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rouiyan · 4 years

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𝘗𝘜𝘓𝘓 𝘔𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 [ 𝘯.𝘫𝘮 ]

⧏ jaemin’s installment of the undone at twenty-one collective ⧐

synopsis: one estranged at the hands of love and the other tethered to his reputation. it's no wonder they find solace within each other.

✧ bartender!na jaemin x (fem.) reader (ft. ex!mark) ✧ college au, almost fwb au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 15.5k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurities, anxiety attacks, mentions of sex (no explicit smut, as per usual)

✧ author’s note — i'm so sorry to do this to you guys on a weekly, i swear, dropping double digit k fics is not normal and has definitely fucked with my sleep schedule ++ i hit 127 followers on thursday! for a total of four minutes but it was cool while it lasted! thank you!

maybe it all started when na jaemin got the job at the bar. it certainly didn't suit him, not the sweet boy he was, keyword on 'was.' he'd taken a course on bartending over the summer between senior year high school and his first year of college, just for fun until he realized he could actually use his license to get a job that paid slightly above minimum wage. maybe, it all started when he'd seen a classmate at the bar, a pretty girl at that, who'd smiled in a way that could only be classified as flirtatiously. maybe that's what had jaemin winking back, for the first time in his life. maybe that's what got him laid later that night. and maybe that's how he started to identify as more of a fuckboy than a heartthrob. it was a far out though new feeling, he thought. high school jaemin could never, he thought.

but maybe it all started to come to an end when you walked into the bar for the fourth time that week, eyes rimmed red and breath already tinged with alcohol. you ordered a draft beer from him, something light to keep you slightly buzzed but not completely knocked out. the hands of the clock were nearing two in the morning and the bar, especially the area of the counter he was tending, was beginning to empty out. jaemin struck conversation once you were the only one left and seven minutes before his shift ended.

he realizes, again, that you have zero recollection of him though he'd also struck conversation for the three nights before.

"how was your day, miss?"

you look up, head propped on your right hand, hand propped up with your elbow. "me?" slightly wary, you sit upright in front of the guy behind the counter. his smile never falters when he nods. you blink twice before remembering to respond, "i- no, i mean, today was okay," you slouch back into yourself, "a little less than okay, actually." the bartender's eyes widen in consideration, remembering that you had stopped at just 'okay' for the past days he'd asked you. he takes from this to offer politely, "do you mind if i ask what happened?"

your eyes are focused on the sink behind him, distractedly. almost forgetting to reply, you gather your thoughts by clearing your throat and pondering for a few moments before beginning to speak, hesitantly, "well it's like when you just know something bad's gonna happen, and you know for awhile. then it does happen and you don't get to be surprised or shocked because you already knew. so all you're left to feel is just," you heave a sigh, "sadness, or maybe even regret."

the metal nametag pinned to his chest glints in the lights above as he moves forward to place his elbows on the counter, leaning casually. you notice it to spell out 'jaemin' and a part of your subconsciousness is trying to make you remember that you know this guy. you know him from school, from rumors, from your gossiping friends, you know him from the bar even. but all you're able to process is that he is one hell of a good-looking specimen.

jaemin's eyes glint in the light as well when he poorly guesses, "did bad on a test? late homework assignment?" laughing and completely missing the fact that this 'stranger' had correctly assumed you to be a college student, you shake your head, "if it were either of those, i'd be awfully dramatic for coming to a bar and drinking my days away instead of studying." he's laughing as well and you can't help but think that his smile, straight pearly whites and all, is probably the most welcoming sight your eyes have laid upon the whole day. picking the conversation back up, you decide that it probably wouldn't do much harm to indulge jaemin in the latest and breaking news of your life. "actually, i was dumped today."

he sucks in a long breath in understanding, licking his lips, "so, a bad breakup. those aren't too fun." agreeing, you shake your head. the atmosphere is good-natured when you quip, "would it be worse to say that it was the eighth time too?" jaemin's brows shoot up in surprise and he pushes himself off his elbows, shifting his weight onto his hands. "eighth? as in eighth breakup or eighth time you've been dumped?" a chuckle escapes your complexion, giving way to how vulnerable you were feeling, vulnerable to a laughable extent. your eyes are cast downward when you respond, "the second."

jaemin pries in a way that doesn't seem like prying, you wonder how he does so. "care to share?" it's possible his range of bartender-ly duties extends to the likes of a therapist, "i mean, i don't see why not." you quirk your lips, the only thought coursing through your mind consisting of how the bridge of his nose was so carefully structured and how oversharing with this man didn't seem so much of a bad idea. you were, after all, far too caught up in your drunken stupor to think anything otherwise.

"let's see, i was ghosted by my first boyfriend in ninth grade, cheated on by my second, figured out that my third was only dating me for a bet, fourth just straight up stopped liking me, fifth lied to me about his age, objectified by my sixth, thought i was dating my seventh but turns out he forgot he asked me out, and my eighth...well, that one's a bit different."

he's back on his elbows, in intriguement and also due to the new song that began to play from the speakers above, louder than the last, "how so?" you're afraid the feelings are going to pour back within your forefront thoughts so you keep your answer short, "we dated for two years."

"and?"

you're quiet for a few moments. those moments are taken to mull over the exact reasonings behind your shitty day, almost as if you had forgotten. blinking slowly, the dryness of your contact lenses becoming apparent, you respond hesitantly, "and, he said he didn't see a future with me. that i could only ever be his first love."

jaemin seems to mull over this as well, "and did you see a future with him?"

you haven't looked up at him in a while, instead, focusing your sights on the way you've let your acrylics grow out far too long, how the skin around your nails is peeling, and how your palms are also creased with dry lines. using the same hand to lift the bottle from its handle, you toss the rest of its contents down your throat, swallowing in one motion. setting it back down, tongue grazing over your lips to catch the spilt extras, you look jaemin in the eye.

"yeah," you move to collect your things, "i guess i did." you pay. you take your leave.

he sees you again the following day, for the fifth time in that single week and he's led to wonder if there is a reason you seem frequent this one bar. the atmosphere possibly, the customer service maybe, or even him, though he's doubtful.

this time you're accompanied by two friends, one he knows to be jeno's best friend, eunmi, and the other, the crush of that same friend, jaein. jaemin's known eunmi for as long as jeno has, since the beginning of high school. jaemin also knows that eunmi, as of the late, doesn't like himself all that much. he figures it has something to do with the bit of a reputation his name now carries.

jaemin thinks the girls are by your side for emotional support. perhaps, today proved even shittier than yesterday, but he's thwarted a few moments after when the three of you seem to be lost in the depths of interesting conversation, light-hearted laughter, and glasses that can't seem to fill themselves as fast as they empty into your stomachs, except for jaein, that is, but especially for you.

it's 12:48 in the morning when he's thrown off guard for the first time that night, in the midst of whipping up a whiskey for the grumpy man down the counter, eunmi falls asleep, literal in the sense that she really does fall and would've completely sagged into the ground if the table had not been in gravity's way. jaemin watches as jaein lifts the poor girl's head off the surface, revealing an angry red splotch, and transfers eunmi's weight onto her lap.

he's thrown off guard for a second time at 1:22, watching you stand straight from your seat, swaying a tad bit, but brows creased in strong will and determination. you're walking towards him, steps that would be quick if only you were even mildly aware of sidestepping the paths of others. you pant as you reach the table, head feeling a little too hot and too heavy to aid in clear thinking. squinting at him, though you were but a few feet away, "your name. what's your name again?"

jaemin repeats the actions you'd done yesterday, slightly wary in expression and checking his posture, "me?" you don't reply but continue to scrutinize the way he looks. he supposes that's just as much of an answer, "it's jaemin, i believe we talked yesterday." your mouth parts in recognition and moves as if to form a word or two in response. jaemin watches as it opens and closes again and, even after much deliberation, the only thing you can find to say is, "well, you're fucking hot."

"oh-"

"shit, didn't mean to say that aloud." your lips smack in embarrassment, shifting your weight to your left foot. your mind is yelling at you to sober up, to save your face.

a smile adorns the man's features as he bemusedly remarks, "i'm sure you didn't." there's a silence that hangs between the two of you, and you're on the cusp of excusing yourself from further embarrassment when jaemin blurts out, "if it helps, i think you're fucking hot too." it might just be the alcohol in your system that's making the heat rise in your countenance but you swear you blush, and you never blush!

fingering the lobe of your right ear, you fumble with your thoughts until settling on a quiet, "thanks." jaemin busies himself with swiping a rag across the counter, unaware of the awkwardness on your end. looking up, he offers, "would you like a drink?" nodding, you take a seat at the bar in front of him, eyes slipping back to the girls for a split second, only to see jaein on her phone and eunmi still asleep. returning your sights, you're met with a slight humor traced in jaemin's expression, "what?"

he lets out the smallest of chuckles, mouth moving but lacking words, sentences starting but never ending, until he finally makes himself clear. "you- would you mind ordering a drink then?" your hand comes up, as if you had a point to make, but returns into your lap as you realize you'd never elaborated. "oh," your hand resurfaces to massage your temples, "same as yesterday then."

jaemin doubts you even remembered what you'd gotten yesterday but goes on to fill a bottle of beer from the kegs behind him. you're staring at his back in wonderment at how lackluster in...social interactions you'd become, how lackluster in flirting you were. you guess two years of being cuffed would render anyone a little rusty. hell, it wasn't as if you were keen on flirting with every hot guy you saw but jaemin, not that you remember much, gave off the right feeling after a wrong relationship. that was surely a green light, right?

"here," he slides it across the counter with a wink, entirely out of habit. you wince at that, "ew no, don't do that around me, i'm not one of your fuckbuddies." retying his black waist apron, he replies with a, "right, you're not." he pulls a neat bow in place and sets his hands back on the counter, there's a lilt to his voice when he speaks, "but, if you ever feel like you need-"

you wave him off, "i'm good, thanks for the offer though."

he watches you chug the draft beer. nodding, he replies under his breath, more to himself than anything, "i see." you finish the bottle in no time but it looks as if you were to vomit, or pass out, or maybe even black out, or all three at once. jaemin really does not mean to spur your flirtatious gene as much as his own but seeing you like this he offers, "it's on the house." you're definitely surprised for a good half of a second but in the other half, you drunkenly lean across the table, so far so that jaemin's nose is but a few inches away from yours.

something in jaemin stirs. the stench of your breath, your hardened eyes, the delicate lines of your lips. jaemin finds that it isn't lust that rumbles beneath his carefully built expression. and though it might as well be some form of pity, he doesn't hesitate to take your phone from you when you ask, "can i have your number?" he doesn't mind the smile that graces your face as you take your phone back, as you turn around to head back with your friends, not even in the right mind to say a goodbye, and even as you exclaim, rather loudly, to jaein, "i got his number," a smile of his own is quick to light up his face. but na jaemin hides his silly smile and even himself a little later when jeno appears to drive the three of you home. he even goes so far as to hide the smile and the meanings behind the smile from himself, afraid that he'd uncover something that was very un-bartender-ly of him to feel for a customer. at least, that's what happens before he ends his shift.

when you first wake up, it's at the sound of the door of your room clicking shut. jaein, you suppose, you'll thank her later. the ceiling is oddly comforting after a week that just didn’t start well, go well, end well. love isn’t your forte, loving yourself, loving others, anything to do with love. you supposed that getting dumped the seventh time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. you fall once again to sleep that night with nothing on your mind other than the thought that you might as well be single for the rest of your life.

but you wake up in the love, not of a lover per se, but of a best friend. the post-it note on your bedside reads, text me when you wake up!, and the smile that lifts your face is instantaneous. jaein has never failed to care for you, despite being almost a year younger, and in that way and many others, you feel indebted to her.

you fail to recall any of the events of the night prior, though if anything horrendous happened you knew jaein would be more delighted to share. you stumble across your phone somewhere in the sheets after searching aimlessly and you decide that making a call would perhaps be more thoughtful than a measly text. but as you scroll through the names in your phone, upset that you didn't have jaein's contact pinned in your favorites, you stop, well, your heart stops because right below her contact is listed na jaemin.

you are two thoughts away from crossing over to tap the shoulder of the girl a little ways in front of you, her silhouette a great deal similar to jaein's, when a hand is placed on your own shoulder. you don't have a chance to turn and see who it is because that hand has traveled a little ways across your front, latching from one shoulder to another and bringing your body flush with his. you tilt your head to get a glance, only to find jaemin smiling down at you, the strobe lights glaring a brief red across his features. "been avoiding me?"

yeah no shit you've been avoiding him, suddenly nowhere to be found at the bar you used to appear at every single day of the week. and though the two of you attended the same college, you made extra sure to-

"jeno told me eunmi asked him for my lecture schedule for you, wonder why." a smirk grazes his lips, playfully. he’s grinding on your ass now, slow compared to the music blasting from overhead. taking your shoulder in his hands, he spins you to face him, "why are you avoiding me? tell me." jaemin places a hand on the curve of your neck, brings you closer to him, either so that he could hear your response better or because of whatever lust was running through his eyes. somehow, even with the minuscule amount of alcohol in your system, you can’t bring yourself to mind that he’s looking at you like some starved animal.

"what do you want, jaemin?" he doesn't hesitate to show you, a lazy kissed pressed to your lips before leaning in towards your ear, "i want you in my bed."

no objections are made when the arm around your shoulder tightens its hold, so as not to loose you in such a crowd. nothing is said in opposition when he ushers you towards the stairwell, brushing past people left and right. no sign of reluctance is apparent when you cross the threshold of his room, shutting the door behind you. and not a trace of hesitance is found as you find a spot beside the man who's already placing a strand of wide kisses onto your neck.

"what'd you say about not being one of my fuckbuddies the other day?"

"well," you hastily move to straddle him, allowing him to a wider expanse of your chest, "i was drunk, fuck whatever i said." you lean back for the slightest of seconds to catch his expression, lust lined his eyes. certainly, you felt like one of his fuckbuddies now but maybe this is what you need, a distraction. just one thing in your life, one time, one moment in time where it wasn't so frustratingly shoved up in your face that your world, your one love, hadn't been torn down right before your eyes. maybe kissing jaemin with such raw desire would finally give you the reigns over your goddamned emotions. his lips on your collarbone, tracing down slower and slower onto your breasts, his hands guiding you lower and lower into his bed, it felt exhilarating. in that one second, when his fingers moved to the hem of your dress, eyes shifting to meet yours in question, you nod fervently because really, you want to let him in, you feel safe letting him in.

but it only lasts for that one second because the door is burst open in the next, and a tipsy man and a wasted woman are storming on inside, eyes raking the place until they land on you and yours land on theirs, on his. mark lee. it's mark lee's eyes and as you take in the sight of the rest of him, the familiar him, and the girl by his side, suddenly nothing has ever felt more wrong. jaemin's lips, his hard on pressing against your core, nothing has ever felt more wrong when mark lee is staring right at you. why is it that you feel like you've cheated on him?

he leaves, pulling the woman behind him.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing yet, for once, you're not partaking in it. "are you okay? do you need some water?" you lick your lips and decide, "some water would be nice, thank you." jaemin leaves the room, door clicking shut behind him and signaling your immediate breakdown.

a shudder passes your lips, reverberates down your spine, curls your toes. you draw into yourself, bringing with you jaemin's blankets on which you were sat. there is nothing more that leaks from your countenance than bouts of undisturbed anxiety that you let wrack your walls of understanding and awareness. you don't bother to fight back with distractions, no alcohol this time, no quick fucks, nothing to ease the weight that settles in your gut, presses down your heart and blurs the visions of jaemin's room.

he returns in seven minutes, promptly enough, for you're just about to wither in the confines of loneliness. the blankets are pulled taut around your figure and your head is in between your knees, mind flitting between images of mark and images of the darkness that threatens to envelop you whole. jaemin places the cup of warm water on the nightstand and dips the bed to your right though you barely register his presence until his hand begins kneading lines down your back.

the feeling returns. the one you know all too well by now. the one where the skin on your forehead feels too tight from being scrunched in frustration for too long, when your brain feels like it doesn't belong in your skull, when you feel ruptures in your heart, aches in your soul, as if you were to combust if you so much as moved in the slightest. your ragged breaths echo in your head, over and over, as if to remind you that you aren't okay, that nothing is real, that the only thing keeping you alive are your breaths, the only thing between life and death.

your breaths are also what grounds you, focusing on the in and out, the way the air fills your lungs, the way it exits. your hands begin to mellow their shake and you begin to gain some semblance of your being. you feel that jaemin is all around you. he's everything you smell, his breaths are all you hear, his lean body and arms are all you feel, and though you can't see him, you know he's there.

he's there when you turn in his embrace, looking up at him with eyes that tell age-long tales of hurt from delivering too much passion whilst receiving near to none. he's there when you wrap your arms around him, head tucking into his chest. he's there when your breaths even and he's there when you tell him you can't fall asleep.

jaemin hands you a set of his clothes, a light shirt and sweatpants, and ushers you gently into the bathroom. you change without looking in the mirror, afraid of what you'll see. he tugs you by the hand, once you're out, to the car. you only question him thirty minutes into the ride, "where are we going?"

he doesn't quite answer you, "if i'm right, we should be just in time." scrunching your nose in the darkness, "just in time for…?"

it's then that he turns into a dim parking lot and suddenly everything becomes clear when the wide screen comes into view, "jaemin...you 50's romanticist." the time is almost four in the morning, you didn't know the local drive-in theater had screenings that early and you're surprised that the man in the driver's seat knows. he offers you a hand and you take it, absentmindedly.

the movie is interesting enough to keep your begrudging thoughts away until an hour or so passes and you're beginning to teeter from exhaustion. before you have a chance to pass out, jaemin gives your fingers a little squeeze, alerting you, and then slowly tugging you over the middle console of his car and into his lap while lowering his seat. again, you comply absentmindedly, you're in no mindset to be complaining.

straddling him for the second time that night, you sigh into his chest. your eyes are fluttering closed when you begin to trace back the moments that brought you to this mess in the first place, the events that led to you in na jaemin's lap, the boy renowned in bed. you're a conscious thought away from voicing aloud your hatred of love. fucking love.

the prospect of love is addicting to you, like a drug in many more ways than one. you want to get lost in someone's eyes, you want to swim in the embrace of your other half, you want to be able to romanticize every aspect of your life, to be able to attribute your everything to one single person who would do the exact same for you. you can't part with the thought that love isn't for you.

and you know that there really are people who live just fine being single, people who don't feel the need to share their every joy and letdown with a special someone, people who feel enough just being in their own company. you know that yet, you're fully convinced you just aren't one of those people. because no matter how hard you want to say that getting left in the dust for the eighth time became the turning point in this endless chase, you can't see yourself ever stopping. there is not a single part of you that wishes to stop.

your breaths are shallow and brimmed with sobs as you drift into rest. above all that's been said, the least you can admit is that love is only a feeling. just like any other.

✧ ONE (01) YEAR AGO

"mark, what the fuck, we never go on actual dates." you complain, though you really don't mind all that much. the car pulls into a parking spot in front of the library, "and who's to say study dates aren't actual dates?" he opens the door for you and you roll your eyes graciously.

the two of you take your usual spots, the two at the end of the long row in the central area. it's halfway secluded, one side shoved against the wall, but still enough in the open to keep you guys from entirely ditching school work and talking until shushed by a librarian.

he's about to say something when a librarian appears just around the corner, pushing a cart of books. so instead, mark takes a piece of lined paper from his notebook, gently ripping it at the edge, taking his pen out and writing a line and passing the note to you. i'll take you somewhere nice next time. sorry babe, i just happened to have a lot of work today.

you press your lips together, eyeing the man that was eyeing you back, okay, my love. you pass it back, shooting him the most playful of smiles. he writes quickly and when he slides the paper back to you, you read his words quickly. sure thing, my world.

you giggle, the sound eliciting a glare from the stressed schoolmate beside you. quickly you jot down the words you've been wanting to say to him. fine by me, my future. you shuffle the paper towards the man across from you, unwilling to hide yet another smile that spreads across your face. you watch as mark takes the paper in his hands, skims the words you've carefully penned and then, he puts it away, tucks it into the front of his backpack. you smile fondly at him for safekeeping the paper, thinking he'd want to keep it as a little memento, a token of your love for him.

perhaps you should've thought a little more about it, the action, because in that moment it never occurred to you that he only put it away because he didn't want to respond, he had nothing in his heart that he could say to top that, and he most certainly did not see you as anything more, much less his future.

that lined piece of paper has long been discarded by now, in the most literal and figurative sense. mark could chalk it up to the possibility that it was just the right person at the wrong time but he knows there's absolutely nothing wrong with the time. college was going to zip by quickly for the two of you, you guys could move in together maybe, tell each other about your new jobs, every pay raise you got, and when you guys begin to settle down, a house would be bought and a ring would be proposed, and kids and old age would follow. somehow, mark can't help but acknowledge the fact that it simply was the wrong person at the right time. deep down, he knows it's always been that way for him. not for you. and he could only hope to turn back time and tell you a little sooner, maybe lessen the pain he knew he was to eventually inflict upon you. two years was two years too long. mark’s a nice guy and the weight of being your eighth breakup had a tough hold on him, it really did.

