#especially considering there is. nothing. on any of the other pages beyond evil zone

[paterday]

I find the fact that you can see how many people have looked at ur site So Interesting. I wish it didn’t count My views on my own site cause at least 800 of the views on mine are. From me. Which makes seeing the actual number of people poking at it incredibly inflated

[fyeahfantasticfour]

What are your thoughts on Reed's role in the Civil War comic?

You will never catch me arguing that what Reed did was in any way right, because it wasn’t. He was given quite a lot of extenuating reasons (i.e., supporting the SHRA was the only way to stave off planet-wide extinction), but I still think it was an immoral choice, more so when you look at the sociohistorical context and realize that the SHRA was really the Patriot Act, Stamford 9/11, the Negative Zone prison Abu Ghraib or Guantanamo. Nothing justifies that kind of authoritarian, fascist violation of human rights, and it is even more galling when it is done in the name of the safety and security of the American people. What I would argue very vehemently is that a person who behaves the way Reed did during Civil War is so unlike Reed that he is a wholly different character, which is why I find it so infuriating that people who have read him in that and nothing else think it’s what he’s always like, when it’s not. His behavior throughout Civil War flies in the face of over fifty years of canon. When I read everything he says, everything he does in Civil War or in the related spin-off comics, I do not at all recognize the man I have come to know and love in well over 600 issues of Fantastic Four comics. Reed’s simply not like that. Sue even tells Reed at one point in the main FF title, “You’re not Reed,” and, no, he isn’t. So I don’t know who Mark Millar and co. thought they were writing, but it sure as hell wasn’t Reed. They warped Reed’s character virtually beyond recognition to suit their plot – but of course, if that’s the only comic you know Reed from….you don’t have the context to be able to see that. And that’s why Civil War!Reed has come to be the defining Reed in an Avengers-dominated Marvel fandom that largely doesn’t bother to read FF comics…even though, again, Reed isn’t like that at all. 

I think Civil War has, first of all, largely been responsible for that truly mystifying take that holds that science matters more to Reed than his family, which is not something anyone would ever argue if they looked only at FF comics. Reed’s boundless love for his family just spills off of every page. But the way he behaves in Civil War, I can see how people would miss that. Reed chooses the government and the SHRA over his family every chance he gets in Civil War, which is terribly OOC. If given a choice between his family and anything anyone could ever want -- wealth, immortality, even godhood -- Reed will always choose his family. But in Civil War -- for the first and only time ever -- he doesn’t. 

Cut for length.

Sue, the love of his life, his soulmate, who he loves more than his own life, leaves him, and he chooses the government; Ben, his very best friend for over two decades, who he canonically loves as much as he loves his wife, leaves him, and he keeps working for the government; Johnny, Reed’s surrogate son, goes with her, and Reed chooses the government. Johnny is hospitalized and Reed doesn’t drop everything to be there for his wife and his brother and seems fairly indifferent about Johnny and Sue’s wellbeing. That is not the Reed I know. As Sue has said, Reed is always, always there when it matters. When Sue was going through a difficult first pregnancy, the doctors actually had to tell Reed to go get some rest because he refused to leave the hospital. When Franklin was badly hurt by Annihilus, Reed was so shaken by Franklin’s hospitalization that he and Sue moved to the suburbs under assumed names so Franklin would be safer. When Reed discovered that Franklin was worried about his powers, he and Sue actually quit the team so they could focus completely on their son. When Franklin was tossed into Hell by Doom and badly traumatized, Reed was right there, holding Sue’s hand and comforting Franklin while they talked to psychiatrists. So we know how Reed acts when his family’s hurt – he tends to hover, obsess, worry, beat himself up for not protecting them, and take it very, very seriously. The Reed I know would have refused to leave the hospital until Johnny woke up. He would have been too worried about Johnny and Sue and too busy blaming himself for what happened to Johnny to even consider doing anything else.

Also, Civil War is the first time in fifty years that Ben, Johnny, and Sue have all turned their backs on Reed. Normally, they are endlessly loyal. Normally, they would follow him to Hell if he asked them to – and, in fact, they have. Reed would care that his family had abandoned him. It would destroy him. Make him unable to function. It makes absolutely no sense for Reed as a character to have behaved as he did, because Reed’s chief motivation is his love for his family and it always has been. Everything he does is because of them. Everything. The fact that Millar and co. didn’t understand that Reed’s family matters more to him than anything is sign enough for me that their characterization of Reed is deplorable. It’s like writing Wonder Woman and having her care not at all about women, or Magneto and having him be indifferent to mutants. It does not make any sense at all for Reed. Straczynski’s idea that Reed did what he did to protect his family – sacrificing himself and his principles in order to keep them safe (although in the main Civil War comic, he’s written as oddly enthusiastic about the pro-SHRA side’s projects, and just no – Reed (as he’s characterized in FF comics) participating extremely reluctantly and hating everything he was forced to do I can maybe see, but being excited about any of it? No) – is slightly more believable, but I still don’t buy that Reed, after having been called out by Sue the way he was, wouldn’t have listened to and trusted her. Because he nearly always listens to Sue and he respects her opinion more than he does anyone else’s. They’re equal partners. Certainly the idea that he’d trust and care about Tony’s opinion more than Sue’s is a risible one at best (not that he doesn’t like Tony, but the length and depth of his friendship with Tony pales in comparison to his all-consuming love for Sue – Reed and Tony simply haven’t been through everything Sue and Reed have together, which includes the death of their daughter). And the fact that Sue alone left him – for only the second time in a fifty-year marriage – would have had a much larger effect on him than was depicted. In the 1970s, when Sue first left him, Reed pined for her constantly and refused to leave the Baxter Building in the vain hope that she’d call, he couldn’t focus on work, or sleep, or eat, science and all of his projects were meaningless to him without Sue, but you expect me to believe that a second separation – particularly one that was potentially permanent – had such a small effect on him? Reed should have been a mess, depressed, hopeless, and entirely unable to function. His whole reason for existing left him. He wouldn’t have cared about anything besides Sue and when she would be back and what he could do to get her back. 

Reed siding with the SHRA and helping the government discriminate against aliens, mutants, Inhumans, and other metahumans like him also makes no sense at all for him as a character and, furthermore, goes against everything he and the FF have ever stood for, ever fought for. And that’s because the FF have always been about looking to the future and making the world a better place for everyone, which means rising above petty hatreds. Reed especially has a lengthy history of fighting to protect the civil rights and autonomy of nonhumans – particularly the Inhumans – from the government and the military. The story told in Fantastic Four v3 #51-54, for instance, is a perfect counterpoint to Civil War. Reed, when faced with humanity’s petty fear of the Other, actually behaves like himself and defends them from the government, the military, the masses. He very bravely stands up in front of the United Nations – when everyone else in the world was against him – and he tells them all that what they are doing is wrong. Specifically, he says, “What is being contemplated here is unthinkable! Yes, there are vicious, evil aliens – just as there are vicious, evil humans. There is no black or white.” When the defense system he set up for Earth is used offensively by the military to destroy an alien spaceship, Reed is openly furious at the military because his technology was misused for the purposes of murdering aliens and lectures a group of four-star generals on the evils of xenophobia. “Do you know what every extreme group has in common, general?” he asks them. “From the Nazis to the Taliban to the Ku Klux Klan? An obsession with purity. An unwavering belief that everything would be perfect if everyone was exactly like them. Don’t draw lines in the sand, gentlemen – not when it’s quicksand.” Reed has a lengthy history of defending the civil rights of nonhumans – he singlehandedly stopped the SHRA from getting passed during Simonson’s run in the 1990s by pointing out that it would be impossible to genetically differentiate between mutants, metahumans, Inhumans, and regular humans who carried those genetic markers. He knew it was a troubling law and he prevented its passage. Even before that, Reed originally fought behind enemy lines as a spy with the Italian underground during WWII – he knows full well the abuses totalitarian governments are capable of because he saw them firsthand and put his life on the line to stop them. So it’s just galling to see Sue having to lecture Reed about the dangers of fascism and totalitarianism when he, as a character, has demonstrated that he knows that very well so many times, when that knowledge is a pivotal motivation for him as a character, and when he has a lengthy history of fighting against those same governmental abuses. It’s like watching someone lecture Cap about the dangers of Nazism. I mean. He knows. Given his history, Reed should be the one making that speech. Hell, Reed has made that speech several times. It’s just all a flagrant misinterpretation of his character that, worse yet, makes no sense.

