action creates a dangerous and destructive chain of events that soon have Phoenix wondering if she was better off in this cage. That is until a man who moves and kills like the devil but looks like an angel steps in, showing her that sometimes we have to claim our freedom, no matter the consequences.

Note: Okay, you guys are super supportive and I LOVE YOU ALL!!! So, we will continue. Again, thank you very much for reading and supporting!!

As always, thank you so much for reading!

If you enjoyed this please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive/Picture Insets***

~~~~~~~~~~

Once you opened your eyes for a few blissful seconds, you thought you were in some remote part of the world far, far away from the dangers of your life. All was quiet, all was still, and you could even smell the faint scent of coffee and coconuts. It was a strange combination, but it was pleasant smelling.

Once those blissful seconds ticked away, the idea that you were anywhere, but reality quickly faded as pain radiated along your right side. It was pain that had you bolting upright, which only intensified the ache. Once you caught your breath, you found a bandage around your waist. That alone was alarming. With the sheet pooled in your lap, you noticed you were topless. That alarm rose expeditiously as you lifted up the sheet and saw you only wore your black underwear.

Again, your head spun as if on a swivel as you carefully took in your surroundings. You didn't recognize it at all. It slowly dawned on you that it was because this was not your house. Above you were dark wooden beams, and on the walls was washed out red brick. It couldn’t possibly be a hotel either, you thought. The paintings that decorated the walls looked masculine but high end. They could have been done by unknown indie artists. As your eyes made it to the bed you laid in, you determined this was a man's bed. It had to be. The grey and neutral velvet feeling textiles and the equally bland colors surrounding you gave off an elegant feeling. The bed was a beautiful piece of furniture, though. It was sleek, large, and comfortable. Bergamot, sandalwood, and rich cigar smoke caught your nostrils. It was definitely a man’s bedroom.

Getting away from that, you looked around for any sign of your clothes. There was none, not even your bra. Gathering your strength, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood after pumping yourself up for the pain you suspected would follow. Once upright on the cold dark wood floors, you tried to steady yourself and find a stance that didn’t have pain radiating through your midsection. You then slowly slinked around, clutching the velvet sheets to your damn near naked body.

"Where the hell am I?"

Each step you took, you felt the discomfort in your side. You weren't sure if it was the wound or how tightly the bandage was bound. When you made it to the door, you touched it, realizing it was glass. The more you inspected it, you further realized it was tinted glass. It was either tech controlled or tinted on the inside, and whoever was outside was staring right in.

You looked around for a weapon of some sort but only found a heavy stone bust of someone who looked like Medusa. With it tightly in hand, you took a deep breath, held the sheet tightly with your free hand and prepared to barge through the door, ready to bash in the skull of whoever was on the other side. When you did, you expected to come face to face with some perv who was at least in his fifties, heavyset, possibly balding, and watching you through the glass in his underwear. There was no one there. The only things you were met with were the setting sun's colors shining in through the windows and the sounds of some sort of k-rap lowly booming from speakers.

"What the fuck!?"

A sound to your right drew your attention and out walked the sexiest man you'd seen in a long time. He had to have been almost seven feet tall. The white button-down shirt he wore was designer you could tell from the Gucci colors on his collar. It fit him better than perfect, it was a second skin, and you could tell that skin was just as perfect as how the shirt fit. The stranger’s hair was slightly buzzed on the side, with the majority of it coifed to the middle.

His head snapped to you before his eyes dropped to the statue in your hands. That was when he cocked an eyebrow as if asking a question.

"Take it easy," he warned, raising his hands a little higher, showing you the larger than normal chef's knife in his right hand.

Sensing danger, you slanted your head toward him then charged him.

"Oh shit!"

It was all he got out before you leaped over the kitchen counter and threw a kick right into his chest. The stranger groaned but only stepped back a few steps sending the knife clattering to the floor. Wasting no time, you threw more punches and blows his way, hoping to gain the upper hand. Every offensive shot you threw; he was on the defense blocking every single one. It didn’t even look like it took much effort.

"Calm down,” he advised.

"Fuck you, you creeper!"

You hurled an elbow at him that connected right into his gut. Instead of soft fleshy skin, you were met with rock hard abs. Jesus, you thought, he's built perfectly too. The stranger spun you then put you into a headlock. Both your hands grabbed his elbow, trying to pry him off. That action had the sheet that was haphazardly wrapped around you fall to the floor. You were naked again, except now in front of him.

"Shit,” he murmured in a way that was slightly above a whisper.

Seeing he was distracted, you stomped his foot. The action had his arms lowering enough for you to spin and push him onto the table behind him. You quickly grabbed the first item you saw—a knife--and held it to his throat.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you want!"

"You're in my house. I should be asking the questions," he countered in a smug tone.

"I'm the one with the knife to your throat!"

In seconds he'd done a tricky twisting flip move that sent you onto the table he was just strung across with your hands pinned above your head and his body pressed to yours.

"Seems like I'm the one with the knife now."

You saw a cocky smirk on his face, and though you wanted to claw it off, you also appreciated his beauty. The new angle aided in your observation that he was gorgeous. Too damn gorgeous. You struggled underneath him, desperately wanting the upper hand. He refused to relinquish it. The tightness of how he gripped your wrists said it.

"Calm down. You'll open up the stitches," he cautioned.

You stilled then. "You did this?"

"Yeah, you were bleeding out. I had to do something."

"Including strip me?"

He slowly licked his lips ending on a soft smile, but his eyes remained on yours.

"I didn't look, I promise."

You couldn't tell if he was lying or not. Something inside said he had to have peeked.

"I'm going to let you go, chill out will ya."

Slowly he released you and backed away with his hands up where you could see them. When he turned his back, you sat up and hugged your arms across your breasts.

"Here."

He held out the discarded sheet to you. You quickly snatched it then wrapped it around your body again.

Sensing you were decent again, he cautiously turned, "Jesus, where'd you learn to fight like that? You're sloppy but effective," he half complimented. Narrowing your eyes at him, you ignored his question and asked one of your own.

"Who the fuck are you?"

His smirk, this time, turned to a smile. You were sure that smile had convinced many a woman to come right back here. Before your head to drift to the possibilities of how he moved in that bedroom of his, he spoke.

"The name's Lu Xin," he said as he leaned against the counter to cross his arms across his chest. The action had his biceps flexing and your eyes dropping to take them in.

“Who the fuck is Lu Xin?”

“The man who saved your life.”

It all flooded back to you. You were running from the hotel, being slammed to the ground, the dead bodies, the assassins, and him stepping in and fighting them off. When his face came back into focus, the look he was giving you had you licking your lips.

“How are you feeling?” Lu Xin made a move toward you.

“I didn’t need your help,” you smugly said, walking past him before he could get too close. You then stepped into the living room area.

“Sure, you didn’t. My mistake. It must have looked like you were about to be shot. You had it. My fault.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Shut up.”

Lu Xin scoffed then shook his head, “That’s a great thank you for patching you up.”

You touched your side at the mention of your injury and winched.

“What happened?”

“I got to you, but not quick enough. The bullet grazed you. It’s not too deep, but I had to stitch you up—six stitches,” Lu Xin informed.

When you didn’t speak, he continued as he walked closer. “That’s why you’re—naked. I had to get to it, and there was no way you were sleeping in my bed filthy.”

“Where’re my clothes?”

“Ruined.” It was a matter of fact statement that said he didn’t think much of tossing them.

“So, what do I wear?”

Lu Xin quickly gave your body a once over as he licked and bit his bottom lip. It must have been a two-second action, but you noticed. Lu Xin then walked across the living room to a closet and pulled out a cardboard box. He rifled through it then held up two items: a tank top and a black pants. You walked closer but not too close and examined the items. They were women’s clothing.

“You just have a box of women’s clothes?”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared.”

Rolling your eyes, not believing that one bit, you snatched the garments and walked back into his bedroom to get dressed. As soon as the door closed, you opened it again and popped your head out to speak.

“Don’t worry, the controls for the windows are in the bedroom. I can’t see anything,” Lu Xin explained. Narrowing your eyes again, you retreated inside once again. A few minutes later, you remerged dressed in the tank top and yoga pants that so happened to fit. You had so many questions, but you knew questions were tit for tat. Plus, his home and demeanor told you more than you needed to know. Without a word, you made a move toward the door.

“So, that’s it?”

Lu Xin stood in the hall, smoothly leaning on the wall. He looked as if he expected something.

“Yeah. Thanks.” You continued your walk, determined to leave but only made it a step or two before he spoke again.

“Thanks? Wow, it seems that your life must not be worth very much for that kind of thank you.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed out. Part of you wondered what kind of thank you he wanted. “Look, thanks, but it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t need your help.”

“How were you going get out of it?”

“Somehow. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself,” you replied as you passed him, leaving a few more steps to the door.

“I don’t doubt that. You come off as resourceful—beautiful and resourceful.”

Your belly fluttered. Oh, he’s smooth, you thought. Scoffing, you shook your head.

“See you, Lu Xin.”

“Don’t I get to know your name? I mean, seeing as I just saved your life.”

With your hand on the door, you stopped again and thought about his words, then shook your head. You knew you should just leave. You knew it wasn’t a good idea telling him anything about you, even your name.

Sighing, you spoke, “No need. We won’t meet again.”

With that, you opened the door and left. You had to get the hell out of this city now that not only Rafe’s men were here but now so were the Hallowed Helix.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Tags:

@chaneajoyyy @dangerouslovefanfic @munteanhorewrites@sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @literaturefeen @maxcullen @night-of-the-living-shred @youremysuperstar @i-just-like-fanfics @shar74nett @itsjusttaralove @ak329 @msblkfire84

#gilded cage fic #lu xin lee #lu xin lee faniction #lu xin x reader #lu xin x you #lu xin x black reader #black fanfiction

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sequackquack · 3 years

Text

Takami Babies

So in a bored moment I came up with baby names and then some hawks inspired baby names. I don't ever see a lot of pregnant/parent hawks stuff so I wrote my own that is also inspired by @bbq-hawks-wings

Phoenix and Soarin Takami twins born on the cool September 22nd night. Actually night and morning your daughter born first a strong Virgo. And your son a gentle Libra. Their birthstones being Sapphire and Opal being born at the end of September. Your daughter was born quite late into the night while your son was the next morning. You started labor around 6-7 o'clock you remember seeing the beautiful sunset behind your husband. His wings making a beautiful silhouette against the painted sky. Your daughter arrived several hours later at 11:15 pm September 22nd. And much like the traits of her sign she was very determined to be born and did not want to wait for you it was difficult getting her out. Your son on the other hand could wait and was a much more mellow process. He was born at 7:55 am September 23rd. You saw the sunrise the same as it had set when you began labor. Beautiful oranges and yellows bouncing through the sky leaking into to the room. Your daughter 7 lbs 9 oz. Had dark blonde hair. Not light enough to be a blonde but not a full brunette. A light toffee if you will. And undoubtedly had Keigo's golden glowing orbs with flecks of brown in them. Your son 6 lbs 2 oz. Has tuffs of dark brown hair with golden blonde tips. And the most beautiful eyes one emerald green the other a honey gold. Not as bright as Keigo or Phoenix but more of a brown.

As mentioned before it was a difficult time getting your daughter out than your son. Well that is because she definitely had her dad's family quirk. She has red little nubs on her back. Most children develop quirks around 5 but since Keigo had a mutation quirk your kids are more likely to be born with theirs. Once she was out Keigo cut the cord the nurses cleaned her up and gave her to him.

"She has wings love" he says crying. "She really has wings" he stated again. The only thing other then healthy beautiful babies Keigo wanted was for one of them to get his wings. "Hey there Phoenix. Your so beautiful and I am so happy your here. I love you so much baby girl."

After feeding, holding, and bonding with Phoenix you feel your son ready to make his entrance.

Your sitting in a bath and with a few pushes he's out. Dad cuts the cord again and you both go through a wave of emotions one more time. Just like your daughter he gives his baby a welcoming speech.

"Hey there Soarin your here, you finally made it. I can't believe how beautiful you are. I love you so much baby boy. " And just like his sister he goes to get checked out and cleaned up. While the nurses are taking care of your son your husband holds you still crying.

"You did it babe! You made, carried, and delivered not one but two beautiful healthy babies. I am so proud of you my love. Your so strong and such a trooper. I love you so much." All you could manage was a small smile and nod embracing him.

You guys had decided no visitors while still in the hospital just so you could just have the freedom to bond and be raw and emotional with your new family. Just after a few days of being alive Phoenix is his "Princess" and she is a total daddy's girl and has him wrapped around her chubby little finger. You both love both kids equally but being both avians he has a special bond with his daughter. Soarin is your bugaboo but he isn't necessarily a mommas boy. Definitely prefers mommy over daddy. But to be expected from a baby.

Both babies have various nicknames from the family Keigo has special birdie inspired names for them individually. Phoenix is his chickadee and Soarin is ------. You know Keigo has a thing for nicknames but, you thought you would have to share some of the same names as your children. Keigo feels that names are very important and special to each person just as important as your given name. You do have dove, lovebird, and baby bird those are specially for you. You're happy you still have baby bird even if you do quite literally have baby birds. And of course there is kid but that is his own slang much like ol' sport and Gatsby. He thinks it gives a playful kick to a sentence. You found amusing is that Keigo won't be calling he won't call his own kids "kid" until they are teenagers and are harder to handle. His little name for everyone has a timestamp for his own kids. But the only reason he uses it is to lighten up the mood or make something a bit playful in the same way Gatsby uses ol' sport. Keigo won't even use "kid" in the same sense as he does at work. Instead of a bit serious tone like "Watch it there kid you'll get yourself killed like that". For the kids he'll be more so silly like "Ugh you're killing me kid."But that's for the future right now you were both focused on the newly founded life in your arms.

~Le timeskip~

Your all at home sleeping in bed the twins in their bassinets on either side of the bed. Keigo talked you into the more expensive one that had an opening on the side and rolly wheels. Thank God you opted for that one cause it was much more accessible than a regular bassinet. Especially with Phoenix and her extra limbs you needed to worry for. She would usually be on daddy's side because if this. Like any other baby she would wake up every few hours for feeding time or a change. But being a newborn she had to sleep on her back which could cause her wings to rub raw. You and Keigo spent a decent amount of time cutting holes into her clothes and jammies for her wings to breathe. But that could only go so far. And each cry was for different things and when her wings hurt it was more of a fussy hiccup. Kiego soon figured out what cried meant what and found a solution to when her wings hurt.

He would pick her up and hold her for a few minutes hushing her telling her it'll be alright and she is strong enough to get through it. Then he would take her to change her diaper and put on some different clothes. Off came the footed pajamas and swapped with a pair of thick sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a hat. He would also change out of whatever he wore to bed into sweats, a baby wrap carrier, and a thick winter jacket lined with fuzz on the inside. He would gently put her on his chest tying the carrier around them careful to avoid her wings. Then zipping his jacket over both him and his little girl. He would keep their shirts off intentionally so he could get some skin on skin bonding time and let baby's wings breathe for a minute. By the time they were dressed she was usually back to sleep but it was the next part that lulled her back into a deep sleep. Keigo would open the slider to the patio connected to your room and take off.