✧ PRESENT

you lift your feet up onto the other side of the booth, back against the window and your arrangement of your textbooks and computer to your left. jaein, studious as ever, looks up at you for a brief moment, "break? already?"

it's only been thirty minutes since the two of you arrived with the set intentions to study. "yup, already." you sigh, with everything going on, it's hard to pay attention to just one thing. especially something that seems so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. "y/n, are you getting enough sleep these days?"

you look over at her, her hair swept into a small ponytail, eyes holding the stars. jaein had her own fair share of problems, especially when it came to boys, but she never halted to care for herself. you wish you could be like her. "enough, yeah i'm getting enough." she puts down her pen, wrinkling her nose, "well then, make sure to get more than enough, yeah?" you only nod in response.

jaein's eyes rome until they settle upon a girl a few tables down, also studying. she cocks her head in inquisition, "hey, isn't that minyoung?" you wait for jaein to look away before you take a peek behind you, not wanting to seem conspicuous. you know her, you share some of your professors with her, you see her almost everyday, but you've never been riled up by just her presence being in the same room as yours. you look back at jaein, "yeah, that's minyoung."

"minyoung as in the girl that jaemin's datin-"

"they're not dating," you intercept. sighing in distaste, you follow up to cover your evident aversion of the girl, "just fucking around." jaein only nods, eyes wide in worry.

a few minutes pass and you're already sinking back into your workload when she speaks, "does it bother you? that they- they're fucking around?" now, you're sinking into yourself because you really have no idea what you're supposed to be feeling, how you're supposed to be feeling, or even if you're supposed to be feeling anything for this boy who you know little to nothing about.

but you guess it's because of what you do know about him that throws you off. na jaemin, the campus fuckboy, heart throb, and whatever other name that makes his image sound as vile as it is enticing. in some other universe, you're sure to have already let him eat you out over the course of the few weeks you've known him but somehow, you're glad that you reside in the universe where your head seems to be more securely fastened above your heart. you lick your lips in consideration but nothing comes to mind.

it's frustrating because as much as you hate to admit it, na jaemin makes you feel something. he stirs up something within you, something that hasn't been there in a long time. maybe not since your first crush or when mark first asked you out or even in the heights of your relationship with him when you felt like you could feel nothing more than love for the wretched boy.

you tell her, "it bothers me. it shouldn't, but it does." because though you don't know why. why you're feeling so strongly, or feeling at all, for a man so far from what you need after the end of a long-winded and committed relationship. you don't know why you even care, if anything, him fucking around with a handful of girls served even more as a sign for you to just stay away. getting invested in his small, thoughtful actions and his intense, loving stares is just asking for a ninth breakup. you don't know why but the idea of him being in bed with another girl, bothers you. it shouldn't, but it does.

jaemin isn't ever invited to these types of outings. usually, on a weeks basis, he's invited to quite the number of houses instead. houses of girls and houses that housed parties. never a restaurant, and never in the middle of the day. jeno had let that he was invited because eunmi had some 'investigation' to do, so naturally, he'd expect you to be there as well. turns out this investigation was set up for himself only, seeing as he was now sitting at the far edge of the table, to the left of renjun, whom he had never personally met, and across eunmi, who seems to spend most the time scrutinizing him instead of eating.

the purpose of his presence is made clear as eunmi sits up straight, gaze still fixed on him, and asks straight to the point, "what do you want with y/n?"

jaemin places his fork down calmly but his voice is anything but that, surprised, "i- what do i- what do you mean?" his hands are folded in his lap now, he wonders if this was the reason you didn't come, he wonders if eunmi asked him to come just to interrogate him in front of all your friends. she's still staring at him and though he's taller, he feels a great deal smaller when everyone's eyes are turned to him. hell, even jeno stopped ogling at jaein to give his attention to the scene on the other side of him.

he clears his throat and reiterates, now with a sense of the atmosphere, "what do you mean?" jaemin blinks rapidly as eunmi heaves a sigh, placing two folded hands on the table and pushing her point to light, "why are you messing with her? you wanna fuck her? you know she's off limits for you." jaemin asks the two question he knows he'll end up regretting, he can't help the spite that curls at the edge of his mind for the girl who so fervently despises him, "why is she off limits for me, huh? got something against me?"

"yeah, yeah i do. you go around sleeping with every other girl you see, you, jaemin, you are the last thing she needs right now."

"who are you to decide what she needs-"

"i'm just looking out for her, okay? and, shit, i know she has every right to, i don't know, fuck around with you too, but i can't sit here and watch as she falls for someone that doesn't give two shits about how she feels."

jaemin finds that he has nothing to say. the words echo around in his head, fall for someone, fall for him. he stares down at his food, takes a sip of his water, wipes his clammy hands on a napkin. when he looks up again, eunmi's expression is a tenfold softer than it was before.

"i'm sorry, jaem. it's just- i don't trust you anymore. you've changed a lot since, since…high school." jaemin only nods.

revolutions are held within him as he drives home that day. jaemin notes that the feelings are nothing new, he thinks it has something to do with the little churns in his stomach on the fifth night of your week of 'get drunk, get wasted.' he doesn't bother to suppress the feelings this time, it's been too long, he thinks.

it's been too long since he's liked someone for who they really are instead of just their pussy, he thinks. he, and his loving self, welcomes the feeling with open arms. it's been years since the giddy persona of a lovesick jaemin resurfaced. he's glad it's because of you.

"jaemin, hey, do you need anything?" you remove your eyes from your computer screen for the first time in a few hours, you barely register the strain when his voice is quick to respond from the other end of the line, "can you come down? i'm outside, got a lil something for you." eyes almost ejecting out of their sockets, you quickly mutter a, "sure, i'll be down in two," before hanging up, slamming your computer shut, throwing on a hoodie over your lazy study-day outfit, and grabbing your keys after almost forgetting them entirely.

straightening down the stray strands of your hair as you tread down the steps of the stairwell, you take a minute to breathe, a minute to yourself, before exiting the building. the sky is dark, the time being a little after dinner, but the lamplight that falls onto the man's face makes your heart swoon at the sight. dangerous territory.

"hey," you voice as he meets you in the middle. "what are you-"

"here," he holds out a teddy bear, medium in size, brown and fuzzy. you take it from him graciously and he tucks his hands into his jeans pocket, "i was just-i just thought that you'd...yeah." chuckling, you notice the hues of warmth rise in his cheeks. "wow, didn't think you were one to blush." he's laughing as well, from the embarrassment, hand coming up to cover his cheeks, to cover his smile, his stupid smile.

his smile never falters when he asks, "may i ask you something?" you nod, unassumingly.

"can i take you out on a date? next week maybe?"

breathless and eyes sparkling, you look up at him as if he were the one who put the sparkles in your eyes. he really was. now, it's you that blushes, hands coming up to cover your own cheeks, "yeah, i'd- i would like that." you almost want to coo at him when you see the relief that washes over his expression.

"you would?"

"yes, jaemin," you give a breathy laugh, "i'd like that very much."

fucking love. that one stupid feeling that could get you so emotionally intoxicated in ways no substance ever could. the kind of love that made you want to scream into the void, to exclaim your sheer and utter elatedness to the world. fucking love that you could never not chase, especially if it was jaemin.

mark never took pictures of you. not that you expected him to by default, he just never did. jaemin, however, shows up right outside your dorms, a camera hanging down from his neck. you can't say it doesn't charm your heart.

"what's that for?" you eye the camera as you slip into the passenger seat. you already know, you just love it when he says, "for you, of course." his hand holds yours as he drives and it stays that way until the two of you arrive.

the botanical gardens are, for the most part, empty on the weekdays, working wonderfully in your favor as jaemin leads you, also by the hand, through the forests of greenery, the air so crisp that it fills your mind with clarity after a week of muddled studying. jaemin compares you to the likes of several flowers, all of which he implores for you to pose next to for a picture. he especially finds the daphne odora, the winter flowering of daphnes, to hold the highest esteem in regards to you. you have not the slightest idea why.

the two of you are strolling under the glass-covered conservatory when light conversation turns heavy. confusion lines your face as you look over at him, "jaem?"

"yes?" he takes an extra step or two to match your pace. you stare at his feet as you speak, "what's...what's different about me?"

"what do you mean by that?" hesitance sits in your every word, "you don't treat me like...one of them, like one of you're fuckbuddies."

"because you're not," he replies simply. in all honesty, there's something you're looking for, something you just need to know, though you are lost in how to phrase it. shaking your head a bit, to wrack the insides for an answer, you end up regurgitating the same question, "yeah but, what makes me different?"

jaemin doesn't seem to mind and answers to his best ability, "well, for one, we're not fucking. and then there's the fact that i- that…" he trails off, the words are right there at the tip of his tongue, waiting to jump out at you, to allow you to revel in his love. he doesn't dare voice them aloud, the threat of rejection is stemming and rooting itself in his bloodstream. unaware, you urge him on, "that…"

your date is lost in thought, eyes seeming to be particularly interested in a bloom of camellias. you suppose they're plenty interesting but you wonder how he'd lost the interest in speaking with you so quickly. was it something that you said? maybe asking him so upfront like that wasn't the best choice. jaemin, meanwhile, is panicking. sure, the camellias look beautiful but the millions of thoughts that course through his mind are each occupying too much space for his mouth to actually form a string of words that make coherent sense.

jaemin finally, finally settles on something to say, just as the two of you are rounding upon the exit. he subtly wishes he'd gotten a picture of you by the camellias. turning his sights back in your direction, he verbalizes, "are you going home for winter break?"

lips pursed, you shake your head, "no, i was just planning on staying at school-"

"do you wanna come with me? back home?"

you stop in your tracks. jaemin walks on until the hand that's carrying yours is tugged to a stop. he looks back at you and sees the way you gulp, the way you refuse to return his gaze. he makes his way back to you, closing the distance he's created. jaemin is a few seconds, a few thoughts, away from recollecting his propositions with a 'nevermind' and a quick brush of a hand but you beat him to it, voice small, but instead of hesitance, it's laced in full conviction.

"yeah okay, i can do that."

it isn't until you're back in your dorms later that night, going over a couple of review sheets for your upcoming exam, that you think to do a little research. a new tab is opened, a few words are typed, and you're floored with what you're met with.

the daphne odora (winter daphne), where 'odora' is latin for fragrant, is most noted, though not often, to be a symbol of doting love, as if to say 'i would not have you otherwise." it flowers in the winter and is primarily prone to wilting in hard soil and low sunlight…

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

mark's parents give you a once-over before letting you in. just the way they look at you speaks volumes. you can only hope they don't treat you any different. for some reason, his house feels cold, unpleasant, unwelcoming. and though you thought any homemade meal should bring about a sense of warmth, dinner is passed in tight-lipped smiles and the worst type of small talk, small talk about the weather.

retreating into his room after dinner, you decide to bring to light your worries, "mark, i don't think they really-" evident, he's already two steps ahead of you, "it's fine, y/n, they just haven't seen me date someone in awhile."

treading carefully over to his bed and placing a knee upon the sheets, you offer, "so...overly critical?"

he gives you a look, one that opposes your quavering brows and reverts your worries, "exactly."

"right," you huff a sigh of relief, as far as you know, you're convinced but the underlying layer of disbelief still holds true, "i'm gonna go get changed, okay?" you hear a mumbled, "okay" in response as you reopen the door, sights already on the bathroom at the end of the hall. it's when you're at the top of the stairwell, just before your destination, that you hear the conversation from down below, his parents you suppose.

"i'm just saying we shouldn't take this too seriously," by the pitch, you tell it's mark's mom. you move for the bathroom, uninterested, until his dad speaks up as well, "i know, especially with how she looks, exactly like her don't you think?"

"it's the eyes, they have the same eyes," your hand, just above the doorknob, is held in place. your face, expressions of the shock and concern that comes with the revelation, is unmoved. and your breath is no longer coursing air through your lungs.

"mark must still be really hung up on her if he's stuck with that replacement for so long," your hands being to shake and you're afraid that whimpers will arise in their wake, you make haste into the room, closing the door after enduring one last sentence. his mom chuckles, "poor soul, i hope he tells her soon."

you can't find the light switch but you're trembling fingers are quick to latch onto what you assume to be the shower dial, turning on the water to mask your loud sobs. you lock the door behind you, sliding down the back of it while letting out the briniest of tears. the rubber bathroom mat underneath you squeaks and your feet hit the vanity across from you. hands in your hair you can only pull at the strands, the strings of curse words and pain that emit from your figure more mental than physical.

you've never wondered what it would be like to be filed under 'replacement,' or to have a spot in someone's life as merely a disposable placeholder, someone whose presence was dictated solely by how well you satisfied the other's needs for closure, or lack thereof. now you're wondering if that is really all there is to love, satisfying each other's self-serving desires. you wonder if mark served some sort of purpose to you. but you could not, for the life of you, think of one. never in your life as now have you wanted so badly to see the good in a person you swore to love for perhaps the rest of your life.

you want to look him in the eye and tell him that you can't take it anymore, the disrespect, the mistreatment. maybe you could be dramatic and throw a hand across his face, a cup of water to douse his senses. you'd think that a man so kind would be the epitome of committed lover, never one to be agenda-oriented, not that the mark you now pictured was some scheming wretch, but you had to keep in mind that even going as far back as when he first laid his eyes on you, the interest you saw in them was in reality just familiarity. somewhere in you, something about you, maybe not even your looks, resonated with the memory of someone that was already held close to his heart, long before you came along. you were just there so he could relive his past, relish in his memories, prolong the inevitable.

but more than everything, you despise yourself. it's because of who you are, your willingness to be unfalteringly loyal even in the face of something so wrong, that makes it so you are always the backup plan, the last resort, the dumped and not the dumper. it's who you are that keeps you silent till the very moment he ends the whole damned relationship, till the very moment when there's no point in speaking out anymore, so that all that's left to do is to cry out.

✧ PRESENT

the sky is vast out in the countryside. the wind pays no mind to ruffling the leaves on the trees, branches already bare in the wake of autumn. you wished it could snow, just a little, though you doubt the early december rains would be so willing to fall into harsh winter so soon. jaemin ushers you to close the window your finger are flitting out of, he keeps ushering you, but you give him a shake of your head each time, you like the cool air. as he exits the highway, you finally slip them back in, tips of your fingers numbed raw, and jaemin looks at you in an 'i told you so' fashion before rolling the window up to keep the heated air within.

as so many times before, he takes your hand in his while he drives. fussing, his own fingers now encasing and rubbing yours to build the warmth back up. you perk up as the surroundings start to speak more 'countryside' than 'middle of nowhere.' a gas station, diner, couple of shopping plaza are passed, "how much longer?" jaemin pulls to a stop at a red light, "four, maybe five." eyes sparkling, you turn towards him, bringing your legs up on the seat and pulling his hand in yours to your lap, "ooh, so we're close. really close."

the light turns green and jaemin waits for the car in front of him to move, "why? you nervous?" you squirm in your spot, under his gaze, "i mean, n- no," rubbing the back of your neck, "yeah, a little i guess."

"and why is that?"

your hand is still on the back of your neck, fumbling with your words, "well, i mean, your parents. and we're not even- yeah, i don't know."

you say you don't know, yet, both of you know exactly what you're trying to say.

jaemin's childhood home is quaint, with a big front and backyard, and the only house on his street that has offwhite siding paint and soft blue shutters. you'd never pegged him to be a countryside kind of boy.

you've only known jaemin for the better part of two months, yet, the first thing his mom does is hold you in her warm, welcoming embrace. "y/n, dear! such a pleasure to have you here, you're all jaemin talks about over the phone." you blush at that, pulling away from her to give your most sincere smile. you wonder since when blushing was your thing.

his mother does her absolute best to learn your whole life story over the course of one single meal and his father is gruff but fails to hide a smile at your small attempts at anecdotes while jaemin full on chortles on his food. you're glad that not once do they bring up the questionings of your and jaemin's relationship because frankly, you have no idea what the whole deal with it is yourself.

even after dinner, his mother is quick to pull you into the living room, tightly bound photo albums stacked high in her hands. as the two of you coo over two-year-old jaemin taking a bath, four-year-old jaemin at his first piano recital, seven-year-old jaemin's face smushed in his birthday cake, the actual jaemin finishes up washing the dishes and makes his way to his packed bags, unveiling a pack of...you're not sure.

he sits to your right, setting the paper envelope on the table. you pick it up just as he puts it down. peering in, you pull out a bundle of photos strapped together with a measly rubber band. slipping it off, your eyes soften when you realize that almost two thirds of the stack is just you, and then a flower or two, and then some more of you.

jaemin and his mother are hovering over your shoulders on both sides when you reveal the last picture, one of you and jaemin that he had so kindly asked another visitor to take, the daphnes in the back. he had said something funny, you wish you remembered what it was, and in the moment you were looking up at him with your face scrunched in amusement, but it was too late, the picture had been taken. the man on your right takes the laminated photo from you, "i think," he starts, hands navigating the photo albums to find the most recent one. flipping it open, he slides it into the slot underneath a picture of him at his high school graduation, "i think it goes here."

jaemin gives his mother a look, unbeknownst to you, and she dismisses the two of you hurriedly to go off to bed, to get some rest after a long car ride. jaemin doesn't think much of that, apparent in how he does urge you to shower, unpack, and get comfy in his bed but also keeps you up, talking into the depths of the night.

he explains to you, later after you had asked, why his albums only went up until the end of his high school days. his head is propped up on the pillow, body strewn on the thin mattress of his bedroom floor, but both upturned to you perched on his bed. his room is a showcase of his younger years, far before you knew him, and even farther before you heard rumors of him. the walls are littered with certificates of merit, ribbons of academic excellence and his shelves, instead of books, have been cleared out for an abundance of trophies, for innumerable instruments, for perfect attendance, for anything and everything a person under eighteen could be awarded for. you'd never pegged jaemin to be a countryside boy, and added on to that, you'd never have pegged him to be the goody-two-shoes his childhood home so plainly made him out to be.

he tells you, himself, how college had changed him, how freedom had changed him, how being admitted into the fraternity changed him, how parties, underage drinking, sex, how it all rewrote the person he used to be. he looks you in the eye and tells you how much he loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the popularity, the sheer magnitude of people he had swooning over him, at his feet, on their knees. he tells you he loved it and that he's not so sure if he loves it now.

"why the sudden change?"

jaemin could tell you that he doesn't know, really, that maybe he just grew up a little and saw his time wasted, that perhaps he realized all the fights he had with his parents were simply not worth it. or, he could tell you the truth.

"because of you."

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," he's scrambling to sit up straight now, so he can look you in the eyes. if he's going to do this, he's going to do it properly. his eyes level with yours, lips freshly licked, he dives in the deep end. "i think i just- i met you at your worst. and we talked, and we, i don't know, flirted, and everything was supposed to just pan out how it usually does. you know, in bed. but it didn't." you've sat up as well, feet hanging over the edge of his bed and barely scraping the floor. you reach to hold both his hands in yours, though you have not the slightest clue where he is going with this tangent. "it didn't, but even then, i- i never-" it seems that even he doesn't know.

jaemin's hands start to clam in yours but there's an underlying determination that still holds strong, he's nowhere near done. "i never stopped going after you, and not at all for the sex. i- it was really just for you."

your jaw unhinges itself, hand not bothering to cover, thoughts elsewhere. what you thought might've been his life-changing, inspirational, heart-spurring tale, is turning out to be something you were inexplicably unprepared for. your newly sprouted tears are at the brink of overflowing as you try to make sense of the mess your mind has already made for itself. the questions are almost pushed over the precipice of your tongue before jaemin clears the air with finality and a handful, of in-the-moment confidence.

"y/n," jaemin's fingers glide over your knuckles in half the rhythm of your heartbeat, "i met you at your worst and i think that somehow it made me realize that i was also at my worst. and i don't know what people have to say about two sad people falling in love, all i really know is that i like you. i really fucking like you."

as if on cue, you start crying right then. "fuck, jaem," you pull your hands from him to swipe at your face and he's moving onto the bed as he speaks, dumbfounded, "why are you crying, y/n? is this like a 'i like you back and i'm happy' or 'i don't like you back' kinda cry?" you throw your head back in unprecedented laughter as he takes you in his embrace. your head rocks back and rests on his shoulders, arms coming up to encase them. "it's a 'relieved that i'm not the only one' cry."

he draws back, hands still holding you at the waist, "so, i'm taking that to mean you like me back?" you lick your lips, "maybe...possibly, you'll have to find out on your own." jaemin shakes his head, the back of his right hand coming up to caress the apples of your cheek. chuckling he retorts, "you're saying that like i don't already know. eunmi kinda let it slip a few weeks ago."

"she what?!"

"well, she kinda said that you were falling for me or something like that."

"well," you stop, in confoundment of being left in utter betrayal, "well, she's wrong. tell her that i said she's wrong."

"but you-"

"no, fuck what i just said, she's wrong."

"i- okay," jaemin watches you fall back onto your back with a huff, he follows shortly. the ceiling the both of you stare at and beyond is rightfully comforting after a week that just happened to start well, go well, end well. maybe love is your forte, after all, loving yourself after all that's happened, loving others despite all that might go wrong, anything to do with love. you suppose the getting dumped the eighth time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. and boy were you glad you did just that.

jaemin is cutting fruit when it first begins to snow. apples are especially delectable in the winter, he knows he's bound to love them even more after this one winter. you're on the couch when it begins to snow, just shy of beating your long-withstanding high score on some game you were admittedly terrible at. jaemin joins you on the couch with the plate of apples, moments after it beings to snow.