As someone who knows Reed’s character extremely well, let me say also that the idea that Reed would side with the U.S. government’s draconian laws because he believes that everyone has a responsibility to follow the law even when it’s wrong is absurd. This is a man who broke into a military base and stole a rocket ship because he thought the government’s decision to pull funding from his project was misguided. Not morally wrong, mind you, just misguided and short-sighted. This is a man who was himself taken to a top-secret military base in the dead of night and detained indefinitely by a government fearful of his powers, and who witnessed the unceremonious execution of another superpowered detainee in that same prison, and then began behaving in a way that was as innocuous and unthreatening as possible as a survival tactic. Because he knew that the government posed a very real threat to him and his family. He even says in Fantastic Four v3 #60 that he knew that he had doomed his family, the three people he loved most in all the world, to being “fated to be freaks…lab specimens or worse…” and that he turned them into celebrities to give them the best life possible given the circumstances. He also told Tony Stark once, in Iron Man Annual v1 #8, that if the government ever tried to take his incredibly powerful mutant son away, he would fight to the death to stop them. Immediately prior to the Civil War, the government did try to take Franklin and Valeria away, and in Fantastic Four Vol 5, they succeeded in taking all of Reed and Sue’s children away. That all means that Reed’s very aware that the government poses a threat to his and his family’s well-being and their ability to continue as a family. He knows how very dangerous the government is to people like him because he has been on the receiving end of that mistreatment. Reed has also just blatantly broken the laws more times than I can count. In his first-ever appearance? Broke onto a military base and stole a rocket ship. Second? Broke out of a military base, set it on fire, and stole a helicopter. And it’s not like all of that illegal activity dates back to the 1960s. Two years before Civil War I, Reed disregarded both the U.S. and the U.N.’s orders, invaded and took over an entire country, and afterward only narrowly avoided being charged with treason by bribing the government. He also, during this time period, broke onto a military base and stole Ben’s dead body back. That was swiftly followed in Straczynski’s run – only about five issues before the onset of Civil War – with Reed deliberately sabotaging a top-secret military project, which culminated in a high-speed chase as Reed escaped, fled back to New York, and openly defied the military’s orders to turn himself in by launching himself into space in a rocket ship. Reed, throughout his history, hasn’t just defied the law – he’s openly flaunted his defiance. So Reed isn’t a stickler for the law and he simply never has been. He knows it can be violent, devastating, and harmful, particularly to people like him and his family. 

But also? An unquestioning allegiance to science without a thought for the ethical ramifications is just very unlike Reed, who has always cared about people more than science – in fact, I’d argue that he cares about science because it lets him help people and make the world better. I think Straczynski’s better than the main Civil War comic about hammering home the point that Reed fixates on the numbers to keep himself from thinking too hard about the awful things he’s doing to his friends…but I don’t think doing them at all is very like Reed. It’s not as though Reed’s frightened of defying the U.S. government – he invaded and conquered an entire country against their explicit orders, after all. But also, Reed is compassionate to a fault – as Cap points out in the first Secret Wars, Reed is renown throughout the superhero community for his compassion. Everyone turns to Reed for help because he never turns away anyone who needs help. To think that he could, for any reason, turn his back on anyone’s pain and suffering makes no sense for him as a character. This is a man who helps supervillains who are hurt or in trouble, just on principle, because he swore an oath to help all mankind and that includes them. This is a man who once saved Galactus’ life just because he couldn’t, in good conscience, stand by and let another living being die -- and was later put on trial for it in an intergalactic court of law. He’s saved the life of Namor, who he doesn’t particularly like, so many times – and that includes the time he was challenged by Doom to save Namor’s life in 24 hours or Namor would permanently become Doom’s slave, and when Reed failed he flew all the way to Latveria to rescue Namor, just because Namor came to him for help and he couldn’t, in good conscience, abandon him. Even Ben thought Reed was going overboard helping Namor. But Reed believes he’s responsible for the well-being of everyone around him, he’s got a big heart, he’s extremely moral, and he has a very exacting conscience. If he fails someone? He’ll feel guilty about it the rest of his life.

Really, I could go on with this -- I haven’t even touched on the awful mischaracterization of Reed and Sue’s relationship (that sadly is also what everyone thinks they’re always like when it isn’t at all) -- but I think that’s enough for now. 

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 25)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post | Intimacy lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 25:

Despite Jimin being gone, Jungkook still seems committed to avoiding me, along with the other wolves. Namjoon and Seokjin are more polite about it, often stoping to have brief conversations, but Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jungkook hardly speak to me. Yoongi seems apathetic, but I rarely saw him to begin with anyway.

The pack spends most days outside. Doing what? I’m not sure. Exercising? I went for a walk once and came across Taehyung and Jungkook. They were chasing each other, the bronze wolf running from the raven black one. When Jungkook finally caught up, they playfully wrestled. I had paused to watch, curious, but for over twenty minutes they didn’t do anything else. I think they eventually noticed me, so with their supernatural speed they loped off elsewhere, leaving me physically unable to keep up and follow.

I’d heard in one of my classes that when they’re young, animals (mammals in particular) play to develop hunting and/or social skills. Maybe Jungkook could be considered “young” as he just recently transformed. That’s the reason I stick with to validate the behavior.

I tried to go out for walks often, following different paths of hidden lanterns to give myself a sense of variety, but the wolves evaded me. Purposeful or not, it made me feel lonely.

All I wanted was to see my friend, to see how he’s progressing and growing. Even at mealtimes, I got ignored by almost everyone except Munhee, my questions and comments going unheard amidst the general din of conversation.

For whatever reason, the isolation, especially when the others were within arm’s reach around me, began to feel heavy. Naturally, the thought of simply eating alone crossed my mind. It would make me feel less frustrated that they ignore me, avoid me. But I’d only done it once or twice before I realized that eating alone is what Jimin always did. The psychological threat of being like him drove me back to the dinner table.

So I buried myself in my studies.

Munhee and I went to the workshop every day. With my new silver knife in hand, she taught me the basics of how to use it, making me practice holding, hiding, and brandishing it. I also started learning intermediate magic.

I can now perform reactive magic with most herbs and stones. It’s simpler than I thought it would be, interacting with the energy of the object instead of only my own. I can produce all sorts of colors of “flame” now and find myself often carrying wildflowers in my pockets to “burn.” Most plants don’t do anything as dramatic as the Calendulas but I find it entertaining.

Munhee has scolded me several times, saying it’s not right to play with magic, but it’s not hurting anyone and practice makes perfect. Whenever I’m not on a walk, practicing reactive magic, being bitter about being alone, or pretending I have any skills with a knife whatsoever, I find myself reading.