They wouldn't go to far or fast but just a casual fly. They fly over the city filled with bright lights. The air whipping around them as they flew out in the night sky. Keigo would hover overlooking the city and hold his daughters head to whisper just to her .

"When you are big enough princess you'll be able to fly with me and you'll love it up here bebs. Maybe even your brother will get wings and fly with us. But right now with you and these special moments I would trade the world just to stay like this forever."

Then he would make his way home to you and your son. Undressing and re dressing himself and phoenix. He would put her jammies back on check her diaper but hold her for just a little longer while looking out the large glass window.

"I know it's hard right now princess dealing with learning how to breathe,eat, hiccups, and darn little tummy aches. Not to mention these big ol wings that are just in the damn way. But your growing constantly everyday you get so much stronger and bigger. In just a blink of an eye you'll be taking your first steps and first flight. Don't worry we'll get there just get through this and you can do it. Okay princess? I promise."he'll kiss her once more and put her in the bassinet then sink into the bed.

"Have a good flight?" You startled him back awake a bit.

"Mm yeah, breezy night. Did I wake you?"

"No Soarin woke up as soon as you left and wanted cuddles."

"Ah so I did technically wake you up. Sorry babe." He kisses your forehead.

"It's fine. I said you didn't. Let's get some sleep." Keigo sighs in agreement and snuggles you some more.

Thanks for reading:) I have some more baby tamaki stuff coming on the way and even might make a series out of it! But let me know if some ideas you would like to see! I'm also thinking of given Phoenix, Phoe(fee) for short and Soarin So. Soarin also needs a special birdie nickname and middle name so let me know!

#kiego-takami #mha #hawks x y/n #takami-babies #mha imagines #hawks with kids

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adl-reborn · 3 years

Text

@quebec-dl Here's what I've got. I hope you like it!

Tales from Metroville - declassified: An Unexpected reveal.

About a week prior Phoenix had found himself completely unable to control his bladder. A quick conversation with Randas found him a temporary solution but he quickly found the CVS briefs he was using to be quite inadequate. Either he would change it every hour or two, or he would end up with a leak at a most inopportune time. Clearly an upgrade was needed.

He soon settled on the Northshore Megamax as it was the most absorbable diaper available anywhere in Metroville. Phoenix found the performance of this model to be quite reassuring - he could easily tell when it was getting close to full but it would take 6-12 hours to get that far, which is an obvious win. To this end he bought a case and forgot all about the CVS briefs he had before.

Aston arrived at their apartment some time afterward. By this point Phoenix was already in bed, to which Aston noted the new diaper. "Given he is using the new ones exclusively now," Aston reasoned, "I seriously doubt he would notice if I took one of the old ones..." Aston had peed himself many times before - he was quite fond of the feeling, especially the feeling that comes from the liquid evaporating as he telekinetically pulls the liquid out of the fabric and into a tight sphere. He had never done this with a diaper before though and was curious. He snuck one out of the stack of old diapers and put it on...

One week later...

It took some time for Phoenix to catch on. He THOUGHT that the stack was decreasing in size but thought he was crazy initially. Tonight though things would be different. Phoenix this night awoke unexpectedly needing to pee. As he normally did on the odd occasion this happened, he lost control not long after. This time though he noticed something weird about Aston.

"A Diaper?! No...it must be mine." Thought Phoenix. He had inadvertently rubbed his hand against Aston's hip and felt some scratchy fabric. This intrigued him as he followed the contours of Aston's body - down by the groin area he noticed the telltale feeling of an absorbent pad. "Aston is definitely wearing a diaper," Phoenix then noted " and...is it WET?!"

Phoenix's probing had partially awoken Aston from his deep sleep. "Bro..." the extremely drowsy Aston remarked, "We aleady did this when we went to bed.....I don't need to get off now." "Dude you're wearing a diaper!" snapped Phoenix. A moment passed before Aston realized what happened. "Uh.......crap." Aston replied.

If he wasn't awake already he definitely was now! A wave of embarrassment hit Aston - he didn't know what to do as this almost never happened. Suddenly Phoenix yanked the covers off to reveal both of them in their wet nighttime diapers - to Aston's horror he realized that the diaper was wetter than before, and had leaked all over his side of the bed! "I uh...I can explain..." the now mortally embarrassed Aston proclaimed.

Phoenix had thought for some time that Aston got a kick out of Omoroshi but could never confirm until now. Aston confessed as much but this did not explain the wet bed. The now calm Aston extracted the moisture from the sheets and deposited it in the sink. "I had always secretly wanted to try wearing one ever since I met Randas." stated Aston, "While I could never read him precisely I did know he enjoyed the feeling. Interestingly, I happen to agree." " When did you plan on telling me?" quipped Phoenix. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out, but as you know I can never predict these things around you." Aston replied, "I hope you can forgive me for this transgression."

Little did Aston notice the devilish grin now on Phoenix's face - from the shock of realization has come a particularly fiendish idea. "I do forgive you, I just wish you would have told me sooner though." Aston went back to sleep as did Phoenix some time later...but before sleeping his plan was already in motion.

Three days later a case of adult diapers had arrived at the door...but they were addressed to Aston not Phoenix. Aston was perplexed by this - Phoenix must have made a mistake...but this was no mistake. When Aston brought the case inside Phoenix was waiting for him. "Remember a few nights ago when you were using my diapers without telling me?" prodded Phoenix. "Uh...yeah? What about it?" the now very confused Aston replied. "Well, that was not very nice of you, so I bought you your own." Phoenix quipped, "Go ahead, open it!" Phoenix's excitement confused Aston...until he opened the package.

These were not ordinary Northshore Megamaxes. No, these had juvenile prints all over them and were instead branded as Crinklz. Aston was at first shocked, then disgusted...but then shared the same devilish smirk that Phoenix did. "I presume I am to wear these?" Aston remarked. "Yes you are. Every. Last. One." Phoenix replied, "You should also look on the side for some new clothing." Here Aston found some rather juvenile onesies - all had snap bottoms to make diaper changes easier.

"I see." Aston remarked. "You are not to be changing these yourself." Phoenix proclaimed with a s**t eating grin, "I will be changing them for you at my discretion. If you are going to act like a baby, I will treat you like one." Aston could have probably backed out of this, but in truth he always wanted this deep down. "So...when do we start?" Aston remarked. "That would be MY decision," retorted Phoenix, "but for the record it starts now. Aston laid down and obediently followed Phoenix's commands, and by the time he was done Aston's once confident appearance was gone. In his place was a 7 foot tall baby.

#metroville

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ma-sulevin · 4 years

Photo

We’re finally done! It’s officially the last chapter!

I want to thank everyone for supporting me through my first attempt at writing in the FC5 fandom. I don’t know why I decided to start with a novel-length AU idea, but I did, and it’s done, and I’m so happy I did it.

I want to extend an extra-special thanks to @chyrstis who has commented on and shared every single chapter. Your comments gave me LIFE through this whole process.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 4338, chapter sixteen of sixteen!

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

---

The official diagnosis, six weeks later, after the National Guard and the feds and the EPA and the fuckin’ news crews have come and gone, is mass drug-induced hallucination.

That’s it.

That’s the whole reason.

Mattie knows there’s more to it, knows there was something special behind it all. She’s the only one who remembers so much, the only one who can clearly describe how it feels to drown or be strangled to death, the only one who spent so much time listening to the black white black and the Voice.

She’s the only one who heard the voice except for Joseph, and he never fucking shuts up about it, even from the relative safety of his prison cell in Missoula, and so she’s never ever ever going to fucking bring it up.

Not to Staci, who smiles and teases her with just a little less energy than before, acting like he doesn’t remember the details of what happened to him in Jacob’s compound, but affected by it all the same.

Not to Joey, who smiles less often, who still curses every time someone brings up a Seed, who says it’s a damn good thing the National Guard showed up when they did or she would’ve hunted John down herself.

Not to Whitehorse, who is the quietest of them, whose sole moment of lost temper was immediately on returning to the station when he grabbed Nancy by the arm and threw her out into the parking lot, who has started offering Mattie hugs and pats on the back when it looks like she needs them (basically all the time).

Certainly not to Burke, who left without sleeping the next day, who she hasn’t seen since.

And absolutely not to the state therapist who brought two big suitcases and moved into the Hot Springs Hotel, only to have to drive into Falls End every day because no one would go into the Henbane yet.

She’s not trying to get involuntarily committed.

If she’s going to be committed, it’ll be on her own terms, and only when she needs it.

And she doesn’t need it, not yet.

She’s seen as something of a hero around the county, receiving free drinks from Mary May and free food from everyone else. People stop her to say thank you, and Boomer always runs up to jump on her if he happens to be nearby with Rae Rae.

That slows down too, as the days pass and things go back to normal, and only the people most involved in her fight against the Seeds look like they’re thinking about her bleeding for them when they look at her.

She starts looking at property listings online.

It’s not like she’s ever going to get fired now.

It takes the full six weeks — two weeks of paid leave, four weeks of being back on the job — for Jude to show up at the station. He has coffees for everyone and a look of grim determination on his face.

Staci sends a furtive look at Whitehorse, who feigns disinterest, and then accepts the coffees with a quick peck on the lips, and then Mattie hands Joey five dollars because she thought it would take longer.

(Mattie wins the five dollars back from Staci later when he owes her for Mary Mary bringing Joey lunch.)

She takes to visiting Jerome after services on Sundays, not quite ready to start going to church again, but craving the kind of spiritual guidance he gives so easily without making her feel like she’s going to hell no matter what.

She visits the Ryes, takes them baby gifts, receives hugs from them both, listens to Kim complain about how she was technically pregnant an extra two months until the memories start to fade and then are erased by Carmina’s abrupt appearance into the world.

She visits Grace, visits Jess, drives up to look at the abandoned Veteran’s Center, with its inhabitants arrested and its weapons cache seized, and thinks if she burned it to the ground, no one would turn her in for it.

Every night she goes back to her apartment, every night she goes home and puts a little food out for the stray cat and thinks about taking one of the sleeping pills her therapist recommended and gets in bed without opening the bottle, every night she curls around her pillow and she cries.

If the bombs had fallen that night she was with Sharky, before she snuck out without saying goodbye, if they had fallen first thing that morning before the sun came up… she would still be with him. They’d be together, in his bunker, alone but together, probably high as fuck and burning through their condom supply.

The world would be over, but they would be happy.

It’s selfish.

It’s so selfish.

But she misses it.

She misses him.

The therapist makes it eight weeks in Hope County before she packs up and goes back to Missoula. She leaves a recommendation for a virtual office, and Mattie puts the card next to her unused pills, but she thinks she overhears Staci telling Jude he’s going to set up regular appointments.

She gets Joey’s tattoo artist’s information from her and starts to look at phoenix tattoos on Pinterest, the blank space of her left forearm mocking her without its tally marks.

Mattie makes it nine weeks before she breaks under the strain. She makes it through nine weeks of emptiness, of loneliness, of the crushing feeling of how any moment could be her last.

Is this how she lived before? Was she ever so aware of her own mortality, or did she go through life acting like she was fucking invincible until the fact of it was actually shoved in her face?

She wakes up with the sun on her day off. She showers. She shaves. She conditions and blow dries and styles. She puts on a dress and grabs a sweater.

And she drives to the Henbane, up the hill, and to Sharky’s trailer.

He’s standing outside when she parks her car, an unlit cigarette in his mouth and a bucket in one hand. He looks over at her from under the brim of his hat and dumps another handful of… something… on the ground, then holds the bucket in front of him with both arms wrapped around it.

“You said you wasn’t gonna arrest me for any of that shit I did!”

Mattie freezes in place, halfway across to him, and just stares.

He stares back.

“Does it look like I’m on duty?” Her voice come out higher-pitched than she means it, incredulous and not sure if she should start laughing or not. “Does Joey ever show up like this to drag you to the station?” She kicks one foot out to the side to emphasize the skirt she’s wearing, and his gaze immediately drops to the bare expanse of legs he can see.

“Uhh--”

“What are you even doing right now? What is that?”

“Uhh.” He looks down into the bucket, movements a little slow like he doesn’t want to look away from her skin, then he stares like he forgot the question. When he looks back up, she can tell his eyebrows are drawn tight together. “Sawdust.”

“Sawdust?”

“For the gasoline spills? I’m tryna… clean the place up a bit?”

They stare at each other as silence falls again. It stretches until it’s uncomfortable, and then it snaps.

Mattie bursts into tears. Not little ones, not anything cute or delicate, but big, ugly sobs that wrack her whole body and make her start to curl in on herself as she starts to shake. Her voice rises in an involuntary wail that she tries to muffle with her hands, but she can’t quiet it any more than she can stop it.

The tears overwhelm her, and so does Sharky.

There’s a dull thump of the bucket hitting the ground and then he’s in her space a half second later, his arms around her and one hand cupping the back of her head to pull her close. She presses into him, head tucked under his chin, and grabs the soft material of his hoodie for dear life.

The sharp smell of kerosene lingering deep in the fabric makes her cry harder at first as half-foggy memories burst into full clarity in her mind.

Climbing into his lap to sleep in John’s ranch, high and bruised and happy.

Kissing him for the first time behind the Spread Eagle after he arranged a private place for her to relax after rescuing Joey.

Drinking with him up at the PIN-K0 radar station and resting against him as he joked with Hurk.

Falling into his arms after she escaped from Jacob, shoulder dislocated, starving and sick. Healing and growing stronger, tucked safe against him, under him.

Feeling happy and safe and loved and protected with him.

Feeling home.

She doesn’t realize Sharky’s murmuring to her until her sobs have calmed into tiny gasping breaths and her tears have dried on the faded words of his hoodie, she doesn’t realize he’s whispering that it’s okay and he has her and she’s safe until after her body has already realized it.

She’s safe.

“You’re okay, shorty, I got you,” he says, voice barely audible with his face buried like it is in her hair. “Fuck, I missed you. Please stop crying.”

She lifts her chin so her nose is pressed against his throat. “I’m sorry.”

He draws in a shaky breath and holds her tighter until he exhales. “What for?”

“Waiting so long to come back home.”

His hands are shaking harder than she’s ever seen them as he pulls away enough to cup her face. He stares down at her, studying her, and she lets him just hold her like that even as he blinks his own tears out of his eyes.

“Dep, do you… are you saying you still… love me?” His voice is shaky and wet, those beautiful blue eyes red around the rims. It sounds like he’s forcing the question out, like part of him is trying to keep it inside where the answer can’t hurt him, but the bigger part of him is too goddamn hopeful to not ask.