"jaem," your lay a hand on his thigh, your sights elsewhere, "look, it's snowing."

you're scrambling to get a scarf around your neck, your boots zipped, the turtleneck underneath your coat pulled to your chin. the sky is almost dark, sunset not entirely visible under the veil of clouds. jaemin can't decide what is more enlightening, the snow or you and the ear-splitting grin that takes up half your expression. he decides that it's you.

you aren't even allotted the time to make snow angels before his lips are on yours. it's not the first time the two of you have kissed but neither of you will deny how different it feels. jaemin guesses it's because the way his lips move against your is fueled by untainted adoration and he suspects the same from you. he molds them steadily, wanting to take delight in the feeling for as long as hig lungs would permit. specks of snow dust the crests of your cheeks and the tail ends of his eyelashes. they heat in contact with your skin and begin their descent, deliquescing as they stray down the curves of your cheeks, meeting at your mouth that so fervently moving again jaemin's. it's where the cold melts of snow meet the warm mix of salivation.

you wield all the experience you will ever need, yet, it feels like it's your very first kiss, butterflies stirring down in your tummy and all. it never ends, it really doesn't. not when he first parts for air, or when you part the time after that, or even when you notice his mom, hands on her hips, from the window, or when the snow begins to clot at your feet.

you think you love him.

despite all the thoughts that tell you it's cheesy, it's boring, it's lame and conventional, you tell him on valentine's day.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing and as what is now considered usual, neither you nor jaemin are eager in partaking in it, opting to simply hang out in his room, above the loud music and the moans from the opposite ends of all four walls. the door is locked this time and instead of joining the crowd in the main event of fucking each other senseless, the two of you have a small setup on his bed, littered with textbooks, previous exam papers, a fancy charcuterie board, courtesy of the dedicated chef, jaemin himself. you're on your back, feet hitched upon the headboard and laptop positioned at a ninety degree angle on your ninety degree angled legs. jaemin is on the floor rather, using the bed as a makeshift table even though he has an actual table not two feet away.

"i wish we could go to your dorms, it's loud as fuck." in response, you heave a sigh, mind now sidetracked from your work, "a pity i live on the fifth floor, we have no chance in sneaking you in." a thought dawns on him and he wonders why neither of you thought of it before, "let's go to the car."

it's quite the sight and you're sure anyone who's actively paying attention would laugh. jaemin's arms are locked straight up, supporting yours, his computer, and three textbooks, as he navigates the swarm of people to the exit. you're, following in tow, arms held up in similar fashion but instead of a stack of books, you're hoisting the charcuterie board, still abundant with cheese and grapes and a dip of honey. the threat of everything toppling over is very much apparent.

he'd driven a little ways down his street so that the buzz of the party could be left fully behind. the only thing aiding your studying is now the low-grade yellow lights that come with the fold down mirrors. "holy shit, jaem," your mouth waters even as it anticipates its next bite. "what?" he glances over at you. the charcuterie board is hiked on your knees that are drawn to your chest, makeshift tables are all too common today it seems. all the cheese on the board have an identical bite on them, a result of your taste testing but it seems that only one has drawn your liking so much so that you have eaten most the portion provided. "this- the- what's this one?"

"petite jalapeño, why?"

you cover your mouth as you chew hurriedly, "it's so fucking good, babe, with the honey. oh my god, i love you." you've finished chewing but you don't notice what's left your mouth, definitely not food.

"you what?"

you're thoughtlessly thrown into his trap, "i love- fuck."

"you love fuck."

"wait no."

you put the plate on the dashboard, dusting off your hands while your cheeks dust rose under the dingy lights. "i- wait, yeah i," you shift a leg under you, turning to your boyfriend but refusing to look him in the eye. you speak to the outlines of the house two down from his, "i guess i do love you."

"y/n, look at me."

you shy away from him, embarrassed yet overcome with the sudden wash of feelings. you knew this, you do love him, so why is it so hard to voice aloud? he brings his hand to your chin, leans it towards him until you have no choice but to gaze into his loving stare. truth be told, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"i love you too."

your fingers play with your bottom lip, thrusting it up and down, left and right as you mull over which picture to post. "bummer, i look great in this one but you're blinking. ugh." swiping to the next one, you find that it's the last. "here," jaemin unlocks his phone with one hand, holds it out for you, "i think i have some that jaein took, she's better at taking pictures than jeno anyways." taking the device from him, you click into his photos and find the last two hundred or so to be just of you and the lavender fields, he hasn't changed a bit.

jaein does have a lot more sense, "wow my legs look so long in this one," and "geez, that hair flip was entirely unintentional, i must be a natural." jaemin rolls his eyes at that, one hand of his on the wheel while the other makes its way over to your thigh, rubbing a soft, distracted massage.

the first red flag that draws your attention. you're airdropping a cumulative 54 photos to your own phone when you see a name that you had long forgotten in his top three message chats, minyoung. you ignore it. you post the picture. you edit the caption seven times, each time becoming more indecisive than the last while jaemin gives you the incredulest of looks.

you decide to stay at his place for the night, not that it's an inconvenience to drive the extra two minutes back to your place, but just because he wants to spend the night with you. there's no objections, why would there be?

the second red flag that draws your attention. jaemin's showing you something on his phone, a video of a dog maybe, you've forgotten. the text that drops down while the two of you huddle over the screen holds your interest far longer. it's minyoung and she's telling him to come over. you're slightly alarmed, you're boyfriend even more so. he draws his phone back instantly, to your dismay, and you almost want to snatch it from him, to delve into the depths of the chat. you really almost do.

"jaem, what did i just see?"

"y/n, it's not what you think," it irks you that he's so quick to defend. you keep your head on cool for now, "okay, then what was it about?" his eyes shift from yours to the wall behind you, you're surprised they're lined with annoyance. he shakes his head, "nothing."

you're thinking it's all the more reasonable for you to be the one who's annoyed. you bit down harsh on your lip, refusing to give way to any of your many impulses, "if it's nothing then why can't you tell me?"

jaemin glances over at you, fleetingly, "i- it's not something you should be worried about. just, trust me, will you?" rubbing your hands down the fabric of your- his sweatpants, you utter a sigh, not sure of how much longer, how many more times you have to be left in the dark, for you to snap at him. you hope it isn't soon. "jaem, i trust you, i do. but that doesn't mean i'll believe everything you say blindly." you note that, for whatever reason, his pupils are shaking. "at least, not after what i just saw."

"then i don't know what to say. you have to trust me on this."

na jaemin has never been stubborn, or, he's never had a reason to be. everything goes accordingly to the way he wants to, that's how it's always been. maybe it's because of his endearing charms that teachers can never fail him, that compliments are always showered upon him. perhaps it's the way he flatters that makes him so likeable, befriending people is as easy as reciting the alphabet when you've frequented too many parties and met too many people. he knows that when he kisses up, people will bow down, he's never been rejected. it's definitely because of his good looks that girls always spilt their legs open for him, they never say no.

na jaemin gets what he wants, except when he doesn't.

"no."

you leave because you have trust issues, sure, who doesn't, who cares. who cares if there are tears streaming down your face for seemingly stupid reasons? it isn't the first time, it's nowhere near the first time. it's the same feeling you had when you realized your first boyfriend wasn't going to reply back, there's still a read seven years ago below your text. the same feeling when you saw your second kissing your 'best friend.' still all those years ago, when you were two steps away to the lunch table when you heard your third whisper to his friends, "just a stupid bet with a stupid girl." when your fourth told you he lost feelings for you when you were still madly in love with him and when you had to found out from your oldest sister that your fifth was her classmate, in grad school, while you were still in your last year of high school, not even old enough to vote. your sixth trying to strip you of your virginity right after you agreed to be his girlfriend and your seventh basically forgetting you existed. you were getting the same fucking feeling all those months ago when you finally realized your rightful position as 'replacement,' as 'number 2,' as 'poor soul.' maybe distrust is simply inbred in you and though you know the prospects of yours and jaemin's relationship are far from over, you can't deny the gut feeling that your bad luck in men is coming back to haunt you, that it's never left in the first place.

na jaemin forgets that he has a past he can't erase, just like you. the girls he's fucked over the past three years have hearts and they have reasons they began to fuck him in the first place. he couldn't heal their hearts, nor his, but sex did a great deal, made a great deal of people jealous, gave him all he needed at the time. he never expected them to simply go away when he decided to settle down but it seems that his reputation holds so much worth that it's proving hard to overcome it himself. jaemin hates that you date the campus fuckboy, he hates that people still whisper in your ear that he's fucking so-and-so in the dead of night. he hates that he can't get rid of the stigma around his name, even though you know, through and through, that he can't nearly live up to it anymore. you know yet, you leave because of it. his reputation. na jaemin, certified eye candy and delectable dick, wishes he was anyone but himself.

her bare feet shuffling down the hall is the only thing she hears. she wishes they let people wear shoes on the second floor so she could've busted her heels out and clacked her way to his room. she needs the rush of empowerment right now. she needs it.

the next thing she hears is the sound of raised voices right as she is about to shove the door open, the door fifth on the left of the hall to the right of the stairwell, exactly where you'd told her he'd be, albeit reluctantly.

eunmi is taken aback now that she recognizes one of the voices behind the door. minyoung. gritting her teeth, she presses her ear to the wood, careful to keep quiet.

"so you're fucking her now? is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"minyoung, i'm not fucking her. we're dating, it's been that way for awhile," he sounds exasperated, maybe, eunmi can almost see the crease in his brows.

"why didn't you bother to ask me if i was fine with it? we had a thing going, you can't just bail on me like that."

"the only thing we had going was quick fucks every thursday. i'm sorry, but i don't think that's much of a relationship."

her voice is growing impatient, in desperation like she's grasping at loose strings, hanging on to whatever she can find, "this little bitch- does she even know? how much of a dick you are? are you just going to leave her like you did me?"

"stop, minyoung, please,"

but eunmi guesses her point is valid nonetheless, she herself doesn't think very highly of him. "how would she feel if i told her that? that leaving is your specialty? you can fuck me, and all my friends and leave, thinking that we'd never know, but we know, okay? and if you- if you ever think that you'll be satisfied with settling down for this chick, think again jaemin."

eunmi backs into the restroom across the door, for good measure and good sense because minyoung is storming out the second after, unaware of her eavesdropper. a minute and a glimpse later, she knows that jaemin is crouched by the foot of his bed, though she's unsure why.

she braves herself because she's here for answers. reappearing at his door, she calls softly as if raising a white flag, "hey there." jaemin's head snaps up instantaneously in surprise. "oh, hi, what're you doing here?" he lowers himself to sit on the floor and eunmi takes the spot in front of him, wariness in her movements.

"well, i came here for y/n, obviously, but um, i just happened to hear-" she's cut off when jaemin lets out a low groan into his hands. eunmi makes her stance a little clearer now that she has a better feel of the situation, "i'm not here to break up with you for her or anything. she didn't really want me to come, but i guess, i guess i came because we've also had our fair share of...disagreements that i think we should set straight," she pauses, hands fiddling with her thumbs in her lap, "i'm sorry if this is too much after, all that."

he looks relieved at that, "no, it's fine. i- i'm glad you want to, i don't know, make up. i haven't really been all that great of a friend these past years anyway."

eunmi lets a smile slip at that, what an interesting turn of events, "so...friends?"

"friends."

"and just to set the record straight, you're not still fucking minyoung right?"

jaemin rolls his eyes, shakes his head, gesticulates with his hands, "no, i got y/n. she's all i really need." eunmi nods to fill the awkward silence that follows. she's reminded of another inquiry, "so why didn't you just tell her that?"

"i guess i just didn't want her to worry or like- or get involved with my past, stuff like that. i kinda hated how it's dredged up all the time, especially now that i've, i don't know, settled down, committed."

"should've just told her," eunmi deadpans.

"i really should've," jaemin agrees.

"need me to drive you?" jaemin's extra careful with his words today, post-arguments can be fickle, particularly if they're only halfway resolved. your voice is muffled on the other end, "no, i'll walk." jaemin's wishes he'd insisted it instead of simply offering, late spring rains weren't all that uncommon, and even more so when the skies are darkening as they are on this specific day. "it might rain though," he tries again. you decline again, "i'll manage, thank you."

he sees you in ten, fifteen minutes or so, and sure enough, you're drenched head to toe, staring up at him with eyes that bear in mind the tension that hangs in between you and also border the bounds of laughter at how you're dripping wet with no one to blame but yourself. jaemin bites back the 'i told you so' and hurries to get you dried off with a towel, changed, and under the sheets. by then, the tension has subsided considerably.

"you wanna talk about it?"

you're tired, though it hasn't even struck five on the clock, "i thought that's what i'm here for."

"so, i'm not fucking her-"

"nice to know-"

"-just had some loose ends to tie up-"

"-and did you?" jaemin supposes you're far too tired to be emitting the same, resolute aggressions as a few days prior seeing as you're keeping your voice to a minimum and the words that come out are straight to the point, blunt. he does his best to reflect the same straightforwardness.

"i did, she's...off my back, our back...our backs."

you give him a look, scrunch your nose, and tug him by the arms into you. there's a blanket separating you two but he fits exactly against you anyways. you wonder how anyone could ever get in between the two of you if you so perfectly mold alongside him. the bridge of his nose nuzzles down your neck and you're laughing because it doesn't get any better than this, really.

he shuts the light on the bedside table off with an inattentive hand, the blankets are drawn back and he's pulled flush into you. his body heat is welcome on a frigid night and the blanket that falls back on top of him seals the both of you within the confines of his bed for the hours to come. you're starting to think that coming here was more just to cuddle than it was to make up with him.

"i can't get enough of you," his face is in your neck.

"and why is that?"

"because- because everything about you- i feel like i'd be missing out if i never tried to start something with you," he buries himself further in your scent, "it's like i emptied my heart out just so you could fill it back up."

your chin rests on the crown of his head, it tickles him when you speak, now in half wakefulness, "could say the same for you."

jaemin whispers into your ear, breath fanning down onto your neck, words that will only ever be for you, "i would not have you otherwise."

jaemin spent your spring break at your hometown, to meet your parents, both of which loved him dearly. he wouldn't dare voice it aloud but he thinks it's the sweetest that your mother holds you, her youngest daughter, in such high-esteem after bringing home who she thinks to be the 'most gorgeous man alive,' an utterance he was sure was not meant for him to hear.

he likes being the 'most gorgeous man alive,' especially if you were the one who thought so, but as he watches you stare intently at the flynn rider's jawline, his own jaw clenches. tangled is playing as the pre-movie for movie night, the movie that plays before people actually start to arrive since, donghyuck and eunmi are always destined to be at least an hour late. but it's not that that gets him the most riled up that night, riled up isn't even the right word. maybe agitation, at whoever thought it was a good idea to invite mark lee. mark fucking lee, the grad student. the whoever turns out to be chenle and although jaemin does not have it in him to beat the kid up, he is sure as hell watching over the dude from the moment he walks in to the moment he leaves.

more than that, he also keeps his eyes on you as well, tracing your expression with every word his goddamned senior ought to speak. "hey, y/n, how have you been?" jaemin glares. as far as his detective senses go, he figures that marks target for the night isn't you, but rather eunmi. he hopes he can get over this as quickly and neatly as possible. your face twitches into a smile, uncomfortable, he thinks. "fine, i've been fine. you?" jaemin wants to draw you back and tell you that you had no obligation to be so polite, that the 'fine' would have done its job splendidly on its own.

"pretty good myself, looks like things have been happening around here, huh," jaemin hates the way he wriggles his eyebrows, "hyuck and eunmi, you and him." jaemin hates how he just referred to him as 'him,' surely, there was a lot more due respect than that. "yeah, and jeno and jaein but that's-"

"oh psh, old news," the two of you laugh, you laugh with him, with him. jaemin is just about ready to throw hands when mark excuses himself to get a seat on the floor, serves him right, he thinks. you look comparatively calm next to the raging boy. why is he the only one bothered by this?

"you good there? didn't even say a word to him."

he gulps, "yeah, i'm great. just didn't feel like talking."

you're staring at him like you can see right through him, that's exactly the case, "i'm over him, you know?" jaemin scratches at his neck, "yeah, i know." head on his shoulder as the first official movie of the night plays, you sigh, "no need to get all worked up, i'm all yours."

the twentieth century fox theme plays in the background of the romance novel you live in. na jaemin makes you feel that way, unfailingly, every single day. it's written in the ways he kisses you, lovemarks blooming under your skin. it's written in the way he stares at you, with nothing else except pure, unadulterated love. it's written in between the lines, his actions, his thoughts, everything that amounts to so much more than the past years of deprivation you've had to endure. it's written in the stars, out in the countryside where jaemin could never fake a smile, not in the presence of you. with you by his side, not in a million years.

it's here. summer fucking break is finally here. and if there's anything to prove that, it's the way you're currently sitting in a car with all your friends. taking a short little road trip out to the beach. now, mind you, these are the same friends that were there on your drunkest nights, slumped over bar counters and blatantly asking for any hot guy's number. the same friends that accompanied you on your most sober nights, holed up in your single-person dorm room, trying to study for an exam for a class you could never wake up in time for. and among those friends is one who has an added prefix, your boyfriend, na jaemin, who's in the driver's seat per your request since your carsickness prevented you from any other seats and you really wanted him by your side. jaemin didn't seem to mind driving, after all, he was next to you.

the sun is setting too fast and eunmi, sitting in the seat in the far back, complains that they'd have to set up the bonfire right away instead of getting to play in the warm water while it's warm. donghyuck, beside her, is complaining too, but not about the bonfire or even the trip in general, but about eunmi and her legs which are hoisted on his lap, something about how his dingaling needs to breath. jaein, in the seat right behind you is musing on about how she thinks it'll be funny when they arrive and see yeseul and renjun's car torn up in two, neither of them could ever get along. jeno, to her left, is fussing with rubbing sunblock on her, getting angry at how her hair could never stay out of his way.

you glance over at jaemin who has this smile on his face. this smile that makes it seem like he's in adoration of the whole scene panning out in the rearview mirror. he takes a glance over at you too and, if even possible, his smile beams wider, straight pearly whites and all. his hand finds yours.

it's already dark when the eight of you arrive but eunmi isn't complaining anymore since the boys make quick work in getting the bonfire set up while letting the girls play in the water. the ocean water licks at your feet as you watch eunmi and yeseul duel in how much water they could spray at each other, jaein sitting on the shore off to the side, watching as well. you're pondering going over to accompany her when eunmi's hand latches on your left arm and tugs the whole of you into the water with her. it's warm and wouldn't have been entirely unwelcoming had you gotten a notice in advance.

you make fun in chasing them around, kicking up water in eunmi's face one too many times that she begins to choke on the saltiness. yeseul is now on the shore yelling at renjun. and jaein is doing her best with a tent. eunmi, who's back you were currently rubbing, is almost through with her fit and you think the mischievous face she's pulling means another round but she brings up a question instead, "how's he in bed?"

she's right if she assumed you'd chuck another armful of water in her face.

you sigh in annoyance as jaemin tosses the towel over your head once again, unsatisfied with how the tips of your hair were still wet. his fingers are ruffling fast and making quick work to dry the strands but you're upset. "jaemin, babe, we've been standing here for ten minutes, can i go now?" your head resurfaces as he gives the towel one more tug, smiling, "just making sure you don't get sick." he follows as you duck into your shared tent to get ready for the bonfire. "shit, jaem. i didn't bring an extra top," you frown but he only smiles wider and grabs his hoodie from the ground beside the sleeping bags. "lucky for you, then," he tugs the article of clothing over your head, only speaking again once your eyes peek out, "because i love seeing you wear my clothes."

you give him a nose scrunch in return but every word of his, every single word that comes from his mouth is enough to get you swooning. you follow him out the tent.

"so," donghyuck's eyes are playful in the light of the fire, "what game are we playing today?" jeno groans, "do we always have to play some sort of game? why can't we just like…" even he's unsure of what to do. the eight of you are situated around the blazing fire that's, not quite large enough to be a bonfire, but does its job in keeping you warm. jaein perks up after much deliberation, "how about...we go around and each make a wish?"

donghyuck huffs, "fine by me." it starts with jeno, and though you truly value each and every one of your friends' wishes, there's only one that you really remember for the rest of the night, the day, the week, the month, and the years to come. jaemin clears his throat, the rest of the group watching him including you, the you he turns to. you're huddled over on the log beside him, wrapped up in his hoodie and hair an absolute mess. your eyes are heavy and he already knows that once everyone decides to call it a night, you will be the first to leave. you're looking at him in tired anticipation and mild interest, he hopes what he has to say tells you all he needs you to know.

"i already have you, so there's nothing left to wish for."

the rest of the group breaks off into 'oohs' and 'ewws' but you swear that you and jaemin, jaemin and you are stuck in your own little world. his gaze is incredibly soft and endearing, you scoot closer and place a head on his shoulder, his hand coming around your frame in automatic response. leaning into his warmth, you feel closest to home than you ever have before.

jaemin carries you to sleep later that night. and even later that night, or rather early in the morning, when you rustle awake, he's aroused by you as well. the two of you sit on a towel atop the dry sand, right before where the tides ride up the shore. basked in the moonlight, jaemin's skin beams a pale sheen and his eyes are cast over darkly, ethereally, divinely. your head is still on his shoulder and you feel the words vibrate through you when he speaks, "did you have fun today?"

you tuck a lip under your front teeth and nod for him to feel. he asks another question, "how are you feeling?" this time, you aren't able to part with just a shake of your head so you sit up, eyes never leaving the push and pull of the sunless ocean, "i feel...happy."

he looks over at you, not in surprise but in interest, "happy? why do you feel happy?" you shrug almost, musing off whatever comes to mind first, "i don't know, school just ended, this trip, summer break. i have a lot of reasons to be happy." jaemin isn't sulky at that but he does his best to pull his name from you, "and what about me?"

you dare a glance over at the man next to you, his eyes already boring into yours, "well, you too, of course." looking away as quickly as you'd looked over, you mumble quietly, "actually, more because of you than anything." in your peripheries, you see him give you a look that speak 'that's what i thought' and you clip down your smile in favor of a shake of your head.

moving from your spot, you surprise jaemin when you block his view of the seaside. he settles you down into his lap with familiar control, arms cradling you tight to his chest. hand on his neck, you trace it up to his cheek and guide his head down to face yours. jaemin leans in for a soft kiss, lips suckling at your bottom as your teeth tug on his top, slow but sensual, tired but sweet. you pull away for a breath but it's as if he doesn't need to breathe anymore because he chases after your lips almost instinctively. soft kiss after soft kiss is all that's needed for you to pluck up your courage and look him in the eyes, lips detached, and speak the truth your heart has been singing in your ears all along. "jaem," his eyes are hazy as they find yours in the dim light. somewhere in the back, the sun is peeking over the horizon in all its glory but neither of you pay it any mind. "yes, love?" he brushes the hairs from your face, fingers gliding across your cheeks and then fumbling with your bottom lip with his thumb. you blink and you speak.