There are so many herbs and stones that do incredible things with magic, but like I said, there are so many more that do absolutely nothing. Memorizing them all is not difficult. It just takes a lot of time.

Among the things that I have not done are: ask where Jimin might have gone (because that’s his business and I doubt anyone here would know anyway) and tell Munhee about my second exchange with Halsahm.

Obviously, Munhee knows something happened as there was a dead body in my room, but I figure I won’t have to deal with any of it for a while. Besides, good spirits, corresponding evil spirits… it might all just be something Halsahm made up in an attempt to possess me. Maybe even my rudimentary magic might be advantageous for it- especially since I would be relatively easier to access than someone as skilled as Munhee. I couldn’t even find anything about it in the workshop’s literature collection, so I decided to drop the topic for now.

I turn the page of the book in front of me carefully. It is thin and yellowed, delicate. I idly wonder if I should ask Munhee about rewriting it. Or better, photocopying.

This chapter is about quartz, something I’ve already read extensively about. I sigh quietly. Might as well just skim then. There may be some obscure yet useful information. As my eyes trace over the words, I can’t help but let my mind wander a bit.

Another thing that I haven’t seen in any of the books is divination.

Not a single word.

It’s led me to question whether divination is actually magic and if… I hallucinated the whole thing. Doubt is easy, especially self doubt. But the vision hadn’t been wrong. Halsahm had been alive.

Maybe I can try it again after my walk today. The Hepaticas aren’t in bloom and I’m not exactly sure what I should be searching for, but who knows? I might just see something interesting.

I set my book aside, fix Jimin’s bed, pick up my backpack, grab a few fruits from the kitchen, and head outside. Today, I choose to follow the red lanterns. Howling and playful barks echo through the empty streets surrounded by crumbling buildings, all shadowy sounds carried on the breeze. Each of my steps leaves a small crunch in my wake, courtesy of the gravel and plant life that litters the roads.

I find the edge of the forest and take a seat against a tree to eat. At least I’m getting fresh air.

Now late summer, early autumn, it’s a bit hot out, but not unbearably so, particularly in the shade. Clouds have begun to gather in the distance. A cold front? That might be pleasant. I scan the decaying town with interest and a bitter weight settles on my chest. Somewhere in there, my best friend is living his life without me. All because of Jimin.

I kick angrily at a small pebble and it skitters a meter or two away. Why couldn’t things just be easy and simple? Slowly, I reach for my backpack and dig around until I find the bloodstone. The surface is cool to the touch, polished. I smooth the pad of my thumb over it.

Okay, I did this once, I can do it again. The only question is: what had I done?

Stared at the stone and asked questions, felt frustrated… I start to zone out, trying to remember. Then the flickering starts. I find myself in the village, in front of one of the partially collapsed structures with a blue lantern inside. Not as shellshocked due to vague familiarity with the location, I find it easy to relax into the double vision.

The village is still in front of me, the forest behind and in my peripheral vision, but I can also see the wolves, four of them. I can’t see anything beyond or around them. Just their spectral forms, Jungkook, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Yoongi.

The soft grapefruit colored wolf, lies off to the side, watching with bored eyes. The other three prance and sprint around, batting each other roughly, but not harmfully until one is pinned or has fallen, only to start over again. Irritation seeps through me, making the vision waver. It still looks like they’re only playing. Why aren’t they training? To fight demons?

What had I expected? Specialized training? Yes. Organized exercises? Yes. But this is the second time I’ve seen them… messing around. And it’s annoying. I bury myself in studies to make myself stronger, more useful and they’re playing.

I try not to be angry. I could be assuming things incorrectly or- or…

This is exhausting, making excuses on other peoples’ behalf to see the best in them. I blink and the vision of the wolves disappears, like clearing blurriness out of my eyes. I stare idly at the bloodstone, torn between fairness and supporting my friend. Well, my “friend” that hasn’t spoken directly to me in days. I run my finger over the surface of the stone again and can’t help but empathize with Jimin. Just a little.

The crimson specks in the bloodstone flicker.

I see a field, full of short, flowerless plants. They’re familiar, yet oddly different. The Hepaticas? Why am I here? My view pans around as my mind’s eye silently requests. Now that I have a basic comprehension of magic, it makes this a great deal easier, more understandable.

I can’t see the trees at the edge of the clearing. It takes a few seconds, but I eventually notice the person kneeling in the middle of the field.

Jimin.

I almost call out to him in shock, but then I remember that I’m not actually physically present. Why is Jimin in the Hepatica field? Where has he been this whole time? For some reason, my heart starts to pound- no. Flutter. Excitement.

He gets up and starts walking toward where I know the edge of the forest is supposed to be, but in the opposite direction of the bunker. Panic floods through me. He’s leaving. Why? He can’t just leave- but I can’t go get him. I might be able to stumble across the Hepatica field, but there’s no way I’d make it there before he disappears back into the mists of… I have no time for metaphors.

“Jimin!” his name futilely leaves my lips and the sensation causes the vision to waver. Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe the double vision is messing with my head. Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

But I could swear he turns and… sees me.

“Eun?”

The jolt back to the real world- or back to the reality that surrounds my body is disorienting. I blink a few times before Namjoon settles in my field of vision. He is blurry for a second or two, but the effect fades as he continues speaking.

“You alright? You seem a little dazed.”

“Sorry, sunbae. I was practicing divination,” the words leave my mouth before I can think about them. But what’s the harm? Namjoon knows I practice magic.

“Divination?”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a skill you have,” he smiles warmly. “Even noona finds it hard to perform divination.”

“Really?”

Namjoon nods, “That’s advanced magic, at least, according to what she’s told me. It’s great that she’s teaching it to you.”

Teaching it to me… right. I agree politely.

The man with the blue-grey hair laughs lightly, “What were you looking at? If I may ask.”

“Nothing particularly interesting,” I shrug, but refrain from being aloof to avoid suspicion. He doesn’t need to know I saw Jimin and he probably already knows what Jungkook was doing. “Just exploring around.”

“Well that’s wonderful. It’s good to test your personal limits, especially with things like this,” he offers me a hand up, a surprising gesture considering I’ve been unofficially ostracized. I take his hand and hoist myself to my feet. “Noona asked me to tell you that we’re all heading into town later to pick up groceries and extra supplies. Would you like to go? Or do you need anything?”

“I think I’d rather stay here if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. I’ll let you get back to practicing then-”

“Sunbae? Can Jungkook stay behind with me? Just in case.”

Namjoon pauses mid-act of turning around, then nods, “If he agrees, absolutely. I’ll ask him for you.”

“Thank you.” I give him a polite bow.

The pack leader looks as if he’s going to say something more, but then a howl splits the air, a deep sound, velvety. Taehyung. Namjoon’s attention snaps toward it.

“Sorry to cut this short,” he whispers. “Gotta go take care of something.”

Before I can acknowledge his statement, his shirt is off, he’s transformed into the massive blue-grey lupine creature, and full sprinting in the direction of the howl. Bending down, I pick up the bloodstone from a small tuft of weeds and slip it into my backpack. Apparently, I’d dropped it at some point after Namjoon startled me. I have to stop doing that before I lose it.

Figuring that the howl had something to do with demons, which even with my silver knife I should stay far away from, I decide to stay out a little bit longer and try to find the Hepatica field.   Why? Plot development. I have nothing better to do other than attempt to find Jimin.

He’s irritating, pretentious, and possibly dangerous, but now I’m armed and for some reason… I miss him. The thought makes me cringe and I blame it on supernatural hormones. I will blame it on an “instinct thing.”