She squeezes him tighter as she speaks, the words somehow hard to get out even after everything they’ve been through together, even after finding him in her arms once again. “Yeah, baby. I still love you.”

He squeezes her tighter, almost tight enough to hurt even though this time she doesn’t have any lingering injuries to make the pain sharp, but he doesn’t pull away to kiss her or to look down at her.

He’s not ready to let her go.

“Okay, but, like--” he pauses to take a deep breath, and Mattie braces herself for an emotional stream of consciousness from Sharky. “I know you know, ‘cause I told you before, and also ‘cause you’re a cop, but, like, I’m on probation, and I got this rap sheet that’s a mile long, and not all of it should be on there but I can’t really help that now, and I know the sheriff don’t like me, and I don’t want you to get in trouble at your job--”

She’s heard enough. She wiggles out of his grasp and grabs his face in both her hands. He cuts off mid-sentence and stares at her with his mouth still open like the rest of his thoughts will come out the second she takes her hands off his skin.

“Sharky, babe, you don’t -- I don’t care about that. I knew all that, and I love you, and I’m here, and we’ll figure out how to work it out, okay?” He nods. His mouth closes. “I want to at least try. I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t try.”

“Really?” His voice cracks, and Mattie’s self-restraint does too.

She pulls his face down to hers, and he goes willingly, leaning so far into her space that she finds herself leaning backwards, resting her weight in his arms. She throws her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life as his lips press to hers and his heart beats against her chest.

It feels just the same as she remembered. It’s warm and comforting, safe, and she can’t help but smile as his goatee scratches her chin. He still shivers when she tangles her fingers in his hair, and he still licks her lower lip after he nips it, and he still holds her as tight as he can.

Some things are new, different now that their circumstances have changed so much. He smells like his cheap shampoo instead of gasoline, and he tastes like cinnamon toothpaste instead of cigarettes or beer or coffee, and there’s no stench of bliss or lingering injuries or far-off gunfighting to ruin the moment.

It’s just like it was, but somehow… it’s better.

They break apart when their kisses begin to taste like salt, and Sharky wipes the tears from her cheeks, then he kisses her forehead.

“Oh, my god,” she breathes, eyes still squeezed shut. “I love you.”

He moves like he’s going to wrap her up in another hug, but he scoops her into his arms instead. She shrieks, considers lashing out, and then bursts into laughter instead.

He’s beaming at her when she wraps her arms around his neck for stability, then he starts carrying her up to his home.

“I love you, too, shorty. I’m glad you came back.”

He has to put her down on his porch to get the door to his trailer open, and she grabs his free hand as he does. It’s just like their first time together, when she held his hand to keep him from losing his nerve as they walked to the house he’d gotten ready for her, but this time, she’s just tugging him through to his bedroom as fast as possible.

He follows her, of course he does, laughing a little at her eagerness, and she winks at him over her shoulder.

He grabs for her as soon as they’re near the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting one hand dip down to her ass to squeeze through the fabric. She smiles as she lets him pull her close, lifting up onto her toes so she can reach him better to accept his next kiss, this one a little harder than the one they shared outside, a little hungrier now that they’re definitely not going to be seen.

Why did she wait so long to come out here?

What was she trying to prove to herself?

Guilt creeps up on her, distracting her from the feel of his beard on her face and his tongue against hers, and then his hands pull her attention right back to him as they start to pull her skirt up so he can get his hands on her skin, still on her ass.

Sharky swallows the little noise of surprise she makes, moaning back at her as he squeezes and lifts and encourages her to lift one of her legs to wrap around his thigh.

“Oh, fuck, I missed you.” Sharky breaks their kiss because he can’t bear to be silent for another moment, and Mattie takes advantage of it by leaning closer and kissing the base of his throat. “Oh, my god. Do you know how many times I fuckin’ jerked it thinkin’ about you showing up here like you just did?”

She wiggles herself free of his grasp and pushes his chest so he sits down hard on his mattress. “That all you missed?”

She waits for his answer, trying to hide her smile, hands on her hips.

He blinks once, then grabs for her again, trying to pull her down into his lap. “No, fuck no, I missed everything about you.”

She kicks off her shoes and climbs onto him, hovering a little over his lap on her knees so she can tug at his hoodie to make him take it off.

“Like what?”

He pulls his hoodie off, and she rewards him by resting her weight on him. He bites his lower lip and groans; he’s already hard.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and speaks against her skin. “I missed you bossin’ me around all the time,” he says, and then leaves an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. “And how you always actually listened to me.” Another kiss, this time on the underside of her jaw. “And how you were always putting your cold fuckin’ hands in my shirt.”

She laughs and does just that, sliding her hands under the collar of his tank top to rest on the warm skin of his back. He shivers good-naturedly and noses her sweater to the side so he can find a good patch of skin under her collarbone to latch onto.

“I kinda missed always having hickeys,” she says, rocking just a little in his lap to tease them both, telling the truth even though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else. She liked having the little reminders of Sharky when they were apart, the little bruises that showed she had someone who cared about her as much as she cared about him.

Sharky makes a little grumbling sound that sounds like he wants to talk, but he doesn’t release her skin as he focuses on sucking a mark that will last, and she laughs again, delighted.

He finally releases her and admires his handwork before looking up to meet her gaze. “You always laughed a lot when we were foolin’ around, but not like, at me, you know? Just ‘cause you were havin’ fun. I missed that too.”

She moves her hands to cup his jaw, holding him still so she can memorize the expression in his warm blue eyes. “I love you so much.”

He beams at her. “I love you more.”

She kisses him again because she doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how else to show him how she feels.

The relationship they built while fighting the cult together was too strong to fade away like the physical pains and sharp-edged memories of the horrors. It feels now, wrapped up in each other, that they’ve never been apart and will never be apart again.

She drops her sweater to the floor and yanks off Sharky’s top, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He only lets her move enough to remove clothing and then grabs for her again, not willing to let her get very far away at all.

He flips them, finally, when she starts trying to get at his belt, turning so that she’s flat on his mattress and he’s kneeling over her. He ignores her reaching hands and slides his hands up her legs, smooth for the first time he’s touched them, then back down, then up again all the way to where her panties rest on her hips.

“That’s ni— oh, fuck.” He pauses with her panties half down her thighs, exposing how she’s shaved herself completely for him. She didn’t know if he’d prefer it or not, knows he absolutely doesn’t care if she’s completely hairy, but it felt good to take the time to follow her old routines. “Fuck, yeah, okay.”

He flips her skirt all the way up and leans down without any other words leaving his lips to cover her slit with his mouth.

He’s just as enthusiastic as she remembers, and she shrieks as his tongue presses into her. It’s wet and messy and eager and so Sharky that she can’t do anything but hold on with her fingers tangled in his hair and her heels digging into his back. He groans against her, feasting on her, eyebrows drawn together as he focuses all his energy on giving her the most pleasure he can.

His beard burns her sensitive skin, wetness drips down the curve of her ass and onto the back of her dress, and Sharky’s fingers press little bruises into the flesh of her thighs as he holds her still.

It’s so good, it’s too good, and it’s wonderful, and if this is how it’s going to be the rest of her life she might just die for good with his head between her legs.

What a fuckin’ way to go.

She wails as she comes, pulls Sharky’s hair and kicks his back by accident, and then she laughs a little hysterically when he tries to keep going like he did their first morning together.

“Stop, fuckin’ Christ, Sharky. Holy shit.” He stops right when she says, sits back on his knees and beams down at her, proud of himself, face flushed and beard wet, stupid gold chain still around his neck because he never takes it off. “I love that you love that so much, but if you want me to ride you again, you’re going to have to quit it.”

His mouth drops open a little as he sucks in a deep breath, the flush on his cheeks darkening dangerously, and then he’s twisting around in obedience to flop on the mattress next to her. He opens his belt and wiggles his jeans down over his hips as Mattie pushes herself to her feet so she can drop her dress with her sweater and grab a condom from the pile she remembers, and then she turns around to see him watching her with one hand tucked behind his head and the other slowly pumping his cock.

She watches him right back for a minute, taking in the red and orange ink on his forearm, the twisting of the muscles there making the flames look like they’re dancing, the burned skin on his shoulder and chest, the hair across his pecs and stomach, the little bit of tummy he sucks in when he sees her looking.

“This what you did waiting for me to come back?”

He nods at her, pumping himself a little harder as he keeps waiting. He doesn’t look back up at her face, apparently unable to drag his eyes away from her breasts, her stomach, her bare thighs still glistening when she takes a step forward.

“Here.” She tosses him the condom and climbs on the bed as he rolls it on, then crawls over him on all fours as he watches her with wide, fond eyes. “Ready, baby?”

“Fuck yeah,” Sharky says, voice a little too rough to be as bright as it usually is. He puts one hand on her ribs and holds himself steady with the other so she can sink down on to him, and he moans aloud as she does. He doesn’t look away from the sight, and she doesn’t look away from his face, and as soon as he’s hilted inside of her she’s leaning down to kiss him.

He tastes like her, and she licks it from his mouth as she starts to move on still-shaky legs, fucking him nice and slow so she can drag it out. He can’t stop touching her, running his hands over her thighs and hips, ribs and breasts, into her hair that’s so much softer than it was in the bliss for her access to proper conditioning treatments, across her neck and down her back to start the process over again.

The drag and slide inside of her is exquisite, beautiful, a feeling she’s missed these long weeks, and she can’t stop kissing him even when her face starts to burn. She fucks him a little harder when his groans grow louder, feels sweat beading along her hairline and dripping down her temple before Sharky kisses it away.

“Sharky, baby, you feel so good,” she says, cheek pressed against his, trembling as his fingers tighten on her hips and he thrusts up into her like he can’t help it anymore. “Gonna make me come again.”

His groan is deep in his chest, his next thrust a little harder into her, knocking off her balance so she falls against his chest with a high, breathy giggle.

He wraps his arms around her and holds her against him, using his leverage to start really fucking into her. She giggles again and holds onto his shoulders, nuzzling against his cheek as she just relaxes her body and lets the pleasure grow inside her, listening to his deep groans.

She loves how loud he is when they’re in bed together, how willing he is to let her know how good she’s making him feel.

“Yeah, just like that, I love it, I love you, c’mon, baby…”

His hands tighten and she revels in it, in the bright spots of pain under the pleasure, and she presses her face against the scar on his shoulder and cries out, long and low, as she comes on his cock.

He follows her over the edge immediately, like he was just waiting for her permission, his moan half muffled in her hair as he curls into her. She shivers and clenches around him, tight, pulling another low moan out of him, and she sits up a little and laughs because otherwise she might cry at just how goddamn happy she feels, finally, finally, after everything.

Sharky beams up at her, eyes half-closed and sleepy looking, and tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

She kisses him, soft and slow, still smiling, and then moves to stretch out on her side next to him. She waits as he gets up to throw out the condom, then he comes back and gathers her into his arms.

He kisses her forehead. “Now what?”

She shrugs and nuzzles at the underside of his jaw. “We just take it one day at a time, I guess.”

He makes a sleepy, grumbly noise deep in his throat. “Mkay.” Trusting, loving, beautiful Sharky. “I love you.”

She presses herself as close to him as she can. “I love you too.”

#sharky boshaw #sharky x deputy #far cry 5 #oc: mattie covington #x: burn like a star fire

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serialreblogger · 4 years

Text

prompt from @lunarmultishine for A:TLA: “thrashing, as if in flames.” Ended up taking some liberties with it, but hopefully kept to the spirit!

Zuko had always tried so hard.

He wasn’t like Azula; he didn’t--he didn’t get people, never caught the secrets in their small expressions, he couldn’t tell when they were being sarcastic (“calm down, Zuzu, it was just a joke”). He stood too stiffly and didn’t fit in and “you’ll get better at these things when you get older,” Mom said, but he didn’t and--and he didn’t know what Dad wanted.

He tried so hard.

(he tried so hard, but it was never good enough. he was a failure. a disappointment. disrespectful. dishonorable. his father was right to banish him)

(his father was right)

(his father was always right)

(wasn’t he?)

((no))

Zuko still dreamt of that day.

He hadn’t, at first. When he’d just gotten command of his ship, for a full month after--after, he didn’t dream at all. Or if he did, it was just little things; ordinary ones, about Uncle playing a nonsense game of pai sho, or the Earth King coming to dinner. Oh, he thought about it often enough. Between the monotonous changing of bandages, and the throbbing burning pain where his eye had been (was his eye still there? Zuko couldn’t bring himself to check, in those early days), and the constant sway-sway-swaying of the ship (he was banished, and the floor beneath him was determined not to let him forget), Zuko spent every waking thought berating himself. How could he let this happen? How could he disappoint his father so thoroughly, so finally?

“I believe you have healed enough to take off your bandages,” Uncle finally said. “However, you must be careful not to aggravate your injury further, Prince Zuko.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Zuko replied.

He looked in a mirror as soon as Uncle left, for the first time since his banishment. He stared until tears blurred his vision (blurred his right eye; his left eye was there but barely and it couldn’t see anything clearly so what did it matter if tears gathered in its ruined slit), and then a tear fell, he saw it slip down what was left of his cheek--

He used the shards of the mirror to shave his head.

He had no honor. (sway, sway, swaying beneath his feet) Only the last thin hope of regaining it, as slim a chance as he deserved, but he would redeem himself. He left the phoenix tail, tying it up with a spare roll of white cotton. He would get his honor back. He would find the Avatar, he would--he would make up for his disrespect--

(he just wanted to go home)

he would make his father love him again.

That was when the nightmares started.

(they never ended. sway, sway, sway, and he never woke up)

* * *

Look. Sokka hadn’t signed up for this. Was it his fault he had a weirdo waterbending sister who broke the Tui-cursed Avatar out of his ice cube? No. It wasn’t his idea to go traipsing all over the four nations to beat the Fire Lord, it’d just kind of happened.

And now here he was, hunching into his sleeping roll in a Fire Nation cave and trying to ignore the gloomy Fire Nation prince who seemed to be having a lovely little nightmare in the corner.

How was this his life?

With a quiet groan, he gave up on plugging his ears under his blanket and just stared blankly at the rocks above him. Had he offended a spirit in a previous incarnation? Was this his punishment?

For a fleeting moment, things quieted down, and he dared to hope that Zuko would chill out on his own. That was probably the last straw. He should really know better than to hope for things like that; it made it too easy for whatever supernatural forces were conspiring to torment him.

Instead, the little pained noises turned into a high, quiet whine that was just painful to hear. Spirits, that wasn’t playing fair. Zuko was the bad guy, he shouldn’t be allowed to make sounds like that.

Sighing, Sokka kicked his way out of his sleeping roll and started over. To his surprise, Toph was already there.

Okay, cool, so this was taken care of, maybe he could just scoot right back to his bed without them noticing--

“Get over here, you blockhead,” Toph hissed.

Right. Blind. Foot-bending, all-knowing badger-mole girl. Sokka sighed again and sidled over.