"i've been waiting for you all my life."

you think back over the past seven months, a little over half a year, that you've had this man in your life, five months of which he was your boyfriend. you wonder how you could've fallen so fast in such a short amount of time. then again, love is rarely ever about how short or how long. it's more about the timing in which everything falls into place, the intensity by which each person loves, their pasts and how willing they are to erase it. falling in love is not about getting it right the first time, to find someone to be your first and last. for you particularly, jaemin is your ninth, and though the prospects of him being your last are still far from true, you know in your heart and in your mind and in every part of your living being that with each coming second, he's a second closer to becoming your last.

✧ end note — if my ex ever sees this, though i truly doubt he will, he gon know i stole one of his lines for jaemin. the wish one. yeah...he always had his way with words, that's about all he had though. but hey, it makes a hell of a good line in this story. i hope you had a good time reading this piece, it was such a pleasure to write. i will see you guys when i wake up for class in three hours hehe. with all the love in the world, rouiyan

#nct jaemin #jaemin fluff #jaemin x reader #neo-constellations #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct fics #nct jaemin fluff #jaemin fics #jaemin angst #na jaemin #nct jaemin fics #maxed the shit out of that 15k #very lightly proofread #will go over later #enjoy for now #<3 #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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ralafferty · 3 years

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85. Among the Hairy Earthmen

A mescalanza is, in Spanish, a “medley” or a “potpourri” or a “miscellany.” In Italian (as mescolanza), it’s any sort of mixture, often a mix of people or of ideas. Either way, it’s a collection of disparate elements that combine to form something greater than the individual parts could ever have been alone; often, the combination brings out aspects in the originals that no one could have predicted.

The earliest extant drafts of “Among the Hairy Earthmen”—which for a good while went by the name “The Long Afternoon,” though others were considered—imply that the story was developed as just such a mescolanza, in much the same way as the later “Nor Limestone Islands” would be a lapidary work, or the later still “In Deepest Glass” would be a cathedral window. (Or further, in the way that almost every Lafferty work contains some sort of image of its own processes of inscription.)

Certainly this draft seems to be the first short story that really piled on the epigraphs—a fixture of Lafferty’s novel writing from the first, and very present just then from his work on Archipelago, but which he had been more reticent to deploy in shorter stories. What’s more, it may well be the first mention of “The Back Door of History,” that compendium of shadow historiography that provides excerpts for many a Lafferty tale—and it’s the author of this work who introduces the word mescolanza, though in this early stage the pseudonymous author is listed as Arpad Dotch, not Arutinov. The narrator of the story cites four epigraphs in all, alternating Lafferty inventions from “The Lighter Side of Geology”—by one A.E.C. Copps, who does not recur—and “The Back Door of History” with two actual quotations from John Addington Symonds’ magisterial history The Italian Renaissance and Frederick Rolfe / Baron Corvo’s History of the Borgias. (These two British eccentrics were quite different in most ways save one: they were both about as openly queer as it was possible to be in the societies of their time.)

There’s indications that a Chesterton quote may also have been part of the miscellany—something I think he would appreciate—but none of these quotes made it to the final draft; they were all removed amid extensive rewrites trying to get the story to the point that Fred Pohl would buy it. In a letter from February 1964—after Lafferty had already rewritten the story multiple times, including earlier in the month—Pohl notes that “you have something interesting, entertaining and stimulating to say, but because you say it in a jackdaw’s-nest of unrelated bits of scenes and snippets of history you make it hard to read. … my quarrel with THE LONG AFTERNOON is that it is an easy story which you have written in a hard way.” It would seem that the number of quotations has only grown since the first draft, and Pohl admits himself bewildered: “But do you really need the quotations? From the first you only take the words ‘from Byzantium’; and take them only to deny them—but you have thrown twenty-odd data at the reader; since he does not know which are important, he tries to hold them all in his head, and when he finds out that by-God none of them are, he grows to dislike your story.”

Pohl made a further suggestion—“Suppose you rewrite the story, without quotes, in some consecutive form—perhaps as a narration”—which Lafferty carried out, which is why we have the story in the form we do. The “easy story” Pohl wanted to highlight is still complicated, a synthesis of readings across a huge number of historical subjects in the 13th to 15th centuries, but at root it is a story of alien visitation, of the subvariety where the aliens accelerate human development at a particular place in time; Lafferty’s innovation is to place this in medieval Europe rather than in Pharaonic Egypt or Attic Greece or for that matter the future. The story zeroes quickly in on the children at their arrival and follows their activities over the two-hundred-odd years which saw the Renaissance kindle and burst into life, up until they leave on the heels of a disciplinary thrashing from a mysterious human pilgrim. There still isn’t really a plot, but there is a “continuity” to proceedings—or enough to satisfy Pohl, at least. And some parts of it are vastly improved between the first draft and published versions.

And yet I still wonder about the version that could have been: the hard-way story, the jackdaw’s nest, the mescolanza. It would’ve been yet another work of Lafferty’s that embodied the formal experimentation of the New Wave, years before editors like Moorcock and Knight and Carr and Goldsmith—and Pohl himself!—commissioned and championed them. What “The Long Afternoon” lacked in continuity, it could have made up in innovation, inviting the reader into a wholly different role than just the receptor of a narrative: by throwing all these selections at the reader, making them distinguish between the real ones and the invented ones (see, always see, Don Webb on this technique), Lafferty press-gangs his audience, turning them all into fellow researchers, sifting through textual evidence. And if the reader ends up uncertain which data are or aren’t important, or uncertain of the entire enterprise generally, then Lafferty has already succeeded by muddying the epistemological waters sufficiently that the “aliens spearheaded the Renaissance” theory no longer seems fanciful—or, at least, no more fanciful than the idea that humans just up and did all those things on their own.

It’s not as if “Among the Hairy Earthmen” is a bad story. There’s a lot to investigate within it, and quite a few interesting questions to ask—maybe if I can ever get an actual medievalist to read the tale, I can get more and better answers than my own scanty reading on that period allows, but at the very least: What do we make of the story’s implication that humanity may be better off without such periods of frantic activity? (Note the ultimate sterility of the rapid society in “Slow Tuesday Night”; though also contrast the rich fecundity of the sped-up science types in “Brain Fever Season.”) Who is that final Pilgrim, and how did he come to the knowledge of the children’s interventions? Are those same children, as implied, back for another long afternoon; and if so, what dubious gifts are they giving us now? And yet, it’s undeniable that the effect of such questions is different when they are handed directly to you by the narration, rather than when they emerge from your navigation of Lafferty’s peculiar bricolage. (On this, see Gregorio Montejo, in Feast of Laughter 4).

The archive does not record whether Lafferty genuinely thought the story better in Pohl’s preferred format, or if he just went along with it because it was the only way it was likely to see print. If the latter, then it doesn’t seem to have affected his other stories much; the following years would see Lafferty send out many more formal experiments, including “What’s the Name of That Town” and “Primary Education of the Camiroi,” both composed during these same months that he was rewriting “Among the Hairy Earthmen” (and both, moreover, bought by Pohl). But I have to wonder if the ordeal didn’t at least color his view of Pohl, perhaps even mark an early stage of the process whereby the editor who, in Lafferty’s own words, “picked me up out of the scrap pile” became the editor who “was never right, but sometimes he was pretty insistent.”

Completed December 1961. Rewritten March 1963, December 1963, January 1964, and twice in February 1964. Published in Galaxy, ed. Frederik Pohl, August 1966. Collected in Ringing Changes. New York: Ace Books, 1984.

Next entry: "Crocodile," a dystopian tale about printing that had to go to press twice because they forgot a page

#shortstory #noteworthy #historical #italy #ringingchanges

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theastrophilearchitect · 3 years

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Reworking the plot & getting my hands dirty.

Writing journey #2.

Sat 06/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,150 19.38 So, a month ago, today, actually, I started writing a book. For context, I've sorted out scenes and planned my plot; I'm now simultaneously writing my first draft and outlining scenes in more detail - I'm just into act two of my draft and just into act three of the outline.

I included today in my first writing post, which you can find here, but, while outlining, I realised something that will result in a major plot change (even though I probably should wait until revisions, it sorts out the climax I'm currently incredibly vague on, and will help me actually be able to complete the draft), and felt it was time to start a different post, because the other one was long, and already had its own focus.

Previously, I've been setting mildly insane word count goals, and even though I'm sticking to vague targets, I'm going to drop that, because I need to do a major plot change, and that'll mean the word count isn't going up that much for a while.

So, I have my first and second acts good, but while outlining act three, I've realised the event at the start of act three would work better as a climax than the vague battle idea I have. It just seems more original, more effective, but it means I need to shift events around and re-figure the first block of act three. I'll begin tonight, but it's already 8pm, so I'll probably do most of it tomorrow.

Sun 07/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,365 08.24 I'm reworking act three, and I think I may just drop drafting for the moment and focus on incorporating the edits I have in mind, then start drafting over. I know all the advice says not to go back and edit, but this is a big change I can't wait to do, so it seems opportune to just make the others, too.

08.31 I've now finished reworking act three, and I'm much more satisfied with it than I was before. I do now need to go through the scenes again, however.

13.57 Still re-scening. This is frustrating, but I've decided when I'm back to drafting, I'm going to drop my daily minimum to just 500 words - even though I'll make very little progress at that pace, it's more realistic considering I'm about to be plunged back into the world of homework and commuting, and it's something I'll always be able to meet to help me keep in the habit of daily writing. Word count isn't applicable when I'm doing re-scening like today, though.

Something else I've noticed, when I'm writing literally anything, I'm just scribing the words I'm literally hearing in my head, which is a little bit of a problem because where I wrote 'meet' just now, I meant 'meet' but heard 'eat' in my head and wrote 'eat'.

17.07 I feel like I'm finally making some progress - I've been writing on-and-off all day. My word count has actually decreased a couple hundred words since yesterday, but Scrivener is convinced I've written 42,000 words today, which I obviously haven't. I've typed a lot of words, but not that many, not all of which added to that since deleting words takes words off that number. It thinks I've written so many, however, because I duplicated my act one folder twice (then deleted it, obviously, because I don't need three copies of the same act) but Scrivener doesn't take off the words when you delete the file, only when you literally hit backspace.

17.50 Sorting out my climax, I'm realising how bad it was before. Which I guess is good, because it shows internal criticism and growth...? Or something...?

21.04 I've totally planned out the majority of act three, but I haven't finished it because where I'm up to ends with my characters essentially making a game plan, and since I'm not yet sure what that game plan is, I can't outline the bit where they carry out the plan, but I'll do that later. I've incorporated some of the edits I wanted to make, though I've left a couple out because they're less drastic and I'm not sure whether or not to include them, so I'm going to sort that either during or after my first draft.

Since I've made quite a few changes that will affect the parts I've already drafted, I'm going to start my draft over, and reset my word count, but I'll do that tomorrow. For now, Scrivener thinks I've written 42,385 words today, which I absolutely have not, and my word count is currently 28,365, but I'm going to remove every outline and drafted piece I've done so I can start from zero for what I'm going to call draft #1.4, because I already wrote a version of about 40% of it.

God, my word count has gone back to 0 of my minimum 50,000. That hurts. It really hurts. My actual goal is more 70-90K, but 50K is my minimum, so that's what I'm going with for now.

Anyway, goodnight, and good luck me.

Mon 08/03/2021 - Word Count: 820 So, I wrote 820 words before school, then got home, attempted to do some homework and lost all motivation and will to do... anything. Which means I'm very glad I did over my 500 words this morning.

Tue 09/03/2021 - Word Count: 1,367 15.07 I called this a #1.4 draft, but it's more like a #1.3. Anyway, writing is so much less stressful when I'm working from something I've already written - with the first section, so far, at least, I'm basically just editing the writing itself rather than the events because I'm pretty happy, at least at the moment, with my first couple chapters. Very little thinking required.

Also, it's been over 30 hours since I've written because I did my writing before school yesterday, but haven't written yet today because I've got so much work to get done for school. It feels like it's been forever.

16.17 I've finished rewriting chapter one, and still have a lot of fuel in my tank (that's a hideous metaphor) but I think I'm going to cut off today at 547 words, just because I have quite a lot on my plate this week, and I'd like to invest some time in actually reading the book I started eight days ago, and am only 200 pages of the way through.

Wed 10/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,082 I could write significantly more than 500 words most days, but it really is easier to set a minimum that doesn't feel like a strain, so that's what I'm sticking with for now.

Thu 11/03/2021 - Word Count: 2,801

Fri 12/03/2021 - Word Count: 3,405

Sat 13/03/2021 - Word Count: 32,211 07.40 I've just had nothing extra to say the last couple days, which is ironic considering how much I wrote each day of the last post, which went up yesterday! Anyway, it's finally Saturday, and even though I have exactly zero motivation to do anything this morning, I've been awake for two hours already (I recently discovered I like mornings??) and I think it's time to get going. Still sticking to my 500 word minimum, but since it's Saturday, I'm going to invest most of the day in writing, so I should surpass that.

08.20 I don't think I've mentioned yet that I dubbed this WIP Bay Tree in this post. Sorry if I have, but I skimmed this post and can't find it. So, this is about to get messy. I'm basically just cleaning up my prose, but there's so little point doing that when I'm not certain each scene will stay. There's no point editing a chapter unless I know it's sticking around.

So we're reverting, and this is about to get messy. I didn't quite finish my initial draft of chapter seven, because I wasn't sure how exactly the event at the end of it would happen, but I think I'm just going to delve into it. I'm going to add everything, including outlines, back to my word count, finish writing chapter seven, then pick up where I left off in chapter nine. Okay. That's why my word count is jumping around.

And, just like that, I've gone from 4,074 to 28,864. Well, 500 words accomplished. Surpassed, in fact, by just 24,290.

I'm going to aim to just hit 30K by the end of this weekend. I can easily do 1,136 words in two days.

As I've mentioned before, I haven't outlined all the way to the end and through the climax--I have a fairly clear idea of how I want it to do go down, but I'm not sure what I want the characters' plan to actually be, so I currently have 21 chapters, but I'm projecting 23-26, which, at about 3,000 words each, is pretty damn good, especially when it'll just get longer as I redraft (she says optimistically).

Already feeling more motivated now my word count's higher.

09.54 Oh! Also, I logged onto Tumblr today to find someone reblogged my last writing post with a really positive, encouraging comment. It's nice to think I'm bringing someone else a little joy with this.

11.13 And we hit 30K! I'm not quite done for the day, but I do need to go pack. Also, I've been operating under the impression the minimum word count for a novel is 50K, but it's actually 40K, which, though I'm only about 40% of the way to my projected total word count, I'm officially 75% of the way to being able to say I've written a novel.

I'm so glad I've gotten as far as I have, and I just hope I can keep myself going to the end.

12.27 This post is going to look really strange to read - if you're only looking at the word counts, it looks like I've written nearly 27K words today. That makes sense.

Oh, and I finished chapter seven. Like an hour ago.

13.52 At this point, I have literally no idea what continuity things I've already established, so I'm just going by a let-my-future-self-suffer philosophy.

14.36 That's chapter nine done. That leaves chapters 10 to nobody-knows. I'm going to stop writing now, but I wrote nearly 4,000 words today (plus recounting about 20K) so I don't exactly think this cut-off will be detrimental.

Sun 14/03/2021 - Word Count: 35,548 07.58 I’ve written over a thousand words already, and it isn’t even 8am yet. Being a morning person is genuinely the best thing ever as an introvert--I’m asleep when people want to socialise, and awake when no-one else is. That makes me sound like a hermit. I love it anyway, and feel like I’m stacking up for a good writing day. 35K is probably a little overambitious, but what’s life without aspiration?

09.04 As I’m going, I’m realising my plot is actually coherent, and being surprised that I can actually make a story without plot holes (as of yet.)

09.21 And that makes the first eleven chapters drafted!

...And, Houston, we have a problem. Dammit. Eleven chapters, and I haven’t established one of the most important world-building points. Which is especially irritating because it needs to be established by chapter twelve. Unless I can establish it at the start of chapter twelve? We’ll go with that, so I don’t have to go back, then I’ll sort it out in edits or draft two or something.

I’ve just started writing chapter twelve, but I think, having written 2,600 words today already, I need a break. I have less than 500 words until I hit 35K, but I’m going to leave it for now, and come back this evening. I should be able to hit 40K this week.

18.19 And that makes 35K. Chapter twelve is only two scenes, and I’ve written one, but having written 3,000 words so far today, I’m going to leave it until tomorrow.

Mon 15/03/2021 - Word Count: 36,337 17.19 So there’s a crucial plot point just after my midpoint, and I’m not completely sure what to do. I mean, I know what I’m doing--I just wasn’t sure exactly how I wanted it to go, but now I know. The issue is other stuff needs to be pre-established, and I’ve worked out where it needs to go, but I don’t know whether or not I want to go back and write those bits now, or just make note of it and add it in draft two.

I think I’m just going to make note, plough ahead, and deal with it in draft two. I’m trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to operate after this draft: things generally say put it down for a few weeks, come back for edits, then go into your next draft, but I feel like I’m already going to have so many edits gathered by the time I reach the end of this draft, I should just go back into it, but time will probably be beneficial. Not that it actually matters now. I’m only just halfway through an under-draft (by that I mean it’s going to get a lot longer). I’m going to add new scenes in my next draft and generally fiddle with plot aspects, but as quite a linear writer, I think I’m more naturally inclined to just incorporate aspects in a draft rather than as edits. I’m not sure. Does that even make any sense?

Depending on when I finish this draft, I think I’ll plan to pick it back up May 1st, and just see how I’m feeling. But, again, this all depends on when I finish the draft, and how I’m feeling when that time comes.

Tue 16/03/2021 - Word Count: 37,025 I bought my Scrivener license today! Yay!

Wed 17/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,408 08.04 This is mostly irrelevant to my project, but I just wanted to mention the odd fact that I’m definitely a plotter when it comes to longer pieces, but when I do shorter pieces, creative or essays, for school, I hate planning, and just start immediately, then go back and edit. Huh.

Thu 18/03/2021 - Word Count: 38,950 I’m going to edit this, but writing the date just now I noticed I’ve put 2019 for the last three days. It’s absolutely not, and I know why I did that, but still.

14.31 Also, Oxford commas? Found out what they were. Granted, that was actually a few days ago.

Fri 19/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,139 06.55 Even though I wrote 500 words yesterday, I didn’t quite reach my goal of 39K, just because I had to stop writing 50 words off, and by the time I had the opportunity to go back, I just wanted to go to bed. So, today, my goal is to hit 40K words, and officially be able to say I’ve hit the minimum word count for a novel.

Honestly, I’m starting to lose my love for this project. I’m still enjoying working on it, don’t get me wrong, but I’m anticipating finishing it because I know exactly what I want to write next. I feel like I’m mostly still working on it as a lesson, and I know it’s not what I ultimately want to write--mostly because it’s not super high-concept, and high-concept stuff is what I want to be writing. I am still enjoying working on it, I’m just not sure I’ll get to the ‘final line-edits’ stage. But who knows?

10.19 And that marks 40K. We’re in novel terriority, people. And, yes, I could correct that spelling, but I’d like to draw attention to how bad I am at spelling when typing. I’m excellent at spelling in writing, and wrong spellings bother me, but when I’m typing, my fingers are just trying to keep up with my mind, which means I try to type a letter and the one after it at the same time, and often end up with letters in the wrong order and punctuation in the wrong place. Or I just hit halfway between two keys instead of the key I’m going for, and type a wrong letter. Anyway, that was meant to say territory. See? I can spel..

Or I just double the punctuation instead of the last letter.

So I’m definitely not meeting my old goal of 80K words or a finished draft by the end of the month--that’d be another 40K words in just 12 days--but I’m definitely on track to finish by the end of April.

Sat 20/03/2021 - Word Count: 40,692 15.30 God, second acts are hard. I hate being in the middle. At the start, you have novelty, and at the end (not that I would know from experience) you have the knowledge you’re near the end, that you’ve already written most of it.

I’m currently operating the reminder, ‘You’ve written an act before, why not again?’, in hopes that’ll eventually extend to, ‘You’ve finished a draft before, why not again?’ and ‘You’ve written an entire book before, why not again?’

I’ve literally written 243 words so far today, and I just don’t want to. Normally, I sit down, I slog through the first hundred or so words, then pick up momentum. Maybe it’s just because chapter 13 is a boring part to write. Ha. 13. Just my luck.

I’m being nice to myself because a lot has happened in my life over the last few days, but I still want to write a minimum of 500 words, even though most Saturdays I can write more like 3,000.

21.41 I’d like to be asleep. That sounds like fun. Today slipped through my grasp, and I haven’t even written 300 words, but I am going to try to at least hit 500. And then maybe write thousands and thousands tomorrow, but I’m also going to bake a cake, and I’m notorious for being able to make cooking and baking take at least three times as long as is necessary.

21.57 So I got just past 500. Relatively speaking, that’s not that impressive for me, but it’s more words than most people in the world added to their manuscripts today, so I have to give myself some credit. (I’m working on crediting myself for productivity rather than degrading myself for not being productive--I could go on for hours about how much it pisses me off that capitalism teaches us productivity=worth in everything, not just business, but I’m going off on a tangent.)