Hiking my backpack higher on my shoulders, I start my rather pointless walk through the forest. It’s highly likely I’ll get lost and even if I, by stumbling over a deposit of miracles, do somehow manage to find the Hepatica field, Jimin will probably be gone. But here I go anyway.

While familiar with the dilapidated town now, I haven’t been into the forest more than a few times, at least, beyond a few yards past the tree line. Every time I’d gone further, it had been with someone else leading the way.

At first I try looking around for familiar landmarks, but the change of season has all sorts of new mosses and lichens growing and the stream has swollen a bit too, swallowing any notable stones or the like.

As I walk, my hand reaches into my pocket to find the wildflowers I’ve been idly collecting. Taking a moment to gauge their different energies, I pick one and crush it in my hand, letting the heatless fire consume it, creating a royal purple flame. I repeat the process every time the flame starts to turn a pale pastel color. It’s not productive, but it keeps me busy and keeps my anxiety low.

I also make sure to brush against as many plants as possible, leaving my scent so someone (one of the wolves) can presumably find me if they come looking. Especially Hobi.

It only takes a half an hour for me to get absolutely lost, and yet I keep walking.

As the sun starts to fall below the tops of the trees, I decide to take a break and sit down with my back against a fallen log. This was such a stupid idea, but who cares? The only person who will probably immediately miss me is Munhee-

The thought gives me chills. Is this how Jimin feels? Except, he doesn’t have an “only person” to miss him.

I reach into my pocket for another flower, a therapeutic compulsive habit, but find it empty. With a sigh, I hold my palm out in front of me, letting the familiar green flame blossom on my palm. If only revelation magic could take me to the Hepatica field.

Sudden movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention, just at the edge of my field of vision, a flash moving between two trees.

A coffee colored werewolf. The coffee colored werewolf.

I immediately get to my feet, almost stumbling and falling under the weight of my backpack, and rush forward in a dead sprint; but by the time I reach the place I thought he might be, there’s nothing there. Not a footprint, not a broken branch.

I even conjure the green flame again to provide a little more (color tinted) light. Nothing.

On the slight breeze that slithers through the forest, I can hear a very distant howl and identify it easily. Jungkook.

I brush the recognition aside and look around. Maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe I hadn’t seen him, or maybe I had gotten the place wrong-

A flash of rich brown in the corner of my eye causes me to turn my head. Like the naive little girl I am, I follow. And follow again. Each glimpse of hope, illuminated by the green flame flickering in my palm and eventually the light of the full moon as it rises, leads me further, making me- almost redundantly- more lost.

Until I find myself in the Hepatica field.

Naturally, as I’d predicted, Jimin isn’t here, but the very fact that I’d found it is astonishing. Did it actually have something to do with the revelation magic I had been using? Or maybe this is some strange offshoot of my seeming talent for divination.

I glance around the clearing, breathing in deeply the smell of damp earth and natural, earthy, sweet forest decay. The sky above me should be peppered with stars, but everything has started to take on a grainy quality. Fog will be settling in soon. I should get back before something happens to the moonlight and I’m left in the complete dark. Well, except for the whole magic fire thing. I look around as if the universe will present to me the thing that I want. The person that I need.

Wait… amber eyes? In the trees on the other side of the clearing…

“Jimin?” for some reason, excitement permeates through me, then dissipates almost immediately.

“Eun, what the hell?”

I glance away just for a moment, but by the time I look back, the eyes are gone and my full attention swivels to a very angry Jungkook.

“Where have you been?”

I sigh, wanting to ask him why he suddenly cares, but that would be bitter and I am not a bitter person. At least, I refuse to be. I play idly with one of the tattered straps on my backpack, “Just taking a walk.”

“Do you even know how long it took me to find you? Were you just wandering around in circles?”

My gaze drops to the plants that litter the ground around my feet, crushed underneath them. I feel like a scolded child as my voice gets soft, “Kind of. Yes. You were busy and I had nothing better to do.”

“So you went tramping through the forest?”

“I didn’t go tramping.”

Jungkook lets out a huff, raking his fingers through his hair, “We’re going back to the bunker.”

“But…” I look back at the forest, where I had seen- where I had thought I’d seen the amber eyes.

Jungkook steps forward, catching my wrist, “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” I relent, knowing that Jungkook is the easiest, if not my only way home. I wait until he’s shifted to climb onto his back, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face into his raven black fur.

This is the first time in weeks that I’ve touched him for more than mere moments, more than accidental brushes of hands passing plates at the dinner table or attempted but failed embraces at the mistletoe double doors before he leaves. I’m surprised he’s letting me touch him at all. Maybe it’s because Jimin has been gone for so long. Maybe it has something to do with convenience. As he starts walking, then speeds up into a jog, I can’t help but let my heart hurt.

I miss him- Jungkook.

With this close proximity, I notice he feels more muscular than before, fur more shiny, movements more purposeful and coordinated. My best friend has changed so much, physically and mentally it seems. He’s never spoken to me so sternly, so angrily. He’s been worried, sure. Demanding too, but never furious. That hurts more than the inadvertent abandonment. What happened to my sweet, soft Jungkook?

The more I think about it, the more it hurts me.

With each of his confident, bounding strides forward, I can feel the movement resonate in my own body and roll through me in waves of nothing short of pure loneliness. I begin to feel the despair that Jimin must have felt at first, then the inevitable ebbing of feelings as we draw into ourselves, closing ourselves off emotionally because knowing we’re being shut out by everyone for something that isn’t really our fault… it hurts.

Jungkook starts to slow as we leave the army of fading trees, entering the empty village. I loosen my grip around his neck and allow myself to drop to the gravely street. He transforms back into a human, walking a few paces ahead of me.

He says nothing, which I suddenly find is worse than yelling.

The further we walk, the more his demeanor begins to get colder, and the more the fog rolls in. I begin to feel numb. By the time the little shack that hides the staircase to the bunker is in sight, I am numb.

Jungkook reaches for the door, then stops.

He slowly turns around, “What’s your problem?”

You. Me…

“This whole thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” his tone is as distant as it is aggravated, a strange combination.

“This, us, this place. I want to go home.”

Jungkook’s stare is hard.

The fog that surrounds us is heavy, so thick that I can barely see three meters in any direction. It stills the air, absorbing sounds, muting color, a visual manifestation of the emotions looming inside me.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” my voice cracks, but I somehow manage to keep his gaze.

Jungkook’s composed expression falters, features simultaneously betraying both hurt and anger, “What? Do you think I want this? Do you think constantly tearing my body apart and losing my mind is fun?”

“Do you think watching it happen is any better?”

His gaze flicks to the sky and I know his attention is pegged exactly on the full moon, despite not being able to see it myself. Jungkook’s voice lowers in warning, “Now’s not the time to have this conversation.”

His words only make anger bubble into my chest, “Oh? Then when would be better for you? After training? After everyone else gets back? After you’re off your man-period?”

“Male dogs don’t go into heat,” he states blandly.

“Well excuse me for not knowing everything.”

“Maybe, if you paid more attention to noona, you would.”

My skin prickles in irritation, “Stop making this about you.”

“I’m not the one being selfish,” he snaps, attention plunging down from the moon to me. “Do you understand how hard it’ll be if you leave? How many people I could hurt? How many people those things will kill?”

“Selfish? I’ve given up months of my life, Jungkook.”

“At least you can leave after this,” he storms forward until stopping only a handful of centimeters away, harsh amber flooding his irises, “I’m going to be stuck with this for my entire life.”

Instinctive fear trickles through me at the change in his eyes, the subtle rippling of his muscles, but I refuse to let it be the reason this argument stops, “You’re making it about you again.”