“I’ve been trying to wake him for the past minute while you were dithering in your sleeping bag,” Toph grumbled, “but no dice. I don’t know how to get him up without scaring him more.”

“And, what, you haven’t tried just slapping him awake?” Sokka asked. She grabbed his hand before he could raise it, gripping it tightly enough to hurt.

“No, Snoozles,” Toph snapped. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not all ‘hit first, ask questions later.’ And...his heart rate is really high. I don’t wanna make it worse.”

“Okay, okay,” Sokka said, finally managing to snatch his hand back. He examined it quickly to make sure nothing was broken--what? the kid was stronger than she looked--before turning his attention back to Zuko. He’d quieted down for the past few seconds, but as soon as Sokka saw his face it was pretty obvious that wasn’t a good thing. It didn’t exactly look like he was having fun. Wait, was Zuko crying?

“Zuko,” he said softly. Tentatively he reached forward, extending his finger to poke Zuko’s temple.

The result was instantaneous. Zuko shot upright, gasping and bringing his hands up defensively. “No, please,” he begged, clearly still half-asleep.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sokka scrambled back, because Zuko had that look like he might firebend at anything that moved too close. Toph did the same, he saw. “It’s just us, Toph and Sokka, you’re here to help train the Avatar, remember?”

“With--” Zuko was breathing hard, like he’d just run a marathon. One hand came up to touch his... his scar, Sokka realized, with a sinking feeling. Zuko flinched when his fingers brushed burned skin.

“Hey, Sparky,” Toph said quietly. She waited until Zuko’s gaze had flickered to her, away, back again. “You with us?”

“Yeah,” Zuko rasped. He was still way too pale. “Yeah, I--sorry. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope,” Toph reassured him. “Neither of us were asleep yet.”

“Good,” Zuko nodded, short and rapid like a startled bird. “That’s good. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, bud,” Sokka blurted. He hesitated, then shimmied back over to sit next to Zuko. “It’s not like you could help it.”

Zuko was quiet for a beat too long. “Right. No. I couldn’t... I couldn’t have helped it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Toph asked gently. Sokka glanced over and saw she’d taken Zuko’s hand.

“I--” Zuko swallowed. “I don’t know. Yes. No.” He growled in frustration. “I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay,” Toph said easily. “We can wait.”

Sokka nodded, though he wasn’t sure Zuko saw. He was sitting on Zuko’s left side. “Take your time,” he added, just in case.

Zuko did. It must’ve been almost half an hour later that he spoke, and Sokka had almost fallen asleep at that point.

“It was my father.”

“Your scar?” Toph murmured, and Sokka wondered who’d told her about it.

Zuko nodded. It was harder to see him now; the moon had shifted, from shining almost full into the cave to somewhere further overhead, and now he was barely more than a silhouette beside Sokka.

“I wanted,” Zuko started, and spirits but he sounded so lost, “I don’t know what I wanted, anymore. I thought I wanted honor. Now I think I just wanted his love. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I asked Uncle to let me join in on the war council, because I thought it would help me learn to govern well, and I promised him, I promised not to speak. But then the general said he wanted to use an entire battalion of new recruits as bait, and I--I was such an idiot. I actually stood up and shouted at him, in front of my father and everyone, and I’d broken my word to Uncle and disrespected the Fire Lord and all his advisors. It was foolish and hot-headed and I deserved to be punished.”

The silence stretched, and then Zuko shook his head. “But not like that,” he whispered in the darkness.

Softly, Toph prodded, “Like what?”

“Agni Kai,” Zuko blurted, like it burned to say the words. “He challenged me to an Agni Kai. It’s--it’s a Fire Nation tradition, I guess. A way to resolve conflict. I thought when I accepted that I’d be fighting the general I’d interrupted, but I was wrong. It was him.”

Sokka sucked in a breath, trying to keep quiet. This was... it was a lot.

“I think he might have been looking for a way to kill me, actually,” Zuko added reflectively, and now Sokka felt like he’d been punched in the gut, “but when I realized it was him I refused to fight. Thought I was a coward for so many years after that, but now I realize that attempt at respect is probably the only reason I’m still alive. It would be hard for even the Fire Lord to claim he’d accidentally killed his son in an honorable duel, when his son refused to fight him.”

“Zuko,” Sokka whispered breathlessly.

“So instead he just burned me,” Zuko continued, relentless now. A dam had broken, and now he couldn’t stop. “There were all those witnesses, so he couldn’t kill me, and he was so angry, and I don’t know why he hated me but I’m sure now that he did. And he grabbed my chin in one hand and my left eye in the other, and held me still while he branded my face. And I screamed and screamed and he didn’t stop, and nobody stopped him, and I dream about it over and over and over and then I wake up and it still happened.”

Sokka felt sick.

“And now I’m marked forever as a traitor, without honor, and that is never going to go away and it will never change. I thought I could change it by finding the Avatar and bringing him home, I thought that for so long,” Zuko’s voice was shaking and hitching now, Sokka thought he was probably crying, “and I was wrong. I don’t know how I could have been so wrong. I guess I was just blind.”

“Hey,” Toph hummed.

“Sorry--” Zuko tried to backtrack, but she just huffed.

“No, not that, dummy,” she scolded. “I know you meant like the metaphor. I meant ‘hey, you’re not a traitor.’ Actually, it sounds to me like you’re the most loyal person in the Fire Nation.”

“What?” Zuko sounded super confused. Sokka could relate.

“Look, we all know your father is the worst person currently alive,” Toph stated. “And if we want to talk about disrespect, it sounds to me like it’d be a lot less respectful to use a bunch of kid soldiers as bait than to say ‘hey, that’s a bad plan.’ Zuko,” and now her voice was back to sounding so uncharacteristically gentle, like she was picking her words carefully, “I don’t think your scar is a mark of dishonor. I think it’s a mark of bravery. You stood up for people who needed standing up for. And you did your best to stay true to yourself under a father who wanted to kill you.”

“She’s right,” Sokka agreed, surprising himself. “Everything you just told us--if that isn’t a story of honor won, I don’t know what is. You’re...you’re a good man, Zuko.”

Zuko let out a strangled sobbing sound.

“Uh, is it okay if we hug you now?” Sokka asked. “Because I kind of feel like this is a ‘hug’ moment.”

“...alright,” Zuko breathed, and then they were all a tangle of limbs and snotty emotions. They stayed that way, huffing and sweaty and comfortable, until they all fell asleep.

They didn’t dream anything at all.

(In the morning, Katara stood over their snoring dogpile, hands on her hips and a perplexed frown on her face.

“Ah, let them sleep,” Aang told her. “I woke up a little in the middle of the night and it sounded like they were having a pretty intense conversation.”

Katara rolled her eyes, but her stance softened, just a little. “Well, alright,” she grumbled. “You still need to practice your waterbending, anyway. Come on!”

And with a groan, Aang followed her out. The others slept on.)

#a:tla #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfiction #linden's originals #linden writes #long post #the angst and the found family that is my jam #and i will spread it on my toast until my dying day #hm. yes #after spending 2+ hours writing this i do in fact feel much better #thank you for the prompt lunar #much appreciated!! <3

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fortunatelylovelytyrant · 5 years

Text

A Garter Snake and a Python

A/N: I have no self-control whatsoever. There are some latin-y things in here cause I’m a nerd. It’s also 1,328 words excluding this and the title.

“Have you thought about herpetology?” the academic advisor said, looking at his reflection in sunglasses. If he shifted his gaze a little, he’d be looking at her hair. It’d probably look back just taunt him, but that wasn’t the issue at hand.

“No. Isn’t that some science thing?”

“It’s the study of,” he paused, watching something twitch at her shoulder. “Snakes. I think you would be very. . .interested.”

“Sign me up then, when do classes start?” she asked, picking at her nails.

“August 17th and you have to pick your major yourself.” He replied, sliding a clipboard towards her.

“Do you have this in Greek or Latin?” he couldn’t see her eyes but knew she had glanced away from him. “I can’t, um, r—.”

“We have the last copy in Greek. You aren’t the first person to have this problem.” He interrupted, taking the clipboard back and switching documents. Save the woman and himself some embarrassment.

She slid the clipboard back a few minutes later, messing with the strap on her bag before standing up to leave.

“Welcome to the University of Phoenix, Medusa.” He said before she was fully gone.

For years her name had been spoken with contempt and fear. Academically, it had been said in sorrow out of the mouths of women who didn’t know the smell of seawater disgusted her and Athena had in some way protected her. Though she may have flourished, happy and blessed, she fell from the peak and deprived of glory because of one man.

She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being a god any longer. Her name had been a war cry once out of the mouth of Perseus and learned two things: Athena’s shield and Hades’ helmet were fake, and Perseus was clumsy with a sword.

“How’d it go?”

Medusa jumped, unwinding as she looked at Sappho. “Why don’t you make noise?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “Classes start in August and—.”

“I knew you could do it,” Sappho interrupted, arms around Medusa’s neck, lips just as close even though she was a whole foot shorter. It warmed Medusa, lingering after Sappho pulled away. “We should celebrate. Hercules is going bar hopping with a few people.”

“I thought you writer types liked staying home. Can’t we just ask Dionysus for a bottle of wine and call it a day?” she asked, following her to the car.

“It’s a special occasion,”

“Meaning wine. He owns a vineyard and he owes me.”

“What for?” Sappho asked, getting in the car.

“He knows what he did.”

***

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Sappho said, wheezing as Medusa closed the door to their apartment.

Medusa shrugged, tossing her bag by the bed. “Hercules had a snake so I showed him mine. He’s got about a Brahminy,” she paused, moving her hair off her shoulder. “Maybe smaller.”

“Medusa,”

“Beau is a good boy and he meant it,” she said, holding her arm out for said boa constrictor. She was grateful to have controlled the whole snake-hair thing, but they came in handy. Such as earlier when Hercules had the nerve to harass her about her sunglasses and put his hand in her hair. So, naturally, she struck and got them kicked out of the bar.

Well, at least she got her wine. She watched as Sappho moved around the room, changed into shorts and a tank top and maybe Medusa should not have looked at Sappho for too long because they were roommates and roommates didn’t spare longing glances at each other. Or sleep in the same bed or go to the same university or oh. Oh.

“I’m gonna go get ice,” Medusa said. “For the wine.” She added, leaving the room before Sappho could reply. White wine and ice went together, right? Or was it red?

Either way, it didn’t matter because Sappho was in the next room, unbothered and most likely doing homework. Or waiting for Medusa to get back since she’s been standing at the sink under the pretense of rinsing glasses for almost fifty minutes and the water went cold already.

She gathered herself, topped both glasses off and headed back to the room. They had known each other since Sappho had got accepted into the university and now she was a junior; Medusa had never been to college before so the disparity in knowledge worried her more. She couldn’t even read English! What kind of mortal would be in love with a Gorgon anyway?

“Medusa, could you help me with this line?”

“You know I can’t read English, but I’ll,” she paused, leaning her head on Sappho’s shoulder as she looked at the laptop. Most of it was in Latin, about an unnamed woman who was the object of an unnamed narrator’s affections from what she gathered. “What line did you need help with?”

“This one. It’s supposed to be a free-form mixing English and a dead language so I, ya know, did something you’d enjoy too. Unfortunately, I can’t write Greek well.” She said, pointing at the bottom of the screen and taking a sip from her glass.

“People reference Icarus too much,” Medusa said. “It’s a cliché and he was only a boy.”

She remembered when it showed up on the news, and how Daedelus’s grief nearly killed him. He had begged her to turn him to stone after a year had passed so she did.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Sappho mumbled, hitting the backspace button until the line was blank and the cursor blinked.

“How about this: Illa est Nyx, et luna. Crescis aut decrescis ad imperium illius ad sui amorem.” She said, the end coming out as uncertain. For once she was lucky Sappho couldn’t look her in the eyes directly, her skin felt warm unrelated to the wine as she pulled away, leaning against the pillows.

Sappho’s fingers tapped against the keyboard, the sound becoming soothing at some point. Medusa started channel surfing, the relative quiet making her nervous and stirring up half-formed thoughts she didn’t want to entertain right now. Most of them concerning the woman next to her.

She glanced over as Sappho stretched and set her empty wine glass aside. “You done?” she asked, ignoring the way her pulse ticked up as Sappho lay next to her.

“Yeah,” Sappho answered. She glanced up at Medusa, shifting up and taking Medusa’s sunglasses off.

Medusa closed her eyes, feeling Sappho’s hands cup her face. She let out a shaking breath, afraid to look at Sappho. Not because of her beauty, Aphrodite forgive her, but because she didn’t want to watch Sappho still and turn to stone. If she would was another question, but Medusa had enough of tempting fate.

“Medusa,” Sappho said, voice low and so close. “Look at me.”

Medusa swallowed, opening her eyes and meeting Sappho’s dark brown gaze. Her dark skin with a smattering of freckles seeming otherworldly in the fading daylight. “Yes?” she asked, unsure what to do with her hands as Sappho’s thumb brushed her bottom lip.

Not even Dionysus’s oldest bottle could compare to Sappho’s lips on hers. Intoxicating, yes, but the back-of-the-throat burn gone and inviting Medusa to have just a little bit more.

Sappho wasn’t someone to be stripped and gawked at. She wasn’t a flower to be pried open or a cave to be explored or a honeypot to be cracked as men described in romance novels.

Medusa was convinced they had never actually kissed a woman’s thigh or felt them clamp around their head to stay close as they teased, licked, and sucked.

No, men were too focused on themselves to ask what worked and what didn’t, if they should do something again for her pleasure.

For once, Medusa heard her name being said in genuine love, in between kisses and half asleep mumbles. Sappho was so much more than a poet. She was Medusa’s just as Medusa was hers.

#tyrant writes #medusa #sappho #medusaxsappho #greek myth #modern au #I almost died while writing this no lie I need to sleep

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somethingvicked · 6 years

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Masquerade of Life

Chapter 1

Claire

My cellphone rang the moment I came into my dorm room. I had just sat through a lecture about Dante Alighieri and what his work had meant to modern poetry, so a bit of distraction was very welcome, making me answer quickly before the caller hung up.

"Hello?"

"Claire?" I heard my father, Charlie Swan ask at the other end of the receiver.

It's my phone dad, who else, I thought to myself as I smiled from hearing from my father "No, chief Swan, you have actually reached Queen Elizabeth II. God bless me!" I exclaimed with my best British accent.

Charlie chuckled but his heart wasn't in it, which I immediately noticed and got tense. Something must be wrong.

"Nice to see one of my daughters still has her humor intact," he muttered making me confused.

"What?" I wondered, silently begging him to explain. So this, whatever it was must be about Bella.

My fraternal twin sister Isabella was currently living with our dad in Forks, Washington while I lived in London, attending Queen Mary's University. It was the first time Bella and I had been separated in our 18-years of life.