Sun 21/03/2021 - Word Count: 41,466 08.08 Cakes baked! And I’ve come to a conclusion about how irritating I am to myself--I didn’t fully outline the latter half of act two (by which I mean I have each scene and a purpose of each scene, but virtually no detail) which I can absolutely cope with, but it does slow me down. Anyway, I’m waiting for my cakes to cool, then I can ice them.

14.28 I wanted to write up to 42K this weekend, which I don’t think is going to happen. I’ve written 774 words, so passed my 500-word minimum, but haven’t yet reached 42K, and don’t think I’m going to this weekend. I just don’t have much motivation, which may just be because of the part I’m on, but I’d rather work through this part really slowly then pick up the pace when I get to the part I want to be writing, than force myself to write this section quickly and poorly, then not want to continue into act three. So, sticking to 500 words a day; I may do more later, but I’m leaving it for now.

Mon 22/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,006 17.56 God, I don’t want to write today. I’m going to anyway, because I haven’t yet failed 500 words. They can be a shitty 500 words, but they have to be 500 words. Also, the scene I wrote yesterday? Absolutely getting deleted. But I’m leaving it for now because I refuse to lose those 800 words.

I really enjoy putting edits at the bottom of scenes in brackets and making them unnecessarily wordy so Scrivener thinks I’ve written significantly more words than I actually have.

18.31 Yay, did it. I’m really hoping I can just work through this low spot and don’t have to take a break. I’m on the penultimate chapter of act two, and the first few chapters of act three are really exciting, so I’ll know if I need to take a break based on whether I get motivated when I get to that part.

Tue 23/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,124 16.37 GOD, I need a break. I don’t have motivation, even for 500 words. You know what? I’m just going to make a note of the scene idea I had earlier, and I’m going to take a week’s break. Unless I get antsy, in which case I may end it earlier, but, I’m not going to write again until Tuesday the 30th. Unless I get antsy. FUCK.

I’m just reminding myself breaks are good and important, but I still hate that I’m taking one without finishing my first draft. Tue 30/03/2021, I will be back! Though my word count may increase between now and then as I note down any ideas I have, which I will update with. Okay. Just leave it.

Sun 28/03/2021 - Word Count: 42,150 10.47 Since Tuesday, I’ve made some notes on my phone of little things I want to change, but haven’t added them to my project file, so the word count hasn’t gone up.

Last night, I was just thinking about how badly I wanted to get back to this project, but this morning, I just... don’t. I’ve been thinking it through, and I’m not ready to drop this project yet, but I’m just not happy with what I have at the moment. So, I’m going to add my notes to the file, and then leave it for a few weeks, so I can return with edits in mind, apply them, and then start what I guess will be like a 1.7 draft, because I didn’t finish this draft.

In the meantime, however, I do want to keep writing, so I’m going to start another project in the meantime, which I can work on a lot in the next few weeks because, in a few days, I get a couple weeks off, which won’t be completely free of work, but will give me a lot more time to dedicate to this.

I think I’m going to say I’ll return to Bay Tree (or at least review, if, say, I just want to dedicate a little more time to whatever phase of the new project before I move on) on May 10th, because that’s basically when I get to relax after my exams finish.

So I’ll add the notes I have so far, keep making notes on my phone, and return on May 10th.

Which wraps up this writing update--a new one will come with my new project!

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mtg-thrill-of-possibility · 3 years

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A Reflection on Magic, the Pandemic, and the Dark Side of Arena

Hello to all the readers who may stumble upon this in the search for new Magic content. I wrote this mostly to fill a void in my life that has opened up over the last year and more of a mental health thing than some form of Magic related advice but since it is about that, I thought they’d go hand in hand. I love Magic. Or at least I have loved Magic? It’s hard to tell. Like nearly everyone on this planet, I’ve been shut off from in-person Magic and it had/has me left down. I normally volunteer at my LGS and help them organize their tournaments and judge the events and generally whatever else they ask me to do because I really love Magic. I love playing with my locals who don’t spend hundreds of dollars and craft GP/MF level decks. I love watching a group of people playing draft chaff and off beat home brews and where adults and teenagers can compete with one another on that level. I enjoy sitting off to the corner on the store’s EDH night and listening to games and drawing tokens for games in my own corner while I wait for my own games or sometimes my ow turns. I also love traveling with my wife to cities and go compete in GP/MFs where we usually both scrub out of the main event by round 3 or 4 and then hit the vendors and side events as well as explore the cities for new restaurants. I miss Welcome Days where adults bring in kids and I show them the ropes. I love meeting adults who poke their noses in and ask me “Magic is still a thing? I played that in high school” and show them the changes. I can still remember the Theros Beyond Death prerelease last year and thought how much fun it was to not work the event for once and just play. And looking back, boy am I glad I entered the THB prerelease.

February was the start of the downturn. Our EDH night was slightly less full but I just figured it was due to the weather since the winter usually has a downturn in the attendance for every event. But then the rotating cast of 10-15 FNM players was 6; Pioneer on Saturday had 3. The next week, the EDH crowd was down to from the usual 6-8 pods to 2. FNM and Pioneer failed to fire. The news that COVID-19 was starting to creep into the Midwest prompted me to ask the store what precautions we wanted to take and when we were going to stop in general.

I work in chemical research and I have a background in pharmaceuticals and once (or twice) studied the MCATs and considered going to med school. I was definitely concerned but in February it hadn’t reached my state (yet) and I wanted the store to be ready for the imminent shutdown and continued downtick in participation (my LGS and I had been strategizing how to move up in events and the store ranking on the WPN). But it’s a red state. Science denial must be a recessive trait that the Midwest incorporated into its identity for a long time and I was told that I had some freedom but to not go crazy. I thought I’m a volunteer. I’m not spending what little money I have on stuff for you guys. So, I did the best thing I could think of for free, I started a Discord server. I was really excited at the prospect. I had just bought a webcam in case my workplace started working from home and thought how cool it would be to be able to organize events in Arena and talk through Discord when the store wasn’t available. I asked if we could hang up a flyer and tell all the Magic customers that they continue with tournaments and Magic if they joined the Discord I set up in the store’s name.

My LGS asked how much this was going to cost them and I said exactly as much as it costs them now if not a little less since we don’t need the store’s utilities or a cashier behind the counter in the after hours to work the tournament. They were happy and I got the greenlight. Things worked okay at first. Those with Arena accounts showed for a few weeks. Others I knew were interested were convinced that we were overly sensitive to the virus and FNMs continued to limp along with 4-6 people until everything ground down to a halt.

Come mid-March, COVID had finally reached the state and the city. Cases were light, a few hundred people tested each day, single digit cases detected but I again was worried. My workplace had already begun educating everyone on how to wash their hands properly and disinfect every surface and everyone was issued a bleach spray bottle with their name and a serial number on it. While the mayor and governor hadn’t ordered a shutdown yet, I advised strongly that the store go ahead and if they wanted to continue that I wouldn’t be there to assist until the curve was sufficiently flattened.

I’m not sure why but they trusted me and listened. I was glad and I pushed again for people to join the Discord server. Players were reluctant but I assured them that this may be the future for some time and if they get on now, they can still get the Ravnica intro quests and start building up their Arena collections. I got more on my side, we had 8-10 and got them all to try and hook anyone else they knew to join us. However, by the end of March, my workplace had moved to 100% virtual and with my extra time, I had begun to unwittingly shift the power dynamic in the store by accident. You see, I really love Magic. I was now working from home for a job that required me to have direct physical access to hundreds of thousands of dollars or sensitive equipment that need recertification when they get moved 12 inches down a work bench and dangerous chemicals I don’t want near me unless I know there’s an inspected chemical shower nearby. When the campus shut down, I got very bored. I did what research I could from my home portal, attended virtual conferences and webinars every day, but I had tons of down time. That meant watching my wife play Animal Crossing, playing with my dogs, marathon sessions of Civilization but most crucially, I also began grinding Arena.

My local meta had been defined by the understanding that none of us were really Arena players. I had played when the Kaladesh and Amonkhet closed betas were happening, but I was turned off by the fact that all my playing of those formats amounted to nothing when it launched with Ixalan and I would start from square one. Everyone in the group typically shied away from tier 1 tournament decks because to all of us, it was more fun to goof around with RG auras and Tilonalli’s Summoner decks than it was to grind Esper Hero or the new Uro decks. And the limitation that everyone didn’t have all the shocklands meant we were all playing on roughly the same card pools with some variation due to our play styles. So when I suggested we all start playing Arena to replace the tournaments, it worked because it meant we all played the same dumb decks we’d play in person with a few exceptions of having less than perfect mana bases.

But I would find myself grinding Arena everyday where my friends and locals were not. Even though I jumped into Arena at mid-March, I finished the Theros Beyond Death mastery at level 78 when Ikoria began to creep around the corner. I had just begun to get back into Magic when Fate Reforged hit and didn’t realize how much I love wedge color alignments over shards but boy did I love Abzan in Khans standard and now I was in love with Abzan again in Ikoria standard. Grinding the way I did meant I drafted most afternoons for the first month of Ikoria (and forced Temur every time) and started climbing the ranked ladder in the evenings. Ikoria would also mark the first time I spent money on Arena. I’m notoriously spend-thrift in video games and anything you can free-to-play I do religiously because you shouldn’t make a game grindable over the course of years if you give me that option. But drafting took gems and I really love drafting but most people at my LGS are too concerned about rares than learning to do it properly and a lot of younger players feel lost when I draft a zero rare deck and go 4-0 and collect my prizes. By the end of April, I would reach Platinum in constructed and Gold in limited. But now my LGS was far less inclined to play with me. I didn’t brag about any of my rankings but the skill disparity had begun to creep in as well as the difference in our collections. Having played so much Arena, I could see the tells the software gives away that paper Magic doesn’t. I learned to read when the game would hang up on the beginning of combat and end steps because they’re holding potential responses. I began to do the full control shortcut to bluff counter spells and removal. In paper Magic, if my opponent would sequence things wrong or tap their mana wrong, we’d make jokes and rewind it because it’s one of those human errors that we all make and redo it the right way.

But Arena was different; some learned the hard way to not trust the auto-tapper, some didn’t realize that the way they normally stack triggers in paper is backwards and too late to fix after a spell or ability resolved. And I couldn’t help them. And I let them make their mistakes because I can’t change Arena. If they use the auto-tapper and they realize that Arena doesn’t tap the Castle Vantress even though they couldn’t activate it anyway and they lose a dual source, I couldn’t help them. If they have the lethal Explosion in hand but forgot to hit Control in their second main so they can stack the Wilderness Reclamation triggers in their end step, I don’t concede out of pity.

In May, I try and keep the Magic going by suggesting that we shift the format to a draft limited but they’re unconvinced of the website that allows you to simulate an 8-person draft and then import the drafted card lists to Arena. Why? Because they don’t have the cards already and I’ve changed the dynamic. They know I’m much more skilled at Arena and Ikoria drafting. The news has also been reporting that the curve was flattening, and our state was lifting restrictions on gatherings. They want to play EDH and paper Magic, not this digital intangible game. I reluctantly agree but keep grinding on Arena anyway. My friends didn’t want to play Magic on Arena and I couldn’t understand why. I was getting burned out on drafting at this point and the drafts were harder to fire off a month and a half later, work was returning on a limited schedule where I was onsite 75% and virtual 25%, it really did seem like things were returning to normal.

In June I finish the Ikoria mastery and at this point my wife had begun to show more interest in playing on Arena and trying to get her account a little more stocked since our normal paper system is I aggregate everything we typically need and I make her desired deck and hand it off to her to wreck people on FNM but since I didn’t have to judge, I got to play and we couldn’t both play from my account at the same time. I casually start hers and I get the wild hair that maybe I should make a loaner account in the store’s name and if anyone says they don’t have the cards, they can borrow the store’s account for the tournament. I make the account but put the pipe dream on hold when Wizards announces that in-store play can resume with the Core 2021 prerelease. I could read between the lines and see that the curve was trending the wrong way and thought it was a bad idea but at my insistence, everyone would have to wear a mask at all times and hand sanitizer was available every 15 feet and the store had lots of space for players to spread out. The turnout was low which helped as well, and I had everyone who showed up at least aware that I was trying to keep the Discord going and that in case there’s another shutdown that there was another avenue for them.

Well, I got my wish because within a week of the launch of Core 2021, my state had regressed, and cases were exploding and gathering restrictions were sent back in place. Shortly after that, Wizards suspended in-store play again and with that I created the store’s Arena account. At the time, things were pretty good. The locals weren’t playing as much and my server was still fairly empty but most of the Magic Twitch community I interacted with had strongly adjusted to the new paradigm. EDH streaming was commonplace, I had my new Arena account to focus on building up as well as my own. Pro level events and Opens were being held on Arena and the expansion of Amonkhet Remastered gave me hope that Magic was on the mend. But I also think it was with Core 2021 that things started to slide into the negative for me. Grinding the second account was frustrating me a lot. The lack of human interaction was tilting me out for no reason. Some days the server would have me wait a whole minute (the horror?!) for a game and then my opponent would be the world’s slowest red player where everything seemed delayed. There would strings of games I would play where I couldn’t get a third land drop after a mull to 4 and other times where I’d flood out and would have won if it weren’t for generic whiny reason why everyone says they lose.

Maybe it was when I began to see that Arena is not Magic the Gathering as much as it is a video game that it began to really sour on me. For those of you who don’t play a lot of Arena and instead interact with humans over webcams is that Arena is designed for you to not play off beat home brews except in direct challenges with your friends. The game is meant for you to play the best combination of 75 cards and for you to help it machine learn through millions of matches what is and what is not the correct play pattern based on the available information you have. It wants you to play the very best decks in a format against the other best decks. I started to see this in Ikora standard when decks would scoop if you were on the play and went turn 2 Agonizing Remorse. Decks were and still are so linear that they can’t handle that kind of disruption or it’s a matter of the players know it’s faster to accumulate wins by scooping than grinding out a long game.

If you need evidence of whether or not this is true, you should play Arena now and see how often people scoop against the double Ruin Crab opener with a Fabled Passage back-to-back. Or if an opponent against your Lurrus Auras deck will time out when they know they can’t win. In paper Magic, when you drive 4 hours to a major venue, pay your entry fee, you never see your opponent rage scoop unless it’s Legacy and you know what your opponent’s on and you mull to zero so you can see what’s in their deck. You call a judge to your table if they start stalling. Nothing is more annoying that an opponent spamming “Good Game” at you through a match when it’s obvious that you’re not killing them that turn but they’re empty handed and have nothing relevant on board.

I’ll admit myself that what my wife calls “Wizard Chores” for the Daily quests, if I’m 1 red spell short of finishing a quest, I’ll log in for one more game and Boulder Dash my opponent’s creature or cast Shock to face and immediately scoop. Who is that helping? I’d spend the week at work in my down times thinking about what dumb cards I hadn’t played with from a set, start making a list, furiously find the cards on a Friday afternoon and grab dinner with the wife and then race to my LGS for FNM. Magic used to be something I only got to do twice a week with people in a shared setting and we’d unroll our playmats, shuffle up our jank, and laugh and generally have a good time for three to four hours. With Magic at my fingertips, Arena is a distillation of efficiency at spell slinging combined with the minor rewards system we’ve come to recognize the free-to-play traps to “encourage” us to play different things. If I want to play 100 matches in a day, all I need to do is sit at my computer long enough. If I want to play my old jank on Arena, I can’t even count on the Casual play channel to help since it’s always filled with people with 55 of the 60 cards that make the best deck learning how to play before they commit the wild cards for the deck.

Zendikar Rising has been a pretty dark point for everyone on Arena I believe. It seems like a lifetime ago that Omnath was printed and that I had immediately cashed in four mythic rare wildcards for the deck I would get to play with on Arena for 2 weeks before Wizards realized their mistake. Honestly before I had started writing this in the week before Kaldheim will hit Arena, I forgot that Omnath was part of the most recent set as all I can remember Zendikar Rising giving us is the extremely irritating Ruin Crab and Soaring Thought Thief. The few locals I had left on my Discaord server when ZNR released had lost interest in Arena since they enjoyed the Ravnica standard that was rotating out and Pioneer was not yet available for Arena. I’ve encouraged nearly everyone I know from my LGS to buy webcams since October given that the current state of the COVID world is not likely to go away and the new culture and channels that have opened up in the world to fill the void of EDH has some level of benefit even when in-person play resumes. Not many people play and I’ll search for an occasional game on the official Discord when the craving strikes. Some of my friends have been taking advantage of the webcam world and started playing older formats with me over webcam such as Pioneer and Modern to rekindle their love for Magic and the hope that we can start playing tournaments over webcam. Finishing up the ZNR mastery passes on my two accounts and my wife’s account has been giving me a much-needed break from Arena and honestly, it’s probably done the most to lift my spirits.

I’ve been taking a lot more time to reflect on why I love Magic and I plan on doing in the future. The first thing I know I’m going to do and stick to is not get a Mastery Pass for mt LGS store’s account. They don’t pay for all the work I put into the one already grinding multiple accounts is not good for my mental well-being. The second thing I know I am going to do is relearn how to have fun in Magic again. Not really hinted at in this article so far is the fact I love the art in Magic and I’m often inspired by my own crazy mind to illustrate my own works or reimagine my favorite cards with my own art. Since the release of Rise of Skywalker, I had been working on a personal project of creating a second expansion to the largely underground Star Wars the Gathering card game and ended up making 200 unique, draftable cards. I wouldn’t call myself an artist because I’m still learning and I don’t necessarily aspire to an artist but I would love to improve my skills and one day make a piece that’s so good someone wants on a card. Over the last two years, I’ve been deeply jealous of how amazing and hard working the Magic cosplayers are and that I should put my art to good use and make my own cosplays. And then there’s the playing of Magic. I miss the Gathering part of Magic. So this brings us to the bedrock of this piece. I hope to continue this blog steadily as time moves forward. I’m rarely ever satisfied or have my attention on any one project for too long but 2021 is a new year. And I hope that the title is a hint to the future. Whatever it is; whether it’s deck construction, art alters, or Magic cosplay, story, general discussion, that’s what I’m here for. It’s the Thrill of what I might work on next and I promise because I’m terrible right now at doing so, I’ll be sure to take pictures and try and stream when I can to keep myself honest about the whole deal. I hope you’ll all join me or at least join the Discord to yell at me.

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floralgothpersephone · 4 years

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Countdown

Sooooo.... several.... um months ago, I was tagged by @jaygirl987 and this has just been sitting in my drafts... forever??? oops. Oh well, I am feeling in an over-sharing mood. So I am going to do it now. Felt confident in sharing, might delete later. Response is below the cut, because we are writing essays tonight.

Rules: List 1 Insecurity, 2 Fears, 3 Turn-ons, 4 Life Goals, 5 Things I like, 6 Weaknesses, 7 Things I Love, 8 Tags I am going to tag: @akai-vampire, @claudeng80, @bookloverfio, @bigprincess-energy, @peachdoxie, @ruleofexception, @infinitelystrangemachinex, @anais-mitchell

ONE Insecurity:

---People who meet me for the first time always say I am remarkable. But I don’t really agree with that at all, I still don’t understand where people get that from. I feel very desperately flawed and a moderately dysfunctional human doing my damned best with what I’ve got, and isn’t that just a normal state of being for everyone making their way in this life. And if people say I am remarkable, and it turns out to be true, then does that mean I am not normal??? How is everyone else living their life then? What am I doing wrong??? or right?? or differently??? How do I bottle up this whole remarkable thing and share it with everyone else?? Being called remarkable makes me fear for everyone else. Because if i am struggling this much, and people still seem to think I am amazing then does that mean everyone else who is struggling is failing in some reguard? I have met so many other people in the world who are just as special as me, and if i am raised above that then what about all those other people? Aren’t they remarkable too? Kinda takes away the meaning of remarkable then, if everyone else is also remarkable. I don’t know. Every time I meet someone new and they call me remarkable it makes my skin crawl. What sort of face are they seeing me wear that makes it happen so often? I just try and be myself, and stay true to who I am in any given moment but then that makes their statement have more power? I hate it. Nothing makes me more insecure. I can go from full blown confidence down to nothing the moment someone says that about me. I know I am odd and don’t quite function right in society, and have a very different perspective on it because of my dysfunction, but that shouldn’t make me remarkable. There are too many other people in this world for me to be remarkable.

TWO Fears:

---I may never get to see Amber Gray perform Persephone in Hadestown

---Cockroaches. Turns out I have an actual phobia of cockroaches.

THREE “turn-ons”:

---Silly Antics, like sheer outrageous, ridiculous things that make you laugh until you cry. Like, I fall in love a little bit with everyone who has ever made me laugh. So like, the more you make me the laugh the more I look at that and go, “mhm tasty”. Also, if we are not laughing at some point during sex then what even is the point???

--- Loyalty, Reliability and just being supportive and a good friend. Like, I am very much very very demisexual and while I can look at people and love their look and their aesthetics and be attracted to that, I need a very firm established relationship for like... years, before I am ever actually interested in letting them into my bed. I need some definite proof that they are in this for the long run before I can let my sexuality come into play.

---Being crafty and creative. Seeing someone make a very nice craft gets me all worked up in ways I can’t quite describe. But every time a partner of mine starts a project and is making things I want to jump their b o n e s.

FOUR Life Goals:

---Get my ass to fucking Greece and like. Stay there. For months. And just travel??? And like, take my time, no rushing around to do every single thing. I want to go to these places and be there for so long that I can just sit and be.

---B a b i e s. Dear lordy if you look at every major decision i have ever made in my life, it has all lead up to the fact that I want to have kids, and I want to have a family in a very specific supportive and stable way and I need to complete these things before i can have my kids. BUT BOY THE HORMONES ARE STRONG AND I WANT THEM NOW.