“We’re not having this conversation right now.”

“Sure, just keep pushing it off and maybe you won’t have to deal with it.”

“What’s your problem?” Jungkook’s body shudders, making him clench his jaw and speak through his teeth, “We’re not even asking you to do anything difficult.”

“Not difficult?” my voice begins to rise, “First of all, you get to go gallivanting around with your  friends while-”

“We aren’t gallivanting.”

I talk right over him, “While I have to spend countless hours memorizing and reading and practicing, only to get left behind and ignored. On top of that, I have to lie to my family so that I can stay here and make sure you are okay. And let’s not forget I risk my life staying here, for you.”

The last part visibly makes him bristle, “That’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s not, but I’m doing it because you’re my friend, Jungkook.”

“Well I didn’t ask for that either.”

Both of us pull away slightly, eyes widening, shocked into speechlessness by the implication of his statement. Time slides to a stop, the only evidence of its passage being uneven breaths. I recover first, “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble then.”

“Eun,” he calls my name, regret lacing his tone, shock rendering him immobile, and amber draining completely from his irises, replaced by the familiar chocolate brown, but I don’t hesitate to turn and enter the small, inconspicuous shack, quick pace fueled by my desperation to not let him see me cry. I’m halfway down the concrete staircase when he finally chases after me, pleading, “Eun-ssi, wait, I didn’t mean it like that-”

I manage to slam the double doors in his face, knowing he won’t pass the mistletoe barrier unless it was opened for him. With my back pressed against the hard wooden surface, I listen for the telltale signs, the screaming, the whimpering, the snarling, or (a recent development) just the cracking of bones, but am met with none of those.

Even through the haze of my anger and the violence of my tears, I can’t help but notice he’s kept his human form, despite the emotional pull of the argument and in sight of the hormonal impact from the full moon. The smallest bit of pride flits through me at this mutual accomplishment, but is forgotten as soon as I hear a door from within the bunker open, making me freeze.

Everyone had just left for a trip into town…meaning Jungkook and I were supposed to be here alone.

Hope surges through me. Maybe Jimin had come back. Maybe he’d led me to the Hepatica field and followed Jungkook and I back to the bunker, slipping inside when we were arguing. Maybe-

Then I feel it, the eerie stillness. My ears prick up and I realize that the silence from the fog outside has permeated into the bunker. The strange suspension in time hadn’t been warped perception due to stress.

Hello, Eun. Have you thought about what I said?

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

A/N: sorry it’s a bit late. Life happened :’) hope you enjoyed!

Send me your theories/questions here. Or just come say hi ;)

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Much love ~🐰 xx

[yoursatanboyfriend]

The Ninth Paradigm

Title: The Ninth Paradigm (X) Rating: M Warnings: Heavy themes such as: Non-con/dub-con, PTSD, Manipulation, Child Abuse, Gang Violence, references to depression and self-harm. Summary: When Stanford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket reject an offer from a notorious crime lord, they separate. 3 months later, a private investigator named ‘Bill Cipher’ makes contact with Ford claiming to have been hired by his old assistant. It doesn’t take long for Ford to learn the truth and for Bill to enter his life and bed. But it does take long for him to learn ‘those to whom evil is done do evil in return’ is a specious statement under certain circumstances- specifically ones involving Bill Cipher.

He sits across from Bill, at the table densely engraved with every one of his failures. “Wanna hear a joke?” The demon laughs, tap tap tapping his bloodied-black fingers—Ford feels it inside his rib-cage. “Once upon a time, there was an old man who thought he could redefine the concept of Bill Cipher.”

                                   - Dinner with Bill Cipher, The End.

Stanford Pines was halfway through the sixtieth page of his book when a stranger, a young blonde impeccably dressed young man, seated himself across Ford with a loud “Hey, you’re not gonna eat that, right? Let me take it off your hands.”

In disbelief, Ford set his book down as he watched his scone travel from his plate into the young man’s mouth before he could even formulate an argument.

It was chewed carelessly, swallowed and spat back out in crumbs with a crude, “Thanks Ford.”

“How did you know—"

“I’m Bill. Bill Cipher and I know lots of things.” Bill, as the boy called himself, took a napkin and with meticulous precision, began to wipe his mouth. The slow movement brought Ford’s attention to his lips, and then to his face— a very attractive face. Tan skin with hazel, rather yellow eyes; they regarded Ford with curiosity and triumph, as if the attention was what Bill had sought all along.

Bill reached into his mustard trench coat, and produced a stack of post-card sized photos. He dropped them with a deliberate loud PLOP in front of Ford.

Photos. Of Ford. At work, in public places, in taxi cabs and various other public transport—in his house, in his home. Very intrusive photos; he could not spend even a fraction of a second looking at the ones taken of him coming out the shower. Somehow, he knew this was only a small portion of what the boy had taken, of what the boy had seen. He felt his cheeks burn up, his skin flushing with humiliation.

“What the hell is this?!” Ford fought to keep his voice low, lest he want to draw the attention of nosy bystanders. Disgust curled in his stomach and he suddenly felt nauseous. To be followed and observed like some kind of animal.

“Private investigator. Was hired to keep an eye on you.” Bill pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Ford.

“This is an invasion of privacy! A breach of my privacy!”

“Nah.”

Shooting the messenger was not the correct choice—Ford knew this, but his anger wasn’t rational; anger itself was never truly rational and he had to remind himself of that. He was a private person by nature. Knowing someone had been watching him like this...had documented it…had documented it with the intention of showing it to another person…who would most likely show it to others. He couldn’t rule out that possibility.

“You okay there, kid? You shut down on me.” Bill interrupted.

“Kid? I’m old enough to be your-"

“I don’t care.” Bill was now drinking his coffee as though it were his own. “In case you’re thinking of legal ramifications…”

“I could sue you.”

“I’m a detective. I’m above the law- and consequences, mind you- but nice try.” Bill gestured Ford’s mug back with a nod, “Want some?”

Ford shook his head, teeth still gritted.

“Ah well, suit yourself. I was lying. About it being a nice try, it was actually awful but you know what? You can make it up to me by buying me lunch.”

“Are you insane?! Who hired you?”

“I don’t kiss and tell. Pass the ketchup there, would you Fordsy?” When Ford didn’t comply, Bill made a swift grab for it himself and began pouring ketchup onto Ford’s plate, spelling ‘F O R D’ out in the red.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are doing this? This—why are you here? Did you get what you wanted? Is that it? Your job’s done and you’ve decided to taunt me? Harass me?” Had the boy gotten the photo he needed? And now sought to mock Ford?

This was all too much. But they were in public, and Ford had to contain himself. The boy had chosen a wise time to approach Ford– it was a calculated, albeit basic, move.

Bill, seemingly unaffected by Ford’s outburst, took another sip of the bitter coffee. The lack of reaction brought a jolt of powerlessness through Ford, but he would not and could not show weakness. Blackmail was a potential outcome as well, he could not rule that out, and should he falter here, he could be looking at a lifetime of being leeched off.

Trust no one. Especially those who held any sort of power over you.

“You’re unbelievably boring, but you get this cute little scrunch-” before Ford could react, a hand was caressing the side of his nose. “Whenever you read something tantalizing, when you’re in the zone. The Ford zone, I like to call it.”

The hand left as quickly as it came, and Bill was now smiling peculiarly. Now that Ford thought about it, the boy had been smiling non-stop; the only changes were subtle contractions of his eyes.

“You seem confused by this. I guess you don’t get hit on very often huh?”

“What?” Hit on? What was this boy playing at?

“Like, romance, people tryna get into your pants.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Shut up. You like men, and I’m as good-looking as they come.”