Up until a year ago we had both lived with our mom, Renee and then later her husband Phil. Renee and Charlie had met when Renee was only 19 and gotten headfirst into a marriage and then getting pregnant with us only a few months later.

Renee had tried, I guess, but it was no secret she hated Forks. She hated the constant rain, the small town life and only meeting the same people over and over. So when me and Bella were just toddlers she took us and left, divorcing Charlie in the process as he didn't want to leave Forks.

She moved to Phoenix in Arizona and it was not a bad place to live. Always sunny, lots of other children and never boring. I missed my dad lots though, making a habit out of going to Forks and visit him every Christmas and Easter.

Bella did so too during our younger years, but apparently lost interest when we were around 11 years old. She didn't like Forks either, she hated the rain and the coldness. Instead dad had to take a trip to California, booking rooms at a hotel as a compromise for Bella. I didn't like that and I had told Bella many times. Charlie shouldn't have to leave his home just to see his daughters. But Bella only said the rain made her depressed; making her want to curl up in bed and never get up.

The weather in Forks could be depressing, yes, she had a point there. But the fact that she couldn't put up with it for two-three weeks every year just to see our father, her own flesh and blood, made me angry at her and it was a recurring factor in the few arguments we had.

Which had made me even more astonished when Bella had decided to move to Forks last year when I got a letter from England, telling me that I had gotten an early acceptance into the Queen Mary University of London, a school for drama and literature – everything I had ever dreamed of!

Secretly I was also relieved because it would give me the chance to be something else than Bella Swan's sister. I loved Bella, I really did – we had come into this world together, me being just 11 minutes younger than her – we were family. But all my life I had to watch out for her. Even when we were little girls.

For some reason Bella was so utterly clumsy that she managed to trip over daisies and spraining her foot while walking over soft beach sand. And all my life, ever since I was old enough to understand the words it had been "Please watch over your sister, Claire! We don't want her to hurt herself!"

It was no different when we got older either. Renee had always been a bit of an eccentric mom, wanting us to try out as many hobbies as possible. Now, with a child like Bella one would think that she could leave her out of things such as volleyball, ballet and horse riding. But nope. And if Bella came home with a bruised face because the volleyball had hit her in the face I knew what would come: "Why didn't you look after Bella, Claire?" Same if she broke her toes during ballet practice. Or fell of a horse.

Bella didn't like it either – I assume no one would like to hear constant reminders that they need a baby sitter, especially as the oldest sister.

I couldn't resent my mom though. She was one of those eternal children of the world that never really grew up. She didn't know how to handle Bella's constant accidents so she looked to me for handling it.

It was also thanks to Renee that I found two of my biggest passions: Theater and kick boxing. I had joined a drama club at the age of 10 and been a member ever since. It was because of that it got me my early acceptance into the university.

By then Renee had met Phil, a junior league baseball player and married him. He was a bit younger than her but our mother had always seemed younger than her age so they mixed well together. But he had to travel a lot in his work and Renee missed him terribly. She tried to make it seem like no big deal but it was like watching an exotic flower wither in loss of the sun.

I sometimes played with the idea of bringing up moving to Forks for the last two school years, but I always thought better of it because of Bella's attitude to Fork's. Then when my acceptance letter came, Bella suddenly said she would go live with Charlie. Since I wouldn't be home anymore either then mom could travel with Phil.

When saying this she sounded more like someone in court pleading guilty to make a better deal but I kept my mouth shut. Charlie would be really happy to have Bella living with him and Renee would be happy to be with Phil. If Bella wanted to play the martyr and hope it got her into heaven I would let her.

It probably sounded like I resent my sister – I really don't. But even though she's my twin she can be a bit of a whiny brat sometimes. She was responsible in her own way, absolutely, no trouble maker at all. And she and I had silently shared the housework between us for years as it was easier doing so than trusting our mom to remember it. Neither Bella or I had complained about that - so I couldn't say she never helped out around home either.

But Bella shied away from people, not making contact and being socially awkward when I tried introducing some of my friends. I didn't fault her for that though – some people were just like that, introverts. But it was her face of moping and loneliness in the corridors of school that irritated me. One can't both complain about feeling like an outsider and not wanting anything to do with people at the same time.

The way she manipulated the love our dad had for us also made me angry – it always had to be about whether Bella was comfortable or not during our visits, not what Charlie or I wanted.

But when telling her this I always got a sad puppy-dog look and a: "How can you think that about me, Claire?!"

I woke up from my thoughts about my sister when Charlie asked in a high voice: "Claire! Have you even heard a thing I said?"

"Umm … no, sorry, dad. What did you say?"

Charlie sighed. "It's about that boy … Edward. She told you about him, right?"

Yeah, she did. Bella and I didn't talk regularly but we exchanged emails from time to time. I had thought about sending her postcards or letters from London but on a student scholarship I couldn't really afford it.

Bella had told me about this guy, Edward Cullen that she had started to date last year. It was a bit mysterious since Bella had seemed head over heels for him at first. Then, over a weekend she had suddenly broke it off with him, fleeing away from Forks, telling Charlie she didn't want to get stuck like our mother (way to go with hurting dad with just words, Bella!). And then Edward had gone after her and it all ended with Bella tripping down the stairs and crashing into a window, breaking her leg.

I had wanted to come to the hospital but mom had pleaded with me to stay in London. Bella was okay and apparently she didn't want me to come. Thanks for that one, sis.

I always wondered if Edward was the one that had hurt her, making her come back to him and back to Forks. But when I tried to ask Bella about the accident she had blown up at me and said Edward would never harm her, closed our chat window and ignored me for weeks.

Touchy.

Last I heard from Bella had been on our birthday two months ago and then everything seemed fine. In fact she mentioned that Edward's family was going to throw her a birthday party – just for her and them since they knew what Bella thought about birthday celebration. I thought it very sweet of them.

"What about him?" I asked Charlie, pushing my thoughts away again.

"Well … the day after yours and Bella's birthday … he and his family just … left! They left their house, Forks, everything. Edward apparently broke up with Bella and she … I don't know what happened – she didn't come home that night and this guy from La Push found her in the woods, all curled up and … and I don't know what to do, Claire. She's like a shell of her former self. She does everything asked of her but … and she's screaming during the nights. Crying in her sleep like someone's shoved a knife through her. Every freaking night, Claire!"

My father's voice broke and I could feel his pain inside my chest. It must be very bad if he called me.

"That's so awful," I said. "How could they just leave like that? And did that had anything to do with why he and Bella broke up?"

"I don't know," Charlie said. "Bella never told me much about him. I thought him a good kid despite everything. The doctor and his wife are nice people after all."

I sighed again. "Do you want me to come home, dad?"

He mimicked my sigh. "You don't have to Claire, I hope you know that. But honestly … neither I nor Renee know what to do with your sister. Renee thought you might know, with how close you guys have always been … it's okay with me if you don't, but it would also be nice to not be alone in this."

I frowned when he mentioned my mother's thoughts about me and Bella. Renee had always had some kind of mythological thoughts about us since we were twins and twins were supposed to understand everything about each other. I had tried to explain to Renee that is was really just a myth and that we were fraternal twins on top of that – not really closer than regular siblings since we didn't have the exact same DNA like identical twins did.

Me and Bella had been close as children when we really just were everything the other one had but as we grew and developed our own personalities and interests we grew apart from each other. That didn't mean that we didn't care about each other but we were not like Renee thought us.

"I understand, dad," I told Charlie, "Umm … well I have to speak to the university counselors and make a few arrangements. It's almost Christmas and just a few lectures left. I should be able to do them over distance. Then we can try and figure this out over the holiday."

Charlie exhaled in the other end, relief palpable in his tone. "Really? That's great, sweetheart. Thank you. Call me when you've gotten the go from your teachers, I'll book you a ticket home."

"I will daddy. I love you."

"Love you too, sweetie," Charlie mumbled and then hung up.

I tossed my cellphone on the bed in my little dorm room, angrily punching my bookshelf. What the hell had that boy done to Bella?!

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #caius volturi #lovestory

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mnranger5 · 5 years

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Adult Spring Break 2019, Las Vegas, Lake Havasu & Phoenix, 3/5/19 - 3/10/19

It’s hard to imagine a winter any worse than last winter - the winter of 2018. The prolonged bitter cold and crippling snow storms seemed recordbreaking at best, and the start of an ice age at worst. We had a train of storms well into April dropping 8 inches of white concrete, one after the next. Spring was nowhere to be found. The ice out date on Crystal Lake (April 30, 2018) was the latest date since records began being kept in 1974. After that kind of winter, we were due for a mild winter in 2019… Last week I caught a headline that read: “2019 Minnesota Winter – One of the harshest in modern times.” Without dwelling too much on the negative, here were a few fun nuggets in the article: Multiple rounds of record breaking cold (temperatures 30-40 below zero), as late in the season as March Multiple rounds of record breaking windchills of 50 to 60 below zero Record amounts of snow in February for the Tiwn Cities - 39 inches - shattering the old record of 26.5 inches set in 1962 Potentially catastrophic and historic flooding this spring due to the melt off of our record snow pack. The hazards of winter have had a significant impact on our travel plans over the past couple of months. Right after Christmas, we were supposed head to Duluth for a ski weekend with the kids. A big storm dropping more than a foot of snow hit at the exact same time, making travel impossible north of the Twin Cities.

Then, an actual blizzard in late February prevented Dyan and I from making a trip to Lawrence, KS, to celebrate my 40th birthday at a Kansas Jayhawks game. That storm was crazy! A day before we were supposed to leave, the mega storm with 60mph winds dumped over a foot of snow on southern MN and norther IA.

Interstates 35 and 90 were shut down for two days as DOT crews removed deserted automobiles and cleared 10 foot drifts across the highways. No Jayhawks game for us!

The winter has taken a physical toll on Dyan and I too. Let’s just say we didn’t score too many 10’s from the neighbors as they watched us try and clear our driveway and sidewalks of snow.

We desperately needed a break from winter. And Spring Break with Dyan’s folks in the southwest desert sounded wonderful. As a bonus, Mike and Rachel decided to come on the trip unbeknownst to Denise and Tony. That surprise only added to the fun on this trip.

March 5, 2019 It was an early flight into Vegas, so we were up at 4:30AM, and in the Uber at 5:15. We rendezvoused with Mike and Rachel who were already in the terminal and waited to board. Not gonna lie, we were super lucky with this flight. A day earlier, we had been upgraded to convenience class and were sitting just behind 1st class. We made a quick trip through the de-icing before we were wheels up and destined for warmer weather.

We landed in Vegas around 8AM and made a quick stop over to Dollar Rental Car for Mike & Rachel’s vehicle. They chose a Nissan Altima and we made quick work of exiting the rental car center. As soon as we hit the Vegas streets, Mike got a Low Tire Pressure Warning. His rear passenger tire was at 23psi, and should have been at 35psi. Ugh, do we really have to go through this again???

We made it safely over to New York New York Hotel and had a quick chicken & waffles breakfast at Bruxie. Temps were in the 60’s, the sun was shining, so the outdoor patio was a no-brainer for us! After breakfast we wandered around the strip. We decided to have a beer and wait for Tony & Denise at Rock & Reilly’s. Note to self: never step foot in this establishment again – the bathrooms at 10AM were absolutely filthy, like, vomit all over the sinks filthy. We opted for the Las Vegas Blvd. patio which was actually really nice. Mike and Rachel hid inside the bar while Dyan and I greeted Tony and Denise on the patio. Then once we were all settled, Mike and Rachel popped out and surprised their parents! The surprise factor was an easy 10!

After a couple of drinks, we wandered aimlessly down the strip as Denise took in the company of her daughters. Later that afternoon, we walked to the Stratosphere. I had no idea it was so tall?

The rest of the afternoon, we wandered the strip, stopping for beverages and a bite to eat at Gilley’s.

After dinner, we took in the Bellagio fountain which was wet to Lady Gaga’s Bad Romance. An odd music choice for the fountains...

Then, we moved on to gambling. Dyan and I played Buffalos, Willy Wonka, and just about any other open machine we could find.

I think we were all pretty exhausted from the long day, so we all haded off to our rooms for some sleep by 11PM

First thing in the morning, Dyan and I were back at the slots! We were about even money so far on the trip. Tony then introduced Mike and I to craps. It was a $5 table, and it was empty. A great time to learn.

I changed $60, Mike and Tony each changed $100, I think. Here we go. All we had to do was not roll a 2, 3 or 12 on the first toss. Mike was up first. He slung the dice toward the end wall. The ricocheted in different directions. Then stopped. Boxcars! Dang! The three of us lost. Okay, let’s try again. My turn to toss. I fire the dice down the table, but the fell short of the wall. As they lay on the table, the dealer yelled “3!” Are you kidding me? Lose again. Tony’s turn. Tony flopped the dice down the table and they landed on 9. Yes, time to make a bet. I put $30 in bets on the table. On the second roll, the only losing number is a 7. Please no 7. Tony ripped the dice down the table careening off the back wall. It was a 7. I had just lost $40 on three rounds. Let’s try again. Mike was up again. All numbers are good except 2, 3 and 12. He bounced the die off the wall and landed snake eyes. Are you serious. Mike had just thrown the two most difficult combinations in two consecutive tosses. We lost again. My turn. It was a broken record at this point. I threw a 6 on my first throw which opened up betting, but on my next toss I threw another 7. Loser. I had successfully lost all of my $60 in five rounds.

At that point, the girls walked up to the table. After a brief discussion of how bad this was going, Dyan handed me $150 and said have fun! NICE!

By this point, Tony was out. He’d lost his hundo. Mike still had $15. I was feeling better. Some new life came to the table. We now had 4 people playing opposite of us. They began rolling the die. The first two guy lost Mike and I a bit more money. But then two women started throwing. And were they ever hot throwers! All they did was keep throwing the numbers Mike and I were betting. After an hour, I had made back the initial $60 I had lost and profited about $100. It was a very good sequence of rolls for us!

Around 9AM, Mike and Rachel headed for Hoover Dam while Dyan and I took the scenic drive with Tony and Denise over to Lake Havasu. Once situated at their house, Tony and I took the ferry over to the town of Havasu Lake.

This small town has a rinky dink casino full of locals. I love it. Reminds me of the casinos in Deadwood. Right off the bat, I hit a free spin bonus on Wonka that paid out a nice $50!

Tony and I spent about 2 hours there having beers with his brother, Greg and beating the house on their machines, and the blackjack table. Later that evening Mike and Rachel arrived and we went out to dinner at Javelina Cantina.

The hotspot in Lake Havasu is right around the London Bridge. Tons of bars and restaurants flank both sides of the original London Bridge. The bridge was actually transported from England in the 70′s to Lake Havasu and rebuilt, stone by stone over the man-made canal. This was the kickstarter for the tourism industry here.

After dinner, we took a walk across the bridge to the official Spring Break Headquarters, Kokomo Bar. Our spring break was fortunately two weeks early for the college herds that swamp the town. Good news for us, no long lines for drinks or entertainment.