---Can I put travel twice? Travel is so important to me. I have to see the world, I need to map it. I need to see all the different types of humans and cultures there are in the world and I need to experience what there is in this life before its all over.

---I have this home I like to dream about, its constantly changing, but its small, while having enough space to breathe, covered in plants, an entire wall that is just a bookcase to store the entirety of Alex and I’s mug collection (we are looking at least 80 mugs between the two of us currently). A claw foot bathtub in a room full of windows that is just a glorified greenhouse really. comfy reading nooks and places for play, covered in nothing but soft blankets and cushioned seats. A cat or two lounging around among all the soft places in the sun light. Walls covered in cork boards so that I can pin up hundreds of pictures of the family I have built for myself. Little foot steps running around from kids playing, and having my partners home with me to cook and raise the little ones together in a family and a community. I just. I just want that little domestic haven of something calm and secure that I never got to have growing up in my life.

FIVE Things I Like:

---Pottery! (my craft of choice, I’ve been making pots for 17 years now and it never gets old)

---Plants! (I live in a small jungle! I’m a plant witch! I love my plants! They are my only friends some days! But thats okay, I take care of them and in return they take care of me.)

---Places! (I’m a map maker, I love learning about the identity of a location both on a map and within the human mind. How amazing that a collection of humans create an identity for a geographical space separate from other all the other geographical spaces. That’s wild! I want to learn what makes them all different forever!)

---Purple! (My hair is purple, its been purple since I started grad school! I flirted with pink hair and orange hair last year to try on different types of variety and see how that fit but I am back to purple and I am back to my normal skin! My purple hair is the source of my internal confidence and a major point of my identity)

---Music! (I am not sure I would ever be able to navigate my own mental landscape without the aid of music guiding me through all my different emotions and feelings so that I could have a safe place to experience them without fear of repercussion)

SIX Weaknesses:

---I over think everything (case and point, this post, whoops)

---An open opportunity. Like, if I am given an opportunity suddenly that wasn’t previously available and wouldn’t be available in the future, I will move mountains to make it happen. If I see a window to be able to do something with a time limit I am jumpin as fast as I can to get through that window before it closes. I think its because I grew up with zero opportunities in my life when I was little so somewhere in my bones I believe that every opportunity I get is rare and special thing and if I don’t take it now then I won’t ever get another one. Sometimes its exhausting but I can’t honestly say there is a list of things that I could have done that I didn’t? I have very little regrets in that regard.

---I am willing to see and recognized my flawed personality traits, but rarely ever actually do anything to fix them. I am a big of a believer in accepting yourself with all the flaws (part of the side effects of recovering from perfectionism) but that mentality has a different problem... in which you are so comfortable with the problems that you don’t have any desire to fix them? Yeah.

---Um, I have a major weakness for brown eyed, brunette girls and have fallen waaaay too hard for too many of them in my life for it to not be a thing (that Alex teases me relentlessly about). Honestly the list is long, but good news. Fiona is on that list. <3

---Potential. I have a weakness for potential, sometimes that manifests in craft materials. (Oh I could make this into this other thing!) So I have quite the collection of crafting hoards. I rarely buy plants when they are big because I am far more interested in getting a small plant because of it its potential to grow into something. I love love love love working in clay because there is just SO MUCH potential for it to become really ANYTHING???? Its amazing!!! Like, if you imagine in there is a way to make it real. And I am obsessed with that feeling.

--- I have a weakness for cream. I like half and half in my tea. I like whipped cream on my waffles. I like straight up cream on my strawberries. I like clotted cream on scones. I like creamy milkshakes. The creamiest of cheeses. If its a cream based sauce I’m in. Just. Cream.

SEVEN Things I Love:

I just now realized that there is a difference in the lists for “like” and “love” LOL there is no difference to me. I have no moderation, I either love something with my whole heart or not at all. So lets wax some poetry on things I have already listed, because the things I like I also love.

--- Okay, pottery, so like, Pottery is amazing??? Because you take dirt!!! like muddy gross squishy dirt!!!! and you mold it into something you like???? And then you FIRE IT!!! Like how metal is that???? You are creating something from DIRT. And on top of that, it lasts FOREVER. like, people hundreds of years from now are gonna be digging up our civilization and our computers are going to be dead, our papers and paintings: dead, our books? Hopefully not dead. But whats going to be left is our city foundations, our places, our trash and our shitty broken pots. And goddamn, I am obsessed with looking around our world and just IMAGINING what these people in the far off future are gonna think. And there isn’t a single piece of pottery that I make in which I am not thinking those exact thoughts and trying to imagine what that person in the future is going to be like when they find this.

--- And on that note, places are just so fricking cool. Because I grew up in a mono-culture where the majority of the population belonged to the same culture and the identity of the place was a direct reflection of the people. But other places have SO MUCH DIVERSITY and I am just amazed and inspired about how you can take SO MANY PEOPLE from SO MANY DIFFERENT CULTURES and pack them all into a city, and then that city becomes its own culture??? and has its own Identity??? Like, New Yorkers, those people come from fucking everywhere on the entire planet, and YET everyone knows there is a New York culture that is just agreed upon? And New York has an cohesive identity to how it functions, and how it works. Just. How amazing is that. And Minneapolis, jeez, bless Minneapolis. Because it has the midwestern identity but its developing one all on its own. And it doesn’t have a National presence yet, so in a lot of ways its just developing its identity for the world and its just so amazing to see all the different ways that people provide input on how they want their city to develop, and with each step it comes closer and closer to a face it wants to display to the world??? Its like, seeing a teenage, trying out who they want to be and developing them self to become a real adult. And goddamnit I want to see Minneapolis into a fully mature Nationally known city. I can’t wait.

---So plants, are like. The best therapy. Because plants don’t really talk, well okay I think they do, BUT PHYSICALLY, they don’t talk. And so in order to figure out what they need to you have to listen to them in a very different way then humans are used to?? You have to observe, and check-in and interact and just learn about a plant so that you can care for it. And I think thats exactly how humans are too, except we have this obnoxious thing called talking that sometimes make it difficult to actually figure out what is going on down below. Its easy for someone to say they are fine when they really are not. But plants don’t get to say that they are fine. When they suffer they do so silently and while they may want to scream for more water they have to let you know in other ways, drooping, changing color, dropping all its leaves in protest. And thats the other thing about plants too, is that every type of plant asks for help differently? How amazing is that. You have to get to know the plant on an individual level, there is no “one way fits all” fix-it for plant care. You have to know your plant. You don’t have to know all the plants in the world, just the ones you take into your care. And thats just so symbolic for me. And when I am taking care of my plants, I am taking care of myself too. Water for the plants, water for the Becca. Sunlight for the plants, sunlight for the Becca. Extra boost of fertilizer for the plants, extra boost of vitamins for the Becca. And I love my plants, even with their imperfections and wild ways of growing. Sometimes they get a whole lotta attitude in how they grow, and it isn’t picture perfect, but that doesn’t matter. Cause thats my plant! And its growing and thriving and I am so happy that its doing well! It doesn’t need to be the prettiest plant that ever existed. It just needs to live. And damn thats all I need.

---Purple is just an amazing color. Like everyone has heard the poetry talking about the richness and royalty and the history that the color purple has. But for me? Purple was a color I was immediately drawn to as a kid for no apparent reason but that I liked it. And I was not allowed, because the color purple was Barney colors and my parents were so very concerned that the other kids would torment me (spoilers, the kids found other reasons to torment me, and I was just denied being allowed to wear my favorite color). And then there was the instance of my grandmother, who, lets be honest, doesn’t win any “good grandparent” awards. And she LOATHS the color purple. Just thinks its really ugly. And took every chance to tell me that whenever I went shopping with her or if she wanted to get me a gift and was looking for input. So i went through all these stages when I was little, only being allowed to like pink, but then internalized misogyny said that was dumb so then I chose blue to be my favorite color while completely denying that what I wanted was purple. So yeah. By the time college came around and I was an “adult” (lol) I was just like. Fuck this shit no one can tell me what I am allowed to like and claimed purple for everything in my life. and I mean. e v e r y t h i n g. Backpack? Purple. Every piece of clothing I owned? Purple. Jackets? Purple. ipod? Purple. Does the object come in purple? Yes. Well then that is the correct answer. When I broke down and finally dyed my hair purple (like I have wanted to do since I was little, but again, I was not allowed and can you imagine being a non-mormon kid in the little valley with purple hair in high school??? Fuck I would have been the anti-christ of all sinners.) But in Minneapolis it seemed like it would be far more acceptable and wouldn’t result in immediate social disgrace. So I did it. I graduated my undergrad and dyed my hair purple because I could. And it changed my entire life. No more wall-flowering. No more hiding in the shadows praying no one notices that you don’t quite belong. No more pretending that you don’t exist so that people can walk all over you as they pass by. When you have a wildly different color hair, you have to own it. There is no “oh haha, whoops” about it. You made that decision, you put the color in your hair with that intention. And now its there to stay until you cut it all off. And that was the kick in the butt for me. That was the thing I need to own my own self and to lay claim to my voice. And for a while, it wasn’t easy. It was learning a whole new skillset. And there was definitely a major time span that was just “fake it until you make it”. But I kept faking it for the sake of my purple hair, because every time I looked into the mirror it made me so happy I could cry. I wasn’t looking a the mirror nitpicking my reflection any more. I was just joyful, because my hair was purple and I loved it. So every time someone made a comment whether it was good or bad, I would be dying on the inside from having the attention on me. But I would pull out the big ole grin of joy that I wasn’t really feeling and be like “Yeah isn’t it great! Its my favorite color!” And the good comments would be happy for me, and the bad comments would be thrown off by my enthusiasm and usually go away. And at one point that big joyful grin wasn’t just a farce, and now, 9 years later, working for the federal government and people try and make a jab at my hair, I can just laugh and tell them how much fun having colorful hair is. And that they should give it a try too.

#Becca rambles #Becca rants #Becca does a tag game #and writes a full essay instead #But tonight we were feeling reflective #and usually I would just journal but eh I am isolated enough right now #thought i would share whats going on in my brain #will absolutely delete later

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andrewuttaro · 4 years

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The Unwritten Contract

Tomorrow will be a week on from Red Tuesday. A week ago tomorrow Buffalo Sabres General Manager Jason Botterill was suddenly fired and replaced with Kevyn Adams. That move was something of a relief for most Sabres fans but what came after was not. In addition to hiring business executive Kevyn Adams (Yes, I know he has some coaching experience in addition to actually being a player) as GM, everyone and their assistant was fired all the way down to the Rochester Americans. It was such a gutting that an IT guy was let loose and had to be rehired. After a bungled Pegula Zoom Conference Call with the Press, media and fans alike reacted with considerable frustration at what appeared to be naked efforts to save money over any actual attempt to improve hockey operations.

For almost a week now we Sabres Faithful have processed all this. We suspected we were back to being a poverty franchise but now its confirmed. We thought Botterill might get fired for his poor hockey decisions but he was reaffirmed and extended another year three weeks before his firing; as if the Sabres formally being left out of the NHL’s return to play format and staring down 8-10 months off the ice clued Terry and Kim Pegula in on a way they could save money in the meantime. I’ll be honest: I had two articles in the pipeline. One was a venomous takedown of the Pegulas and the other was a Kevyn Adams To-Do list. The latter has already been done to death since last Tuesday and the former was never going to make it through any secondary edit. So with zero articles now on my docket my attention shifted to Jack Eichel.

Justin Bourne turned my attention back to Jack Eichel I should say. He wrote an article in the Athletic you should check out: “On players extending contracts then asking for trades (and Jack Eichel)”. I won’t go into any depth about it, go read it, but Bourne basically considers the perceived goodness or badness of players signing long-term extensions and asking for a trade before those long contracts are up. Jack Eichel being the main example in his story brought me back into my thought process on Eichel’s plans. His contract was signed in 2017 and runs 2018-2026. Whenever the Sabres get back on the ice he will have six of eight seasons remaining on his ten million dollar contract. In the NHL players frequently honor the length of their contracts unless they are traded. In rare cases players request a trade. Springing up from the premise of Justin Bourne’s article and my own growing fears of Eichel requesting a trade I contend to you this: the Pegulas and the Buffalo Sabres organization have broken Jack Eichel’s Unwritten Contract. For this reason I understand and will one day come to accept it if he does ask out.

What is an unwritten contract? I think you’re more familiar with them than you think. All the best players in hockey, and sports in general really, have unwritten contracts. The written contract is the pact they make with a team for X amount of money, endorsements and what have you. The only conditions of that are obvious: come to practice, play your hardest and do some media for us. The Unwritten Contract is only granted to a dozen or so players in each professional league. These athletes are such a high caliber of talent that in their acquisition the team who gets them signs a pact we all know but isn’t written in ink anywhere. That agreement is that this player is fantastic, but you have to build a great team around them as their owners and the organization. When Michael Jordan was drafted by Chicago, when Wayne Gretzky was signed by Edmonton, when Lebron went to South Beach and then went back to Cleveland, when they realized Tom Brady was good in New England; all these are instances of an incredibly special talent going somewhere with an unwritten contract. In each case the team understands they have a job to do in good faith. They have to build around these special athletes.

Jack Eichel is one of these special athletes. He is the best athlete to play in Buffalo since Jim Kelly and that’s being a little too nice to Jim Kelly. The Buffalo Sabres organization just went through astronomical turnover last week that the NHL will only see with an individual organization once, maybe twice in a decade. It’s one thing if that’s the necessary step before a rebuild. This is not that. The Pegulas specifically stated this was not a rebuild. What would be a second or third rebuild since Jack Eichel’s arrival in Buffalo has one through-line: Terry and Kim Pegula. Terry and Kim Pegula have violated Jack Eichel’s unwritten contract and have therefore voided it for him. The evidence is plentiful.

The Three GMs the Pegulas hired in Eichel’s tenure with their hockey team so far are Tim Murray, Jason Botterill and now Kevyn Adams. Murray did a fantastic tank and built a defensively-weak team around Eichel. It failed and he was fired. Botterill upgraded the defense considerably while dismantling the forward corps built up before him. Save for the Jeff Skinner of last season he added no scoring and subtracted a now Playoff MVP winning second line center in Ryan O’Reilly (at the behest of continually interfering owners). Now Adams inherits a deeply flawed club for his first job as GM over which he’ll have little actual control to change because the owners that hired him did so because they wanted a Yes Man. The Pegulas are actually the GM now and their track record is downright atrocious. If Jack Eichel doesn’t want out of that situation than to be very frank he should. His Unwritten Contract with the Buffalo Sabres might as well be worth nothing to a set of owners who are more interested in maintaining their standard of living than actually seeing their hockey team win a Stanley Cup.

This isn’t the least bit dramatic. Ask anyone with any insight on the organization. This is the state of affairs with the Pegulas calling the shots. This is why us Sabres fans hope against reality that this team will be sold. To be Jack Eichel is to look for a way out; to be a Sabres fan is to accept the reality of eternal suffering. I forgive you in advance Jack, no matter how hard this is going to be, I forgive you for what you may have to do. Why should you have hope in this process? Why should you believe in these owners? Why should any of us?

#buffalo sabres #hockey #nhl

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sonoundiocreaturaottusa · 5 years

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Let's make some clarifications on Leaving Neverland

For five years, these men – both professional actors – have been suing Michael Jackson’s estate for hundreds of millions of dollars. This lawsuit has generated thousands of pages of court records: witness statements, motions, depositions and disclosure. These public documents PROVE beyond any reasonable doubt that the men are lying. The whole media knows about these documents, but are refusing to report on them.

*Both men strenuously defended Jackson, including under oath, for decades, and only decided they’d been molested years after his death, when they were both in financial trouble and filed a lawsuit seeking hundreds of millions of dollars. That lawsuit was thrown out of court – twice – but the men are in the middle of an appeal, giving them a gigantic financial motive to lie.

*Since filing their lawsuit, both men have repeatedly changed their stories, frequently telling directly contradictory versions of the same supposed events. For example, Wade Robson has told at least four directly contradictory stories about the first time Jackson supposedly abused him.

*In the lawsuit, Robson was caught lying under oath so brazenly that the judge threw out his entire witness statement and said no rational juror could ever believe his account.

*Between 2012 and 2014, Robson wrote two drafts of an abuse memoir and tried unsuccessfully to sell them to publishers. Meanwhile, he lied under oath and said he’d never discussed his allegations with anyone except his lawyers. When the Jackson estate discovered he’d actually been shopping books, the court ordered him to produce the drafts as evidence. They revealed the story of his abuse had changed significantly from one draft to the next.

*Robson was also ordered to release his emails as evidence. He breached the order repeatedly, first by claiming they didn’t exist, then by simply refusing to hand them over. Then he redacted all the emails between himself and his family members and cited ‘attorney-client’ privilege, even though none of his family are attorneys.

*When he eventually complied with the court order and released the emails, they revealed that at the time he was constructing his lawsuit and abuse memoir, he was researching and emailing himself links to old tabloid newspaper stories about abuse allegations against Michael Jackson.

*The emails showed Robson found one particular story from the early 1990s which specifically named he and his mother. He emailed it to his mother and asked whether it was true. She replied, ‘Wow, none of that is true’. He then included it in his story anyway.

*Emails also revealed that throughout 2011/12, Robson was lobbying Jackson’s estate for a job directing and choreographing an official Michael Jackson tribute show in Las Vegas. His campaign to secure this role had included sending emails explaining that his amazing friendship with Jackson meant nobody was better qualified for the role than he was, and he was devoted to doing the best job he possibly could ‘for Michael’. After being told someone else had got the job, he suddenly claimed he’d been abused and filed a creditor’s claim against the estate for millions of dollars.

*Months later, according to Jimmy Safechuck, he flipped on the TV and saw Wade Robson being interviewed about his lawsuit. In that moment, Safechuck suddenly remembered that he had been abused by Jackson as well, so decided to join the lawsuit. He didn’t mention that this epiphany coincided exactly with his inheritance circling the drain after a relative died and the surviving siblings started suing each other – including him – for control of the family business.

*Robson was also ordered to produce his diaries as evidence. In them, he’d written about how these allegations might rescue his failing career by making him ‘relatable and relevant’. He also wrote, ‘It’s time for me to get mine.’ When questioned under oath about what he’d meant when he wrote that, he refused to answer.

*Both men tell stories in the TV show which directly contradict stories told under oath in their lawsuit. In fact, they have continued to change their stories as recently as within the last week.

*For example, Jimmy Safechuck claims under oath in the lawsuit that he only remembered Jackson had abused him in 2013 when he turned on the TV and saw Robson. Yet in tonight’s TV show and interviews promoting it, he claims he knew he’d been abused in 2005 and thus, when asked to testify for Jackson’s defence ‘towards the end of the trial’, he refused to do so.

*But that’s a provable lie. Safechuck was never asked to testify for Jackson’s defence. The judge ruled long before the trial began that testimony could only be heard about certain children, and Safechuck was not one of them. All testimony about Safechuck was literally banned from the courtroom. So Jackson’s defence cannot have asked him to testify – and certainly not after the trial was already underway.

*Robson claimed in a BBC interview last week that Jackson had abused him ‘hundreds of times’. Yet his mother’s sworn testimony is that they went to Neverland roughly 14 times but Jackson was almost never there. She estimates the number of times they visited the ranch and he was actually there was four.

*Questioned about their financial motive, the men now say they don’t care about money and are only suing to embolden other abuse victims by holding the Jackson estate accountable. This is a provable lie. The lawsuit was originally filed under seal and Robson tried to extract a settlement from the estate with zero publicity. Only when the estate refused to pay a bean did he go public.

I could continue, but if you’re still on board with the TV show and its accusers at this point, you are irrational to the point of mania.

This ‘documentary’ covers up all of this information, instead presenting two professional actors’ heavily edited and completely unchallenged testimony without ever examining their credibility, their proven lies and perjury, their constantly changing stories or their financial motives.