“What makes you assume that?” Ford had done nothing to give such an impression; he knew for a fact that his romantic life and interests were non-existent and he’d done nothing to hint at anything.

Bill did waves in the air with his hands. “I can sense it. I also noticed your pupils enlarge whenever you look at attractive males.”

“You couldn’t possibly have gotten a good look at my pupils from such a distance.” The science was correct but it was absurd that the boy had managed to capture the exact moment Ford’s pupils had enlarged, he couldn’t even recall seeing an attractive male recently—beyond the boy, he supposed.

“High definition camera, kid. When they said high definition, boy, did they mean it!”

Ford looked away, frowning with lips tightly pursed. Something didn’t add up…

“I was lying.”

Ford’s eyes returned to the boy.

“About the high definition camera nonsense. Figured I’d try and smoke you out, and hey, it worked. But you know, your pupils got pretty big when you were looking at me…”

“I’m old enough to be your—"

“Uncle. Uncle Ford. Is that your kink? Say no or I’m outta here, pal.”

The tension briefly forgotten, Ford broke out into a chuckle. “No, god no, I assure you. You seem young.”

“Actually a lot older than you’d think." Bill patted his cheek lightly. “Great genes. I thank my mom for that every day.”

“I want to see some ID. Your business card, too. Prove to me you’re an actual PI.” Ford said. He would easily go off on a mental tangent if he didn’t remind himself of current circumstances. It was not the time for laughter.

“Sure thing, Ford.” With a careless flick, a wallet was on the table. “Just go on through that.”

There was no reluctance from Bill when Ford took to inspecting the wallet and everything asked for was there. The wallet held quite a bit of money in it, alongside various cards, including business ones, and Bill’s identification card. Bill Cipher, 31(Ford didn’t expect that). The business card confirmed Bill’s earlier claims; he was a Private Investigator whose business location was situated about twenty minutes from here. Ford recognized the area, but he’d never personally gone that route.

“So, if you’re making contact with me, I assume you’ve given up on the job?” Ford said, as he handed the wallet back.

“Maybe. Maybe I want to get up close and personal. Maybe I want to get a very specific set of photos of you, Ford.”

The flirtatious remark was delivered in such a way that Ford would’ve mistook it for a threat if he’d not considered the nuances of aggression and seduction—especially in this day and age.

“Six fingers. I like that—that weird deformity you have there. Imagine! Six fingers.” Bill held his own darkly gloved hand up in front of him. He spread his fingers and contracted them to a steady rhythm. “If you were thinking whether I’m a toy guy or a finger guy, I bet you have your answer now, huh?”

Vulgar, Ford thought. Something was off; if this boy–no, man– had indeed been watching him for a long time, he would know, or at the very least have some idea, of what would and would not work when it came to interacting with Ford.

“Let’s go alone somewhere.” Bill suggested.

“I’d rather not.” This was suspicious. An attempt at leading Ford away from a public space caused alarm bells to go off in Ford’s mind.

“Are you scared?”

“…Terrified.” There was sarcasm in there, somewhere.

Ford pulled his book into his lap. “I’m sorry but this—I’m not that kind of man. "

“Okay then. So what you’re saying is, you wanna go for like, dinner and whatever and then we can—"

“No. Who do you work for, and are photos the only thing you were meant to take of me?"

“You think I’m an assassin huh? Sent to seduce you, lure you alone and then CLICK—" Bill made a noise with his tongue as he pantomimed having his throat cut with his hand.

“No. Mind my language if you please, but I think you’re full of shit.”

“I’d rather be full of something else.”

Ford had to know who was paying Bill. Fiddleford? They’d had a falling out, but why now, of all times, to have someone tail him? A chance to get the information from Bill was there, Ford only had to take it.

“Do you think your vulgarity is attractive?” Ford asked.

“So what you’re saying is…if I polish up my language a little bit—"

“No.” Ford straightened his posture and attempted to soften his features, hoping he gave the impression of having calmed down. “I’m saying I’d like to get to know you.”

“I hadn’t intended on that, Fordsy. Was kinda hoping for a once off, maybe twice of trice– if I’m lucky—thing. Hence you know, me coming on to you really strongly and just laying my cards out of the table.” Bill said.

“If that were true, Bill, you’re a rather lousy detective.” Ford pointed out. “You’d have known by now what type of man I am and that your methods would not work on me.”

Bill gave a half shrug with one shoulder. “I thought I was cute enough for you to drop those rules of yours.”

“Are you a pathological liar?”

“You’re a smart guy, Ford. I like that.”

“So it’s a yes?”

“You come around quickly huh? Thinking of ways you and I can blow that anger of yours off?” Bill’s eyes gestured to Ford’s clenched fist hidden beneath the table. Such an observant nature made Ford even more cautious.

“Do you really want to get to know me?” With palms flat on the table, Bill leaned in closer towards Ford, his upper body casting shadow across the table ominously. “Or do you mean you want to get to know who hired me by getting to know me?”

Ford swallowed the jump in his throat, but did not recoil.

“You want to use me to find out who hired me?”

“I—"

“I don’t mind. Use me as you see fit. If you play your cards right Fordsy, I might just end up telling you.”

Bill Cipher stood up and with two fingers, blew a kiss that segued into a casual salute.

“I’ll call you. Gotta say, you might just be my favourite Ford.” As Bill left, his back growing smaller and smaller in Ford’s vision, Ford realized Bill had given him the client’s name.

My favourite Ford.

Fiddleford.

[thrashermaxey]

Cage Match: David Pastrnak vs. Patrik Laine

Could David Pastrnak be a better fantasy option than Patrik Laine?

Whatever the opposite of choosing between the lesser of two evils is, that’s what’s in store with a battle between David Pastrnak and Patrik Laine. Although both seem poised to be keeper cornerstones and one-year league studs for the next decade plus, here it’s all about picking a winner, so that’s the tough task in store when these two step into the cage!

Career Path and Contract Status

Pastrnak, now 21, was drafted 25th overall in 2014 and earmarked for the AHL, where, despite being just 18, he excelled (28 points in 25 games). With Boston for the rest of 2014-15 he posted 27 points in 46 games, igniting hopes of him being another draft steal with early success, ala Patrice Bergeron. But he stalled as a sophomore, with only 26 points in 51 contests in an injury-shortened campaign. Since then, however, he’s been spectacular, with 70 points in 75 contests in 2016-17 and producing at a similar rate this season.

Laine, 19, was selected second overall in 2016 after a standout season for Liiga, and immediately thrust into a prominent role with the Jets. To say he succeeded would be a vast understatement, as he posted 36 goals (64 points) in only 73 games, for the highest goals per game rate of any 70+ game, 60+ point rookie since Alexander Ovechkin more than a decade earlier. This season, however, his scoring and goals rates are down somewhat.

Pasta’s cap hit is $6.66M, and he’s signed through 2024. Laine’s ELC runs through 2018-19 but he’ll likely be extended beforehand and have a cap hit at least as high as Pastrnak’s for 2019-20 and beyond.

Ice Time

All stats in this table and the others are through February 18th, and SH Ice Time is omitted because neither averaged more than 0:02 of SH duty per game in any season.  