Obviously, the first picture is a nice little game of pool where Tony kicked my butt. The second picture is a game called A-Holes, which despite the name, was a really spin on the traditional bags game. This third picture is kind of like a human beer game. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets stuck...

Time to shut the evening down and head home to bed. Except, Mike and I had an idea. After getting to the house, we searched the garage for fishing gear. The homeowner (Tony & Denise’s landlord), had a couple of fishing rods from the 70′s. His tackle box was full of melted worms and rusty hooks. We talked the girls into giving us a midnight run over to Walmart for fishing gear.

At 6AM, Mike and I were at the Havasu Canal, searching for bedding fish, right up on the shoreline. We fished for two hours, but only managed this little smallie.

Lots of giants were sitting on beds, but we couldn’t entice them.

Our fishing time was short because we needed to pick up the ATV rentals at 9AM. That is one activity we didn’t want to be late for!

After a quick walkthru, Mike and I were buzzing north along London Bridge Road looking for the most rugged terrain we could find.

We burned up the front side of huge jumps and crawled around sheer mountainside cliffs.

We blazed through the hilly desert toward Signal Mountain occasionally stopping just long enough to clear the dust from our sunglasses and laugh about the number of shenanigans Mike was pulling or the 17-point turn my Family Truckster had to take to maneuver around hairpin turns.

It was an absolutely amazing ride through the Havasu backcountry!

To top off the fun, we were able to get the Can-Am’s down on the shores of Lake Havasu!

After 4 wheeling around Havasu, we made a quick stop at home for lunch and a shower before heading back out for our next excursion of the day. Mike and I had a guided fishing trip planned for the afternoon.

When we were planning this trip, we all spent lots of time trying to track down a fishing guide who would take us bass fishing. That proved to be much harder that expected for a Top 100 Bassmaster ranked lake in the middle of its giant bass spawning. There should have been guides lined up left and right at the marina. That was not the case. As it turns out, Havasu only has two resident fishing guides. Shawn Bailey, the only dedicated bass fishing guide was booked. Captain Chris Blythe who fishes for just about anything that bites, was also booked the first couple of times we called him. However, just a few days before the trip, Mike called Captain Blythe again. He indicated he had a cancelation and could fit us in for a 5 hour afternoon trip. Sold!

We were told to meet him at Bass Tackle Master, the local bait shop. A gigantic pontoon rolled into the lot. Surely this wasn’t our vessel, was it? Where is the sparkly, metal-flake-20 foot bass boat? In the door walks a big dude, who introduces himself as Chris Blythe. Yep, that’s the boat we are fishing in…. So much for trolling along the shoreline and sight fishing for bedding bass. So much for nimbly fitting into back creeks in search for some spawning giants. So much for bass fishing..

And it only got more comical from there. Chris told us to go ahead and head out to the boat – “We will be a few more minutes because we’re waiting for a couple more guys.” Wait, what? Did he say a couple more guys? So, not only are we going fishing on a party barge, but it’s also with a group of at least 4 guys. As it turned out, it ended up being 6 guys fishing, plus Captain Blythe and his dock hand, Gil. Before it could even get started, Mike and I were ready for it to be over… Five of us loaded into his Suburban for a 20 minute drive over to the launch. His Suburban didn’t have AC. I was stuck in the middle of the backseat – quite fitting for how the trip was going.

Since we clearing weren’t going to be casting for smallmouth or largemouth bass, I asked Chris what was biting on the lake. His response was priceless. “Stripers (striped bass). But when you text your wives that the stripers are biting, make sure you spell stripers with one “P”. If you misspell it, I am going to be in a lot of trouble with them.” For as poor as the trip was, at least we had a little comic relief.

Gil and Chris launched the pontoon and told everybody that we need to “catch” our bait. They grabbed a bait net and bucket and headed over to the public fishing dock. At least a dozen other people on the fishing dock also had bait nets. Everybody was trying to throw their nets over the quick moving school of shad that danced underwater all around the dock. Chris would spot the school and throw his net . The school of shad was likely in the thousands, and crazy fast. Chris came up empty on his first toss. Mike and I, both have polarized glasses, so it was much easier for us to spot the shad through the sun glare. Mike called out to Chris that he saw them and Chris hurriedly launched the net on top of Mike’s spot. He came up empty again. Everybody on the dock was coming up empty. Chris tossed his net over and over and over.

Occasionally, he’d get lucky and haul the net out of the water with one or two shad in it. If he hits the school just right with the net, he could have hundreds of shad caught. He said there have been times he had so many shad in the net it was too heavy to pull from the water. Geez! Not today. While waiting for Chris to get bait, we witnessed a guy catch a 5lb smallmouth bass right off the dock. Did we ever have the itch to catch a giant like that! We spent 45 minutes watching Chris fail at catching bait. We had a total of 12 shad when Chris finally said, let’s go fishing.

By the time we were to our first fishing location, we were 90 minutes into the trip. Time to start fishing. By this point, the wind had really ratcheted up, and was blowing at 15mph sustained, with gusts from 20-25mph. White caps were blazing across the lake. Weather was in the 70’s, so at least it was warm. The plan was for us to drift with the wind in 30-35FOW dragging 1oz. sinkers and a live bait/shad rig across the bottom of the lake. Apparently this is where the stripers were about a week ago. Chris and Gil handed everybody rods. We all sent our bait to the bottom of the lake and waited. With the gusts of wind we were having, it took us no time at all to blow through our drift path. We tried a couple of different spots, but nobody was getting bit. We began losing our precious shad from some tree snags at the bottom of the lake.

After 2 hours of fishing, we were all out of shad, and had not a single fish in the boat. Chris motored back over to the public dock and tried to catch more shad. His numerous attempts that came up empty were really starting to hurt morale. Once again, locals were catching stripers and small mouth left and right off the dock. Good ones too. A couple of the guys on our charter passed me saying “this is such a joke.” I almost felt bad for Chris. He was trying his best to catch bait, but just couldn’t find many shad. After another hour of searching for bait, we had 7 shad. I guess that was enough for us each to throw one more line into the water.

We boarded the pontoon again and headed back out into the heavy wind. Once again, we made a super-fast drift across the lake. We were moving so fast, I don’t think most of our baits were even on the bottom. Not surprising, none of us got a bite. On our way back into the marina, Chris said, “I’ve had some bad days on the water, but this is probably the worst.” I would have to agree, it was pretty bad. But at least we had this nice sunset!

We rendezvoused with the family for some dinner at Barley Bros Restaurant and Brewery before heading back to Kokomos for a drink. We hatched a plan that evening of finding pull tabs. The google told us Gallagher’s Pub, a 10 minute drive up the hill had pull tabs. Let’s go!

Gallagher’s was sketchy. From the moment we walked in, we didn’t feel very welcome. There was a card game going on in the corner of this dark bar. Heaping stacks of cash were being pushed across the table. Some of the money went into pockets, some into envelopes. I presume the owner, took one stack of cash and loaded the bar’s cash register with it. Some of the cash went into the lottery machine and some of the cash was handed to the cook, who was oddly hanging out at the bar. I don’t know what was going on in this place, but it didn’t give off a very good vibe. We played pull tabs and pulled a $100 winner. We quickly found out that pull tabs in AZ is quite a bit different than MN. First off, AZ does not cross off the winning tickets, so the player never knows how many good tickets are left. Second, AZ has no idea how to cash a winning ticket. I took the winner to the bartender and she said it would be a few minutes. She needed cash to pay me. Twenty minutes later, the owner walks over to the register and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. Yep, I was being paid from the wad of cash in the owner’s pocket. What was going on here? As we were finishing our drinks the one of the bar employees got into a shouting match with the bartender about cash, and giving cash to customers. This place is messed up. We got out of there after one drink.

The next morning, Mike and I were up early, again, for some shore fishing near London Bridge. Like yesterday, the big girls were out, but not biting. We fished for two hours until the girls met us down at the lake for some breakfast at Shugrue’s. Tasty. The we had a urgent matter to attend to. Mike’s tire. Over the past couple of days, his tire was losing air pressure rapidly. Mike and I spent an hour driving from shop to shop looking for quick service. All the big name places had huge lines. We stopped an old garage called Tire Mart. This was the kind of place we were looking for. They serviced Mike’s tire immediately and found the screw lodged in his tire.

For $20, we were all patched up and back on the road in under 30 minutes.

That afternoon, we headed to Phoenix. What should have been a 2.5 hour drive turned into 4 hours as we drove through the heart of rush-hour traffic. First stop was our hotel, the Sheraton Grand at Wild Horse Pass. This place is a little slice of Heaven on earth!

We sat around the pool drinking Heizenburgs (some combination of whisky & lemonade) and Key Lime Coladas for a couple of hours as we waited for the ballgame. We probably would have left much earlier, but we were waiting as long as possible for the traffic to mellow out a bit. Still it took over an hour to get to Camelback Ranch Stadium in Glendale.

And once again, Dyan WAY overdid it with tickets. Are front row seats behind home plate good enough? Geez, what a great experience to witness a game that close. Royals ended up beating the Dodgers, 7-5, and we had the best seats in the house to witness a three run homer by Whit Merrifield.

Later that night, Mike and I got a bonfire going out on the patio while the girls gabbed at the bar.

Temps were in only in the 60’s. Had it been a bit warmer, we would have certainly hit the pool for a late night swim.

But instead it was off to bed early. A major winter storm was bearing down on the Midwest – forecasters were calling for 8-12” of snow.

We had intentions of spending the entire next day lounging at the pool before our evening flight home, but Delta allowed us to change our flight so that we could get home before the big storm hit.

So instead of a day soaking up some rays, we woke up at 5AM so we could get to the airport for our 8:00 flight. Lame.

Just before hopping on the flight, the radar was lighting up as the storm was bearing down on MN. We landed in Minny around noon under cloudy skies.

What really sucked about this is that the mega-storm was a complete bust, at least for the south metro. We picked up only 2 inches of snow. The airport never shut down, and most flights that evening were on-time. For the third time in three months, Winter 2019 disrupted one of our vacations. When is spring?

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flauntpage · 7 years

Text

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake

I watch a lot of basketball. And when I'm not doing that (or eating, sleeping, reading, sitting in front of an unintentionally funny horror movie, etc.), there's a good chance I've fallen into something NBA-related on my laptop, whether it be a beautifully-written profile, stretch of game film, or a statistical database.

It is virtually impossible to absorb all the NBA has to offer, but digestible morsels of information usually find their way into a notebook that migrates between my coffee table and nightstand. (I have two shoeboxes under my bed that are literally overflowing with random thoughts on the NBA extracted over hundreds of hours spent in front of my TV/iPad/cell phone.) Some of it is complete nonsense ("Why did Frank Vogel grow a beard?"). Some of it is useful.

This column is born from my notebook. Every week, I'll try to unwrap some unique angles from around the league. So, anyways, welcome! I hope after reading this you have just a little bit more insight into (and interest in) the NBA than you did before hopping over.

1. Introducing Philly's Giant Trio of Death

This was already mentioned in my preview piece about Dario Saric and the Philadelphia 76ers, but one of the most critical questions for Philly is whether Ben Simmons, Joel Embiid, and Saric can share the floor. All three are taller than 6'10", with a rare combination of intelligence and technical skill that should theoretically allow them to thrive beside one another.

If they can space the floor (more on Simmons's ability to do that without a jump shot later), maintain some defensive versatility, and move the ball, there's no way to stop them. Size has long been the sport's most valuable element, and folding it into a group that's also able to adopt modern principles (quality three-point shooting, a modifiable pick-and-roll defense, etc.) would eventually give Philly an advantage over everybody else.

They've only shared the floor for 23 minutes in four games, but in that time the Sixers have outscored opponents by 27 points per 100 possessions while assisting two-thirds of their made baskets. They're zipping up the court, running offense through whoever has a mismatch, and, as expected, gobbling up all the rebounds in sight.

27 minutes of basketball hardly provides enough data to confirm that these three will one day take over the universe, but Sixers coach Brett Brown swapped Saric in for Jerryd Bayless at the start of the second half of their Monday night win over the Detroit Pistons. Obvious translation: This is the beginning of something very special.

2. Minnesota's Glaring Weakness

Between Karl-Anthony Towns dissecting defenses from any square foot of the court he pleases, Andrew Wiggins gliding like a condor, and Jamal Crawford momentarily propping up a lethargic offense like the ageless highlight reel he is, it's still hard to ignore Minnesota's obvious hole: the desperate need for another wing defender. Maybe two.

At the start of their thrilling victory against the Oklahoma City Thunder on Sunday night, the Timberwolves started with Jimmy Butler on Russell Westbrook while Wiggins defended Paul George and Jeff Teague hid out on Andre Roberson. Taj Gibson—better suited as a backup center at this stage in his career—glued himself to Carmelo Anthony as best he could.

When Wiggins took a seat later in the game, Butler was forced to pick up George. Not all teams are able to deploy as many offensive weapons as the Thunder, but these assignments are still way too taxing for Butler all year long, and don't allow him to wreak havoc off the ball on offense as much as he could if the Timberwolves avoided a crossmatch by putting Teague on Westbrook and Butler on Roberson.

Minnesota showed some interest in P.J. Tucker over the summer, but didn't make a serious offer to acquire him. That's unfortunate. They're distinctly thin at arguably the most critical position in the league, and it's showing. When Butler missed Tuesday night's game against the Indiana Pacers, his teammates put up one of the weaker defensive performances any team has had all season.

Games against the Pacers and Thunder are a small sample size, but we already knew that Crawford and Shabazz Muhammad aren't answers on the defensive end, while the Timberwolves' assembly of bigs aren't flexible enough to switch on the perimeter or even directly line up against teams that go small.

Minnesota's offense should still be good enough for a playoff berth, but unless they address their most glaring weakness before the trade deadline, winning a series will be an uphill battle. Including the two games Butler's missed, Minnesota's defensive rating is an atrocious 117.5 when he's not on the floor.

3. The Phoenix Suns!

Many accurate words have been written about the amusingly dysfunctional Phoenix Suns since the season started last Tuesday. It's fair to say they've momentarily snatched the Torch of Negligence from organizations that have proudly held it (the New York Knicks, Chicago Bulls, Sacramento Kings, and Los Angeles Lakers immediately spring to mind).

A couple nights before Eric Bledsoe submitted an early frontrunner for this season's most legendary tweet, I was in bed watching a game on my iPad when a random, half-serious thought popped into my head. I rolled over, opened my notebook, and scribbled down the following sentence: "Indirect way to gauge how hard a team is playing: Watch with sound off. That way you don't know if players are reacting to a ref's whistle or not."

I was watching the Suns.

4. Carmelo Anthony is a Walking "STOP THE PRESSES" Button

After their game against the Pacers on Wednesday night, Oklahoma City's pace registered at 104.2 with Russell Westbrook on the floor this season. Given their success in transition and all the long-armed, turnover-cobbling athleticism they possess on the defensive end, that number is right in line with how the Thunder should try and play for the rest of the reigning MVP's prime.