Charles Thomson, Ray Fitzwalter Award for Investigative Journalism / 2 x Highly Commended Weekly Reporter of the Year / Local Hero (Highly Commended) @ British Journalism Awards

~ Charles Thomson, Ray Fitzwalter Award for Investigative Journalism / 2 x Highly Commended Weekly Reporter of the Year / Local Hero (Highly Commended) @ British Journalism Awards

#justice for michael jackson #michael jackson is innocent #michael jackson #leaving neverland

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advernia · 5 years

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push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

a separate post for my ramblings for this fic!! it’s actually the longest thing i’ve written in a while, so i have a lot to ramble about haha;;

prelude

oh man... this started when two of my friends decided to go through edgar’s route at the same time AND also decided to go reacting to every single part of the route through burst texting AT THE SAME TIME, effectively flooding my inbox.... they were fully aware that i was at a seminar and unable to reply... now my inbox is filled with so much edgar screaming i cannot... (゜▽゜;)

screaming aside they were also very willing to read whatever drafts of edgar/mc i had available and this was their favorite!! thanks to them, i decided to finish this omfg... i’m actually so proud that i got this done but tbh it was getting so long that i had half a mind to let go of it already halfway through scene three haha... (;*△*;)

this has uh... some fighting scenes and tbh the first draft had absolutely none of it... this is my first time actually writing long(?) scenes and while i found thinking about them to be fun, putting them into words was some struggle??? like... i've been told that it looks okay but idk it feels clunky to me. oh well ＼| ￣ヘ￣|／

general stuff + war phase, baby!

initially this was only meant to be 3 parts + primarily focused on edgar/mc + with an unnamed mc as usual! but then since it’s an au of kyle’s route, i found myself wanting to flesh out the relationship of edgar & mc when set in a different angle + circumstances rather than just automatically implying attraction...

plus their relationship canonically starts off on the wrong foot in that route & edgar’s fully aware that mc isn’t exactly comfortable around him, so it really doesn’t sit well if i just... put them together, lol. so thus we have five scenes of them getting(?) closer!(???)

in short its a hella slow burn and not gonna lie, when i was writing their scenes i was like f i n a l l y... bless... ಠ ּ͜೦

one of the reasons i like kyle’s route is bc i actually got some feel of an actual war??? idk i think there’s so much plot that u can fill in with it, so i decided going for alternating scenes of the battlefield + med tent. while there's glimpses of the action going on, there’s also the sort of complimenting(???) or offsetting more emotional perspective of what goes on with the medics.

tbh i stared long and hard at the cradle map when formulating some tactics and i gotta say i had a hard time calming myself down bc...

in kyle’s route, the red army has the advantage and have pushed the black army as far back as to their bridge, which means that more or less they’ve occupied central quarter... but what dawned on me was... where the hell did the red army position their encampment from there???

was an encampment even necessary given that they’re like, in a really convenient area????? they probably could’ve settled themselves in some houses but tbh okay maybe it isn’t so noble of the reds to do (imposing themselves n’ stuff) + they have larger numbers so accommodating all of them is a problem but still... where’d they set up camp??? u see, when kyle + mc step out of the med tent it shows the forest bg, so... where??? on the edges of the central quarter area are where u can see them trees??? on the civic center roof?!?!

well... a decent answer is that they could’ve set up several encampments around the area to ensure their hold on the central quarter... it still raises some questions but honestly it makes a lot more sense... but if not and they really decided to camp out like one big happy family all together, then don’t even get me started on the possibility that the camp was stationed somewhere around here:

because doing that doesn’t have a single lick of sense omfg especially tactics-wise haha... that’s like... why would you do that... you’re wasting all your advantages... o h b o y... so you bet when i remembered that mc + loki had to pass by a forest to get back to the encampment + encountered ray & some disciples i was like... u m m... why???? if technically the reds took hold of the whole central quarter area then it actually isn’t necessary to skulk around in the forest?????? yes yes i know safety precautions + avoiding detection but... dood... it’s safer to walk in claimed territory rather than the unstable one ahaha...

plus the thing about the black bridge... uh... it's just said in the route that lancelot handles it through magic and that's all. but when i thought back on it oh my god... what did he do??????? how is he still standing??? how much of his lifespan did he shave off just to salvage that situation??????????? how is the poor boi alive?????????? the whole fucking bridge literally falls apart and that's a whole lot of chaos and people and AHHHHH!?!?!¿¿¿¿ if ur gonna make the bridge collapse (good thing they didn't think of disintegrate) it probably cost the magic tower a hefty amount but get rekt lancelot still saves the fucking day, what a king - he's practically got one foot in the grave already... this dood, seriously ಥ_ಥ

there were other things i noticed in the process of writing this based on the route events but i was like fuck it, let’s think on that another day and leave it as it is (┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻ ily kyle but oh no my brain started reprocessing the other details of ur route

thinking about all that also made me think of other more stuff, like cradle economy + livelihood haha;; it’s stated in edgar’s route (well... it’s actually pretty obvious in other routes too) that the reds are richer than the blacks, so i went ahead and assumed that the former engages in something more lucrative like mining -> jewerly / raw material / mineral trade, while for the latter something more wholesome like agriculture. idk, it works. even moreso that the reds give off the whole nobility vibe while the blacks are simple and casual. even the bg screens of the red & black streets are polarizing.

then i also went over the rest of the chosen thirteen... while the reds show no obvious weapon variety (see: swords), i’d like to believe that they’re taught to be versatile enough no matter what the situation. plus, since they have the funding, i'd like to think they're skilled in magic manipulation, too. meanwhile the black army shows weapon variety, and i’d like to think that it’s because most of their recruits aren’t soldiers in the first place: they’re farmhands / hunters / village people turned soldiers, and it’s actually easier to let them go with what they know first before encouraging them or asking them to learn something new. thus axes and spears and possible unconventional stuff like caltrops.

crimson glory

one of the things i realized was in kyle’s route, mc isn’t exactly so buddy-buddy with the red crew in comparison to other routes. she gets minimal interactions with the four, and zero aside her relationships with the top three are rather... tense.

zero was the other red officer i was initially going to add aside from edgar & kyle, but i added all of them anyway. while they don't appear all together, all of them have scenes together with edgar.

the first edgar & jonah scene shows an obvious contrast - while he's being incredibly critical about it, jonah shows actual concern for the living situations in black army territory. on the other hand, edgar chooses to tease him about it, his joking more or less implying that he isn't that concerned / bothered about it at all. the game touches up on this sometimes, often with edgar commenting on how noble jonah is while jonah shows obvious distaste for edgar's callousness.

still, they work well together. personally i'm amused with a hc of mine that looking at how edgar fights / acts only spurs jonah to act more honorably while for edgar, being exposed to jonah's noble-ness more or less makes him curious to try being honorable from time to time lol. that still doesn't stop anyone from calling him the gentle demon tho ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )

tbh since edgar is obviously sneaky on other routes i wouldn't put it past him to casually pressure lancelot to tell him wtf's going on with this war when he gets the inkling that something's wrong. edgar goes about this subtly not-so-subtly and in the most polite manner possible. lancelot knows him far too well to take bait tho - he makes sure to speak carefully since he's probably knows that edgar's going to pick apart at his words for meanings + implications, so it more or less leaves edgar a bit frustrated since it's clear that lancelot won't tell him much. still, edgar knows when not to cross the line - even he's not so keen on getting on lancelot's bad side.

that aside, i'd like to think that edgar respects lancelot a lot as a person + commander enough that he'd truly risk his life for him on instinct like a true soldier would. while i think i could've done more on writing the gravity of the collapsing bridge scene, i liked the last bit where edgar + zero immediately worried for lancelot.

let's be honest here tho in some way or another all of the reds chosen worry about their king bc bruh... let us in bruh...

the scenes of zero & edgar in the end are also my favorite! it isn’t much, but enjoyed writing their relationship briefly. tbh i think edgar is one of those people under the sleep = most vulnerable = death thinking (no thanks to claudius), so the fact that he allows himself to drift to sleep twice in zero's company is a definite sign of trust. then again, he's injured but still ( ᐛ )و

edgar, idike, kyle

y’know even if this is an edgar/mc thing, i found fleshing out the kyle/mc relationship equally important which i presented in scene three. personally speaking, i’d like to think that if ever kyle didn’t fall in love with mc (on his own route???) he’d still be watching over her anyway since her struggle in the medical field + war reminds him a bit of his younger self after his brother's death.

which is why he doesn't intervene with that one soldier scene - he doesn't coddle her either when she goes into a brief shock. perhaps it's bc he knows so well what she's going through, he decides to let her handle it on her own. this was her experience, not his. and to be fair, she asked to go to the front lines determined but wholly unprepared emotionally. he tried warning her, she wouldn’t listen. now she faces the consequences - how would she go about it?

i decided to slap a name into mc this time to highlight the trust plot: idk if i got it clearly across in the fic, but in times of war + for someone who’s been trained to be suspicious / cautious of everyone like edgar; secrets are a surefire way to catch attention + breed distrust.

tbh he's hella aware that the secret around her name is most likely personal and nothing dangerous, but it's better safe than sorry - by making sure she understands that keeping secrets wouldn't be of any good to her + situation, he gets reassurance that she really is harmless. how bad + seriously she takes it honestly surprises him tho, but then again she's been going through other stuff too so it all piled up.

idike isn’t my in-game name, but it’s the given name i spoke of in this ask, haha! initially scene five has her saying her full name (with surname), but i thought it would be more fitting if i didn’t lol ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

i tried to incorporate a mix of the personalities of edgar’s!mc + kyle’s!mc onto idike, tho at first i was only shooting for the latter - i think it kinda works??? while somewhat composed and determined (kyle’s), she still shows some naivete in her (edgar’s), especially concerning the ways of war + how secrecy & trust work in times of war.

i found emphasizing on her emotional struggle important, since it should be a big blow for her who’s never known the terror of war. the game touches upon on it a bit (tho it's post-med tent scenes) and i wanted to expand on it further since there are so many possible angles to go about it.

the i can’t heal you if you’re dead line sounds like something like shiro emiya might say but lol no i just remembered this p3 manga panel (pg 24) - its been years since i read it and i still love that line and i integrated it here... i was trying to expand that one scene for a while but then i just left it as it is.

in the catharsis scene where idike airs out everything, the fact that edgar fails to empathize with her + focuses more on her emotional state rather than offering actual help (advice maybe, but i honestly doubt he’d do that) reflects that he's still looking at her as an interesting creature and not her as a person. part 5 hints that this may be slowly changing, seeing as he called for her all of a sudden.

... idike probably keeps edgar’s glove as a token of friendship or smth haha ooPSSS i forgot to bring that back ahahaha..... ヘ（。□°）ヘ

ooofff i guess that’s all i have??? a big thank you to whoever read both hot messes™ and by that the fic + commentary itself!!! do feel free to hit the inbox for any comments + questions + more brainstorming + general screaming haha! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

#rundown.txt #the last long fic i wrote was a 6k+ fe:if thing #that was 3 years ago whoooaaaa #apparently i went the extra mile for this one omfg

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michaeljackson82958 · 5 years

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WARNING: LONG POST WITH EVIDENCE THAT MICHAEL JACKSON IS INNOCENT AND BEING FRAMED BY THIS DOCUMENTARY YET AGAIN

**The evidence the media refuses to show you about Michael Jackson’s accusers**

I’ve felt total and utter shame at my industry as the coverage of tonight’s Michael Jackson TV show has grown increasingly dishonest and dangerous. I’ve worked in the media since I was a teenager. The whole media knows these two men are liars. But that’s not good for clicks or ratings.

I’ve tried not to fill my feed with posts about this, but you are all being lied to from every direction. So this is my contribution to the debate – a list of just some of the public record information the media is refusing to tell you.

*In the lawsuit, Robson was caught lying under oath so brazenly that the judge threw out his entire witness statement and said no rational juror could ever believe his account.

*Both men tell stories in the TV show which directly contradict stories told under oath in their lawsuit. In fact, they have continued to change their stories as recently as within the last week.

I could continue, but if you’re still on board with the TV show and its accusers at this point, you are irrational to the point of mania.

Tonight’s TV show covers up all of this information, instead presenting two professional actors’ heavily edited and completely unchallenged testimony without ever examining their credibility, their proven lies and perjury, their constantly changing stories or their financial motives.

It is a stain on the journalistic profession, as has been the rest of the media’s coverage.

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green-eyeddragonfanfiction · 6 years

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The Count of Ferelden

Pairing: Vampire!Alistair x Female!Cousland!Reader Summary: Every other generation, the 2nd born of house Cousland goes up to the castle, sacrificing themselves so that the town might be safe for years to come. It’s your turn, as the younger Cousland, to take up the mantle. But the monster in the castle isn’t what you expected. For starters, he rambles and is easily one of the least graceful men you’ve ever met. Word Count: ~3,206 A/N: This is the sixth Monster!Character one shot for Spooktober 2018! If you’d like to be tagged in other Spooktober stories like this one, check out this post! Send me Spooktober requests for Monster!Character fics you want to see!

Masterlist // The Monster Series Collection

The finest silks that felt like flowing water on your skin. A parade the likes of which was only seen in Highever once in a generation. Smiling faces and loud cheers.

You barely saw it as you passed by the waving townspeople. Rose and Daisy petals fluttered to the ground, staining the rough grey stone white.

Fergus, Oriana, Oren, and your parents were waiting at the edge of town, surrounded by the largest group of Ferelden revelers yet.

You stopped closest to your brother and you knew it was only tradition that stopped him from reaching out for your hand (which you recognized dimly was shaking). The conversation from a week ago flashed in your mind.

“It should be me going, not you! Everyone knows you’re stronger than me. You’’ be a better ruler than I’ll ever be.”

You stared at Fergus with a melancholy smile. “Physical strength isn’t all there is to ruling. You know that. Regardless, you have a wife and child, Fergus. I know you’re not considering abandoning them.”

That made Fergus stand up straight, lips pressed in a tight line. From the way he didn’t immediately protest, you knew you’d won.

“I’m going to the castle tomorrow, brother, and nothing can stop it. It’s my duty as the second child born to house Cousland.”

His eyes were stormy but a second later he was closing the distance between you and sweeping you up in a bone-crushing hug. “I’m sorry, sister. I’m so, so sorry.”

You hugged him back fiercely, allowing yourself this single moment of weakness before you let him go and smiled. “I would do anything to keep you, our family, and our people safe, Ferg.”

It was a lie. You were scared. You wanted to turn your horse around and run for the hills. But you stared forward, giving your family a brave nod, face a stony mask.

You nudged your horse onward and Fergus dropped your hand, a tired, strained smile on his face. Now was not the time for goodbyes; now was the time for revelry. The terynir would be safe for another generation. Mothers wouldn’t have to worry about their children. Wives wouldn’t fret over whether or not their husbands would come home from the woods and fields. Children wouldn’t grow up having to know what it was like to live without a parent.

The tradition was old, dating back to before the Cousland family even existed. Some say it went back to when the peoples of Ferelden called themselves Alamarri.

You weren’t the first and you wouldn’t be the last.

The people stopped following about halfway to the castle, having long grown tired and wary of the surrounding forests and rolling hillsides. You didn’t blame them, really. Until you passed through the gates to the castle grounds they wouldn’t know if they’d be safe.

As it was, you realized that you’d grown numb to the dread until you spotted the highest spires of the castle through the trees. Terror coiled in the pit of your stomach and you realized that you should relax (getting thrown by your spooked horse would only make this that much more painful), but that was easier said than done.

Still, your bitter march continued until, finally, the castle grounds came into sight. You could see the winding path up to the castle through the large, imposing wrought iron gate and gulped.

This was it.

This was the day you died.

You dismounted when you got close enough and checked the old mare’s saddle. Satisfied it wouldn’t shift or rub her wrong, you undid her bridle and gave her a large smack on her haunch, watching forlornly as she huffed in fear and immediately bolted back towards the city. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care that she’d kicked up mud onto your pristine white silk dress. You hated the thing anyway.

Hesitantly, you reached forward and pressed gently on the gate, eyes widening in surprised as it opened the second your fingertips touched the chilly metal.

“Right, because that’s not creepy at all,” you muttered, wincing as it creaked so loudly you were sure it’d wake the dead.

You held your head high, ears perked for any sound as you walked up the winding path towards the castle. The creature in the castle had no love for its shrubbery, if the state of the grounds was anything to go by.

More than once your dress brushed against the dried leaves on the ground, nearly scaring you out of your skin. You glanced up at the windows, thinking you saw movement, but when your eyes zeroed in on it there was nothing there.

But then you were at the front doors. You’d been half expecting for the creature to jump out of a bush at you, or something, but why do that when your prey had to come to you?

You raised a hand and grasped one of the gigantic brass knockers which was more intricate than anything you had back at Castle Cousland. The knock reverberated, deep and echoing, and the doors (which must have been twice your height or more) swung inwards with nary a whisper, which was a startling contrast to the gate out front.

“Hello?”

It was a stupid reflex that you wanted to take back as soon as it was out of your mouth.

You jumped about a foot in the air when a loud crashing noise came from the top of the grand staircase in front of you, followed by, “Andraste’s tits!” A moment later a man- and it was a man, if you could believe your eyes- appeared at the top of the stairs. He took one look at you and your clothing, glanced outside, then cursed so quietly under his breath that you couldn’t hear the finer details. Something along the lines of “mabari shite” and “applesauce.” “Is it that time already? I could have sworn they only sent someone up a few years ago.”

You gaped at the man who, even from this far away, you could tell was handsome. Strawberry blond hair, an unfairly sharp jawline, and pink lips that you were sure most women would be envious of.

Instead of continuing to gawk, you schooled your features. “Are you he who I was sent here to meet?” you asked, thankful your voice sounded more confident than you felt.

He shifted nervously. “I suppose so. You are from Castle Cousland, right? Not just a very, very lost... runaway bride?” he asked, looking you up and down again before he looked away a little awkwardly.

Something... wasn’t right. But you had a job to do. “I am (Y/N) Cousland, here to offer myself so that you might spare the people of Highever your wrath.”

To your surprise, he groaned and plopped down heavily onto the stairs, head cradled between his hands. “Oh hound’s arse, not again...” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. He let out a long-suffering sigh and pinned you with a tentative look. “Well, it’s awkward enough talking to you from the top of the stairs. Could I at least show you to your room or something? I can look around for some human-friendly food, too, if you’d like.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, likely towards a room deeper in the house.

But you didn’t move and stared at him, off-kilter but refusing to fall for his tricks. “If I’m to die in this place I’d rather do it now. I have little patience for games and mind tricks.”

To your surprise he flopped backwards onto the plush carpet, then sneezed when the kicked-up dust tickled his nose. “This happens every time. Just what do you people think I do?” you heard him mutter. If you didn’t know any better he sounded almost.. exasperated? Distraught?

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest. “I dunno, eat people?”

The words were out before you could stop them and you froze in terror as he sat up abruptly and fixed you with an amused half smile. “Was that a sense of humor I heard, peeking through the sheer terror?”

Stop talking stop talking stop talking “Well, what’s the worst that could happen? You kill me?” Idiot. Andraste’s arse I’m an idiot.

He stared at you for a second, jaw going slack with surprise, before he guffawed out a hearty laugh. You opened your mouth to say something when he began to quiet, only for your mouth to snap shut when his laughter only grew, filling the halls with a not wholly unpleasant sound.

After what felt like a small eternity he wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes, bright smile showcasing two dagger-sharp teeth that immediately had you tensing up again.

The smile slowly slipped off his face and he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m not actually going to eat you, you know.”

“I don’t believe you.” You wouldn’t let your fear show. Your hands were fisted into the fine material of your dress; you wouldn’t let this creature see your hands shake.

But he only sighed deeply again and made no real move to get up. “Yes, you people never do. I write a letter every year- after about thirty drafts, mind you- and send it down to the castle, but I never get a response. And yet, they continue to send people up every fifty years or so. I tried to go down and explain it to them in person once, but they chased me off with torches and pitchforks! Pitchforks! As though I’d be afraid of some farming equipment. Still, they made it plenty clear I wasn’t wanted there, so I headed back to this drafty old place. Do you know how absolutely, dreadfully boring it is, living in this big house all alone? I’ve started talking to the paintings and-” He paused and ran a hand down his face. “I’m rambling like a loon. Sorry, I know you’re not here to listen to my frankly pathetic life story. Would you like to see your room now?”

The monologue nearly gave you whiplash, but when he stared at you expectantly you blinked dumbly, confused out of your mind. You were still stuck on the first bit (and determinedly ignored the middle bit in which he talked about being very lonely). “So no eating me? Boiling my bones in a soup pot? Making my innards into sausage?” you asked, glaring at him.

But he balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish for a few beats before he found his words. “What? Of course not! Is that what the lot of you think I do up here? There’s a bit of nibbling at most.” He said the last part quietly and quickly, as though you might not hear it if he did.

“Some nibbling?” you trilled, angry and fearful in equal measures.

But he was frantically waving away your outburst, eyes wide. “Only if you agree, of course! I’d never bite you without your permission!”

“Why would I ever give you permission to bite me?” you asked, incredulous. Not only was he a vampire, he was an insane vampire.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Why am I always such rubbish at this talking thing?” He let out a year’s worth of sighs and peered at you from between his fingers. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Alistair. This is my castle. I’m a vampire. I won’t bite you unless you give me permission to do so. I spend most of my time fighting Darkspawn, but it takes a lot of my energy so I made a deal with the original rulers of the town down the hill: I would continue to protect them from the monsters in the night and, in return, they’d send someone every other generation who I could occasionally feed from to keep up my strength. Drinking goat blood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, you know... They make good cheese, though.”

But you only scowled harder. “So you are going to eat me.”

He threw his hands up in the air and opened his mouth, likely to yell his frustration, but he merely snapped his mouth shut and slumped backwards onto the landing, once again coughing as he kicked up all the dust on the ground. “That would be a waste of a perfectly lovely woman,” you heard him mutter. The kindness of his sentiment was somewhat ruined by the fact that you were here against your will and his followup of, “What is it with you people and not hearing a word I say? I swear the original townsfolk weren’t this dense...”

“Excuse me?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

He raised his head enough to peer down at you, surprised. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes.” You tilted your chin up and glared at him defiantly.

His head hit the solid oak floor with a resounding thud and you nearly winced at how painful it sounded, but he only sighed deeply. “I swear this goes worse every time...” he muttered forlornly.

You stared at the pathetic pile of vampire, confusion crinkling your brow. This wasn’t how you expected today to go at all.

Without taking your eyes off of him or turning around, you took a step backwards, towards the grand doors. He didn’t so much as twitch so you took another step, then another.

It wasn’t until you reached blindly for the handle and found it that you stopped and stared at him. He hadn’t moved an inch, but you had a sneaking suspicion that he was able to hear you.

Yet he hadn’t moved to stop you so you took your chance and turned away.

You got as far as turning the handle before you froze and you turned back to look at him. “Did you mean it? About keeping my people safe in exchange for... my help?”

He finally sat up slowly and smoothly (it was a little disconcerting how he seemed to defy gravity) and, even as far away from him as you were, you could see him looking at you, unblinking and earnest. “Yes. I meant every word.”

You looked away, still half expecting him to pounce on you the moment you weren’t looking, and clenched your hands into the fabric of your dress. When you raised your head again, your jaw was set in determination. “Then I’ll stay.”