Season

Total Ice Time per game

(rank among team’s forwards)

PP Ice Time per game

(rank among team’s forwards)

2017-18

17:50 (D.P) – 3rd

16:42 (P.L.) – 5th

3:06 (D.P) – 1st

3:16 (P.L.) – 3rd

2016-17

17:58 (D.P) – 4th

17:54 (P.L.) – 3rd

2:37 (D.P) – 3rd (tied)

2:43 (P.L.) – 3rd

2015-16

13:56 (D.P) – 8th

0:28 (D.P) – 9th

2014-15

13:58 (D.P) – 10th

1:41 (D.P) – 9th

Seeing Pastrnak’s meager average ice times in his first two seasons, it’s a wonder he managed 53 points in 97 games. In doing so, however, he posted the 61st best points per 60 minutes rate among forwards over that time frame, besting the likes of Brayden Schenn, Aleksander Barkov, James van Riemsdyk, and even teammate Brad Marchand. Since then, Pastrnak has made the most of his added ice time, as over the past two seasons his 3.09 points per 60 minutes is seventh-best among NHL forwards who’ve played 120+ games.

The issue is Pasta might already be at his realistic ice time ceiling, since although Patrice Bergeron and Marchand are averaging, respectively 19:26 and 19:31 per game, nearly 2:00 of that is SH duty, meaning Pasta already skates more non-SH minutes than both. If Pasta isn’t likely to receive more minutes in coming seasons, and he’s already scoring at one of the best P/60 rates in the NHL, his scoring cap might be close to what he’s producing now, or perhaps even less if his luck metrics are unreasonable.

As for player comparables, only four other forwards have ever played under 2800 minutes in their first three seasons while taking the ice for 170+ games and posting 120+ points. One (Jarome Iginla) became a star, a second (Sergei Berezin) fizzled, and a third had solid seasons then faded (Sergei Samsonov). Berezin was 25 as a rookie, so it’s easier to distinguish Pasta from him. Yet Pasta isn’t easy to liken to Iginla, who was a power forward. And Samsonov never scored even 55 points in any of those first three seasons. Pasta’s closest comparison might be the fourth to meet the criteria – Evgeni Kuznetsov, who, although a center rather than a winger, like Pasta had one big season among his first three.

After such a strong rookie campaign, it’s odd to see Laine’s minutes down, although there’s consolation in that his PP time is up, as is his PP usage percentage (51.0% to 58.7%). It turns out every Jets top-six forward other than Mark Scheifele and Blake Wheeler has seen his ice time decrease from 2016-17 to 2017-18. Call it the Kyle Connor effect, as Connor’s ice time has risen from 12:13 per game last season to nearly 16:44 now. As a result, Laine, plus Bryan Little, Nikolaj Ehlers and Mathieu Perreault, have all seen their Y2Y ice times drop by a combined amount that roughly matches Connor’s gains.

If Laine continues his goals pace, he’ll join five NHLers who’ve scored 70+ in their first two seasons as teens. Three became superstars (Sidney Crosby, Steven Stamkos, Dale Hawerchuk). But they were centers; the two wingers (Jimmy Carson, Brian Bellows) went on to have success, but were by no means major stars. What does this mean for Laine? Maybe nothing, or maybe his early sniping success could suggest peaking early. If nothing else, it’s food for thought ala the Pasta’s comparables.

Secondary Categories  

Season

PIMs

(per game)

Hits

(per game)

Blocked Shots (per game)

Shots

(per game)

PP Points

(per game)

2017-18

0.35 (D.P)

0.34 (P.L.)

0.76 (D.P)

0.84 (P.L.)

0.37 (D.P)

0.49 (P.L.)

2.66 (D.P)

2.86 (P.L.)

0.30 (D.P)

0.39 (P.L.)

2016-17

0.46 (D.P)

0.35 (P.L.)

0.94 (D.P)

1.09 (P.L.)

0.42 (D.P)

0.45 (P.L.)

3.48 (D.P)

2.79 (P.L.)

0.32 (D.P)

0.19 (P.L.)

2015-16

0.39 (D.P)

1.02 (D.P)

0.29 (D.P)

2.11 (D.P)

0.02 (D.P)

2014-15

0.17 (D.P)

0.43 (D.P)

0.24 (D.P)

2.04 (D.P)

0.06 (D.P)

Despite shedding ice time, Laine is shooting more, which is seemingly a great sign. Even still, we’ll check whether his ASD has increased and/or his personal shooting percentage has dropped, since in both cases that could signify more might not mean better. Laine also is responding to his added PP time by more than doubling his PP scoring rate.

But should we count on Laine’s PP scoring rate continuing, dropping back to what we saw last season, or landing somewhere in between? Digging deeper, it took only until game 50 for the Jets to equal the 48 PPGs they scored in all of 2016-17. Are they really that good with the man advantage? Probably not; however, chances are they’ll stay closer to what we’re seeing this season than last, given their young core plus the seemingly ageless Blake Wheeler. And that bodes well for Laine’s PP scoring.

Laine is also quite solid in hits and blocks, although Pasta is no slouch either. As for PPPts, Pastrnak has stayed consistent from last season to this year, and the B’ are in the same PPG percentage rate vicinity as last season, so that screams sustainable.

Although Pastrnak’s 2.66 SOG rate this season seems solid, it’s down nearly 25% from 2016-17. Moreover, of the 18 instances of wingers who scored 75+ points in one of the past four campaigns, only one (Artemi Panarin in 2015-16) had a SOG rate less Pasta’s current 2.66 per game. And the news isn’t great for Laine either, since if we up that threshold to his 2.86 rate the number who posted 75+ points despite a lower SOG rate only jumps to only five of the 18. If instead we go by the 3.48 per game rate Pasta had in 2016-17, the number climbs to 11 of the 18. So make no mistake – in today’s NHL both will need to shoot more to produce what would be considered top fantasy numbers for wingers.

Luck-Based Metrics  

Season

Personal Shooting %

Team Shooting % (5×5)

Individual Points % (IPP)

Offensive Zone Starting % (5×5)

Average Shot Distance

Secondary Assists %

2017-18

14.1% (D.P)

16.0% (P.L.)

10.42% (D.P)

10.11% (P.L.)

68.0% (D.P)

63.9% (P.L.)

62.7% (D.P)

58.9% (P.L.)

29.8 (D.P)

37.3 (P.L.)

46% (D.P)

42% (P.L.)

2016-17

13.2% (D.P)

17.6% (P.L.)

8.33% (D.P)

12.61% (P.L.)

70.0% (D.P)

68.8% (P.L.)

56.2% (D.P)

54.8% (P.L.)

33.6 (D.P)

39.1(P.L.)

39% (D.P)

53% (P.L.)

2015-16

13.9% (D.P)

8.74% (D.P)

78.8% (D.P)

49.8% (D.P)

31.5 (D.P)

45% (D.P)

2014-15

11.7% (D.P)

8.82% (D.P)

77.1% (D.P)

69.2% (D.P)

35.2 (D.P)

47% (D.P)

Pastrnak’s 2017-18 metrics are concerning, especially when his scoring rate is only comparable to last season. In particular, after three seasons of 8.33-8.82% for his team shooting percentage, that number has spiked to 10.42% for this season, and is accompanied by an OZ% of 62%, marking his highest non-rookie figure.

Also, Pasta’s IPP is down for the second straight season, which is understandable due to him playing with two extremely talented linemates. Thus, on one hand that’s a concern because a low IPP means fewer points; however, the fact that it had been higher in the past means it could go up again, in which case suddenly he’s in point per game territory. That also raises an important question – is Pasta being carried by his linemates? One way to try and determine that is by looking at his WOWY (i.e., “with or without you) numbers.

Last season when he and Bergeron skated together, Boston scored 3.25 goals per 60 minutes; when he skated without Bergeron it was 2.55, versus 3.31 when Bergeron took the ice without Pasta. It was a similar story with Marchand, as when Pasta and Marchand skated ice together that rate was 3.77, while Pasta without Marchand translated to a rate of 2.80 and Marchand without Pasta led to a rate of 4.01.