"Hijack" is too strong a descriptor for what Carmelo Anthony has done to his new team's rhythm, but when he's in the game their pace drops to 100.7. Related to last year's numbers, the gap between Westbrook and Melo's individual pace represents the league's fastest and 10th fastest teams.

When Anthony has been off the floor this season, Oklahoma City transforms into a jumbo jet. Its pace shoots up to a whopping 105.6. When Westbrook sits, things molder at 96.1. The differential grows more stark when you look at how the NBA's Triple-Double King performs without Anthony on the court. His True Shooting percentage increases 16.4 percent despite his usage rising by 10 points. (The pace gap also dramatically widens, as one might assume.)

This is the fundamental struggle Oklahoma City needs to work through as they digest life with two score-first options who're more comfortable at different tempos. Anthony's usage is right in line with where it was the past two seasons, but his True Shooting is down, thanks to a dramatic dip in trips to the free-throw line and a whole bunch of misfires beyond the arc. Only four players in the entire league are averaging more shots per game.

Billy Donovan has more than enough talent to go around, but ensuring comfort for all three of his stars will take some time.

5. LaMarcus Aldridge: Still Good!

The general reaction after the San Antonio Spurs gave LaMarcus Aldridge a three-year contract extension was bemused fascination. Aldridge will be 33 next season, was not an All-Star last year, and is coming off a playoff run that saw his True Shooting percentage dip below .500. But the Spurs aren't dumb. They know this. They also probably realize that acquiring someone who can mimic his impact at a lower cost is going to be all but impossible during Kawhi Leonard's prime.

It turns out Aldridge is still a very good player, and while Leonard nurses a nagging quadricep injury, the five-time All-Star has quietly kicked off his 12th season looking like one of the league's 15 best players. The undefeated Spurs have turned to mush on both ends when he's on the bench, getting outscored by a team-low 21.6 points per 100 possessions. (They're +19.3 when he plays.)

According to Synergy Sports, just over a third of Aldridge's possessions have been post-ups, where he already ranks in the 96th percentile. The left block is his happy place, and all who've defended him see nothing but his picture-perfect turnaround jump shot whenever their eyes close. (Especially Miami Heat rookie Bam Adebayo, who was absolutely tortured on national television Wednesday night.)

It's unlikely Aldridge averages 26 points, nine rebounds, and three assists per game for the entire year, but it's a promising start for a player who badly needed to reassert himself among the league's elite frontcourt weapons. The Spurs have been especially dominant with Aldridge at the five, in lineups that feature Rudy Gay or Kyle Anderson at the four. Just imagine how scary those lineups will be when Leonard—the freaking frontrunner for MVP—returns.

6. Bebe Nogueira...

...has multiple tattoos on his face and is a legend. This—more than the Raptors' modernized shot profile—is clearly the most important recent happening that's taken place in the general Toronto area.

Photo by John E. Sokolowski - USA TODAY Sports

7. The Dreaded Hot Seat

Earlier this week, the Suns fired Earl Watson, demonstrating it's never too early to toss your head coach into a guillotine. Comparing that situation with any other in the league is tough, though. There's only one Robert Sarver, and the stakes for Watson's dismissal were pretty low, given how unpleasant the team's roster is.

Firing a coach before Thanksgiving is never a good look, but it still got me thinking about whether any other coaches (beside the two most obvious candidates: Jeff Hornacek and Alvin Gentry) might have a single burner under their chair. It would surprise me if the coach I'm about to mention doesn't keep his job for the foreseeable future, but literally nothing can be ruled out in today's NBA.

The Denver Nuggets are 1-3 with their lone win coming against the Sacramento Kings. Nothing about this is notably problematic, but expectations are a tidal wave that cease for no man, and with a cupcake road trip sitting on the horizon and a tricky home stand right after that, Mike Malone may find himself in hot water.

If Denver struggles against the Atlanta Hawks, Brooklyn Nets, and New York Knicks before the Miami Heat, Toronto, Golden State Warriors, and Oklahoma City Thunder invade the Pepsi Center, will he have an opportunity to turn things around? Probably, yes. He should. Denver is the fifth-youngest team in the league, with a pair of inexperienced point guards (Jamal Murray and Emmanuel Mudiay) who are seriously struggling. Their offense is unexpectedly impotent.

It's way, way, way too early to point fingers or even be concerned about Denver's play (their defense is keeping opponents away from the rim and forcing a ton of mid-range shots!), but Malone may be on thinner ice than we think.

8. Centers are Officially Married to the Three-Point Line

Here's a list of centers who've already launched at least one three this year: Dewayne Dedmon (six), Jonas Valanciunas (one), Hassan Whiteside (one), Willie Cauley-Stein (two), Gorgui Dieng (four), Robin Lopez (five), Nikola Vucevic (19), Dwight Powell (12), Timofey Mozgov (three), Jusuf Nurkic (two), Jeff Withey (two), Al Jefferson (one), Derrick Favors (five), and a whole bunch who aren't listed primarily because they aren't that surprising.

Joel Embiid is 2-for-13 from beyond the arc and DeMarcus Cousins is averaging more threes per game than all but five players in the entire league. Attempts aren't a sole indicator of any uptick when most of these players have only appeared in a few games, but three-point rates at the center position are skyrocketing across the board.

This is one of the most evolutionary subplots in the NBA right now, even if we all saw it coming.

9. When Spacing Doesn't Matter

Speaking of evolution and the three-point line, two of the NBA's most unique talents, Ben Simmons and Giannis Antetokounmpo, are a couple earthquakes who can't really shoot. So far, Antetokounmpo's three-point rate is about half what it was last season (he's 1-for-6 in 154 minutes) while Simmons is 0-for-3 in his career.

But both have remained effective even when the ball isn't in their hands, and their respective coaching staffs have done a good job figuring out different ways to get them going from the weakside. It's only natural to sag off someone who isn't a threat beyond the arc, and that's exactly what teams do whenever Simmons and Antetokounmpo aren't dribbling around with transfixing dexterity.

To neutralize this defense, both teams have instituted quick hit actions that allow their freakish "guards" to get a running head start towards the basket against a perimeter defender who isn't in their path. For example, the Bucks will run a side pick-and-roll towards the middle of the floor with the sole intention of swinging it to Antetokounmpo on the opposite wing. He'll catch it in mid-stride towards the paint, and from that point your best defense is physical assault.

This catch-and-go action makes defenders think twice about helping at the nail, and instead forces them to clog up an open runway towards the rim.

10. Andre Drummond is Wiping Dirt Off His Shoulders

Not only is he shooting 72.2 percent from the free-throw line, but, more importantly, the 24-year-old appears to have shaved/waxed/lasered away his scraggly shoulder hair. Speaking as someone who's long been afflicted with this cosmetic impediment, shout out to Drummond for overcoming what was once an unscalable obstacle.

11. Blake Griffin is a Top-10 Player Once More

Remember Blake Griffin? He's hitting threes, demanding double teams on the block (if you cut he will find you), and can still Mount Olympus poor shot blockers who think they stand a chance. Rudy Gobert didn't even jump when he saw Griffin rumbling down the paint for a teeth-rattling facial earlier this week.

His offensive game is as complete and diversified as there is, averaging a cool 27, 10, and four while launching six threes per game. If (if!) he stays healthy, the Clippers may find themselves with the five seed, and Griffin may find himself returning to an All-NBA team.

12. John Wall Equals Mini Mutombo

John Wall is on pace to have one of the most impressive shot-blocking seasons a guard has ever had, per Basketball-Reference. Through his first four games, the 27-year-old blur has five blocks and six personal fouls. Solid. His block rate is the exact same as Dwyane Wade's during his age-27 season, too.

He was a demon in Washington's season opener against the Philadelphia 76ers, welcoming Markelle Fultz to the league by smudging his layup off the glass. But then he also showed how useful he can be later on against the Detroit Pistons, switching onto Tobias Harris, guarding him in isolation, then swatting his floater away while squared up in the paint.

So much is made about Wall's inability to knock down threes and space the floor. But it's his inconsistency on the defensive end that bars him from MVP conversations. If he excels on that end all year, and rolls his unparalleled combination of speed, strength, and length into one package at the point guard position, Washington's ceiling will rise a considerable degree.

13. The Ed Davisaissance!

Ed Davis's tenure with the Portland Trail Blazers hasn't been great. Often injured, out of shape, or deemed ineffective in a league that has little use for big men who can't shoot, the guy looked spry on Tuesday against DeMarcus Cousins and the New Orleans Pelicans, recording his first double-double since last February.

Photo by Jaime Valdez - USA TODAY Sports

Davis is slowly re-emerging as one of the NBA's top putback artists and has flashed vibrance as a roll man, putting the ball on the ground with one dribble and then going up strong at the rim. Noah Vonleh's looming return from a shoulder injury (he could be back as early as November 1st) may throw a wrench in Davis's minutes. But Terry Stotts will have a hard time keeping the 28-year-old out of his rotation.

14. The Spurs are Spursing

The Spurs have logged six minutes of crunch time so far this season (defined as when the scoring margin is five or below, with five or fewer minutes left in the game). They've yet to allow a single point in that time. Defensive rating: zero point zero, and it's way too early to call it unsustainable.

15. How Many Nets can be Helpful Players on a Good Team?

Last year, the answer to this question was between zero and two, depending on what you think of Jeremy Lin and Brook Lopez. That number is slightly higher today, but a key difference is a serious downshift in age.

DeMarre Carroll stands out as the only legitimate late-prime candidate (though Trevor Booker is averaging 20.7 points and 12.5 rebounds per 36 minutes), with D'Angelo Russell, Jarrett Allen, and maybe even Caris LeVert—who plays basketball like a bold character actor who isn't sure/doesn't care about the established tone in his scene—rounding out the list.

It's too early to say this with too much confidence, but if the Lakers don't land LeBron James or Paul George this summer, dumping Russell for Lopez and cap space will be viewed as a humongous mistake. He looks fantastic in Brooklyn, strutting through half-court sets with 9,000 percent more confidence than he had in his first two years.

He's getting to, and finishing at, the rim in ways that should quell some concern over whether or not he'd ever be able to test defenses in the paint, all while knocking down threes and conducting open-floor surges with a comfort previously unseen in his career. His pick-and-rolls are unhurried, and he's already picked up the nuance that is holding off a trailing defender while putting pressure on the sagging big.

Turnovers are high but that's fine. He keeps his head up, looks for cutters, and is still only 21 years old!

Meanwhile, Allen looks like his ceiling could be as one of the 15 most useful defenders in the league. He has a 7'6" wingspan, unteachable instincts on the perimeter, and a touch around the basket that, speaking as someone who doesn't watch college basketball and didn't get to see him at Las Vegas Summer League, is quite the pleasant surprise. The Nets may have at least two cornerstones already onboard.

16. Are LeBron's Minutes Already Cause for Concern?

He leads the league at 188 overall and is third with 37.6 per game.

17. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Coming out of a time-out during Wednesday night's win over the Toronto Raptors, Warriors play-by-play announcer Bob Fitzgerald looked at a Shaun Livingston, David West, Kevin Durant, Klay Thompson, and Andre Iguodala quintet as they strode onto the floor and said "No team in the league can match this five."

Even though only three of Golden State's units played more than this exact one last season—they outscored opponents by 13.3 points per 100 possessions in 167 minutes—my immediate reaction was still to scoff.

Yes, this unit boasts a top-two player, extremely high intelligence across the board, like-sized defenders, and one of the greatest spot-up shooters who ever lived, but it doesn't have Steph Curry or Draymond Green, two transcendent figures who are most responsible for Golden State's unprecedented dominance.

It took me about five seconds to realize Fitzgerald was right. It's obvious and inconceivable at the same time: Golden State's eighth or ninth best five-man unit will blow your very best one out of the water. Welcome back, NBA!

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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amtushinfosolutionspage · 7 years

Text

The Outlet Pass: Philly’s Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake

I watch a lot of basketball. And when I’m not doing that (or eating, sleeping, reading, sitting in front of an unintentionally funny horror movie, etc.), there’s a good chance I’ve fallen into something NBA-related on my laptop, whether it be a beautifully-written profile, stretch of game film, or a statistical database.

It is virtually impossible to absorb all the NBA has to offer, but digestible morsels of information usually find their way into a notebook that migrates between my coffee table and nightstand. (I have two shoeboxes under my bed that are literally overflowing with random thoughts on the NBA extracted over hundreds of hours spent in front of my TV/iPad/cell phone.) Some of it is complete nonsense (“Why did Frank Vogel grow a beard?”). Some of it is useful.

This column is born from my notebook. Every week, I’ll try to unwrap some unique angles from around the league. So, anyways, welcome! I hope rafter reading this you have just a little bit more insight into (and interest in) the NBA than you did hopping over.

1. Introducing Philly’s Giant Trio of Death

This was already mentioned in my preview piece about Dario Saric and the Philadelphia 76ers, but one of the most critical questions for Philly is whether Ben Simmons, Joel Embiid, and Saric can share the floor. All three are taller than 6’10”, with a rare combination of intelligence and technical skill that should theoretically allow them to thrive beside one another.

If they can space the floor (more on Simmons’s ability to do that without a jump shot later), maintain some defensive versatility, and move the ball, there’s no way to stop them. Size has long been the sport’s most valuable element, and folding it into a group that’s also able to adopt modern principles (quality three-point shooting, a modifiable pick-and-roll defense, etc.) would eventually give Philly an advantage over everybody else.

They’ve only shared the floor for 23 minutes in four games, but in that time the Sixers have outscored opponents by 27 points per 100 possessions while assisting two-thirds of their made baskets. They’re zipping up the court, running offense through whoever has a mismatch, and, as expected, gobbling up all the rebounds in sight.

2. Minnesota’s Glaring Weakness

Between Karl-Anthony Towns dissecting defenses from any square foot of the court he pleases, Andrew Wiggins gliding like a condor, and Jamal Crawford momentarily propping up a lethargic offense like the ageless highlight reel he is, it’s still hard to ignore Minnesota’s obvious hole: the desperate need for another wing defender. Maybe two.

When Wiggins took a seat later in the game, Butler was forced to pick up George. Not all teams are able to deploy as many offensive weapons as the Thunder, but these assignments are still way too taxing for Butler all year long, and don’t allow him to wreak havoc off the ball on offense as much as he could if the Timberwolves avoided a crossmatch by putting Teague on Westbrook and Butler on Roberson.

Minnesota showed some interest in P.J. Tucker over the summer, but didn’t make a serious offer to acquire him. That’s unfortunate. They’re distinctly thin at arguably the most critical position in the league, and it’s showing. When Butler missed Tuesday night’s game against the Indiana Pacers, his teammates put up one of the weaker defensive performances any team has had all season.

Games against the Pacers and Thunder are a small sample size, but we already knew that Crawford and Shabazz Muhammad aren’t answers on the defensive end, while the Timberwolves’ assembly of bigs aren’t flexible enough to switch on the perimeter or even directly line up against teams that go small.