His face lit up like mage fire, bright smile changing his whole demeanor instantly. “Really? I don’t even have to grovel or anything? I was ready to grovel.”

You couldn’t help the smirk that slid onto your face. “I could go for some nice boot-licking, actually.”

He practically floated down the stairs, a startling contrast to his noisy entrance. You kept your posture as relaxed and confident as you could as he slowly made his way towards you. From the way he was holding himself it seemed a though he was trying to appear less intimidating (it didn’t work).

He stopped barely two feet away, close enough that you could see each individual wave of his hair and the flecks of brown in his hazel eyes. “My lady, I bid you welcome and thank you for your kind assistance.” His grin was charming as he bowed deeply, one hand going around his waist while his other took your hand in his. You fought the urge to pull away at his chilly touch, but his lips were soft and gentle when they placed a light kiss to your knuckles.

And then he straightened and you found a leather boot in your face, held there by the vampire, who was trying his best (and nearly failing) to hold in a laugh at the look on your face.

You stared at him, confused beyond measure, and he burst into laughter. The noise was bright and cheerful. Almost like magic, it was as though the halls around you could sense the change in the master of the house’s mood and they seemed slightly less daunting.

“You said you would enjoy some boot-licking. I thought I’d offer mine up, being the generous, selfless man that I am,” he managed to get out between barely-muffled laughter.

You stared at him, open-mouthed, before you burst into giggles. Your laughter only seemed to make his return twofold and, before long, both of you were doubled over. The laughter died down and you stared at each other, smiles pulling up the corners of your mouths. You wiped the tears out of the corners of your eyes and you grinned at him, eyebrows waggling. “Well, you know what they say: You scratch my back...”

“You lick my boot?” he finished, eyes twinkling with mirth.

You dissolved into giggles again, reaching out to steady yourself on his shoulder.

Both of you froze at the same time and the moment hung suspended the air.

He reached for your hand and took it in his, gently rubbing circles into your palm with his thumb. “I truly am grateful. And... I relish the chance to get to know you.”

You ignored the way your heart fluttered at his words and the feeling of his hand around yours. He was... more different than you could have ever imagined, but perhaps this would not be a fate you had to fear.

You blinked innocently up at him, giving nothing away, and said in the sweetest voice you could manage, “Now that’s the sort of brown-nosing I could get used to.”

He snorted and laughed a big, full belly laugh that had you grinning along with him.

“But if I’m going to stay here you’re going to help me scrub every inch of this castle clean.”

His laughter stopped abruptly and he gave you a look that was so reminiscent of a mabari pup that you nearly reached up to pat his head. “All of it?”

“Yes, all of it.”

He looked around guiltily, face getting more and more scrunched with horror the longer he looked. “Perhaps... we can start that tomorrow?”

But you were shaking your head. You dropped his hand so you could clutch at the bottom of the dress and, with an almighty tug, ripped a large slit up the side.

His hands flew to his face and you had no doubts that, if he still had a heart that beat, blood would have flooded his faintly freckled cheeks. “What are you- This is uh-”

You smirked and brushed past him, hands on your hips as you looked around, searching for a good place to start. “Can’t clean in this dress’ damned skirt. Not enough leg room. You going to assist me or not, pretty boy?” You smiled at him over your shoulder, challenging and excited. This... this could be the start of something amazing.

He swallowed thickly and nodded, gaze trained firmly on your face. “No. Wait, yes. Uh, whatever it is you just said- whichever one means I agree.”

You turned to look at him, smile becoming a little softer, and you held your hand out for him. “Come on, then. We have lots of work to do.”

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nataliesnews · 3 years

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Abu Hummus, theatre, DCO 14.8.2021

13.8.2021 Something very strange has been happening with my drafts. Twice I have written drafts which have disappeared and I know that I have not deleted them as I checked before I switched off the computer that they were there. So let us see now. I also checked if I had sent them by mistake but I had not. I can well believe that one day automation will take over the world as already my phone seems to have a mind of its own and writes the words before I have even thought of it or changes my arrangements on the calendar computer so that I seem to live in a world which is completely upside

I was at a joyous performance of Theater in the Rough which you can read about above and also some good pictures. It means a lot of running round the park and also carrying your own chair. Not always easy to keep up or move around the grass but so far I kept my balance. My chair which is rather like an accordion is a bit heavy but fits into my rucksack and I can move from place to place.

I had a good laugh though when I saw Falstaff lying on his back and then I happened to look around and saw this dog lying in ecstasy with its stomach being caressed by its owner.

Unfortunately there are the usual things around me which are not so good. But still this evening I am doing a picnic and last night I had supper with Varda Levi (my friend on the right) and family. Nir and Dror whom I had not seen since the mohel removed an important part of his anatomy

And though the rest of what I write is not so good this afternoon we are having a picnic in the evening out in the hills.

A young boy of about 15 had been shot while he was entering his home. The soldiers, according to the father , were about 400 to 500 metres away. Also according to the father, the soldiers themselves said that the boy had done nothing to merit this. So what else is new. They had bandaged his leg and put on some iron contraption which looked very painful as you can see in the picture. He has no money for the operations the boy will have to have, nor does he have money to pay for a lawyer. We gave him both the numbers of the Doctors for Human rights and Yesh Din. Also some additional numbers which I was given by Aziza, a nun who is known to us. The leg was really messed up. The question is if the army admits that they were responsible, surely the IDF should be dealing with this. The man says that his family are law-abiding and there is nothing against him. They have been vaccinated and no one who is not vaccinated comes into their home.

He had not made a complaint at the police. The father said that the boy had been in hospital in Hebron but he had not been able to pay the full sum. The father said that a captain had told him to make a complaint with the police and had said that if they helped him, he would help them. A coverup? However the father was very vague on this point. It is sometimes very difficult to get exact details, not only because of the language difficulty but also because for we Israelis it is always not easy to deal with bureaucracy. How much more so for the Palestinians when they have to deal with the IDF who sees no reason to be polite to them or explain anything.

The demonstration at Shiekh Jarrah. There is nothing in the law which says one cannot wave a Palestinian flag but to the police who have IQs of minus zero it is like a red rag to a bull. Abu Hummus

Here is a little introduction to the political discourse of Ben-Gvir and King, who were caught on video shouting and insulting a wounded Palestinian protester. The video starts with MK Ben-Gvir disparagingly yelling at a Palestinian who was apparently wounded by Israeli police, yet, returned to protest against the evictions planned for Sheikh Jarrah.

Ben-Gvir is heard shouting, “Abu Hummus, how is your ass?”

“The bullet is still there, that’s why he is limping,” responds the deputy mayor, King, to Ben-Gvir. King continues, “Did they take the bullet out of your ass? Did they take it out already? It is a pity it did not go in here,” King continues, pointing to his head.

Delighted with what they perceive to be a whimsical commentary on the wounding of the Palestinian, Ben-Gvir and King’s entourage of Jewish extremists laugh.

While “Abu Hummus”, wounded yet still protesting, is a testament to the tenacity of the Palestinian people, King, Ben-Gvir, the settlers and the police are a representation of the united Israeli front aimed at ethnically cleansing Palestinians and ensuring Jewish majority in Jerusalem.

Abu Hummus is very prominent at these demonstrations. I find it hard to sit on the one little rock I have found….standing for me is harder than walking…. But as soon as I get too near to the action some people not so hot-headed drag me back to the pavement,

But he is tall and walks on two long crutches and even then limps has become a target for the police especially when he waves a Palestinian flag…..and again I emphasize that this is not illegal. This time they attacked him and beat him to the ground where I saw him bent over with the flag held beneath his stomach and one of the young men I know trying to protect him

I took the little Palestinians flag had been given and pinned it on to my shirt. One of the young men said, “They will pull the shirt off you.” and I relied that after so many years it would be a pleasure” But one day the police will kill someone here and it is not at all sure that it will be a Palestinian but rather a demonstrator as the police hate us more than they do the Palestinians. That is my friend Varda Heled with whom I often go to demonstrations.

Natanya Natalie Ginsburg

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Kiryat Hayovel

Jerusalem 9650230

Israel

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

Cellphone preferable

I had a good laugh though when I saw Falstaff lying on his back and then I happened to look around and saw this dog lying in ecstasy with its stomach being caressed by its owner.

And though the rest of what I write is not so good this afternoon we are having a picnic in the evening out in the hills.

The demonstration at Shiekh Jarrah. There is nothing in the law which says one cannot wave a Palestinian flag but to the police who have IQs of minus zero it is like a red rag to a bull. Abu Hummus

Ben-Gvir is heard shouting, “Abu Hummus, how is your ass?”

Delighted with what they perceive to be a whimsical commentary on the wounding of the Palestinian, Ben-Gvir and King’s entourage of Jewish extremists laugh.

Natanya Natalie Ginsburg

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Kiryat Hayovel

Jerusalem 9650230

Israel

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

Cellphone preferable

0 notes

your-dietician · 3 years

Text

Who on Edmonton Oilers' extended NHL roster is likely to be promoted to a "Core 12" spot next season?

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/nhl/who-on-edmonton-oilers-extended-nhl-roster-is-likely-to-be-promoted-to-a-core-12-spot-next-season/

Who on Edmonton Oilers' extended NHL roster is likely to be promoted to a "Core 12" spot next season?

Breadcrumb Trail Links

Cult of Hockey

Author of the article:

Bruce McCurdy • Edmonton Journal

Vancouver Canucks defenseman Quinn Hughes (43) checks Edmonton Oilers forward Ryan McLeod (71) in the third period at Rogers Arena. Oilers won 5-3 on May 4, 2021. Photo by Bob Frid /USA TODAY Sports

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The other day we began our off-season review of Edmonton Oilers’ roster with a detailed look at the club’s “Core 12” players, a group that includes the starting goalie, top two defence pairs, top two forward lines plus third-line centre. While one or two of those spots might be open to debate, I chose the following dozen:

Lots of holes in this version of the Oilers Core 12, of which no fewer than 8 players (white background) played under expiring contracts in 2021 and are poised to become free agents next month. Of the others, 2 have a year to run on their current pact (blue background), and 2 are locked up long term (orange). Thankfully, that latter category includes both of Edmonton’s “franchise” players.

Let’s look a little further down the line-up this time:

Every skater here played 8 or more NHL games with the Oilers this past season, nobody else played even 1. The list does include a tiny shuffle between the pipes, where mid-season waiver pickup Alex Stalock dressed as a backup goalie a couple of times, but saw no game action. He was on an NHL roster all season long so clearly belongs with this group. Stuart Skinner on the other hand did play an NHL game, but primarily was a core player for Bakersfield Condors so will be considered later.

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Whereas there are tons of pending free agents in the Core 12, the secondary players — including at least 2 at each position — are largely under contract. That’s not necessarily a good thing, especially on a team whose bottom 6 forwards have gotten owned at 5v5 on an annual basis.

Before we slice the chart vertically and review on a position-by-position basis, it’s instructive to do so horizontally and look at them as 6-man units. The first of those — Neal-Turris-Kassian-Russell-Bear-Koskinen — is not only under contract, but for a collective $18.35 million in ’21-22. That’s over $3 million a man. Not too many value pacts to be seen, especially up front where veterans Neal, Turris and Kassian each played only half the season for various reasons, combining for just 9 goals at a cap hit of $10.6 million. And not one of those contracts is expiring. Ouch.

The second set of Shore-McLeod-Archibald-Jones-Bouchard-Stalock at least has the virtue of being inexpensive, to the tune of less than $1 million per. At that level, contracts can be buried in the AHL, making those spots more open to competition.

Just 6 guys on the entire list who don’t have a contract, 2 of them already committed elsewhere. At first blush the other 4 are in deep simply due to the numbers game.

Left wing

Mixed reviews on the big contract-driven trade that brought James Neal to Edmonton in exchange for Milan Lucic. Some saw it as a Ken Holland-inspired miracle, but the net effect to this point is that Edmonton’s cap hit went up, not down. Instead of absorbing $6.0 million per season on Lucic, the Oilers are on the hook for a net $6.5 million, of which $5.75 is Neal’s AAV and the other $750k cap retention on Lucic. Neal came out guns blazing in Oil Country, but since the calendar turned to 2020 has struggled with injury and COVID and scored just 5 goals in 42 games. With 2 years yet to run on that contract and Neal about to turn 34 before camp opens, the Oilers may well be considering a buyout. That would open a little over $3.8 million in cap space the next 2 years, but claw back 50% of that amount in the following 2. This per PuckPedia.com: From the organization’s perspective the buyout option is the one significant advantage of the Neal pact vs. that of Lucic, which was and is virtually buyout-proof. But that only comes into play if the Oilers actually pull the trigger. Best guess here is that they will.

Devin Shore was RFA at season’s end, but has already signed a 2-year extension at $850,000 per.

Tyler Ennis was acquired for a draft pick at the 2020 trade deadline, then signed to a 1-year extension which has run its course. The 31-year-old vet showed some nice offensive flashes, but ultimately scored just 3 times in 30 games while twice clearing waivers and spending plenty of time on the taxi squad. A small forward with no meaningful role on special teams, I’ll speculate Ennis won’t be re-signed a second time.

Joakim Nygard‘s NHL dream was ruined by a badly-broken hand. He has already committed to a 6-year (!) contract back in his native Sweden.

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Centre

Just 3 centres listed in our chart above, though its worth remembering our initial Core 12 had an “extra” centre in Jujhar Khaira, identified as a 3C which by definition is a bottom 6 player. Indeed, Khaira played fewer than 10 minutes all season long with each of Connor McDavid, Leon Draisaitl, or Ryan Nugent-Hopkins, and scarcely more than that with anyone who might identify as a “skill winger”. He’s RFA with a qualifying platform of $1.3 million. We discussed JJK’s situation in the previous post, and also in the podcast associated with this one.

Signed to a 2-year contract on the first day of free agency, Kyle Turris showed plenty off the ice, where he received Edmonton’s nomination for the King Clancy Award for his exemplary work at the Glenrose Rehabilitation Hospital. On the ice was another story, however, where he struggled right out of the gate at both ends of the sheet. The would-be 3C soon wound up as a bit player, clearing waivers at one point and playing on the wing on those rare occasions when he got a game. He finished with just 2-3-5 and a team-worst -11 in 27 games. Alas, he still has a year to run at a cap hit of $1.65 million. Oilers could consider buying him out but are more likely to send him to Bakersfield which would allow them to bury $1.125 million and retain “just” $525,000 against the cap. Not impossible he rebounds and makes the club, of course, but that seems the unlikelier outcome from this distance.

Ryan McLeod made terrific strides in 2020-21, first getting some productive time in the Swiss National League before ripping it up in the AHL (28 GP, 14-14-28, and a league-leading +23). That earned him the distinction of an in-season recall to the NHL, the only player in the organization to do so successfully. He got his feet wet with 10 games and 4 more in the playoffs, scoring just 1 point but showing decent promise. McLeod projects to being a #3C in due course, but surely is better pencilled in at 4C next year until such time as he plays his way up the line-up. Shows real promise to be a draft-and-develop success story, a rare bird in this part of the world.

Gaetan Haas was a quirky, fun player to watch with some real defensive utility but zero offence that translated to the NHL. Like Nygard, he’s signed a long-term deal (5 years) back home, in his case Switzerland.

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Right wing

Zack Kassian‘s counting numbers in 2021 were literally that: 1 fight, 2 goals, 3 assists, dash-4, 5 points. His season was limited to just 27 games due to 2 significant injuries. After a monster 2019 riding shotgun with McDavid that saw him score 24-26-50 in 82 games between Jan 01 and Dec 31, he was signed by Holland in 2020 January to a 4-year extension at a whopping $3.2 million AAV. But the wheels came off right away; he’s scored just 4 times in 47 games since the calendar turned to 2020. Now 30, his career is at (another) crossroads. While there are some whispers that eastern-based clubs might be interested on the trade market, one wonders if they might balk at that cap hit. Best guess is that he’ll still be an Oiler come the fall, with Holland foremost among those fervently hoping for a bounceback season.

Josh Archibald was signed in the summer of 2019 to a 1-year-deal, then re-upped for 2 years with a 50% raise that raised his cap hit to $1.5 million. That deal still has a year to run. Oilers fans can expect more of the same fast-skating, hard-hitting, aggressive-penalty killing style Arch has brought to this point, along with maybe 10 goals.

Alex Chiasson came to Edmonton in 2018 at a crossroads, having just won a Stanley Cup but unable to land a contract. He had to come to camp on a professional tryout before winning an NHL minimum pact from the Oil and using it as a springboard to a career-best 22-goal season. Holland signed him to a 2-year extension in the summer of 2019 at a pricier $2.15 million, for which he delivered responsible even-strength play and net-front excellence on the league’s best powerplay, but only 20 goals combined over the 2 years. That pact has now expired and the cap space likely to be used elsewhere, though it’s not impossible he could be brought back at a significantly lower figure. Best guess here? He’s gone.

Patrick Russell has gotten way further than anyone could have expected since he was signed as a college free agent back in 2016, ultimately signing 4 different contracts with the org. He spent parts of the last 3 seasons with the Oilers, appearing in 59 games overall. Alas, the promising offence he showed in the AHL did not survive the trip to Canada, and he remains stuck on 0 career goals. The Dane was OK-ish as an occasional fill-in on the 4th line, but with his latest 1-year pact expired it seems likely the org will look elsewhere to fill his spot. Almost the definition of a “replacement-level player”.

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Left defence

Kris Russell has been an Oiler for 5 years now, the last 4 of them at a $4 million AAV. His ice time dwindled the last 2 seasons, and he appeared in just 35 games in 2021. Partly due to expansion draft requirements, the organization saw fit to sign him to a 1-year extension at less than a third of his old cap hit. That’s a more appropriate price tag for a guy who projects to a part-time third-pairing role. The diminutive 34-year-old still has defensive chops but has never excelled at the transition game.

Caleb Jones still has a year to run on the 2-year, $850k AAV pact he signed early in 2020. At the time it projected as a value contract, but a year later the player has struggled to make the next step and optimism about his future is waning in some quarters, though not in others. He had a great chance to step into a second pairing role but instead stepped into his coach’s doghouse on occasion. He remains a promising young player who may well be targeted by Seattle Kraken in the upcoming expansion draft.

William Lagesson got an extended look on a defence-first pairing with Adam Larsson. He played a robust game and won his share of physical battles, but brought very little in terms of offensive or even transition game. The Oilers averaged just 16.34 shots per hour that he was on the ice at 5v5, by far the lowest among the 712 NHL skaters who played at least 120 minutes. (Teammate Haas was next at 19.63, over 20% (!) higher.) He’s halfway through the 2-year pact he signed last summer, but as he enters his Draft +8 season it’s surely fair to conclude “limited upside”.

Slater Koekkoek signed a 1-year deal late in free agency, won some fans with his early play before getting injured. He’s poised to become UFA again, even as many folks have penciled his name in as a likely returnee. This observer is less sure about that, given the organization’s depth at left defence. Detailed write-up here.

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Right defence

Finally, a chance to discuss a player who has a legitimate shot to move from this group into the Core 12 next season. That would be Ethan Bear, who was a top 4 defender in his impressive rookie season in 2019-20 who found himself in a third-pairing role on many nights in 2021. Both guys who were ahead of him, Tyson Barrie and Larsson, are currently UFA. Only one of them is pat to be back — I’m guessing Larsson — with Bear well-positioned to step back into his old pairing with Darnell Nurse. He has a year to run on a bridge deal that carries a $2.0 million cap hit.

Evan Bouchard also projects as a Core 12 type in the future, though it’s likely he will first be eased into a third pairing role. He was blocked by all 3 of Barrie, Larsson and Bear in 2021, and played just 14 games in what many saw as a failed developmental opportunity.

Goaltenders

Mikko Koskinen had a hugely disappointing season that failed to build on what was a fairly strong 2019-20. He was OK for a while in the backup role, but struggled mightily any time he got more regular ice time. He definitively lost the #1 job to Mike Smith, whose base salary was just a third of Koskinen’s. That $4.5 million cap hit still has a year to run, leading some to speculate that the Oilers might buy him out. If they try to move him in a trade it will come with a cost of a sweetener, cap retention, and/or a hefty pact coming the other way. Detailed write-up here.

Alex Stalock was plucked off the waiver wire at mid-season, but came with an ongoing health issue and spent plenty of time in a non-roster position before eventually being activated as a third goalie. He played no games. He’s cheap ($785k), experienced, and might battle for a backup job in the fall, though he’s more likely to stay as the #3 man in the depth chart. That’s problematic in an organization that has 3 promising young goaltenders with North American pro contracts and limited places to play.

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Summary

19 players in all discussed here, a meaty post to say the least. Primary takeaways are three-fold:

too many weighty contracts in the lower echelon of the roster, and no easy path to clear them out that doesn’t leave residual dead cap space like buyouts or cap retention.

too few players on the list who project into the Core 12 in the near or intermediate term. I count just Bear in the former category, with Bouchard, Jones and McLeod (as the token forward) in the latter. Given all the potential vacancies due to free agency, internal help still seems to be a fair ways off.

including the Core 12 plus those detailed here, just 2 players (McLeod and Bouchard) on the NHL roster will still be on their Entry Level Contract in ’21-22.

Of course the club has other players in the pipeline who were outside the NHL last season, including several promising ones. We’ll dive into this last group next time.

Recently at the Cult of Hockey

STAPLES: One lesson Oilers could learn from the defending champs

McCURDY: Holland has a big problem with Oilers’ depth lines

LEAVINS: Oilers need to get better players — 9 Things

STAPLES: Evening the score for the Oilers at the 2021 NHL Draft

McCURDY: The next few weeks will define Holland as Oilers GM

Follow me on Twitter @BruceMcCurdy

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