This WOWY data may have been a function of it being his first season playing with talented linemates. But will he keep his coveted role with Bergeron and Marchand? Suddenly that’s less clear, as he was removed from that line at times in the past week, and his ice time cratered. What this seemingly shows is Pasta needs Bergeron and Marchand more than they need him, and his production could be at risk if (when?) coach Cassidy tinkers with lines on a more regular basis. The good news is when separated from Bergeron and Marchand, Pasta was kept on PP1…..at least for the time being.

For Laine, the number that jumps off the page is his team shooting percentage from last season, which, at 12.62%, was far too high to be remotely sustainable, especially when coupled with his high ASD and secondary assists percentage. His numbers for 2017-18 are more reasonable overall, and we need to keep in mind this is coming with very low ice time, which should improve in future seasons. After all, Laine’s points per 60 over the past two seasons was 2.88, also putting him in the top 20 overall among NHL forwards during that period.

Moreover, the fact that Laine is a sniper with a high personal shooting percentage bodes well for his long-term success. He’s poised to finish each of his first two seasons with 30+ goals and a 15%+ personal shooting percentage, which would make him only the second player – after Eric Lindros – since 1990-91 to meet both criteria. And if we lower the shooting percentage threshold to 14%, that would lump in two other players with whom it would be very favorable to be compared, namely Sidney Crosby and Artemi Panarin.

Who Wins?

This match is another illustration of fantasy value being tied as much, if not in some cases more so, to factors beyond a player’s control as to a his pure talent. If Claude Julien is still coaching the B’s, chances are he doesn’t stick with a “super line” and maybe Pasta doesn’t break out like he has. If Winnipeg wasn’t playing as well as they are now, they might be more inclined to have Laine continue to log more minutes, which would help pad his stats due to him having arguably more raw talent than Pasta.

Going into 2017-18, Laine was being picked 15th overall in Yahoo drafts, versus 42nd for Pasta. I think Laine still has more perceived value (and thus higher cost), because of his status as a #2 pick, the still recent memory of what he did as a rookie, and his higher goal totals. To me, even though Pasta was removed from the top line briefly last week, he still wins in all leagues except those which place a premium on goals. Still, if Laine finishes this season well below his rookie totals, his cost might plummet for fear he was overhyped or a flash in the pan. If so, he’d be worth the gamble in hopes he’ll get more ice time soon and the comparisons based on his shooting percentage and goals ending up being more predictive than those based on his age and goals.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/cage-match/cage-match-david-pastrnak-vs-patrik-laine/

[djgblogger-blog]

70 years on, Primo Levi's If This is A Man is still a powerful reminder of what it means to be human

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The book provides an account of Primo Levi's survival in Auschwitz. Logaritmo/Wikimedia Commons

When he was captured by the Fascist militia in December of 1943, Primo Levi (1919-1987) preferred to declare his status as an “Italian citizen of the Jewish race” than admit to the political activities of which he was suspected, which he supposed would have resulted in torture and certain death.

As a Jew, he was consequently sent to a detention camp at Fossoli, which assembled all the various categories of persons no longer welcome in the recently established Fascist Republic. Two months later, following the inspection of a small squad of German SS men, he was loaded onto a train, together with all the other Jewish members of the camp, for expatriation from the Republic altogether.

His destination, he was to learn, was Auschwitz; a name that at the time held no significance for him, but that initially provided a sense of relief, since it at least implied “some place on this earth”.

Of the 650 who departed Fossoli that day, only three would return. Yet Levi’s magnificent testimony of the Lager, Se questo è un uomo (If This is a Man) – which he would compose in the immediate aftermath of the resumption of his life in Turin, and which was first published 70 years ago in 1947, making it one of the earliest eyewitness accounts we have – is far from a heroic description of his “survival in Auschwitz” (as the American title given to his text would have it). Although in an important sense it is also that.

Indeed, what is striking about Levi’s contribution, still today, is the conspicuous absence of a heroic register from its pages, whose appropriateness in this context – which is in large part what Levi teaches us – must surely be as questionable as the temptation to invoke it is strong.

With characteristic, but unsettling irony, it is the word fortune that appears instead in the very first sentence of his text (“It was my good fortune to be deported to Auschwitz only in 1944…”) and that sets the tone for all that follows. In the camp, it is not virtue that governs fortune; it is fortune that governs virtue.

Levi was sent to the detention camp at Fossoli after his capture. Jacqueline Poggi/Flickr, CC BY-SA

It is the original title of Levi’s book that in truth gives expression to what will be his principal concern. Yet this is easily misunderstood. It is not exactly a question, and certainly not one that solicits an answer. But it is not even a question whose answer would be provided by the text itself, which claims no such privilege.

As we learn from the poem that opens the text, it must be understood instead to contain an implicit imperative: “Consider if this is man…” It is an order, a command (“I command these words to you”); one that is linked, moreover, to an imprecation:

Carve them in your hearts

… Repeat them to your children,

Or may your house fall apart,

May illness impede you,

May your children turn their faces from you.

It is thus an admonition that we (“You who live safe/In your warm houses”) not avert our gaze. But since Levi, remarkably, includes even himself in this category, it functions also as a kind of self-admonition.

For the description of what Levi calls the “ambiguous life of the Lager” alters our understanding of the very structure of witnessing. And it does so by bringing to light the existence of a distinct oppositional pair much less evident in ordinary life: the drowned (i sommersi) and the saved (i salvati).

In Auschwitz, all the ritual humiliations appeared as if designed to hasten the prisoner’s descent to what Levi termed “the bottom”. But this process was especially accelerated in the case of those he called the drowned: “they followed the slope down to the bottom, like streams that run down to the sea”.

These were the prisoners who, for whatever reason (and the reasons were many), never adjusted to the brutal regimen of life in the camp; whose time in the camp was thus consequently very brief; yet whose number was apparently endless.

In the jargon of the camp, these were the Muselmänner, the “Muslims”, whose tenuous existence, even prior to their imminent selection for the gas chamber, already hovered in an indistinct zone between life and death, human and non-human. These, according to Levi, were the ones who had truly seen all the way to the bottom: the ones who (as he would later powerfully record) had truly seen the Gorgon.

With respect to the “anonymous mass” of the drowned, the number of the saved, on the other hand, was comparatively few. Yet by no means did it consist of the best, and certainly not of the elect. To invoke the guiding hand of providence in the midst of such atrocity was nothing short of abhorrent to Levi.

Primo Levi in the 1950s. Wikimedia Commons

He is unflinching on precisely this delicate point: with rare exceptions, the saved comprised those who, in one way or another, whether through fortune or astuteness, had managed to gain some position of privilege in the structured hierarchy of the camp.

More often than not, this entailed the renunciation of at least a part of the moral universe that existed outside the camp. Not that the saved, any more than the drowned, are to be judged on this account. As Levi insists, words such as good and evil, just and unjust, quickly cease to have any meaning on this side of the barbed wire.

It was nonetheless his conviction that those who had not fathomed all the way to the bottom could not be the true witnesses. Yet far from invalidating the survivor’s testimony this made it all the more urgent.

According to Levi, it is the saved who must bear witness for the drowned, but also to the drowned. For in him is mirrored what he himself saw.

“Consider if this is a man…”: the imperative issued by Levi’s text is thus not that one should persist in seeing the human in the inhuman. It is more like its opposite: that one bear must witness to the inhuman in the human. And that our humanity in some sense depends on this.

Nicholas Heron does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond the academic appointment above.