Minnesota’s offense should still be good enough for a playoff berth, but unless they address their most glaring weakness before the trade deadline, winning a series will be an uphill battle. Including the two games Butler’s missed, Minnesota’s defensive rating is an atrocious 117.5 when he’s not on the floor.

3. The Phoenix Suns!

Many accurate words have been written about the amusingly dysfunctional Phoenix Suns since the season started last Tuesday. It’s fair to say they’ve momentarily snatched the Torch of Negligence from organizations that have proudly held it (the New York Knicks, Chicago Bulls, Sacramento Kings, and Los Angeles Lakers immediately spring to mind).

A couple nights before Eric Bledsoe submitted an early frontrunner for this season’s most legendary tweet, I was in bed watching a game on my iPad when a random, half-serious thought popped into my head. I rolled over, opened my notebook, and scribbled down the following sentence: “Indirect way to gauge how hard a team is playing: Watch with sound off. That way you don’t know if players are reacting to a ref’s whistle or not.”

I was watching the Suns.

4. Carmelo Anthony is a Walking “STOP THE PRESSES” Button

After their game against the Pacers on Wednesday night, Oklahoma City’s pace registered at 104.2 with Russell Westbrook on the floor this season. Given their success in transition and all the long-armed, turnover-cobbling athleticism they possess on the defensive end, that number is right in line with how the Thunder should try and play for the rest of the reigning MVP’s prime.

“Hijack” is too strong a descriptor for what Carmelo Anthony has done to his new team’s rhythm, but when he’s in the game their pace drops to 100.7. Related to last year’s numbers, the gap between Westbrook and Melo’s individual pace represents the league’s fastest and 10th fastest teams.

When Anthony has been off the floor this season, Oklahoma City transforms into a jumbo jet. Its pace shoots up to a whopping 105.6. When Westbrook sits, things molder at 96.1. The differential grows more stark when you look at how the NBA’s Triple-Double King performs without Anthony on the court. His True Shooting percentage increases 16.4 percent despite his usage rising by 10 points. (The pace gap also dramatically widens, as one might assume.)

This is the fundamental struggle Oklahoma City needs to work through as they digest life with two score-first options who’re more comfortable at different tempos. Anthony’s usage is right in line with where it was the past two seasons, but his True Shooting is down, thanks to a dramatic dip in trips to the free-throw line and a whole bunch of misfires beyond the arc. Only four players in the entire league are averaging more shots per game.

Billy Donovan has more than enough talent to go around, but ensuring comfort for all three of his stars will take some time.

5. LaMarcus Aldridge: Still Good!

The general reaction after the San Antonio Spurs gave LaMarcus Aldridge a three-year contract extension was bemused fascination. Aldridge will be 33 next season, was not an All-Star last year, and is coming off a playoff run that saw his True Shooting percentage dip below .500. But the Spurs aren’t dumb. They know this. They also probably realize that acquiring someone who can mimic his impact at a lower cost is going to be all but impossible during Kawhi Leonard’s prime.

It turns out Aldridge is still a very good player, and while Leonard nurses a nagging quadricep injury, the five-time All-Star has quietly kicked off his 12th season looking like one of the league’s 15 best players. The undefeated Spurs have turned to mush on both ends when he’s on the bench, getting outscored by a team-low 21.6 points per 100 possessions. (They’re +19.3 when he plays.)

According to Synergy Sports, just over a third of Aldridge’s possessions have been post-ups, where he already ranks in the 96th percentile. The left block is his happy place, and all who’ve defended him see nothing but his picture-perfect turnaround jump shot whenever their eyes close. (Especially Miami Heat rookie Bam Adebayo, who was absolutely tortured on national television Wednesday night.)

It’s unlikely Aldridge averages 26 points, nine rebounds, and three assists per game for the entire year, but it’s a promising start for a player who badly needed to reassert himself among the league’s elite frontcourt weapons. The Spurs have been especially dominant with Aldridge at the five, in lineups that feature Rudy Gay or Kyle Anderson at the four. Just imagine how scary those lineups will be when Leonard—the freaking frontrunner for MVP—returns.

6. Bebe Nogueira…

…has multiple tattoos on his face and is a legend. This—more than the Raptors’ modernized shot profile—is clearly the most important recent happening that’s taken place in the general Toronto area.

Photo by John E. Sokolowski – USA TODAY Sports

7. The Dreaded Hot Seat

Earlier this week, the Suns fired Earl Watson, demonstrating it’s never too early to toss your head coach into a guillotine. Comparing that situation with any other in the league is tough, though. There’s only one Robert Sarver, and the stakes for Watson’s dismissal were pretty low, given how unpleasant the team’s roster is.

Firing a coach before Thanksgiving is never a good look, but it still got me thinking about whether any other coaches (beside the two most obvious candidates: Jeff Hornacek and Alvin Gentry) might have a single burner under their chair. It would surprise me if the coach I’m about to mention doesn’t keep his job for the foreseeable future, but literally nothing can be ruled out in today’s NBA.

It’s way, way, way too early to point fingers or even be concerned about Denver’s play (their defense is keeping opponents away from the rim and forcing a ton of mid-range shots!), but Malone may be on thinner ice than we think.

8. Centers are Officially Married to the Three-Point Line

Here’s a list of centers who’ve already launched at least one three this year: Dewayne Dedmon (six), Jonas Valanciunas (one), Hassan Whiteside (one), Willie Cauley-Stein (two), Gorgui Dieng (four), Robin Lopez (five), Nikola Vucevic (19), Dwight Powell (12), Timofey Mozgov (three), Jusuf Nurkic (two), Jeff Withey (two), Al Jefferson (one), Derrick Favors (five), and a whole bunch who aren’t listed primarily because they aren’t that surprising.

Joel Embiid is 2-for-13 from beyond the arc and DeMarcus Cousins is averaging more threes per game than all but five players in the entire league. Attempts aren’t a sole indicator of any uptick when most of these players have only appeared in a few games, but three-point rates at the center position are skyrocketing across the board.

This is one of the most evolutionary subplots in the NBA right now, even if we all saw it coming.

9. When Spacing Doesn’t Matter

Speaking of evolution and the three-point line, two of the NBA’s most unique talents, Ben Simmons and Giannis Antetokounmpo, are a couple earthquakes who can’t really shoot. So far, Antetokounmpo’s three-point rate is about half what it was last season (he’s 1-for-6 in 154 minutes) while Simmons is 0-for-3 in his career.

But both have remained effective even when the ball isn’t in their hands, and their respective coaching staffs have done a good job figuring out different ways to get them going from the weakside. It’s only natural to sag off someone who isn’t a threat beyond the arc, and that’s exactly what teams do whenever Simmons and Antetokounmpo aren’t dribbling around with transfixing dexterity.

To neutralize this defense, both teams have instituted quick hit actions that allow their freakish “guards” to get a running head start towards the basket against a perimeter defender who isn’t in their path. For example, the Bucks will run a side pick-and-roll towards the middle of the floor with the sole intention of swinging it to Antetokounmpo on the opposite wing. He’ll catch it in mid-stride towards the paint, and from that point your best defense is physical assault.

This catch-and-go action makes defenders think twice about helping at the nail, and instead forces them to clog up an open runway towards the rim.

10. Andre Drummond is Wiping Dirt Off His Shoulders

Not only is he shooting 72.2 percent from the free-throw line, but, more importantly, the 24-year-old appears to have shaved/waxed/lasered away his scraggly shoulder hair. Speaking as someone who’s long been afflicted with this cosmetic impediment, shout out to Drummond for overcoming what was once an unscalable obstacle.

11. Blake Griffin is a Top-10 Player Once More

Remember Blake Griffin? He’s hitting threes, demanding double teams on the block (if you cut he will find you), and can still Mount Olympus poor shot blockers who think they stand a chance. Rudy Gobert didn’t even jump when he saw Griffin rumbling down the paint for a teeth-rattling facial earlier this week.

12. John Wall Equals Mini Mutombo

He was a demon in Washington’s season opener against the Philadelphia 76ers, welcoming Markelle Fultz to the league by smudging his layup off the glass. But then he also showed how useful he can be later on against the Detroit Pistons, switching onto Tobias Harris, guarding him in isolation, then swatting his floater away while squared up in the paint.

So much is made about Wall’s inability to knock down threes and space the floor. But it’s his inconsistency on the defensive end that bars him from MVP conversations. If he excels on that end all year, and rolls his unparalleled combination of speed, strength, and length into one package at the point guard position, Washington’s ceiling will rise a considerable degree.

13. The Ed Davisaissance!

Ed Davis’s tenure with the Portland Trail Blazers hasn’t been great. Often injured, out of shape, or deemed ineffective in a league that has little use for big men who can’t shoot, the guy looked spry on Tuesday against DeMarcus Cousins and the New Orleans Pelicans, recording his first double-double since last February.

Photo by Jaime Valdez – USA TODAY Sports

Davis is slowly re-emerging as one of the NBA’s top putback artists and has flashed vibrance as a roll man, putting the ball on the ground with one dribble and then going up strong at the rim. Noah Vonleh’s looming return from a shoulder injury (he could be back as early as November 1st) may throw a wrench in Davis’s minutes. But Terry Stotts will have a hard time keeping the 28-year-old out of his rotation.

14. The Spurs are Spursing

The Spurs have logged six minutes of crunch time so far this season (defined as when the scoring margin is five or below, with five or fewer minutes left in the game). They’ve yet to allow a single point in that time. Defensive rating: zero point zero, and it’s way too early to call it unsustainable.

15. How Many Nets can be Helpful Players on a Good Team?

DeMarre Carroll stands out as the only legitimate late-prime candidate (though Trevor Booker is averaging 20.7 points and 12.5 rebounds per 36 minutes), with D’Angelo Russell, Jarrett Allen, and maybe even Caris LeVert—who plays basketball like a bold character actor who isn’t sure/doesn’t care about the established tone in his scene—rounding out the list.

It’s too early to say this with too much confidence, but if the Lakers don’t land LeBron James or Paul George this summer, dumping Russell for Lopez and cap space will be viewed as a humongous mistake. He looks fantastic in Brooklyn, strutting through half-court sets with 9,000 percent more confidence than he had in his first two years.

He’s getting to, and finishing at, the rim in ways that should quell some concern over whether or not he’d ever be able to test defenses in the paint, all while knocking down threes and conducting open-floor surges with a comfort previously unseen in his career. His pick-and-rolls are unhurried, and he’s already picked up the nuance that is holding off a trailing defender while putting pressure on the sagging big.

Turnovers are high but that’s fine. He keeps his head up, looks for cutters, and is still only 21 years old!

Meanwhile, Allen looks like his ceiling could be as one of the 15 most useful defenders in the league. He has a 7’6″ wingspan, unteachable instincts on the perimeter, and a touch around the basket that, speaking as someone who doesn’t watch college basketball and didn’t get to see him at Las Vegas Summer League, is quite the pleasant surprise. The Nets may have at least two cornerstones already onboard.

16. Are LeBron’s Minutes Already Cause for Concern?

He leads the league at 188 overall and is third with 37.6 per game.

17. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Coming out of a time-out during Wednesday night’s win over the Toronto Raptors, Warriors play-by-play announcer Bob Fitzgerald looked at a Shaun Livingston, David West, Kevin Durant, Klay Thompson, and Andre Iguodala quintet as they strode onto the floor and said “No team in the league can match this five.”

Even though only three of Golden State’s units played more than this exact one last season—they outscored opponents by 13.3 points per 100 possessions in 167 minutes—my immediate reaction was still to scoff.

Yes, this unit boasts a top-two player, extremely high intelligence across the board, like-sized defenders, and one of the greatest spot-up shooters who ever lived, but it doesn’t have Steph Curry or Draymond Green, two transcendent figures who are most responsible for Golden State’s unprecedented dominance.

It took me about five seconds to realize Fitzgerald was right. It’s obvious and inconceivable at the same time: Golden State’s eighth or ninth best five-man unit will blow your very best one out of the water. Welcome back, NBA!

The Outlet Pass: Philly’s Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

0 notes

flauntpage · 7 years

Text

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake

1. Introducing Philly's Giant Trio of Death

2. Minnesota's Glaring Weakness

3. The Phoenix Suns!

I was watching the Suns.

4. Carmelo Anthony is a Walking "STOP THE PRESSES" Button

Billy Donovan has more than enough talent to go around, but ensuring comfort for all three of his stars will take some time.

5. LaMarcus Aldridge: Still Good!

6. Bebe Nogueira...

Photo by John E. Sokolowski - USA TODAY Sports

7. The Dreaded Hot Seat

8. Centers are Officially Married to the Three-Point Line

This is one of the most evolutionary subplots in the NBA right now, even if we all saw it coming.

9. When Spacing Doesn't Matter

This catch-and-go action makes defenders think twice about helping at the nail, and instead forces them to clog up an open runway towards the rim.

10. Andre Drummond is Wiping Dirt Off His Shoulders

11. Blake Griffin is a Top-10 Player Once More

12. John Wall Equals Mini Mutombo

13. The Ed Davisaissance!

Photo by Jaime Valdez - USA TODAY Sports

14. The Spurs are Spursing

15. How Many Nets can be Helpful Players on a Good Team?

Turnovers are high but that's fine. He keeps his head up, looks for cutters, and is still only 21 years old!

16. Are LeBron's Minutes Already Cause for Concern?

He leads the league at 188 overall and is third with 37.6 per game.

17. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

flauntpage · 7 years

Text

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake

1. Introducing Philly's Giant Trio of Death

2. Minnesota's Glaring Weakness

3. The Phoenix Suns!

I was watching the Suns.

4. Carmelo Anthony is a Walking "STOP THE PRESSES" Button

Billy Donovan has more than enough talent to go around, but ensuring comfort for all three of his stars will take some time.

5. LaMarcus Aldridge: Still Good!

6. Bebe Nogueira...

Photo by John E. Sokolowski - USA TODAY Sports

7. The Dreaded Hot Seat

8. Centers are Officially Married to the Three-Point Line

This is one of the most evolutionary subplots in the NBA right now, even if we all saw it coming.

9. When Spacing Doesn't Matter

This catch-and-go action makes defenders think twice about helping at the nail, and instead forces them to clog up an open runway towards the rim.

10. Andre Drummond is Wiping Dirt Off His Shoulders

11. Blake Griffin is a Top-10 Player Once More

12. John Wall Equals Mini Mutombo

13. The Ed Davisaissance!

Photo by Jaime Valdez - USA TODAY Sports

14. The Spurs are Spursing

15. How Many Nets can be Helpful Players on a Good Team?

Turnovers are high but that's fine. He keeps his head up, looks for cutters, and is still only 21 years old!

16. Are LeBron's Minutes Already Cause for Concern?

He leads the league at 188 overall and is third with 37.6 per game.

17. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

The Outlet Pass: Philly's Big Boys, Slow Food Melo, and the Return of Good Blake published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes